Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Harry Potter Hermione Granger Ron Weasley
Genres:
Drama Romance
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 05/04/2002
Updated: 03/31/2008
Words: 290,953
Chapters: 13
Hits: 249,855

Hero With A Thousand Faces

Lori

Story Summary:
As Harry and Hermione's wedding day approaches, they have to get to the bottom of the mysterious reapparance in their lives of... Ron? For any newcomers who are happening upon this story by accident, don't read it unless you've read the two that came before it, "The Paradigm of Uncertainty" followed by "The Show that Never Ends."

Chapter 10

Chapter Summary:
Who is the mysterious mole? Will Ron and Laura ever get some? What's up with the author's weird bathrobe fetish? Find out here!
Posted:
03/23/2004
Hits:
20,330
Author's Note:
For occasional upcoming-chapter tidbits and general insanity, visit my LiveJournal at www.livejournal.com/users/madlorivoldmort.

Chapter 10: A Conspiracy of Paper

"It was a fine time for a man whose livelihood depended upon crime and confusion."
--David Liss, A Conspiracy of Paper


Remus let himself into Diz's house just after four in the morning. He'd said he'd be home before midnight, but he ought to have known that setting such an optimistic goal was surely wishful thinking. He hoped she wasn't angry, and that she hadn't made any kind of plans for them...but that wasn't too likely. She'd looked awfully tired when she'd left, shortly before eleven.

Both of them were learning to hate the smell of the Research division. They were compiling biographical data on all the missing for Ron; they had already delivered the first few batches and Remus just couldn't bring himself to leave until the work was complete, which, thankfully, it now was. The remaining files were to be delivered to Ron at Bailicroft in the morning. The work had been tedious and unsatisfying. They had amassed large quantities of facts so that one man could examine them and hope to find a pattern.

And what then? How would that help them? Say that a pattern were found. Say that they'd all been taken because they were all...he had no idea. Because they all had blue eyes. Or they were all halfbloods. Or they were all identical twins. Or all of the above. How would this knowledge help them find the prisoners?

He knew that in the intelligence business, the ultimate power came not from wands or fists, but from knowledge. It was the best weapon they had available to them. Still, the acquisition of said knowledge could sometimes smack of futility.

He crept up the stairs in the darkened house, pulling off his cloak. He had come to crave the quiet and peace that came so easily to him in this house of order, rationality and calm. That was what she was to him...a haven, one for which he had been searching for years. He had never suspected that it lay not in a place, but in a person.

Her bedroom always smelled of the vanilla lotion she used on her pale body, and of the pleasantly musty aroma of old books. She had more books even than Hermione, something he would not have believed possible. Bookcases lined almost every corner of her house, including the bedroom. All her volumes were neatly shelved and organized by a system that she kept in her equally ordered mind.

He paused by the bed to remove his clothing. Diz was lying half on her back, her fingers curled near her cheek. She stirred as he slipped between the sheets. "What time is it?" she murmured, coming into his arms.

"It's after four." Immediately, the feeling of her warm and drowsy body began to relax him.

"You're so late," she said.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She was waking up a little more now. She slid up and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you're home."

He sighed. "Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Am I home?"

"What do you mean?" she said, her lips moving against the stubble on his cheekbones.

"I feel at home when I'm here. Half of my clothes are here."

He felt alertness slowly coming into Diz's body; she propped her head on her hand. "Remus, what are you saying?"

He took a moment to gather his courage. "Maybe I ought to just move in here," he said in a rush.

She said nothing for a moment, the fingers of one hand moving over the hair on his chest. "That's a big step."

"I know." But he didn't know, not really. He'd never been in a relationship with a woman that had been this serious. He'd never had occasion to propose cohabitation.

"Do you think we're moving a little too fast?" she said. "I'm not saying I don't like the idea," she added quickly. "But we've only been together four months."

"It feels like longer, doesn't it? I mean...I feel as if I've known you for a long time." He flushed a little. "That sounds trite, but I mean it." He turned his head and met her eyes. "Diz, I...I've never been comfortable or secure anywhere in the world, not since I left school. No one since Sirius, James and Peter has made me feel as...as human as you do," he said, suddenly feeling the choke of emotion rising in his throat. She laid her hand on his cheek and listened. "I'm quite unable to express it," he said quietly. He wanted desperately to express it and wondered if he'd ever be able to do it properly. "But I...it's just that I..."

"Shh," she said, putting her fingers on his lips. "I don't need to hear it."

"I know that," he said, suddenly vehement and angry with himself. "I know you don't need it, but I do. I don't know why it's so hard."

"It's hard because you're still wondering, in here," she said, laying her hand on his chest, "if I mean it. You don't quite trust yourself, or me."

"I trust you," he said. As soon as it was out of his mouth he realized it was true. He grasped her shoulders and met her eyes. "Diz...I love you." He saw her lip tremble a little, and she smiled at him. "I love you," he repeated, drawing her close. Now that he'd managed to say it, he couldn't seem to stop. "I love you so much," he said into her hair. Diz drew back and began kissing his face over and over while he kept quietly repeating those words he'd struggled so long to utter.

"I love you too," she whispered when he finally paused in his litany. "And I think it would be wonderful if you moved in here. We could be a proper couple, all domestic and such."

"I could cut the grass."

"I could wash your robes."

"I could cook you breakfast."

Diz giggled. "What can you cook?"

He smiled. "I can cook toast."

She kissed him again. "I like toast."

"Good." He drew her close, his hands moving to the hem of her practical nightshirt. He slid his arms underneath and sighed into her mouth. This feeling of coming home to a place of secure affection and reliable support was so foreign to him that he often wondered if he'd got it wrong somehow. Was this what love was like? Was this what Sirius felt for Cordelia, what Harry felt for Hermione? Was it different for everyone? Did other men really feel this total submersion in the bodies of the women they loved? Did they feel what he felt...this desire to be with no one but her, to touch and feel her in every way he could?

Could other men possibly feel as healed as he did when he was with her?

Diz pulled off her nightshirt and he caressed her bare breasts, marveling as always at their softness. She wound her legs through his and returned his kisses with increasing ardor.

Remus let his thinking mind float free as this passion which was so new and strange to him took control and carried them along however far it might take them.

It would have taken them far indeed had they not been interrupted. Remus felt a tap on his shoulder and paused. Diz drew back, frowning. He turned his head and saw his wand floating above the bed, glowing a brilliant green color. It dipped down and tapped him on the shoulder again. He sighed and sat up, reaching out and plucking it from the air. "Who's calling at this hour?" Diz groaned. The color of the summons told Remus the answer to her question.

"It's Harry. He's summoning me." His brow furrowed. "That's odd. Harry doesn't use wand-summons very often. Must be something serious." He got up and pulled on his trousers. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"You won't get any sleep," she said.

"I will, eventually." He shrugged as he put on his recently-shed shirt. "I have to go," he repeated.

"I know," she said, flopping back among the pillows. "But I don't have to like it."

"It's a bit odd you're not being summoned, too. If it's about the project, you're just as involved as I am."

"Maybe it isn't about the project."

He drew on his cloak, then leaned over the bed and kissed her again. "I'll try to be back soon, my love," he murmured.

"I may fall asleep...but if you don't wake me when you get back, you'll be the one who's toast in the morning."

He smiled. "Agreed." He straightened up and held out his wand. When a wand-summons was issued, the wand receiving the signal became a temporary Portkey. "Summons accepted," Remus said. He felt the familiar tug and pull, then Diz's comfortable bedroom disappeared from around him.


For a long moment, no one said anything. The four of them stood silently in the second-floor living gallery, contemplating Sabian's last words as they hung in the air: "I think I may have found our mole." Sabian himself said nothing more, waiting for someone to take point. Finally, Harry did. "Are you sure?" he said

"As sure as anything ever is around here," Sabian said. "Remember the..."

"Paradigm of uncertainty, yes, I know," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "Can't the goddamned paradigm be a little less uncertain from time to time? I don't suppose you have photos of this person exchanging top-secret ID files with Allegra, do you?"

"Not as such, no."

"We ought to discuss this in private."

"Shall we go back to headquarters?"

"No, let's stay here. I'm not feeling terribly secure at headquarters these days." He turned to Hermione, who was just watching them. "Could you wake Napoleon, please? He should be in on this." She nodded and headed for the stairs. Harry sighed. "Let's keep this between the three of us until you've told me what you know. Then we'll decide what to do."

"You're the boss."

Harry snorted. "Lucky me."


Hermione knocked gently on the door to Napoleon's bedroom. "Napoleon?" She heard nothing from inside. She knocked again, then pushed the door open a little.

He was curled on his side, fast asleep. She approached the side of the bed cautiously. "Napoleon?" she hissed. "Wake up, Harry needs you." She leaned over him. "Napoleon!" she said, a little louder.

She was just about to reach out and shake his bare shoulder when suddenly his eyes snapped open. Before she could utter a word, his hands shot out and grabbed her by the upper arms. Hermione felt her feet leave the ground and then she was flying through the air as he flipped her over onto the bed and leaned over her, his whole body tensed against attack. When his eyes focused and he saw who it was he immediately drew back, raising his hands up and away from her. "Oh my fucking God, woman."

"What's wrong with you?" she said, gasping for breath after the sudden shock he'd given her.

"Sorry. Reflex." He slid off the bed. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"Harry needs you, Sabian's here. He knows something about the mole." That made Napoleon pause.

"No kidding," he said, reaching for a shirt. Hermione clambered off his bed, a place she was excruciatingly uncomfortable to find herself, especially dressed in only her bathrobe with nothing on underneath. Napoleon, however, didn't seem to be paying attention to her state of dishabille.

She followed him back to the living gallery where Ron, Harry and Sabian were waiting for them. Harry nodded as he saw Napoleon enter. "Good," he said. "Ron...you should go back to bed. Get some sleep."

Ron nodded, heading off for his bedroom. "That's not too bloody likely," she heard him mutter as he left.

Harry turned to her. "You too."

She sighed, but did not protest. Not only had she promised Harry she'd stay out of action until her recovery period was up, but the truth was that this was way over her head in terms of security clearance. There was no reason for an agent of her standing to be in on such a discussion except that she was married to the head of the CCO Division, and that was no reason at all. She kissed Harry's cheek. "I'll wait for you," she whispered.

He smiled, but his mind was clearly and quite necessarily on other things. He turned to Sabian and Napoleon. "Let's go into the reading room," he said, and they headed off for the north gallery.

Hermione watched them until the door to the hall closed behind them, then turned and went back to the Cloister.


Harry and Napoleon sat down on the couch in the reading room while Sabian perched on the edge of the desk chair. "All right, you'd better just give it to us straight out," Harry said. "Who is it?"

Sabian appeared to take a moment to gather his thoughts. "It's Captain Taylor, Harry."

Harry's heart sank. His fervent wish had been that it would be no one he knew, no one he trusted...and certainly no one that one of his closest friends was dating. He exchanged a glance with Napoleon and saw his own dismay mirrored on his second's face. "What makes you think it's her?" he asked.

"A hunch led me to focus my attentions on her after you asked me to conduct my inquiry," Sabian said. Indeed, it would come as a shock to almost everyone else that Sabian was even looking for the mole. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, the internal investigation was being conducted by Isobel and the rest of the SIR division...but that was merely a façade. The real investigation was being conducted by Sabian. Isobel's activities were a smokescreen to divert attention and allow Sabian greater freedom to gather information, which he had done with his usual speed and skill.

"Her activities are highly suspicious," Sabian said. "As I indicated, I cannot sit here and guarantee that she is the culprit, but I will tell you what I have seen. She has often snuck away, sometimes taking great pains to disguise herself, to secret meetings I have not been able to gain access to. She has regular and covert rendezvous with a mysterious man whom I've not been able to identify. I have tracked this man a number of times as he leaves these meets, but somehow he always manages to elude me. I can tell you that this is not an easy thing to accomplish. On several occasions, I have seen her take files from her office, your office, and Lupin's office. She has passed copies to her contact; what he has done with them I cannot say. The timing of her transfer and certain facts I've learned about her activities in the New York field office have only supported my theory."

Harry felt ill. He had trusted this woman, they all had. Lupin had even...but he couldn't stand to think of it. "Sabian, what if you're wrong? It's just difficult to accept...she's done so much to help us. She knows so much; if you're right it's a disaster that I can't even begin to contemplate. I don't want it to be her. How certain are you?"

"I can't tell you I'm not wrong, Harry. But I am telling you that in my opinion, for whatever it's worth to you, she is the one we're looking for."

Harry nodded. "Well, your opinion has always been good enough for me." He looked at Napoleon. "The question is, what happens now?"

"Obviously we have to restrict her access," Napoleon said. "Conduct a formal interrogation. We have to talk to her right away. We should do it right now, we shouldn't waste any more time."

"You're right. But there's something else we ought to do first."


When Lupin arrived in response to his wand-summons, he looked perplexed to find himself in the living gallery at Bailicroft. "Harry, what's going on?" He looked around. "You've summoned me here, to the house? Is something wrong? Don't tell me there's been another attack."

"No, it's not that. Remus...we need to talk." They adjourned into the reading room.

Saying the words wasn't as hard as Harry imagined (or perhaps feared) it would be. He only repeated what he'd been told, referring to Sabian for clarification.

Lupin sat and listened, his face stony, betraying very little in the way of a visible reaction.

"I don't believe it," was his response when it finally came. His tone told them that he meant those four words not as an exclamation of amazement, as was their more common usage, but as a real rebuttal. He did not believe them.

"Remus, I know it's hard, but listen to..."

"No, Harry. I won't listen and I won't hear you out. I don't believe it. She isn't capable of the kind of deception you're suggesting."

"She's fooled everyone. You most of all."

"No. I know her. Harry, I love her. You know what that means. I will never believe this. Would you believe that Hermione was a traitor just because someone saw her acting suspiciously?"

"How can you explain what Sabian has seen?" Napoleon said.

Remus cast a sharp glance at Sabian. "Perhaps he's the one you ought to suspect. He could be pointing the finger at her to deflect suspicion from someone else. Maybe even himself."

Harry was shocked by this abrupt accusation. "Remus, I know you're upset, but that is no excuse for slandering a loyal agent."

"She is a loyal agent, Harry! How long has she served under you, and under your predecessors? How much dedicated service has she given this division, and this is her thanks? A few shadowy observations and suspicions from someone who has inspired a good deal of speculation himself and suddenly she's a traitor!" He stood up and turned his back, crossing his arms. "I would no more believe that she's betrayed us than I'd believe you had, Harry. Does my opinion mean any less than his?"

Harry steeled himself. He could not afford to be swayed by the emotional arguments of a man who couldn't possibly be expected to be objective in this situation. "Yes, I'm afraid it does mean less. You have not spent months investigating this, Sabian has. And Sabian does not have an emotional conflict here. You, unfortunately, do." He took a step forward. "Remus, I wish more than I can tell you that this was all a big mistake. I did not want this. I never wanted you to be hurt. If I could make it so it wasn't true, I would. But...I can't just pretend that I don't have real evidence."

"Evidence? All you have is his word."

"That's all we ever have in this business and you know it. We've proceeded on far sketchier information. We don't work in the real world of eyewitnesses and Dragonhounds and magical trace charms. The people we fight don't work like that. They're too slippery, so we have to be slippery, too." Harry sighed. "I'm aware of our friendship, Remus. I didn't have to tell you what I knew. I did it because I respect you and I care about you and I wanted you to know the score before I have to interrogate her. But don't imagine that the fact that we're friends will affect what I do about this. I have reason to believe that Diz is not what she seems. I have to act on it, and if I find that I'm right, I will do everything in my power to see that she is punished. I'll remind you that if she is our mole, then she sabotaged an operation which you personally spent months setting up and she cost you the lives of four of your agents. She almost cost Hermione her life as well. If she is responsible, I will be as ruthless as I'm allowed to be."

Remus nodded. He looked profoundly weary. "I understand."

Napoleon's eyes were flicking between their faces. "So what, boss? Summon her here?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Could you sleep after all this?"

"You want me to answer that?"

Harry picked up his wand and issued the summons. He met Lupin's eyes. "Do you want to stay here while we confront her?"

"Yes. I want to be here and see it."

"I suppose I can't really refuse you that, can I?"

They waited. No one spoke.


When Diz arrived, she didn't look surprised. She was already meeting Harry's eyes with a forthright gaze before she'd even finished materializing. She cast a quick glance around the reading room, pausing when she saw Remus. He offered her a shaky smile. "Whatever they say," he said, his voice quiet but firm, "I trust you." Napoleon's heart went out to the man. What a position to be in. It was inexcusable. If Diz was what Sabian said she was, Napoleon would personally like to have a go at her.

Diz nodded, though she was starting to look a little puzzled.

"Sit down," Harry said, indicating the wing chair by the desk. She sat. He took a seat facing her in his desk chair.

"What's going on, Harry?" she said. "What's so important that you've had to summon first Remus and now me here at this ungodly hour of the morning?"

Napoleon wondered if Harry knew what he was doing, because he himself had no clue. Should they just confront her with what Sabian had said and give her a chance to refute it? Start asking her questions and let her hang herself with the answers? Neither he nor Harry was trained in interrogation techniques. Maybe they ought to get Hermione down here after all; it was one of her specialties.

After a few seconds that felt like hours, Harry apparently decided just to go ahead and tell her what they knew. If necessary, the two of them were more than capable of keeping her in custody themselves. "Diz, I'm told that you might not be who you say you are."

She betrayed no reaction. "In what sense?"

"Sabian has been following your activities for some time."

She glanced at the cloaked wizard, lurking in the shadows. "Has he, now?"

"Yes, under my orders. He's been searching for our inside source, the one causing us all the trouble and precautions."

She nodded. "And he thinks he's found her, is that it?"

Harry hesitated. "You've been observed acting in a manner that suggests you are...trading in inside information."

She just kept nodding. "I see."

"You've had meetings with secretive people who can elude even the most skillful pursuit."

"Okay."

Harry blinked, looking nonplused at her blank, matter-of-fact reaction. "If I'm getting any of this wrong, you should just jump right in and stop me."

She sighed again. "No, so far you're not getting any of it wrong." Harry glanced up at Lupin, who was rubbing his temples as if he had a headache.

"So you don't deny these suspicious actions that Sabian has witnessed?"

"No."

Harry hesitated. "Captain Taylor, at this time I should advise you that you are not required to incriminate yourself. You are not required to provide a defense for yourself. If you need counsel, we..."

Harry broke off. Diz's head was slightly bowed and her shoulders were shaking. Please don't let her be crying, Napoleon thought. He wouldn't have thought she'd stoop to such low emotional manipulation.

But she wasn't crying. She lifted her head and Napoleon saw that she was laughing. "Oh, Harry. You're one in a million, do you know that?"

"Actually, yes, I do."

"Oh, my mistake. One in six billion, in fact."

"As you say."

"Excuse me, it's just so ironic." She chuckled.

Napoleon saw Harry's face hardening. "Is this funny to you?" he asked through clenched teeth.

She cleared her throat and sobered. "I'm sorry, I find the situation humorous for reasons of my own."

"I see. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

She shook her head. "I don't envy you, Harry. You're in an impossible position. You've relied on the intelligence you've been given, which I must admit is excellent. My congratulations to Sabian, not that he requires validation for his skills. You've drawn conclusions that even I agree are perfectly warranted. You hauled poor Remus here before me, I assume, to warn him that you were about to throw me into detention, is that right? Yes, I thought so." She laughed again. "It's amazing that someone can make such correct decisions based on such correct information and be so completely and utterly incorrect."

Harry sat back. "So you do deny it, then."

"I don't have to."

"No, you don't."

Diz straightened a bit and fixed Harry's eyes with her own. "Things are just rarely what they seem, Harry."

Then she did something that looked calculated, but Napoleon couldn't see any reason for it. She made a small gesture with her right hand, the first two fingers. She raised them and brushed them quickly along her right temple, as if she had a stray hair or a small itch. It was casual and unschooled, but it seemed significant. As she did it she cut her eyes away, and as she lowered her hand again she fixed Harry with a stare that clearly said Okay, that's that. Now what are you gonna do?

Napoleon was lost. He glanced at Remus, who looked just as puzzled. But then he saw Harry's face. It was frozen in a blank stare, like a mask. After a few beats of silence, he lowered his head and shook it back and forth as if he couldn't believe it. He raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You have got to be fucking kidding me," Napoleon heard him say, almost to himself. Diz was just sitting there, waiting. Whatever the meaning of her gesture, Harry understood it even if no one else here did.

Harry stood up. "I'm sorry, but I need everyone out of this room. Now." His tone brooked no arguments. Sabian glided out first, and Napoleon held the door for Remus, who met Diz's eyes for a moment, then gave her a little smile. Finally he turned and left. Napoleon followed him out and shut the door behind him.

"What the hell was that all about?" he said as they passed through into the living gallery. "Sabian? Did you recognize that gesture?"

"No," said the cloaked wizard. "But Harry seemed to."

"Remus?"

He just shook his head. "I have no idea."


Harry sat back down in his desk chair. He could barely think. The only thing running through his head was a nonstop litany of fuck fuck fuckity fuck oh fucking HELL...

Diz was smiling as if she could hear this stream of consciousness profanity. "Sorry," she said. "Didn't mean to get your hopes up."

"You're D-7?"

"I'm afraid so."

"For how long?"

"I don't think that's relevant."

"Fucking hell it isn't relevant."

She sighed. "Ten years."

"Were you assigned here?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

She just gave him a withering stare. "You know damned well I'm under no obligation to share the details of my orders with you, Harry. In fact, I'm forbidden to do so."

"I don't accept that."

"You don't have a choice." She was right. She was far out of his reach. "But...if it'll make you feel better, I can tell you that I'm working on some of the same things you are. This mole business has implications that go far beyond the ID. You're not the only ones paying attention."

"So Sabian did see what he saw."

"Yes, he did. I've really got to hand it to him, Harry. He's a bloody genius. We're very good at sneaking about. The fact that he spotted me making my meets is...disturbing. To my standards for my own stealth."

Harry was being torn in several directions. On one hand, he was thrilled she wasn't the mole for several reasons, not the least of which was that he didn't want Remus' heart broken for him, but her real identity introduced an entirely new set of variables. "Listen, you come here and infiltrate my division without so much as a by-your-leave..."

Diz stood up and leaned over the desk, her demeanor taking an abrupt shift. Harry was all at once conscious of being in the presence of a woman who far outclassed him as a spy and probably in a number of other areas. "I don't need a by-your-leave from you, Harry. We require neither sanction nor solicitude. We operate on our own, out of wand's reach of you and everyone else."

Harry shook his head. "What do you do? All of you? What is it that you do? "

She sighed. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it." She got out her wand. "Harry, I'm tired. I'm going home. I hope I've answered all your questions, and even if you have more I'm sure you know that I probably can't answer them."

"What should I tell the others?"

"Whatever you want. My security isn't dependent on you. I can take care of myself."

Harry stood and held out a hand. "Wait, just a minute. I have to know. Was it part...was he part of your...assignment? Cozy up to a division head?"

She hesitated. "I know you have to ask that, Harry, so I won't take offense." She met his eyes. "No. Nothing about my relationship with Remus has anything to do with my job. I expected to come here and carry out my orders. I did not expect to come here and fall in love." She smiled a little. "But I suppose no one ever expects that, do they?"

Harry sighed. "No, they certainly don't."

Diz fingered her wand. "May I go now?"

"You said you didn't require my permission for anything."

"I'm just being polite."

"Yes, you can go."

She hesitated, then plunged ahead. "I'll say this much. Whoever this mole is...well, I've come to the conclusion that they aren't aware of it."

Harry nodded. "I've just about reached the same conclusion." Their eyes met and Harry saw that he and Diz, whatever her true occupation, were sitting in the same rowboat and wondering where the oars had got off to.


Once Diz was gone, Harry took a moment to collect his fragmented thoughts before leaving the reading room. He found Remus, Napoleon and Sabian waiting for him in the living gallery. He stood before them, thinking.

"Where's Diz?" Remus said, his brow furrowing.

"She returned home. I told her I still needed to speak with you." Remus nodded and sat back down. There was a lengthy pause.

"Well?" Napoleon demanded. "Are you going to tell us what that was all about?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, I am." He looked to Remus. "But first...I'm sorry I suspected her, Remus. She isn't the person we're looking for."

Remus sighed. "There's no need for an apology, Harry. You had cause."

Sabian took two smooth steps forward. Although he could not see his expression, Harry fancied he could sense the puzzled frown on his veiled face. "I don't understand. I know what I saw."

"And you were right, Sabian. It turns out that there's another explanation for your observations." He sat down, pondering how to frame his next statements. Finally he looked up at the three men watching him and waiting for him to make sense of all this. "If I were to ask you how many divisions there are in the ID, what would you say?"

"Six," Napoleon said. "You want me to name them, too?"

"Six, of course. That's the same answer I'd get from just about anyone I ask. But you'd all be wrong." He paused, looking around at their confused expressions. "There are seven divisions in the ID."

"Seven?"

"Yes. The seventh division is secret. Before tonight, only Argo and I were even aware of its existence. The signal you saw Diz give me is the gesture they use to recognize each other."

"Diz is a member of this seventh division?" Remus asked.

"She is. When she requested her transfer here she was doing so under orders from her superiors, whoever they are."

"What does this division do?" Napoleon asked.

"That, I can't tell you. No one knows what they do. I've always suspected they were a kind of internal police agency, spying on all of us instead of on the outside world...but I could be completely wrong about that, it's just a guess. Diz did indicate that part of her job here is to conduct her own search for our mole, so maybe I'm right. I have no idea. She couldn't give me many details." He leaned back, his body reminding him that it was almost five o'clock in the morning. "And I can't ask. Division Seven is beyond my authority or Argo's. They are answerable to no one. No one even knows where they get their orders or who they report to. I couldn't begin to guess how many agents are members. For all I know there could be more D-7 agents in my division, or in yours, Remus." He looked at Sabian. "What you saw was Diz meeting with her D-7 contact. All the activities that aroused your suspicion are legitimate."

"Oh, of course! Legitimate!" Napoleon exclaimed. "Whole bunch of wizards with secret agendas who answer to no one and come and go as they please? No, nothing suspicious about that, is there? And say, what's this giant horse they're giving us? Let's wheel it right on in, no worries!"

"I hear you, Jones, but I have no choice but to accept that the agents of D-7 have a very important mission...what that mission is, I don't know." Harry sighed. "I've been told by someone I trust that Division Seven are the good guys."

"I don't suppose you'll tell us who that is?"

He hesitated. They might as well know. "Sirius."

Remus nodded. "Perhaps the agents in D-7 report to someone in the Federation, someone in the Chancellor's office. Perhaps they even report to Sirius."

"I didn't get that sense from him, but you could be right. What do I know? You now have the benefit of the sum total of my knowledge on the subject."

Napoleon was shaking his head. "This is all very interesting, but what it comes down to is that this puts us right back at square one."

"That's right," Harry said.

Remus stood up. "I ought to be going. I think...Diz and I have some things to discuss." He started a bit as if he'd had a sudden thought. "Does this mean she won't be working for you anymore?"

"Why should it? No one else is to know her real affiliations. She's done good work for me so far, even if she is D-7."

Remus nodded, looking a little dazed. Harry knew how he felt. "All right then. Good night."

"Get some sleep, Remus."

They watched as Remus held up his wand and reversed his Summons, which took him back to wherever he'd been when he'd received it. Silence fell in the living gallery. Harry just sat there in his wing chair, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. Finally, Sabian stepped forward. "I must apologize for my error, Chief. I'm...embarrassed."

"Nothing to be embarrassed about. You saw what you saw, drew a reasonable conclusion and reported it."

"But I was wrong."

"Yes, you were. I know it's a new sensation for you, but it's something the rest of us have had to get used to," Harry said, smiling a little. Sabian was still fidgeting. "Oh hell, man. Get over yourself. Take a break. Go...well, wherever it is you go when you're not working. Get some rest."

"I shan't rest until this is resolved, Harry," Sabian said. "You can depend on that." With this declaration, he grasped the hem of his cloak and whipped it around himself. It swirled in a perfect cone, enveloped him and collapsed in on itself before snapping out of existence.

Napoleon sighed. "He is such a drama queen. Can't he just Disapparate like a normal person?"

Harry wasn't paying attention. He was reeling. "I just can't believe it."

Napoleon shook his head. "Roll with the punches, boss. We ought to be able to handle surprises like this by now."

Harry looked at him. "I'm just...having a very strange night."

"You and me both. I was having a dream I was wearing lederhosen in a vat of sour cream."

"Well, why don't you get back to that?"

"Thank God, " Napoleon said, sighing. "I was afraid you were going to want to stay up and analyze this until we both dropped dead of exhaustion."

"We can do that tomorrow."

Napoleon stood up and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Goodnight, boss. Take your own advice and get some rest."

Harry sat there and watched Napoleon disappear down the hallway. He stayed where he was for a few moments, collecting himself, then hauled himself to his feet and trudged up the stairs.

As he'd expected, Hermione had fallen asleep. He stood by the side of the bed for a moment, indulging himself in a moment of appreciation at the sight of her. She was on her stomach, arms curled around a pillow, one knee bent. Her bare skin looked white and flawless in the moonlight.

Harry took off his robe and sat down on the edge of the bed with a weary sigh. He felt her stir, then a hand on his back. "Done for the night?" she murmured.

"God, I hope so."

She sat up and rested her chin on his shoulder, linking her arms around his chest. "You're all tense and fluttery."

He shook his head. "This has, without a doubt, been the single strangest six-hour period of my life."

Hermione nodded. "It's been a lot to go through before your first cup of coffee." She hesitated. "Harry..."

"I know. I know you're dying to ask."

"Who is it?"

"We don't know. Still."

"I don't understand."

He took a deep breath. "Sabian thought it was Diz. So I called her here. Turns out it isn't Diz, but she isn't who she seems to be. She isn't the mole, she's a member of Division 7, which is a top-secret I.D. division that no one knows about or knows what they do. She's been sent here to work undercover." He waited for the inevitable onslaught of questions.

"I see," was all she said.

"Is that it?"

"What else? You don't want to answer my ten thousand questions right now, do you?"

"Not particularly."

"If she's tricked Remus or used him in some way then she and I may have words."

"She hasn't. She really loves him. It just happened, it wasn't part of her job."

Hermione hugged him tighter. "My poor Harry."

"Why poor?"

"I don't envy you your job. I can't imagine all the things you'll have to deal with tomorrow."

"I can't think about it, it's too much. I can barely wrap my brain around everything that's happened tonight." He hesitated. "Should we tell anyone about...him?"

"I don't know. Part of me wants to keep it just between us, but I know that's probably impossible."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I just can't think. About anything. Not now, anyway."

She pulled him back onto the bed and held him gently. "Then don't. Just rest, darling."

Harry propped himself up on one elbow and looked down into her face. "I just realized something important, though."

She smiled. "What's that?"

He took a deep breath. "Tonight I found out that I have an evil son. I found out that an agent of mine has been deceiving me. I may have watched one of my best friends get his heart broken. There are over two hundred people waiting for someone...meaning me...to save them and there might be an enemy watching my every move from behind a trusted face." He reached out and touched her cheek with one finger. "But I am deliriously happy anyway. Just because I'm here with you and about every five seconds I remember that I'm your husband."

He saw her eyes mist over. "That's a lot of pressure for little old me."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't be responsible for your whole sense of well-being all the time, any more than you can be responsible for mine."

He lay down next to her. "I thought I was being romantic." He was a little disappointed, he had to admit. He'd thought that had been a real trump card as heartfelt confessions went.

She kissed his shoulder. "You were, Harry. But I can't be everything to you."

"I'm afraid it's too late, because you already are."

"I just...I can't help but worry about you. I worry all the time. I worry you take too much onto yourself, I worry you're under too much pressure and most of all, I worry that I won't be able to help you, that I won't be enough to..."

"Shhh," he cut her off, drawing her close. "I worry too. I worry that I'll turn into some kind of emotional vampire and suck you dry. What if I don't have enough in me to give back to you?"

"You have more in you than you know. You always find yourself wanting, Harry. You never think you measure to up to what others believe you to be."

"How can I? They've set the bar kind of high."

"Well, it's true. You're not what the world thinks you are. You're more." She turned his head so he was looking into her eyes. "I wish the world could know you as I do, because there's more strength and love and goodness in you than they could ever suspect."

"Now you're setting the bar kind of high." He sighed. "I can't believe you're saying all this to me tonight, after what we've been through."

"That's why. While you were downstairs with Sabian...before I fell asleep, that is...I was just lying here thinking."

"About what?"

"About a lot of things. About how easy it would be for us to lose everything, and not just because there are people who want us dead. There are so many ways that what we have could go wrong, Harry. We could stop listening. We could stop talking. We could become alienated or estranged; we could let all the things that happen to us destroy this little bit of peace we've managed to carve out for ourselves. I think the only way we'll stop that from happening is just to hang on for dear life, no matter what. If we get separated by work, if the pressure drives us mad, if we lose friends or family or everything we know, we can make it if we don't let go." She laid her hand on his cheek. "So I can lie here and know that we've got some rough days ahead of us, and all I really need to do is tell you that I love you and that I think you're good and strong and wonderful...and all you really need to do is believe me."

Harry tried to remember what he'd been worried about when he came up here. Some troubling things had happened tonight, hadn't they? He could scarcely recall. Looking into her eyes right now, none of it seemed to matter. "You know what I hope for?" he whispered.

"What?"

"That someday I'll have the chance to do for you what you've always done for me. Someday I hope I can give you the kind of support and love you give me."

"What makes you think you don't already?"

"Because you're strong in a way that I'm not. Without me, you'd still be Hermione. You would still be smart and brave and independent. Without you, I'd crumble into a thousand useless pieces. It's funny. People call me a hero, and everyone around me is just some kind of sidekick or helper. Like Puff the Magic Dragon and his friend, the little boy." He sniffed. "If they only knew the truth."

"What's that?"

"The dragon can't be brave without the little boy. He needs someone to be brave for."


Remus was returned to the bedroom that he'd left not so long before, and yet his departure had taken place in what felt like another era. The room was empty.

He walked down the stairs and into the living room, looking around. It was dark and he didn't see anything...but then his eyes picked out the vague shape sitting in the wing chair in the corner. He stopped and stood there, waiting for something to happen. He saw a thin trail of smoke rising from the shape. Diz had quit smoking years before, but she still lit one up on very rare occasions when she was particularly upset or stressed. He saw the faintly glowing ember suddenly blaze as she took a drag.

Remus didn't know how he felt. He was too confused to begin to sort it out. But he knew where he had to start. "I only have one question," he said quietly.

She didn't even need to hear it before she had the answer. "No," she said. "You...us...it was no part of it."

He relaxed a little. "I'm glad to hear that."

The dark shape of her resolved into her silhouetted form as she stood up. She took a few steps forward into the dim light. "I would understand if you hated me," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I tried to prepare myself for it, in case you found out. I won't lie to you, it would break my heart...but I'd understand if you never wanted to see me again."

"Why would I want that?"

She met his eyes for the first time, and he saw very clearly her fear of what his new knowledge meant for them. "Well...I lied to you, I passed myself off as..."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but the agents in your division take an oath of secrecy, do they not?"

"They do."

"And your work here...whatever its nature...it's very important, right?"

"Very important, yes."

"Then you never lied to me."

She blinked. "But..."

"Diz, you were under orders. I'm an agent, I know what that means. I don't know what agenda your division has and I don't care to. If it's that sensitive then I'd rather stay ignorant. You used the cover you were given. Within that cover, you acted accordingly. Did you ever lie to me? "

"I don't understand."

He stepped closer. "Did you ever touch me when you didn't want to?" he said, taking her hand. "Did you ever smile at me when there was no smile in your heart?"

He saw a glimmer of wetness slide down her cheek. "No," she sighed.

Remus reached up and wiped her tear away. "Did you kiss me when you would have rather not?" He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, staying there so he could speak into her ear. "And did you say you loved me when you didn't?"

Her tenuous composure broke and she threw her arms around his neck. "No," she said, her voice choked.

He held her tightly. "Then you never lied to me." He drew back and kissed her. "If the woman I fell in love with is the real you, then that's what's important."

She smiled. "I'm more of the real me with you than I've ever been in my life." She kissed him back, her chest hitching. "Oh God, Remus, I was so scared," she said, clutching him tightly. "I was afraid I'd lose you."

"You're never going to lose me," he said, his breath coming faster as their kisses grew more passionate. "You're going to be stuck with me for a long time."

"Is that a promise?" she said.

"More like a question."

Diz froze, then drew back to meet his eyes. "What question?"

"You know what question. The one a man asks the woman he loves."

Her lips made little wavelike motions that might have been an attempt at a smile. "But...I..."

He stopped her stammering with another kiss. "Shush," he whispered against her lips, marveling at his newfound confidence. "We can talk about it later."

She kissed him back. "Remus, I...but how...we only just talked about moving in together."

"I don't care. And I don't want an answer. I just want you to know I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, and if you want me, then I'm yours."

She was crying now, quietly and without fanfare as was her way in most things. "Of course I want you." She grabbed his head and kissed him again. "I want you right now," she purred in his ear.

Remus' hands moved to her clothing, and he wondered how they'd ever make it up the stairs.

As it turned out, they never even tried.


Tonight, he had her up against the wall. Her legs were hooked over his arms and she was forced to hang on to his shoulders, the back of her head scraping the plaster in time to the rhythmic slap-slap of his skin against hers as he pounded mercilessly into her.

Allegra kept her eyes shut. She'd gotten to the point that she didn't want to see anything anymore. Not his eyes, not his body, not her own flesh where he'd bared it. She wanted to shut it all off...besides, she had a lot to think about.

She'd covered her arse for last night's midnight sojourn to meet Harry, she hoped. There was one wizard here she was sure she could trust: Lynch, her former majordomo. He had taken great pains to alert her with subtle signals and surreptitious nods that he was available to assist her if she needed him. Three nights ago, she'd been on her back in her room, the Master on top of her as usual. The door had eased open about a foot to reveal Lynch standing there. He met her eyes over the Master's shoulder and held up one hand before his chest. She'd seen with alarm that he was holding a knife, a question in his eyes. I will kill him now if you want me to, he'd silently told her.

She had just given him a brief shake of her head and he had gone. Now wasn't the time. It certainly would not bode well for her if the Master ended up dead in her bedroom. He had too many of her former minions loyal to his cause now. She'd never escape. Subtlety was called for.

Lynch, happily, was very good at playing both sides of the board. He'd managed to gain the Master's confidence. The unsettling possibility that Lynch might be truly loyal to the Master and was, in fact, playing her for the fool had entered her thoughts more than once, but at some point she had to trust someone.

So she had asked Lynch to request her presence that night at the detention center. He'd made up a very convincing story about needing her clearance for some procedure involving changing the security wards and the Master hadn't questioned it. She'd returned from Hogwarts before two o'clock, wrung out from her conversation with Harry, and no one had confronted her or demanded to know where she'd really been. The Master had come to her within the hour, which was how she'd ended up against this wall being screwed with enough force to dent the bricks.

She should have felt relieved...and yet, she was uneasy. She was quite sure she'd been followed tonight as she moved around the complex. And her quarters were slightly different. She couldn't say exactly how...it felt as if someone had come in, removed everything and replaced it all with a nearly perfect replica. It was off by just enough to nag at her subconscious.

She recognized the signs. He was almost done. She scrunched her eyes even more tightly shut as he buried himself deep and finished. He stayed close against her for a moment then drew away, letting her lower her legs to the floor. He smiled a smug little smile, stepping away with a playful slap on her rear end. "You are an excellent shag, mother dear," he said.

Allegra shuddered. "And you are an unbelievable son of a bitch."

"There, there. I can't have you calling yourself a bitch like that. You're my best girl, don't you know that?"

She shook her head. "You can't patronize me as you do everyone else around here, Julian. We are in this together."

He chuckled. "Yes, of course we are. How silly of me to forget." He'd finished dressing and now headed for the door. "The next time you go on...ahem...a midnight errand, do bring me back some fudge ripple. I've developed quite a taste for it." He smiled and left her alone to ponder just what the hell that had meant.


By the time Harry rose the next morning, the sun was overhead. His whole body groaned in protest, but he sat up anyway. Hermione was still curled on her side, her chest rising and falling in even pulses. He could tell by her breathing that she was still deeply asleep, so he slid off the bed cautiously lest he disturb her.

Half an hour later he stumbled downstairs, dressed and damp-haired from the shower. No one seemed to be around. He stood in the kitchen drinking reheated coffee for a few moments, thinking, finally calling for his Bubble when he'd reached a decision.

"What's up, boss?" Napoleon answered.

"I'm impressed you're at the office given how late we were up."

"Yeah, well some of us have work to do. And Sukesh makes a hell of a wake-up potion."

The sheer amount of work facing him was making Harry's head spin. It didn't help that they were in a kind of holding pattern on almost every front. Waiting for Ron's analysis, waiting for Sabian's next report, waiting for a chance to act. "Tell everyone I'll be back to the office tomorrow."

"You're not expected until Friday."

"There's too much to do. Besides, Hermione doesn't really need my help anymore. She's okay."

"We're thinking of having a little meeting tonight to brainstorm about what we can do while Ron's analyzing the list. Can you make it?"

Harry smiled to himself. "Sorry. I've got plans."

"Plans?"

"I'm taking my wife on a date."

"Does she know that?"

"Not yet. I'll see you later."

"Right you are." His Bubble winked out. Harry rinsed his cup and headed for the library. He could hear the steady click-click of typing before he even opened the door.

Ron had taken over three of the large library tables for his project. The computer Harry had gotten for him was set up on one of them. The other two were heaped with files and papers, organized into neat stacks and covered with sticky notes. Ron was hunched before the monitor, his eyes flicking back and forth from the screen to a file on the desk by his side. He glanced up as Harry entered. "Hey, sleepyhead."

"I was up until five a.m. Give us a break, eh?"

"So...what happened?" Only his eyes were visible over the top of the monitor.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing you need to worry about. A lot of work stuff." He came around the table and sat down next to Ron. He could feel the words forming in his head. I have a son, Ron. What do you think about that? Who could ever have imagined that I'd be a father...to a man who's twice my age. And guess what else? He's evil. Thankfully Hermione still seems to love me, but I'm not sure I can be so accommodating. And guess who his mother is? The woman who kept you from us for twelve years. How does that grab you by the short hairs? What do you think I should do? I hope you have some ideas, because I haven't the first clue. Tell me what to do. Tell me it's not my fault, just so I can hear it one more time. And tell me how I can ever forget who he is, because I think I'm probably going to have to kill him. Help me be strong enough to kill my own son.

What he said was, "How's the research coming along?"

"Well, Lupin brought over the last of the biographical files this morning, so I'm just finishing up entering the data. I've written a cross-referenced database that'll let me compare the missing people on hundreds of different data points."

Harry blinked. "Uh...good luck with that, then."

Ron smiled. "It's pretty technical. But if there's any correlations they ought to pop right out. Fingers crossed."

"You want to take a break? Come on, let's go for a walk."

"No, I've got too much to do."

"You've been at this for hours."

"How do you know? You just got up!"

"Hey, just because you're the Great Brain all of a sudden doesn't make me a moron! You just said Lupin had brought you the rest of the files only this morning, and yet you're almost finished!"

Ron sighed. "Yeah, sorry." He smiled. "Maybe I do need a break." He stood up and they walked out to the rear terrace. "But let's just sit here and ponder our mortality, shall we? My legs have forgotten how to walk, I think."

"Fair enough," Harry said, taking up the deck chair next to Ron's. They sat in silence for a few minutes. "You miss Laura?" he finally asked.

"She'll be home tonight." Harry just looked at him until he gave up, heaving a weary sigh. "Yeah, I miss her, okay? Happy now?"

"Yes. Very."

"How did you all meet her, anyway?"

"Actually, she started out as Justin's friend. They met at one of those boring Ministry functions, and ended up bonding over half a dozen glasses of champagne while they sat in a corner and ridiculed everyone's outfits."

Ron laughed. "That sounds about right."

"Justin brought her round to dinner one night with us and George and Ginny. We could all tell she was anxious to make some friends, being so far away from home...she'd only been here a few months at the time. So we sort of adopted her, I suppose you'd say. When we started talking about buying this place, we asked if she'd be interested in joining in, and she said yes. She and Hermione got to be really close."

Ron nodded. "It's amazing, isn't it? When you look back through your life and consider the random sets of circumstances that had to transpire to bring you to where you are. We all overthink every decision and agonize over whether or not what we're doing is the right course, and then one day someone I barely knew in school gets drunk at an office party and it changes my life."

Harry chuckled. "I know exactly what you mean. One day a clumsy boy loses a toad on a train and I end up married."

Ron laughed out loud. "Chaos theory at work in our lives." He fell silent, playing with a loose string on his jumper. "Harry...can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Well, here's the thing. I think...I might be about to embark on a relationship."

Harry smiled. "Yes, you might. And I bid you welcome to the club."

"I'm petrified."

"Why?"

"I've never been in one before! I mean...Hermione and I went together in school, but that hardly counts." He shook his head. "I can explain superstring theory in five minutes flat, but I can't begin to imagine how to have a relationship."

"It isn't like there's a user's manual you can read and learn how it's done."

"Oh, bloody hell! I wish there were!"

"So you're asking me what, exactly?"

"I'm asking how you do it! How do you...how does it..." He made a face. "See? I can't even think how to ask the questions!"

"Ron, I can't tell you how to have a relationship with Laura. I'm no expert."

"If you're not an expert on how to have a successful relationship then one does not exist."

"Then I suppose one does not exist. Every relationship is different. If you want to know how Hermione and I do it, that I might be able to talk about, but I can't tell you how to make it work with Laura." He chuckled. "Then again, I might not even be able to tell you how Hermione and I do it. We've scarcely had two weeks of peace in a row to even begin to have any kind of normal relationship. It's just been one calamity after another. Those pesky relationship issues tend to get pushed to the back burner when you're facing death and insanity and two-month disappearances and best friends back from the dead."

"You're not making this easy, you know."

"Didn't know you wanted me to." Harry sighed. "If you have questions I'll be happy to offer whatever wisdom I have. I can't make any promises it'll be worth anything."

Ron thought a moment. "Do you ever get...annoyed?"

"With Hermione? Sure. And she gets plenty annoyed with me, too." He grinned. "But you were at my bachelor party, you know the score."

"What's the hardest part? Being...you know. In it."

Harry frowned, thinking. "I don't know. The expectations make it hard."

"What expectations?"

"That everything will be perfect if you love your partner. That you'll always handle things well, that you'll always say the right thing, that you'll never hurt each other..." He sighed. "And it's not just everyone else that expects it, it's us, too. And there's always this sense that you're supposed to be sharing absolutely everything and it can get so tiring."

Ron had half-turned towards him and seemed to be riveted by this monologue. Harry wasn't sure what else he wanted to hear. He wasn't even sure what else there was to say. Ron hesitated before posing his next question. "Are you ever tempted to...you know."

"What?"

"Cheat."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Tempted? Of course."

"Really?" Ron said, sounding a little troubled by this.

"Don't misunderstand me," Harry said, holding up a hand. "I would never cheat on Hermione. I don't need to; I have who I want. But as far as being tempted...well, I think that comes with the Y chromosomes."

"And women come on to you all the time."

Harry sighed. "If you were anyone else, I'd deny that. Or say that I'd never noticed. But...yeah, they do." He shook his head. "I thought it'd get better after I got married, but somehow it seems to have gotten worse."

"Naturally. All that did was give them an obstacle to overcome." Ron patted his arm. "Just think of it as the universe's way of testing your mental fortitude."

"Yes, naturally. Because the universe hasn't put me through any trials at all in my peaceful, uneventful, stress-free life."

"Yeah, one thing we can't ever say is that our lives are boring." Ron frowned. "Well, mine has been, a bit. Until a few months ago."

Harry shrugged. "Look, Ron, I don't have any answers about relationships. But I do have one piece of advice."

Ron sighed. "Okay, hit me."

"I don't know how you feel about Laura. Maybe it's too early to tell. But just as an advance warning...in spite of what all the songs say, love is not all you need. Love's like..." He thought for a moment, searching for a way to express himself. "It's like a poker ante. Love gets you into the game. Then you have to take the cards you get dealt and play your hands and try not to lose your shirt." He stood up. "And having surprised myself with the appropriateness of that metaphor, I will take my leave of you." He clapped Ron on the shoulder. "Good luck with the analysis. Let me know if you need anything."


When Harry returned to the Cloister, the bed was empty, but he could hear the shower running. He went into the bathroom. "Good morning," he said.

"Afternoon, you mean," Hermione answered him. He went to the shower and opened the door. She looked over her shoulder at him as she washed her hair. "What's up?"

"Do you have plans tonight?"

"Oh, yes, I nearly forgot. The Queen's asked me for tea, and after that I'm off to the cinema with Pierce Brosnan."

"Dear me. I couldn't ask you to give up all that just to go out with your boring old husband."

She turned, wiping soap from her eyes. "Go out?"

"Sure. You know, like a date."

"What's the occasion?"

"Does there have to be an occasion?"

"No, but...there's so much going on, with Ron working and whatever's up with this mole business, and the project..."

He nodded. "I know, but there's not much that can be done about it tonight. It will take Ron a little time to work on his analysis, and Sabian's news wasn't what it seemed." He smiled and leaned into the shower stall a little. "Do you realize that you and I never really dated? I never got to pick you up at eight, or wonder if bringing you flowers was too much of a cliché."

She made a sarcastic noise, ducking her head to rinse out the shampoo. "I'm glad we never dated. I never had to wait at the window wondering if you were going to owl or debate whether the dress I'd picked out was too tarty and would make you think I was easy."

He sobered. "Hermione, I almost lost you." She turned and met his eyes. "I don't like to think about it, but I'm suddenly unwilling to put off any part of our lives just because there's other stuff going on. We can't wait to start living until everything's peaceful, because it probably never will be. We had better grab at any moment we can get together." He blinked, feeling unexpectedly choked up. "I don't want to look back someday and wish I'd taken more time with you when I had the chance."

She smiled and grasped his hand. "Come here," she said, pulling him into the shower stall. The water sprayed his clothes, but he didn't care. She put her arms around him and kissed him. He kissed back, enjoying the novel sensation of being fully dressed while holding her bare and wet from her shower. "I would love to go out with you tonight," she murmured. "What did you have in mind?"

"Hmmm," he said, pretending to consider, as if he didn't have everything in place. "Well, if you're interested, I do have a box at Covent Garden for tonight's performance of 'Turandot.'"

She giggled and punched his arm. "Oh, ha ha. Be serious. What are..." She stopped, her smile fading. "Oh my God, you are serious." Her eyes widened. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nope."

She did an odd little hop and emitted a squeal that she would probably have laughed to hear. "Oh, Harry! That's my favorite opera!"

"I know."

She hugged him. "Blimey, maybe we should have dated, if this is what you come up with!"

"That's not all, either," he said, enjoying the moment.

"What else?" she exclaimed.

"How about dinner at Gordon Ramsay beforehand?"

Hermione put a hand to her forehead and swayed theatrically. "Oh, I may faint from sheer excess," she said, grinning. "A posh evening among London society, how extravagant!" She jumped again. "Ooh, I can wear the dress you bought me in New York!"

"I hoped you would," Harry said.

She grabbed her towel and darted out of the shower. "I've got to get ready! I've got to shave my legs and do my hair and...oh, what time is it?"

"Relax, it's only one o'clock."

"What time do we have to leave?"

"Six ought to be early enough."

"That only leaves me five hours!" she said, looking distressed.

Harry raised an eyebrow, drying his damp clothes with a sweep of his hand. "Hermione, you're a witch. It can't possibly take that long to get ready for one evening."

"It took two hours to get me ready for our wedding and that was when I had five professionals doing everything for me." She put her hands on his back and pushed him out of the bathroom. "Now, scoot. I have work to do. I'll meet you downstairs at six."

"Don't you want to come down and have lunch?"

"Lunch? Are you barmy? If we're having dinner at Gordon Ramsay, I'm not eating a thing. I want to have room for dessert!" She started to shut the bathroom door in his face, then hesitated. She poked her head out and kissed him again. "I can't wait. Thanks for asking me out."

"Thanks for saying yes," he said, beaming a wide, silly grin. She shut the door and he turned and left the bedroom, feeling light as a feather and treasuring the sensation all the more since he knew it couldn't possibly last.


Laura walked through the door, releasing an enormous sigh of relief. It had been a very stressful overnight away from the comforts of home, and the business that had taken her away had not gone at all well.

She had also found herself surprisingly restless in bed without Ron lying next to her. She'd become accustomed to his presence, which wasn't all that surprising. Their odd pseudo-liaison had been the first time she'd ever shared a bed with anyone for more than three or four days together.

Thankfully, her sleepless night had not gone to waste. She'd spent it worrying and feeling guilty. The fact that she wasn't sleeping because she'd gotten used to sharing her bed with another man was weighing on her. Technically, nothing had happened between her and Ron, but she doubted Sorry would have seen it that way if he knew. Even if they hadn't had sex, she and Ron had been close to each other in ways that were not precisely platonic...the two kisses they'd shared had definitely been over the line. More guilt inducing still was the fact that even if the physical aspects were left to the side completely, she had already been unfaithful to Sorry in her heart. She wanted to be with Ron, and there was no getting around it.

Her eyes went right to the owl post tray when she arrived, but it was empty. If Sorry had owled a response to her letter, it had not arrived today.

"Hey!" came a friendly, welcome voice. Laura grinned as George met her in the foyer, hugging her as if she'd been gone weeks instead of less than forty-eight hours.

"Damn, it's good to be home," she said.

"You didn't enjoy Paris?" George said, leading her into the kitchen with one arm around her shoulders.

"Paris? There was Paris? All I saw was the inside of some conference rooms." She looked around, feigning nonchalance. "Where's Ron?"

George gave her a knowing little smile. "He's in the library. They've got him working on some kind of top-secret project; he's been in there all day."

"Thanks," she said, hoping she didn't seem too rude in her hurry to excuse herself.

She could hear the tap-tap-tap of his fingers on the keyboard as she approached. She slipped inside quietly, hoping to surprise him...though by the look of things she could have flung the doors wide accompanied by a brass band and he would not have noticed.

Three of the large library tables were covered with files, papers and references. A computer was installed amidst the melee and it was there that Ron sat, hunched over, his eyes flicking across the screen with intense concentration.

Laura walked up next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. She felt him jerk a little and he turned, a look of blank distraction on his face. When he saw her it vanished, replaced by a warm smile. "Laura," he said, standing up to embrace her. "Welcome home."

"I missed you last night," she murmured against his shoulder.

"I missed you, too," he said. "I hardly slept at all."

"Me neither," she said, drawing back. They looked at each other for a brief, awkward moment. Ron sat back down. "Important work, huh?"

"Yes," he said with a vague gesture at the computer. "I'm sorry I'm so preoccupied, it's just..."

"Shush, I understand. Anyway, I just popped in to say hello. I'll leave you to it."

He just sat there looking up at her for a moment, then shook his head. "Actually, I was just about to take a break and find some supper." He stood up and held out his hand. "Care to join me?"

Laura felt a little flutter through her midsection at the smile he was giving her, then chided herself for such schoolgirlish palpitations. Oh, what the hell, she retorted to her inner naysayer. You didn't act like a schoolgirl when you were a schoolgirl. Life's too short. She took his hand. "I'd love to."

They left the library and headed for the kitchen, but they didn't quite make it there.

She and Ron stopped short just as they entered the foyer. Laura couldn't help but gasp a little. "Blimey," she murmured, glancing up at Ron.

He was just staring, his eyebrows raised. "Well, I feel underdressed," he muttered back. "George didn't say that dinner tonight would be black tie."

Harry was standing in the foyer, apparently waiting for something...or, more likely, someone. He was wearing a tuxedo, and he didn't appear to have seen them. Laura couldn't restrain herself. "Harry, I may swoon," she said, walking towards him. She could swear her toes were curling a little. Harry didn't have to exercise much effort to look good in his clothes; he was tall and angular and clothing hung well on him...especially, as they had ample evidence before them, formalwear.

He flushed at their approach. "I feel like a maitre'd," he said.

Laura chuckled. "Well, you don't look like one. They wear bow ties, you know." Harry was wearing a black silk cravat and a waistcoat of gold jacquard with a subtle diamond pattern woven into the fabric. His sharply tailored black jacket was cut to a flattering mid-frock length. It was, not to put too fine a point on it, sexy as hell. "You look very fashion-forward."

Harry looked down at himself. "Well, I certainly hope so. This suit was custom made and it was not cheap."

Ron was shaking his head. "Are you turning into a debutante? What possessed you to invest in custom couture?"

"I have no idea. I bought it in New York on the same day that I bought Hermione's engagement ring. I suppose I was overtaken by some kind of shopping frenzy."

"All dolled up for your big evening tonight?" Ron said, waggling his eyebrows.

Harry bounced a little on the balls of his feet. "I'm just here waiting for my date, who's taking her own sweet time!" he said, half-shouting the last three words upwards.

"I'm coming! " came Hermione's voice, drifting down the stairs in response.

"I'm impressed," Ron said. "Big night out on the town, swanky restaurant, and you do yourself up like Prince William. Let it not be said that you don't know how to stage a romantic evening." He leaned in a little closer. "Gee, maybe you'll get lucky tonight," he teased.

Harry arched one eyebrow, his lip curling in a half-smirk. "I'm a married man. My days of hoping to get lucky are over."

Their laughter was cut off when they heard Hermione's shoes on the marble stairs. All three of them turned to look. Because of the staircase's wide curve, they could hear her before they could see her, which certainly lent an aura of drama to her entrance...not that she needed any extra help tonight.

Laura had seen the dress, but only on a hanger. Hermione had gleefully shown it to her upon their return from their honeymoon, partly ecstatic and partly horrified to find herself the owner of such an expensive garment. It had taken Laura's breath away still in its protective plastic, but fitted over Hermione's body, for which it had been specifically tailored, it struck all three of them dumb with appreciation.

Hermione glided down the stairs, watching her feet carefully. She was probably a little unsure of her footing on the slick stairs in her heels. Laura felt her chest swell a little at how beautiful she looked. The cobalt blue dress was seamless and silky and skimmed her skin with flattering drapes of fabric that gathered at the small of her back to flow behind her. Beads sparkled at the hem and neckline, and she had smoothed her hair into a shining sheaf that hung down her back and over one shoulder.

Laura glanced at Harry. He was watching Hermione's descent, an unsteady smile on his face and his eyes full of an expression that Laura had been waiting her whole life to inspire in a man. Hermione looked up after a few steps and saw him at the bottom of the stairs. She paused, a smile spreading across her face. "Look at you," she said, descending to the foyer. "You look like a movie star."

Harry shook his head. "You look like...I don't know. I'm at a loss." He kissed her cheek. "You're a work of art."

"You really look beautiful," Ron said. "I mean...wow. That's some dress."

Hermione grinned, slipping her gloved hand through the elbow Harry was holding out to her. "Sometimes it's nice to be married to a wealthy man. I get to say I own a Vera Wang original."

"Hell, I'd be happy to say I owned a Vera Wang knockoff," Laura said.

"Are you ready?" Harry said, his eyes fixed on Hermione's face.

She squeezed his arm. "I'm ready. Let's go."

Laura saw the private smile that passed between them and was envious. Then again, she'd always been envious of them but had always successfully suppressed it. Who wouldn't be envious? Sometimes it seemed that they existed only to make others keenly aware of the shortcomings of their own lives and relationships.

"Have a wonderful night," Ron said.

"We will," Hermione said, glancing back and waving to them. Harry opened the front door for her and they left.

Laura and Ron stood there for a moment, silently contemplating the evening of opera and fine dining their friends were about to enjoy. "So," Ron finally said with a rueful smile. "Tuna sound okay?"


Allegra could not shake the feeling that she was being watched. In point of fact, it was more than just a feeling. She was quite sure that she was being watched.

Since her midnight meeting with Harry, she had been going about her usual business as if nothing was different, which could not be further from the truth. As normal as she had tried to be, her surroundings had been putting up a fight.

It seemed she was forever catching glimpses of shadowy figures out of the corners of her eyes, catching the ends of suddenly-halted conversations as she entered rooms, and overhearing whispered conferences that might or might not have contained her name.

It had been three days since the midnight conference, and the Master had been acting a little bit...odd. It was hard for her to pinpoint exactly what was different about him, but something was. He was still coming to her at night, but it almost felt as if he were only doing so to keep up appearances. He was being a shade too solicitous, making obvious efforts to include her in con versations and keep her updated on his activities, which only made her think that he was up to something he didn't want her to know about, and was trying to make her feel included to assuage her suspicions.

She was heading back to her private quarters for the night when she passed Lynch in the hallway. He brushed against her, scattering to the floor some of the papers she was carrying. They both crouched to pick them up. As Lynch rose and handed the paperwork back to her, he quickly whispered three words without moving his lips. "They're watching you."

Allegra didn't look at him or acknowledge his words. The last thing she wanted was to endanger Lynch's status as a trusted minion of the Master. She just stood up and thanked him for helping with her papers. She felt him squeeze her fingertips briefly, and she couldn't meet his eyes for one agonizing second. He looked away and continued on down the hallway.

Allegra hurried to her quarters and shut the door behind her, her eyes roving over its familiar walls, searching for any sign of a presence besides her own. She didn't doubt that Lynch was correct. She was being watched. She was also being set up. Set up to die? Set up to be exiled? She didn't know. What she did know was that her time here was drawing very short.

At least she had one ally on the inside...but when it came down to it, she would prefer that Lynch did not help her if it would give him away. He would be more use to her if the Master still trusted him.

All the same, she didn't feel the slightest bit easy in herself until she'd gotten into her room and locked the door behind her...not that a locked door was any barrier. Not here. Not to him.


Ron finally retired to his room just before midnight. He saw with some dismay that Laura wasn't there yet. He wondered what was keeping her, but she was a bit of a night owl. It wasn't that unusual for her to stay up late reading in the den, or watching a film in the living room.

He showered and began to get into bed, but he was so worked up and frustrated from his long, fruitless day of data analysis that he didn't think he'd be able to get to sleep without her comforting presence.

He drew on his robe and set out to find her. He opened the door to his bedroom and jumped a little, startled.

Laura was standing outside the door. She was just...standing there. She looked up at him with a blank expression. He saw with an inward flutter that she was holding an owl post in her hand.

"Laura, my God...how long have you been standing here?"

"About ten minutes, I think."

"Why didn't you come in?"

She shook her head. "I...I don't know. I just wanted to stand here." She met his eyes, her own full of dull confusion.

Ron was starting to feel alarmed at her disjointed affect. He took her by the arm and drew her inside. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

She held out the letter, but she wasn't offering it to him. She was just holding it, displaying it like you might show somebody the dead rat you found underneath the porch. Ron didn't look at it; he was watching her face. She was pale and she looked...he wasn't sure how she looked, but he was sure he'd never seen her look like that before.

"I got a letter from Sorry," she murmured, drawing the owl post back towards herself.

Ron nodded, having guessed as much on his own. "And? What did he say?"

She met his eyes again, and she looked a little bit more like herself. "I'm twenty-six years old, Ron," she said. He didn't remark on this apparent non sequitur, letting her say what she needed to say. "I've been with Sorry since I was fourteen. He's the only man I've ever been with, in all the ways you can be with someone." She shook her head. "I've loved him for so long, I can't remember what it was like before. He changed me, in the most basic way a person can be changed. It's because of him that there's magic in my life, and that's not just a romantic overstatement like it would be for most women."

Ron nodded. Where was this going? "I know."

"It's just...I thought that I knew what love felt like. I thought I knew what it was, because I thought that's what I had with him." She blinked a few times, rapidly. "But these last few months, I've been so confused. I didn't know what it was that I had with him, because it felt so different from..." She cleared her throat and looked away. "From what I feel about you."

"Laura..."

She held up a hand. "No, be quiet. Let me finish." She stared at her shoes. "So I wrote him a letter. I asked him to come here so we could talk about where we were going, what there was between us after all these years. I said that if he really cared for me, he could spare a few days and come to see me." She held out the letter again, and its pages rustled a little with the shaking of her hand. "And then I got this tonight, about an hour ago. He says that...he's just too busy, and he can't spare the time to come talk to me." She snorted brief laughter. "So I guess that's my answer, isn't it?"

Ron felt anger surging up in him. "I could kill him," he growled. "How can he just toss you aside? Are you all right? You must be..."

"No, you don't understand," she cut him off. "I read this letter and...I felt nothing. I wasn't angry or upset or hurt or anything else." Her voice was coming faster and faster now, and her eyes were misting over. "How could I have loved him, and yet feel nothing now that it's over? All I know is that I've wasted years of my life on a relationship that's long since dead, and now that it's finally done with all I feel is relieved because it means that now I can be with you!"

Ron stared at her, wondering if he'd just heard her say that. She was smiling at him, though...smiling like she had said it. "Laura...what...?"

"Ron, in the last two months you've given me more than Sorry has in the last five years. He has no idea who I am now, who I've grown into. How can he? He can't spend more than a few days at a time with me. But you..." She dropped the letter to the floor and took a step closer. "You're the most amazing person I've ever known. You came out of that twelve year hell and somehow you made yourself better, smarter; you made yourself into who you wanted to be instead of who they tried to turn you into. You've shown me what it really means to listen to someone and be there for them. I didn't know it could be like this," she said, beginning to weep in earnest now. "I've never known what it is to have someone in my life like this. Someone who helps me to be the person I hope is inside me."

He could barely understand her now. He wanted to go to her, but he was oddly frozen in place.

Laura shook her head. "Sorry and I are through, and all I feel is happy...because I love you, Ron," she said, smiling through her tears. She laughed a little, as if saying it had freed her from some horrible karmic burden.

Ron wasn't sure how, but his paralysis must have broken because the next thing he knew he was holding her, and the living, breathing warm substance of her in his arms was overwhelming. He kissed her, trying to communicate his profound happiness at how this evening was turning out. Just the feeling of kissing her without that question between them, that phantom that was her relationship with Sorry banished to the netherworlds where it belonged...it was going straight to his head.

And to other locations on his person.

They turned around and around in his bedroom, stumbling towards the bed that they'd shared for months now...always platonically. Until tonight. "Laura," he gasped, distracted by the feeling of her hands on his body. "I...before we...I just..." He grasped her arms and drew back. She looked up at him, confused.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"I just want to tell you something first."

"What?" she said, concern coming into her voice.

He looked into her large brown eyes and felt something melting inside him, something raw and hardened. She was so lovely. "I love you. That's all. I...love you, too."

She smiled. "Good." She pulled him closer, her fingers going to the buttons on his shirt. "Because I think we've waited long enough."

He smiled back. "Quite long enough." He kissed her again, a little unsure how to proceed. He'd only done this once, after all, and that had been a long time ago.

It quickly became evident that one's technique didn't matter so much as one's enthusiasm. He somehow got her jumper off, though she had to do her bra herself. He almost lost it at the feeling of her soft breasts in his hands, but managed to keep it together. Her hands were all over his body as she deftly undressed him and herself at the same time.

Finally they got themselves into bed, and Ron lost his grip on the train of the experience. It became a jumble of embraces and kisses and hands in new places and gasps and moans and sensations so exquisitely pleasurable he didn't know where to put them in his head. He tried his best to do right by her...he might not have had much experience with sex, but that didn't mean his interest in the subject had waned during his lack of opportunities for practical study. As it turned out, one could learn a lot about lovemaking from books.

Judging by her responses, Laura was not finding his lack of experience a detriment to her enjoyment. It certainly wasn't affecting his own. He thought he would have been content just to sit back and watch her, but of course that wasn't the point.

With each moment that passed, Ron was sure he'd become as ecstatically happy as it was possible for him to be, and then another moment would come along and just reset the entire scale. To hear her moan his name, to feel her hands on him, to feel her beneath him, to be inside her and around her and have her clasped to his body and to know that she loved him, and only him...and to feel the astonishing sensation that he loved her back.

The mind-blowing physical experience he was having almost paled in comparison.

Afterwards, he couldn't seem to hold her close enough. She kissed his chest and murmured in his ear and snuggled against his side, and he wondered if this was what it was like all the time. How did people ever get bored with this? He'd read about such a thing, he knew that it happened, even if it seemed unfathomable. How did couples ever interact with each other on a daily basis without falling into mad, passionate embraces? Before this, he'd thought (as everyone did) that Harry and Hermione were rather embarrassingly demonstrative around the house, but now he found himself admiring their restraint. How did they do it?

He felt Laura's body relaxing into sleep, and knew that he would soon follow. He knew that tomorrow another day of data analysis faced him, but somehow it seemed far less daunting than it had before. Perhaps it was just the fact that at the end of it, he'd have this to look forward to.


The house was quiet when they returned home. No wonder, Hermione thought, since it was almost one o'clock in the morning. She waited while Harry secured the front door, then they resumed their slow, quiet walk through the foyer to the stairs.

It had been a wonderful, perfect evening. Their dinner at Gordon Ramsay had been exquisite, and the opera magnificent. Her enjoyment of it had been increased many times over because she had her husband at her side...and yet, for the entire evening, the inescapable fruitlessness of it all hadn't been far from her thoughts. However pleasant this date was, it wasn't real. It wasn't their real life...and that life would be waiting for them when they returned home.

They said nothing as they climbed to the second floor living gallery, then through to the arch leading to the Cloister. She shut their bedroom door behind them and dropped her handbag to a handy chair. Harry turned and faced her. They stood there in silence for a few beats.

"Thank you for the beautiful night," Hermione whispered.

"You're welcome," he said. He turned towards the closet, reaching for his cravat.

"We're fooling ourselves, aren't we?" she said. He stopped mid-stride, and his head sagged a little.

"Of course we are. That's what we do. We pretend that we're like other people and that we can go out on dates and make reservations and order wine and hail taxis."

Hermione felt that telltale sting at her eyelids and the familiar tremble at the corners of her lips. "It's okay to pretend sometimes."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know when to stop, that's the problem." He walked towards her and stopped a few feet away, meeting her eyes. "Are you happy? Tell me the truth."

She sighed. "Do you want me to say that I'm not? That'd make it easier on you, wouldn't it? Then maybe you could justify leaving me and sparing me from this life you think we have that's so full of terror and danger and uncertainty that it's not worth even trying to live through it."

"No," he said. "I've been down that road already. I won't go back."

"Good," she said. "Because I am happy, as much as that's possible outside the storybooks. We're real people, Harry. We're not figments of someone's imagination. There's nothing that's perfect; there's no unblemished bliss. I hate that we have enemies. I worry that we'll never be free. I wish you'd had a normal life, but sometimes I'm glad you didn't because the life you've had has made you into who you are...and I love who you are," she said, laying a hand on his cheek. "If I'm happy, it's because of you."

Harry smiled, and then Hermione breathed an internal sigh of relief as he took her in his arms at last. They kissed tenderly for a few moments, then disengaged to adjourn to the closet and remove their clothing...it was expensive, after all, and they couldn't really bring themselves to undress each other and casually toss it aside as they might otherwise have done.

Hermione smiled when Harry kissed her bare shoulder as he helped her with her zipper. She hung her gown on its special hanger and then peeled off her lingerie piece by piece, hoping she was maintaining the illusion that she wasn't putting on a bit of a show for Harry's benefit, which of course she was. She left their large closet and went to her bureau, carefully removing her earrings and placing them in her jewelry box.

She gasped a little when his arms suddenly went around her waist, then relaxed against him, feeling the warm smoothness of his bare skin pressed against the full length of her body. She turned around and kissed him, pushing him back towards their bed.

He urged her to stretch out on her back and then propped himself up on one elbow at her side, holding her gaze as he slowly stroked her body, languidly sliding his hand up and down her legs, her stomach, her arms. She smiled and stretched like a cat, relaxing under his ministrations. "You know, you don't have to do this tonight," he said.

Hermione frowned. "Why wouldn't I want to do this?"

He shrugged. "I just don't want you to think I took you out on this fancy evening to get sex from you."

She chuckled. "Well, I appreciate that, but honestly...why would you need a fancy evening to get sex from me? It's not as if I usually need hours of convincing."

"I know, I know. Still...that's not why I wanted to take you out."

"Good. But that doesn't mean I don't want to be with you anyway," she said, lacing her fingers through his where they lay on her stomach. "Harry...if I wasn't in the mood, I'd tell you, okay?"

"Okay." He smiled and kissed her, then lay down and gathered her into his arms. Hermione snuggled close to him, sensing that he was in one of his cuddlesome moods. She suspected that the complete absence of physical affection during his early years had made him desperate for it as an adult, especially now that he had someone he felt comfortable enough with to ask for it. Sometimes, like now, it was a kind of warming-up activity for sex, but at other times it supplanted it entirely. She could recall more than one evening that she'd been all ready to go and he'd wanted to hold her first...and had fallen asleep before they'd even gotten to the sex.

"Sarah came to see me a few days ago," she said, for something to say.

"Where was I?"

"I think you were out with Ron."

"How is the lovely Sarah?"

"She's fine. You know about her and Napoleon, right?"

"Well...I know they're shagging."

"That's it, that's all there is to know."

"Then yes, I know about her and Napoleon."

Hermione stroked Harry's arms where they were wrapped around her. "I think she's feeling a little lonely. She kept asking me questions about us."

"What kind of questions?"

"Oh, you know. What it's like, if we're sick of each other yet, if we fight. That sort of thing." She hesitated. "She asked me when I first knew you were the one. She wanted to know how long I'd loved you."

She felt him nod. "I've been asked that a few times. I don't know the answer, though. It's not like I can put an exact start time on it."

"I know what you mean. And that's what I told her. Except...I think I can pinpoint something. A moment when something changed in my head."

"Really?" He looked down at her. "No, no...let me guess." He put on a thoughtful face. "Was it when I was all heroic and victorious after defeating Voldemort?"

She giggled. "No. I was just phenomenally glad you weren't dead."

"Was it the first time you saw me in my Quidditch uniform?"

"No, although that didn't hurt."

"Was it when I rescued you from that terrifying mountain troll?"

She arched one eyebrow. "If memory serves it was actually Ron who incapacitated that troll. All you did was take a little horsey ride on his back."

He made a face. "Well, if you're going to get technical." He sighed. "Okay, I give up."

"Do you remember the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Of course I do."

"When I solved that riddle of the potions...you told me to go back. You said you'd go ahead alone, that I should get myself and Ron out safely."

Harry nodded. "I remember."

"You had this look in your eyes. You didn't look like a kid, even though you were only eleven. You looked like you'd do whatever had to be done and you didn't care what you had to face." She slid up a little so she could look into his eyes. "I would have followed you into hell at that moment, I think. Leaving you there alone was the hardest thing I'd ever done...up to that point, anyway. But as I left, I remember knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that I wanted you in my life for a very long time. I knew that I would stay by your side no matter what happened, because you were going to have very hard things to face in your life and you would need me."

He smiled a little. "I did need you. I still do."

She shrugged. "I won't say that I started to love you at that moment. I don't know when that happened. But when I left you behind down there, I knew my life would never be the same...and I knew that it would never really be my own, ever again." She smiled. "I guess it's lucky that I fell for you. It'd be really irritating to be so connected to someone I didn't love."

"Maybe that's why we ended up together," Harry said. "The friendship we had didn't leave us room to love anyone else."

"Does it matter why?"

He shook his head. "No. I don't care why it started. I only care about keeping it safe."

Hermione smiled, a mischievous slant to her lips. "To hell with safe. Safe's for the suburbanites with their people carriers and their rosebushes."

He smiled back. "Then what's for us?"

She kissed him. "Everything else," she whispered. "And maybe sex? Please? Is there sex anywhere in our immediate future?"

He grinned. "Oh, so it's like that, is it? Well, I suppose..."

She rolled her eyes. "Gee, if it's such a chore, then just forget it!"

"I seem to recall you making me beg for it at one point. Turnabout is fair play, you know."

"You want me to beg for it? I think not." Without warning, Hermione grabbed Harry's wrists and pushed him over onto his back, pinning his arms to the bed and hovering over him, her knees planted on either side of his hips. "I'll just take what I want. How does that suit you?"

He smiled. "Suits me fine. I like a woman who knows what she wants."

"I want you. Because I do believe that you're mine."

"I do believe you're right." He arched his neck upwards and kissed her. Hermione kissed back, covering his body with her own, any clever quips she might have returned flying from her mind and quite fortunately so, because within moments any interruption would have been most unwelcome.


The next morning dawned bitterly cold. Hermione woke before Harry, as she almost always did. She was the sort of person who rose naturally, usually between six and seven, whereas Harry had to be practically hauled out of bed every morning.

She padded downstairs, shivering. The old house did tend to get a bit drafty, despite all the insulating spells George had plastered it with. She didn't expect to find anyone else awake yet, but when she came into the kitchen she found Laura making coffee. "Morning," she said. Laura turned and favored her with a bright smile. Hermione stopped short, her mouth falling open in surprise. "You had sex last night, didn't you?" she said.

Laura blinked and flushed such a bright shade of purple that Hermione knew she was right. "Wh...what do you mean?"

"Look at yourself!"

Laura obliged her, puzzled. "What?"

"Laura...you're not wearing a nightgown. And you always put your hair in a plait when you go to bed because otherwise you get horrible tangles! Not to mention you're still wearing your earrings from yesterday. There's only one way that a woman goes to bed still wearing her earrings, and that's if she's distracted from taking them out."

Laura sat down with her coffee, looking sheepish. "I guess there's no use denying it to a professional spy."

Hermione smiled, sitting down at her friend's side. "Oh, spare me. You weren't even trying to hide it." She nudged her with one elbow. "So? Spill."

She saw a smile creep into Laura's face. Her eyes shyly cut to Hermione's face, and then away again. "Yes, you're right. We, um...yes. Okay?"

Hermione reached out and hugged her, surprising herself at how emotional she felt. She loved Laura like a sister, and having her fall in love with Ron was like welcoming her into the most sacred circle of Hermione's life. While no one could ever really join the trio that she, Ron and Harry had made of themselves, Laura could probably come closer to it than any other woman Ron could ever have taken up with.

Laura hugged her back. "You're probably relieved," she said.

Hermione drew back. "Why?"

"That it's me with him and not someone you don't know," Laura said, understanding Hermione's feelings perfectly, as always.

"I just want you both to be happy," was all she said in return.

Laura sighed. "My head's spinning a little too much yet to feel happy," she said. "But for the first time I can see happiness in my future, and that's a good feeling." She grasped Hermione's hand. "How was your date?"

"Oh, it was wonderful," Hermione sighed, thinking back on the evening. "But I'm sure it'd be deadly dull to anyone else."

"What, hearing you rhapsodize about how you and Harry gazed raptly at each other over the dinner table and then go on in exhausting detail about how well the tenor performed the second act of Turandot? What's dull about that?"

"Sadly, happiness is boring. Nothing much to tell. It's only interesting to the people living it."

Laura shook her head. "If I were you, I'd enjoy the boring moments while they last. You seem to get so few of them."


When Hermione came back into the Cloister it was almost eight thirty, and Harry was rushing about the room with an annoyed look on his face. "Why'd you let me sleep so late?" he grumbled.

"I'd hardly call eight thirty late," she said.

"You knew I was going back to the Division today!"

"Yes, but...I didn't think that meant this early."

"I told you I was meeting with Diz at nine!"

Hermione threw up her hands, exasperated. "You have an alarm, ever think about setting it? I don't believe it's my job to get you out of bed; I'm not your mother!"

"Oh, is that what mothers do? I wouldn't know!"

She rolled her eyes. "It's just an expression. You know what I mean. I know you never had a mother but the fact that you didn't does not grant you a free pass to be a git whenever you feel the urge!"

He heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Gosh, it must be nice to be so perfect that you can pass judgment on the rest of us mere mortals."

"What is your problem? " she exclaimed, a little hurt by that last barb. "You know, you look like my husband..."

He sat down on the couch and ran a hand through his hair. When he met her eyes again that harried expression had gone. "I'm sorry, darling. It's just...I have to go back today and face all the stuff I've been putting out of my head while you were home convalescing. I told myself if I just focused on you then I'd be okay. But I can't anymore, now I have to actually deal with all the rest of it, and I'm a little afraid it's too much. Now I wake up to find I've overslept and I barely got a shower and I won't have time to shave and I'm just...irritated."

She sat down next to him, a little gingerly. "With me?" she asked.

He glanced at her. "A little, yeah. I just wish you'd woken me when you got up. I thought I asked you to."

Hermione realized with a flush of guilt that he had, in fact, asked her to wake him when she rose. But it had been yesterday afternoon and it had slipped her mind. "Oh, damn. I suppose you did. I'm sorry, I forgot."

He nodded. "Well, it happens. I suppose if the scariest thing they see at the I.D. today is the sight of me with a day's growth, then it'll be a good day." He leaned in and kissed her neck briefly, then stood up and reached for his jacket. "When's your appointment?"

"Three o'clock," she said. She had to go in and see Sukesh today so he could re-evaluate her physical condition before she was cleared for active duty.

"I'll meet you in Sukesh's office, then."

She stood up. "Oh, you don't have to do that. You'll be so busy."

"Nonsense. I'll see you there."

"Okay," she said, smiling.

Briefcase in hand, he stopped to kiss her again on his way out. "Bye," he murmured. "Remember you still need to rest." He headed for the door.

"Harry?" she said.

He turned back. "What?"

"A little news before you leave?"

"What's that?"

She grinned. "Ron and Laura." She saw the comprehension spread over his face as his grin grew to match her own.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Just last night."

"Wow," he said, shaking his head. "This gives me hope."

"Hope? For what?"

"Well, if those two could call a truce long enough to fall for each other, then who knows what possibilities might exist for humankind? We could live in a world without war!"

Hermione laughed as Harry shut the door behind him. When Harry left her, he often left her laughing. It was one of those things about him that she loved, but would never have thought to comment on.


When Diz arrived for their planned meeting, she didn't even bother knocking. She just came in, shut the door behind her, and sat down in the chair before his desk.

"Thanks for coming."

"You're the boss."

"Actually, I believe for once it's true...I'm not the boss of you."

She smiled. "While I'm here, you're the boss of me. But you're not the only boss of me."

He shook his head. "I find myself a little unsure how to deal with you now."

"Don't deal with me any differently."

"How can I do that? I'm a spy, but you're a...spy among spies."

"Is that why you asked me here this morning? To pontificate about the shifts in our power dynamic?"

Harry took a deep breath and attempted to put his discomfort aside. "No, it isn't. I asked you here to discuss our situation."

"Okay. Why just me?"

"Because in an odd way...I can be more honest with you now that I know who you really are."

"Honest about what?"

He hesitated. "That I haven't the first clue what to do about these missing people."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Good. That makes two of us."

"So let's discuss it logically."

"Okay. You want to start?"

"Sure." He thought for a moment. "Our first assumption is that all the missing are being held by the Master. Is it warranted?"

"I think so. Ron was held by Allegra, who's admitted she was working under the Master's instructions."

"Okay. Let's move on, then. What do we need in order to find them?"

"Well, knowing where they are would be a good start."

"There's no way he's holding them all in the same place," Harry said, thinking out loud. "If they're all in setups similar to Ron's, and there's no reason to think they aren't, they can't possibly be in a single location."

"Not to mention that it makes tactical sense to spread them out."

"So in order to rescue them, we'd have to know all the locations."

"And be able to hit them all simultaneously, so that if one rescue is discovered they can't warn all the others." Diz was frowning at the prospect of such an attempt.

"The size of an operation like that would be prohibitive, especially if we've got a rat in the house. If we somehow learned all these locations and then tried to set up a rescue operation involving five hundred agents, there's no way the Master could stay ignorant of it."

"That means that trying to rescue the hostages is out."

"Which only leaves us one option: go after the source. The Master."

Diz tapped her fingernails against the arm of her chair. "How much do we know about him?"

Nervousness settled into Harry's stomach. How much should he tell her? Did it matter who the Master really was? "We know he's a Mage, like me...but not like me. He was raised by the Eternals, using his Mage powers every day. He's very, very powerful."

"Powerful enough to repel any direct challenge?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't know how far you can take Mage powers."

Diz raised her eyebrows. "I think it's time you found out, don't you? Harry...if you're going to have to face this man, and I don't think there's any doubt that you will, then you'd better see if you can't tap some of that Mage power for yourself. If he's going to use it, then you'd better be ready."

Harry nodded. "I'm looking into it."

"Good." She made a rather amusing thoughtful grimace. "But that's not the real problem. It's how we get to him. How do we get close enough to challenge him at all? And how do we guarantee that if we manage to defeat him that we'll still be able to find the hostages? I somehow doubt that he's got a nice handy list sitting around the office of where they're being kept."

"I think we need to do to him what he's done to us."

"What's that?"

"Get someone on the inside."

She frowned. "Is that possible?"

"You know, it might just be."


Hermione was already in Sukesh's examining room when Harry arrived. She was sitting on the table in her bra while Sukesh listened to her heart. She smiled when he entered.

"I'm sorry, am I late?" Harry said, going to her side. He kissed her temple.

"Not at all," Sukesh said. "We got started early."

"So?" Harry said, feeling a little anxious. To his layman's eye Hermione seemed fine and fully recovered, but you never knew what a doctor might find wrong that was invisible. "How's my better half?"

Sukesh smiled at him. "So far so good." He patted Hermione's shoulder. "Lay back, please."

Hermione swung her legs up and lay back on the table. Sukesh began carefully palpating her abdomen, where only a faint pink mark betrayed the fact that not so long ago a long piece of metal had gone through it. "Any tenderness or stiffness here?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "No."

Sukesh picked up a large, smooth crystal about the size of a cricket ball, but flat on the bottom. It glowed pink when it touched Hermione's skin. He moved it around her stomach, concentrating his examination around the site of her injury. Harry saw the pink color fluctuate a few times towards the orange, but he didn't know what it meant. "How do your legs feel?" Sukesh asked.

"Fine," Hermione said. "I keep waiting for them to feel weak or sore or tingly, but..." She shrugged. "No, they feel fine."

"All right, then," Sukesh said. "You can sit up." Harry handed Hermione her shirt. "Well, I must say you seem to have made a full recovery."

"Can I go back to work?"

"I'm clearing you for active duty, but that doesn't mean you're finished. You need to go see Nix and have him clear you for combat."

Hermione nodded. "I know. I already made the appointment."

Sukesh arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "How did you know I'd clear you?"

She flushed a little. "I took a chance."

"Uh-huh," Sukesh said, smiling. "Well, get along then, I have actual sick people to see."

Hermione hopped down from the examining table and reached for Harry's hand, grinning. They left Sukesh's office, and Harry couldn't speak for Hermione but he felt relieved. "You were worried, weren't you?" Hermione said as they left the medical wing, displaying her usual skill for reading his emotions.

He nodded. "Of course I was. You didn't see that spike through you. It's hard to believe that you could actually have recovered from it fully."

"I'm tougher than I look."

He nodded. "You certainly are." They stopped in the hallway.

"Well, I'd better go see Nix," she said. "How are...things?"

Harry shifted. "Progressing. I think." He shook his head. "I just hope Ron can come up with something for us to go on. Right now there's so many questions that need answers."

"There always are, aren't there?" She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, a slow and gentle kiss of the kind that he could still feel on his lips long after it was over. "All the more reason to take good care of the things that we're sure of."

He sighed. "I love you, Hermione."

She squeezed his hand. "I know. I'll see you at home, all right?"

"Right." He watched her head down the hall, calling for her Bubble to lead her. After a moment, he called for his own and went back to his office.


Laura was only half-reading her book. In fact, she was pretty sure she'd read this same chapter last night.

In truth, she was just waiting for Ron to come up. In the week that had gone by since their emotional first time, she felt like she'd hardly seen him. She knew that he was working on something very important for Harry, and so she was doing her absolute best not to make him feel guilty that he wasn't spending every moment with her, as she wished he could (and, she knew, as he wished he could too). It wouldn't do to start off their new relationship by being a nagging and unsupportive girlfriend.

Besides, a project for Harry wasn't like helping someone proofread their thesis or testing brooms for George. It could mean stopping something awful. Lives might be at stake. Ron had certainly been anxious enough about it, even though he couldn't tell her the details.

Finally, just after midnight, the door to Ron's room (though for all practical purposes it might as well have been their room) opened and he came in, looking a little pale. He came right over to the bed and flopped down on his stomach, burying his head in her lap. Laura set down her book and stroked his thick hair. "Tough day?" she murmured.

He sighed. "I'm missing something, I just know it. There's...something that's lurking just out of my grasp."

She hesitated, then went ahead and asked. "What is it that you're doing?"

He turned on his side so he could look up at her. "Well, without getting too specific...I'm looking at a lot of data about a whole bunch of people and trying to find a pattern. It's a lot of information, and I've done nothing but stare at it and reorganize it and reshuffle it, hoping that something will just pop out at me."

"Nothing has, huh?"

"Not yet. But there's something I'm missing. It's there, I'm just not seeing it. It's nagging at me; it's like it's right on the tip of my brain." Laura smiled at his mangling of the usual expression. "I finally gave up for the night. There's only so long I can look at it before my eyes start to cross." He was relaxing now, she could feel the tension leaving his muscles. She was gently combing her fingers through his hair as he laid with his head against her stomach. "That feels good," he said, letting his eyes fall closed.

"Maybe you should get some help on this," she said. "Sometimes a fresh perspective can help."

"I was just thinking that tonight. Tomorrow I'll ask Harry to arrange some kind of conference. A brainstorming session. Just talking about what I've learned so far could help." He sat up and fingered one of the tight ringlets of her hair. "This can't have lived up to your ideals for what a new boyfriend is," he said, smiling...but Laura could see the insecurity in his eyes. "We finally sor things out between us and I disappear for days at a time."

"It isn't your fault. It's just the timing of it. It's true, I wish we could be spending more time together, but..." She smiled. "Maybe you're lucky to have a girlfriend who's accustomed to unavailable boyfriends."

"But I wanted to be different from Sorry. And that's what eventually drove you away from him!"

"You're already different from Sorry," she said. "Youcare that you haven't seen me much this last week, and you want it to change."

"And it's temporary," he said. "Until this project is over, I suppose we'll just have to take advantage of every minute we can get."

She grinned and slipped her hand inside his shirt. "So why are we still talking?"

Ron returned her smile. "I think we ought to stop immediately."


Allegra ought to have known that the minute she started to relax would be the minute things would suddenly veer off in a new and troubling direction.

As she left the kitchen late this evening, having been seized by an after-dinner chocolate urge, she passed Lynch in the hallway. He didn't break stride or appear to speak, but as he swept past her, the whispered words drifted to her ears: "Something's up."

Her guard went up at once, but everything seemed normal. She went back to her quarters and got into bed, pulling the covers up to her chest and glancing around anxiously. She cursed the Master for the millionth time, not only for who he was and what he'd done to her, but for this power that he had to make her uneasy and afraid. No one had ever had that power before, not even Voldemort, who she'd privately considered a doddering egomaniac with an unhealthy obsession towards young boys whose parents he'd killed.

She must have dozed off, because she was woken by someone sitting down on her bed. She jerked awake and sat up, shrinking back from him as she always did in spite of herself. He looked especially predatory this evening and she wondered just what variation of sick perversity she was in for tonight.

"Hello, my dear," he purred. "Refresh my memory, won't you? When was it that you had to go up to the detention center and check the security wards?"

Allegra felt a frisson of cold sneak up her spine. That had been the night she'd met Harry at Hogwarts. "That was almost a month ago," she said, hoping she sounded like this question was of no consequence.

"Ah, of course. I only ask because Frosjlein just finished doing a month's duty rotation up there and he didn't remember you being there the night they changed the wards."

"Only a few people saw me. It's best to keep it quiet when you're messing with security wards."

"Of course, you're right. What a relief." He slid closer and shoved his arm underneath the blankets and between her legs. Allegra winced as he stroked her a bit too hard for it to be actually sexual. "Because if I thought that such a story had been concocted for my benefit to conceal another errand you were running, one that might have been intended to undermine me, well...that's another conversation that you and I should have in different circumstances than these."

"Of course," she said through gritted teeth. "Why would you think I'd undermine you?"

His smug smile was beginning to look like a sneer. "If you have to ask that question, then you must think me very thick indeed. There are a thousand reasons for you to undermine me and just as many for me to rid myself of you. But they don't matter, because we trust each other, don't we?"

With that question, he'd put her in an impossible position. If she answered yes, he'd know she was concealing the fact that she didn't trust him and they both knew it...but if she answered no, well...that wouldn't do at all.

So she employed that oldest, most time-honored of distracting tactics...she picked up his hand and placed it on her bare breast. It seemed to work, at least temporarily, and within moments things were, if not better, at least more predictable.

She hung on to his shoulders as he went at her with his usual level of vigor, her mind racing. Her time here was running very short, but she still had no clear idea of how she ought to proceed from here. Where should she go, and when?

She only hoped that she could formulate some kind of plan before he made his move and removed all her options.

Except one, perhaps.


Ron looked a little nervous, and Harry didn't blame him. Sitting around his research area in the library were Remus, Diz, Napoleon, Sirius and himself...a considerable representation of wizarding power and espionage knowledge. This morning when they'd discussed this meeting, Ron had expressed some trepidation. "Who am I?" he'd asked. "Who am I to be telling all of you your jobs? Some bloke who was bored enough for twelve years to have acquired some fairly arcane skills that have proven to be handy in the outside world, that's who I am."

Harry had tried to reassure him of his importance and what he brought to the project, but he wasn't sure how successful he'd been.

"Thanks for coming," Ron said. "I think I need the benefit of a new perspective. I'd like to talk about my findings so far...I'm starting to go cross-eyed looking at all this data."

"Naturally," Remus said. "Tell us what you know."

"Well, we've got 234 missing people here. The proportion of men to women is about sixty-forty. They range in age from 23 to 131, and their geographical origins are widely varied with a slight bias towards Europe and North America. The manner in which their deaths were faked also varies, and appears to have been tailored to each hostage. For the younger ones, accidents were engineered whereas for the older ones disease or natural causes were the method of choice." He paused. "I've correlated them on every data point I've been provided and some that I've deduced, and I cannot find any connection between them."

Diz sighed. "That's that, then."

"Maybe not," Ron said.

"What do you mean?"

"I think I'm wrong." He watched their faces. "I sense that there's something here that I'm not seeing yet. And there are a few things that trouble me. It's just outside my grasp, but...something's not right."

"Can you elaborate?" Harry asked, leaning forward.

"Yes." Ron moved to a large chalkboard where he'd written many lists and diagrams, most of them too small to be legible. "See...I'm right in that these people weren't chosen at random. If they were, there would be patterns that aren't there."

"What kind of patterns?" Napoleon asked.

"Well, let me ask you this. What's the number one worldwide employer of wizards and witches?"

"The Ministries," Remus said.

"Exactly. If these people were randomly chosen, I'd expect to see a far higher proportion of Ministry employees than I'm seeing here, and even of those that are here, none are from the same branch. The second-highest employer of wizards and witches is education, but it's the same story there...fewer teachers and professors than I'd expect if it were random."

"Maybe it has nothing to do with their professions," Sirius put in.

"Possibly, but if we accept that these people were kidnapped because they're of specific use to the Master, then that use would probably fall into one of two categories: they were taken either because of something they are, or because of something they know. Quantifying something that they are is difficult, and I've found no patterns there that are meaningful, so I've been concentrating on what they might know or be able to do. That's led me to study their professions, their educations, and their life experiences."

Diz was shaking her head. "This is hopeless. We should be concentrating on finding a way to get in closer to the Master's operation."

"No!" Ron exclaimed. "It isn't hopeless, something here is significant." He abruptly brought both hands up and clutched at his hair, growling in frustration. "Dammit, it's so close...I can almost feel it right here," he said, slapping a hand on his chalkboard, smearing his notes. "It's here, it's right here."

"What about those other eight?" Napoleon said. "The ones that died."

Ron turned around. "What? What eight?" He looked from Harry to Remus. "What's he talking about, the ones that died?"

Harry blinked, caught off guard. "Well...we found eight people whose bodies weren't in their graves but whose talismans were not in the Hall, which led us to conclude that they'd died while in the Master's captivity."

Ron was gaping at them. "Why didn't I know about this?"

"We didn't think you'd need..."

"Bloody hell, Harry! Those eight people were just as much a part of this pattern, maybe more so because...because..." He trailed off. His eyes were going steadily wider until Harry feared they'd fall right out of his head. "They can't have any commonalities. There are no commonalities." He was talking to himself now, not to them. He whirled around and looked at the chalkboard. "It's in how they're unique, not in what they have in common. They're...they're...it's like it's some kind of recipe..."

He spun around again. "These other eight. Right now, I need to know what they did for a living and where they were educated." He snapped his fingers, his expression urgent. "Come on!"

Remus was fumbling in his bag. "I've got some bare-bones information on them here in my notes...ah, here we are." He opened his parchpad, but Ron grabbed it from him before he could say anything.

Ron slammed the parchpad down on the table and began frantically flipping through it. "Ah, here they are...Winslow Stepframson was a cultivator of whispering grapevines..." He looked up. "There's another herbologist on the list who specialized in whispering grapevines." Harry was lost. He didn't see the significance. Clearly the rest of them had ceased to exist for Ron; he was in his own little world. "I'll wager that he died just before the other one...wait...oh there it is," he breathed. "By the talisman records at the Hall, Stepframson died in captivity in May of 1998. The other herbologist was kidnapped one month later." He looked around at their blank faces. "Don't you see? Don't you get it? He died and was replaced! But why...why did he..."

Ron suddenly stopped and turned in a tight circle, his hands held out before him like he was about to fall over. "Okay...wait...it's..." He gasped and looked around at them. "Oh God! Oh my God!" he said, leaning over and grabbing the edge of the table. Harry started forward, alarmed...Ron almost looked like he was about to vomit. His chest heaved once. "I've got it, oh great Merlin's ghost, there it is..."

"What? What? " Harry said, afraid to touch him lest he disturb this revelation.

Ron was gathering his composure. Finally, he rushed over to his chalkboard and pointed to name after name after name. "It's a set!" he cried. "The Master is fucking collecting wizards! He needs one of each kind! That's why there weren't any connections, it's because he needs them all unique to complete his set! He even replaced the ones that died with others that possessed the same knowledge! If we go through and look at these eight that died, I will bet you any amount of money that we'll find that each one was replaced soon after death with another witch or wizard who possessed similar knowledge or did a similar job."

Harry's brain hurt, but Ron's conclusion felt right. He looked around at the others and saw the same excitement on their faces. They were getting somewhere now, all right.

Ron wasn't finished. He ran to one of his tables and seized a handful of the mounds of paperwork he'd been poring over for days. "All this data is telling me one thing: these people were chosen very specifically, very carefully, for knowledge and skills that they possessed. And he's trying to make himself a complete set of wizards. One Potions Master, one Auror, one broom engineer."

"But...why?" Napoleon asked.

Ron hesitated. "I don't know."

"I do," Harry said. "He must have some way, magically or otherwise, to access all this knowledge and all these skills he's collecting."

Ron was nodding. "Yes, that follows. And when he gets his complete set, if he can somehow just absorb what's in his hostages' heads..." He stopped and looked around at them. "My God, he'll know everything. Every password, every secret passage, everything we keep hidden, he'll know. The sum of wizarding wisdom as we know it will be his." He picked up the original list. "Harry, there's an Unspeakable on this list. There's a former Deputy Chancellor."

Harry crossed his arms. "If he's found a way to know everything that they know, then he will own us. There will be no stopping him."

Silence fell in the library as Harry's words hit home.

"There's another question we have to ask ourselves," Diz said. Everyone looked at her. "How many does he still need to complete his set, and who's next on his list?"

No one got a chance to answer, because at that moment there was a knock at the front door. Actually it wasn't so much a knock as a great thundering boom. Then another, and another...and then silence.

Harry frowned and headed for the door. "What the bloody hell was that?" he heard Napoleon mutter.

The little group entered the foyer. Hermione was just coming down the stairs. "I think God's at the door or something," she said, looking a little concerned.

Harry motioned the others to stay back. He drew his wand and put his hand on the door handle, took a deep breath, and opened it.

He could not have been prepared for it if he'd been warned.

Allegra was standing on the front stoop. He barely recognized her. One eye was swollen shut, and her face was cut and bloody in a dozen places. She was cradling one arm against her chest like it had been broken and her clothing was torn and cut, revealing awful gashes and bruises all over her body.

She had been, quite literally, beaten to within an inch of her life.

"Oh my God," Harry whispered.

She sniffed once and appeared to be trying to smile. "Harry," she gurgled. Her attempt at a smile fell away and left only stark terror on her face. "Help," she gasped. Her eyes rolled back in her skull and she pitched forward. Harry reached out and caught her before she could hit the ground. He knelt and gathered her up then carried her back into the house. The others were gathering around, stunned expressions on their faces. Napoleon shut the door behind them with an apprehensive peek outside.

Harry stood there, holding her broken body. He looked up and saw Hermione watching from the third step of the staircase. He met Diz's eyes and saw in them the same idea that was forming in his own mind.

"Okay," he said, "Slight change in plans."


Author's Notes:

  • I borrowed the D-7 hand signal from “Twin Peaks.” It’s the Bookhouse Boys high-sign.
  • Napoleon’s dream that he was wearing lederhosen in a vat of sour cream is from the theme song to Weird Al Yankovic’s short-lived TV show. I’m an Al-Gal and proud of it.
  • Harry’s analogy about Puff the Magic Dragon is from Doctor Who. One of the novels. I can’t remember which one.
  • Yes, Gordon Ramsay is a real five-star French restaurant in London. See, I do my homework!

Special thanks to my awesome team of beta readers: TartyWench!Liss, SemicolonDominatrix!Plumeria, ActionBritpicker!Jenny, CommaTaskmaster!Sue, and PumpkinFrenzy!Elia. May they forgive me for my abhorrence of commas.



Author notes: I would like to express my appreciation to all the loyal readers who have reviewed my stories and told me that they loved, liked, or even hated them. Special thanks to all those habitual reviewers at Schnoogle...I know I never chime in on my own review thread, but I do read and appreciate all your comments.