Hero With A Thousand Faces

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Chapter 9: The Hours

"I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been."
--from Virginia Woolf's suicide note

---

"How is it possible to go away on honeymoon with four bags and come back with ten when I didn't buy anything?" Hermione exclaimed, surveying the disaster area that was her bedroom.

Laura shrugged, busily separating the clothes into piles for laundry purposes. "That's always the way it is," she said. "You leave home and your stuff is fruitful and multiplies while it's away from all the rest of your stuff."

Hermione sighed. "I'll never get this all sorted out."

"Of course you will." Laura shook her head. "You know, you've been home all of an hour and you're already losing that happy, relaxed holiday expression you had when you walked in the door."

"I know, I can feel it leaving me. I don't want it to leave!" Hermione wailed, flopping down on the bed amongst her and Harry's clothes. "I just can't help but think about the massive pile of paperwork that's going to be on my desk when I go in on Monday."

"So how long am I going to have to wait for a full accounting of your trip?"

"I'm too exhausted. Besides, it'd take me hours to tell you everything."

"Just give me the highlights."

"Oh, I don't know where to start." She sighed. "We saw amazing places, we laid in the sun and didn't worry about anything, and we ate tons of magnificent food...it was heaven."

"That isn't what I meant. Give me the good highlights."

"You're a sex-crazed beast, you know that?"

"I have no choice! Of the two women here, which one has a sex life? There, you see! I have to live vicariously through you!"

Hermione flipped over and propped her chin on her hands, smiling at her friend. "My bedroom exploits are far too superlative to be shared. It wouldn't be fair to set anyone up with such unrealistic expectations."

Laura stuck out her tongue. "Fine, be that way."

Hermione jumped up. "Oh, leave all this stuff. Let's get some wine and sit in the winter garden room and pretend that it's summer."

"Lead on, MacDuff."

The two women left the Cloister and trooped downstairs, thoughts of sangria on their minds. As they reached the foyer there was a knock at the door.

To Hermione's shock, when she opened the door there was a postman standing there. She thought back but couldn't remember if they'd ever received any Muggle mail here at the house. Her parents knew how to use an owl. "Hello," she said, wondering why he'd knocked instead of just leaving whatever it was.

"Recorded delivery for Harry Potter," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, he's not here right now," Hermione said.

"Mrs. Potter, then?"

Hermione frowned. "Well, she died a long time ago; there is no..." Laura snickered behind her and Hermione stopped, her face flushing. "Oh, right. Yes, of course. That is, uh...I'm Mrs. Potter."

"Sign here, please," the postman said, holding out the package and a clipboard. Hermione took it and signed her name. The postman nodded, smiled, and climbed back into his little truck.

Hermione turned from the door. "Not a word from you," she said to Laura, who was covering her mouth with one hand. "What's this?" She tore the wrapping off the package and stared at it, dumbfounded. "I don't believe it."

"What is it?" Laura said, stepping closer.

Hermione turned the package over in her hands. "It's from Petunia Dursley."

Laura looked up at her, amazed. "You're kidding."

"Well, that's what it says."

"Open it!"

Hermione opened the box and withdrew a crystal globe mounted on a silver stand. It was a snow globe, and a very expensive one. Inside was a tiny, exquisite miniature of the Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz.

Laura gasped. "Oh my God, that's beautiful."

Hermione opened a small note that was packed with it. "Dear Harry," she read. "I saw in the paper that you were recently married. I won't ask why you chose to exclude us from this event after we raised you out of the goodness of our hearts...or maybe I don't have to ask. Regardless, I am sending you this trinket. It belonged to your mother; it's one of the few things of hers that I have. It was a wedding gift from our grandmother. I thought you might like to give it to your new wife. Maybe one day we could meet her. Sincerely, Aunt Petunia."

"Oh gosh," Laura said quietly.

Hermione sniffed. "I wish I hadn't let him talk me into not inviting them!"

"It's what he wanted, honey."

"Maybe Petunia's feeling guilty for how they treated him. Maybe she's trying to make it up." She shrugged. "Whatever the reason, Harry will be glad to have this if it was his mother's." She placed it carefully on the hall table and they went into the kitchen.

"So you're still getting used to that name thing, huh?" Laura said, getting out the wineglasses.

Hermione poured, looking sheepish. "I feel so silly. I just haven't really been called that very much."

"I like Granger. It sounds better with Hermione." They took their drinks to the winter garden room and stretched out on the wicker lounge chairs. "It's very important for a person's names to sound good together. Potter sounds fine with Harry, but not so fine with Hermione."

"I agree. I prefer Hermione Granger, but I admit when I think about my name being 'Hermione Potter' it give me a little shiver."

"Why?"

"I suppose it's just...a reminder. It makes it seem real. That I'm, you know, married to him."

"Well, I'm never changing my name. I've always liked how it sounds. Laura Chant," she recited, swaying her head in time to its three-syllable waltz tempo.

"It's very lyrical. It flows," Hermione said, making little flowing gestures with her free hand.

"I can't imagine having another last name. I mean, really. Laura Weasley? That doesn't sound right at all."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up but she said nothing. She glanced over at Laura, who had her head back against the chaise and didn't seem to realize what she'd said. Hermione cleared her throat. "Um...don't you mean Carlisle?"

Laura looked over at her. "Huh?" Her eyes abruptly widened. "Shit, what'd I say?"

"You said Weasley, honey."

Laura clapped her hand over her eyes. "Oh, mega-crap."

Hermione smiled, though her mind was racing. What exactly had been going on here in their absence? "So...you want to tell me about it?"

Laura appeared to be trying to curl herself into a tiny little ball. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be embarrassed! What's going on? Is there something happening? With George?"

Laura sat straight up and looked at Hermione with wide eyes. "No! Not with George!"

Hermione's mouth fell open and it was her turn to jerk upright. "With Ron? Something's going on between you and Ron?"

Laura nodded miserably. "You're not mad at me, are you? I didn't mean...I didn't think..."

Hermione cut her off. "No, I'm not mad, I'm just surprised! I thought you two didn't get on very well."

"We didn't, but...it's complicated. He said a lot of things to me about Sorry that upset me, mostly because they were true. I don't know what to do!"

"Are you two...but what about Sorry? Are you still..."

"I don't know!" Laura wailed. "Oh Hermione, I'm so glad you're back. I need to talk about this, badly!"

"Then talk!"

"It's not over with Sorry, not officially. Christmas night, after you guys left, I realized I'd been so hostile to Ron because he saw the truth about me and Sorry and he called me on it. He wouldn't let me deny it like everyone always does." She looked away, a shy flush coming to her face. "I went to his room. I was feeling vulnerable and lonely..."

"Oh, dear," Hermione said. "You didn't, did you?"

"No, but only because of him. He's so amazing," she said, her voice choking up a little. "We did kiss, but he wouldn't go any further even though I wanted to. He said he didn't want to be the other guy, and that as long as Sorry was an issue, we'd have to just be friends. So we are...sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Well, it started out being a little cuddly. That first night I stayed there and he just read to me. Have you read the stuff he writes? It's incredible!" Hermione sagged a little, because she'd asked to see Ron's writings but he'd refused. "I started going to his room almost every night. For awhile he just read to me, then it turned into talking, then it just kept getting more and more personal...I feel like I can tell him anything." Laura smiled and her eyes shone with an expression Hermione recognized all too well. "For a few weeks now, we've been...well, I guess technically, sleeping together. But without the sex. Just in the same bed. It's so wonderful to have someone there in the morning when I wake up and he holds me and he's always there...I've never had anyone in my life who was really there, someone who's not hugging me all the while he's looking over my shoulder for where he wants to go next." She broke off, swiping her hand across her eyes. "But I'm still being unfaithful to Sorry."

"Oh, hang Sorry!" Hermione burst out, releasing all her pent-up frustration about that man, which she'd always kept under wraps for Laura's sake. "It's all he can do to owl you once a month! You deserve so much more from a relationship, you deserve someone who's committed, someone who'll put you first!"

Laura stared, looking a bit taken aback by Hermione's vehemence. "Gosh, Hermione...how long have you been waiting to say that to me?"

"A very long time, and I'm not the only one. I've always wanted to respect your wishes, but I've never understood how you could have stayed in that relationship when you were clearly getting nothing from it."

"It's complicated. Sorry and I are connected in a way that I can't really explain."

"And you always will be. That doesn't obligate you to be chained to him for life. A relationship should provide support and happiness and companionship, it isn't something you ought to have to schedule six months ahead of time."

Laura sighed. "You're right. It's just hard. Ron's been pressuring me to write to Sorry and ask him to come here so we can talk about it face-to-face."

"I think that's a good idea."

Laura looked at Hermione with trepidation in her eyes. "What if he won't come?"

Hermione shrugged. "Then that's all the answer you'll need, isn't it?"

The front door opened and closed again. It was probably Harry, who'd gone to the Burrow to drop off a few souvenirs and collect Ron. Hermione got up and hurried into the foyer. "Hey!" Ron exclaimed, stepping forward to embrace her. "Welcome home!"

She kissed his cheek. "Thanks. It's good to be home."

He cocked one eyebrow. "Really?"

She sighed. "No, not really. If I had my way I'd have stayed on that ship forever, but I'm sure even that would have become dull eventually." She hugged him again, smiling at Harry over his shoulder. He winked at her. "Did you miss us?"

"Dreadfully, though I'll say it was nice to be able to walk freely about the house without fear of interrupting some sordid goings-on."

Hermione laughed, going to Harry and sliding one arm around his waist. "Well, we're an old married couple now. There shall be no more sordid goings-on."

Harry made a face. "I never agreed to that!"

"Hush, darling," she said quietly. "We'll just have to be sneakier."

"Oh," he said. "That's all right, then."

She saw the snow globe on the hall table and remembered Petunia's surprise gift. "Oh, a present came for you," she said, reaching out to pick it up. "Look at this, isn't it lovely?"

Harry took the snow globe and turned it over in his hands. "Yes, it is. Who sent me this, then?" He shook it and tiny green flecks swirled around the Emerald City. He set it on the table so they could watch the miniature snowstorm.

"It's from your Aunt Petunia."

Harry looked at her. "Seriously, who's it from?"

"Seriously, it's from Petunia! She read in the paper that we were married and wanted you to have this, it was your mother's. She said it was a wedding gift from their grandmother."

"Their grandmother?" Harry said, frowning. "But..." He cut himself off, straightened and began backing away. "Hermione...my mother's grandmother died when she was fourteen."

All eyes settled on the snow globe. "Harry..." Hermione began, a cold feeling spreading outward from her stomach.

"Everyone out. Now," Harry said.

Hermione's brain was still catching up; she could sense the horror she was about to feel rocketing up from her spine. Surely it can't start this soon, she thought. We've only been home an hour!

She felt Harry's hand grab her arm, his grip so tight it was painful. The air had gone like water; it was an effort to move through it as he dragged her towards the door. She saw out of her peripheral vision Laura pushing Ron ahead of her.

Daylight flooded her eyes as they kept moving in slow motion into the portico and then onto the lawn. She hadn't even had time to feel frightened yet when it blew.

She never saw the explosion, she only felt it: a wave of magic and air pressure rocketing outwards from the house. It felt like she'd been struck in the back with a wrecking ball. Her feet left the ground and she heard a roar and a punch and a coughing sound, then the crystalline shatter of dozens of windows. Suddenly a sheet of pain enveloped her right side and something was in her body that didn't belong there.

When she hit the ground, what had been merely awful pain became blinding agony that took over her entire consciousness. Her vision went white with overload and her throat strained to scream loud enough to encompass the feeling, but nothing came from her mouth. She saw through blurry eyes black smoke belching into the sky and heard the merry lick of flames. She thought she could hear Harry's voice calling her name, somewhere...he sounded so far away.

"Harry," she croaked. She couldn't move. He was screaming her name now, and she heard footsteps. She wanted to say something else, but before she could think of what, a heavy blanket of darkness was dropped on her from above; she was flattened and she sank into the ground, deep where no sound or sight or pain could follow.

---

When Ron woke up, the first thing he did was clap his hands to his eyes, hoping he could shut out the images that had last been before them when they seemed to want nothing more than to return in living Technicolor.

He had looked back and seen the entire front section of the house blown open and engulfed in flames, until Laura had stumbled to her feet and put out the fire with her wand. He had felt her hands on him and she had been saying something he couldn't understand...there had seemed to be something wrong with his legs, they'd felt numb and insensible.

Worst of all, he'd heard Harry's scream of anguish and had stared, helpless and horror-stricken, as he'd sat on the grass and gathered Hermione onto his lap. She had been blessedly unconscious, but the image Ron hoped he could someday scrub from his brain was that of the two-foot-long section of the wrought-iron porch railing that had been sticking clear through her abdomen, the front of her body stained red with blood that coated Harry's hands and dripped onto the grass. He'd felt Laura shaking as she stroked his face, telling him he'd be okay. He'd wanted to go to Harry but he couldn't move, all he could do was liethere like a useless lump of flesh and watch as his best friend had cried out incoherent words, clutching the limp form of his wife of two months, who was possibly dying in his arms.

At some point he had blacked out. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten here...wherever 'here' was. Someone must have called for help, he didn't remember. It must have been Laura, it certainly hadn't been Harry. How long had they waited there among the wreckage before help arrived? Had it come quickly enough to help Hermione? She had looked so badly hurt.

Surely she couldn't be dead. The universe couldn't possibly be that cruel...and if it was, he didn't want to be a part of it anymore.

The door opened and a nurse entered, followed closely by Laura. She looked okay except for a nasty bruise on her forehead. She hurried to his bedside and embraced him. "You're going to be fine," she said, half to herself. "You were hurt, but you're okay now."

"Hermione?" he said, holding on to her and bracing himself for the worst possible news.

Laura drew back, her eyes filled with tears and her chin beginning to tremble. Ron felt cold. "They're...they're working on her now. They're not sure that she'll...they don't know if they can save her."

They locked eyes for a moment and Ron saw how bad it was in her gaze. She sat down on the edge of his bed and he reached out for her, and when his tears came he was glad she couldn't see his face.

---

They wouldn't let him get out of bed for another hour, not until a doctor had checked his back, which had apparently been broken and mended. His legs and feet now felt normal and obeyed his commands, though when he stood he did feel a little bit rubbery. "You shouldn't be up," his mother scolded him, supporting his arm. She had arrived shortly after he'd woken up and had been blessedly calm and not hysterical, which was surprising but an enormous relief.

"I have to see him," Ron said. "I have to be with him."

"He has plenty of people with him. You were hurt, too."

"I'm okay. Let's go."

She and Laura led him through the halls to a private waiting room. The scene that greeted him was something out of his worst nightmares.

The room was crowded. He saw the other housemates, all of them pale and drawn. He saw his siblings and his father. He saw Napoleon, who looked like he was withering on the vine for want of someone on whom he could seek revenge, someone whose neck he could wring. He saw Remus and Diz, sitting close together and holding hands with a grip so determined that Diz's knuckles were white.

Harry was sitting on the central couch. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. Sirius was on one side of him, his head bowed, one hand gripping Harry's shoulder. Hermione's parents were sitting on Harry's other side, blank-faced with shock, leaning against each other for support.

Ron saw his siblings begin to move towards him but he shook his head at them, hoping they understood. They nodded and retreated again. "Harry?" he said.

Harry looked up and Ron nearly gasped at his appearance. He was so pale Ron fancied he could see the blue veins pulsing in his cheeks, and his eyes were filmed over with fear and exhaustion. He smiled a little when he saw Ron, then stood up and came forward. "Are you okay? They told me you were just resting."

"I'm okay, no problem." He reached out and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry...I..." He didn't know how to continue, or what he'd even meant to say.

Harry nodded as if agreeing with whatever it was that Ron hadn't said. "Yeah, it's...I'm..." He couldn't go on. His throat worked and his head began to weave back and forth, in its own denial of what it didn't want to contemplate.

Ron got his arms around Harry just as his sobs broke through the veneer of stoicism. He held him tightly and made meaningless noises of comfort as Harry's chest heaved and shook beneath his hands. He saw Sirius wiping at his eyes and Claire bowing her head down on Doug's shoulder, closing her eyes against the sounds of her son-in-law's despair. Harry's tears were breaking up everyone's calm façade. Ginny was weeping quietly. Justin had his head in his hands. Napoleon had gone to stand in a corner, bracing himself with one hand on the wall, his head hanging down and his shoulders slumped.

Ron felt Laura's hand on his back and was grateful for it. He might need some support of his own if he was going to be here for Harry through this, and he was determined that he would be, no matter how long it went on or how horrible it became.

---

Hours passed and there was no word. Ron learned that they were in the Enforcement Corps hospital, not at a Ministry facility as he'd first assumed. He learned that Hermione was being worked on by several famous mediwizards and that Sukesh had taken personal charge of her care. He learned that she'd already had to be resuscitated twice on the operating table. All of this came from Remus and was whispered quietly amongst the waiting friends and family, all of them taking care not to let it reach Harry.

Ron had taken up a post on the couch across from Harry, Laura on one side of him and his mother on the other side. Harry just sat and stared into space, his eyes vacant. At one point he looked over at Sirius and almost spoke, but the words seemed to die in his throat. Sirius had nodded as if he understood, and Harry had leaned back and let his head fall to his godfather's shoulder. Sirius held him gently, meeting Ron's worried gaze over Harry's head.

Sometime in the late afternoon, Harry stood up and left the room without a word. No one else seemed sure if they ought to follow him or not, but Ron didn't hesitate.

He found him standing at a window at the end of the hallway, looking out at the sunset. He stood beside him, unsure what to do or say. He reached out and took his hand; Harry gripped his fingers at once, a long shaky sigh escaping him. "What do I have to do, Ron?" he whispered.

Ron frowned. "For what?"

"Who do I need to beg to take me instead of her? There has to be someone who can fix it, if only I knew how to ask."

"She'll be okay. She's strong." It sounded canned to Ron's ears, but it was all he could think to say.

"No matter how strong we are, evil is stronger," Harry said. "It's stronger because it doesn't care who it hurts. We agonize over everything. They just do it, and damn the consequences."

"Harry...why did it...who do you think..."

"I can't think about that right now."

"Of course not." But if he knew Harry, he'd already be thinking about what was to be done next, and who would pay for hurting Hermione so badly...because someone would pay, and pay dearly.

Harry didn't speak again. Ron just stood there watching his face and holding his hand, hoping that his mere presence could provide some comfort for him because Merlin knew he wasn't doing much to help it along. Harry's head sagged a bit and Ron saw his lips curl down in that involuntary contortion of sadness that refuses to be stopped once it's begun. Tears slipped from beneath his eyelids and traced shining tracks down his cheeks.

Ron dropped Harry's hand and put his arm around him, feeling the sting of tears at his own eyes. A lump rose in his throat as the truth that Hermione might actually die suddenly became real to him. He realized that since he'd awoken he'd been thinking about her injuries in terms of how it was affecting Harry, and how it would destroy Harry if the worst were to happen...but the idea of Hermione dying affected him, too, apart from Harry. He loved her in his own right, and the fear of losing her now rose in his chest like a living thing, swelling him until he feared his skin could not contain it. "Please," he said in a hoarse whisper, unsure whom he was addressing. "Please, please let her be okay."

They stood there at the window as the sun went down, hanging on to each other. Harry didn't talk, he just stared out at the darkening sky as the tears slipped silently and constantly down his face. Ron didn't cry, he just let his eyes fall shut and kept repeating his plea over and over again in his mind, thinking maybe if he said it enough, if he meant it enough, she would live.

---

Remus watched Ron follow Harry out of the room. Once they were gone he stood up, dragging Diz with him. He quietly went to the corner where Napoleon was standing facing away from everyone. "Well?" he whispered.

Napoleon turned, his face slack and deadened. "Well, what?"

"Have you told him yet?"

Napoleon gave him a look as if he were beneath contempt. "Yes, Remus, because this is the moment I'd choose to tell my boss that not only are there 200 people missing and we have no idea what to do about it, but that the fact that we even know about it might have just cost him his wife."

Remus opened his mouth to respond but Diz held up a hand. "We should not be talking about this here." She looked around. "Come on." They left the waiting room; no one seemed to notice. Diz led them down the hall until she found an empty room.

Once inside they resumed at once. "You really think this attack is connected to our project?" Remus said.

Napoleon's eyes widened. "Do you even doubt it?"

"Yes, I do. What purpose would it serve to blow up Harry's house and perhaps him, too? He didn't even know about our results yet, and this attack was timed so soon after his return that the perpetrator had to have known he hadn't had time to be briefed."

"You think he was the target, and not her?"

"Well, Harry said the package was addressed to him. We'll know more once we can examine the device."

"Have they found it yet?"

"Still sifting through the rubble. Whoever it was probably knew about the sorts of protection we have up around that house. Nothing hostile can get in on its own. The only way they could have got that bomb inside would be for a resident to willingly accept it. Hence, the delivery scam."

"We already know that Allegra's aware of the protections. Remember when she turned up there last summer?"

Remus frowned. "You suspect Allegra?"

"Mate, you're completely ignoring all the obvious conclusions."

"I find it highly unlikely that she was responsible for this."

"Why?"

"Because she would never kill Harry like this...at a distance. If she decided to kill him she would do it face to face so she could watch him die. Her enmity towards Harry is personal, surely you know that. This...this would be completely unsatisfying for her."

"Perhaps she decided that expediency overruled sentiment."

Remus was still shaking his head. "I think we have to look past the obvious conclusions here, Napoleon. Whoever did this was willing to just get rid of him without finding out how much he knew, or what his plans were, or how much we'd discovered. Almost as if he were just a nuisance, instead of the main target."

"Maybe he isn't the target," Diz said. "Or maybe...maybe there's a motive for this attack that we're just not seeing."

---

Allegra had been sitting at her desk for two hours, staring at a set of orders she was writing. She hadn't written a single word. She'd stopped seeing the parchment before her; she could no longer feel the quill between her fingers. The ink inside it had long since dried up.

She didn't look up when the door opened, or when he sat down before her desk and kicked his feet up with a satisfied sigh. "Not a bad day's work," he finally said.

Allegra set down her quill, carefully, and folded her hands on the desktop. "Why?" she said.

"Why, what?"

"You tried to kill him today. Without telling me. Why?"

"Why not?"

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, the appropriate phrasing eluding her. "I'm not sure how to say this, Julian."

"Then let me. You've been sitting here at your desk staring at that unfinished set of orders trying to figure out exactly what my plans entail. You've also been asking yourself why I let you go on with certain assumptions about my motives, assumptions that you've just realized are totally inaccurate."

"Assumptions, yes. For example, that Harry was an important part of your plans."

The Master smiled. "What makes you think he isn't?"

"Because you just tried to swat him aside like a mosquito. You were just getting him out of the way. You weren't going to bring him in or question him or try and make him do anything, were you? You just wanted him...not around."

"Well, he's always such a bloody nuisance."

Allegra shook her head. "You should have told me. I could have warned you."

"Warned me? About what?"

"You've made a very bad miscalculation. You didn't kill him, but I'm told that you may have killed her. If you have, then 'nuisance' does not begin to describe what he'll become to you and whatever plans you've kept from me."

The Master's smug demeanor faltered just a little. It made her glad to see it. "I can't argue that today's action didn't go exactly as planned, but perhaps it's all for the best."

"How is that?"

"If we're very lucky she'll die, and then I won't have to bother coming up with another plan to rid myself of him. He'll come to me. Self-delivering victims." He grinned. "Sometimes I love this job."

"He'll come after you whether she dies or not. The fact that she's been so badly hurt is enough."

"Good. You see, you can't just go about whining when your plans don't come off precisely as you wanted. You have to make the best of things. It's an ill wind that blows no good, my dear. A mistake is just an opportunity in disguise."

She sneered, standing up to leave. "I'll have to embroider that on a pillow, such a wise sentiment."

"It is one worth remembering." He grabbed her hand as she passed. She stopped, not looking down at him, keeping her eyes firmly fixed ahead of her. "But all this isn't why you're upset with me."

"Why, then?"

"You're only angry that I took action against him on my own. This is your biggest flaw, Allegra. You've allowed your rivalry with Potter to become tainted by emotions. You don't see him as an obstacle to what you want to achieve, you see him as a personal enemy, and you have an equally personal stake in bringing him down. I cut you out of that loop when I went ahead without consulting you."

When she spoke again, it was through gritted teeth. "I have spent the better part of ten years fighting that man, Julian. I don't deserve to be excluded now."

He pulled her a step closer. "But even that isn't the real reason." He yanked her down onto his lap, his hand fisting into her hair as he spoke directly into her ear. "The real reason is that somewhere in there, you don't actually want to see him dead."

Allegra jumped up and without thinking drew her arm back and hit him across the face as hard as she could. His head rocked to one side, and when it swiveled back around to face her he was smiling. "Just as I thought," he purred. "I wonder what I have to do to drive him from your thoughts?" he said, getting up.

An unfamiliar feeling whispered past Allegra's heart...fear. He was between her and the door. She had never faced any person, man or woman, whom she didn't think she could overpower magically or physically. It was a disconcerting sensation to find herself outmatched by someone she could not trust.

Finally she just walked towards the door as if she didn't see that predatory glint in his eyes, hoping that if she whistled past the graveyard that the ghosts wouldn't bother her.

It may have worked on the ghosts, but not with the Master.

He moved faster than she could see. Suddenly she was struck from behind, then the ceiling and floor were swapping places, then she was on the ground and he was pinning her wrists over her head. She stared up into his eyes, so like his father's...but she shoved that thought away as soon as it came to her. She didn't want to have Harry even remotely in her head while she endured what was about to happen.

He wanted to see her quaking. He wanted to see her powerless. He wanted a reaction. She couldn't fight him, so at the very least she could deny him what he wanted.

When he tore her clothes she stared at the ceiling. When he pulled her legs apart she counted the ridges in the plaster of her office. When he thrust into her she clenched her fists and her jaw and her whole body and she made plans. When he came, groaning and gasping with his face pressed against her neck, she hardly noticed because she wasn't really there.

And when he left her there, murmuring words of condescension in her ear and patting her bare skin like a pet, she stayed where she was even after he was gone. She stayed there on the floor and made her plans and she didn't get up until she knew exactly what she had to do.

---

It was almost midnight when the door to the waiting room opened and Sukesh entered, dressed in blue sterile surgical clothing. Harry stood up slowly, dread in his face. Sukesh's appearance did not inspire confidence; he looked weary and wrung-out. Oh God, Ron thought. I can't stand to hear the words. His mind raced ahead of Sukesh, imagining what Harry's face would look like when he heard them. I'm so sorry, Harry...we did everything we could...her injuries were just too severe...she didn't suffer...

Sukesh walked over to Harry and laid a hand on his arm. "Sukesh," Harry whispered. "What...please, tell me."

A small smile curled the doctor's lips. "She's going to be okay, Harry."

Ron got to his feet slowly, his legs feeling wobbly all over again. Harry was blinking in surprise. "What?" he whispered. "What?" Ron could see from the shock on Harry's face that he had just about resigned himself to leaving this room a widower. He moved to Harry's side and put a hand on his shoulder.

Sukesh nodded. "It was a difficult day, a long procedure, but...she will recover."

Harry's breath hitched in his chest and he put a hand over his mouth. Sukesh smiled and stepped back. Ron grabbed Harry and hugged him, relief too potent for expression flooding him. He felt his friend still rigid with surprise, then he sagged and a pent-up sob burst from him. He hugged Ron back and then everyone in the room was on their feet, hugging each other and weeping and the air was filled with words and exclamations that everyone had been too anxious to speak before now.

Harry hugged Doug and Claire and Sirius, then gathered his wits about him and turned back to Sukesh. "Sukesh, I can't thank you enough. I don't know what to say."

"I'm just glad we were able to save her," Sukesh said. Harry took his hand in both of his own and shook it.

"It isn't just her that you saved," he said, swiping at his eyes. "Can I see her? Where is she?"

Sukesh sighed. "I'm afraid I can't allow anyone to see her for the time being. She's being very carefully watched. This will be a difficult time; we have to be very cautious. She's in our recovery chamber and the other doctors are with her, don't worry." He fixed Harry with a stern gaze. "But she will need you later, so I strongly urge you to go somewhere safe and comfortable. Eat something and get some sleep. There's nothing you can do for her by staying here, but if you don't care for yourself you can make things more difficult for both of you. Tell me you understand what I'm saying."

Harry nodded. "I understand."

"I will Bubble you if anything changes, and the minute you can see her I will let you know. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to her."

"Thank you, Sukesh," Harry said again. Sukesh only nodded, his own exhaustion evident, and left the room. Harry turned to his friends and faced another round of excited hugs and relieved exhortations.

Ron left him to it and sat down next to Laura, who was crying quietly into a handkerchief. He put his arms around her and drew her close. "I'm sorry, I'm neglecting you."

She slapped at his shoulder. "Oh, I'm the least of your concerns, you tosser. I'm fine, don't you waste a moment worrying about me right now." She looked up at him with moist eyes. "Thank God she's all right...I don't know what I would have done. I don't know what he would have done."

Ron shook his head, his jaw tightening. Now that it wasn't actually going to happen, he could afford to contemplate what it might have been like if she'd died. "He would have gone on, somehow. The rest of us would have had our work cut out for us. But I don't think he would have ever really recovered."

"I know," she said, nodding. She drew back and looked up at him, smiling. "Look at us. All concerned about them. Where's the love for us? We were almost killed, too!"

He smiled back. "'Almost' only counts in horseshoes and nuclear weapons, my dear."

---

Harry looked around the room. Everywhere people were relaxing, going on snack runs, smiling. Some were discussing who should stay and who should go home and come back later. Doug and Claire were actually arguing about it.

He felt like a limp dishrag after too many washings. There couldn't be anything left in him, not after this endless day. He had no idea what time it was, only that it was nighttime. He flopped back onto the couch and let his head fall backwards so he was staring at the ceiling. His right hand twirled his wedding ring around and around on his finger until the skin began to feel a little raw.

His mind kept trying to take him back to the front yard of the house before help had arrived...he resisted that scene as hard as he could but it was so persistent. He had never felt like that in his life. He'd lost thousands of years of evolution and had been reduced to a nonverbal creature of raw responses. First the explosion. He'd seen Ron go flying and land at a bad angle on his back. He'd seen Laura tossed to the ground like a rag doll. He'd felt himself hit the ground, shaken but uninjured...and then he'd sat up and seen Hermione lying there, the blood already spreading over her, a sharp spike of metal sticking clear through her.

For a moment he'd honestly thought he was unconscious and hallucinating. Since Allegra had tricked him into believing her dead, he'd had recurring nightmares of Hermione pierced or impaled in some horrific way...perhaps he was revisiting this fear in his unconsciousness. But it had been too real, the smell of the smoke, the sting in his eyes, the pain in his chest from having the wind knocked from his lungs.

He hadn't been himself as he sat there on the ground and tried to hold her without injuring her further. He didn't know what he'd done or said or screamed or looked like. He didn't remember Laura putting out the fire, he barely remembered the I.D. response team's arrival. He remembered Lupin pulling him off and holding him back as the mediwizards Apparated Hermione away, he vaguely recalled ending up here at the hospital and being examined. His first clear recollection was of coming into this waiting room and finding Napoleon here, of seeing the shock on his friend's face, and of the horror and rage that had come upon him as he'd begun to absorb what had happened.

But now it was all over. Nothing else had mattered while he'd waited for news of her. No time had passed, no other person existed, no thoughts had entered his mind. Now that she had been spared, he could hear his more rational thoughts beginning to start up again like a record player switched on with the needle in the groove, ramping up from a slow trickle to a furious cacophony.

My God, Laura and Ron could have been killed, too. Ron was hurt...okay, he looks all right. Laura has a bruise on her face. Am I hurt? I don't even know. I feel okay. Oh no, the house...the house was blown wide open. Where will we live? Where will the others live? Maybe I can...I can't even think about that now. Who, and why? Were they after me? If this happened because of me...idiot, of course it did.

That thought made him stop. I almost got my wife killed.

He blinked and shook his head. He wanted desperately to blame himself, as usual, but after so many times down that road he was starting to learn that it was a dead end. Besides, once she woke up, Hermione would give him a severe tongue-lashing if she found that once again he was holding himself responsible for everything. She called it ego sometimes, and he was beginning to wonder if she was right. Their lives were dangerous, and she knew it...and yet she'd chosen to be with him anyway. She'd stood up before the world and proclaimed that she loved him and that she was taking him as hers, and everything that went with it. I don't know what I did to deserve that devotion, he thought, but I'll take it, and I won't question it.

A more productive road to travel was the one that would lead him to whoever had done this. He smiled a little, but not a happy or relieved smile. A dangerous smile. The smile of a man contemplating truly creative ways to exact revenge.

He sighed and stood up. Napoleon, Remus and Diz were sitting together on the other side of the room, deep in conversation. They stopped as he approached.

"Good news, Harry," Napoleon said.

"Yes, it is. And now I think it's time for some more news."

"Aren't you going to get some rest, like Sukesh said?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Are you joking? If you think I can go take a kip somewhere you're crazy. No, I don't think so. I have a better idea. We are going back to the I.D. and you are going to tell me just exactly what's been going on here while I've been gone."

---

The silence inside Harry's office felt like the kind of quiet that you only hear when you're sitting outside the Headmaster's door waiting to be called inside...not that Napoleon had any experience with that kind of thing.

He, Remus and Diz were sitting in a row in front of Harry's desk. Harry was standing with his back to them, looking out his window with one hand propped against the wall. He hadn't spoken in a few minutes, not since Napoleon had finished telling him about the results of their project.

He couldn't tell what Harry thought, or what he was feeling. He'd absorbed all the information and looked at the list, then he'd turned to stare out the window and had said nothing else.

Napoleon shuddered to think what sort of state Harry was in right now. He couldn't imagine it. Twelve hours ago he'd been on honeymoon, for crying out loud. He'd come home happy and relaxed and full of good memories of time alone with Hermione. Within an hour, his house had been blown up, his best friend nearly paralyzed, and his wife impaled and hovering on the edge of death. Now he found out that the responsibility for finding and rescuing over 200 hostages and defeating the one who'd taken them had just landed squarely in his lap.

He made a mental note to stock up on headache potions.

They waited. Waited for a response from him. Napoleon couldn't speak for the others, but he was really hoping that Harry would turn around and tell them exactly what they were going to do, exactly how they were going to find the hostages and how much righteous mayhem they were going to unleash on the Master. He wanted Harry to think for a few minutes and come up with the perfect plan so they could run right out and execute it. He wanted nothing more than to be able to say "Let's do it" and follow wherever Harry led them.

Harry's response, when it came, was not what he'd been hoping for.

One moment, he was standing there looking out the window. In the next moment he whirled around, grabbed a large crystal paperweight off his desk and in one motion flung it against the wall where it shattered into a thousand pieces. All three of them jumped and he saw out of the corner of his eyes Diz's hand go to her throat. Harry stood there, hands on his hips, his jaw clenched. "And we're sure about this?" he said, his voice so quiet and controlled it was almost hard to believe he'd just thrown something.

"Oh yes," Napoleon said. "We've been doing spot-checks with the real Oracle. Sukesh exhumed one of the bodies to confirm our findings."

"Have you finished the testing?"

"Yes, we finished the day before yesterday."

Harry picked up the list. "So this is a complete list of all the missing?"

"Well, I suppose we can't know that for certain," Napoleon said, glancing over at his colleagues. "We tested all the graveyards, but not everyone is buried in graveyards."

Harry nodded. "I think there's a way we can cross-check this list against the talismans in the Hall of Names. It would give us a completely correct list of everyone who's missing, but it'll take some doing. I'll make some inquiries." He sat down at his desk and stared at the list. Napoleon recognized the expression on his face. Just as he'd been reading those names and picturing their lives and their captivity for weeks now, Harry was beginning to do the same.

A few long moments ticked by. "Harry?" Napoleon ventured.

Harry looked up. "What?"

"Well...what do we do?"

He sighed. "I don't know, Jones. I just don't know." He raked one hand through his hair. "This is so far beyond my worst fears I can't even wrap my brain around it." He looked at Napoleon. "You knew this at Christmas, didn't you?"

"Yes. Part of it."

"And you didn't tell me."

Napoleon sighed. "You didn't need to hear it, not then. You were on honeymoon, and we had things under control."

Harry looked at each of them in turn. "I can only imagine what you three have been through during this project. You've had to go about your lives as normal while this huge secret hung over you all the time."

"It hasn't been easy," Diz said quietly. "We've done our best."

"I'm sure you have." He put down the list. "Our first step has to be to obtain a truly complete list of the missing. For that we'll need a few things. How far back do these disappearances go?"

"The earliest one we've found is still Ron's. We've been wondering if he might have been the test case to see if it would actually get by. It makes some kind of sense...if you can fake the death of Harry Potter's best friend under the very nose of Albus Dumbledore then you can feel confident in your abilities."

"Then we'll use that year as our starting date. I'll need you three to compile death records beginning January 1st, 1997. We need to know the name of every magical person who has died in the last twelve years. The Federation keeps centralized death records, but you'll have to go through the Ministries to obtain access. Remus, can you and Diz take care of that?"

"We'll get right on it."

"I have another job for Napoleon." He looked at Remus and Diz. "Dismissed." They got up and left. Harry sat down in the chair Remus had just vacated, turning it to face his second. He said nothing for a moment. Napoleon watched him; his head was slightly bowed, his right hand playing restlessly with his wedding ring.

"What is it, boss?"

"I need you to find out what happened at my house today," Harry said quietly. "Take charge of the investigation into this attack. I think the Enforcement Corps has jurisdiction at the moment, but I want you on this."

"Of course."

"I don't think this attack was about our project, or because of anything you three have discovered."

"We've been discussing that today, and we don't think so either. I did at first; fortunately, cooler heads prevailed."

Harry nodded. "It seems as if I was the target." He fell silent, and Napoleon knew he was contemplating his own culpability in Hermione's injuries.

"Don't beat yourself up, boss," Napoleon said.

Harry shook his head, swallowing hard. "If anyone can understand, you could."

"Yeah," Napoleon murmured. "Hey, if you tell me to, I've got no trouble blaming you."

Harry smiled. "Maybe I'll feel less guilty if I know someone's blaming me." He looked up at his second. "You okay? I mean...this must have been a tough day for you, too."

Napoleon nodded. "I'm okay. Thanks for asking."

"Well, you know me. I deal with my frustration and self-flagellation by engaging in caretaking and self-sacrificial behaviors."

Napoleon grinned. "Careful there, mate. You've only been married two months. You don't want to sound too much like your wife this early in the game."

Harry didn't smile back. "I'd be lucky if I could be more like her."

---

By the end of the first week, Allegra knew better than to fake being asleep. He'd just wake her up. She knew better than to wear clothes to bed. He'd just tear them off. She knew better than to fight him. He had strength that did not come from his muscles. He had only allowed her to glimpse just the barest sliver of his powers, and she was woman enough to admit that he terrified her. For the first time in her life, she was powerless.

For now.

She was under no illusions about his reasons. She meant nothing to him, and he wanted her to know it. She was not significant. She had no control. She had no influence and no mandate from her own troops.

So she allowed him to continue to believe he'd cowed her, conquered her. It would only help her if she could lull him into security in his dominion over her very brain, which was, of course, the one thing he could never control.

Every night she lay in her bed and waited for him. He'd come in his own time. Sometimes he'd toy with her, sometimes he played the seducer. Sometimes he took her roughly, like his own property. Sometimes he was gentle, even tender. There was no pattern to it. All she could do was go along. She even responded, as much or as little as she sensed he wanted. Better let him think his victory over her was complete. Better play the cowed little woman. He wasn't a man, he was barely human. He had no idea what was inside her, and if he thought he knew her, she'd let him go on thinking that.

Everyone knew what he was doing to her. You couldn't keep a secret like that. Those of her minions who'd always coveted her position looked at her with contempt and amusement. Those who were loyal looked at her with pity, and at the Master with fury...not that they'd dare oppose him. It was these looks she needed, these looks that made it almost worth her while to be victimized by the monster she'd given birth to. She needed to know now who was with her and who was with him. It was information she'd be able to use.

But now was not that time.

Now she had to endure, and endure she would. Every night she endured him, next to her, on top of her, inside her. It was obscene, and yet inevitable. In a way she was almost grateful. At least now she knew where she stood, and she could respond.

And make no mistake, she would respond. She pondered her response as she stared at the ceiling, her legs around his waist as he had his way with her. No one fucks with me, she thought, clenching her jaw. Not even my own son...and you are going to be so very sorry. That is a promise.

Just wait until your father hears about this.

---

When Harry returned to the hospital, the waiting room wasn't nearly as crowded as it had been the night before. Doug and Claire were both there, apparently having reached some kind of détente in their who-should-stay argument. They'd been joined by Sarah Forester, who jumped up to hug him as he came in. "Oh Harry, I'm so sorry," she said, sounding hoarse.

"It's going to be fine," he said, hugging her back. "She's okay."

Sarah nodded, blowing her nose into a tissue with a mighty honk like the call of a wild moose. "I don't pretend to know what goes on in your world, but...is this normal? Is this going to keep happening?" Now her eyes bore a trace of accusation, that same accusation he'd been waiting to see on the faces of others and hadn't.

He sighed. "I wish I could say no. I wish I could say it'll always be safe."

She chewed on her lip. "I love Hermione. And the only reason I'm not coming at you with both barrels is that I know you love her, too. But this didn't happen to her because of her, and you know that." Harry said nothing. "I suppose knowing that is bad enough without me adding to it, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's bad enough."

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "She'll be okay." She resumed her seat at Claire's side.

Harry looked around for Ron. He spotted him on a couch against the wall, sitting with Laura. She had her legs curled up underneath her and her head was tucked down on his shoulder, one of her hands resting on his knee. He had his arm around her.

Harry blinked. Did I miss something? he thought. Then again, he probably had. They'd been home all of an hour when it had hit the fan. Ron had said nothing about Laura when he'd seen him at the Burrow. Some part of his mind was now replaying the events since the explosion and he realized they'd been rather touchy-feely the whole time, but he had been too distracted to notice.

Ron saw him looking and waved a little. Harry raised his eyebrows and Ron stood up to come join him, leaving Laura on the couch. "What's going on?" Ron said.

"Just...work stuff. Has Sukesh been in here?"

"No, not since you left."

Harry glanced over at Laura. "Maybe I should ask you what's going on."

Ron sighed. "I wish I knew, mate."

"You look nice and cozy over there."

"Cozy, sure. We're in bloody limbo, is what."

"What about Sorry?"

"That's the limbo part."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Christmas night things sort of started to happen, but I said I didn't want to get into it unless the Sorry thing was resolved."

"Aren't you the perfect gentleman?"

"I like to think so. Anyway...I don't even know what she's done about it. I'm trying not to be too pushy."

"So, what then?"

"We just talk. And read. And...well, I won't lie to you, it's gotten a little physical."

Harry's eyebrows inched up a little higher. "You've...you know....done the deed?"

"No! Oh, no. But she spends most nights in my room. Nothing happens. It's just...well, cozy, like you said."

Harry shook his head. "You are walking a very fine line, my friend."

Ron ran a hand through his hair. "I'm so messed up, mate. I don't know what to do. I think I might..." He sighed, then dropped his voice to a low whisper. "I might be in love with her."

"Really?"

"Well, how do I know? I don't know the first thing about it!"

"You just know it. It isn't rocket science."

"Rocket science I can handle. This is trickier. I don't want to get into some big love triangle here, but there are times that it's all I can do not to just grab her and..." He blew air through his teeth. "And let's not forget, I spent twelve years alone. It's been awhile, you know?"

Harry smiled. "I know."

"I don't want to screw this up."

"Then don't."

"You're a fine one to talk, Mr. Blissfully Married. It's fine for you to be smug and all-knowing. Us mere mortals have a harder time with the happily ever after."

Harry sobered. "In case you hadn't noticed, the happily ever after isn't going so well for me today, either."

Ron's face fell. "I'm sorry, Harry. That was bloody insensitive of me."

"It's okay. Listen, if you and Laura think you might have something going, I'm thrilled. I love Laura, we both do. She's terrific. I think she might be just what you need."

A tentative smile touched the corners of Ron's mouth. "I think so, too."

"But I think you're smart to want the Sorry thing to be clear before you jump in."

"Yeah. I'm on it." He squeezed Harry's shoulder and rejoined Laura on the couch.

Harry was just about to settle down for a good brood when the door opened and Sukesh entered, looking a little more rested than the night before. Everyone immediately focused on him, all conversation ceasing.

He smiled. "I can let you see Hermione now," he said. "But only one visitor at a time, please."

Claire jumped up and headed for the door. Harry exchanged a puzzled glance with Doug. If she thought she was going in first, she was in for a surprise. "Claire," Harry said, putting out a hand. "Where are you going?"

"I need to see my little girl," she said, her voice a little quavery.

"You will. I'll go in first."

Her eyes flashed at him. "She needs me, and I have to see her!"

"I know, and you will see her, I promise."

"I'm her mother, Harry!"

"I know that, Claire, but I'm her husband, remember? I'll come get you in a little while, okay?" He made himself keep his resolve, but he did not want to fight with her. He understood her need to see Hermione, and he wanted her to have the chance...but dammit, he'd see her first.

He saw Claire wanting to argue, but also realizing that she was in the wrong. Her chin trembled. "Okay," she finally said, quietly. "Please hurry."

Harry followed Sukesh out of the room, his stomach fluttering. He wanted to run ahead of him, but at the same time he was dreading the sight that surely awaited him. He wondered how she'd look, how bad she'd look. How awful would it be? Would she be awake? Would she be in pain? He didn't know if he could stand it.

Sukesh led him to a ward labeled "Intensive Care." He stopped outside the door and turned to face Harry. "She's sleeping, She might wake up, I'm not certain. If she does, that's a good sign, but don't let her talk too much or agitate herself. Right now she's being supported by several charms so her body can heal, and they are easily disrupted."

"Can I..." Harry stopped and cleared his throat. "Can I touch her?"

"Yes, you can hold her hand if you like. Don't be alarmed by her appearance. Remember what she's been through." Harry nodded numbly. Sukesh opened the door and stood aside.

Harry stopped in the doorway, frozen in his tracks. He could feel Sukesh watching him and he wanted to be the Big Strong Hero that he was supposed to be. He wanted to go right up to her bedside without hesitation and be unwavering and stalwart. He wanted to be what everyone expected.

If only it were that simple. It was the rest of the world that thought he was a Big Strong Hero. Inside his own head, he was only Harry. The Harry that he knew was just a man with some skill at magic who still felt undeserving of just about everything and who couldn't believe that the woman he'd always loved actually loved him back. Just a man who was so scared of life without her that it kept him up nights. Just a man who'd had his worst nightmare nearly come true, and who now had to deal with the messy fallout.

"Are you all right?" Sukesh said, quietly.

Harry realized he'd been standing there for awhile. He took a deep breath. "If she is, I am."

He walked into the room and approached her bedside, a painful lump rising in his throat. Hermione's room was private and quiet, the bed in the center, the lights dimmed. Suspended over the bed was a large glass vial shaped like an inverted teardrop that was filled with a clear amber potion. The liquid dripped steadily from the tip of the vial and fell towards Hermione's face, vaporizing into gas as it reached her, surrounding her mouth and nose with whatever therapeutic effects it bore. A large copper talisman was mounted above her head, dials on its face spinning in different directions and speeds.

She was lying still in quiet slumber, her head slightly elevated. Her face was turned to the side, her hands folded on her stomach. Her skin was very pale, and her hair had been gathered up and braided by the nurses to keep it out of the way. The sheet was pulled up to her chest but Harry could see the healing spell from her injury glowing orange over her midsection even through the fabric.

He sat down on a stool that Sukesh had helpfully left by her bedside. "Hermione?" he whispered, leaning closer. He reached out and picked up one of her hands. The skin was cool, her fingers limp as he squeezed them. "It's me." He lifted her hand to his face and pressed his lips to her fingers, holding them there for a long moment. "You're okay," he said, the words muffled against her knuckles. He couldn't seem to let go of her hand, or even lower it away from his face. He held it there and stroked her forearm with his other hand. "You're okay," he repeated. He wished he could think of something better to say to her, something deep and meaningful and profound that would inspire her into a quick recovery, but he was too overwhelmed just to be sitting here and feeling her pulse running through her fingers to have much brain power left over to use coming up with heartfelt speeches.

He leaned closer and looked at her face. He had spent a significant portion of his life looking at this face and yet he still didn't feel he had a complete appreciation of it. He could spend the rest of his life looking at it and never see all of it. Her face was so changeable with her mood and expression that now, completely slack and relaxed, it almost didn't look like her. It wasn't Hermione's face without that little arch of her eyebrow when she was telling him off, that curl of her lips when she was feeling flirty, that line in her forehead when she was concentrating. He put a hand on her brow, smoothing back the little curly wisps that lived at her hairline. He felt tears welling behind his eyes again but he didn't want to cry, not here, not with her. She might somehow sense it and think that it was hopeless, that she was doomed. So he sat there and watched the regular rise and fall of her chest.

He may have spoken when the words came to him. He may have told her he was sorry. He may have told her he loved her, and that all the other people who loved her were here and couldn't wait to see her. He may have told her that he would find out who'd done this and make them pay for it.

Or perhaps he just held her hand and waited to speak until she could answer him.

---

Ron returned to the waiting room with a bag full of sandwiches and found his housemates gathered together in one corner, deep in conversation. Laura beckoned him over.

"Any news?" he said.

"Harry's still in with her. I think Claire's starting to get impatient," Laura said, wincing.

"She can bloody well wait," Ron said. "Forgive me for saying so."

"You're forgiven."

"What's going on?" he said, looking around at their faces.

Justin cleared his throat. "We were just saying that...well, at some point we're going to have to talk about the house."

Ron nodded. "I suppose so. Where did all of you sleep last night?" He and Laura hadn't left the hospital.

"I stayed at Stephen's. George went to the Burrow. Cho went up to her sister's. I don't know what Napoleon did." Napoleon wasn't around; Ron assumed he was at the I.D.

"He was here all night with us."

"Well, I haven't seen the damage. How bad is it?"

Ron and Laura exchanged a glance. "It's bad," Ron said. "The whole middle section is totally blown apart."

George sighed. "Crikey. Is it repairable?"

"I'm sure it is, but it'll take time. We'll have to sort out where to stay in the meanwhile."

"You don't have to worry about that," said a new voice. Ron looked up and saw that Ginny had joined them. "Draco's opening up all the bedrooms at Glyn Cynwyd. You can all stay there."

Ron was speechless. "You're kidding."

"No, of course not. There's plenty of room."

"But, Gin...it could be a long time! Months, even!"

"He knows." She smiled. Ron suspected she was feeling smug over her boyfriend's generosity. Ron tried and failed to quickly come up with the perfect solution so they wouldn't all have to go live at Draco's house. The only other option he could see was for them all to go stay at the Burrow, and he couldn't possibly ask his parents to accept seven adult houseguests for what could be a long time...and it'd be eight once Hermione was released from the hospital. Glyn Cynwyd had the drawback of an owner with whom he felt distinctly uncomfortable, but it was in all other respects ideal.

"Well...tell him we really appreciate that," Ron said.

The door to the waiting room opened and Harry came in. Ron searched his friend's face for a clue to his state, but he merely looked exhausted. He knew that Harry had not had any rest since the explosion. He and Laura had at least gotten some sleep on the couches, but Harry had been either sitting here or at work since they'd arrived the day before. He watched as Harry went to Claire. They spoke quietly for a moment, then Claire hurried from the room, Doug trailing along behind her.

Harry saw them sitting in the corner and joined them. "House meeting?" he said.

"We were just talking about where we're going to stay until the house can be repaired. Um...Draco's offered to put us all up at Glyn Cynwyd for as long as we need," Ron said, hoping that Harry could hear his gratitude for this gesture as well as his involuntary distaste for it.

"Ah," Harry said, assuring Ron with one syllable that he got it completely. "Well, that's very nice of him, but it won't be necessary."

The housemates exchanged glances. "I think it is necessary," Justin said. "We can't possibly stay in the house if it's as badly damaged as Ron says."

"Then I think we ought to go home and have a look for ourselves," Harry said. "It's time you guys saw the damage firsthand."

---

Ron stood a little apart from the others as they stood there in the front yard and stared at the ruins of their magnificent home. Most of the front-side windows were blown out, and sharp shards of glass littered the grass and the driveway. The grand front staircase was mostly gone; pieces of it were scattered throughout the debris. The glass dome of the winter garden room had fallen inwards, and the south tower had collapsed on top of what was left of the foyer.

Laura was weeping, holding her handkerchief to her lips. George's eyes were wide as he stared at the wreckage. Tears leaked from Justin's eyes but he remained silent.

"Dear God," George finally said. "Look at this mess."

"We'll never get this fixed," Justin said. "It's a total wash. We might as well move and count ourselves lucky that no one was killed."

"No one's moving," Harry said, walking up from the rear where he'd been standing and glowering.

"Harry, open your bloody eyes. The house is ruined. Let's just cut our losses and ring the insurance company, shall we?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, standing at the head of the group, his hands in his pockets. "I suppose you didn't hear me, Justin. No one has to move."

Justin started to protest again but Ron cut him off with a gesture, his eyes on Harry's face. "Harry, what's going on?"

Harry was looking up at the house, an odd expression on his face. "Ron, come here," he said, holding out his hand. Ron stepped closer. "Stand in front of me." Ron was puzzled, but he didn't question. He had learned since his return that Harry sometimes had a way of speaking that made it seem like not doing what he said would somehow violate the synchronicity of the universe. This was new; he'd never had this manner before. It must have been something he'd acquired in adulthood.

Ron stood in front of Harry, just off to the side. Harry reached up and laid his hand on Ron's shoulder, wrapping his fingers over the top of his shoulder blade carefully, deliberately. He felt Harry take one step closer so he was standing just behind him. "Now," he said, his voice low. "I want you to look up at the house. And think about it as it was. You don't have to try and recall every detail. Just have it in your mind."

"Okay," Ron said. He looked up at this house that had already begun to feel like home to him. It tugged at his heart to see it laid so low. He had no idea what Harry was planning...some kind of emotional catharsis? A way for everyone to let go so they could move somewhere else? Whatever it was, he went along. He thought about the house, which he'd come to know rather well during the execution of his ill-fated Plan.

He felt Harry's fingers tighten on his shoulder. He glanced around and saw that Harry was looking not at the house, but down at the ground.

For a few moments, nothing happened.

Ron watched the ruined façade, and he became gradually aware that he could feel a subtle thrumming coming through Harry's fingers. Then the thrumming wasn't just in his shoulder...he could feel it coming up through his feet.

The thrumming became a rumbling. The others were approaching them cautiously, unsure what to say or do. Ron could see from their faces that they felt the rumbling, too.

They stared up at the house, waiting for something that was clearly about to happen. Harry's grip on Ron's shoulder was becoming painful, but he didn't move. He didn't dare.

Later he'd be hard pressed to accurately convey what happened there in the driveway. The rumbling went on and became more and more intense. Then...it all went at once.

The house rebuilt itself.

Really, that was all he was able to say. How it happened, he couldn't quite describe with any words that would do justice to the miracle he witnessed. He stood there and watched it; his brain almost refused to believe what he was seeing. He saw the stone and the wood flying through the air. He watched the windows melt and reform themselves. He saw shattered furniture grow back together and replace itself. It looked like a ferocious cyclone had descended upon the house but was reassembling it instead of destroying it.

The scorch marks grew smaller and retreated. The burned wood grew afresh out of thin air and was whole again. With a musical tinkle, the dome of the winter garden room swelled upwards and the sun glinted off its whole, healed surface.

And then, it was over. Like nothing had ever happened. The house stood unblemished and unharmed. Ron turned and looked at Harry, astounded. Harry let go of his shoulder and lifted his head, a sigh escaping his lips, a slight tightening of his jaw the only visible sign of the enormous feat of magic he'd just accomplished.

"Wow," Justin said, his understatement going unremarked upon.

Ron put out a hand and touched Harry's arm. "You okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Let's go have a look, shall we?"

He led the group into the foyer. It looked exactly the same, right down to the picture frames on the hall table and the poster-sized photo of Harry, Ron and Hermione that Laura had put up for Ron's welcome home. They stood there and goggled in amazement at the healed mansion.

"Harry, that was...I don't know where to start," Ron said.

Harry sighed. "I wasn't sure I could do it. It's awfully big."

"I've never seen anything like that," George said, and he sounded awestruck.

"I've been practicing," Harry said, a tiny smile curling his lips. "If I can't fix Hermione, at least I can fix the house so she can come home to it."

---

When Harry and Ron arrived back at the hospital, Claire was in the waiting room by herself; Doug must have been sitting with Hermione. Claire's eyes were red and she was holding a handkerchief. She stood up as they entered; the look on her face was not reassuring. Harry stopped just inside the room. "Everything all right, Claire?"

"Oh yes," she said. "Why wouldn't it be? My daughter is lying unconscious in a hospital bed after having her home blown up and a giant metal spike driven through her body!" Harry's mouth fell open but no words came out. "God!" Claire cried, clenching her fists. "Why, Harry? Why did it have to be you? Why did she have to love only you? Why couldn't she have met a nice, normal wizard no one hates, someone safe that would never hurt her, someone without enemies that blow up their houses?" Her words were coming fast and choked with tears now. Ron wondered how long she'd been keeping all this bottled up. "I told myself it would be fine. I told myself nothing bad would happen, but it will, won't it? And it'll keep happening! She'll never be safe, she'll never have a normal life!" Ron watched Harry's face. He was looking at his mother-in-law, his face blank with shock. As she spoke Harry's jaw clenched and his eyes grew moist. "For the love of God, Harry!" Claire cried. By now everyone in the room was watching this exchange. "How could you let this happen? You keep saying you love her. If you do, why did you let this happen?"

Harry shook his head. "I couldn't...it took me by surprise..."

"No, not the explosion! Why did you let her marry you? Why did you even let her near you?" Claire advanced on him, pointing an accusing finger at him, her hand shaking and her whole face near to crumpling. "If you really loved her you would have stayed as far away from her as possible. You would have let her find someone else. You would want her to have a normal life, a safe life!" Ron stepped in and drew Claire away.

"Stop it, Claire," he said. "Don't you think he feels bad enough as it is? Look at him, it's killing him!"

"It's killing him?" Claire said. "Funny, he looks healthy enough to me! We can talk about how it's killing him when he's the one on the edge of death in the hospital!" She wept against Ron's shoulder.

"Claire," Harry finally managed. "Do you really hate me? Honest?"

She took a deep, shuddery breath and faced him. "No," she said. "But I hate that you're with her. I must seem horrible to you, but...she's my little girl. I just want her to be happy and safe. She can be happy with you, but she'll never be safe. How can you let her be in danger? Don't you care?"

Ron saw anger come to Harry's eyes for the first time. He took one step closer. "Claire, don't ever suggest that I don't care about Hermione or what happens to her. That is all I care about, understand? And if you want to know how I let this happen, I'll tell you. I didn't want this to happen. I tried to avoid it. I tried to get away, so that she'd be safe."

Claire gaped at him. "Why didn't you? What stopped you?"

"She did. She wouldn't let me go. And now it's too late. We're stuck with each other. And if you think it's easy for me to look at her and know that what I am places her in danger, then you must think I'm a cold-hearted bastard."

Claire sagged. "I don't."

"Good. Look, I understand that it's hard for you to accept this, but Hermione is an adult. You and I aren't the only ones who see danger; she sees it too. She chose me anyway. I couldn't stop her. I've never been able to change her mind about anything she'd decided for herself. She can be so stubborn."

"Yes, she certainly can," Claire said, a slight smile coming to her lips.

Harry put a hand on her shoulder. "You and I are more alike than we are different, Claire. We both love her, and we both want her to be safe. I know you feel helpless, and sometimes I do, too...but I'm not helpless. I don't know if it makes you feel any better, but I fight every day to defeat the people that might hurt us, and so does she. We're not sitting around passively waiting for tragedy to strike, you know."

She nodded. It was clear to Ron that she wanted badly to think that everything would be okay. "I know."

"And she's..." Here Harry's lip began to tremble a little. "She's going to be fine."

"For now," Claire said, meeting Harry's eyes.

"That's all we have. That's all any of us have."

She sighed. "It's just so bloody hard."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

She smiled at him, a little shaky. "I think...maybe I envy you a bit, Harry. At least you can fight. At least you can be active and do something to protect her. Me, all I can do is sit at home and jump when the phone rings and have nightmares about my baby dying when I did nothing to stop it." She swiped at her eyes.

"There is something you can do for Hermione, Claire. You can support the decisions she's made about her life. You can be glad that she's got a home and a great job and friends who care for her and a husband she loves and who'd do anything to make her happy. You can make it easier for her to do what she has to do, knowing that her family is behind her no matter what."

Claire's smile widened a bit and she nodded. "I can do that."

"Good." Harry held out his arms. "Peace?"

She hesitated, then hugged him. "Peace." She drew back. "You know...you don't have to call me Claire, Harry."

"What should I call you?"

"How about 'Mum?'"

Harry looked touched, but conflicted. Ron knew without having to have it explained that Harry might feel uneasy about calling someone else by that name, but that he appreciated the gesture. He nodded. "I think I'd like that."

---

The first sensation that came to Hermione's mind was that she was cold. Wherever she was, it was cold there. Her arms were bare and there was a draft from someplace.

Her eyes didn't want to open. Where am I? she wondered. She managed a kind of grunt and finally hauled her eyelids open. "Harry?" she heard herself croak.

Her mother was leaning over her, her eyes shining. "Sweetheart, it's Mum! Oh, thank goodness...can you see me?"

"I see you, Mum...where's Harry?" And with those two words, the knowledge of what had happened to her slammed back into her conscious mind. The explosion, the pain, the flames, the darkness. Her eyes widened a little. "Is he hurt? Mum...please tell me...is he dead?"

Her mother quickly shook her head, stroking her cheek. "Oh no, darling, he's not hurt. I'll get him for you." She glanced back over her shoulder and spoke to someone Hermione couldn't see. "Get Harry, Hermione's asking for him." She turned back to Hermione. "How do you feel? Can you move at all?"

Hermione wasn't sure. She tried to take a quick physical inventory. Clearly she was in a hospital room; she could see the talismans and the potion drip suspended over her bed. She must have been hurt, probably badly given how anxious her mother looked. She wasn't in any pain, but her body felt stiff and stupid, like she'd slept deeply and hadn't moved for a long time and her muscles had forgotten how to flex. "I think I'm okay," she said. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days," her mother said. "The...accident...was Monday afternoon. It's Thursday evening now." She sat down on a chair next to the bed. "I'm sure Harry will be here soon, dear. He's hardly left your side, we finally made him go home and get some sleep."

"But he wasn't hurt?"

"No. Just worried sick about you."

"What about Ron, and Laura?"

"Laura wasn't hurt, but Ron's back was broken. He's mended now, good as new."

Before Hermione could reply to this, Harry appeared in the doorway to her room. Her heart leapt just to see him, though he looked awful. He had circles under his eyes and he was pale and drawn. He beamed a wide smile to see her awake and hurried to her bedside. Her mother stepped back to make room for him, then slipped out of the room to give them privacy. "Hermione," he murmured, grasping her hand and leaning close. Tears sprang to her eyes at the sight of his undisguised emotion.

"Hey," she whispered, smiling. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

He kissed her hand. "Maybe. Didn't we meet at the Gala once?"

"We must have. A girl wouldn't forget those eyes."

He kept her hand held to his chest, his other hand gently stroking her forehead. "It's nice to see your eyes again." He glanced down at her. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm not sure. What happened to me?"

He hesitated. "How much do you remember?"

"I remember...the snow globe. It blew up. I remember awful pain, and...I think something hit me. I heard you calling my name, and then that's it."

He gripped her hand tightly in both of his own. "A section of the porch railing went right through you. Here," he said, touching her stomach.

She shuddered, a sense memory of that spike passing through her flesh coming into her mind. "Oh."

"Yeah." He sighed. "I know we've had close calls before, but...you really did almost die this time. No exaggeration."

"I can believe it." She withdrew her hand, her weakness making it quiver in the air, and laid it on his cheek. "You okay?"

"I am now. Don't you worry about me, or anyone. Just relax and get better. You'll be right as rain before you know it."

She saw her hand resting on his cheek. "Oh no!"

He frowned. "What?"

"My ring...where's my wedding ring?" She lifted the hand and held it before her. Her ring finger was bare.

"Oh," Harry said, relaxing. "They took everything off before your surgery." He raised his own hand and she saw her wedding band on his little finger. "Sukesh gave it to me. Here, you can have it back now." He slid the ring off and replaced it on her finger. "There."

The idea that she'd been lying here recovering without her wedding ring made Hermione feel very uneasy in a distressingly superstitious way. "Oh, why did they have to take it off?" she said, frowning a little. "It's so small, it can't have been in the way."

Harry shook his head. "It's not important."

"It is important! I promised never to take this off!"

"No, you promised to be with me forever, for better or for worse. You haven't broken that promise already, have you?" he said, teasing.

"Well, no..."

"These are just symbols," he said, touching her ring, then his own. "What's important is what they represent."

She made a face. "I suppose. Still...I don't like the fact that I was lying here for three days without wearing it." She sighed. "I imagine I'm just being silly."

Harry gave her a heartbreaking smile. "Thank you."

She frowned. "What for?"

"For being alive. For being you. For being mine."

---

Laura found Ron in his room, sitting at his writing desk. He didn't look up as she entered; she could tell by the hunch of his shoulders that he was quite absorbed in whatever he was writing. She came up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. He jerked a little, then relaxed when he realized it was her.

"When did you come home?" he asked.

"About an hour ago." Ron had come back to the house earlier to catch a nap; she'd gone to her office to attempt a few hours' worth of work. The sheer size of the pile of paperwork on her desk when she'd arrived had almost been enough to make her forego the entire enterprise.

"Why didn't you come up and say hello?"

"I had something important to take care of." She leaned over his shoulder and dropped a sealed letter onto the desktop.

Ron picked it up. It was addressed to Sorenson Carlisle. He craned his neck and looked at her. "Is this what I think it is?"

Laura sighed. Did he think it was her letter to Sorry, asking him to come see her so they could determine what the heck was going on with their relationship? If so, then yes it was. Did he think it was the most difficult series of words that had ever flowed from her quill, and that composing it had cost her a significant amount of tears and agony? It was that, as well. "I've written to him," was all she said. She didn't need to explain to Ron all the emotional subtexts behind those four words; he understood them already.

Ron nodded and set the letter down. "I'm glad."

"I'm sorry I've put it off for so long."

"It's not an easy thing to do. You should take your time. Make sure it's right. You gave him ten years of your life. It's not so much to ask that you spend a month thinking about where you want to go next."

Laura put her hand under his chin and tilted his head up. "It's a lot to ask of you."

He smiled. "Don't worry about me."

"You always say that. To everyone. Ron, you deserve to be worried about, just as much as me or Harry or Hermione or Napoleon or anyone else. Perhaps you deserve it more. You've been through so much."

"No, I haven't. I haven't been through anything, that's the problem. I've spent twelve years going through absolutely nothing, and I'm afraid it's left me ill-prepared to handle the things that people face every day."

"You're doing fine so far."

"Thank you."

"And I do worry about you. Not because I think you need it, or because I think you can't handle things, but because I care. That's what people do when they care...they worry." She let her arms encircle his shoulders and hugged him, her cheek against his.

"Is that what they do?"

She smiled. "Well, yes...and some other things." She felt Ron's answering smile at her intentional double entendre, and felt his chest shake a little with his chuckles.

I wonder if I ought to kiss him, she thought, but before the end of the thought had passed through her mind they were already kissing. She didn't know who'd turned their head first but all at once she was leaning over him and his hand was on the back of her head and his lips were just a little chapped and damn, but he smelled good. Like campfires or the outdoors or pine needles, or a combination of all three.

They hadn't kissed since Christmas night, when it had first become different between them. By mutual agreement they'd cuddled, they'd hugged, they'd held hands, they had snuggled together in bed, but there it had stopped. Neither of them had made any entreaties upon the other's sensitive areas. It had all been very...chaste.

This wasn't so chaste. It was, however, an awkward angle. Laura drew back to come around his chair, but as she did so he stood up and stepped back. "We shouldn't," he said.

Laura wanted to protest...actually, she wanted to throw herself at him...but she didn't. "I know. I didn't come here for that. I don't know what happened."

"We got a little carried away," he said quietly.

"Right." She stood there looking at the floor, her arms crossed over her chest.

"I want you," she heard him whisper. She looked up, but his eyes were averted. "I used to be ashamed of how much I want you, but I'm not now."

Laura sighed. "I want you, too." Now he did look at her. "And we shouldn't be ashamed if we feel like that. We should be ashamed if we act on it when I'm not free. You were right about that. I just...it's been so long since I had anyone I could count on, anyone I cared to be with in an intimate way."

He smiled wryly. "It's been quite a long time for me, too."

She laughed. "Of course it has."

He picked up the letter. "I guess all there is to do is see how free you actually are." He met her eyes. "Shall I take this to the owl post tray?"

She stepped up to him and took the letter. "No, I'll do it." She moved to the door, then hesitated. "You know...it isn't just a physical thing." She looked up at him and wondered if she were really going to say this to him. Was it cruel? Did she mean it? "I think...I think I..."

He held up a hand. "Don't. Don't say that, not yet." He must have seen her expression because he hastened to modify his statement. "Not that I wouldn't love to hear it, or that I might not like to say it myself. It's just...it isn't the time. Send that letter. Settle things. You can't move forward if you're still looking back."

She nodded, her heart still beating in her throat, and left the room.

---

"Can I ask you something?" Sarah said, resting her elbows on Hermione's bedside.

"Sure," Hermione said, paging through one of the magazines Sarah had brought her.

Sarah fidgeted a little. "It's personal."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You were with me when I got my first period, Sarah. We have no secrets."

"Well...okay." She took a breath. "How do magical people handle the birth-control thing?"

Hermione eyed her, one eyebrow raised. "I have an odd feeling that this question has some personal significance."

"Surely you knew that...well, Napoleon and I have been..."

"Seeing each other?"

"I'm not sure that's what I'd call it."

"Um...shagging each other?"

"Closer. Anyway, I've been making him wear a condom. He swears it isn't necessary, but I'm a safety girl. So what's the real dish, anyway?"

Hermione sighed. "Well, there are lots of ways to handle it. It depends on your...I suppose your station in life. There are charms and spells you can use on a case-by-case basis. At the moment, or just before, or just after. There are lots to pick from. Younger, less settled people tend to use those."

"Sure."

"But when you're older, there are some potions that last a month or longer that you can take. Some of them protect you against things besides pregnancy, too. Now, you're a Muggle, but there are plenty of things Napoleon can do to make it perfectly safe. Or you could just keep making him wear a condom. I'm sure it isn't doing him any harm."

"Can I have something...done to me? Cast on me, or whatever you call it?"

"That's illegal. Whoever did it could go to prison."

Sarah made a face. "I guess that option's out, then." She sighed. "What do you use?"

Hermione smiled. "It's kind of...well, wizards have traditions about that. It's part of your relationship."

"What do you mean?"

"When you're in a relationship and you don't want to become pregnant, you go to your doctor and have a permanent contraceptive spell applied. Both partners do this. These aren't spells you can cast on yourself; someone who's trained to do it has to cast them. Once cast, they're good forever."

"Forever?"

"Until you decide you're ready to start a family."

"Then what?"

Hermione smiled. "Well, this is a very significant moment for a couple. It's become a special occasion to celebrate, like a major anniversary or even renewing your vows. You see, the spells have to be cast by a professional, but to remove them isn't as hard. So when a couple decides to have children, typically they go away somewhere for the weekend. They talk, they have sumptuous dinners, they go dancing, whatever they enjoy doing together...and then when they're ready, they go to their bedroom and light candles and perhaps give each other massages or something, and then they get out their wands and each person removes the other's contraceptive spell."

"Then they make love like crazed weasels?"

Hermione grinned. "Yes, then they make love like crazed weasels."

Sarah was smiling dreamily. "That is so romantic. So much better than how we do it, which is pretty much throw away the Pill and life goes on as usual."

"A bit of a cottage industry has sprung up around this tradition. There are resorts and hotels that specialize in providing these Spell Weekend - that's what we call them - for couples who are ready to have children. People often give couples gifts for good luck before they go on their weekend; sometimes they have a party before they leave or after they get back. There are a lot of different traditions for it depending on your culture and where you grew up."

"Think you and Harry might go off on one of these Spell Weekends anytime soon?"

Hermione laughed. "Maybe someday."

"Not yet, eh?"

"No, not yet. I'm not entirely sure I want to have children, and neither is he. We're still getting used to just being married." She put the magazine aside. "But I'd rather hear more about Napoleon. How long has that been going on?"

"Since your wedding."

"And? Do you like him?"

"Sure, I like him. Not like that, necessarily."

"So you're just...what's the term..."

"Friends with benefits?"

"That'll do."

"That's right, we're just friends with benefits."

Hermione sighed. "That's too bad. I keep hoping he'll find someone."

"I wouldn't count on it. You're a tough act to follow."

Hermione flapped one hand dismissively. "He's not still hung up on me."

"That's what you think." Sarah stood up. "Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time."

"Yes, as you can see I'm terrifically busy."

"When are they letting you go home?"

"Not until Monday. Honestly, I feel okay. Still rather weak, but...I just want to be home in my own bed." She smiled up at Sarah. "Thanks for popping in."

Sarah kissed her forehead. "No problem. See you tomorrow."

---

Diz dropped a thick binder on Harry's desk. "Well, there it is. Complete death records for the last twelve years."

Harry blinked. "Blimey."

"I'll see that 'blimey' and raise you a 'fucking hell,'" Napoleon muttered. "What are we going to do with that?"

"I think I can use it to compile a complete list of the missing. A naming talisman self-destructs when the wizard it represents dies. If I go to the Hall of Names, I should be able to cross reference this list with the active talismans."

"Ah," Remus said, comprehension coming into his face. "So anyone whose name is in these death records that still have talismans..."

"Aren't really dead," Harry finished.

Napoleon was frowning. "Why wouldn't they have noticed that people who are supposed to be dead still have talismans?"

"Do you have any idea how many talismans there are, and how much activity there is among them? Cross-checking the talismans against the death records isn't something they do...well, ever. No one has had any reason to check until now."

"You won't be able to do this under the radar," Remus said.

"I know." Harry sighed. "I'm going to have to bring Sirius in on this. He's the only one who can get me access to the Hall of Names." He sat there looking at the binder, but he did not open it. He glanced up at his ad hoc team. "I'll just put this before the group, shall I?"

"You're the agent of record here, Harry," Diz said. "You don't need our permission to conduct this investigation."

"Maybe, but you three have put your arses on the line for this project and I'm not going to make any major decisions or proceed without at least hearing your opinions." He sighed. "There is something I need to run this project effectively. Someone, rather."

"You want to tell Hermione," Napoleon said.

Harry shook his head. "I want to tell Ron."

The three other agents exchanged glances. "Ron? He isn't an agent."

"No, he isn't."

"Why him?"

"Because he can help us. This list of names...it's only going to get longer and more complicated. If we don't gain a complete understanding of these people, their lives and whatever it is that they have in common, then any plan we come up with will be no better than brute force...and if we're going up against the Master or Allegra, we'll need a whole lot better than brute force." He hesitated. "I know the three of you don't have a full appreciation of this, but I believe that Ron is just the person we need. Napoleon, Diz, you didn't know him before and Remus, you didn't know him that well. Whatever he went through while he was away, it changed him. He's got an amazing mind for detail, and he has the patience and the thoroughness to take our list of names and find what we need to move forward." Harry smiled to himself. "Sometimes it gives me a little turn to think that I've reached a place in the universe where Hermione is by my side in hand-to-hand combat while Ron is in the library."

"You don't want to tell Hermione, then?"

Harry was silent for a moment. "I don't want her working on this. She has several weeks' recovery time ahead of her, and I've been advised that she's not to be placed back on active duty until that period is complete." He looked up at them. "I am going to tell her because she needs to know, and I want her on the team...but not until she's recovered."

"She won't be able to stay away once she knows, Harry. Surely you know that."

He smiled. "Yes, of course I know that. But that's my affair."

Napoleon had been walking back and forth near the back of the office. "I don't like this. I feel like we're wasting valuable time. With every minute we delay it's another minute of their lives in captivity. He could be planning to take someone else. He could already have done it!"

"What would you have me do?" Harry said. "March in, wands blazing, and demand their release?" Napoleon said nothing. "No, I don't think so. Every minute we spend in preparation increases our chances for a successful offensive."

"He knows we're on to him, you know. He could be killing them right now. He could be aborting his whole plan, whatever it is."

"I doubt that. If he's spent twelve years or more setting this up, he won't abandon it so quickly. It's more likely that he'll just come after us." Harry's eyes dropped to the desktop. "He's already done that," he said quietly. "And I won't forget it."

---

Harry shut the door to Hermione's hospital room behind him. She was sitting up in bed, her wavy hair lying in a shining sheaf over her shoulder and Harry thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Ron was sitting on the other side of her bed, watching Harry's face.

Harry sat down next to her bedside and took her hand. "I'm sorry for all the mystery," he said.

"You have something to tell us?" Hermione said.

"Yes, I do. There's no good way to phrase it, so I'll be as brief as I can." He took a deep breath. "For the last few months, I have been working a project with Napoleon, Remus and Diz. The level of secrecy around this project is extremely high, and it's vital that both of you understand this."

"Are you sure I'm allowed to hear this?" Ron said, his brow furrowing.

"You're allowed. And I need you to hear this."

"All right, then."

"We understand the security concerns," Hermione said. "Go on."

Harry nodded. "All right. Last chance to back out." Neither of them spoke; they just watched him with expectant expressions. "Okay."

He stood up and went to the window. "The manner and circumstances of Ron's imprisonment led us to some theories that we decided to put to the test. While I was away, Napoleon conducted a long series of tests at my instruction." He turned around again and faced them. "We have discovered that you were not the only person the Master kidnapped, Ron. There have been others whose deaths were faked, people whose graves contain fake bodies just as yours did."

Hermione and Ron looked at each other, alarm coming into their faces. "How many?" Ron said.

"To date, we have found over two hundred."

Hermione sucked in a shocked breath. Ron just stared at the floor, his eyes wide. "Oh my God," she said. "Two hundred? " she gasped.

"At least. We're still working on getting a complete list."

"Why? Why has he taken so many?"

"My love, that is the fifty thousand Galleon question."

"And where is he keeping them? For how long?"

"Ron's seems to have been the first, the most recent we've found was a few months ago." He was answering Hermione's question but his eyes were on the back of Ron's head. It was bowed and still. He thought if he listened hard enough he could hear the gears turning inside his friend's brain. "Ron," he said.

Ron looked up at him. "Yes?"

"How much of this did you already guess?"

"What makes you think I guessed anything?"

"You haven't said a word. You knew everything I knew, and I know how your mind works."

Ron rose and walked a few aimless steps around the room. "I had my suspicions. I always thought about how easy it was for them to get me and keep me, and how tempting it must have been to do it to someone else, maybe someone more significant. If they could take me, why not Dumbledore? The Minister of Magic? Why not you, Harry?"

"They don't seem to have gone after the big names. I haven't recognized anyone on the list."

"It doesn't matter who knew what and when," Hermione said. "What matters is what we're going to do about it."

Harry sat on the edge of her bed. "You aren't going to do anything about it. You're not on active duty for at least several weeks."

She stared. "Harry, I can't sit by and do nothing!"

"You can heal and take care of yourself."

Her face creased into a scowl. "Why did you tell me if you didn't want me to help?"

"I told you because I need you to know. For me." He shook his head. "Hermione, this is...it's almost beyond me. For the first time in my career I feel like I might be in over my head. This is a plan that's been going on for longer than I've been an agent, for longer than I've even been a licensed wizard. My adversary is a man who I know very little about except that he seems to be able to order Allegra around and I can't imagine anyone being capable of that. She's afraid of him, and that makes me doubly so." He gripped her hand in both of his. "He's already attacked us. He almost took you away from me, and that terrifies me. I don't know how I'm going to beat him, and if I'm to have a chance, then...I need your support and your cooperation." He looked over at Ron, who moved to stand at his shoulder. "I need both of you. I need my best friends."

"We're with you," Ron said. "Never doubt it."

Harry fixed his gaze on Hermione's face. "I will need your help on this project, make no mistake...but not yet. Not now. Please, Hermione. Until you're cleared for active duty I want you to stay clear of any involvement. If I ask you to do that, as a personal favor to me, will you do it?"

She sighed, considering, then reached up and stroked his cheek. "Yes. I'll do it, I'll stay clear. But I'm scared for you, Harry. I wasn't the target of this attack, you were. You think the Master will just say 'curses, foiled again' and go about his business?"

"Yes, I think he might. I don't think I'm terribly important to him, actually."

She frowned. "How can you say that? You're...well, you're his greatest enemy, aren't you?"

"I'm not so sure. Yes, he tried to kill me. And how? He sent me a letter bomb. That's how you get rid of an annoyance, that's not how you get rid of your archrival. If he were concerned about my involvement, if his plan had anything to do with me...well, he would have tried to capture me so he could question me or torture me or Merlin knows what else. I'm sure he's concerned about what I might do to stop him, but clearly he doesn't consider me his greatest threat. He isn't focusing his attention on me. It's something else...we just don't know what."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm so confused."

"Well, you're in good company."

"When can we get the complete list?" Ron asked. "I'm anxious to get to work on this."

"If you can come with me, we can go see Sirius now."

"I'm ready! Let's go!"

Harry nodded. "Can you...give me a moment first?"

Ron smiled, glancing from one to the other. "I'll just get my cloak and tell Laura what's going on...in very vague terms, of course."

After he left, Harry found himself at a loss. He'd asked for the time alone so he could talk to Hermione privately, but now he realized he didn't know what he wanted to say. Perhaps it was that there was just so much to say he didn't know how to begin.

So he sat there on the edge of her bed, looking down at her. She didn't speak either, but unlike him, she looked as if just sitting here in silence was exactly what she wanted most to do. She reached up and touched him again, her fingertips moving over his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his jaw. Harry did the same, the masculine roughness of his own hands feeling like an insult to her face. The softness of her skin never failed to surprise him no matter how many times he touched it. She was still pale and she'd lost a few pounds, but her eyes were bright and she was smiling. How can she smile? he thought. Isn't she afraid? How is she so strong when I am so fragile?

Harry looked away before she could see the tears in his eyes. He swung his legs up and stretched out next to her on the hospital bed; she drew him into her arms and pulled his head down to her shoulder. "I'm fine," she said, slowly, deliberately. "And they can't take me, because I won't leave you."

He was then able to answer his own question. Right now, she is strong because I am fragile.

She said nothing as he sobbed against her chest, great unlovely waves of unchecked weeping that he didn't have to censor, not in front of her. She offered no words of comfort, no platitudes of worldly peace and rightness; all she offered was her own love, unspoken and understood. She held him and stroked his hair and Harry could be uncertain, he could be weak, he could be overwhelmed. He could leave the Boy Who Lived at the door and because she was here, he could be scared and confused. He could just be Harry, here in this place of safety, here in his wife's arms.

---

Ron was so busy looking all around him that he'd already bumped into three people and two walls. "Watch yourself there, mate," Harry said, smiling.

"I'm just...it isn't what I expected," he said.

"What did you bloody expect?"

"I don't know! Black glossy marble, perhaps...dark, hooded figures lurking in the shadows?"

"Creepy."

"So...everyone works here?"

"No, only people who are I.D. agents work here," Harry said with a smirk.

"At what point did you become an insufferable smartass?"

"Someone had to take your place, didn't they?"

"I meant to ask if there was another building or something."

"Pretty much everyone you know works here in the building."

"Where's Hermione's office?"

"I'm not sure."

Ron frowned. "Why not?"

"Well, the inside of the building changes positions. The rooms move around for security. That's why we have these," Harry said, indicating his Bubble. "They know the way and they lead us where we're going. I can't even tell you where my own office is right now. The only thing that stays the same is that Napoleon's office is always next door to mine. It's the same for all the division heads and their seconds. So when I need someone to blame, he's handy."

"Someone to blame? Must be talking about me," Napoleon said, coming up behind them.

"Oddly enough, we were."

"Welcome to the Grand Mysterious Intelligence Division, mate," he said, clapping Ron on the back. "How's Hermione?" he asked Harry.

"She's fine. She can come home tomorrow. She'll need help, though, she can't really walk on her own for another week."

"How soon can she come back to work? The place is falling to pieces without her."

"Two weeks, Sukesh says, depending on how soon her nervous system recovers."

"Are we meeting in your office?"

"Yes...and here we are," Harry said as his Bubble rounded a corner. Remus and Diz were waiting outside. Harry took a quick look around and opened the door. He'd become conscious of people starting to wonder why the four of them kept meeting all the time, so if no one saw them come into his office, so much the better.

"What the news on the Hall of Names?" Ron asked as soon as the door closed behind them. "When can we go?" He'd been impatient to get to his task. The day before when he and Harry had gone to see about access, Sirius hadn't been sure about the protocol of allowing unauthorized personnel into the Hall.

"Well, I just spoke to Sirius, and unfortunately you and I aren't allowed inside the Hall. However, he said he could conduct the cross-referencing for us, in fact, he's probably doing it right now. He promised to have me the complete list by the end of the day."

"Smashing," Ron said. He looked around at them. "If I'm going to really dig into this list and find a pattern, I'm going to need a few things."

"Name them."

"I'll need complete biographical data on all the missing, as much as you can get me. Nothing can be considered insignificant...if the pattern were obvious it would have been spotted already, the smallest detail may hold the answer."

"What if there is no pattern?"

"Oh, there is one. Even random selection is a kind of pattern in itself, but it's very unlikely that these victims were randomly selected. The longevity and complexity of this plan, whatever it is, indicates that the Master is highly organized and very patient. If he just needed a random selection of 200 people he would not have taken twelve years to choose them. No, there's a pattern, it's only a question of whether it's one that we can discern. If we accept that these people were not chosen at random, then they must have been chosen because they were of specific use to him. The question then becomes, what is that use? What is it about these people that made them useful to the Master? What do they have that he needs?" He ran one hand through his hair. "We also have to consider that he let at least one of his prisoners go."

"He didn't let you go, mate. We came and got you," Napoleon said.

"If he'd really wanted to keep me he would have. And he's made no real effort to get me back."

"We've wondered if you might have been a test case. Surely your death was one of the more difficult ones to fake. You were in a highly protected area, you were young and healthy, and you were a high-profile victim."

"I've wondered the same thing." He looked up at Harry. "Have you spoken to Bob about this?"

"I haven't, but they have."

"We questioned him soon after we discovered the existence of other victims," Remus said. "He insisted that he had no idea there were other prisoners, and I believe him."

"It's unlikely he would have been taken into any kind of confidence, considering that he was assigned to be my jailer as a kind of exile," Ron said.

The conversation was interrupted by the I.D. bubble appearing in the air by Harry's head. "Chief Potter? You have an owl from the Chancery."

"That'll be the list," Harry said. "Send it down here," he said to the Bubble.

After a moment, a rolled parchment appeared in the Apparating tray near Harry's desk. He picked it up, took a deep breath, and unrolled it. A small note from Sirius fluttered out. Harry scanned it quickly, nodding. "Sirius says that he found more than twenty additional prisoners, but that he also removed eight names from our original list."

Remus sighed. Ron looked around, puzzled. "What does that..." He stopped as the implication reached him. "Oh. Eight of them have died in captivity."

"That brings our final total to 235." Silence fell as they considered this figure.

Remus stood up and took the new list. "We'll make a copy of this list and get started. We ought to have complete biographical data for you by tomorrow night, Ron. Where should we send it?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance. "Send it to the house," Harry said. "It's secure." He looked at Napoleon. "You've installed the new security wards, haven't you?"

"Natch, boss."

"What about your housemates?" Remus said. "Won't they suspect?"

"We can just tell them Ron's working on something that's sensitive. They won't pry."

Ron sighed. "What will all of you be doing while I'm buried under mounds of paperwork?"

Diz stood up and joined Remus near the door. "We can't wait for a pattern to be found. Even if one is, there's no guarantee that it'll help us find them or provide us with any useful insight. We have to proceed and try to find a way to discover the prisoners' whereabouts and free them."

"You think the Master knows we're on to him?" Ron asked.

"Without a doubt," Harry said. "The real question is how much of a threat he thinks we are."

---

Harry pulled into the long drive that led to the house, waiting for her reaction.

Hermione, sitting in the passenger seat, sucked in a sharp gasp and held out her hands. "Oh my God! The house! It looks good as new!"

"I told you," he said, grinning.

"Wow! I just can't believe it! It was...it was totally destroyed!"

"Yes, it was." He parked near the front door. Hermione was still gaping up through the windshield at the restored façade of their home. Harry got out and came around to her side. She had the door open and her arm was reaching out for him, but her eyes were still on the house.

"You can't even tell anything happened at all!"

Harry put one arm around her waist and helped her out of the car. She gingerly let her feet down onto the ground, clutching his other hand tightly. They shuffled slowly forward. Hermione's face was creased into a frown of concentration. "Are you all right?" he murmured.

"Mm-hmm," she said, her lips pressed tightly together. "I'm trying to make my legs move better with the sheer force of my will. I'm not sure my will's force is sheer enough."

"Sukesh said it'd take time."

"I hate feeling like an invalid."

"Don't sell yourself short. Five days ago you had a metal spike through your stomach."

They came into the foyer. Hermione looked around again, shaking her head. "I just can't believe you did this." She looked up at him. "You've been practicing more than you've let on."

"Well, one practice session is pretty much like another. Not much to tell."

"Who do you practice with? I mean, there are no other Mages. Who's qualified to teach you?"

"Usually I practice with Lefty. He's not a Mage but he knows a lot about them. But you're right; no one can teach me how to be one. Mostly I just experiment and practice doing things." They were making their way towards the stairs.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione said, looking around.

"I asked them all to keep clear until tonight. I wasn't sure how you'd feel, I didn't want you to be deluged with people right away. Ron's here, though. He's shut up in the library. Remus and Diz brought him the first batch of biographical files on the prisoners this morning."

"Is he making any progress?"

"Haven't asked. Actually I haven't even seen him since this morning. He came out and asked me to get him a computer." He looked down at her. "Do you want to go see him?"

She shook her head and Harry could see how exhausted she was and didn't want to say. "I don't want to disturb him."

"Come on then, let's get you into bed."

Hermione stood at the base of the stairs and looked up, a dubious expression on her face. "Harry...I don't think I can manage the stairs."

Harry just smiled and held out his arms. Hermione put one arm around his shoulders; he bent and picked her up. "No problem," he said, starting up.

Hermione laid her head on his shoulder. "It's so nice to have such a big, strong husband."

"Not that strong. I'm using magic to make you lighter." He walked through the second floor living gallery.

"I can't stand being this weak. Why is it just my legs? My arms feel fine."

"Sukesh said the spike hit your spinal column near the small of your back. The nerves that control your legs were damaged. They fixed them, but he said it'd take time for them to heal."

"He said I wouldn't have any permanent effects, but it's hard to believe it right now. My legs feel like rubber."

"They'll get better." Harry had reached the door of the Cloister. He kissed Hermione's forehead. "Welcome home, darling."

"Oh, it's so good to back. I'm craving George's cooking."

He set her down and helped her over to the bed, waiting for her to notice what he'd done. As they drew nearer he sensed her puzzlement.

"Harry...what's all this?" she said, pointing to the boxes near the bed.

"For you, of course. You're not going to be too mobile for the next week and I didn't want you to get bored, so I dug up some things to help you pass the time. Here, I got you this lap desk so you can write or read in bed or in your favorite chair," he said, pointing to the cunning wooden lap desk. "I found some of the books you haven't read yet and brought them up, and I got you a ton of wool for your afghan. Of course if there's anything else you want, all you'll have to do is ask."

Hermione smiled. "Look at you, so proud of yourself." She hugged him. "Thank you, darling. This is wonderful. I won't have to feel idle like some kind of Victorian lady."

He hugged her back. "I thought about redecorating the whole room, like we talked about doing, but I was assured by several married men that doing any redecorating without consulting your wife is tantamount to marital sabotage."

Hermione laughed. "I can't speak for other wives but I think I'd have been delighted to have it done without having to organize it or get paint in my hair!"

"Not to worry, when we do redecorate, it'll only take about half an hour. Benefits of having a Mage for a husband."

"One of many benefits," Hermione said, her smile growing a little tight.

"Come on, you should lie down," Harry said. It was a testament to her weariness that she didn't protest. She sat and Harry lifted her legs onto the mattress. "Are you in any pain?"

She rubbed her abdomen. "My stomach hurts a little. Sometimes it aches around the incision site."

Harry knelt by the bed and lifted her jumper just a little. He bent and pressed his lips to the unmarked flesh of her abdomen. "There," he said, turning his head so his cheek rested against her warm skin. She was smiling down at him, tangling her fingers in his hair. "All better?"

She nodded. "All better."

---

Hermione was standing in front of the house. It loomed up before her, much taller than she remembered it. The upper floors were on fire, the black smoke darkened the sky and turned the daytime into night.

She saw Harry standing in the foyer. The front door was standing wide open and she could see the smoke rolling past him but he just stood there. "Harry!" she called. "Come out, the house is on fire!"

"It went through you," he said. He was whispering but she could hear him perfectly.

Water was rushing past Hermione's feet. It covered her ankles, then her shins, then it was up to her hips. It began to run with ribbons of red blood, bright and shining and twisting within the torrents that pulled at her clothes and threatened to tip her over.

She opened her mouth to shout but instead of her voice, a sharp arrow came out of her mouth. She looked down at herself and saw her body pierced in a dozen places. "It went through me," she said around the arrow still stuck through her neck. "It went through me..."

Hermione jerked awake, damp with sweat, the tail end of a cry still lingering in the air. She felt Harry sit up beside her. "It went through me!" she said, barely aware of what was coming out of her mouth. "It went through me!" She was clutching at her stomach, both arms wrapped around it.

Harry pulled her to a sitting position and wrapped his arms around her. "Shh, you're all right. It was just a nightmare."

She clutched at him, shaking and badly frightened. "It went through me," she sobbed. She knew what she was saying now, but she seemed incapable of saying anything else.

"I know," Harry murmured into her ear. "But it's over now. You're okay."

Hermione wished she could say something funny or self-deprecating to blunt the force of her reaction to this nightmare, but her mind was blank save for the stark terror that still hung over it. All she could do was hang on to Harry as if her life depended on it, which at this moment was what it felt like. His arms were strong around her, his warmth suffused her and chased away the coldness of the fear around her heart. The visceral memory of that spike passing through her unresisting flesh was very strong just below the conscious level of her mind and her nightmare had brought it abruptly into her waking mind. The sensation was so potent she had to keep reassuring herself that there was no sharp piece of metal penetrating her body. "Harry...I'm suh-suh-sorry..." she began.

"Shush," he said, kissing her cheek and slowly stroking her back. "Don't apologize. You've been through something awful. You're safe now," he said. Hermione felt herself beginning to relax. "I'll never let anything bad happen to you, I promise."

She knew his promise was absurd. He wasn't a god, he couldn't possibly promise never to let anything happen to her...and yet she believed him completely, because she knew that if anything bad did happen to her, it would be in spite of everything he'd done to stop it. He would never just let anything bad happen.

"It was so horrible," she breathed against his shoulder.

"I know it must have been," he said. She drew back a little, staying within the circle of his arms. She nodded, wiping at her eyes. "It was pretty horrible for me, too, and everyone else that loves you. That's a lot of people."

She smiled a little. "I'm so glad to be home. Thank goodness you could fix it. I'm not sure I could bear being somewhere strange after all this."

"Good, that's why I did it. I wanted your safe place to be here for you."

She looked up at him. "This is my safe place," she said, stroking his arm.

He bent and kissed her mouth, slow and lingering. He drew back and sighed, looking into her eyes with such intensity she couldn't have looked away if she'd wanted to. "I'm so in love with you, Hermione," he said quietly. "I can't keep saying it, I can never think of a way to say it well enough."

"You're saying it perfectly," she said.

He rubbed her arms where her gooseflesh was melting away. "Feel better? Nightmare all gone?"

She nodded. "Sleepy now." Harry laid back down, keeping one arm around her shoulders so she could nestle her head against his chest.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered. "And have happy dreams."

She sighed. "Maybe I'll dream about Napoleon's pecs."

Harry chuckled. "Evil wench."

"Hey, you married me."

---

Harry didn't go to work the next day. He knew he ought to have done, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave Hermione. Her legs ached and she felt weak and feverish most of the time. He spent most of the day bringing her tea and nagging Sukesh with owls about what could be done to help her feel more comfortable.

She napped in the afternoon, to his relief. The bags under her eyes were an alarming reminder of her fatigue, which wasn't helped along by her insistence on pushing herself harder than Sukesh recommended. Earlier he'd come into the bedroom to see her walking on wobbly legs back from the bathroom. "You're supposed to call me when you need to walk anywhere!" he'd scolded her, hurrying to her side to help her back into bed.

"I don't need help to have a pee," she snapped.

"Yes, you do! You've had a horrible trauma, can't you accept any help at all?"

"Quit babying me, I'm a gronwup!"

"Then act like a grownup and recognize when you need help. That's why I'm here, you know."

She sighed as she got back into bed. "I know. I'm sorry, you're only trying to help. But I hate that I need it." She stuck out her lower lip and crossed her arms.

He smiled at her. "Hey, you've spent your whole life being Superwoman. Take a break."

She had, and soon afterwards she'd fallen fast asleep. Harry had come out to the conservatory balcony for a little fresh air. It was unseasonably warm for January but still fresh enough to feel energizing to him.

As he sat there debating going back inside to fetch a jumper, he heard the unmistakable flap of an owl's wings, a sound he'd know anywhere...except there was no owl. He held up his arm and felt the talons of a cloaked stealth owl grip it. "Reversio," he murmured, and the owl appeared out of thin air. He retrieved the letter from its leg. "Profundus," he said, and the owl vanished again. He felt its talons squeeze him, then release as the owl's unseen wings flapped once, then it was gone.

He looked down at the letter. It was Argo's handwriting. He'd been meaning to schedule a briefing with her so they could discuss his progress both on the project and on the hunt for the mole; perhaps she'd anticipated him.

January 24, 2009

Harry,

I apologize for the stealth, but you know its cause. It's the middle of the night and I'm still thinking about our project. I know you have things under control, but I'd like an update if it won't compromise your security. If we must, we can meet in secret but I'd prefer not to skulk about any more than I have to. If you have any more information about the Master, please be ready to brief me. If you have any updates about our other project, I'd like to hear those as well.

If I haven't said so, I'm so sorry about Hermione and I'm relieved beyond measure that she's going to be all right. I wish I could give you leave to take some time off, but I'm sure you know that's impossible at this time.

I shall look forward to hearing your report.

Sincerely,
Argo

PS please burn this letter once you've read it

Harry nodded to himself. He'd speak to Argo the next day at the office and set up a time for them to talk. He frowned a little. She wanted him to burn the letter? That was a little melodramatic. Oh well, I suppose it can't hurt, he thought. He held up one hand. "Incendio," he said. A lick of flame leapt from his index finger and ignited the paper.

Except it didn't burn.

Harry stared in disbelief as the flame quickly enveloped the parchment, racing around it in a thin film of blue and gold fire. The flame extinguished itself, leaving the note undamaged.

Harry jumped up and stared at Argo's letter, puzzled. It must have been charmed...but why?

The answer came to him almost as soon as he'd had a chance to think the question. The fire had done something to the parchment, just not what he'd expected.

The words were still there, but now certain letters were glowing a fiery orange color. He held the note closer to his face and scanned the lines carefully.

January 24, 2009

Harry,

I apologize for the stealth, but you know its cause. It's the middle of the night and I'm still thinking about our project. I know you have things under control, but I'd like an update if it won't compromise your security. If we must we can meet in secret but I'd prefer not to skulk about any more than I have to. If you have any more information about the Master, please be ready to brief me. If you have any updates about our other project, I'd like to hear those as well.

If I haven't said so, I'm so sorry about Hermione and I'm relieved beyond measure that she's going to be all right. I wish I could give you leave to take some time off, but I'm sure you know that's impossible at this time.

I shall look forward to hearing your report.

Sincerely,
Argo

PS please burn this letter once you've read it

His stomach gave a little lurch. There was a message encoded within Argo's words...if she'd even written the letter at all, which he was beginning to doubt.

His eyes moved along the letters, picking out the ones that were highlighted and reading the message he'd really been sent.

Harry sat down quickly, a cold shiver passing up his spine. He held the note gingerly, severely creeped out by this unexpected missive from his nemesis.

At last he set the note aside. "Bubble," he said. "Argo."

After a moment the director's voice came to him. "Yes, Harry?"

"Argo, did you just send me a note by stealth owl?"

"Yes, and apparently you have no regard for my precautions if you're asking about it over open Bubble."

"Uh...of course. Sorry. Never mind. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Fine." His Bubble popped and he was left with more questions. Allegra hadn't faked the note, it really had come from Argo. Of course it would have to have done, he realized. The security around this house had been tightened significantly. The note would have to have been really and truly from a friendly source to be allowed onto the grounds without raising the alarms.

That meant she had to have intercepted it and charmed it to reveal her own message, which she'd had to construct using the words Argo had already committed to the parchment. That would have been no mean feat, to intercept a stealth owl, but he didn't judge it beyond her abilities.

It didn't matter how she'd done it, he thought. He was only pondering her methods so he could avoid pondering the larger question. Why was she requesting a meeting with him, and more pressing...should he accept?

---

Ron stared at the note, dumbfounded. "Have you told Hermione?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "And I'm not going to. She'd blow a gasket if she knew I was considering meeting with Allegra."

"So you are considering it."

"I think I have to. She mentions important information about the Master. I think it's possible she's had enough of him and would like to see him defeated."

"You're aware that this could be a trap."

"Of course, but look at how much trouble she went to in concealing the message, not only from the good guys but from the bad guys, too. And she had to make sure I'd get it. Charming the letters couldn't have been easy but she went to the trouble to put in that 'sorry about Hermione' part when it wasn't necessary."

"Obviously she wants you to trust her. Do you?"

"Absolutely not...but I think I have to risk it."

Ron frowned. "She specifies a time to meet but not a place."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I know where she wants to meet. The same place we always met when we were still sneaking around, a student and an instructor dating in secret."

"Where's that?"

Harry sighed and met Ron's eyes, wondering if he ought to tell him.

---

Harry paced nervously, afraid as always of lingering here too long and either missing her or being caught. It was chilly tonight and he was wrapped up in his warmest cloak; even so, his feet were going numb.

He sensed her approach before he saw it. He never knew how that worked, just that it did. He turned and scanned the dark sky, spotting the small speck that grew larger as it approached. Her black hair flew out behind her like a flag as she streaked towards him. She landed and was off the broom just as her feet touched the stones. She ran into his outstretched arms and had her tongue in his mouth before he could get a word out. "I'm sorry I took so long," she murmured between kisses. "I didn't want to run out of the Division in too much of a hurry, it looks bad."

Harry barely heard her, he was too distracted by the feeling of her buttocks under his hands and her breasts pressed against his chest, even through their multiple layers of clothing. She was the first woman he'd ever known in the Biblical sense; he sometimes still couldn't believe she was letting him into her bed, a woman like her who could have had her pick of men. "We can't keep meeting here," he whispered, kissing his way down her neck and hoping, as always, that he was doing it right. He always felt like a bloody fumbling schoolboy around her...it didn't help that he practically was a fumbling schoolboy. Still, the only time she'd ever complained was when he stopped.

"It's safe, it's out of the way."

"It'sHogwarts! " he exclaimed, glancing around at the turrets and towers surrounding them. There was a long stone walkway atop the peak of the Great Hall's roof; at first, it had seemed so dramatic and steeped in Gothic romance. Now it just felt exposed.

"Like anyone's going to come strolling out on the roof in the middle of the night. Come on, let's get to Hogsmeade. I got us the same room as last time. I have been randy all day and I cannot wait to shag you until you beg for mercy."

Harry grabbed her and crushed his lips to hers again, surprising even himself with the low growling that was coming from his throat. He felt her smile and giggle at his forcefulness, then he felt her hand snake down the front of his trousers. "Let's go," he said.

"We'll have to be quick. Don't you have plans with Herself tonight?" she said.

Harry pulled back, a little annoyed. Whenever she mentioned Hermione, her voice always took on an unpleasant tinge of sarcasm. "I did, but they fell through. Her boyfriend called, he's coming home from his trip a day early so she's going to go out with him instead."

"Oh, poor boo. Ditched like so much rubbish just so she can get some."

He narrowed his eyes. "I wish you wouldn't talk about her like that."

Allegra skimmed a finger over his lips. "Like what?"

"Like you're jealous."

"Should I be?"

"Come on. She's just Hermione. She's just a friend. You're..." He pulled her hips tight against his. "You're just amazing."

She blinked and the smirk left her lips, replaced by an uncharacteristically sweet smile. Allegra was many things that fascinated him, but she wasn't sweet. "I can show you how amazing I am," she purred, then without warning she sank to her knees in front of him. She had his pants open before he could even formulate a protest.

Harry knew he ought to stop her. It was just...wrong, somehow. Unfortunately, before he could muster the wherewithal to say something, his brain was beyond rationality.

---

Their meeting on this night was immediately different from all their others in one significant detail...she was already there when he arrived. In the past, he'd always been the one waiting for her.

She stood up and faced him as he lighted on the roof, unencumbered by a broomstick. She looked nothing but relieved. "I was afraid you wouldn't come," she said.

"Well, I came."

She nodded. "We have to talk."

"About what?"

"The Master."

"All right." He waited. She said nothing. "Since I don't know the first damned thing about him, you'll have to start."

Allegra pushed her blowing hair away from her face and Harry saw that she looked vulnerable for the first time since he'd known her. "There's something you need to know about him, Harry."

"All right, wait just a goddamned minute," he said, holding up a hand. "First, I need to know why you're suddenly telling me whatever it is you're about to tell me. We are not friends, remember? We don't share information, we don't watch each other's backs. So why?"

"Because," she said through clenched teeth. "He has turned me into someone I don't recognize. He's made me into someone that the old me would have crushed like a bug, and he'll pay for it."

"I can't imagine anyone turning you into a powerless lackey."

"You don't know him. That's why I'm here. You're going to have to face him eventually and you'd better be prepared, because he is. He knows everything about you; you'd be well advised to learn a few things about him."

"From you? Why should I trust one single thing you say to me?"

"Because your Sneakoscope isn't telling you not to," she said.

Harry smiled and withdrew the Sneakoscope from his pocket. "How did you know?"

"You always carry that damned thing into uncertain situations, Harry. Predictable." She paced back and forth a few times. "How's...your wife?"

Harry hesitated. "She's well, thank you. She's been home almost a week now."

"That was not my doing."

"I never thought it was."

"Good. I'm glad you didn't consider me capable of such a remote, impersonal and imprecise method of killing."

"Of course not. If you killed me I'd fully expect a knife through the heart and a well-chosen barb or two."

"Naturally."

An uneasy silence fell. Harry didn't know if she were equally spurred to reminiscence, but he couldn't seem to stop remembering some of the less formal encounters they'd shared on this very rooftop. "What's he done to you?" he heard himself ask. What, indeed. She looked distracted and unwell, not to mention anxious. He barely recognized the Allegra he knew in the woman before him.

"It isn't important. But without saying it in so many words, he's made it clear that I am insignificant to him. If he wins, I will have no better claim to a place in his new world order than any other scraping minion around that place. I refuse to be marginalized, do you understand me?"

"So...let me see if I have this right. You want to help me defeat the Master because he's not letting you be evil enough? What's in this for me? I defeat him and you take his place again. Frying pan or fire, what's the difference?"

"Trust me, you want no part of what he has planned. I may be your enemy but the Master is something far worse. That man is...he's not stable. He's really dangerous."

"And you're a fluffy bunny rabbit in all-over black pleather."

"Dammit, Harry, this isn't about me! Do you want my help or not?"

Harry sighed. He hadn't much choice. "Tell me what you came here to tell me."

She sagged a little. "All right, then. Let's sit down." She pointed to the crenellated ledge lining the roofwalk. Harry sat, staying alert. She turned towards him, tucking her legs up. "I'm...the thing is..." She stopped and looked away. "Dammit, I don't know how to start."

"Spit it out."

She looked right at him. "Harry, the Master is your son. He's our son."

Harry blinked. He waited. She was still looking at him.

The wind was very loud up here. It was louder than he remembered it being only moments before. Was it the wind, or the blood in his ears? All at once he didn't feel mildly cold anymore, as he had when he'd arrived.

He's our son.

Of all the things he'd thought she might say, this was so far down the list as to not even merit consideration. She was just sitting there not saying anything, as if she expected some kind of a response. Was she crazy? Did she actually believe it? What had possessed him to come to this meeting?

For that matter, what was possessing him to stay? He stood up and started to walk away. "Where are you going?" she said, following him.

"I'm leaving."

"Why?"

"You have to ask me that after coming out with a ridiculous load of bollocks like the one you just laid on me?"

"It's true."

"Sure!" he said, laughing a bit. "Pull the other one!" He started to turn away again but she grabbed his arm and made him face her. The intensity of her stare pinned him in place like a bug on a mounting board.

"Harry, listen to me. When I left you, I was pregnant, but I didn't know it. I bore that child, our child, but I thought he died at birth. I saw his body. But you and I both know that certain people are quite good at faking people's deaths." She was looking into his eyes with such vehemence that Harry was taken aback. "The baby was taken from me and replaced with a duplicate, a duplicate that I buried and wept over and mourned, because he was my child and yours, too. He was taken by...well, I'm a little unclear on that. He was taken by an entity that lives outside our timeline and brought up by him and the Eternals. You know about the Eternals, don't you?"

Harry nodded. "Yes," he said through numb lips. "A little too much."

"He lived with them, in a place where time does not pass. He grew up and became a man. He was taught how to harness his powers."

"What powers?"

"The same ones you have. Harry...surely you must know that I'm half-Mage. You are full Mage, and so is our son." Harry yanked his arm from her grasp and turned away from her. He didn't want to hear any more. He might start to believe it. She kept talking. "They took him, much as they tried to take you. They let him mature and become a powerful force...and when the time was right, they picked the right spot in my own timeline to have him contact me and give me instructions. I obeyed him, and you would have too. You don't know him, he's elemental, he's colossal." She walked around in front of him. "Harry, I didn't know who he was until a few months ago. He'd never even shown me his face...but he looks like you. He has your eyes." Harry's head was shaking back and forth in silent negation that he could not yet manage to articulate. "He's more powerful than you can imagine. You've only begun to scratch the surface of what your Mage powers make you capable of. He's spent almost fifty years living with them and using them, they're second nature to him. Neither of us is any match for him, not separately."

Harry couldn't hear any more. He had no words forceful enough to express his denial of every word she'd spoken, so instead he just punched her as hard as he could. If he couldn't find the words to deny her lies he could at least punish her for making him hear them. She took the blow and returned it, her fist landing in his stomach with enough muscle behind it to double him over. She grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. "Goddamn it, Harry, listen to me! He is our son! I know you don't want to believe it but it's true!"

"It's a filthy lie!" he shouted. "Do you think I'm an idiot? Did you really think this story would fool me? You couldn't have got pregnant, we were both under contraceptive spells!"

She shook her head. "The Eternals wanted me to conceive, Harry. They arranged it. A few little spells couldn't stop them. They wanted me to produce a Mage they could raise and train from birth. They couldn't get you, so they took him. You were too human to be their Incarnate, so they made one. They bred us like animals!" she cried, her disgust evident in her voice. "Then they took our son and turned him into...into...this thing that he is!"

"But he's...it can't..." Harry had no more objections to raise. Now it was just a question of whether or not he believed her. He didn't, of course. Not in his rational mind, which had a significant emotional stake in her dishonesty. His body, however, was way ahead of him. He stayed doubled over, his breath coming in great screaming gasps. He felt dizzy. Allegra grabbed his arm and led him to the wall, pushing him down to a sitting position.

"Sit down, try and breathe slowly," she ordered him, pressing his head down between his knees. "I know how you feel. When I found out, I actually fainted like some corseted damsel. I felt so stupid." Harry didn't respond, he was incapable of speech. "I know you don't want to believe me. I'm not making this up. You can give me Veritaserum, you can beat me black and blue, but I'll tell you the same tale. You think it makes me happy that he's my offspring? You think I wanted to bear your child? That wasn't part of my plans, you know."

Finally Harry was able to straighten up and look at her. She was a champion liar and he knew it...but if this was a lie, it was a lie she believed. "Have you...you know...confirmed this?"

She sighed. "Oh, yes. I used a Paternicus charm. I had the body of what I thought was my baby exhumed and tested. He's my son, which means he's your son. I didn't sleep with anyone but you while I was undercover."

"But he's...how old is he?"

"He's 48. But I told you how..."

"I know. I get it. I just..." He stood up and walked a few steps away, looking out over the spires of his school, the place that had made him. Now it might see him torn apart, right here on this rooftop.

The Master was his son. He tried the thought on for size. I have a son. His very being denied its truth, yet...he had to verify this. Independently. He had to know, and he couldn't wait.

He turned to face Allegra and held up one hand. "Accio naming talisman," he said. She nodded. "It'll take a minute," he said.

"Good. Yes, please check. I can't sit here and convince you all night."

He waited. A wizard's naming talisman recorded the major events of his life. The birth of a child certainly qualified.

Within two minutes, his talisman was floating in the air before him. He reached out and grasped it in his right hand. "Tell me about my life," he said to it.

The talisman glowed and began to speak, in his own voice.

You were born on July 31st, 1980. You were accepted to Hogwarts on July 31st, 1991. You left school on June 12th, 1998. You became an intelligence agent on May 23rd, 1999. Your son, Julian James Potter, was born to Allegra Blackburn-Dwyer on September 17th, 2002. You were married on November 15th, 2008, to Hermione Ann Granger.

The talisman fell silent.

Harry met Allegra's eyes. She'd risen to stand before him as the talisman made its recitation. Harry released it and it rose into the air, then zoomed off to rejoin its brethren in the Hall of Names. "Julian?" he said, quietly.

"I like the name Julian."

He nodded. "Me, too." Harry let his eyes fall shut and he sank to his knees on the stone parapet. He felt as cold and as lifeless as the stone on which he knelt. Hermione, his mind whispered. How am I going to tell you?

Allegra sat down on the stone by his side. "I didn't want to believe it, either. But it's true."

"Why did you tell me now?" he whispered.

"Because if I didn't, then he would. And he'd wait for the moment when it would cause you the most inconvenient distraction. He'd use it as a weapon against you. You'd better be well prepared before you face him. That means knowing what he is, and who he is."

"He's a Mage. How can I defeat him? How can I even hope to match him?"

"There, I can't help you." She sighed. "But if you'll take my advice...he can use the fact of his parentage to hurt you in another way if you're not careful."

"Don't worry, I'll tell her before he'd ever have the chance." He sighed. "I'll tell her as soon as I get back to the house."

"Good. If he could wreck your marriage then nothing would please him more."

Harry stood up and took a few steps away, wishing for a time machine or a cyanide capsule or anything that might allow him not to know this, anything that might help him make it not be true. "I still don't get why you've turned against him."

He heard her stand up behind him. "What once was mine, he's taken away. He's taken the Circle, he's taken my followers, he's taken everything that was mine. He's taking my self, and I didn't think anyone could do that."

Harry nodded numbly. "Yeah. So this is revenge, is it?"

"No, this is self-preservation." She hesitated. "He's fucking me."

Harry turned around, dull horror heaping itself on the already crushing pile of unpleasant emotions running through his head. "What?"

"He's fucking me. Every night. It started weeks ago. He...forced himself on me."

Harry shut his eyes. "My God."

"He doesn't care about sex. He just wants to control me. He wants me helpless. I've let him think that I am." She thrust her chin out. "I am never helpless. I don't care what he does to me. He'll never own me."

He shook his head. "And this...this monster...this is our son?"

"We were just the DNA donors, Harry. Whatever he is, we didn't make him." She walked up and stood by his side. "But it may be up to you to unmake him."

Harry stepped away, moving towards the edge and the great expanse of space spread there. There was nothing more to be said...although he did have one question. "Why did you come to my wedding?" he asked quietly. "You came and you just...watched. Why?"

The silence stretched out long enough that he wondered if she'd heard him. Finally she spoke. "I don't know."

"Did you come to cause trouble?"

"No."

"Why, then?"

He didn't turn and she stayed where she was. "I suppose I just wanted to see it."

"That isn't a reason."

"It's all I've got." She hesitated. "You really want to know why? Fine. I went because I hate you, I always have. I had to sit there and watch you marry her and think about hating you. Everyone there loved you, and it was just too much. I couldn't let you marry her without at least one person watching who hates you as much as I do." Her voice dropped a little. "You have no idea how much I hate you. Don't you ever forget it, no matter what happens, no matter what I say or have to make myself do. If I help you, if I have to trust you...don't forget that I'll always hate you."

Unexpectedly, Harry felt a lump rising in his throat. He gathered his resolve and turned around...but she was gone.

---

Harry thought that if she didn't say something soon, he was going to throw up out of sheer nervousness.

He had told his wife the truth about the Master. He had returned from his meeting with Allegra and woken Hermione right away. He didn't want any more time to go by before he told her. He'd wanted the period during which he had to bear this knowledge alone to be as short as he could make it.

He'd surprised himself with the clarity of the words coming from his own mouth. He hadn't broken down, he hadn't become emotional. He'd simply presented her with the same information Allegra had given him.

He almost felt embarrassed that he'd been so collected. Shouldn't he feel ashamed? Shouldn't he feel awful, like he had betrayed the woman he loved? Shouldn't he beg her forgiveness?

Then again, for what should he be forgiven? Of what should he be ashamed? This had happened through no fault of his own. He had used protection in his relations with Allegra like a responsible adult. He had not known that she had become pregnant despite their precautions, nor had he known the fate of her child. The way that child had turned out was, again, not his doing. He had not betrayed his wife. He hadn't kept this from her.

And yet...the fact of the Master's existence would be upsetting enough for both of them. It didn't matter how he had come to be, he was. He was a force to be reckoned with, more so than Harry had even guessed.

She was just sitting there, staring at him.

"Hermione?" he whispered. "Say something, please."

"You're sure about this?" she asked, her voice quiet and flat. "You're sure it's true?"

"Yes. As sure as I can be." He told her about what his naming talisman had said.

Her eyes fell closed and she got up, moving to the window. She stood there with her arms wrapped around her midsection, the moonlight icing her profile in gleaming brightness. He stared at his folded hands and waited. "You know," she finally said after a long silence. "I wonder if that beautiful honeymoon was worth it. The universe is exacting an awfully large karmic price for those two months of happiness we got away with. First the explosion, then the project, now this." She sniffed brief humorless laughter. "I think I'd rather have had a weekend at a motel in Sheffield if it meant we could have some peace in our married life."

There was one thing he had to know before another second went by. "Are you angry with me?"

She looked over at him, a pitying expression crossing her face. "With you? No, why should I be? You didn't know. You didn't mean for this to happen. You came and told me as soon as you found out. Angry with you?" She shook her head. "I wish it were that simple." He stood and went to her side, reaching out to her, but she shied away. "Please...not just yet," she whispered. "Give me a moment, just to think." Harry drew back, seeing the shine of unshed tears in her eyes. "How are you holding up?" she asked him, meeting his eyes. "He's your son, after all." She laced the word "your" with subtle emphasis that was not lost upon him.

"I'm...I don't know. I'm numb. I don't suppose it's really sunk in yet."

She nodded. "Then let me tell you what I'm feeling."

"Okay," he said, a little dubious.

"I don't know how to react, Harry. I don't know what to think about who the Master is. She says he's your son. Okay, then. How does that affect us?" She looked at him. "The answer, objectively, is that it doesn't. He isn't your son in any meaningful definition of the term. You didn't raise him, you don't know him and he doesn't know you. He's the same horrible bastard no matter whose son he is, and his existence does not affect our relationship or any family we might have in the future. Right?"

Harry nodded. "Right," he said, miserable, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"The fact that he seems to be evil personified isn't a reflection on the quality of your DNA. I guess he takes after his mother."

He watched her face as she spoke. She wasn't looking at him, but out the window. Her arms were still wrapped around her stomach as if she were holding herself together.

"So the conclusion we must reach is that to us, this means nothing," she finished, her voice hushed to a near whisper.

Harry sighed. "I suppose so."

Now she turned to face him, and he saw in her eyes how calm she really wasn't. She slowly slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, her knees tucked up against her chest. "So why do I feel like it means everything? " she said, her voice shaking. "Why, Harry?"

He hung his head, wishing he had a proper answer for her. She was right, both in her rational analysis and her more emotional response.

"It's her," Hermione said. "This isn't about the Master, it's about her. Always she manages to find a way to make us die small deaths for each other, Harry." She was beginning to weep softly now, her voice taking on that tremble at its edges that would spill over into sobs without much provocation. "You have no idea what she's taken away from me now."

He frowned. "What?"

Hermione got to her feet and went back to the window, bracing her hands on the sill. "It's a woman thing, I'm sure you didn't think of it. But now...no matter what happens in our future, no matter what kind of family we decide to become..." She trailed off and swiped at her eyes quickly. "Now, I can never give you your firstborn child." Harry swallowed, an ache rising in his chest that almost made him gasp. "She's taken that away from me." He saw her fists clench. "She has a part of you that I can never touch!" she cried, striking the windowsill on the last word. "She was your first, and now she's the mother of your first child. What does that leave for me?"

He got up and grasped her by the upper arms. "Everything," he said, his voice tight. "What she has is insignificant, do you hear me? She may have been my first but you will be my last. And don't tell me I don't understand what this means! I never imagined that I would have a child who didn't have you for a mother! Do you think I would have wanted this in a million years? That...whatever he is...he may be of my flesh but he's a stranger. He isn't my son. I...I refuse to call him that." He reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand. "Someday, you and I may have a little boy of our own. He'll call you Mum and he'll call me Dad. We'll read him bedtime stories and he'll call for us when he has bad dreams and he'll go off to Hogwarts and write us owls telling us about all the adventures he's having. He is my son, and he's the only one worthy of the word. To call the Master by the same term insults that little boy." He looked into her eyes. "No one can be my son who isn't yours, too. You will give me my firstborn someday. The Master is just a pretender."

Hermione sniffed. "Will you be so sure when you face him and see your own eyes in his face? Will I?" She turned and walked a few paces away. "You'll have to face him. Probably sooner rather than later. You might have to kill him. Will you be able to do it, knowing who he is?"

"If I have to kill him it will be because he forced me to. I won't hesitate."

She shook her head. "I know you, Harry. You won't be able to put it from your mind. You'll start thinking that there must be something of you in him, something good that you might be able to reach. You'll wonder if you're murdering that part of yourself he must have buried long ago. You'll hesitate. And he'll kill you first."

"No. He won't. Because I'm prepared now. That's why Allegra wanted me to know."

Hermione snorted. "Yes, because she's so opposed to your untimely demise. I don't trust her and I'm amazed that you seem to."

"I don't trust her either, but I trust what she's told me. And she isn't giving me a warning because she wants to help me. The enemy of her enemy is her friend."

"The Master is her enemy?"

"Oh, yes. He probably wouldn't classify it in that way, but she does. She knows what's ahead, and she knows he's only using her until he can execute whatever plan he's got going here." Harry hesitated. "Why are we talking about her?"

"Because it's easier than wondering what this will do to us."

"I'll tell you what it'll do: nothing," he said, emphatic. "We know now, and we can deal with it together."

She turned towards him. "I'm afraid of what's next."

"What's next?"

"This won't be the end of it. There'll be more. This is just the beginning. I know we have worse horrors in our future, probably our near future. I know it's coming...it may be too late to stop it now. We better hang on tight, Harry. If we lose our grip on each other we'll be lost."

He reached towards her and she took three long strides into his arms. He enfolded her and met her lips halfway, grateful that she wasn't keeping her minimum safe distance any longer.

But not thirty seconds had passed before he was becoming alarmed. Her kisses had a desperate, angry quality. She was almost hurting him. She pushed him back towards the bed, her tears wetting both their faces. Sharp swallowed cries were coming from her throat as she scrabbled at his clothing. "Hermione...hang on...hey, take it easy," he murmured.

"Be quiet," she hissed. "Come on, Harry. Make love to me. We haven't had sex since the explosion. I'm fine, I'm better...I want you." She shoved him onto his back and he saw that her face was flushed and her eyes swollen. She had her wand in her hand now...when had she picked it up? This was all happening too fast. "Let's take our spells off tonight," she said, her voice tinged with panicked urgency. "Let's have a baby. Right now," she said, her words tumbling over and over each other. Harry barely had time to process what she was suggesting before she had gotten his pants off and stripped her nightgown over her head. "We don't need to wait any more. What does it matter? Get me pregnant, tonight." Now he could barely understand her words, her breathing had taken on a screaming, gasping quality. "Let me take it back," she wailed. "Give it back to me."

Harry sat up and held her still. "Hermione, stop it!"

She was fumbling at his buttons now. "Stop what? Isn't this right? We're supposed to do this! We don't need to go away for the weekend, let's just get it over with. Let's make that little boy, our little boy!" He was pushing her hands away but she was growing more and more insistent. Finally she stopped trying to undress him and began beating at his chest. "Our son, our son!" she cried. "Don't you want him? Can't you see him? Goddamn you, you did it to her, do it to me!"

He grabbed her fists and held them still against his chest as her face crumpled into sobs and she sagged into his arms. Harry couldn't keep it together anymore, he burst into tears of his own. He fisted one hand in her hair and held her, his face pressed against her forehead. "God, Hermione, I'm so sorry," he wept. They collapsed back onto the bed together. He just kept repeating it over and over, though he wasn't sure she was hearing anything he was saying. Her fingers were clutching his shirt and her tears wet his chest as he apologized until the words stopped having any meaning. It was true that this wasn't his doing, but that wasn't what he was sorry for. He was sorry she was going through this, he was sorry he'd ever met Allegra, he was sorry that he had a scar and a talent that marked him and robbed her of the remotest chance for a normal life and most of all he was sorry that he loved her too much to be able to let her go.

Eventually their tears spent themselves and they lay there wrapped up together in their bed, their chests hitching with the aftermath, remaining otherwise silent.

Hermione's cheek was pillowed on his chest, which she'd half-bared in her attempt to get him undressed, her arm slung around his waist. He twined a strand of her hair around and around his finger, its sweet scent filling his nose, the warm softness of her body pressed against him lulling him into a much calmer place.

He didn't know how long they lay there, but the moon rose significantly in the window while they let the silence heal them. Eventually she raised herself up on her elbows and looked down at him, her expression difficult to read. She picked up her wand, then very deliberately laid it aside on her bedside table. She returned to him, bent and kissed him gently. He kissed back, letting her take the lead. She moved her mouth down his chin and his neck and onto his chest, her warm lips sending shivers through him. He took her into his arms and turned them over so they lay facing each other, arms and legs intertwined. This was his favorite place in the world. He loved the feeling of her legs wrapped through his and her hands sliding over his skin.

Harry couldn't stop apologizing, but he did stop saying the words. Instead his regret passed from his skin to hers as he moved his hands and his lips down her body and back again, his sorrow flowed on the tide of his breath into her lungs as they kissed, his grief was carried on his body as it joined with hers where it became no longer his grief, but theirs.

Then nothing was either his or hers any longer, everything was theirs. Their movement, their breath, their heartbeat, their unspoken words. He heard their murmurings, their whispers, and when he heard "I love you" it didn't matter who'd said it, only that it was their feeling and it didn't even need to be spoken because it was more powerfully sensed in their single soul. When the end came it was their pleasure and their release, and when sleep took them it came buoyed by their comfort and their safety and carried them to the peace they could only find in their dreams.

---

Ron Weasley could not get to sleep to save his life.

It was four o'clock in the fucking morning and he was wide awake. He knew why, and it wasn't any comfort. He was lying here awake because he was lying here alone.

Laura wasn't here. She had an overnight business trip to Paris and would not return until the following evening. It was his first night alone in bed since they'd begun their odd nocturnal habits of platonic snuggling, and he felt extraordinarily alone, more so than he'd felt locked in his jail flat for twelve years. He missed her warmth, he missed the soft susurrus of her breathing. He didn't really want to fall asleep because he didn't want to have to wake up and realize she wasn't there. Morning wasn't any fun if she wasn't there to smile sleepily at him and burrow closer into his arms, warm with drowsiness, murmuring "Good morning" into his neck.

He sighed and sat up, looking around the darkened room.

There was a hooded figure peering in one of his bedroom windows.

Ron gasped and launched himself out of the bed, ducking behind it and pulling his robe down over his head. Did I just see that? he asked himself. He slowly peeked up over the bed...the window was empty.

He had seen it, though. He wasn't crazy and he wasn't having some kind of sleep-deprivation-induced hallucination. He had seen what he'd seen.

He heard Harry's voice in his head. If you see anything suspicious around the house, you must come and get me or Hermione immediately. No matter what.

Ron got up and bolted from the room, tugging his robe on as he went. He hurried up the Cloister stairs and burst in, sparing just a moment's hope that he wasn't interrupting anything.

Happily, he wasn't. They were both asleep. He hesitated at the foot of their bed, looking down at them. Despite the urgency of the situation, he couldn't help feel a little gooshy at the sight. Harry was on his back, his head turned towards the windows. Hermione was on her stomach with her head turned the other direction, but her arm was thrown over his chest and his arm was resting on hers, like he wanted to hold it there while they slept.

Ron came around to Harry's side. "Harry," he hissed. No response. "Harry!" he said, a bit louder.

Harry's eyes snapped open and his whole body gave a jerk. "Wha wha WHAT?" he yelped. His eyes focused and he saw Ron there. "Ron?" Hermione was sitting up next to him...Ron got quite an eyeful of her bare breasts before she drew the sheets up. "What's going on?"

"Um...I'm sorry to wake you, but I just saw a hooded figure outside my bedroom window." He didn't need to add that this was made even creepier by the fact that his window was thirty feet off the ground.

Ron was impressed with the immediacy of their response. They didn't pause to ask him if he was sure, if he might maybe have been dreaming, they didn't stop to confer or decide what to do. Without even a glance at each other they both jumped out of bed, not seeming to care much that they were both completely nude, and yanked on their dressing gowns. Hermione grabbed her wand. "I'll take the house," she said.

"I'll go outside," Harry replied. He looked at Ron. "You, stay with Hermione. Do not leave her side, understood?"

"I got it." He watched as Harry pushed open one of the Cloister windows and without pause swung his legs over the sill and leapt out. Ron stuck his head out and saw Harry land lightly on the ground next to the house, then begin to make his way around to the west wing, keeping close to the wall.

"Come on," Hermione said, motioning to him. He followed her closely as she left the Cloister, her wand raised. Her steps were quick but cautious; Ron just tried to keep up. They reached the second-floor living gallery and she hesitated. Even Ron could see it was a tricky space to cover...large and sprawling with many nooks and crannies.

They stuck close to the north wall. As they approached the west wing corridor Hermione tensed up and stopped. She put a finger to her lips and waited. A second later a dark figure emerged from the corridor. Hermione grabbed his arm and yanked him forward, then flipped him onto his back and knelt over him with her knee in the middle of his chest, her wand held to his throat.

"Hi, Hermione," the figure said. Its voice was distinctive, low and gravelly.

She let out a huge breath and got up, to Ron's puzzlement. "Good God. You know, it isn't so smart to go skulking about people's houses in the dead of night dressed like a bloody Dementor."

The cloaked wizard was getting to his feet. "I always dress like this."

At that moment Harry hurried into the room. "I found an open window in..." He stopped. "Oh. I see you've found our guest."

"It's only me."

"Quite." Harry rolled his eyes. "Ron, this is Sabian. He's my best agent."

"I'm flattered," Sabian said.

"Don't go getting a swelled head."

Ron stared at this newcomer, fascinated. His cloak and hood covered him completely. No trace of his face or neck could be seen, it was as if the hood contained some kind of black void where no light could penetrate. He wore long gloves and boots so no part of him was exposed.

"What are you doing here at four in the fucking morning?" Harry said, crossing his arms. "I was having a lovely dream about the Quidditch World Cup."

"Sorry to interrupt, but I had no choice. I have some rather pressing business matters to discuss with you."

"Can't it wait until the sun is up?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Well, what is it?"

Ron sensed rather than saw Sabian glance dubiously at him and Hermione before going on. "Harry, I do believe I've found our mole."

---

Many thanks to my wonderful new team of betas: Liss (Captain Mushybutt), Elia (Pumpkin 'Tude), Debbie (Comma Splice Terminator) and Jenny (Action!BritPicker).