Hero With A Thousand Faces

HARRY POTTER AND THE HERO WITH A THOUSAND FACES

Chapter 8

---

Part 1: My Life As a Man

But in point of fact there would be plenty more pain, the experiment which has not ended was only beginning. --Philip Roth, My Life as a Man

Ron had only been to Napoleon's flat once, but he had no trouble finding the place. All he had to do was follow the giant plume of smoke and flames.

He parked a block away and jumped out of the car, hurrying to where a cluster of onlookers were standing and staring dumbly up at the firemen as if they'd never seen the miracle of combustion before this night. He spotted Napoleon standing a bit apart. "Hey," he said, coming up next to him. "I got here as fast as I could."

Napoleon shook his head. "Everything I own in the bloody world," he muttered. "Returning its atoms to their natural entropic state."

"I guess that's one way to look at it. Not just a fire, but a small contribution to the eventual heat death of the universe."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"You said it first, man." Ron sighed. "Are you all right? You got out in time? Pull in a few lungfuls of smoke, did you?"

"I wasn't home. I went out to the pub. I came back, the place was an inferno."

Ron didn't quite know what to say. "I'm bloody sorry, mate. It's rotten luck."

He shrugged. "Welcome to my world. It's not so bad. I pretty much pick up and move on every few years anyway. This'll just make the move less traumatic."

"You're going to move away?" The idea made Ron sad. He didn't want to lose his friend.

"Well, I hadn't planned on it. I am rather attached to my job these days. I actually thought I might have found a spot to settle down and stay put for once."

"You still can."

"This seems like a pretty clear sign from on high," he said, gesturing vaguely at the ruins of his building.

"Piffle. Come on, you're coming home with me. It isn't like we don't have ten empty bedrooms. You can take your pick."

Napoleon let Ron lead him away with a companionable arm about the shoulders. "Thanks, mate," he said quietly. "It's hard to admit that I need this."

"Need what?"

"Someone to just swoop in and take care of me."

---

Napoleon was thankful that the house's population was significantly thinned. Harry and Hermione, of course, were away on honeymoon. Justin was staying at Stephen's and Cho was off cheering for some friends on a series of away games. This left the uneasy trio of Laura, Ron and George in the house, all of whom seemed delighted to have him come and stay. When he arrived, no one offered an explanation for the presence of Lupin and Diz, though he got the idea they'd been over for supper when news of his domestic conflagration had broken up a pleasant evening at home with friends. He also suspected that Harry had left some quiet orders that Ron wasn't to be left unprotected while he and Hermione were gone.

There were still enough people around to quite effectively smother him with reassurances and comforts when he stepped over the threshold. It was with gratitude that he let Ron draw him away and install him in one of the second-floor bedrooms that wasn't in continual use.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ron asked.

"All I want now is a hot shower, man," Napoleon said.

Ron grinned. "Then you can take care of that yourself."

"Yeah, I'll try not to fall and break a hip on top of everything else."

"See you in the morning."

"Thanks, mate."

Once he'd washed the soot off his face, he emerged from the steamy bathroom feeling a bit more inside his skin. He sat down and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. Five minutes later, he heard a quiet knock. He went to the door and opened it to let Remus and Diz enter. "Come on in."

They sat down on his couch. Remus looked grim, Diz merely concerned. "Was it deliberately set?" Remus asked.

Napoleon nodded. "Oh, yeah. They didn't even try to hide it."

"How could you tell?"

"Well, aside from the incendiary charms they used and the dry wood chips they spread around, I'd have to say that the biggest giveaway was probably the three cloaked wizards who tied me to a chair and tried to curse me into unconsciousness."

Diz made a face. "Subtle." She looked up at him. "Did you leave them inside?"

"Nah. Tossed 'em out the window into the flower bushes. They probably woke up pretty fast. Here's hoping one of 'em at least broke a leg or something."

"You didn't tell Ron any of this, did you?"

"Do I look stupid to you?"

"Do you want me to answer that?"

"I didn't tell him jack. But I don't think I should stay here too long. Might be dangerous."

"We don't even know what they were after."

"Someone knows about our project," Napoleon said, rubbing his forehead.

"Some of us in this room don't even know about 'our' project yet," Remus pointed out, arching one eyebrow.

"The materials aren't quite ready. I found out today that I might have them tomorrow. Then, I can fill you in. I am sorry about all the cloak-and-dagger crap, mates. All I can say is that once you know, you'll understand."

"Someone must know besides you."

"Just Harry. He is in full-on total paranoia mode about this, and I can't say I blame him." He sighed. "I'll have to sort out some new digs. I shouldn't stay here longer than tonight. I could ring up my sister. She's been after me to go halves with her on a flat for a while. Wasn't too keen, but any port in a storm."

"Where does she live?"

"In town." A thought struck him. "You might know her, actually. She used to be an Auror. You ran with that crowd, back in the day."

Lupin shook his head. "I was never actually an Auror, but I did know a few. None named Jones, though."

"Nah, that's not her name. Actually, it isn't mine, either. Changed it years ago, Jones is our mum's maiden name. Didn't want anything of my dad's, not even his name."

"Then what..." Lupin stopped short, his face that of a man one breath away from a good forehead slap. "Great Merlin's ghost, Jones...is Nymphadora Tonks your sister?"

"Yeah. I've got two, actually. The younger one's a crashing bore. Married with two kids. Tonks is more fun."

Lupin was chuckling. "No wonder I never made Auror, I can't believe I missed that one."

"You know her, then."

"Know her? She was in the Order."

"Oh yeah, the Order, " Jones said, his voice dripping with a kind of sour-grapes dubiousness usually reserved for those too young to have been members. "The legendary Order. "

"So you're a Metamorphmagus too, then?"

Napoleon arched one eyebrow, pointing to today's orange-and-blue hair spikes. "Surely you didn't think I waste three hours a day on these?"

---

The next morning, a soft rapping at his door waked Napoleon. He lifted the covers to see Ron poke his head in. "You can sleep if you want, but George is making breakfast now, so if you want some, now's the time."

He left again, and Napoleon spent a few minutes debating. Sleep...on the other hand mmm, breakfast. But mmm, sleep. Breakfast? Sleep.

His eyes drifted shut again, but then his stomach rumbled. Okay, breakfast. He got up and threw on a t-shirt over his boxer shorts, feeling comfortably unselfconscious about the other people he'd see downstairs, and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

George was just putting a plate of pancakes on the table. Laura and Ron were sitting down, a few chairs separating them, not speaking. Napoleon hadn't asked Ron what sort of row he and Laura had that had resulted in this uneasy silent treatment, but he suspected he'd hear about it before too long, especially since both of Ron's usual sounding boards were currently somewhere in the middle of some large body of water probably shagging each other senseless.

George was all amiability, as usual. "Morning, displaced houseguest!" he said. "Come partake of my mighty culinary talents."

"They are mighty, indeed," Napoleon said, grabbing the bacon. "Mmm, crispy."

"Sleep okay?" Ron asked.

"Too right. That bed is off the hook."

Three perplexed stares. "Off what hook?"

He grinned. "It means 'really super-keen.' It's something Americans say. Picked it up from Terk."

"Americans say the stupidest things," Ron said, shaking his head.

"Well, we can't exactly throw stones, not when we eat things called 'spotted dick' and 'toad in the hole.'"

"I like spotted dick."

"I'm not saying it isn't good, I'm saying it sounds funny."

"How is old Terk these days? Not that I've ever met her or anything," Ron said.

"She's all right, I guess. She and Tax are doing some training in Seattle, so she isn't at home much." He helped himself to some eggs. "Have you guys heard from the Smug Marrieds?"

"Couple of postcards," Laura said. "Here, have a look." She got up and went to the icebox, returning with two cards. Both were custom-made and stamped with the ship's seal, bearing Muggle-style photographs on their front sides. The first was Hermione curled up asleep on a bed in what looked like their cabin, fully dressed, amid piles of not-quite-unpacked clothing. The back said, "Boat amazing, but so far too tired from all the excitement to enjoy it! Miss you already, Love, Us. " The second was more active. It was a photo of an impossibly blue and clear ocean with white beaches visible in the background. Harry was standing chest-deep in the water with a bikini-clad Hermione sitting on his shoulders, his hands holding on to her legs. They looked sun-kissed and happy. Hermione had been caught mid-wave, her other hand holding back her blowing hair. Napoleon looked at the picture for a moment, feeling a familiar tug at his heart and wondering, as always, exactly what set of circumstances would have had to transpire for it to have been him standing in the water carrying her on his shoulders.

He banished these thoughts and turned the card over. On the back was written in Harry's tiny, spiky handwriting, "One day in Greece woefully inadequate. So far marriage not much different than before except wedding rings get caught on stuff and am constantly trying to find excuses to say 'wife.' H is wondering if have forgotten her name already, call her 'my wife' so often. Still waiting for first major row...will keep you posted. Are subjects of much mystery and speculation on ship, as are too young to be in big expensive cabin without major trust fund. Considering passing selves off as unusually pale Saudi oil tycoons. Think will get by? Having wonderful time. Wish you were here, but really glad you're not. Love, H & H."

Napoleon smiled and handed the cards back to Laura, who replaced them on the front of the icebox. "Yeah, I think we're all glad we're not there, too. Too gushy. Eww."

"You're off your rocker," Laura said. "I'd kill to be in the middle of a blue ocean on a luxury cruise liner."

"With them? For such as this the phrase 'third wheel' was invented."

They ate in silence for a few moments. "It really was a wonderful wedding, wasn't it?" Napoleon said, almost to himself.

Ron smiled. "One in a million."

"Still, the fact that no one tried to unleash some kind of unholy mayhem makes me very nervous."

"Like maybe they're saving it up?"

"I guess we should just count ourselves lucky that all that time I spent arranging special security was totally unnecessary," Napoleon said, rolling his eyes.

"I don't know if I'd say that," Ron said. "Maybe the evildoers saw all your careful security and decided it wasn't worth the risk."

"The evildoers are notorious risk-takers, mate. All the security in the world doesn't give them much pause once they set their minds to the mayhem."

Ron looked at him for a moment. "What are you saying?"

"Dunno. Maybe nothing. I just think it's weird that this was the biggest event for the biggest people and Allegra didn't even show her face."

"She must like her vital organs where they are."

Napoleon sighed. "I guess I'm just wet-blanket pessimist guy. I keep wondering if she just wasn't too busy planning something worse."

"Okay, lighten up. Let's remember that it's a good thing that no one mounted a surprise attack on our friends' wedding. There's no call to read all sorts of sinister motives into the whole thing," Laura said, speaking for the first time in nearly half an hour. This pronouncement over, she stood up and carried her dishes to the sink. "And on that note, I'm off to work. Napoleon, I'm so sorry about your flat."

"Thanks."

"Of course you're welcome here for as long as you wish."

"I appreciate it."

She smiled and patted his shoulder as she left, ignoring Ron. Napoleon watched her go, saying nothing until he heard the front door open and shut, then turned to Ron. "What'd you do, kill her dog?"

Ron shot him a cautionary look. "Don't go there, mate."

"Just asking."

"I'm trying, but I just don't understand her."

"Well, there's your problem right there. Any man with half a brain in his head knows that to understand women is an exercise in futility. You gotta just accept what is, man."

"Not good enough. I need reasons, I need to find some bloody rationality."

"Next to such a quest as that, the Holy Grail looks like a game of Ghost in the Graveyard."

Ron played with his eggs, his appetite appearing to have deserted him. "How long do you think you'll stay?"

"Dunno. Thought I'd ring my sister. She might like to go in with me on a new place in town."

"You could stay here, you know."

"Thought I was."

"No, I mean...for good. You could move in here."

Napoleon stopped and looked at Ron, surprised. Had he just been invited to become one of the infamous Bailicroft housemates? He did believe he had. "Are you serious?"

"Sure. Why not? We've got plenty of room. Besides, between us," he went on, leaning closer and lowering his voice. "I've a sneaking suspicion Justin might not be with us for much longer."

"Think he might move in with his honey?"

"Stephen's sniffing around. I don't think Justin's aware of it, but I can tell." He shrugged. "Even if I'm wrong, there's plenty of space. We barely use the third floor, except for Harry and Hermione's room. You could have the whole west wing to yourself."

Napoleon thought for a moment. "Better think about this before you make me an offer, mate. I might just take you up on it. And don't you think you'd best discuss it with your other housemates? Especially your two best ones?"

Ron sighed. "Yeah, I guess I can't make that kind of proposal all on my own, though I can't imagine anyone would object."

"Harry, maybe. He might feel a bit weird seeing me about the kitchen in my drawers, being that I work for him and all."

"Huh. I hadn't thought of that."

"Plus there's the whole Hermione issue."

"I didn't think there was an issue."

Napoleon cleared his throat. "Officially, there isn't."

Ron blinked. "And unofficially?"

Napoleon was silent for a time before speaking, and when he did he kept his eyes on his empty breakfast plate. "It's there. We don't talk about it, none of us do. Not anymore. We're under this sort of mutually understood gag order. I just think Harry might feel a little off having me sleep down the hall when he knows that I'm in love with his wife."

"Are you? Still?"

He swallowed hard. "I pretend I'm not. I say I'm over it. I act like I'm okay with it. Too bad it's all a nice little sock puppet theater. I'm amazed it gets by, frankly."

Ron looked at him closely. "But...you seem so normal. Around her, around him, around them together. I just can't believe it."

Napoleon smiled. "I'd like to thank the Academy." He shook his head, then raised his eyes to Ron's face. "It kills me, man. Every day. It's never gotten any better...in fact, it's gotten worse. I love her. I've tried not to, I've talked myself out of it so many times I've lost count, but every day there it still is. Seeing her with him is like someone running his big long fingernails down the inside of my chest. Standing up in that wedding was one of the hardest things I ever did, but I did it for her because that's what she wanted, and I want her to have whatever she wants. She wants me as a friend, so I'll be her friend. She wants me to be friends with Harry, so I'm friends with Harry. If she wanted me to take up clog dancing and become a professional yodeling instructor I'd be there with lederhosen and a Tyrolean hat. I guess I'm just a big dumb fool because I let myself get into this." He drew a shaky breath. "Terk asked me to come back to the States with her, after I was shot. She sat there by my hospital bed and held my hand and told me she still loved me and she wanted to give it another shot. She asked me to come back, and I said no. Because of her. Because I couldn't stand to leave her. I could have been happy again with Terk. I still love her, too...but not as I love Hermione." He sagged as if this pronouncement had worn him out.

Ron looked stunned. "Crikey, mate, I...I didn't know. I had no idea."

"Good. That's how I want it. No one knows it's like that. Well...almost no one."

"She knows?"

"Nope. He does. Harry knows. He knows because I can't hide it from him. He sees in me what he feels himself, and I can't fake it with him. It's weird, because in a way it's made us better friends. We have this huge thing in common."

"But you think he wouldn't want you to live here?"

"We're friends, but he's only human, despite what the Daily Prophet would have you believe. He can know in his head that he got the girl and that I'd never try anything, but..."

"Yeah. Still. Only human." Ron sighed. "I guess all there is to do is ask them."

"Too bad they're kind of incommunicado."

"It can wait. Can't it? You can just stay here until they get back. It's not like you have anything to move."

"You got that right," Napoleon said, laughing. "The sum total of my earthly possessions is upstairs on the floor next to my bed. Everything else is up in smoke." He sobered. "Everything else is up in smoke," he repeated, the truth of that statement just hitting home for the first time. "Damn. All of it. My school certificate. My wand, my dress uniform, my commission papers. My bloody wedding pictures, the blanket my Mum knitted me when I went off to school." He sighed.

"The important thing is that you're okay," Ron said quietly. "Everything else...it's just stuff. It can be replaced."

"No, it bloody can't! I can't replace the Christmas card my first girlfriend sent me or my niece's baby pictures!" He stood up, full of hurt anger. "Fucking Circle! Goddammit! Like it isn't enough that they're trying to take over the world, did they have to torch my Clash albums, too?"

"Why you?" Ron said. "Why'd they come after you? And not you so much, but your flat?" His eyes narrowed and he put down his fork. "Are you being straight with me? Were you really out at the pub when your place went up?"

"Huh?" Napoleon managed, thrown a bit for a loop. He'd been working up a good head of self-pity and Ron had jolted him out of it. "What?"

"Well...why would they just burn down your flat? Call me crazy, but it doesn't seem like they'd go to so much effort just for what amounts to some petty arson. They must have been after you. If so, why didn't they wait until you were actually there?" Ron was looking at him with a speculative expression that Napoleon didn't care for. He's sharp, he thought. Too damned sharp. "You were there, weren't you? You just didn't want to freak me out."

Napoleon sighed. "Yeah, I was there."

"What did they do to you?"

"You sure you want to hear this?"

"I want to hear it."

"They tied me to a chair and tried to curse me unconscious while they torched the place."

Ron just looked at him for a moment, then crossed his arms on the tabletop and looked away. "Good God, Napoleon."

"Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Why?"

He leaned against the sink. "I can't really talk about it, mate. I know that won't satisfy you, but it's really important. Maybe soon."

"I don't get it."

"All I can say is that I'm working on something. No one's supposed to know about it, but if certain evil someone's had gotten the idea that we had a little surprise brewing they might be a bit keen to stop me."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Gosh, can you vague that up a little for me?"

"I can't tell you anything else, mate. Harry would have my bloody head on a platter."

Ron made a face. "Did he tell you to baby-sit me while he's gone?"

"Not in so many words."

"I don't need a bodyguard."

"Sure about that?"

"Let me rephrase. I don't want a bodyguard."

"Well, it's like the Stones said. You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, well..."

"You get what you need, yeah, I know." Ron smiled. "I guess I think Harry's a bit paranoid."

"He's got good reason. He just doesn't want anything else to happen to you."

"Meanwhile, people are trying to kill you right and left and yet you don't seem to require a bodyguard."

"I'm a trained professional, mate. Sure, they tried to kill me. Didn't go so well, though. Yeah, they set my place on fire, but they got themselves tossed out my second-story window for their trouble. And I got away." He set his jaw. "And they're not stopping me, mate. Not today."

---

Napoleon's footsteps felt very heavy as he followed his Bubble down the corridor to his office. The faces of his fellow agents were blurs, their voices were muffled. His mind felt wrapped in a thick layer of cotton batting. At the security checkpoint, he'd been informed that a package was waiting for him in his office.

He knew what it was. He'd been waiting for it for weeks, and before that, Harry had been waiting for it for weeks. Its presence meant many things, but in the final analysis, it represented a turning point for him and countless others. Once he'd taken the next step, he would have set his own feet and those of the other agents who'd have to be involved on a path that would inevitably lead to a terrible confrontation.

If Harry's suspicions were correct, that is. Napoleon hoped they weren't.

He opened the door to his office and there it was, on his desk. It was a large rectangular box made of steel and sealed with several large padlocks.

He just stood there and stared at it for a few moments, then called for his Bubble. "Remus Lupin," he said into it.

After a brief pause, Remus responded. "Lupin here."

"Remus, it's Napoleon. Could you and Diz come to my office, please?"

He thought he detected a faint pause. "We're on our way."

While he waited for them to arrive, Napoleon sat down and looked at the box on his desk, his expression blank. I could open it, he thought. There wasn't any cause for delay. He had Harry's full authorization to proceed with the project, but for some reason he didn't care to open it while he was sitting in here by himself. The implications were just too creepy.

He didn't have to wait long. Remus and Diz came on the run, shutting his door behind them. Their eyes immediately fell to the box on his desk. "What's that?" Diz asked.

"I'll tell you in a minute," Napoleon said. "Sit down." He stood and came around the desk so they could look at him without that damned box in the way. He sighed and wondered how he could possibly explain all this to them succinctly. They were looking up at him with expectant expressions. "Okay," he began. "You know Harry and I have been occupied with something we've been keeping very quiet. We're ready to proceed to the next phase, and for that, I need the help of agents I can trust. What I'm about to tell you goes way beyond top-secret, you get me?"

"We understand," Remus said.

"All right." He leaned on the forward edge of the desk. "When we discovered the flat where Ron had been kept, did anything about that situation seem...odd?"

"Odd? What about it didn't seem odd?"

"Did it give you any ideas?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"It gave Harry ideas. Think about it. They had a whole setup down there. Constructed walkways, specially made doors, secure perimeter...it was all slick and perfect. It wasn't haphazard. It was well thought out. It was a whole system." He hesitated. "And now think about this: the Master has the ability to snatch someone from under the very nose of Albus Dumbledore and replace him with a duplicate so convincing it fooled not only the investigators but Ron's friends and loved ones. What does that tell you?"

He waited and watched their eyes, and when the realization came to them, he saw the horror dawn on their faces. Diz's freckles grew more and more prominent as her skin paled.

Napoleon went on, his voice quiet. "The abduction and concealment of Ron Weasley was a well practiced operation."

Remus drew a shaky breath. "Like they'd done it before," he whispered.

Napoleon nodded. "Exactly. And if the Master can do what he did to Ron so easily, what are the odds that he's only done it once?" He stepped back to the steel box on his desk and picked up his wand. He released the padlocks and opened the top. Several dozen small silver cubes floated out and hovered there in a single line, waiting for instructions. They were exact replicas of the Oracle, only smaller. Napoleon looked over them at Remus and Diz, who were staring numbly back at him.

He cleared his throat, the implications of what he was about to say weighing heavily upon him. "How many of our dead are really dead?" he said. "How many does he have? How many has he taken from us?"

"Dear God," Diz whispered. "He could have dozens. Hundreds, even."

Napoleon nodded. "That's what we're going to find out." He nodded to the small Oracles before him. "Harry and I had the Federation talisman laboratory duplicate the Oracle for us, and it wasn't easy. This is what we've been waiting for. We have a hard job ahead of us, mates. We are going to test every single grave until we know who is where they're supposed to be...and if there's anyone who isn't." He sighed. "And I don't think I need to tell you who Harry wants tested first."

Remus shook his head. "They're buried in Godric's Hollow. Let's go. Right now."

---

The small party walked quietly across the narrow lane to the small, secluded graveyard. Napoleon had one of the new Oraclettes (a term unfortunately attached to the new talismans by one of the research team who'd fabricated them) in his pocket.

Diz was the one to break the long silence. "You know, the odds are against anything being wrong here. They died almost thirty years ago. Can the Master have been operating that long?"

"We don't know anything about him," Remus said. "He could have been pulling Voldemort's strings behind the scenes. There's no way to tell."

"Even so, thirty years is a very long time to wait for a villainous plan to mature, even for an adversary like this."

"Agreed. But what do you suggest? That we just take it on faith that James and Lily are really dead? How can I sleep at night unless I make sure?"

Napoleon broke in. "Bottom line is Harry wanted them checked first thing, so we check." He pulled out his wand. "Lumos." The small light at the tip carved out a narrow circle of light around the three wizards. "Where is it?"

"Over here," Remus said, his voice tight. He led them to a single headstone, set a bit apart from the others. Two plates were laid upon it, side by side.

Napoleon stood for a moment and looked at them with their pairs of dates, parentheses around two lives cut short. The first numbers different, the second ones the same. Lily Evans Potter, Beloved Wife and Mother. James Theodore Potter, Beloved Husband and Father.

He felt his throat tighten a little as he looked at their names. He'd never met these people, but the echo of their deaths had changed the wizarding world forever. Its most obvious consequence, naturally, was Harry's avoidance of their fate. The events of that night had turned him into something else, something they'd needed, someone they looked to still.

Napoleon had never told Harry this, but he'd fantasized his whole life about meeting him, and in this regard he didn't think he was any different than every other wizard or witch his age. The great Harry Potter. At school in Australia, he'd heard news reports of Harry's victories, his eventual defeat of Voldemort, the death of his best friend, his suffering, and his triumphs. It seemed at least once a week there was a new story about the Boy Who Lived and what he'd done, what he was still doing.

He remembered when the first Potter card had gone out inside Chocolate Frogs. My God, there had been a scramble for them. Everyone wanted a Potter card to add to their collection. He tried to remember when that had been...had to have been right after Harry had defeated Voldemort in his seventh year. That would have been his fifth year at school. After that it didn't matter if you had a dozen of the rare Merlin cards, if you didn't have a Potter, your collection was worthless.

He shook his head, marveling at life's strangeness. How interesting that not only had he met Harry, but he worked for him, lived in his house, had stood up with him at his wedding and was hopelessly in love with his wife.

His thoughts were interrupted when his eyes lit on a small object laid at the base of the headstone. He hunkered down and picked it up so all three could see it. "Oh, man," he breathed.

It was a small, framed photo of Harry and Hermione walking back down the aisle, newly married. Her arm was through his elbow and they were beaming at each other. Happiness glowed all around them as Napoleon watched them kiss quickly and continue walking. Remus smiled and took the photo. "I bet Sirius brought this," he said.

"Does Harry come here?" Napoleon asked.

Remus nodded. "Yes. Quite often. I know he came here the night before the wedding." He knelt and replaced the photo. "If they're not here..." He broke off and made a shuddery, half-shrug gesture with his shoulders.

Napoleon reached into his pocket. "Let's find out."

Remus stepped back and Napoleon saw him grasp Diz's hand. They stood to the side as Napoleon deployed the Oraclette over the right side of the double grave. It spun and spun, it seemed to spin forever. Napoleon held his breath, eyes shut, wondering how on earth he could ever tell Harry that his mother and father had been not dead but prisoners for thirty years.

Finally, the silence was broken. "Potter, James Theodore. Died October 31st, 1981."

Napoleon sighed, letting his head sag. He heard Remus exhale. "Check her," Remus said. "Make sure."

Napoleon guided the Oraclette over the other side of the grave and they waited again as it spun, evaluating the identity of the person buried beneath the earth. "Potter, Lily Evans. Died October 31st, 1981."

Remus laughed, a brief, relieved half-laugh. Diz hugged him. "Thank God," he murmured. "I never thought I'd be so grateful that they're dead."

Napoleon pocketed the Oraclette and joined them. "They are. For certain." He laid a hand on Remus' shoulder. "I have to send Harry an owl now, and I'll be very glad to do it. But I don't have to tell you, that it's now that our real work begins."

---

They didn't wait. They went straight back to the ID and locked themselves into Napoleon's office. "We need some kind of a cover story," Diz said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well...consider how many graves we have to test. Thousands, hundreds of thousands. We can't possibly do it ourselves, just the three of us. We have twelve Oraclettes, we're going to need to set up teams, testing schedules. We can't tell anyone else why we're really doing this, what are we going to tell them? That we're checking for spelling errors on the tombstones?"

Napoleon frowned. "No, but some variation on that might work. What if we tell them that there's evidence that some of the stones might be over the wrong graves, and that we're verifying everyone's where they're supposed to be?"

"That's a good cover, but they're going to wonder why the I.D. is bothering with this."

"Can't we farm this out? Get someone else to do the actual testing and give them that cover story?"

Napoleon shook his head. "Only agents are authorized to use the Oraclettes."

Remus frowned. "Is there some way we can charm the Oraclettes to do the testing alone?"

Napoleon raised his eyebrows. "I don't know. That's interesting."

"It's something to think about."

"Can we bring someone from Charms & Spells into this? Anyone we trust down there?"

The three agents looked at each other, but no answer sprang to mind. Napoleon drew a piece of parchment towards him. "Well, listen. I have to owl Harry and let him know his parents are really dead. I'll ask him what he thinks." He looked up. "You two should go home and get some rest. We have a long job ahead of us."

---

Napoleon followed his Bubble into an unfamiliar section of the I.D. He had one of the Oraclettes in his pocket and nothing but a single name provided by his boss to go on.

Eventually he reached a door labeled "Specialized Spells & Charms." It opened as he approached.

There was a receptionist. "Can I help you, Agent Jones?"

"I'm looking for Kate Salvatore."

"She's in her office." The receptionist pointed. "Just go on in."

Napoleon opened the indicated door but didn't see anyone, just a hopelessly cluttered office. How could she even walk in here? he thought. "Agent Salvatore?"

"Just a sec!" came a throaty female voice from somewhere. A moment later a bushy-haired head popped up from behind a stack of papers. "Who are you?"

"Uh...I'm Agent Jones."

"Oh, you're uh..." She snapped her fingers a few times. "Potter's second, right." She tossed papers hither and yon, making a vague gesture towards a chair...except he couldn't see a chair. "Sit down."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Just move a stack."

One eyebrow raised, Napoleon shifted a pile of unopened owl post packages and found a stool. This was the agent Harry said he could trust? Her robes were rumpled and looked like they'd come from the ragbag. Her face was half-hidden behind immense purple-rimmed glasses, and her black hair looked like the world's largest Brillo pad. She sat down and peered at him. "What can I do you for?"

"Well, I've got a very...sensitive situation, and Harry said I could trust you."

"That you can. I've got triple-A security clearance."

Napoleon was a bit taken aback. He himself only had double-A, and he thought that only Argo and Harry had triple-A. "Okay. Here's my problem." He withdrew the Oraclette. "This is a small version of the Oracle. I need it to function independently. I need it to move systematically through a graveyard and verify the identities of all the dead folks and somehow record that information."

She reached out and took the Oraclette. He waited for the inevitable 'that's impossible' or 'that'll take five weeks.' She grinned at him. "No problem. Is this evening soon enough for you?"

He blinked. "Seriously?"

"Sure. I'll fix it up with a nice detailed Imperatrix charm and an associated transcription talisman."

"A...what kind of charm? Imperius?"

"No, Imperius only works on sentient beings. Imperatrix is for inanimate objects."

"And...that'll make it test all the graves, one by one?"

"Sure. You don't even have to be there. How many of these do you have?"

"Twelve."

"All you have to do is give them their instructions, Apparate them to whatever graveyard you want tested, and they'll return with a transcribed record of their findings."

Napoleon was aghast. This was more than he'd hoped for. "Harry said you'd be able to help me."

"Well, as you know, Harry is never wrong."

"Not as long as I work for him, he isn't."

She tossed the Oraclette into the air and caught it. "I'll have this ready for you tonight. I'll write you up some instructions on how to program the talismans and how to retrieve them when their tasks are done."

Napoleon leaned over and shook her hand. "Kate, I gotta say...you're my hero. Seriously. I'm not kidding. I'm going to bloody tattoo your face on my ass."

"Good. Send me a picture of that. Now get out. I've got a lot to do." She shooed him away impatiently. Napoleon didn't need to be told a second time.

---

Kate Salvatore was as good as her word. The Oraclettes could now function independently, and each was accompanied by a modified Bubble that stored all their findings. Upon their return, the Bubble immediately transcribed all the names and dates onto a waiting parchment for examination by one of the small three- person team. This system had the added advantage of stealth...two small talismans were a lot less conspicuous than a fully grown wizard skulking about a graveyard. The two small scouts could be dispatched and recalled from inside the I.D., increasing the security around their mission.

Napoleon pondered bringing in additional team members. He was pretty sure he could trust Sukesh, Isabel and Henry, but something held him back. As long as it was just himself, Remus and Diz, he felt secure. He didn't want to mess this up.

They agreed to meet each night and read all the transcripts together. The first night, Napoleon's stomach felt a little fluttery as he walked towards Diz's office, where they'd decided to meet. What would they find? He'd told Kate that Harry was never wrong. If their luck held, that statement would be proved false, because he hoped to God that Harry was wrong about this.

Remus and Diz were already there when he arrived. The twelve Bubbles were hovering over twelve spools of parchment that spun beneath them, the words flowing onto their pages faster than his eyes could see. "Just started," Remus said. "Be ready in a bit." Each Oraclette had surveyed dozens of cemeteries today, it would take some time to transcribe all the results.

Napoleon sat down, his fingers immediately set to drumming on the tabletop. Finally Diz reached across and laid her hand over his. "Relax," she hissed.

He nodded, but he didn't relax.

After what seemed an eternity, the transcriptions were done. Remus passed the lists around, and with a brief glance at each other, they bent their heads and began to read.

An hour went by. Napoleon wasn't sure at what point he could allow himself to hope that Harry was just wrong about this. What if they found nothing tonight? Did that mean anything? What if the Master had kidnapped five people? They could reasonably expect to go several days without finding anything. But if he'd kidnapped hundreds...he didn't like to think of it. Just do the job, he told himself.

Another hour went by. Diz stepped out to fetch tea for everyone, then set back at it. The mood was grim and focused. No one wanted to miss anything.

Near midnight, Remus sat back and raised his eyes from his transcription. Diz and Napoleon looked at him. "What?" Napoleon said.

"I've got one," he said, his voice full of quiet horror. He didn't sound surprised, just...disappointed.

"Let me see," Napoleon said, grabbing the transcript from him. Sure enough, there it was. Between two ordinary names were the words "Identity unknown." Diz craned her neck to see for herself.

"Oh my God," she murmured.

"Well," Napoleon said. "That answers that question."

"We ought to check it," Remus said. "We ought to verify it."

"First, whose grave is that?" Diz asked.

This question led to a bit of a scramble, and the realization that their slick system did have one flaw. It took them some time to determine whose grave contained the phony body. They had to cross-reference records from the cemetery and find out whose name was missing. Napoleon made a note to have the Oraclettes' instructions altered so they'd record not only names, but plot numbers as well.

At long last they came up with a name. Remus frowned. "Who the hell is Donovan Lafferty?"

"According to the cemetery's records, he died in 2002 at the age of 67. He was an historian...uh, he wrote a book about early wizarding practices. Apparently he was something of an expert on the Progenitors and prehistoric magic."

A dull silence fell as they contemplated Mr. Lafferty, who was not dead.

Remus passed his stack of transcripts to Napoleon. "You keep at this. I'll go verify the Oraclette's finding."

"Okay," Napoleon said, his voice bearing no conviction. He felt lost and in way over his head. This was too big for him already, and it was just one person. He had a strong feeling that this would not be the end. They'd keep finding them, he knew it. They'd find dozens and dozens of them, prisoners, believed dead, held by the Master and he'd have to deal with it.

He wished desperately that Harry were here, but he'd never say so. He was in charge here, and he'd better act like he was okay with that. "Remus, wait. I'll go check. You and Diz stay here and keep going through the transcripts."

Remus hesitated, then nodded. Napoleon got up and left the room, rubbing his forehead. He'd fetch the real Oracle for this. This was their first aberrant finding and he wanted it verified independently before they started trusting the Oraclettes implicitly.

---

It's three o'clock in the bloody morning, man, Napoleon told himself. Go home.

But he didn't want to go to Bailicroft. He didn't want to face Laura and George and whoever else might be up. Most of all he didn't want to face Ron, because he wanted nothing more than to tell him everything and he couldn't, not yet.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door to Sarah's flat. He heard shufflings and stumblings from inside, then her voice. "Goddamn it who the bloody hell's knocking at three in the morning?" She yanked open the door and saw his face and her own went from annoyed to concerned. "Jesus, Leo. What the...what's wrong? Oh God, what is it? Is it Hermione?"

He shook his head. "No, everything's okay." The worst bogus statement he'd ever made, perhaps, but all he could say to her. "Just had a really tough night." Yeah. Tough. The real Oracle had confirmed the Oraclette's findings. Professor Lafferty was not in the ground where he was supposed to be. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't..."

"No, it's okay, come in," she said, pulling him inside and shutting the door. "You look like death."

He barked sarcastic laughter. "Oh, terrific. I look like death, and there's at least one person and probably a whole bunch more that I wish looked a little more like death."

"You're not making any sense."

"I know, luv. I don't know what I'm doing here."

"I do." She grasped his shoulders and shoved him back against the wall, then kissed him roughly.

"That isn't very polite," he said, untying her robe.

"I did it to you last week."

"It wasn't polite then, either."

She dragged his cloak off his shoulders. "This is the advantage of having a bedbuddy, Jones. No need for pleasantries." She insinuated one enticingly unclothed leg between his and pressed against him. "God, you're a mass of knots."

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, kissing his way down her neck. "In fact, I don't want to talk at all."

"Bonus."

---

Allegra turned this way and that, admiring her reflection. Yeah, I kick ass, she told herself. I'm pushing forty and I still look amazing in a black vinyl catsuit.

A slight movement caught her eye and she whirled around to see the Master leaning in the doorway, eyeing her with a predatory glint in his eyes. "Very nice," he said. "Did you wear that just for me? I'm honored."

"I've never worn anything just to please a man in my life," she growled. "I have no intention of starting now."

"How liberated of you. You are woman, hear you roar." The laughter was silent but present. She ignored it.

She picked up her cloak and walked past him. "I have things to do."

"Like what?" he said, following slightly behind, hands clasped at the small of his back.

"I've got to check in with the camp in Prague."

"It's done. They're sending in their reports tomorrow."

"I have to contact one of my Muggle helpers who's..."

"Done. He's coming here this weekend to be debriefed."

She stopped and turned to face him. "I didn't ask for your help."

"I'll let you know when I need yours, " he said, raising his hand and skimming his index finger down her jaw line. He continued past her down the hallway, forcing her to hurry to keep up.

"The Circle is mine, Julian."

"It was never yours. It was always his."

"His? You mean..."

"Yes. My real father. The one who raised me."

"Who is he?"

"You're not ready to know. What's important is that everything you are, he engineered. Everything you do, you do at his pleasure. Everyone here, even you, even me...we all serve him."

"I serve no one," she hissed.

He laughed. "That is how you serve him, my dear. Your charming and oh so deluded independence is useful to him. That's the only reason you've been allowed to keep it...and the Circle." He paused and turned to face her. "You don't know what you are to him, to me," he said. He reached out and pulled her to him, his arm strong around her waist. Allegra twisted her upper body away but he was so strong, stronger than someone who was strictly human could have been. Without warning his head darted in and he licked her neck. She shuddered; it was a repulsive gesture, as if he were marking her as his territory.

"That's disgusting," she snarled. "Show some respect. I'm your mother."

"It's meaningless," he said, his breath on her face. "To you as well as me. I'm a stranger to you." Suddenly the front zipper of her catsuit flew open all on its own and his hand was inside, kneading her breast. She jerked away but couldn't move very much, she might as well have been chained to him. His lips hovered near her ear as he spoke. "You never told me about my dear father's wedding," he said. "But I couldn't help but notice that according to the papers, the affair went off without a hitch. Did you miss your flight?"

"I didn't miss anything," she said through clenched teeth. Find your happy place, find your happy place...it was damned hard to find your happy place while being molested by your paradoxically older- than-you son.

"Was it beautiful? Did he look handsome? Was she glowing and radiant and lit from within and all that?"

"Yeah, she was a fucking jack o' lantern, is that what you want to hear? They looked ridiculously happy and everyone was sobbing and they did the goddamned dance of ecstatic psychosis all over each other, are you satisfied?"

"Were you jealous?" he said, rough and sibilant right into her ear. His fingers were rolling her nipple relentlessly. "Did it make you sorry you'd betrayed him?"

"You can't betray someone if you were never really their friend."

"Oh, I think if I asked him he'd say you betrayed him." Now he was sucking at her neck. "I think he'd be even more upset if he knew you bore him a son."

She raised her hands and shoved at his chest, which must have startled him just enough to break his concentration because he stumbled backwards, grinning and pleased with himself. "You're flushed, darling," he smirked. "Do I intoxicate you?"

"You disgust me." She rubbed at her face as if she could wipe away the blush of arousal like rouge that looked great on the brush but awful on your face.

"Pretty words, my pet. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He left her standing there in the hallway, her zipper restored to its properly closed position. My pet, she thought. That's what I am to him. A pet.

She whirled her cloak around her shoulders and stalked off in the other direction.

---

Remus opened Diz's front door with the key she'd given him, bone-weary and more depressed than he thought he'd ever been in his life and that included his year as a starving, unemployed vampire hunter in Hungary.

It was four days until Christmas, and he had not had a day off in four weeks. He was so exhausted that blinking felt like a task of epic proportions.

He shut and bolted the door behind him, pausing for a moment to lean his forehead against the wood. A soft sound came to his ears then, a quiet susurrus from upstairs. He knew what it was at once; it was a sound he'd heard several times over this past month.

He hung up his cloak and mounted the stairs to the bedroom, where he found Diz balled up on the bed and weeping quietly into her folded arms. He laid down and curled himself around her, resting his cheek against the back of her neck. She had come home only an hour before he had, and she'd had that look on her face that he and Napoleon had come to recognize as the "I need to bug out and have myself a good cry" look. Diz wasn't prone to overt emotional outbursts, and the fact that she was having them now was as good a measure as any of the extraordinary strain they were under.

She snuffled and swiped her arm across her mouth. "How many today?" she asked, her voice shaking.

He sighed. "Eight. Bad day. That brings the total to..."

"One hundred thirty four," she finished. As if he needed reminding. The numbers were scorched into their brains, increasing each day as the Oraclettes came back to headquarters to spit out names upon names upon names sprinkled throughout with those two implacable words: "identity unknown." Not a day had passed since that first day that they hadn't found at least one.

Diz turned over and burrowed into Remus' embrace. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm weepy."

"Don't you dare apologize to me, or to anyone," he said, holding her close.

"I'm supposed to be able to handle stuff like this."

"You are handling it. Just because you have to cry over it once in awhile doesn't mean you aren't handling it."

They lay there in silence for a few moments. "Any patterns?" she asked, though she probably already knew the answer. Since the second day of the tests when they'd determined that Donovan Lafferty was not alone, they'd struggled to see any kind of pattern in those who'd been taken. So far none had been in evidence, but Napoleon had become increasingly obsessed with the idea that there was a pattern, there had to be...they just weren't seeing it.

"Of course not," Remus said. "That would be too easy. That would make sense."

"None of it makes sense. Why? Why kidnap people and then...do nothing?"

"We don't know they've done nothing. We don't know anything except these people aren't where they're supposed to be."

"Where's Napoleon?"

"He's still at headquarters. I told him he ought to go home. Ron owled me today and asked me what was going on. I think he's worried. You can't tell me that Napoleon seems like his usual self to anyone these days."

"No," she whispered. Napoleon was taking this mission very hard. The weight of its implications was coming dangerously close to crushing him. Both Remus and Diz had brought up the idea of summoning Harry but Napoleon refused to even entertain the notion. He could handle it, he said, and he'd be damned if he'd interrupt their honeymoon.

Remus looked into her eyes, one hand stroking her cheek. "Napoleon's a good man and a good agent, but he doesn't have that much experience. I hate to say he's in over his head, but...we need help. We need Harry."

"I don't know what we need," she said. "How do we even begin to start finding them? We only found Ron through the Phenomorbius, and there's no way we can possibly use it to find so many. They've stayed hidden so long, not so much of a whisper of this has leaked through intelligence channels...whoever's behind this, they're taking it very, very seriously. We have to be more careful than we've ever been in our lives."

"And we don't know who we can trust," Remus said. "If we ask for help...how can we be sure it won't be going straight back to the Master?"

"The best we can hope for is that once we have a complete list of the missing that some pattern can be found that will help us. If we can only find one of them, it may lead us to the others."

She shook her head. "It's an awfully long shot." She tucked her head down to his shoulder. "I can't stop thinking of them," she said after a long pause. "In their flats with no windows and no one to talk to, knowing the whole world believes them dead, knowing there's no future, no hope."

He cupped her face and turned it up towards his. "There's hope. And the whole world doesn't believe them dead, not anymore." He kissed her, gentle and tentative as was still his way. Her arms went around him at once, drawing him closer, needy and desperate.

"Remus," she breathed as his fingers undid her buttons one at a time.

"Yes?" he said against the skin of her neck.

"I...I love you."

He paused and looked at her. They hadn't said that yet. It had been on the tip of his tongue several times but something had stopped him. He sighed. "Don't love me," he said before he could stop himself.

To his amazement, she smiled. "If you didn't want me to love you, then...well, you shouldn't have been you."

He wondered if his heart might break. "I can't help it."

"Then neither can I." This time she kissed him, hard and insistent, pushing him over onto his back. "And it's okay if you don't say it," she said. "I understand."

"I...it's not...I can't..."

"I know. Be quiet." She kissed him again. "Make love to me and that'll be enough."

---

Napoleon quietly shut the front door behind him and listened carefully for any sound in the house. He held his breath, looking around the dim foyer, his head cocked.

It was quiet. He thought it would be, seeing as it was after midnight and most everyone here worked. He walked carefully up the stairs, praying he wouldn't run into anyone...Ron, for instance.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to dodge the questions and concerned looks of his housemates. He didn't want to talk to them. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He couldn't tell them anything anyway, but even so, he was afraid to talk to Ron. He was just too sharp, too observant. He might figure something out even if Napoleon said nothing. He couldn't take the risk, not yet.

He hadn't discussed it with Remus and Diz, but he was keenly aware that this project they were working on was placing them in considerably personal danger. Whatever the Master's plan, whatever the purpose served by kidnapping and faking the deaths of dozens of wizards, he had gone to a great deal of trouble to keep it secret. So far, it had worked. If it got out that his plan wasn't so secret anymore...he might take action to permanently silence those in the know.

The other risk that they hadn't even dared speak aloud even though it was weighing heavily upon all three of them was the risk to the abductees. If the Master found out that their imprisonment had been discovered, it could place them in danger. Napoleon didn't like to think of it.

He saw the strain on Remus' face. The first time he'd seen Diz in tears he could hardly believe it, but he understood it. He felt like he was sleepwalking through his life, and the necessity of performing his regular duties as if nothing was going on was almost unbearable. It was all he could think about, everything else seemed trivial and unimportant.

He found himself hating Harry, relaxing somewhere on a ship with his new wife probably being waited on and pampered and soaking up some rays. He had no idea what was going on back here, no idea how bad it was, and how right his awful instinct had turned out to be.

You could call him back. He'd come back if he knew what was going on. If he knew there were over a hundred missing he'd be back so fast it'd make your head spin. Napoleon knew that was true, but he didn't want to do it. He didn't want to ruin the respite they had so richly earned...and, he had to admit, he didn't want to send Harry the message that he was incapable of handling an operation of this magnitude.

That's stupid, he thought. This is too big for anyone to handle alone. It doesn't mean you're incompetent if you need help. That might be true, but he wouldn't interrupt their time together. It would be quite some time before they were prepared to act on their discoveries, anyway. They weren't even half done testing the cemeteries, and they were starting to encounter some difficulties. Misnumbered graves were making positive identification of missing bodies problematic. They'd had to go back in person and reevaluate some of their findings and it was slowing them down. They couldn't logically proceed with plans to find and rescue the prisoners before they had a complete list of their names and knew how many they were.

He trudged through the second floor living gallery, his steps heavy. When Harry gets back, he might be angry you didn't tell him what was going on.

The idea made him stop and look around, as if the answer to his dilemma might be written on the Bailicroft walls. He hadn't thought of that. Well, if Harry was angry, he'd just have to be angry. He'd have more to deal with than being annoyed with his second.

He might have a war to wage.

Napoleon walked down the gallery towards the north stairs. He had taken up semi-permanent residence in one of the third floor bedrooms, though he doubted he'd stay there even if he did move into the house for good...it was right next to the Cloister, and he didn't think he could take it.

He had one foot on the stairs when he heard a noise from his right. It was a kind of soft thump as if something had fallen onto carpet or someone's leg had bumped a piece of furniture. Immediately, his guard was up and his wand was out. The house was protected, but he was intensely paranoid about endangering anyone in the house because the evildoers were after him, which they most assuredly were.

He backed up to the wall and crept towards the east wing. Ron's bedroom was down here, as well as the book room and the den. The conservatory was on his left and it had windows that faced onto the hallway. Napoleon hesitated, then slowly peered around the window frame and into the conservatory.

He looked, shut his eyes tight, and looked again. Yep, he was right the first time, he actually had seen what he thought he'd seen.

Ron and Laura were in the middle of the room, kissing. No, scratch that...wait, were they kissing? He looked more closely. Yes. Technically, they were kissing. Their lips were touching, therefore they had to be kissing by the OED definition; however, it looked more like they were fighting and they'd simply run out of weapons and so had decided to use their lips instead of brass knuckles or frying pans. Their hands were grabbing at each other and Napoleon couldn't tell if they were trying to push each other away or pull each other closer. Laura had tears on her face and her fingers were digging into his shoulders.

Before Napoleon could even start berating himself for spying, Laura suddenly shoved Ron away and staggered back a few steps. Her eyes were wide and shocked, her chin was trembling. She reached up and rubbed her hand over her lips like she'd tasted something unpleasant. Ron's mouth was opening and closing, one hand hanging in the air between them. He had the look of a man who couldn't begin to describe how he'd come to be where he was and didn't want to think about it.

Laura suddenly turned and ran for the door. Napoleon faded back into a doorway nook as she ran by him; he could hear her shaky breathing and her hurried footsteps. He stepped back into the hallway as Ron emerged. He looked up and saw Napoleon standing there.

"Ron, what...what the hell?"

He held up a hand. "Don't. Don't ask."

Napoleon jerked a thumb back towards Laura. "But...she..."

Ron shook his head. "No. Don't ask. You didn't see anything, okay? Just...leave it alone." He turned away and went into his room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Napoleon alone in the hallway, puzzled.

He turned back to the stairs and trudged up to his room, wondering what the hell had been going on around here. They hadn't seen Justin in weeks, he'd been spending almost all his time at Stephen's. George always seemed to be working, going off to one conference or another, sweet-talking clients, working in his shop. Cho was forever at practice and touring with the team and he had been actively avoiding being around anyone who might want to ask him why he was so withdrawn.

What had been happening between Laura and Ron while everyone else was otherwise occupied? He didn't like to speculate. Half of him wanted to march down to Ron's room and make him fess up, but Ron's face...he hadn't looked happy. He'd looked stricken. This couldn't be good.

In the end, Napoleon didn't think he could take shouldering another problem. Maybe it was cowardly, maybe it wasn't the actions of a good friend, but he was only human. They'd have to work through their issues without his bloody help.

---

The day before Christmas dawned bitterly cold. The sky was so blue it hurt to look at it, and a fresh layer of undisturbed snow lay on the ground. Napoleon stood at his bedroom window staring down at the roof of the gazebo, which looked absurdly like a frosted cupcake that a giant had left on their lawn.

He wished he could go to work, but Argo was a grand believer in taking time for oneself and had forbidden everyone except the lottery-chosen skeleton staff from setting foot in the building. It was too bad, because all he wanted was to shut himself in his office with The List. The names. The names were the only company he wanted at the moment. One hundred and ninety-eight names. Ninety women, one hundred eight men. They ranged in age from 19 to 87. They had lived and died all over the world. They'd had families, wives, husbands, and children. They had been teachers and workers and fighters and athletes and they had all died suddenly. None of them were in their graves.

Napoleon had gotten photos of all 198 of them. Their faces haunted him this Christmas Eve. Where were they now? In flats like Ron's? Were they staring at their four walls, wondering what their families were doing, wondering if they were still missed and remembered? Did they write obsessively, as Ron had? Did they dream of escape, or had they given up hope that anyone would ever discover their fate?

Did they weep, alone in their prisons? Did they imagine being with their loved ones on the holiday?

Napoleon brushed his hands across his eyes, dashing away the near-tears that seemed always so ready to spring up and surprise him these days. It was very difficult to keep his objectivity and proceed with the extreme caution that he was obligated to observe. He wanted nothing more than to start busting some ass and just beat it out of somebody. Where are they? Show me where they are. Show me so I can find the biggest toughest wizards around and march in and blast down the doors and take them out of there and back to their lives.

Then when I've done that, maybe I can go back to my own.

He showered and dressed, then went downstairs. Ron was in the kitchen drinking coffee. George was cooking something. To Napoleon's surprise, Justin was sitting at the table too, but he seemed ill-at-ease. "Morning," Napoleon said.

Mumbled replies were all he received. Ron looked downright ill. He and Napoleon had not really talked since the night he'd walked in on him and Laura kissing in the conservatory. This was mostly because Napoleon had been largely absent from the house, coming home only to sleep and shower, but also because on the rare occasions he and Ron had been in the same room, Ron had been all but telegraphing "I don't want to talk about it." Laura had been practically tripping over herself avoiding Ron, as far as Napoleon could tell. Their discomfiture seemed to be rubbing off on everyone else in the house. The tension in the kitchen was like a fog, and there wasn't even anyone here who was officially fighting.

"Happy Christmas, mate," Napoleon said, clapping Ron on the shoulder.

Ron offered a perfunctory smile in return. "Happy Christmas," he said.

Napoleon sat down. "So. What holiday merriment can we expect tomorrow?"

Ron sighed. "Well, Mum and Dad and Fred are coming, and Ginny and too, last I heard. Sirius and Cordelia are taking the kids to her mother's. Are Remus and Diz coming over?"

"No, he's spending the holiday with her family."

Ron smiled a little. "Ah. They must be getting pretty serious. Meeting the family and all."

"I guess so. What about Hermione's family?"

"Well, since Hermione isn't here, they're having their own thing in London."

Laura shuffled in, sleepy-eyed and pajama-clad. "What are we talking about?"

"Tomorrow's guest list."

She nodded, a huge yawn splitting her face. "Anyone heard from Cho?"

"Yeah," George said, bringing Laura some coffee. "She said she'd be home tonight."

Justin had been fidgeting uncomfortably during this exchange. "I won't be here tomorrow," he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. Everyone stopped and looked at him.

"What?" George said, standing over him with one eyebrow cocked.

Justin looked around at them. "I'm...I'm going home to Glasgow with Stephen."

"You could have told me that before I slaved all night making your favorite pudding!" George said, sounding exasperated.

"I'm sorry!" Justin wailed. "I just...I felt strange about it, it's the first time I won't be here for Christmas..."

"Everyone's bloody leaving," Laura muttered. "Maybe I ought to go home and visit my Mum."

"You can't leave, too!" Napoleon exclaimed.

"Mum and Dad are still coming, right?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I think so."

"It'll be strange without Harry and Hermione here," Laura said. She looked up at Napoleon. "You're going to be here, right?"

"Where else would I bloody go?"

"How the hell should I know?" Laura said peevishly. "Maybe you've got family of your own you'd like to visit!"

"They're a nightmare on holiday," he said, "though if this morning is any indication this house might not be much better!"

"Well, pardon me all to hell!" she snapped. Sexual frustration does not agree with her, Napoleon thought.

"Napoleon and I have been thinking he ought to move in here permanently," Ron blurted out. Everyone stared at him; Napoleon was mystified as to what had possessed him to bring this up now. "You know, since his flat's burned out and we've got the room."

"That's out of the clear blue sky," George said, hands on his hips and looking annoyed.

"Oh, don't be thick, George," Ron said. "He's been staying here for weeks. Don't tell me it didn't cross your mind."

"It crossed my mind that if he's staying indefinitely he ought to pay his share," George muttered.

"You know, if you want to talk about me like I'm not here I can leave," Napoleon said. No one appeared to hear him.

Laura was glaring at George. "George Weasley, that is a terrible thing to say! The man's been burned out of house and home and you want him to pony up with rent?"

"Is it so horrible? Look, I'm just being practical."

"I don't think we should discuss this without Harry and Hermione and Cho here," Justin said.

"You're barely here anymore as it is!" Laura said. "If you've moved in with Stephen the least you could do is tell us straight out."

Justin thrust his chin out. "Who says I've moved in?"

"No one! You're only there every single night!"

"You never even told me it had gotten that serious," George said, sounding hurt.

"How do you know it has?"

"Oh, come on!" Ron exclaimed. "You'd have to be blind and deaf."

George rounded on Ron. "Oh, so if we're not all Masters of Observation like you then we're complete lunkheads, is that it, Ronniekins?"

"That's not what I meant!"

Napoleon slunk out of the room, the sound of the shouting fading as he went upstairs to his room. Unpleasant Memories Theater Presents: Flashbacks From My Parents' Divorce, he thought. This shit I don't need.

---

Napoleon made himself scarce all night, sneaking down for some supper when he was pretty sure no one else was around. He started to come down when Cho got home only to stop halfway when his ears told him that another fight had erupted over who had packed away the Christmas tree ornaments without padding them properly, leaving some of them broken. He hovered on the living gallery and listened, partly because he was bored and partly because he wondered if they'd get around to him again.

He didn't have to wait long. Predictably, Ron brought it up in another attempt to change the subject. "We were talking earlier about Napoleon moving in here permanently."

"You were talking about it," Laura said.

"What do you think?" Ron asked.

There was a pause before Cho answered. "I don't think we ought to decide anything without the full house here."

"I'm sick of the idea that we can't do anything without those two," George said, sounding uncharacteristically annoyed. "They don't run our lives, you know. We've got a majority of the housemates here, we ought to give the poor guy some kind of decision! He's in limbo, it's got to be stressful! To make him wait another month, that's...it's just mean!"

"It's not fair to Harry and Hermione to leave them out of it," Cho said. "Especially since they're the ones that know him best."

"I think we should decide now," George repeated.

"I agree with Cho," Justin said.

"If you're moving out you don't get a vote!" George said.

"George, when did you become Designated House Jackass?" Ron said. "This isn't like you!"

"You're not exactly Mr. Congeniality these days, either!"

"Oh, can it, both of you!" Laura yelled. "What is with all of us today? We've been at each other's throats since breakfast!"

She's not wrong, Napoleon thought. And it was strange. The Bailicroft housemates got along famously under normal circumstances. He suspected that the nearly overpowering tension between Ron and Laura was bleeding over into everyone else, even if they weren't aware of it. He also thought that Justin's absence wasn't helping, and he couldn't discount Harry and Hermione's absence as well.

Eventually the housemates drifted off to their respective rooms. He heard footsteps all about the house, thumpings and mutterings, and he was fairly sure that he heard one muffled thud as Laura threw something.

He stripped off his shirt and crawled under the covers, pulling the heavy down comforter over his head. Although Bailicroft sported the latest in modern magical heating systems, it was still an old drafty stone house and it tended to get chilly. Besides, the down did an excellent job shutting out the rest of the world. Cocooned here in his warm little cave he could pretend he was somewhere else, or that he was someone else. Someone who didn't have the lives of almost two hundred people hanging over his head.

---

Christmas morning was, if anything, even colder and frostier than the morning before. Napoleon laid awake in bed and stared at the blinding white light coming in through his window, reflected off the new snow outside. He wondered if everyone would manage to be civil to each other today of all days. It was Christmas, for crying out loud. You were supposed to be nice to everybody on Christmas. Then again, family holidays could also be said to be a time of traditional interpersonal horrors. The whole thing was a crapshoot, as far as he could tell.

This house could use a happy Christmas, that was for damned sure. He hadn't been here last year, but he could imagine what it must have been like. Harry had been missing and many people had begun to presume him dead. It couldn't have been an easy day for Hermione and Harry's other friends and family. So now a year later, you'd think things would be better. Harry was alive and well and accounted for, he and Hermione were married and off on honeymoon, things ought to be cheerier around here.

He was perfectly aware that he couldn't exactly throw stones about everyone's moodiness. He was probably partially to blame himself. He knew he'd been withdrawn and tense, but could he really be faulted for that? He had a lot on his mind and no one with whom to share it. I wish Hermione was here, he thought. He could talk to her about his problems, and then he could watch that little thinking-line appear between her eyebrows as her mind went to work on a solution. He could forget his anxieties and just enjoy the sight of her twirling a strand of her hair around one finger or chewing on her lower lip.

He rolled his eyes and shoved back the covers. Get a grip, he chided himself. He glanced at the clock...eight thirty. Kinda early. Still, he didn't think he'd be getting any more sleep today, so he swung his legs out of bed and extracted himself from the covers. The chilly air hit him like a slap, shivering his skin into gooseflesh and hardening his nipples into rivets. He pulled on his jeans and a jumper and glanced into the mirror. He watched himself for a moment as his hair arranged itself into festive red-and-green swirls. At least he could attempt to contribute to the holiday joviality.

He padded down the stairs to the kitchen, half-dreading the company of whoever he might find there. When he arrived, there was only Ron sitting at the table staring at a steaming mug of something. He looked up and smiled. "Happy Christmas, mate," he said. "You want some of this cocoa? Let me get you some. Chilly in the mornings, isn't it?" He stood up and went to the stove.

Napoleon was suddenly overcome with a rush of warmth for Ron. He's getting me cocoa, he thought. That's in-fucking-credible. This man is a miracle. He's lost ten years of his life and now has to face all the ways the world has moved on without him. The two most important people in the world to him are a unit unto themselves and always will be. He has no job, no real connections to the world, and a murky future. Now he might be having some kind of trauma with a new woman in his life. He's got every right to be bitter. No one would blame him if he were filled with despair and resentment, but is he? No. He's supportive and intelligent and he's a goddamned candidate for sainthood. And now it's Christmas morning and he must feel totally alone in the world, and what is he thinking? That I might like some cocoa and that he should get me some.

Ron turned from the stove, cocoa in hand. Before he could get a word out Napoleon stepped forward and hugged him, hard. "Happy Christmas, Ron," he said, tears springing to his eyes. He felt Ron jump in surprise, then he set down the cocoa mug and hugged him back. "It's goddamned amazing that you're here."

Ron pulled back and smiled, a genuine smile this time. "I agree."

"You know I'm always here for you, right? If you need to talk or get out of the house or...whatever? You know I'm your friend, right?"

Ron was starting to look at him strangely. "Yeah, of course. What are you on about this morning?"

Napoleon swiped at his eyes. "Oh, hell if I know. Just holiday emotions, I guess." He picked up his coffee and they sat down again. "But seriously. You want to tell me about this Laura thing?"

Ron stiffened a little. "I don't know. I hardly know what to say."

"You could start by telling me how you wound up kissing in the conservatory."

Ron glanced at him. "I wish I knew. It's not like we planned it that way." He sighed and relaxed. "Okay. I guess I can't fester forever."

"Well, you can, but I don't recommend it."

"Ever since the wedding I can hardly talk to her. I met Sorry at the wedding, and...I wasn't that nice to him and it made her mad."

"Why weren't you nice to him?" Ron just looked at him. Napoleon grinned. "Jealous, huh?"

"Like some kind of pre-hominid primate."

Napoleon frowned. "Pre-hominid primates get jealous?"

"Territorial."

"How is Laura your territory?"

"That's just it, she isn't. And whoa, was she mad about it. More than she really ought to have been."

"Like maybe you struck a nerve?"

"My exact thought. Look, she's...well, she's beautiful and smart and kind, when she isn't screaming at me, and it always bothered me that she's in this supposedly committed relationship with this guy who can't even seem to find time to visit, call, or write and would apparently rather be anywhere but where she is."

"Yeah, I know."

"And she'd like everyone to think it doesn't matter or bother her at all but it does and I just wish she'd admit it!"

"She's got ten years invested in him, that's not so easy to let go."

"If she doesn't let go now she never will. She deserves better."

"You, for instance?"

"I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it. And so, I think, is she."

Ron blinked. "What?"

"Come on. She wouldn't be so defensive about the sanctity of her relationship if she wasn't having doubts herself. And she likes you, it's very clear. To me, anyway. Hermione's mentioned it to me as well."

Ron let his head fall into his hands. "How did this get so screwed up? I can't handle this, not yet. Can't I have a little time to reassimilate before I have to plunge back into the deep end of the big hairy angst pool?"

"The pool of angst waits for no man. It claims you in its own time when it's decided you look too happy."

"Thanks, I'll write that in my book of memorable quotes."

"You still haven't explained the whole kissing thing."

"Well...I could go on for awhile about all the different fights we've had since the wedding but we'd be here until New Year's. Suffice it to say we haven't managed a normal conversation yet. The other night I came home from Mum and Dad's and Laura was in the living gallery reading a letter. She was crying a little and I asked her what was wrong. She nearly bit my head off, of course, which told me at once that it was a letter from Sorry."

"What, did he dump her?"

"No. Turns out it was just a normal 'hey what's happening' letter. But I guess she'd really been hoping that after they saw each other at the wedding that he'd have some kind of deep revelation about their relationship and would announce that he was moving here so they could be together. As far as he's concerned, they're going on just as they always have." Ron raked his hand through his hair. "Seeing her cry over that really got to me, and I kind of let her have it. I told her she didn't deserve this treatment and he obviously didn't give a crap about her. I asked her if she hated herself that much that she had to stay in such a relationship."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, well she didn't react too well to that. Who do you think you are, and you don't know what you're talking about, and blah blah blah. She ran away and I followed her to the conservatory and I barely remember what we said. I think she called me an interfering busybody and I think I called her a deluded masochist and this is the part I do remember...she asked why I cared so bloody much and I said, 'because I care about you.' And she kind of stopped for a second and said I had a pretty fucked up way of showing it. And we were off again and then...I don't know. Then we were kissing. But it wasn't tender or anything."

"I know, mate. I saw, remember?"

"Yeah. Well, she hasn't spoken to me since. She leaves the room whenever I enter. She won't even look at me."

"Give it time."

"Time I've got." He smiled ruefully. "But I can't take too much hostility. I'll crack or something. Have one of those nervous breakdowns people keep expecting me to have."

Napoleon peered at Ron's downcast eyes. "Hey." Ron looked up. "How do you feel about her?"

Ron shook his head. "I have no idea. Emotions like that are still kind of strange to me. I know I'm attracted to her...you don't forget what that feels like, anyway...but besides that, who knows. I know I don't want to see her hurt. I know that I hate Sorry, and I don't even know the guy."

"Well, that says a lot to me."

They both looked up to see Justin some shuffling in, sleepy-eyed but smiling. "Morning," he said. "Happy Christmas."

"Same to you," Ron said, smiling. "There's cocoa."

"Keen. I'm flipping freezing."

One by one, the other housemates drifted in. Everyone had cocoa, and soon everyone was seated around the table. Sleepy, mumbling 'good morning,' not talking much, huddling in their bathrobes.

Napoleon waited for the tension so start, but it didn't. Everyone was relaxed. Gradually he realized that everyone else was also waiting for the tension and was equally relieved that it wasn't happening. George put his arm around his brother and hugged him. Laura reached out and took Cho's hand. Napoleon rumpled Justin's hair.

Before too long George was at the stove making eggs and cinnamon rolls and heating up cider. Justin was playing the piano in the next room and Laura and Cho were doing some last-minute gift-wrapping at the table. Napoleon drew up his knees and drank his cider, relaxing into the warmth that had been absent from this house for some time and had picked this most appropriate of days to return. He wondered why, but in the end it didn't really matter, did it?

---

Their guests were expected in the early afternoon, so they had the whole morning to lounge about the living room in their pajamas gorging themselves on George's homemade cinnamon rolls and opening a few presents. Justin enchanted the piano to keep the Christmas music flowing without his participation, and Ron marveled that this was the same group of people who just the night before had been shouting at each other.

He felt better for having talked to Napoleon that morning, though he still didn't have much clue what was going on between himself and Laura. They hadn't really exchanged words today despite the tacit cease fire.

Part of him wanted to take advantage of the day's bonhomie, but another part wanted to leave well enough alone. The decision faced him when Laura excused herself to fetch some presents from her room. I suppose I've never been one to leave well enough alone, he told himself, getting up to follow her.

"Laura," he said, catching up to her in the hall near her room. She paused and turned.

"Yes?" Cautious, but not hostile.

He smiled. "Um...happy Christmas."

"To you too, Ron."

He looked down at his feet, shifting his weight. "I...um..."

To his surprise, she cut him off with a hand gesture, then walked right up to him. "Listen," she said, her voice low but determined. "I know that we...have some things to talk about. But not now, okay? Let's just enjoy the day."

"So you're not mad at me anymore?"

She sighed. "I was never mad at you, Ron. You were just there. But...it's for later. Let it be."

He nodded. "Okay." He looked down at her face and he wanted to kiss her. Even as she began to turn away he wanted to take her arm and draw her close and kiss her, and he saw in her face that she would let him. That she would even respond, that she wanted to kiss him back.

So he did nothing. "See you downstairs," he said. She smiled and nodded, then went into her room.

Ron stood there for a moment, chewing on his lower lip, then rejoined the others in the living room.

---

Eventually everyone managed to shower and change out of their sleepy morning lethargy and the work began. Set the table, light the fires, straighten the tree, put up more roping, light the candles. All over the house were footsteps and voices and still the sound of the enchanted piano on its eighteenth loop through the carols Justin had instructed it to play.

George was giving out orders but softening the severity with pieces of fudge as rewards. "Ron, can you get the tablecloth? Napoleon, I need you to help me with these platters, and..."

"Can we help?"

Everyone stopped at the sound of a new voice in the house, but a familiar one. Napoleon looked up from the platters and his mouth dropped open.

Harry and Hermione were standing in the foyer, laden down with packages, grinning hugely.

The pause for processing was brief, and the uproar began. Napoleon watched, smiling, as these surprise guests were beset from all sides by hug-wielding hooligans intent on depriving them of life-giving oxygen. The hubbub was deafening. He sauntered up, waiting for his turn.

"So, decide to cut that honeymoon short, did you?" he said, winking at Hermione. "Got tired of the life of leisure?"

"No," she said, laughing. "We're going back and don't you dare try and stop us. We just thought it'd be fun to Apparate back and surprise everyone."

"And what a surprise!" Ron exclaimed, fairly glowing with delight. "Come on, sit down! Here, give me those," he said, taking their packages. The entire party relocated to the living room.

Napoleon lagged behind as the housemates laughed and chatted, miraculously carrying on what sounded like five conversations at once. He watched them, a debate raging in his mind.

The newlyweds looked happy, almost ridiculously so. They were both tan and vibrant and unable to stop touching each other in some way. He watched their faces as they told tales of their trip so far and hauled out some souvenirs...a genuine gondolier's cap for Justin, a silk kimono for Laura, a box of expensive Dutch chocolate powder for George.

It wasn't much of a debate in the end. Should I tell him? I'd rather die.

---

The day passed far too quickly. The Weasleys arrived and another round of exclamations over Harry and Hermione's presence ensued. It was too bad that so many of their other friends and family had made plans elsewhere, but they couldn't have known.

"How's the honeymoon so far?" Molly asked them as the group was sitting around the dinner table.

They shared a brief but meaningful glance. "It's amazing," Harry said. "They wait on you hand and foot. And our cabin is beautiful."

Hermione smiled. "It's a good thing to have married a rich man."

"Had any adventures?" Ron said.

Harry made an exaggerated thoughtful face. "Well, last week we did get mixed up in a plot by organized crime to murder a pair of witnesses." Everyone laughed...except Harry and Hermione.

"Wait," Ron said. "Are you serious?"

"Perfectly. I guess you can take us away from our business but you can't take the business away from us."

"I suppose you saved the day and made the world safe for democracy once again," Laura said, but she was smiling to soften her sarcasm.

"Naturally," Hermione said, sticking out her tongue at her. "Would you expect anything less?"

"I'd expect you to leave work behind when you're on honeymoon, sweetie!"

"Believe me, we'd have preferred it that way," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "But when things happen, what do we do? Stand by and watch when we have the skills to help? You're never off duty in our line of work. It's like being a doctor."

"Well, you both look wonderful," Ginny said. "Marriage must be agreeing with you."

Hermione smiled up at Harry. "Yes, it is." He put one arm around her and kissed her temple. "Honestly, I didn't think it would feel that different," she went on, "but it does. It makes a huge difference. I don't know why, but I've got this tremendous sense of unity now."

Harry nodded. "Like before, it was me, and it was Hermione, and it was also me and Hermione...but now it's us. We're an us."

"But weren't you that before?" Ron asked.

"In a way, but not like this," Hermione said. "It's just different. I'm not sure I can explain it."

"I know exactly what you mean, dear," Molly said.

"Me too," Napoleon said. "I remember having that same feeling when I got married. I felt like I was part of something."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, that's it. Anyway, it feels great."

"So," Harry said. "What's been going on around here?"

Napoleon looked around as all the housemates exchanged the same glance. Too much to tell...now, anyway. "Not much," Ron finally said. "Same old, same old." He knew that Harry would eventually take him aside and ask him about the project. He'd have a little time yet to decide just how much to lie to him.

---

Thoughts of hot cider twirling through his head, Ron walked towards the kitchen as the sun was setting over this most surprising Christmas day. Most of his family was gathered in the living room amidst a drift of discarded wrapping paper drinking homemade egg nog by the fire, and Laura seemed to have decided to put aside her animosity at least for today. Life was good. For the moment.

He reached the kitchen and paused. Harry was standing in the doorway that led out onto the verandah, his arm around Hermione, her head tucked down on his shoulder. They were looking out towards the backyard, which was covered in a perfect and unblemished blanket of snow; more was drifting down from the purple sky in a gentle, silent caress.

Ron watched them for a moment, smiling. Harry's hand moved slowly up and down her shoulder. Ron saw her shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. She turned and looked up at him, her hands on his waist. "Happy Christmas, Harry," she whispered.

He reached up and brushed her hair back, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "The one we ought to have had last year."

"Feels like a million years ago."

"Looking back, I'm amazed we survived the year we just had."

She smiled. "It helps when you have something to survive for." She touched his face. "Someone to survive for," she amended.

He raised her hand and pressed it to his lips, holding it there for a long moment. "I love you," he said, so quietly Ron barely heard him.

Hermione just held him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw Ron standing there. She smiled and beckoned him forward. He went, but a little hesitantly...it felt like such a private moment. She reached out and took his hand.

"I can't believe you guys did this," Ron said. Now Harry had taken his other hand. "I can't believe you interrupted that amazing honeymoon to come here and drink egg nog with us."

"Come on," Harry said. "We couldn't miss your first Christmas at home," he said, his voice sounding a little choky at the end.

Ron blinked a few times, quickly. "Well...it means a lot. To me."

"Just having you here means a lot to us," Hermione said, her eyes shining.

Ron chuckled. "Come on, let's have our group moment here before we all start bawling."

"Too late for that," Harry said, laughing.

---

Napoleon lurked in the front parlor off the entryway, waiting. He could hear the surprise guests bidding farewell-for-now to everyone, hugging and kissing and exchanging many wishes for a happy Christmas and New Year's.

He watched the hall that led down to the living room, and soon enough Harry emerged, walking with a purpose. He stood in the foyer, looking around. "Jones?" he stage-whispered.

"In here," Napoleon said, beckoning him into the parlor. Harry came in and shut the parlor doors behind him. It was continually amazing to Napoleon how Harry's very bearing changed with what hat he was wearing...gone was the jovial, loving friend, housemate and husband. Napoleon knew he was now speaking to his boss, the agent, the wizard, the Mage.

"How's our project going?" he asked.

"It's going well."

Harry peered at him, a speculative expression on his face. "I didn't come here to resume my job, but...is there anything I ought to know?"

Napoleon didn't hesitate. "No."

"Because one word from you and I will stay."

"Go back to your honeymoon, boss. Leave everything to me." He wondered if he'd ever be able to adequately communicate to Harry how hard it was to say this when all he wanted was to beg Harry to stay and help him, take some of the burden, assume the responsibility and be in charge again.

Harry stood there looking at him, that same expression still there. "Is there anything, anything at all that you want me to know?"

Yes, Napoleon thought. There are almost two hundred missing. We haven't a clue where they are, and by the way we're no closer to finding that mole so we can't really tell anyone else. All I can think about is those missing people and I think I'm having a nervous breakdown.

He smiled. "Nope. You go enjoy the last few weeks of your trip, Harry. Be with your wife and enjoy the peace and relaxation while it lasts."

Harry's face finally relaxed and he smiled. "I will." He clapped Napoleon's shoulder. "I knew I could depend on you, Jones. We'll talk when I return."

"You bet."

They stepped out into the foyer where Hermione was waiting. She hugged him goodbye and then she and Harry were out the door.

---

Ron spent longer than usual writing that evening. There was a lot to process. It was, as they'd said, his first Christmas among others in more than ten years and he was feeling quite overwhelmed...and not just because of all the love that had been heaped upon him today.

Telling Napoleon about his experience with Laura had been both cathartic and troubling. Cathartic because it felt good to get it off his chest, but troubling because it had made him actually think about what it meant.

He'd gotten into bed to read for awhile when someone knocked on his door; he assumed it was Napoleon. "Come in!" he said. But it wasn't Napoleon.

Laura entered, dressed in her bathrobe. She avoided his eyes as she came forward to sit on the edge of the bed, as far from him as she could possibly get. "Hi," he said, sitting up a little straighter.

"Hi."

"What brings you to this part of town?"

She sighed. "I said later, didn't I?"

"Well...it is later."

He waited. Finally she took a deep breath and spoke quickly, like she was afraid of losing her nerve. "Whenever you criticized Sorry it made me very mad, not because I thought you were wrong but because I knew you were right. I've spent so much time these last years denying that I wasn't getting anything out of my relationship that for me to admit that you had a point was too upsetting. I couldn't face losing Sorry, he was my first love. If I put half my life into this and it didn't work...then what does it say about me?" She abruptly ran out of gas and looked at him, and he saw that there were tears shimmering in her eyes.

"It doesn't say anything bad about you," he said quietly. "It says something good. It says you have faith and hope, and that you don't give up. But...there's got to be a point when you let yourself think of your own feelings and what's best for you."

She nodded. "It's just hard. It's so damned hard."

"I know."

"And then if I lost the only man I've ever been with...well, who would I have? No one!" She sighed and turned her face away. "I guess this is all coming up now because for the first time I can see..." She stopped and took another shaky breath. "I can see a possibility. Of someone else."

Ron said nothing. What could he say?

She turned towards him but still didn't meet his eyes. "You've tried to be my friend and I've tried to be yours and all we've done is fight. Why hasn't it worked?"

"I don't know."

"I think I do." She moved closer. "Maybe...I don't want to be your friend." Now she did look at him.

Ron felt frozen, sitting there propped against his headboard. He didn't move as Laura slowly leaned forward and kissed him, gently.

She drew back and met his eyes, and when they kissed again it was mutual. Ron could hardly believe he was sitting here on his own bed, his arms full of a woman he'd spent considerable time fantasizing about, feeling the shape of her through her robe, smelling the vaguely spicy scent of her thick hair. It had been a long time since he'd touched a woman, and even then it hadn't come from a place like this.

Somehow her robe was untied and his hands were sliding over her bare skin...she was wearing nothing underneath, he suddenly realized. He pulled back, frowning. "Laura...what do you want? Why did you come here?"

She blinked, breathing a little heavily. "I...just to talk."

"Is that why you're nude under there?"

She looked away for a long moment, then back again. "Ron, I want to stay here with you. I want to make love to you and not talk about anything."

He reached out and grasped her hands. "Oh, man. You have no idea how much I want to make love to you." She smiled. "But I'm not going to, not tonight." Her smile faded.

"Why not?"

He sighed. "Laura, I'm not going to be that guy. That other guy. No matter what the status of your relationship with Sorry, he still thinks it's going fine. If you want something to happen between us, then I'd love to explore it...but not until you decide what you're going to do about Sorry. If you need someone to talk to about that, I'm here for you. But there can't be any 'us' until you're free, one way or another."

Given their history, he half-expected her to be angry, but she wasn't. She only squeezed his hands and sighed. "Much as I hate to admit it, you're right." She looked up at him. "I hope you don't think I'm some kind of slut."

He chuckled. "Hardly."

"I just wanted to be with someone, someone who cared and was actually involved in some way. That's not wrong, is it?"

"Of course not."

She shook her head and laughed. "You know, it's not every man who's been in prison for ten years who'd turn down the opportunity to get some."

He laughed with her. "I guess I'm not every man."

She sobered. "That's for damned sure."

They just sat there for a few moments. "You know," he finally said, "you don't have to leave. You can just hang out here with me if you want."

"Except no touchie, right?"

He nodded. "No touchie."

She smiled. "I'd like that."

He looked around. "What do you want to do? Talk? I dunno...play cards? Chess? I'll kick your ass, I warn you."

She saw the parchpad on his night table. "What are you writing right now?"

"Tonight I was finishing a short story I started when I was inside."

Laura let go of his hands and crawled up next to him. She curled up against his side, pulling a throw around her shoulders. "Read it to me?"

He smiled. "Sure." He looked down at her, amazed at this turn of events...but in the end, what could he do except let things go at their own pace? He slipped his arm around her shoulders, picked up his parchpad, and began to read.

---

Part 2: A Honeymoon Interlude

Hermione pressed her ear to the wall harder, squinting in concentration. "They're bringing in more trunks! Who are these people, the Rockefellers?"

"I doubt the Rockefellers travel on cruise ships, sweetheart. They buy their own."

"Come over here, listen to this!"

Harry spared her a brief glance away from the book he was reading. "I refuse to participate in this undignified display of eavesdropping."

"This from the man who actually did The Limbo last night."

"I can neither confirm nor deny reports of The Limbo."

"Ruth Weatherby from down the hall saw you. You could have come with me and Vivian to the pool but nooooo, you had to let Jason drag you to the C Deck margarita party and get roped into doing the Limbo..."

"Hey, I'm not the one with my ear glued to a bulkhead here."

"Don't tell me you're not itching with curiosity."

"Itching is one thing, this is another. Besides, we could just stroll on over and introduce ourselves."

Hermione left the wall and walked over to where Harry was sitting on the couch in the living room of their three-room suite. She sat down on his lap facing him, straddling his legs. Harry tossed his book aside and ran his hands around her waist. She was wearing a tank swimsuit and a wraparound beach skirt. The ship was docked in Fiji preparing to leave on its long trek across the Pacific Ocean where it would stop for a day in Hawaii before continuing on to San Francisco. "It's been nice having our dinner table all to ourselves since the Palmers left," she murmured, her fingers playing in his hair. He leaned his head back against the couch and looked up at her, his hands stroking the bare skin of her midsection.

Harry and Hermione were at the halfway point of their trip and had settled comfortably into their almost embarrassingly opulent cabin. Their next-door neighbors since boarding had been the Palmers, a delightfully dotty middle-aged couple who had also been their dinner table companions. They had filled mealtimes with colorful stories about their globetrotting lives and had made no secret that they were adopting their newlywed neighbors as honorary family members. They had disembarked in Delhi a week ago after a tearful farewell full of promises to write and visit. New passengers were coming aboard today and taking up residence in the Palmers' cabin and, presumably, at their dinner table.

"Yes, it has been nice," Harry said. "We don't have to feel self-conscious about gazing adoringly at each other and feeding each other bites of lobster Newburg."

"Not that we've ever done either of those things at the dinner table."

"But if we did, we wouldn't have to feel self-conscious about it."

"Alas, it's all ending. New dinner table buddies. And very grand ones, from the number of trunks they've brought aboard."

"Wonder what they'll make of us?"

"Who knows? I'm sure they'll pick one of the theories and run with it." Both of them found endless amusement in the fact that they were the subjects of much shipboard speculation. On a trip like this where most people were in for the duration, the passengers were bound to form friendships, alliances, cliques and acquaintances. Gossip was rampant. Who was honeymooning (there were four couples not counting themselves), who was trying to save their marriages, who was on anniversary, who had secretly smuggled his mistress on board under his wife's nose (that gentleman was the object of much scorn). There were few families aboard and almost no children, but there were a few groups of privileged young people enjoying holidays and some single young professionals on extended vacations. The hookups were numerous and widely varied. Harry and Hermione stuck to each other pretty tightly, pretending they didn't hear the plentiful gossip about them. A handsome young British couple, just married, no evident professions, and yet wealthy enough to occupy one of the most expensive cabins aboard the ship for the longest cruise that this line offered.

The most popular theory seemed to be that one or both of them was heir to some great fortune, though their names were not familiar...not here, anyway.

Hermione began unbuttoning Harry's shirt. "Cal Schiefelbein hit on me again today."

"With a name like Schiefelbein I'm amazed that chap has the self-esteem to hit on anyone," Harry replied, his voice sounding a little tight, no doubt as a result of the way Hermione was moving about on his lap. He untied her wraparound skirt and flung it aside. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him he better watch out because I have a very jealous husband." She bent and began kissing his neck. "He laughed. He said you didn't look like much of a threat. So I told him you know kung fu." Harry pulled the straps of her suit down her arms and ran his hands up to her bared breasts.

"I do know kung fu."

"Yes, you certainly do," she whispered, the topic rapidly receding into irrelevance.

---

When they walked into the dining room for the late dinner seating they saw that their new neighbors were already seated. They both paused for a moment to examine them. "Well, at least they didn't sit on our side of the table," Hermione murmured.

"They do look rather grand," Harry said. Their new tablemates were not young but neither were they old...probably mid-forties. The man had a severe affect with a tanned Roman face and distinguished wings of gray at his temples. The woman was not precisely beautiful but more what is usually called 'handsome,' impeccably dressed and turned out. Hermione grasped Harry's fingers.

"He looks familiar to me," she said. "Do you recognize him?"

"No, I don't think so. You know him?"

"I can't think how. He just looks vaguely familiar. Well...perhaps it'll come to me." They walked into the dining room. "Honestly, I'm a little intimidated. They look so posh. I feel like a poor relation."

"Just remember...we know kung fu."

She giggled a little, but felt better. As they approached, their new neighbors looked up with warm, genuine smiles that made them both look a good deal less forbidding. "Oh, you must be the Potters!" said the woman.

"Yes, that's us. I'm Harry," he said, shaking the man's hand. "This is my wife, Hermione."

"I'm Margot McCloud, this is my husband Jack."

After a flurry of handshakes and "pleased to meet you's" everyone was seated again. "How long have you been aboard?" Margot asked.

"A month. We boarded in Southampton."

"Are you going the full circuit?"

"Oh yes, back home again."

"Where's home?"

Hermione smiled mildly, wondering if Margot had audited some of the ID's interrogation classes. "We live about an hour north of London."

"I thought so," Jack said. "Those lovely, cultured accents."

"Where do you two hail from?" Harry asked, stirring cream into his coffee.

"Oh, we move around. I suppose if you had to pin us down, we'd both say our real home is Florence." Margot didn't miss the glance that passed between them when she said this. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," Hermione said, smiling. "It's just...Florence is a special place for us."

"Really? It's a lovely old spot, isn't it? Were you there long?"

"About two weeks," Harry said. "It was a sort of holiday." Hermione stifled a reaction at this completely inaccurate description of their stay in Florence the previous summer.

"Sadly, we haven't been back in awhile," Margot said, her face tensing up for a moment. She smiled again. "We do spend an awful lot of time in Amsterdam these days."

"I love Amsterdam," Harry said. "There's so much energy there."

"What do you do?" Hermione asked. "It sounds like you travel a lot."

"I'm in shipping," Jack said, his smile a little forced. Hermione exchanged a barely perceptible glance with Harry; that response made her antenna quiver a little. Whenever anyone was involved in illicit activities that netted them far more money than could be legitimately explained, they always deflected questions with a response like "I'm in shipping." It was vague and difficult to refute. "And you? What business are you in?" Jack asked. Sure, Hermione thought. Change the subject.

To her amazement, Harry told them the truth. "We work for the government," he said.

"Oh?" Margot said, affecting the appearance of interest. "In what capacity?"

"Intelligence, actually," Harry said, amazing Hermione further. Then again, these people were Muggles. They could never connect them with anything remotely resembling their real work. She saw the McClouds' interest jack up a notch in response to Harry's answer. They leaned forward a little.

"Really?" Margot said, half under her breath. "Do you mean...like spies?"

Hermione glanced at Harry, deciding to let him take point on this topic. "Something like that," he said, smiling a little.

"Do you carry a gun?" Margot said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Harry laughed. "Not to the dinner table."

"I'm quite fascinated!" Margot squealed. "I suppose you can't tell us anything specific. Or you could, but then you'd have to kill us."

"Ah, I see you've read our press kit," Harry said dryly. They laughed.

Jack spoke up. "So is this a working trip for you?" he asked.

God, I hope not, Hermione thought. Harry smiled. "I'm afraid your wife is right, Jack. I can't go into any details. But I can say that we are not by any stretch of the imagination 'on duty.'" He fixed Jack with an unreadable stare for a few brief seconds before looking away.

Hermione concentrated on her salad. Harry was up to something. She wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that they were being surreptitiously watched by a man and a woman she'd never seen before who were seated at a table across the room. She wasn't positive Harry had noticed, but their observers weren't being exactly subtle about it.

She took quick glances at Jack and Margot, who had to be the object of this new scrutiny. If someone had wanted to observe her and Harry, they would have had a full month to do so.

"You came aboard at Fiji, then?" Harry was saying.

"Mm, yes," Margot said, sipping her wine. "We spent the most divine two weeks there." Hermione doubted the veracity of that statement. They were both pale as cream, and if there was one thing difficult to avoid on Fiji, it was the sun. "But we're ready to move along, so we're going to set up house in Jack's flat in New York."

"Where are you from, Margot? Originally, I mean?" Hermione asked.

She hesitated just slightly. "Oh, nowhere anyone's ever heard of. Just a little town in Arizona."

"Really? You don't seem American to me."

"I suppose not! With all the places I've lived I'm amazed I can remember where I came from at all!" She laughed, the dulcet bell-like tones of a practiced socializer.

"I must say we've heard a fair piece about you two since we came aboard," Jack said, just as their waiter brought the main course.

"Oh, I've no doubt," Harry said. "I'm sure I don't know what everyone finds so fascinating."

"They say you're quite skilled on the dance floor." Jack was smiling, a twinkle lurking in the corners of his eyes. Hermione found herself warming more to Jack than to Margot. He seemed more genuine. She was nice enough, but it was clear she was accustomed to wearing a socially appropriate façade that lacked verisimilitude to a keen observer.

Harry colored slightly. "I suppose that's not exactly a secret."

"I met a woman just before dinner who was very...what's the word I'm looking for? Effusive. Went on and on about how we'd have to get the full story on you and report back to her. What was her name again?"

Hermione laughed. "Did she have a Southern accent thick enough to stand a spoon in?"

"Oh my, yes. At first I actually thought it was fake."

"That's Patsy LaMont, the resident busybody. She's a widow, a genuine southern belle. She's taking this trip with a whole gaggle of tittering friends. They're...sort of omnipresent. She's never actually talked to us, but she's done more than her fair share of talking about us."

Margot nodded knowingly. "In that case, I think I'll find her later and tell her I've found out that you're Prince Charles' illegitimate daughter traveling on the royal dime to keep you quiet."

Harry chuckled. "Well, that wouldn't be much stranger than some of the stories we've heard about ourselves."

"Why is everyone so curious, do you think?" Jack asked.

"Who can say?" Harry went on. "We keep to ourselves and we don't offer up the story of our lives to every person we meet."

"It's that classic British reserve," Margot said. "So private."

You'd be private, too, if you were the most famous man in the world, Hermione thought. "We have our reasons for keeping to ourselves," she said aloud.

"But it is true that you're on honeymoon?"

Hermione looked over at Harry. He met her eyes and took her hand under the table. "Yes, that's true," he said, smiling at her. "That much, I'd gladly shout across the room."

---

"Interesting dinner companions," Harry finally said. They were walking around the deck as they often did in the evening. Until now, they'd been comfortably silent.

"Hmm," she agreed.

A long pause. "Much more going on there than with the Palmers."

"Quite."

Another pause. "They're being followed."

"They weren't in Fiji for two weeks, that's for sure."

"He isn't in shipping."

"And I think she's British, or at least European." He raised one eyebrow at her. She shrugged. "She said 'flat' instead of 'apartment.'"

"She could have picked that up."

"Why'd you tell them we were spies?"

"I'm not sure," he said, his voice thoughtful. "I think because...something tells me they're scared. Could have been the way they were dressed. Overdressed, you might say, with all their little signs of prosperity so prominently displayed. Like they were armoring themselves in their material assets."

"We're jumping to a lot of conclusions based on nothing much," she said, slipping her arm through his elbow. She sighed. "I don't know, honey. Do you think...well..."

"That we miss work and we're trying to invent intrigue?" he said, the smile audible in his voice.

She chuckled. "Something like that."

"I don't think so. I sure didn't invent Ike and Mike watching them from across the room."

"So you did see them."

"Pretty hard to miss."

She thought for a moment. "Did you...maybe want them to know that help was available if they needed it?"

"Maybe."

"But, Harry...what if they're the bad guys? What if they're on the run, or hiding some illegal activities?"

"I don't think so. The man and woman watching them were very unprofessional. Peering over their menus, taking the long way to the bathroom so they could pass our table...the woman actually used her compact to look over her shoulder. Can you believe that? They weren't well-trained. If it were some governmental agency watching them undercover they'd be a lot subtler. Those two were one step above the thugs Allegra likes to sic on us, and it's a pretty small step." He shook his head. "No, I have a feeling that if there's bad things afoot that the McClouds are on the receiving end of it." He glanced down at her. "You thought you recognized him at first. Do you still?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I thought so, but I keep vacillating. Maybe he just reminds me of someone. Hard to say."

Harry smiled. "Let's not talk about it anymore." He dropped her hand and slipped his arm around her shoulders. "We're supposed to be exchanging passionate gazes and licking chocolate off each other. We're supposed to be on vacation."

Hermione sighed. "I don't think people like us get vacations, Harry. Not real ones, anyway. It's not as if we can shut down our minds to think only of pina coladas and the Baked Alaska at the midnight buffet."

"Wouldn't it be nice if we could?"

She nodded. "Besides, our wedding was perfect and beautiful, not to mention happily uninterrupted by inconvenient evil. I think it's a bit much to ask the fates for a peaceful honeymoon, too."

---

Later that night, Hermione brushed her teeth at the sink in their tiny bathroom. "I wonder what's going on at home?" she asked through a mouthful of toothpaste.

She heard Harry sigh. "Don't know. Don't care." She glanced into the bedroom to see him lying flat on his back on the bed with his arms folded beneath his head. He shrugged. "I don't want to think about home, or work, or the house, or anyone. We'll be back soon enough."

"Do you think we ought to give anyone a heads-up about our Christmas surprise? Maybe just Ron?"

"No!" he exclaimed, sitting up. "The key word is 'surprise!' We can't tell anyone, because...well, it wouldn't be a surprise!"

She smiled. "Yes, dear, I'm familiar with the concept. But what if they've got all sorts of plans and we muck everything up when we appear out of nowhere?"

"What are the odds of that? Christmases have been virtually the same for as long as I can recall, I can't think of anything new they'd decide to do that we could possible ruin with our mere presence." He stood up and walked into the bathroom as Hermione rinsed out her mouth. He slipped his arms around her waist and bent his head to kiss her neck. Hermione sighed and leaned back against his chest, looking at their reflection in the mirror. He looked up and met her eyes in the glass. "It'll be one month tomorrow," he said softly.

"I know," she said.

He smiled. "Sick of me yet?"

She turned around in his arms and slid her hands up around his neck. "Yes. I can barely stand the sight of you."

His mischievous smile fell away. "Then shut your eyes," he said, his voice almost a purr.

Hermione felt a shiver run up her spine at the quiet promises she detected behind his words. She did as she was told and waited, eyes shut, her arms around Harry's shoulders. At first he just held her, his hands running up and down her back and underneath her nightgown. She felt his lips on her brow, then her cheeks. She tried to turn her head to meet his mouth with her own but he wasn't cooperating, moving his head the other way to kiss her jawline and her nose. She giggled a little. "Cut it out," she said.

"I thought you couldn't stand me," he whispered, his hands sliding down her back. He drew her hips tightly to his.

"I can't. You're insufferable," she murmured, pressing herself against him. She smirked a little. "Although it sure feels like you still find me pretty appealing." He was kissing her neck now. Hermione let her head fall backwards. Harry wasn't talking anymore. He was through bantering. He was directing all his energies towards making all the bones in her body melt into butter, something he was very good at. Finally she could take no more. She grasped his head and made him stay still so she could kiss him back.

Eventually they made it to the bedroom of their suite. They didn't speak as they undressed each other and crawled up onto the bed. Hermione gladly allowed all her thoughts to fly from her, until one that was new and strange flew back and made itself known. She drew away a little.

Harry cocked his head. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing ...I just realized something."

"What's that?"

"When we make love, you never...well, you never tell me what you want."

"Should I?"

"Of course! That's only fair, isn't it?"

He sat up, frowning, the sheets pooling in his lap. "I don't know. I never thought about it." He shrugged, smiling down at her. "I guess I never wanted anything that we weren't already doing."

"That can't possibly be true. There has to be something you'd like to do, or that you'd like me to do, that we haven't done."

"I'm not so sure. We've done lots of stuff," he said, smirking.

Hermione rested her head in his lap so she could look up at his face. "But...don't you have any fantasies? Naughty little scenarios?"

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "We're supposed to share that stuff. If you tell me, I might...you know, do them for you."

"You've never told me about any of your naughty little scenarios."

"I don't really have any."

"Then why do you assume that I do?"

"Because you're a man! Women like stability, we're not so into role-playing, generally. Men like variety; they always have little secret desires! Men are supposed to want to pretend their wives are nurses and they're the naughty patients, or that they're burglars who sneak in through a window and find the innocent spinster in her sexy lingerie..." She couldn't go on, because Harry was laughing.

"Good grief, is that what men do? How silly. Takes some of the spontaneity away if you need a bloody script and props for sex, doesn't it? Why impose such complications on something so simple?" He gathered her close and lay down again. "Of course I have fantasies. Mostly they're about you. I won't lie to you, some aren't. Of course you know my hopeless crush on Catherine Zeta-Jones."

"Yes, of course."

"But really and truly, if you want to know what I want...I don't know what to say. I have a beautiful, sexy wife who just told me she can't wait to fulfill my every secret desire. I've got everything I want right here."

---

The deck chairs situated along the port side railing on B Deck were an ideal position for spying, Hermione reflected as she settled herself in. From this vantage point you could see most of the main thoroughfare of the ship's upper decks spread out before you, and people had to walk past you to get to most of the dining rooms. She had a perfect view of the pool across the deck without being too obvious about it.

She arranged her book open on her lap and adjusted her dark glasses. Sometimes the old tricks really were the best. Where would spies like herself be without dark glasses? She tried to imagine life as an intelligence operative trying to work in a world where you could never hide where your eyes were looking. Awful thought.

Margot and Jack were lounging by the pool, sipping colorful drinks which were periodically replenished by the waiters who floated about and seemed to have a nearly telepathic ability to sense when one of their passengers needed attention. Hermione had wondered several times if the crew had to attend some sort of special school to learn how to anticipate everyone's every need.

As if he'd just been waiting around the corner for her to sit down, a porter appeared out of nowhere and placed a small table next to her chair with her favorite fruity drink on it. "There you are, Mrs. Granger," he said with a smile.

"Thanks," she said. How they remembered everyone's favorite beverages she'd never know. With skills like that, they'd probably make decent spies themselves.

Hermione sipped her drink and watched Margot and Jack while her fingers automatically turned the pages of her book every few minutes. They seemed blissfully oblivious to the fact that their babysitters from the night before were watching them from the A Deck promenade above. They were being extremely obvious about it. When Jack got up to stretch his legs, the man actually leaned over the railing to watch him leave. They weren't even making the slightest attempt to feign some other activity like conversation. It offended Hermione's sense of professionalism that anyone even remotely connected to the spying industry could be so amateurish.

After an hour or so she hadn't seen or learned anything new except what brand of sunscreen Margot used. She was just considering packing it in and hitting the pool herself when a shadow fell across her torso.

"D'you mind if I sit down, hon?" said the shadow in a thickly accented Southern voice.

Hermione looked up, shading her eyes with one hand. It was...oh drat, she couldn't remember the woman's name. It was one of Patsy LaMont's little disciples, the one with the bottle-red hair and the little rose tattoo on her ankle. She tried and failed to think quickly of an excuse. "Umm...please. Be my guest."

The woman spread her towel and plopped down beside Hermione. "Isn't it just the peachiest day ever? I swear I could just sit here on one of these chairs for days and days of course I'd burn to a crisp before too long you know the women in my family all have such fair skin we just burn before you can even blink if we don't absolutely smother ourselves in SPF 60 and my land aren't you getting a nice tan there yourself!"

Hermione blinked. "Thank you." She wasn't sure how to react.

The woman held out her hand. "I don't think we've ever been properly introduced, honey. I'm Gina," she said.

Hermione shook her hand, a little wary. "I'm Hermione."

"Oh, of course you are, such a beautiful name it is too, and you're British, aren't you, and don't you just have the most gorgeous accent I ever heard I could just sit here and listen to you talk all the livelong day!"

With effort, Hermione held herself back from what might have been a rude comment on this woman's willingness to let Hermione get a word in edgewise in her supposedly gorgeous accent. She just smiled. "Thank you."

"I know we haven't really ever had the chance to chat between ourselves but I saw you sitting here and I thought I'd just sit right down and introduce myself and maybe we could get ourselves good and acquainted!"

Hermione smiled. "Lost the toss, did you?" She nodded her head down the deck where Patsy and the rest of their cadre were sitting in a loose huddle around a bridge table, very ostentatiously not watching their little missionary's success at making first contact with Hermione. She'd known it was only a matter of time before curiosity got the better of Patsy and she sent someone to get the full scoop on her and Harry and report back to the troops.

Gina wilted a little. "Oh...well...I suppose you might..." She giggled abruptly. "You must just think we're as silly as anything."

"Of course not," Hermione said, feeling a bit guilty for her snappishness. What had this woman ever done to her, after all? She set her book down. "I'm pleased to meet you, Gina."

Gina leaned closer. "You're just so mysterious, you'll have to forgive us if we're curious."

"Well, let there be no further mystery," Hermione said, weary of the entire persona. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Oh, your affairs are none of my business, I'm sure," Gina said, making her token protest.

"On a trip this long on a ship this size, there's not much private business, is there?" Hermione said.

"Isn't that the truth! My Lord, I never saw such a shipload of busybodies and isn't talk just the cheapest you've ever seen and the stories that go around I declare I just don't know what to think half the time I mean you never do know what's true and what's just a baldfaced lie!"

"No, you never do."

Gina looked around, smiling vaguely as if contemplating what to say next. She brightened and pointed across towards the pool. "Oh, isn't that your husband over there?" she said.

Hermione followed her gaze and saw Harry talking to David and Gloria Wrightmire, a couple from California with whom they'd become friendly. When she had come up to the deck Harry had gone instead to the gym and had evidently just returned; he looked a little sweaty and had a towel over one shoulder. "Yes, that's him." She smiled to herself. Yes, that's my husband. Great Merlin's ghost, I'm still getting used to the idea that I actually have one.

"What's his name again? I swear I heard it once but I declare I can never remember anyone's name to save my life I'm not sure I'd remember my own if it wasn't on my driver's license."

Hermione grinned. Gina's run-on sentence conversational style was nothing if not entertaining. "His name's Harry."

"And what does he do for a living?"

She reminded herself that this woman came from a culture that still asked what your husband did for a living and not what you yourself did. "He works for the government. So do I. Actually, we work in the same department."

"How interesting! So you met at work, then?"

"Oh, no. I've known Harry since I was eleven. We met at school."

"School sweethearts!" Gina exclaimed, clapping her hands. Hermione marveled at her enthusiasm. The poor woman must be starved for entertainment if the story of my life is so enthralling, she thought. "How perfectly romantic!"

"We weren't school sweethearts," Hermione explained, wondering if she ought to start keeping track of how many times she told this same tired old story. "We were best friends. We weren't...uh, sweethearts...until about two years ago."

"But that's even better! You were lifelong friends, and then suddenly you looked at each other and saw your true love!"

Hermione laughed. "You've seen too many movies, I think."

"I'm a sucker for a good love story, honey. Lord knows we can all use a little more romance in our lives!"

"What about you? Are you married?"

Gina made a dismissive hand gesture. "Oh, sure. He had good breeding and money and I had a twenty-one- inch waist and our parents liked each other."

Hermione sat up, horrified. "You had an arranged marriage?" She was incredulous. She didn't think that sort of thing went on in America.

Gina laughed. "Oh my Lord, no! But it might as well have been. I came out in society when I was sixteen, and I was well brought up to get married and keep house and family for some respectable and well-monied man, and that's what I did." She sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I love my husband. He's a good man, as husbands go. My children are grown and gone and he and I don't have much to say to each other." She shrugged as if this were just a fact of life. "The point of our marriage was to have a family and the prettiest house on the block. I was pregnant a month after our wedding. Now that it's just us again...well, I can hardly remember what we used to talk about."

Hermione looked down at her book, troubled. She couldn't imagine not being able to talk to Harry. She thought about some future time when their kids were grown and gone and they were alone again and saw each other as strangers...but that could never happen. Not to them. "That's awful," she said.

"It's not so awful. I have my own life. I have my friends and my clubs and my volunteer work and now I have a grandchild, too."

"That's good, but...I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't close to my husband."

"It's different for you now," Gina said. "In my day, that's just the way things were done."

Hermione shifted to look at her. "Really? I was under the impression that in your part of the world, people have always married for love."

"Oh, my stars!" Gina said, laughing. "Of course we do, honey. It's just...love needs a little help, don't you think?"

Hermione thought a moment. "No, actually. It's everything else that needs help. Sometimes I feel like my relationship with my husband is the only thing that's working right."

Gina smiled at her, a genuine smile. "Then you're lucky."

"Yes, I am."

Gina looked away again. "For more than one reason. He is a handsome thing, if you don't mind my sayin' so."

Hermione grinned. "I don't mind when people tell the truth."

As if he could sense them talking about him, Harry broke away from the Wrightmires and walked over to them. He took a seat on Hermione's other side. "Good afternoon, ladies," he said, smiling politely at Gina. He turned a more genuine smile to Hermione and bent to kiss her cheek. "Soaking up some rays?"

"Harry, this is Gina," she said. "Gina, this is my husband, Harry."

"So nice to meet you!" Gina said, shaking his hand across Hermione's stomach.

"Gina and I were just talking," she said, tossing him a significant glance. She saw his eyes flick to the table where Patsy and her posse were huddling and knew he understood.

"Looks like you were enjoying the scenery," he said, nodding his head slightly in the direction of Margot and Jack's two minders on the upper deck.

She sighed. "Unfortunately, it all looks the same after awhile."

---

Hermione arched her back and exhaled, her eyes and her mind both pleasantly unfocused. Lying nude among the bed's silky sheets was itself a sensual experience, but when you added the always erotic feeling of Harry's bare skin against her own, it didn't take much to buoy her into a state of relaxed arousal. I'm being repaid for all the trouble and trauma of my life, she thought. With interest.

It had been years...no, it had been forever...since she'd had nothing to worry about. She wasn't worried about her grades, or her job, or her family, or her house, or her friends. Most significantly, she wasn't worried about Harry, except to wonder how long she could hold out under his ministrations before he had her screaming at the ceiling.

They'd had their ups and downs in bed, like anyone else. There had a been a few agonizing weeks at the beginning when Harry had been oddly convinced that she really enjoyed being licked in various places and she'd still been too shy to correct this extremely erroneous assumption. There had been one memorable occasion when she'd fallen asleep while he was making love to her, an incident he had never (and would never, she was certain) let her live down. Once, she had lost her balance with her mouth around a rather delicate part of Harry's anatomy and had scraped him a good one with her teeth. She had felt horrible...not only because of what she'd done but because while he was moaning in pain in the bathroom she was in the bedroom faking coughing fits so he wouldn't know she was laughing.

These mishaps aside, she was privately smug over the quality of her sex life and absolutely certain that no one else, certainly no other woman she knew, was getting it as well as she was. This, she kept to herself. No reason to make all the other girls jealous.

She had no idea where Harry had come up with some of the things he'd contributed to their physical relations; frankly, it wasn't something she enjoyed contemplating. The inescapable fact that he'd probably picked up a good many techniques from Allegra gave her the creeps. She couldn't think about her and her former relationship with Harry; if she did, it started to feel as if the woman was still around and in their bed, and down that road lay madness.

Hermione sighed and looked down at the top of Harry's head as he kissed his way down her stomach, his hands caressing her skin and leaving trails of warmth in their wake. She reached down and laced her fingers through his. He looked up at her, pillowing his chin on her stomach, his eyes radiating his particular brand of soft sexual energy. He kissed her fingers. "I love you," he whispered. "Do you know I've never said that to anyone but you?"

She smiled. "I didn't know that."

He nodded. "I never wanted to say it unless I was really sure it was true."

"You never loved anyone else? I know, I know you've said that before, but...honestly, Harry. We're married now, I know you love me, it's really okay if you've felt that way about someone else. You can tell me the truth."

He slid up and lay next to her, their limbs intertwined, his face pillowed on her hair. "The truth? The truth is that I was yours before I knew what that meant. I could look around, I could let myself experiment with others, but...I had to come back in the end. I had to come home to you and just pray that you loved me back."

She stroked her hand down his face. "What if I hadn't?"

"I try not to think about that."

They lay there together for a few quiet moments. "I waited for us for a long time," she finally whispered. "Without knowing what I was waiting for."

He nodded. "Me, too."

She leaned forward and kissed him. His arms went around her and he returned her kisses, resuming his previous pathway down her stomach. As he slid down the bed Hermione's eyes fell shut. She flashed back to the most memorable times she and Harry had made love. Their first time, so passionate, so unexpected, so achingly right and perfect. Under the open sky at Hogwarts on the ground where they'd thought Ron's lifeblood had run from his body. At the Marquis in Florence, the first time after a long estrangement.

Florence. Her memories of their time there were some of her most painful and also some of her most treasured. Harry's face as he shouted at her in that deserted plaza. The feeling of him beneath her as they went through their strained and emotionless couplings in the hotel. That first sight of him in Wainwright's house as she lay near death, how glad she'd been to see him, how much he'd seemed like a mirage...

Abruptly, Hermione's eyes snapped wide open and she gasped sharply. Harry paused and looked up. "What?" he said. "What's wrong?"

She sat up and pushed him away. "Oh God!" She jumped off the bed and walked in a circle, not for any reason, but merely because she had to walk somewhere, anywhere.

Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and watched her, his face concerned. "What is it?"

She stopped and faced him. "Harry...I remember where I've seen Jack McCloud before."

"Where?"

She took a deep breath. "I didn't see him. Only his picture. Patrick Wainwright had it." At the mention of Wainwright's name she saw Harry's face shift and harden. "He had several pictures...he dropped them on the hallway floor and I helped him pick them up." She put a hand to her forehead. "One of the other pictures was of a man who ended up dead a week later, executed by the D'Agostinos."

Harry stood up, slowly. "Are you saying that...the D'Agostinos have a contract out on Margot and Jack?"

"It makes sense! They're on the run! Those two people watching them, they must be foot soldiers in the family!" She shook her head. "But...Margot and Jack are Muggles! Why would the wizard mob care about a few Muggles?"

"Oh, they might care," Harry said. "D'Agostino doesn't limit his options. He's been known to use Muggles for money laundering or to obtain supplies and information. Even if Jack never did anything for him, he might have witnessed something or learned something that would make him dangerous to the family." His eyes were shifting now, she could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "It does explain a few things."

"It's a miracle they've survived this long if they've been targeted," Hermione said. "They don't waste any time when they've decided to get rid of somebody."

"What do you think we should do?"

"Well, we've got to help them!" she exclaimed. "We could...I don't know what we could do, actually. But we have to do something!"

Harry was chewing on his thumbnail, thinking. "First we need to get the truth." He grabbed his pants. "Come on, let's make a neighborly call."

"No," she said, holding him back. "I think we ought to take a closer look at their babysitters first."

He thought for a moment, then nodded. "You're right." He jumped off the bed and bent over his trunk, presenting Hermione with a very pleasing view of his naked butt. She laid back and smiled, watching him root around, mentally bidding him to take his time.

After a few moments he straightened up and turned about. "Aha!" he exclaimed.

Hermione frowned. "You brought your Invisibility Cloak along? Why?"

He shrugged. "Don't leave home with it." He glanced at her, a wry smile curling his lips. "Maybe I brought it along thinking we could make use of it if we got to feeling adventurous."

She smiled. "Ooh, you mean like hide under it and have sex in some really public place in broad daylight?"

He tsked her. "Why, Mrs. Potter. If I didn't know better I'd think you'd had that idea, too."

"Perish the thought."

"But it does have other uses, of course."

"Spying on spies?"

Harry made a sarcastic noise. "Piffle. They're not real spies. They need a lesson in how it's really done."

"What do you think, homing beacon?"

"Convenient, easily conjured."

"You ought to plant it. With the cloak you can sneak right up."

"It's still risky. We ought to stage a distraction of some sort."

She smiled. "I can do that. You just follow them, I'll provide you with an opportunity. Watch for it."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Hermione leaned back on her elbow, her hand trailing across her bare stomach, arching her shoulders in a way that she was perfectly aware showed off her breasts to their best advantage. Harry stood there, his eyes riveted, the cloak forgotten in his hand. She bent her knee a bit, letting her legs slide sensuously against each other. "But we can't do anything until tomorrow, so...where were we?"

"Uh...I bah buh...ohuh..."

"Very eloquent, darling. Get over here."

---

Harry floated alongside the ship as it cut through the water, taking care that his Invisibility cloak didn't flap too much and expose him...not that he'd be seen even if it did. He was floating just below deck level, nothing under his feet except the ocean...which was, frankly, a little disconcerting, so he was making an effort not to look down.

Directly above him on the deck were the McClouds' two watchers, walking along and conferring about their assignment in laughingly audible tones. "I don't see why we can't take care of it ourselves," the woman was saying.

"I got orders," the man said. "We're just to baby-sit them until we get to Hawaii. Wainwright's got someone lined up to finish the job there. You can't plug somebody on a ship in the middle of the ocean, you got nowhere to run to after the job's done."

"It's bloody boring. If I have to eat one more shrimp cocktail..."

"Just cool your jets. If I was you I wouldn't be so anxious to off people."

"It's just as well. We gotta be careful. What about the Brits, their table friends?" the woman asked. Harry perked up his ears. These two were clearly Muggles so he wasn't concerned about being recognized, but he was interested as to what they'd discerned about himself and Hermione.

"What about them?"

"There's something off about them."

"I don't get you. They're just honeymooners, they got no eyes for anything but each other." Harry was pleased that they thought so. "I'm not..." The man broke off, looking up the deck to his right. "Holy God," he muttered.

Harry ventured a glance and saw the distraction Hermione had promised to provide walking towards them. It was a woman, tall and bronzed and well oiled, in what was possibly the smallest bikini he'd ever seen. Her hair was slicked back, sunglasses shielded her eyes, and she was wearing spike heels that clicked on the deck and curved the muscles all the way up to her hips. He blinked. Wow, he thought. I'll have to congratulate Hermione. She was serious about a distraction.

Everyone, man or woman, stopped to watch her progress down the deck, some surreptitiously, some openly. Whistles followed her as she walked, a slight smile curling her lips, her hips swaying with each step.

Harry didn't waste the opportunity. He tore his own eyes away, reached up and quickly planted a tiny clear bead on the man's shin. He watched as it melted and disappeared through the skin. His task done, he drew back and let himself watch the Bikini Woman as she got her strut on. She was just drawing even with them. I wonder where Hermione found her. Maybe she paid someone to... Harry's thoughts were cut cleanly off as he finally got a close look at the woman's face, what he could see of it.

Holy shit, his brain exclaimed. That's my wife!

He stared, his eyes the size of dinner plates, as she kept walking. Oh yeah, it was her, all right. How had he missed it before?

Harry dropped below deck level and hovered there. He couldn't believe it. He shook his head and chuckled to himself, then shot up and over the railing, unseen and unremarked upon. He flew over Hermione's head as she completed her trip down the deck. She ducked around a corner, then into an empty lounge.

She took off her sunglasses and tried to hurry across the room, but ran right into nothing. She stepped back, rolling her eyes. "Cute, Harry."

"Nice outfit."

"What do you think?"

"I think you're taller than me in those shoes and I don't like it one little bit."

"See anything you do like?" she said, smirking.

"I didn't recognize you at first."

"It's amazing what a few tanning spells and a tiny bikini can do for you."

"Is that all?"

"What do you mean?"

Harry, still invisible, reached out and cupped one of her breasts. She jumped. "These are definitely not yours."

"How would you know?"

"You think I don't know the shape of your breasts? I'm a guy!"

"All right, I...augmented them a little. It was all for the effect. Didn't I promise you a distraction?"

"Yes, but the plan was to distract them, not me. "

"And here I thought you were a more evolved species of male, darling. I thought you might be less susceptible to the more obvious charms."

"Now you're just being a smartass." He flipped off the Invisibility Cloak, grinning. "You enjoyed that."

"Well...maybe a little." She stepped closer. "Did you plant the beacon?"

"Yes," he said.

"So we've done our jobs for the time being?"

"Yes," he said, drawing out the word. She was leaning closer and he could feel her breath on his cheek.

Hermione slid one finger up his arm. "Remember that other use for this cloak we were discussing?"

He smiled. "Oh, yes."

Hermione took the cloak from him and swirled it around both of them, linking her arms around his neck at the same time. "Let's find a nice sunny spot." Before Harry could respond her mouth was on his and he found that he really had nothing much to say.

---

It's a shame you can't have a fireplace on a ship, Hermione thought. Only a roaring fire could have completed the mise-en-scene. As it was, the alarmingly bright moonlight would have to do. It streamed in through their balcony doors and illuminated their bedroom with romantic shafts of pale white light, falling squarely on the bed as if the entire furniture layout had been engineered just to achieve this effect.

Hermione smiled as Harry let out another contented sigh. She was sitting on the backs of his legs and rubbing his back as he lay on his stomach underneath her, although at some point she had gone from massaging him to just touching him because she liked the feeling of his skin under her hands. She leaned over and placed a kiss right between his shoulder blades, her bare breasts brushing his back.

"Can I please turn over now?" he said, his voice half-muffled against the pillow.

"Why? Aren't you enjoying this?"

"Very much, but I can't see you. I like to see you."

"That's sweet, except if you turn over I'll lose this marvelous view of your butt."

Harry chuckled. "I'm starting to think you have a fetish about my butt."

"Finest butt in all of England, and I'll have words with anyone who claims otherwise."

He cleared his throat. "I'd like to think I have some worthwhile attributes on my front side as well."

"Hmm. Ok, you've convinced me. Turn over." She raised herself up enough so he could flip to his back, then settled down again over his hips. He gazed up at her, not bothering to veil his desire, which would have been ridiculous since she could feel it against her thigh. Hermione ran her hands up and down his chest, making herself go as slowly as she could, holding his eyes with her own. Harry's hands lightly stroked her legs, then her arms.

For a long time nothing else happened. They didn't speak or try to move things along. They just stayed where they were, languidly running their hands over each other's bodies. Harry brought one of her hands to his face and kissed her palm, letting his lips linger there. Hermione shivered a little and abruptly decided she'd had enough foreplay. She shifted just a little, all that was required, and Harry sucked in his breath as she settled over him, a deep exhalation escaping her. He laced his fingers through hers; Hermione let her head fall backwards and her baser instincts take over.

Hermione found it interesting that virtually all sexually active adults had a permanent sort of schizoid break in their conscious personas. How fascinating that the same person could have a normal conversation, discussing matters of great philosophical or personal import, and in a different situation be reduced to nothing but nonverbal grunts and cries. To see someone being active in their daily life, to see them play chess or cook dinner or drive a car, and to know somewhere in the back of your mind that this same person, when alone in bed with their partner, would be capable of a completely different range of actions and expressions.

She didn't exempt herself from this phenomenon. She was sure it would shock a great many people who were accustomed to the professional, bookworm Hermione to see her as she was in bed with Harry, where she became a creature of gasps and sighs and moans who clutched and grasped and contorted herself however she could. Likewise she was certain that no one who knew sweet, guileless Harry would believe him capable of looking at her the way he often did in intimate moments, the way he was right now, that eyes-half-closed bedroom expression that so clearly said "I am about to ravish you, and you'll want to weep because you know it'll have to end eventually."

Perhaps it was this duplicity and not the act itself that made sex such an expression of intimacy...once you've seen someone's orgasm face, there's no going back. When they're having sex, intelligent, rational people who would blush to belch in public can be reduced to slavering, thrusting primal creatures who make very strange noises and even stranger facial expressions.

Humans. Go figure.

Harry sat up, wrapped his arms around her and flipped them both over, a growling noise coming from deep in his chest as he did so. Hermione wound her legs around him and clutched him tighter. She was just settling in for the long haul...

...when the Beacon monitoring charm suddenly began beeping. Harry froze mid-thrust, then let his head fall to her shoulder. "Fuck," he muttered.

"Actually, at the moment it's more a lack of fuck," she chided him.

"Ha ha," he said, withdrawing and sitting up. He grabbed his robe and went to the charm, which was floating above the dresser, glowing an unobtrusive pale blue. Hermione raised up on one elbow and watched, praying it was nothing important that would keep him out of bed for more than thirty seconds. He touched the charm with his wand.

"Subject has ventured into red-alert location," the charm reported. Hermione winced. Napoleon had invented this particular kind of homing charm, so it spoke in his voice. It was very nearly the last voice she wanted to hear while lying nude in a bed waiting for Harry to come back, outranked only by her mother and possibly Severus Snape. The charm's report meant that the McClouds' babysitters (at least the male one, who bore the beacon) had gone somewhere suspicious. Hermione had given the charm a list of anywhere the babysitters could legitimately be, such as their own cabin or the dining room. It also had a list of red- alert locations, which were places they had no business being except to watch the McClouds, such as Margot and Jack's cabin.

"Specify," Harry said.

"Subject has entered red-alert location 3."

Hermione got out of bed, not bothering with her robe, and picked up the notes she'd made when she programmed the charm. "That's Margot and Jack's balcony," she said, alarmed. "They're right outside their room."

"How'd they get there?"

"Probably the room next door. It's unoccupied. They could climb over from there."

Harry turned back to the charm. "Audio."

The charm pulsed and the babysitters' voices issued from it. "They're not in there," said the woman.

"Must be at that D-Deck party," the man said. Hermione knew the party they meant. She and Harry had considered going but the activity of his hand on her leg under the dinner table had given her better ideas. "Can we plant it in her purse or something?"

"It's gotta be something they'll have in Hawaii."

"Hawaii again," Harry said. "They talked about that on deck today."

"Wait," the man said. "Let's find their sunglasses. We can put it on the case. They won't have them now, but they'll sure take them to the islands when we dock."

"Great. Let's do it."

"Should we stop them?" Hermione said.

"No," Harry said at once. "Let them plant whatever it is. They can't know we're on to them yet. Whatever's going to happen in Hawaii, that's what we have to stop. Also, we might need the evidence to convince Margot and Jack."

They listened as the two babysitters fumbled about their neighbors' cabin until they found someone's sunglasses case. They didn't waste any more time, just quickly left the cabin. Harry and Hermione looked at each other. "Should we go in and find the bug?" she said.

"Let's wait until they get back. It's time we had a talk with them anyway."

She stepped closer. "Can we finish what we started, then?" she said, her hands going to the ties on his robe. He looked down at her with that same heavy-lidded expression as she opened it and placed her hands on those portions of him that she'd claimed as her own from the first time they'd kissed.

In lieu of an answer, Harry just picked her up and carried her back to the bed.

---

When Margot and Jack McCloud returned from the D-Deck party, laughing and flushed with excitement and a little alcohol, they didn't at first register the presence of two people sitting in their living room, dressed all in black.

"Hey," Margot said, spying them first. Hermione sat in a wing chair, Harry stood at her shoulder. "What are you two doing here?" She was smiling, but Jack wasn't. He didn't even look all that surprised. He didn't demand an explanation for their presence, as she might have expected he would.

"We have to talk," Harry said. "Are you two sober?"

The McClouds exchanged a glance, their happy expressions gone at once. The rapidity of their shift from a festive mood into alarmed and serious told Hermione a great deal about their lives and confirmed many of her suspicions. Only people who were perpetually looking over their shoulders could switch gears so quickly. "Sober enough," Jack said. They sat down on the settee.

Harry sat down on an ottoman before them. "You're in trouble, aren't you?"

Margot kept her eyes averted, but reached out and took her husband's hand. Jack sighed. "I don't think I can explain it."

Harry hesitated for a moment, then tried a different tack. "Are you aware that you're being watched? Here, on the ship?"

Now the McClouds exchanged a panicked glance. "No, that isn't possible," Jack said.

Hermione brought out Margot's sunglasses case. She opened it and withdrew a short silver thread from one of the hinges. "This is a homing bug," she said. "They planted it here this evening. We've been watching your cabin, we saw it."

"Why didn't you stop them?" Margot exclaimed.

"Because we didn't want them to know we're aware of them," Harry said.

Jack was shaking his head in constant denial. "No, no, we lost them. We lost them in Athens."

"We thought we lost them in Paris, too!" Margot cried. "And before that, in Chicago! We're always losing them and they always find us!" She put her hands to her face. Jack drew her closer and held her. He looked up at Harry, his eyes filled with helplessness.

"I don't know how they do it," he said. "They find us places where there's no way they could have. It's like they can read minds, be in three places at once! I don't understand how..." He broke off and put his face against Margot's hair for a moment. "I don't know how they do it."

Harry sighed. "Margot, Jack...what I'm about to tell you is going to be hard for you to accept."

They looked up at him. "Do you mean...you know them? You know what's happening?" Margot said.

"I have a pretty good idea. And they're able to keep finding you...now, we are talking about the D'Agostinos, right?" Jack hesitated, the nodded miserably, his eyes downcast. "Okay. I know they seem to do things and know things that are impossible. There is a reason for it."

"What? In God's name, what is it?"

"The D'Agostinos aren't like other people. They're not like you."

"Of course not!" Jack exclaimed. "They're criminals and murderers and cowardly thugs who hide in the shadows while shooting people in the back!"

"That's not what I mean." Harry sighed. Hermione didn't envy him having to try and explain this. "The fact is that...they're wizards."

Silence. Margot and Jack just stared at him. "Wh...what did you say?"

"They're wizards. Magical people. Actually...so are we."

Jack was blinking, glancing from Harry to Hermione and back again. Hermione recognized his expression. It was that of a man who has only just realized that he's been conversing with total lunatics, and isn't sure how to extricate himself.

"Wizards? Like, with pointy hats?" he said, trying to make it a joke.

Harry smiled a little. "We only wear the pointy hats on special occasions."

"Harry, I don't know what you take us for, but if you're trying to..."

Harry cut him off. "I know this is hard to accept. I am prepared to prove it to you."

Jack nodded. "Go ahead! Prove it!"

Hermione watched the McClouds' faces as Harry disappeared. They blinked, as if they weren't sure they were really seeing it, then they began looking around as if he might have just gotten up really fast. After a few seconds they turned to her. "He'll be right back," she said.

Harry reappeared after five seconds or so. Margot and Jack both jumped. "How...how did you do that?" Jack demanded.

"I'm a wizard. It's something we can do."

"Where did you go?"

"Just over to our cabin and back again."

Jack was shaking his head. "Magicians have been making things disappear and reappear for centuries, Harry."

Hermione pulled out her wand. "Accio Margot's purse," she said. The purse obediently leapt off the couch and into Hermione's hand.

Harry pulled out his own wand. "Wingardium leviosa, " he said, and the purse levitated into the air.

"Exortatium et revorso, " Hermione said, and the purse immediately emptied itself of its contents, which then replaced themselves.

The McClouds watched this brief exchange, wide-eyed. They said nothing. Hermione didn't know if they were in shock or still disbelieving or just speechless.

Harry sighed. "Okay. You need more proof? Come on," he said, beckoning to them. He went out to the balcony, which identical to her and Harry's own. He checked to see that all three of them were following him and without breaking stride put one hand on the railing and leapt over the side.

Hermione heard Margot gasp. Jack rushed to the railing, but they all soon saw that Harry was just hanging there in space, the wind whipping his hair. He held out his hands. "Are you convinced yet?"

"I...how...what..." The McClouds were still inarticulate.

Harry looked around. "How am I possibly doing this? What conceivable magic trick could allow me to float along beside a ship doing twelve knots with no beforehand preparation?"

"But...you're saying it's really magic? " Jack said. "That's impossible! There...just isn't any such thing!"

Harry shrugged. "Okay." He held out both hands and made a withdrawing gesture, and Hermione felt herself lifted and carried over the side. By the sounds of the McClouds' cries the same was happening to them, then all four of them were floating there by Harry. Immediately the ship began to leave them behind. She smiled a little...it would certainly bolster his case if the ship went on without them and they were still hanging here in midair.

Margot and Jack were clinging to each other, looking at Harry with terrified expressions. He held out a hand. "Don't be frightened, I won't drop you," he said. "And don't worry, we can catch up to the ship."

Jack stared at them with frank fascination. "How are you doing this?" he breathed.

Harry smiled. "I told you. Magic."

Margot was shaking her head. The ship was now several lengths ahead of them and receding fast. Hermione had to admit it was an eerie feeling, to be hanging here a few hundred feet above the water's surface with nothing around you but wind and sky. "I can't believe it."

Harry drew them a little closer together. "Believe it," he said, fixing them with a serious expression and speaking in that tone he had that absolutely mandated your attention. "And listen to me. Magic is real, it exists. It is all around you. More than that, there is an entire magical world of which you are unaware, even though it lives side by side with your world. Hermione and I are part of that world, and unfortunately for you, so are the D'Agostinos."

"So you...don't work for the government?"

"Yes, we do. Our government, the wizard government."

"There's a government?"

"There is an entirely self-contained, independent universe of wizards in and among your world, Jack. I know it's hard to wrap your brain around, but it's best if you just accept it. I'd rather not give you too many details if I can avoid it."

He nodded. "Okay."

Harry looked from one face to the other, evaluating their expressions. "Do you believe me? Can you?"

Margot sighed, a shaky and frightened sigh. "I believe you. I have no choice." Jack nodded in agreement.

"Good. Let's get out of this wind." All at once they were being pulled along behind him as he flew through the warm night and back to the McCloud's balcony, where he gently deposited them on the deck and then joined them. The whole episode felt quite surreal once they were back in the cabin, seated on the couch as if nothing had happened. Harry remained standing. "We can help you," he said, glancing at Hermione. "But only if you're straight with us."

"You can't help us," Margot said. Her voice was depressingly flat and unaffected. "He's everywhere."

"It only seems that way because he's been using magic against you and you have no defense. Now you do. Can you tell me why he's pursuing you?"

Margot had paled during these exchanges and Hermione now saw that she was trembling. She began to suspect that whatever beef the D'Agostinos had with these two, it was because of Margot and not because of Jack, as she'd first suspected.

Jack stood up. "Harry, can I speak to you privately?"

Harry shot her a brief glance. Go ahead, she told him without saying it out loud. I'll handle her.

---

Harry shut the balcony door behind him. Jack was at the railing, gripping it tightly as if he were afraid he might fly away again. "What is it?"

Jack turned. "I don't know if you'll understand what I'm going to tell you."

"Try me."

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Go ahead."

"How much do you love your wife?"

Harry frowned. "I don't understand."

"What would you do to protect her, or defend her?" Jack was seeking more than clarification on Harry's emotional state, he saw at once. He was seeking validation for something he'd done.

Harry joined him at the railing. "I'd do whatever I had to do."

"Would you go against everything you'd always believed? Would you risk your whole existence?" He met Harry's eyes. "Would you kill?"

How complex was the answer to this question, Harry thought. What would he do for Hermione? In his gut, the first response was truly that yes, he'd do anything. But what if someday he was faced with one of those impossible choices...her life or the lives of thousands of others? What then? No matter how much he loved her, could he honestly sacrifice so much to save only her?

What troubled him the most about these thoughts was the realization that he was not at all sure he'd take the heroic road in such a situation. What terrified him was that if that ever happened, he suspected he would find that he simply didn't care about the countless thousands, not compared to her.

But he voiced none of these concerns to Jack. He simply repeated his previous statement. "I'd do whatever I had to do."

Jack sighed and looked back out to sea. "Margot's father was a very wealthy man. I'd long suspected he had some unsavory ties, but it wasn't confirmed until after his death. Apparently he owed some money or merchandise...I'm a little unclear on the details. He was gone, so the foot soldiers of this D'Agostino tried to get it out of Margot. When she couldn't give them what they wanted they beat her. When I came home, they were raping her." Harry shut his eyes. Jack's voice gave a little hitch. "I never knew I had that kind of rage inside me," he said quietly. "I picked up the first thing I put my hands on...it was a metal bar that we used to prop the inside of the door for security, and with it I killed three men, Harry." He looked over at him, and Harry saw how this act still haunted him. "I still see it in my head. There was so much blood. Have you...ever killed anyone?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. In the line of duty."

"I wasn't sorry. I'm still not sorry. But I am afraid of myself, a little bit." His shoulders slumped. "Anyway. I told Margot to pack some bags. I got out all the money I could lay my hands on, had my lawyer hide the rest and we ran. That was two years ago."

Harry put a hand on Jack's arm. "It's time to stop running." Jack nodded, looking exhausted and about ten years older than he had an hour ago. "Come on, let's go back inside."

When they reentered the cabin, Margot was weeping on the couch. Hermione was holding her and patting her back. One glance from her told Harry that Margot had related her side of this same story. Jack took Hermione's place on the couch, embracing Margot with a protective care that Harry recognized. She calmed slowly.

"What happens now?" Margot finally asked once she had herself under control.

Harry sat down before them again. "I can protect you. We can hide you so that no one will ever find you again if you don't want them to. But there are more immediate problems to deal with first. There are two foot soldiers from the Family here on the ship watching you, and..."

Jack sat up straighter, alarmed. "That means they could know you're here!"

Hermione shook her head. "No. They're not actually wizards themselves. The Family often uses Muggles for the scutwork. It's a simple thing to conceal ourselves from them." This seemed to reassure them.

Harry continued. "We've heard them discussing a plan that's supposed to go into effect tomorrow when we dock in Honolulu. I suspect that D'Agostino has sent operatives to intercept you there."

"And kill us."

Harry sighed. "Most likely. But we won't let that happen," he added quickly, holding up a hand. "They don't know anyone else is aware of their plans, and that's half the battle. Hermione and I will have to...um, dispose of anyone that's been sent to collect you before we can help you relocate for good."

"What will you do?" Jack asked.

Harry smiled. "You just leave that to us. We'll let you know what you need to do."

---

The next morning the ship's passengers were greeted by the impossibly beautiful sight of the Hawaiian landscape rising from the ocean like a sea monster come to the surface for a taste of the sunlight on its rocky skin.

Hermione stood at the railing of their private promenade, the Pacific breezes blowing her filmy dressing gown around her. She heard Harry come outside, then felt the warmth of his presence just behind her. She leaned back and was immediately folded into his embrace. He kissed her shoulder. "Good morning," he whispered.

"Yes, it is," she whispered back, lacing her fingers through his where they rested on her stomach. She smiled to see their wedding bands there side by side, glittering in the bright sunlight. "We've had nothing but good mornings here." She turned in his arms and kissed him, slow and lingering. "Can we stay here like this forever?"

He touched her face gently, his fingertips just skimming her skin. "I wish we could."

She burrowed into his arms, her cheek against the warm skin of his neck. "I don't think I ever want to go back. Back there is work and stress and other people and I'll have to..." She broke off, sighing. "There's so much to do back there."

"I know," he said, his voice sounding a little tight. "But we will eventually have to go back to our lives."

She drew back and looked up into his face. "Can I tell you something that I feel a little strange about?"

"You can tell me anything, silly."

She nodded and took a deep breath. "Well, my whole life I've planned and hoped and thought about what I'd be, who I'd be, what I'd do with my life. And I'm happy with what I am doing. I've got a good place in the world, and I get to use my talents for good."

"Okay," he said, sounding a little uncertain. "What's strange about that?"

"It isn't that. What I've realized is that..." She looked away for a moment, then gathered her resolve and met his eyes again. "I'd give it all up for you. If I had to."

She saw the muscles in his jaw twitch slightly. His eyes wandered all over her face. "Oh, Hermione."

"I know!" she exclaimed. "I never thought I'd be the sort who would be willing to throw over everything for Her Man! It makes feel like I don't really know myself, that I don't know what I'm even capable of."

"That makes two of us," he said, a rueful smile on his lips.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'd do the same."

Hermione shook her head, sighing. "Men say that all the time and they don't mean it."

"Are you suggesting that I don't mean it?"

She fixed him with a dubious look. "You're telling me that you'd give up your job, your responsibilities, and all the trappings of your life just for me?"

"Just for you?" he said, his eyebrows going up. "There is no just. There's you, and then there's all the rest of it. Everything else is secondary. And yes, I'd give it up in a heartbeat." He smiled, a more genuine smile this time. "Hermione, they're just jobs. All the trappings, as you say, are just window dressing for what's really important." He grasped her hand and held it to his chest. "This, this is what's important. Who we are, and what we are together." He kissed her fingers. "I know you. I know that you're protective of your separateness, of your identity."

She nodded, tears prickling her eyes. "And now all I can think about is us. I want to feel good about putting us first, because that's how it should be, but...there's this little voice that keeps saying I'm betraying myself if I'm willing to sacrifice so much."

"For someone else that might be a problem," he said. "Because it is possible to give up too much, and then you do betray yourself."

"Why isn't that a problem for me, then?"

"Because. I'd never let you do that."

She smiled. "Nice to have someone watching my back."

"Always," he said, bending to kiss her again. "Speaking of which, we do have some work to do today."

Her smile became a grin. "I relish the opportunity to unleash a little whup-ass, as Napoleon says."

"I'm sure you'll get your chance. Let's get dressed, we don't want to miss Margot and Jack." He started back to the cabin, then glanced back at her. "Wear heavy shoes."

---

Margot and Jack looked very ill-at-ease. "Relax," Hermione said through a wide smile. "You look like you're being lead to the killing floor."

"We are, " Jack said.

"It'll be fine, don't worry."

They stepped off the launch onto the dock. Harry let Jack take the lead, wanting to avoid the appearance of having any say in where they walked. The McClouds' babysitters had been behind them in the boat. "What now?" Margot said as they joined the crowds on the street.

"Now we just walk around like any other group of tourists," Harry said, quietly. "We'll be watching D'Agostino's people, don't trouble yourselves. Just forget that they're even there."

Jack snorted. "Forget, he says. Sure, just put it out of your mind that you could be killed at any moment."

Nevertheless, they nearly managed to accomplish this. The two couples followed directions to a local beach, then a marketplace, then a scenic nature trail and along the way actually found themselves having fun. Harry kept a close but surreptitious eye on their two tagalongs, who always kept a discreet distance but didn't exercise nearly enough subtlety to hide their presence.

As they were browsing a newspaper stand he happened to meet Hermione's eyes. She flashed him a brief signal then turned back to the magazines. He waited a few moments and looked around. The two familiar foot soldiers had been met up by two others, both men, both looking very out of place in sunny Hawaii.

Good. That's out of the way. The only task remaining was to maneuver everyone into a secure location where they could deal with their pursuers in relative obscurity. He cast his eyes over the surroundings, then spotted an ideal solution. A smile spread over his face. "Margot, Jack...how would you feel about a quick round of golf?"

---

"Play slower," Harry murmured as Jack set up his second shot on the fifth fairway. Jack didn't acknowledge the instruction but immediately stepped back to take a few more practice swings, then addressed the ball for what felt like forever, and finally took his shot after a protracted preparation.

As he'd known they would, their followers had gotten into a foursome right behind them. The course was near-deserted, which was a lucky break, it spared them having to find a secluded dogleg or sandtrap.

They had gradually slowed their pace of play until their pursuers were being forced to literally wait for them, which amused Harry a little. Finally he played his final card. He stepped back and motioned with his arm, the universal signal for "play through."

He and Hermione watched as there was a hurried little conference on the tee box. They had to play through because there was no legitimate reason for them to wish to remain behind them. Harry looked back and then forward. No one else was in sight on the hole behind or ahead, and this fairway was well shaded by trees and a natural dip in the land. Perfect. He led their group to the rough to allow the group behind to play through, which they eventually did after some discussion amongst themselves.

They watched as the four foot soldiers teed off, then started off down the fairway towards their balls. "Stay here," Harry said to Margot and Jack. He and Hermione moved to the center of the fairway to meet the foursome.

"Hi!" Harry said, grinning his best doofy tourist grin. "Sorry about this, I guess we're just big slowpokes!"

The woman they knew from the ship smiled a little. "No problem," she said.

"Say, where you folks from? You on vacation, too?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Well, always nice to meet fellow travelers!" Harry exclaimed, sticking out his hand. The man from the ship shook it, looking puzzled. "Sure is dead around here today, isn't it? Kinda funny we should be stuck so close together here!" His grin was starting to hurt but he pushed it wider.

"Yeah. Funny." The two as-of-yet silent newcomers to the Gang of Four were eyeing him suspiciously.

Harry nodded. "Well, let me give you some friendly advice, one tourist to another." He took one step closer. "Take a good long look at the McClouds, because this is as close as you're going to get to them." The thugs exchanged alarmed glances. "Yeah, that's right. Keep smilin,' we're just having fun here, just some innocent tourists out for a nice relaxing eighteen holes. So with that in mind, and wanting to keep things pleasant, why don't you just spare us all the time and tell me who you report to, and what your orders are?"

The woman laughed. "I don't know what you're talking about, mister."

Harry shrugged. "Sure, we can play that game if you want. Gets old awful fast." He let his smile fall away and took one more step closer. Hermione was hanging near his elbow, waiting for her turn. "You know, I almost don't care who you report to or what your orders are, but I'm gonna ask again. If you're smart you'll tell me."

"Or you'll what?" the woman said.

"Me? I'm not going to do anything." He glanced at Hermione. "But my wife will kick your ass for you."

All four of them turned to look at Hermione, then burst out laughing. Perfect, Harry thought. "Your wife? Is gonna kick our asses for us?" the man from the ship said.

"You heard me."

"Well, mister Whoever-You-Are, that's a nice threat. I've heard some fine ones, but that...that really rates."

"Glad you enjoyed it."

The man stepped up until he was right in Harry's face. "I'll tell you what's gonna happen. We'll kick your ass, and your wife's, and then take the McClouds too. Okay?"

Harry nodded, putting on a sad face. "If that's the way you want it." He turned his back and started to walk towards the rough. Hermione stayed. "You got this covered?" he said to her as he drew away.

"No problem."

Harry rejoined Margot and Jack, who hadn't been able to hear this exchange but could probably guess as to its basic content. "What are you doing?" Jack hissed at him.

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

"You're leaving her out there alone?"

Harry tossed him a sharp glance. "You and Margot are what's important here. It's basic protection strategy. You put your stronger fighter nearest the targets. Ergo, I stay with you. Hermione can take care of herself."

They watched the four thugs, still standing with Hermione in the fairway. One of the two new ones decided he was tired of waiting and started forward, his eyes on Margot and Jack, but he didn't get very far. As he drew even with Hermione, there were three blows...throat, groin, jaw...and he was down.

The other three were immediately tense, refocusing on Hermione instead of the McClouds. Harry watched as they all leapt at her at once. Jack was wincing and gasping. "My God, man, go help her!"

Harry grinned. "She's doing fine."

"But...there's three of them!"

He let out a long, dreamy sigh. "Yeah, I know," he said, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "You okay, honey?" he called.

"Fine!" she answered, then flipped the woman thug over her hip and into one of her comrades, knocking them both over like bowling pins.

Jack's alarm was turning into surprise. "Wow, she's...she's good."

"Yes. At everything. Bloody infuriating, it is," Harry said, crossing his arms and enjoying the show. Hermione had taken out two more of the thugs and was now just down to the woman, who was proving to be the toughest opponent.

As they watched, the woman thug suddenly unleashed a big showy series of martial-arts chopsocky-looking moves complete with sound effects. Hermione stood there and watched, tensed and ready but unfazed. "What the hell was all that?" she finally said when her opponent seemed to have finished.

"I've got a black belt," the woman said, sneering.

Hermione straightened up and nodded. "Oh? That's really...hey, what's that?" she said, suddenly pointing up and away. The woman turned to look, and when she turned back Hermione punched her across the face. She crumpled up like wet papier-mâché.

Hermione pulled out her wand and immobilized the four prone thugs on the fairway, then rejoined the others in the rough. "Black belt, huh?" Harry said.

Hermione shrugged. "I didn't know they gave out black belts in stupidity."

Harry raised a hand and their four friends levitated off the grass and floated gently over to the shade of a nearby stand of trees. He let them down in a heap, out of sight for the time being. "Harry, I don't understand how this works," Jack said. "Why did you bother with these guys? If you were going to help us escape, why not just do it?"

"Because if you vanished out from under their noses they'd report it," Hermione said. "D'Agostino would be on your trail immediately. This way, they won't be reporting anything for quite some time. It'll give you a bit of a head start."

"Head start to where?" Margot said, speaking for the first time since the confrontation had begun. She looked frightened but under control.

"I told you we could help you start over," Harry said, "and I wasn't kidding. I've been in contact with an agent in my Los Angeles field office, she's going to set you up in...well, to put it in your terms, it's our version of the Witness Protection Program."

"New identities? New place? We've tried that a dozen times, they always find us."

"Not this time, they won't. Remember you're under the protection of wizards now, and it has certain advantages. Once your new names and new home are set up, we'll put a charm on you called Fidelius. One person will be designated as your Secret Keeper. As long as they don't tell where you are, the D'Agostinos can never find you. They could be sitting in your living room having tea and they wouldn't know it was you unless your Secret Keeper spilled the beans, which they won't because as soon as the charm is performed their memory will be erased. The best part is that you can tell your friends and family where you are openly. You don't have to worry about keeping the secret yourself. You're secure from harm as long as the charm is in place."

Margot and Jack looked stunned by this. "Are you serious? You guys can do that?"

"We do it every day. We have witnesses to protect just like you do."

Jack grabbed Harry's hand and shook it vigorously. "I don't know how to thank you, Harry, Hermione. I can't..." His eyes misted over and he put his arm around Margot, who looked a bit teary herself. "It's been so long since we had any peace."

"We're glad to help."

"Can I ask why? Why help us, when you don't even know us?"

Harry looked over at his wife, who just reached out and took his hand. "I have my own reasons for wanting to strike a blow against the D'Agostinos," he said. "You did nothing to deserve death at their hands. It's our job to fight people like them whenever we can."

Jack nodded. "Well...thank you, no matter what the reasons."

"You're welcome."

A brief, somewhat awkward pause fell amongst them. "What now?" Margot asked.

"Now, I need you to prepare yourselves, because this might be uncomfortable."

"What?"

"I need to transport you to our Los Angeles office. You saw me disappear last night? We call that Apparating."

"You're...going to do that to us?" Margot said, looking dubious.

"Yes. It might feel a little strange."

They drew closer to each other. "If it'll get us our lives back, do what you need to do," Jack said.

"Good luck," Hermione said. "Be careful."

"We will," Margot said, smiling at Hermione.

Harry shut his eyes and concentrated on the L.A. field office, then Apparated them. He could sense their arrival in one piece, allowing him to relax. He opened his eyes and squeezed Hermione's fingers. "Well," he said, "that's a good day's work done."

"What about the band of merry pranksters?" she said, indicating the four thugs sleeping peacefully in the shade.

"How long did you immobilize them?"

"A day or so."

He smiled. "Let's move them out of sight and leave 'em. Serves them right."

"You are a heartless bastard, Harry Potter," she said, smirking at him.

"There, you see? My secret's out."

"No, it's safe with me," she said. "All the better to blackmail you later."

---

"You look beautiful," Harry murmured in her ear as they danced.

She smiled. "Thank you."

"No one in the room can take their eyes off you, you know that?"

"Now you're just making me self-conscious."

They swayed around the dance floor, Harry's lead sure and confident as always. He spun her out and bent her back in a shallow dip before going back to the basic steps. It was less crowded than usual tonight, probably because so many of their fellow passengers were on the island. They'd had their fill once their little escapade was over and had returned to the ship to wait for departure the following morning. "I got a Bubble from the head of the L.A. office," he said quietly. "The McClouds are all set up, the charm is done, they're safe now."

"Good." She leaned her head against his as the song changed to another one of slower tempo. "It's so convenient to be able to fight evil while on vacation."

She felt his lips smile against her hair. "I'm glad we could help them."

"Me too." She fell silent for a moment, thinking. "They were doing it, you know."

"Doing what?"

"What we were talking about this morning. They gave up everything for each other, to stay together, to keep each other safe."

"Yes, they did."

"Jack never seemed to regret what he did, even though it cost him almost everything."

"But it saved her, and that's all he cared about."

Hermione pulled back and met his eyes. "I know I should be glad for them, it's good they have their priorities straight, but...it makes me sad, too. It's almost like their love for each other became a prison."

His expression was difficult to read. "Love is always a prison, Hermione. A prison we make for ourselves. When two people love each other they're locked together and can never really escape, even if they want to, even if others try to force them out."

She shook her head. "Sounds like such a terrible way to describe something beautiful."

"Anything that's beautiful can also be terrible."

"And what about us?"

"What about us?"

"Are we in prison too, Harry?"

For a long time he didn't answer, just held her gaze without blinking. He drew her closer and pressed his cheek to her hair as they danced. "Yes, we are," he finally whispered.

Hermione nodded. "I know." She held him tighter.

For several minutes they danced in silence, moving within the circle of each other's arms, their feet gliding in unison over the parquet floor. "So whether we like it or not," he said at last, "we're stuck in here."

She smiled. "Yes." She sobered as she looked at his face. "Because it's all in our heads."

He frowned. "What's that?"

She shook her head as if clearing the cobwebs. "I'm not sure. It's something the Guardian said to me, just the last time I saw her, right after she cured you. I'm still working out what it means."

"Any progress?"

"Maybe. I'll keep you posted." She reached up and stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers. "But I'll say this. If I had to be stuck in this prison with someone...oh Harry, thank God it was you."

He smiled, turned his head and kissed her palm. "I wish I could tell you how happy you make me."

"You can't?"

"My command of English is insufficient."

"There are better ways to communicate than words." She demonstrated her point by standing on tiptoe to kiss him until his mouth opened beneath hers and she felt his breath in her own lungs.

They said nothing more, Hermione's point being taken. Harry led her from the room and they returned to their cabin, where all the barriers that separated them as individuals became meaningless and the only prison was their physical forms, from which escape was still possible.

---

Let me watch by the fire and remember my days, and it may be a trick of the firelight
But the flickering pages that trouble my sight is a book I'm afraid to write

It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life, and it's cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife
And it's all there to see as the section reveals: there's some sorrow in every life

There are promises broken and promises kept, angry words that were spoken when I should have wept
There's a chapter of secrets and words to confess if I lose everything that I possess
There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die
There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies
There's a chapter on fathers a chapter on sons, there are pages of conflict that nobody won
And the battles you lost and your bitter defeat...there's a page where we fail to meet

Though the pages are numbered, I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no one can read, in the book of my life.

Now the daylight's returning
And if one sentence is true
All these pages are burning
And all that's left is you