Hero With A Thousand Faces

Chapter 11: Pattern Recognition

"Souls can't move that quickly, and are left behind, and must be awaited, upon arrival, like lost luggage." --William Gibson, Pattern Recognition

It took Hermione a moment to check that yes, she was seeing what she was seeing. She wasn't hallucinating, or having some kind of waking nightmare.

In the next moment, a thousand emotions crashed into her mind with enough force to leave her a little dizzy. It wasn't any wonder, when confronted with such a sight as that of Harry, her own husband, cradling in his arms the body of the woman who she hated the most in the entire universe.

She stepped to the foyer floor and joined the small group, all of them muttering amongst themselves at this sudden turn of events. Foremost in her mind was rage at the very sight of Allegra, and it was not blunted by the obviously severe beating that the woman had taken. Running a very close second to the rage was blinding jealousy. He doesn't carry you, she couldn't help but think. He only carries ME.

Harry was now leaving the foyer, his steps hurried. The others walked along with him in a little synchronized huddle. She trailed along behind, feeling out of place. Harry headed into the guest bedroom at the rear of the first floor and deposited Allegra on the bed, then turned to the others. "Okay...conference. Come on."

Everyone retreated except Hermione, because she knew what was coming. Harry was holding her in place with his eyes. He stepped closer. "Stay with her, will you? Uh, look after her wounds?"

Hermione stood where she was. His request was not exactly a surprise to her, but hearing it still felt like a slap in the face. Do you have any idea what you're asking me to do? she thought. Give me some sign that you recognize what it was like for me to see you holding her.

But he didn't. He just watched her expectantly. Now wasn't the time. "I'll do what I can," she murmured.

Harry smiled, a distracted smile that was halfway to being somewhere else. "You're the best," he said, kissing her cheek before hurrying after the other agents.

Hermione watched him go with a sigh. "Yes, I'm the best, I suppose," she murmured, heading into the guest room.

Harry looked around at their faces. Sirius looked carefully blank. Napoleon was shaking his head like he couldn't believe it. Remus and Diz wore matching expressions of dubious hesitance, and Ron just looked like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Anyone have any thoughts? Mine seem to have left me for another man," Harry said.

"Someone dropped her off," Ron said.

"Huh?"

"Did you hear that knock? Sounded like Hagrid after too much Turkish coffee. She didn't do that herself; she could hardly stand. Someone left her there, knocked so we'd be sure to hear, then skedaddled before we could open the door."

Diz made a disapproving clucking sound. "Ugh. It's so juvenile."

"Well, for gag gifts left on the doorstep, it's better than a bag of dogshit," Napoleon said.

"Regardless of who brought her here, someone surely beat the stuffing out of her," Remus said. "Who do we like for it?"

"Maybe some of those Muggle thugs she's so fond of using as cannon fodder," Harry said. "If a wizard wanted her out of the picture, I doubt he'd use his fists."

"Think the Master got sick of her?" Napoleon said. "I know it's hard to imagine, given her charming personality, but..."

"I'm sure he was behind it," Harry said, cutting him off. "But his intentions, that's the question. Did he want her dead? If so, why isn't she dead? Did she escape? Did someone rescue her and bring her here out of mercy? Or did he just want her beaten up? Did he want her brought here on purpose, as a plant?" The reactions spewed forth from the other agents in rapid succession.

"To feed us all sorts of misinformation, maybe."

"Or to find out how much we know."

"We ought to send her to Detention, right now. Just having her here, we ought to have our bloody heads examined."

"That's not necessary, this house is secure, and she's no threat in her condition."

"I'm not talking physical threat here; just by seeing us all here together she already knows that we must be working on something major."

Harry held up his hands to stem the stream of consciousness. "Look, we can't make any kind of decisions until we hear what she has to say. Hermione's in with her now, when she wakes up...we'll ask her what happened."

"And of course she'll be completely honest and straightforward with us," Ron said, arching one eyebrow. "Are you forgetting that this is the woman who dated you for over a year and neglected to mention that she had your best friend locked up in an underground flat? And also left out the part about being evil?"

"I'm not saying let's take her word on faith," Harry said. "But I have my own reasons to think that she has no more love for the Master than we do."

"Care to share those reasons with the group?" Sirius said, speaking for the first time. He tended to keep fairly quiet during meetings like this, but whenever he spoke, he always sounded like the Voice of Authority.

Harry stiffened a little. "No, I don't care to. Look, we have more important things to think about. Napoleon, check outside for any signs of surveillance and see if you can pick up a trace of whoever left her here, then I want you outside the door to her room. Secure her, and don't skimp on the wards. Diz, Remus, return to the ID and bring back some containment talismans and some Veritaserum if there's any available. Okay, let's go."

The group splintered as the three ID agents headed for the front door leaving Ron and Sirius behind with Harry. As soon as the door closed again, they both rounded on him. "Okay, it's just us. Now can you tell us what's going on?" Ron said. "Since when is Allegra some kind of ally to you?"

"I never said she was an ally."

"You're certainly being pretty quick to trust her," Sirius said.

"Who said anything about trusting her? I just want to know what happened to her!" Harry exclaimed. "Look, if she wants the Master defeated and would care to help us accomplish that, then I'm all for it!"

"Of course, so that after he's gone she can take his place again."

Harry sighed. "It's a possibility, but...I think she might be trying to quit."

"After all this time? That isn't too likely."

"Things change."

"Some things never change," Ron said, his voice flat and implacable.

"Well, I know that she won't unless she's given the opportunity," Harry said. "She's very powerful, Ron. If we have any kind of chance to bring her over to our side, then we should grab it with both hands. Think of everything she knows about the other side, and what an asset she could be to us!"

"Think of all the new and exciting ways she could betray you again if you let her," Ron said. "She wants to hurt you, Harry. It's not part of any kind of plan, it's personal."

Harry shook his head. "I know," he said. "I've just never understood why."

"You made her feel out of control and vulnerable," Ron said. "That just can't be allowed."

Harry frowned. "Ron, since when are you such an expert on Allegra?"

"She used to...talk to me, sometimes. She'd come around my flat and chat me up. I think her intention was to demonstrate just how insignificant I was and how much everyone wasn't looking for me. She delighted in telling me all about how she was fucking you," Ron said, a small choke of emotion coming into his voice. "She'd laugh about how you had no idea who she really was. She laughed at a lot of things about you...but as the time went on she laughed less and less and became more and more angry and defensive. I just sat there and listened, and she told me a lot more than she thought she did." He sighed. "I watched her rant about how much she couldn't wait to kill you, and I knew it was only because she'd fallen for you."

Harry felt sick. He sat down slowly, reaching for the edge of the table to steady himself. "I knew that," he said. "On some level. But Ron, why haven't you ever told me this before?"

He shrugged. "It's ancient history. I didn't think there was any reason to rub your face in it."

Harry nodded. "That history might not be so ancient after all."

They looked around as the study door opened and Hermione came in. "How is she?" Sirius asked her. Hermione's face was calm and professional, which was a tremendous relief.

"She's sleeping. She was beaten very badly, but I don't think she's in any danger from her head injuries." She hesitated. "She needs medical attention," she said, fixing Harry with a significant gaze.

He shook his head. That was the last thing he needed...more people milling about. "No, I can't risk it. I need to keep the number of people who know she's here as small as possible. You'll have to do for now, Hermione."

Her lips tightened but she nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "She has a few broken bones; I'll need supplies. I'll go back in a few minutes when the analgesic potion I gave her has had a chance to work."

"Good." An awkward silence fell. Hermione was just standing there, staring off into space.

"I'm going to go back to my analysis, in light of the new theory," Ron said.

"Unless you need me further, I ought to be getting back to the Chancery," Sirius said.

"Go ahead," Harry said. "I've got more than enough to do here. Ron, I'll be along in a few minutes. I just want to check in with Napoleon."

"Right you are," Ron said, leaving with a glance at Hermione.

"What about me?" she said. "Do you have orders for me, too?"

"Umm...just to keep an eye on Allegra for me, would you? We don't want her lapsing into a coma before she can tell us what's been going on." He looked up from his desk to see her giving him an odd look, one that made him a little nervous. "What?"

She blinked. "Nothing. I'll just go do that then, shall I?"

"Uh...yes, carry on."

"Yes, sir," she said, lacing the second word with slight emphasis. She turned and left the room. Harry wondered what exactly that had meant, but he didn't have time to dwell on it.

Allegra slowly opened her eyes, bracing herself for the onslaught of agony, but it did not come. She ached, but it was tolerable...except her arm, which hurt very badly. Clearly someone had been tending to her.

It had been so long since anyone had attacked her physically instead of magically that she was ill prepared for the consequences. The Master had forced himself on her, but he hadn't inflicted any injuries...not any physical ones, anyway.

Where am I? she thought vaguely. Where did I end up? She looked around. She appeared to be in someone's guest room. Who did I run to? Who is there in the world that I'd run to? The memory flooded back to her in one horrified moment.

Oh. Harry. Of course.

There was someone sitting by her bedside holding a wand and mixing something. It was Hermione. "Oh, bugger," Allegra muttered. Hermione turned around, her face blank.

"Lie still," she said. "You were beaten very nearly to death." Her voice betrayed no sympathy or any degree of concern; she was just relating the facts. She slid her chair to the bedside and began applying a potion on a cloth to Allegra's arm, which was one blinding sheet of agony from shoulder to elbow. The pain began to abate, and as Hermione moved her wand over her upper arm she felt the maddening internal itch of bones knitting together.

"You're...helping me?"

Hermione paused, looking at her for the first time. "Isn't that what you came here for? You requested asylum."

"I did?"

"Yes, after a fashion."

Allegra looked around. They appeared to be alone. "Where is...is it just..."

Hermione sighed. "The others are still debating what should be done with you."

"What do you think?"

Hermione's lips thinned a little. "That's not for me to say."

"You must have an opinion."

"None you'd care to hear."

Allegra swallowed hard, the uneasiness of vulnerability hanging over her like a damp fog. "So...am I under house arrest?"

Hermione paused in her first aid and fixed Allegra with a flat gaze. "Don't you dare crack smart with me, Allegra. Right now in this very house, our house, Harry is attempting to convince his fellow agents that they should trust you. Yes, Harry, who you seduced and betrayed and tried to kill but only after you broke his heart, he's actually defending you." Allegra saw very clearly how much Hermione despised her, and it was reassuring. "I have my doubts, personally. I have no idea what it is about you that makes Harry want to trust you after everything you've done, but I want you to realize two things."

"First?"

"That Harry will convince them. You'll get your asylum, and he'll give you a chance."

Allegra swallowed. "And second?"

"That I will be watching you very, very closely." Hermione turned back to the bedside table and bent over her potion.

Allegra rolled her eyes. "Thanks, I'll take that under advisemen..." She didn't even get the last word all the way out, because suddenly Hermione was just there before Allegra had even seen her move, her hand clamped around Allegra's throat with a grip that was just a hair too tight for comfort but bore the promise of more lethal force at the slightest provocation. Her face hovered above, mere inches away. Her eyes were not filled with the more predictable rage but with a steely determination that inspired an emotion Allegra would never have imagined she would feel in Hermione's presence: fear. Who was this woman, and what had become of the mousy little tagalong she'd known before?

"Don't you think I won't do it," she said, her voice low.

"Okay," Allegra managed to croak.

Hermione was examining her with the detached interest one might afford a laboratory specimen. "You're a miserable, frustrated woman, Allegra," she murmured. "And I know that you hate Harry because you know you can't have him." She leaned even closer. "Now, you listen to me. I won't let you do anything more to hurt my husband. You so much as twitch in his direction and you will regret it. Do we understand each other?"

Allegra nodded, and the hand around her throat relaxed. Hermione sat back, resuming her ministrations to the bruises on Allegra's midsection. "Well," she breathed. "That was exciting."

"Want to see it again?"

"I'll pass." She watched Hermione's profile as she concentrated on the spells she was performing. She looked so unassuming with her honey-brown ponytail and her glasses slipping down to the end of her nose. "You're turning into someone, you know that, Hermione?"

"Who am I turning into?"

"I don't know. Just...someone. It's not anyone who can cut me off mid-snark. I respect that."

"You're not exactly in top form at the moment."

"Still. I'm beginning to..." She almost stopped there but went on, throwing caution to the wind. "I'm starting to see what Harry finds so fascinating about you."

"I am not a passive object to hold his interest, you know."

Allegra sniffed. "See, you did it again."

"Wasn't hard." She moved up and began moving her wand over Allegra's splintered collarbone. "Women like you...it's all about being mysterious and complex and intriguing. You think that's all there is to it?" She sat back and regarded her thoughtfully. "I used to envy your type. Sexy, alluring...bat an eyelash, quirk a finger, and they come running." She leaned closer, one eyebrow raised and what might have been the beginnings of a smug smirk on her face. "But it gets old. Fast. And then they need someone they can actually converse with, someone who'll give back. Don't you get it yet? Women like you may drive them wild...but it's women like me that rule the world." She stood up, glancing down at her. "You'll live." She turned back at the doorway. "Listen. If you can help, then I'm glad. But if you hurt him again, I'll kill you myself."

Allegra met her eyes. "I believe you."

Hermione nodded. "Good." She shut the door behind her and Allegra heard her footsteps receding. Only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding.

When Harry came to bed, Hermione was sitting up reading a book. Napoleon was guarding Allegra, who was sleeping downstairs in the guest bedroom.

"Busy night," he said, anxious to talk about the events of the evening with her. She said nothing, just turned a page. She didn't even look up. Harry's internal Husband Trouble Meter was swinging over into the red zone. "Hermione?"

Hermione put her book aside and looked at him...and suddenly, the Husband Trouble Meter didn't have a marking high enough. He might have to consider recalibrating the scale.

Harry sighed. "Is this about Allegra?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Harry, it's about how you left your socks on the bathroom floor this morning. Of course it's about Allegra."

"She's contained. You did a great job on her wounds, she'll be fine."

"Goody." She was bouncing one leg and looked like she couldn't think how start saying all the things she had to say. "I can't believe you actually asked me to help her without so much as a by-your-leave."

"Someone had to."

"Why me? Any of the others could have administered first aid. Or here's a novel thought...you could have called Sukesh! Instead, you asked me, knowing full well how I feel about that woman."

"But you did it."

"Yes. I did it because you asked me to, and I knew that it wasn't the time to debate the matter. But now I can ask you why my feelings are insignificant to you."

"Insignificant?" Harry asked, incredulous.

Hermione swung her legs out of bed and rose. "Yes, insignificant! How else could you ask me to help that woman? Don't you have any conception of what you were asking me to do? Do you know what it was like for me to see her in your arms?"

"I didn't realize that administering a little first aid was beyond your capabilities," Harry said, his own ire rising.

"Bollocks!" Hermione cried, her self-control gone. "She is not here to make friends, Harry! Did someone Obliviate you by mistake? Have you forgotten that she's tried to kill both of us? Have you just forgotten how well she played you before?"

"I was young and stupid!" Harry said. "I'm not going to fall for her tricks again!"

"You're already falling for them!" she yelled. "Don't you get it? She knows that you will always want to believe that there's good in her, because that makes you feel a little less thick-headed that you didn't see through her act before!"

"I don't think I want to talk about this anymore," he said tersely, holding up a hand.

"No, no, no. You don't get off that easy. Harry...that woman has hurt you in so many ways you can't see all of them. She kept Ron from us for twelve years! She wants us dead and she bore your child! Tonight, even knowing all of that, you asked me if I wouldn't mind terribly making her more comfortable!"

Harry whirled around to face her. "I asked you to render humanitarian aid to a severely beaten human being. I thought that you were capable of separating your emotions from your professional responsibilities! I won't be making that mistake again, I assure you!"

Hermione pointed at him, her eyes wide and furious. "Don't you dare suggest that anything between you, me and her in this house is even remotely a professional situation. Everything having to do with you is personal to her, can't you see that? It is personal, and that is how she will come at you, because that's where she knows you're vulnerable. I will not do anything to help her hurt you again!"

"She came to me for help!" Harry roared. "She could mean the difference between victory and defeat here! Should I have thrown her out into the street? I suppose you would have preferred it if I'd said 'Gosh, I'm sorry, but you'll have to take your insider information and valuable firsthand knowledge elsewhere, because my wife is uncomfortable having you in the house!'"

"You should have taken her to a secure location immediately, and you bloody well know it," Hermione said through clenched teeth. "All you did tonight was let me know just how little you respect my feelings."

"You know I respect you and value your feelings," Harry said, amazed she could think otherwise.

Hermione threw her hands in the air. "Men! All of you, you always think it's enough that we know how you feel in some abstract, perpetual way, just because you say so!" Harry saw that she was near tears. "Harry, it's not enough that I know. You have to demonstrate it through your actions, every day. Words are cheap! You know that I have a horrible time dealing with all the disturbing ways I feel about Allegra, and yet you just went ahead and asked me to help her without a thought! That, to me, says that you might know how I feel, and you might say you respect it, but all that will cheerfully get tossed out the window when the chips are down." She shook her head. "I don't ask that you should make decisions based on how I feel about things, but I do ask that you at least acknowledge that you realize this might be hard for me!"

"You think this is easy for me?" he shouted. "You think I'll sleep well knowing she's here under our roof?"

"So why is she still here under our roof, huh?" Hermione asked. "Why are you keeping her here?"

"Because!" he hissed, stepping a little closer. "I can't let it get out that she's asked for asylum! If someone wants her dead, or if someone thinks she already is, then I'd better keep her under lock and key and away from prying eyes. Believe me, if security were not an issue, I would have her in Detention so fast it'd make your head spin. Is that what you think of me? That I'm all in flutters and bows to have her around again? God, Hermione, sometimes I think you actually believe her to be a threat to our relationship!"

"I don't believe she's a threat to us, but you know damned well that I'm afraid that part of you still wants her," Hermione said, her tone flat. "I told you so, remember?"

"I bloody well hoped you weren't serious."

"Well, I guess that's the difference between us. I mean what I say." She turned and crawled back into bed. "Get out."

"Out of where?"

"This room. Now, please."

"Are you seriously kicking me out of our room?"

"What part of 'get out' gave you the trouble?"

"The part where I actually get out!" he thundered.

"Go find a couch. Or the floor. Or go see if Allegra's lonely for all I care."

"Oh, that's very nice."

"You're not sleeping in this room tonight!" she yelled.

"Fine!" he shouted.

"Wonderful!"

"Pleasant dreams!" he said as he stalked out, slamming the door behind him. He stopped outside the closed door and stood there for a moment, gathering his composure. A nonstop grumble was running through his head: goddamned emotional paranoid reactionary can't believe she kicked me out god how embarrassing fucking allegra why'd she have to come here stupid fight I'm so bloody mad I could spit...

He heard a sound from inside the bedroom and leaned in to the door, pressing his ear to the wood. He sagged a little as he recognized the sound of Hermione crying. She was really letting loose with great, unrestrained sobs, the kind that fill a room and only show themselves in solitude. He felt the tug of sadness at his own heart, but he couldn't go back in. Not now.

Harry slunk down the hall and slipped into one of the spare bedrooms, of which there were almost a dozen just here on the third floor. The room was furnished but unoccupied; it had that staleness of air and vacancy of spirit that came with emptiness.

He stretched out on the bed without undressing, feeling alone and bereft. This room didn't smell like Hermione's lotion. This bed wasn't warmed by the nearness of her body. This air wasn't filled with the quiet sounds of her breathing as she slept.

And he knew that sleep would not come quickly to him, either. He was troubled, not only by the fight they'd just had, but by the truth behind many of Hermione's words.

What he hadn't been able to admit to her was that she was right. When he'd asked her to help Allegra, it had never crossed his mind that doing so might cause her any emotional difficulty. He'd seen the need for first aid, Hermione had been standing there, and she knew some rudimentary medical magic. Ergo, he'd asked her. He hadn't taken her feelings into consideration.

He still didn't think he was wrong. The need had existed, and he couldn't help but feel that Hermione had a tendency to overreact where Allegra was concerned. Can I blame her? he thought. What if it our places were reversed? How would I feel?

Suppose someone Hermione had been with in the past...Abel Kilroy, just for the sake of example...had turned out to be evil. He was responsible for hundreds of deaths. He had tried to kill Hermione herself, and him as well. Then he'd shown up beaten and bloody with no explanation. How would he feel if Hermione had immediately carried him to safety and asked him to tend to Abel's wounds?

He sighed. I'd be furious. All he'd been thinking about when Allegra had arrived had been the potential tactical advantage. His mind had immediately leapt ahead to her possible defection and all the good that could come of it. He'd just wanted her to be taken care of, and for her presence here to be kept quiet. Why hadn't he called Sukesh? He could trust Sukesh. Why had he turned at once to Hermione?

Because he trusted her implicitly, and he knew he could count on her. And she had come through for him, just as always.

But he realized with a jolt that in that moment, he'd been thinking of Hermione as if she were still just his reliable best friend. Someone to turn to in a moment of crisis because you knew she'd have the answer. He'd fallen back on her expertise, and used it without a thought to what it might cost her emotionally.

That was why she was upset, more than anything else. Because he'd completely forgotten that she wasn't only his best friend anymore. She was his wife, and it was his responsibility to consider her feelings, or at least to acknowledge that they existed. All he would have had to say was, "I know this is hard for you, but..."

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt.

At first, he intended to honor her request and stay away from the Cloister for the night, but as he lay there staring at the ceiling and sleep remained only a dim idea on the horizon, his resolve weakened. After an hour or so he finally got up and trooped back across to their bedroom.

He eased the door open and slipped inside, trying to be quiet. Hermione was curled on her side, hugging a pillow. She appeared to be asleep. He quickly changed into his pajama bottoms and slid between the sheets, hoping not to wake her. No such luck.

She stirred, then froze. "I thought I asked you to leave," she whispered.

He leaned over her, being careful to respect her personal space at this delicate moment. "If we're going to fight about Allegra, fine. We'll fight. But I'm not going to let her come between us." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't think about how you might feel when I asked you to help her. I was only thinking about the implications, about what it could mean."

Her face relaxed just a little. "You had a lot on your mind."

"You should have been on my mind...more than you were, anyway."

"You reacted like a commander, Harry. As you should." She quirked one eyebrow. "But that doesn't get you off the hook with me, you know."

He ventured a hesitant smile. "I know."

She started to smile back but it stalled out and melted away. "She's...here. In our house. Sleeping downstairs." She turned her face towards the window. "I can't stop thinking about it."

He ran one hand up and down her arm, feeling the goosebumps rising there. "Can I help take your mind off it?"

She sighed. "I don't think so. I'm not feeling terribly intimate. And...I'm still rather hacked off at you, come to think of it." Her tone bore no recriminations. It was a fact, and she wasn't laying the blame at his doorstep.

"Okay. I can deal with that." He lay down and looked up at the stars through the glass ceiling. "Do you think you'll have forgiven me by morning?"

"Maybe," she said, but he thought he heard a smile in her voice. She turned onto her back, drawing the covers up over her chest. "Harry?"

"Mmm?"

"Even though I'm mad at you...you know I still love you, right?"

He smiled. "I know."

"Good." She turned back to her side and snuggled into her pillows. A few minutes later Harry could hear her breathing smooth into the long, even breaths of sleep.

It was still dark when Hermione woke up; the bed felt empty and cold. She turned over to find that she was alone in it. She sat up, blinking into the dimness of their bedroom. "Harry?" She didn't see him anywhere. The bathroom was dark and empty...where could he be?

She got out of bed and went to the window, thinking that perhaps he'd gone outside for a walk. Sure enough, she saw the dark huddled shape of him sitting on the upper deck of the gazebo, his form silvery in the moonlight. She put on her bathrobe, stepped into a pair of squashy loafers and headed outside, ignoring the chill in the February air.

His back was towards the house, so he did not see her coming, but he must have heard her footsteps on the stairs. He turned as she approached him. She saw that Lily was sitting on his lap, her eyes closed in bliss as Harry scratched between her ears. "Hi," he said quietly.

Hermione sat down next to him. "Hi." She reached over and rubbed Lily's soft belly. "Would you two like to be alone?" He didn't smile or react. Hermione sighed. "Harry, what are you doing out here at three o'clock in the morning?"

He stared out at the lawn, his fingers continuing to scratch Lily's furry head. "I just needed some air."

"Bad thoughts? Or bad dream?"

He glanced at her. "It was more than a dream. I was there again. On the front lawn, right after the explosion. I saw it, I felt it like it was happening again." He paused. "It took some time for me to really remember what happened, but now that I do...I wish I could forget." He looked down at Lily, who raised her head and licked his chin. "I remember your blood was all over me. I saw it on my hands and on my clothes and on the ground and all I could think was that this was one part of you I wasn't supposed to touch, that I never wanted to touch. It was supposed to stay inside you, it wasn't supposed to spill out and get cold and dead because it wasn't in your body anymore." Hermione watched his profile, not wanting to interrupt him. "I could see where the spike came out of your stomach. When I held you...I could feel it going through you. I was so...so...offended." She frowned. "I know that's an odd word for it, but it fits. I was offended that something so precious to me had been profaned like that. There was this... thing...sticking through your body and I couldn't make it right."

She scooted closer to him so she could rest her head on his shoulder. "You did make it right."

"No, I didn't. Sukesh and the other doctors saved your life. All I did was fix the house."

Hermione linked her arm through his. "Did you ever think that maybe it was the thought of you that got me through that? I knew that I couldn't give up, because you need me. I had to live through it, because I couldn't leave you. I had to see you again."

He looked down at her. "That's nice of you to say. But you weren't conscious when they were working on you. You couldn't possibly have used that for motivation."

She smiled. "So what makes you think my unconscious mind doesn't love you, too?"

Harry sighed. "You've just got an answer for everything, don't you?"

"Well, I am Hermione Granger, insufferable know-it-all."

"Yes, you are." He pressed his lips to the top of her head.

Hermione squeezed his arm, her earlier fury with him feeling very far away. "Let's go back to bed, Harry. It's cold."

"I'm sorry to have dragged you out here. You must be tired."

"I'm not so very tired," she said, hoping she sounded flirty enough so he couldn't miss her meaning.

He didn't. "Ahhh. I guess you must have forgiven me then?"

She lifted her head and rubbed her nose against his. "Well, I'm not so sure. But you're just too cute to stay mad at for long."

When Allegra came awake, she was instantly awake. For years, she had cultivated the ability to make the transition from deeply asleep to full, battle-ready wakefulness in less than a second. It had saved her ass on more than one occasion.

At the moment, however, there was no threat to be repelled, no battle to be waged. She was safe in a bed in a guest room at Harry's house, where no harm could come to her. She tried and failed to remember the last time she'd been in a place where no harm could come to her.

Then again, perhaps she was overestimating her own security. Hermione had threatened to tear her limb from limb if she made any sudden moves towards her man. Under normal circumstances, Allegra would not have found Hermione to be a credible threat, but she was hardly one hundred percent at the moment. More disturbing was the fact that the more she interacted with her, the more Hermione began to seem like a credible threat.

Whatever her status as a foe, Hermione was certainly a top-notch medic. Allegra felt bruised and squashy, but mostly okay. She sat up as an experiment. Her head swam for a moment, but soon steadied itself. She pushed away thoughts of her experiences the night before...they were just too disturbing...and thought instead about her current situation. Harry had taken her in. She'd scarcely dared to hope that he would. When she'd asked Lynch to bring her here, it had been a half-hearted last-resort kind of request. At the very least, she could trust Harry not to kill her in cold blood. He just wasn't that kind of man.

She felt restless and out of her element. She didn't have the lay of the land in her head, and that always made her uneasy. She felt like exploring the house, but she knew Napoleon was sitting outside the door, she'd seen him there the night before when Hermione left her. Maybe she'd be lucky and he'd be napping. She laid her hand on the door. "Claritis permanente," she murmured, and the area around her hand became transparent to her eyes. Sadly he was not napping; he was reading a book. He was quite alert and displayed no signs of being on the verge of nodding off. Blast the man. Why couldn't he fall asleep on the job like any respectable overnight watchman? But no, he had to go be all dependable.

This was hardly an insurmountable obstacle. She was well aware that Bailicroft was protected by a variety of wards and anti-Apparition charms that would have contained just about anyone else, but she had spent most of her adult life cultivating the ability to overcome such difficulties. She stood up and gathered her wits, then Apparated outside to the yard. She looked up at its stone façade. It really was a handsome structure. She set off to walk the perimeter of the building, just to familiarize herself with its size and shape.

The night air was chilly, but not uncomfortably cold. Nighttime dampness lay upon her skin like the sweat of a ghost as she walked through the lawn on the east side of the house. The windows looked in on darkened rooms and corridors. She saw a light in a window above her head. Someone was up reading, perhaps.

As she came around the backside of the house she saw the north tower rising up behind, topped in that improbable glass-and-ironwork dome. That was his room. The room he shared with her. She had trouble thinking of Hermione as Harry's wife, even though she'd sat there with several hundred other people and watched as she was declared to be so.

She stood there at the base of the tower, the inevitable thought creeping into her mind. Just one peek, she told herself. It would be so easy.

Allegra had often given thanks to the Gods of Magic, whoever they might be, for her Animagus form. There was no better disguise, no more useful shape to take, than that which she now assumed. Her body contracted and lightened, her eyes growing luminous and golden as her skin and clothing melted and ruffled into the feathers of a large barn owl. She flapped once, relishing the power in her wings as always, and soared up to one of the windows that looked into the Cloister.

Sure, big thrill to watch them sleep, she chided herself. You raving ninny.

She lighted on the windowsill and looked in. Naturally, they weren't sleeping. That would have been just too easy.

Of course, they were having sex. Just her luck. Allegra stared, transfixed. Listen not at keyholes lest ye be vexed, she thought. Where had she heard that? It didn't matter. It was still good advice. Don't go looking in where you shouldn't. You'll regret it.

Hermione was on top. Big surprise. She was directly facing the window where Allegra perched; all she could see of Harry was the top of his head, but she had an excellent view of Hermione's naked torso rising off the bed. She had her head thrown back; Harry's elbows were braced on the mattress and his fingers laced through hers. She rocked against him with his arms for support, her hips moving in slow undulating motions over his. She released his hands and leaned forward over him; he reached up to fondle her breasts.

Hermione bent low to kiss him, then she raised her head and looked directly at the window, right into her eyes, it seemed. Allegra froze, nearly losing control of her shape for a moment; she held on to her presence of mind with difficulty. Oh God, she thought. She knows it's me. The thought seemed ridiculous, but was yet undeniable. How could Hermione know it was her? And yet, she was sure that she did. At the very least, she had to know that something wasn't right here. Barn owls just didn't sit on people's windowsills and watch them banging their husbands.

She waited for the scream, the scrabble for clothing, for the leap off the bed to grab the wand, for something. I ought to be going now, she thought, but she was rooted to the spot. She had to know what Hermione would do.

For a few endless beats Hermione just stared at her, evaluating the situation...and then, incredibly, she smiled. It wasn't a friendly, wholesome Hermione-smile. It was more the smile offered in mocking consolation to the huddled, defeated wreck of a loser by the smug and victorious champion.

Allegra knew that smile. She saw it in the mirror every day.

"What's wrong?" Harry was saying now. He'd noticed her sudden distraction.

Hermione looked down at him, then caressed his cheek. "Nothing, baby," she murmured, and bent to kiss him again, resuming where she'd left off...but as she ravaged his mouth her eyes cut upwards again to the window. Eat your heart out, that look said. You wanna watch? Take a good look. No, really. Take a big, steamy gawk.

Allegra had seen enough. She took wing and fled, Apparating back into her room before she'd even reached the ground, reappearing in human form.

She sat down on the bed, shaking. Suddenly Hermione's promise to kill her if she dared hurt Harry seemed like the most credible threat she'd ever received.

Napoleon was not asleep when Hermione came to the guest room, much to her relief. "Long night?" she said, handing him a cup of coffee.

He put down his book. "Not a peep from HRH, the Duchess of Skankonia," he said, jerking his head towards the door.

"Is that so?" she said, contemplating the door. She was quite sure that Allegra had been spying on them last night, in the form of a large barn owl she'd seen outside the window. This room was secured, but she would not be surprised to learn that their wards could not hold her. She'd demonstrated her disdain for protective wards a number of times in the past. "Well, I'll take over. Harry wants me to see how she is physically, and then bring her to the library. Time for show-and-tell."

"Do I have time to grab some breakfast?"

"Sure. George made waffles." Napoleon left her alone and sprinted off.

Hermione walked into the guest room without knocking. Allegra was sitting up, testing her broken arm. "This feels pretty good," she said, not meeting Hermione's eyes. "You're not half-bad as field medics go."

"Gee, thanks. It warms my heart to know I've alleviated your suffering."

Allegra looked up at her. "It warms mine that you're not even bothering with that façade of do-goodliness you used to affect."

"I do plenty of goodliness. Why should there be a façade?" She leaned closer and peeled away a few of the bandages she'd left on Allegra's face. There were scabs and lingering bruises, but the worst appeared to be healed. "You feeling all right?"

"Mighty fine."

"Any dizziness? Double vision? Itching sensations in your extremities?"

"No, no, and no."

"Did you get a good look last night?" Hermione didn't alter her tone a bit, asking this last question in the same conversational voice she'd been using. She'd surprised herself with her reaction to Allegra's spying. Instead of being horrified or embarrassed, she'd felt...empowered. She was in bed with Harry and she had his full and undivided attention, not to mention his body, his love, and his ring on her finger, while Allegra lurked outside the window in the cold night like some kind of wraith peering in on lives that it could never join. After all Harry's reassurances, after all the times they'd argued over her lingering sense of inadequacy and jealousy of Allegra, it had taken this voyeuristic incident to irrevocably drive home the fact of her life's infinite superiority over Allegra's sad existence.

Allegra glanced at her. "How did you know it was me?"

"Who else? Besides, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist." Allegra said nothing. Hermione smiled. "I'm glad you're not going to insult my intelligence by denying it."

"Like you didn't get off on flaunting it in my face."

"Which I could not have done if you hadn't stuck your face right there in our window." Hermione shook her head. "You are a pathetic excuse for an evil seductress, you know that? Peering in at us like a kid pining for the racing broom in the window. It's beneath you."

Allegra sighed. "Yeah, I know. I don't know what possessed me to look."

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe you just had to see for yourself."

"See what for myself?"

Hermione pulled back and met her eyes. "That it's way better for him with me than it ever was with you."

Allegra sagged. "That was a low blow."

"This, coming from you."

"Yes. Feel free to give a hollow laugh." She sighed. "Though I'm sure you're right. Supposedly it's better when you're in love."

"Supposedly?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never been in love."

"You know, I doubt that." She grasped Allegra's arm. "Stand up." Allegra hauled herself to her feet. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah. Just don't ask me to run a 10K."

"We're only going as far as the library."

"Time for story hour?"

"In a way. But you're telling the story."

As he stood in the library with Sirius, Remus and Diz, waiting for Hermione to bring Allegra in, Harry wondered if he was really ready for this. Was he ready to hear what she had to say? Whatever it was, it meant that he'd have to take some kind of action. Part of him still wished that the responsibility was not his. Someone else's - anyone else's. Why was it always him? It wasn't fair.

That question was in his mind again, that same question that he asked himself every time something new and horrible reared its ugly head: am I good enough? Am I strong enough? He never felt that the answer to either question was yes, but that did not stop the rest of the world from looking to him and expecting him to step up.

He glanced up at the worktable where Ron was sitting with his files, watching him like he knew the thoughts that were going through Harry's mind. He smiled, dropping a quick wink as the door opened.

Hermione and Allegra came in, the latter sporting an impressive array of bruises but looking functional. Napoleon was following close behind them, munching on a waffle. Hermione gave Harry a warm smile as she shut the door behind her, and he felt a little better. Allegra took a chair at the other table while Hermione went to stand at Ron's shoulder.

Harry let himself look at the pair of them for a moment, and he felt better. They would make him good enough, and they would make him strong enough. Just as always.

"Well, the gang's all here, I see," Allegra said, looking around. Her eyes lighted on Ron and she grinned. Ron shifted in his seat, but met her gaze without flinching.

"Do you know everyone?" Harry said quietly.

"I know Lupin, and the illustrious Deputy, and Jones, of course...who are you?" she said, pointing to Diz.

"Taylor. I'm CCO."

"Ah. Whose girlfriend are you? Must be Remus'. Sirius and Harry are both married. Jones doesn't seem your type." She smiled at the disgruntled expression on Remus' face. "I see I'm correct."

"What business is it of yours?" he snapped.

"None whatsoever. I fear I am a gossip at heart. I enjoy being up to date on who's banging who around here."

"You've been here ten seconds and we're already off the subject," Harry said.

"Yeah, I'm a rebel and I'll never ever be any good."

Harry sat down next to Ron, facing Allegra. "So. Where to begin?"

She shrugged. "My story begins when the Master had me hauled out of bed, dragged out into the middle of the woods and beaten senseless. And there, my story ends."

"How'd you end up here?" Napoleon asked.

"My second, Lynch...former second, I should say. He's been playing the good little stooge to the Master, but he's stayed loyal to me. He showed up after the goons left. Good thing, or I'd have died there. I asked him to bring me here." She sighed. "What was I thinking?"

Harry exchanged a worried glance with Lupin. "You're telling me that the goons just beat you up and left you for dead?"

"Yeah. What?" she said, her brow crinkling at Harry's troubled expression.

Harry shook his head. "Have you gotten so rusty you can't see it?"

"See what?" she demanded.

"If the Master wanted you dead, you'd be dead. They would not have left you even marginally alive. They would have stabbed you or shot you or he would have just disposed of you himself. If you're alive it's because he wanted you that way. And you've probably signed your second's death warrant. The Master would have wanted to see if anyone would help you...and where they'd take you."

Allegra's face didn't change. "He might have his own reasons for wanting me alive," she said, meeting Harry's eyes.

"If you think he'd spare you because of who you are to him, you're crazy. No. You know what I think? I think he knew you'd come to me. I think he wanted you right here with us. I think he wants you to tell us what he's up to. I don't think he's nervous at all that you might give away his little secrets, because he thinks I can't challenge him no matter how much inside information I get my hands on. I think he's so arrogant that he'd throw you away like a piece of garbage and let you spill your guts to me just to prove that he could beat the pants off me even if I knew exactly what he was planning. He's laughing at me, and he's using you to make his point." Harry stood up, overcome by the odd sensation that he could feel the Master's emotions, that he could sense his thoughts just as clearly as if he had a whispering grapevine inside the Master's skull. Was it a genetic thing? Was there some father/son connection that made him instantly comprehend the Master's every thought process? "He has to prove how inferior I am. So he's going to give me every bit of help he possibly can. Then when he ends up triumphant, it'll be because he's just that much cooler."

Allegra was staring at her hands. "That sounds like him, all right."

"So spill. Tell us everything. Don't hold anything back."

"How much do you know?"

"Why should we tell you a damned thing?" Napoleon said, standing. "So you can run back to the Master and repeat all of it?"

Allegra looked at Napoleon as if he were the stupidest person on earth. "So you think I arranged my own near-fatal beating and had myself delivered here just so I could go back to the man who almost killed me and betray you?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past you."

"It doesn't matter, Napoleon," Harry said. "I share your distrust," he said, eyeing Allegra, "but there's very little that we know that would come as a surprise to the Master."

"Look," Allegra said. "I'll gladly undergo a Veritaserum examination. I'm not surprised that you chaps aren't ready to trust me - it's rather reassuring, actually - but I'm not playing games, here. I planned to propose an alliance with you even before the Master had me dragged out back and thrashed."

"Should we take your word on that?" Hermione said.

"We don't have to." Remus produced a vial of Veritaserum. "I brought this with me, just in case." All eyes shifted to Hermione. As the only agent from Surveillance and Information Retrieval in the room, she was the only one cleared for off-site Veritaserum administration. If Allegra were to be questioned, it'd be up to her to conduct the session.

"Hermione?" Harry said. "Could you?"

She sighed. "Of course." She took the vial. "I need to make some preparations. Please bring her to the guest bedroom in a few minutes." She turned and left, her manner all business.

Allegra put her hands on her hips. "Are you satisfied now, Paranoia Boy?" she said to Napoleon.

"A degree of paranoia is healthy in our business."

Veritaserum did not produce any visible effects. It didn't make the subject go into a trance or blurt things out unprovoked. Therefore, the wizards who'd designed it had also designed a talisman that reflected whether or not the potion had taken affect. Different people had varying tolerances for the potion; some required a stronger dosage.

It took three times the normal dosage for the silver crystal hanging around Allegra's neck to turn blue, indicating that the potion had control of her.

Hermione wasted no time. She was excruciatingly uncomfortable in this situation, mostly because it presented her with a nearly-irresistible opportunity to get some questions of her own answered - questions that had no bearing on the task at hand and no place in this interrogation. Yet the temptation was there, and she just wanted to get this over with before she lost her resolve.

"Your full name."

Allegra seemed distressed by this question, the reason for which became clear when she answered. "Agatha Allegra Blackburn-Dwyer."

Hermione smiled. "Agatha?"

"After my great-grandmother. I hope it's obvious why I use my middle name."

Hermione resisted the urge to needle her. "Your age."

Again, distress at this seemingly simple question. "Thirty-six."

"What happened to you last night?"

"I was taken from my room by four men. They tied me, threw me in the trunk of a car and drove for about an hour. When we stopped, we were in a wooded area. They beat me and left me there. A few minutes later, Lynch arrived. He asked what I wanted him to do. I asked him to bring me here and leave me at the door."

"Why did you ask to be brought here?"

"I knew Harry would take care of me."

"Why did you think that?"

"Because that's what he does. And because I have valuable information that he needs."

"Such as?"

"What the Master's planning, among other things."

"Do you plan to return to the Master?"

"Not as an ally."

"Is your proposed alliance with us genuine?"

"Yes."

"If trusted with sensitive information, will you relay it to the Master?"

"No."

"Do you plan to betray us to the Master?"

"No."

"What are your intentions?"

"To assist Harry in defeating the Master."

Hermione thought for a moment. She only had a few more minutes on this dosage; if she wanted more time, someone would have to go back to the ID and have more potion brewed. There wasn't time. She felt her resolve crumbling.

Oh, hell. "Are you in love with my husband?"

Allegra looked pained, but she held Hermione's gaze. "Yes."

She didn't want to ask the next question, but it tumbled from her lips before she could stop it. "Is all this an attempt to win him back?"

Allegra's lip was now curling in a sneer. "No. I know when I've been bested."

As Hermione opened her mouth again, unsure what would emerge, the crystal around Allegra's neck went from blue to its original silver. Allegra jumped up and tore it from her neck, throwing it at Hermione. She stood over her, eyes blazing.

"I've spent the last two months being raped by my own son. Was it necessary for you to do the same to my brain?" She tried to leave the room but the door was locked. Hermione rose and opened it with her wand. Allegra tried to stalk out, but Hermione held her back, not quite believing what she was about to do.

"I'm sorry," she said, forcing the words out. "That last bit...was over the line."

Allegra glared at her. "Not to mention pointless." She looked away. "As if you didn't already know," she hissed through clenched teeth.

Hermione and Allegra returned shortly, the Veritaserum examination concluded. To his surprise, Allegra looked furious, and Hermione looked - ashamed. Harry suppressed his curiosity and kept his focus on the task at hand. "Well?" Allegra took her chair again, but Hermione stayed standing by the doorway.

"She's okay," Hermione said. "As far as I can tell. But I would still advise caution."

Harry nodded, relieved. "Where were we, then?"

"You were about to tell me what you already know," Allegra said.

Harry looked to Ron, who stood up and came to the fireplace, looking a bit like a student who's been called to the chalkboard to work out a difficult math problem before the class. "Well, we know that the Master kidnapped over two hundred witches and wizards. We know that they constitute some kind of set, a complete or nearly-complete representation of the sum of wizarding knowledge, which the Master somehow hopes to access. We know he's probably still missing a few, but we have no way to know how many or who they might be."

Allegra looked stunned. "You figured all that out?"

"Ron did," Harry said, nodding at his friend. "Pity you never took the time to get to know him while you were gloating over him, you might have realized what a valuable asset you were handing us when you let us break him out."

She shook her head. "If I'd had my way he'd still be in that flat. I was not consulted on that particular decision, nor many others." Allegra stood up, apparently just to stretch her legs. She took a few steps in one direction, then stopped and took a few more in a different one. Every eye in the room followed her. Finally she ran one hand through her hair and faced Harry, her hands on her hips. "I don't claim to be an expert on all the Master's secret plans. It's not like I've been enjoying his deepest confidence these past weeks. But I've been part of his machinations for many, many years. I know this much: he's been planning this for decades, Harry. Decades. And I know that his collection is complete, save one person."

Harry took a breath. "Me?"

Allegra grinned. "Just when I think your ego can't get any larger, you manage to surprise me again with its sheer enormity. No, Mr. It's-All-About-Me, it isn't you. He doesn't need a Mage, he is one."

"Who then?" Ron said.

She took a breath, hesitating. Harry watched her face. "I'm surprised you didn't figure it, being the great brain that you suddenly are," she said to Ron, who didn't take the bait. "If he's got one of every kind of wizard, surely he needs to add to that collection the only wizard who possesses truly unique knowledge."

Ron shut his eyes. "Oh. The Chancellor." He said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe, and his only reaction was dismay that he hadn't thought of it sooner.

"Correct."

Harry felt like he was expected to be shocked and stunned, but he was only confused. "He already has a Deputy Chancellor. What else does he need to know?"

"I can't tell you what it is about the Chancellor that'll complete his grand quest, because I don't know. No one knows much about him, do they?"

All eyes swiveled over to Sirius, who was studiously looking away. "Sirius? Do you have anything to add to this conversation?" Harry said, swallowing annoyance. He knew that Sirius was probably prohibited from telling them what he knew of the Chancellor, if anything, but that didn't mean he couldn't resent his mere possession of this knowledge.

Sirius sighed. "Actually, I don't. I know none of you will believe me when I say this, but there are things about the Chancellor that even I do not know. The nature of the job means that there are things that the Chancellor keeps to himself. I honestly do not know what knowledge he would be able to provide that a deputy would not also possess."

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face. "It's moot if we can spring the rest of the hostages. Whatever spell he's going to use to access all this knowledge, he's only going to want to do it once. Where's he holding them? How hard will it be to get to them?" Allegra just stood there, her arms crossed, looking uncomfortable. "You don't know, do you?"

She shook her head. "No. I know that my network is full of empty flats like Ron's. Over the last few years he's been moving the hostages...he calls them the Subjects...to some undisclosed location. I know that they're not in any of the Circle's facilities. I've tried now and again to find out where they are, either by snooping around or by magical means, but he's slicker than I am." She snorted. "Big shocker, I know."

"He's got to have them magically concealed somewhere," Ron said.

"That's a lot of people to conceal."

"Don't underestimate the extent of his powers," Allegra said. "I've never seen anything like what he can do. It isn't just anyone that can make me...well, that can do to me what he's done to me."

"Will he be able to get to the Chancellor?" Sirius said. "The most heavily guarded person on the planet?"

Allegra met his eyes. "Depend on it. If he wants it, he'll have it. It's only a matter of time."

Hermione stepped forward, looking concerned. "Has the Chancellor's identity been breached? Does the Master actually know who he is?"

Allegra shook her head. "No. Not yet. But I've heard him brag that soon his 'father' is going to reveal that little tidbit to him."

"You mean Seth."

"I guess. I try not to get too involved with his creepy Eternal patrons. For all I know, he's had the name for months and is just biding his time. That, too, would be just like him."

Harry turned to Ron, relieved that the beginnings of a plan were forming in his head. He'd been rather afraid that after hearing Allegra's revelations, his brain would remain blank as a new roll of parchment. "I think I have a new research project for you," he said.

"What?"

"The Master wants the Chancellor. I'd even venture a guess that he wants the Chancellor more than he wants all the others put together."

"What makes you say that?" Napoleon said, frowning.

"Think about it. He's waited until he has absolutely everyone else he needs. He's saved the Chancellor for last, probably because he'd be the most difficult to acquire. Those other hostages represent a sizable time investment and a great repository of wizarding knowledge, but wouldn't you say they serve another good purpose?"

Diz sighed. "They'd make a hell of a bargaining chip."

"Exactly. It wouldn't be too smart to try and take the Chancellor by force. I have no idea what kind of security surrounds him, but it has to be powerful enough to make even the Master consider other options. It'd be far easier to try and make a trade. So if he's willing to give up all his other hostages to get the Chancellor, what kind of knowledge will that get him? There's got to be something more we can learn about the Chancellor, more than the deputies know, more than anyone knows. Ron, there always seem to be ancient texts and forgotten legends and hints in dusty old books. Surely you can..."

"I'm on it," Ron said, looking pleased to have another project.

"Harry, shouldn't I...I mean, research, it's kind of my..." Hermione was stammering and seemed flustered.

"I know, but I'm going to need you with us," Harry said. "You're good at research, but you have a lot of other skills. Whereas Ron..." He realized what he was about to imply. "Uh...Ron, he, uh..." So smooth, Potter. You're so smooth.

"Research is all I'm good for," Ron said, smirking.

Harry flushed. "That's not what I was going to say." Even though it was, essentially

"Maybe not, but that's what you meant. It's okay, I like it. Consider it done." He started for the door, then hesitated and turned back, casting his eyes towards the ceiling. "I don't suppose there's anyone here who might have some guidance or suggestions they might like to offer me?" he said, to no one in particular.

Sirius took the hint. He smiled and joined Ron in the doorway. "I think I know where we can start."

"This isn't some kind of conflict of interests?" Ron said.

"Nothing in my job description forbids me from studying the history of my boss's position. As long as we preserve his anonymity, I can't imagine he'd object to us taking actions to protect his interests."

Hermione snorted derisively, looking impatient with the entire topic. "That would be awfully tiresome of him, wouldn't it?"

Sirius quirked an eyebrow at her. "I'm sure the Chancellor would go to great lengths to avoid incurring your wrath, Hermione."

She sniffed. "As well he should."

Harry's mind was already running ahead to the next topic. He flapped a hand at Ron and Sirius. "Off you go, then. Come back when you've got something amazing to share." They left without another word. Harry paced back and forth before the fireplace for a few moments.

"Harry, you're going to wear a track in the rug," Hermione said, gently.

"You'd pace too if you had to face some uber-Mage bent on world domination," he said. "And if I know what's good for me I'd better start thinking about how I'm going to prepare."

"How's your Mage training?" Allegra asked.

Harry knew it was a legitimate question for her to ask given the circumstances, but revealing the exact degree to which he was still vulnerable made him very uncomfortable. "It's going well, but surely I can't be anywhere near his level. He's been living it since he was born, he was brought up in it. It's natural to him. Me...bringing out those Mage powers still feels kind of like wearing a suit that's three sizes too big. They don't fit, I get lost inside them and I keep tripping over myself."

"They you'd better get a new tailor," she said. "Those powers need to start fitting you if you're going to face him."

"Why does he always have to be the one facing stuff?" Napoleon said. "The rest of us aren't babes in the woods, you know."

"No, but you're not Mages, either," Allegra said. "If Harry is outmatched here, then the rest of you are a hundred times more so."

Hermione came forward and leaned against the edge of the conference table. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I've got to start training. A lot, and every day. We don't have much time. Who knows when the Master will make his move? It could happen tomorrow or a year from now. But in the meantime we've got things to do. Ron and Sirius have their research. We've got to start designing some kind of strategy...Ali, maybe you can help us with that." He heard himself use his old nickname for her before he realized he'd done it. He glanced at Hermione, who was displaying no visible reaction - which did not mean, of course, that no reaction existed.

Allegra nodded. "I'll try."

"Good. The rest of you stay here with her. Discuss options."

"Where are you going?" Napoleon asked.

"I'm going to the Society, of course."

With Harry's departure, the others were left to just stare at each other in an embarrassed silence.

"I don't even know where to start," Remus finally said.

"Perhaps we ought to agree on some agendas and goals," Hermione suggested.

"Oh, I have a goal," Allegra said. "Our goal ought to be to kill the Master. Then kill him again. Then we should kill him again just to make sure. Then we should dismember him. Then we should burn the pieces. Then we should bake the ashes into dog biscuits and feed them to starved hyenas."

"Uh-huh," Remus said. "Well, something tells me we might not all be on the same page here."

Napoleon regarded Allegra thoughtfully. "Why starved hyenas? What's wrong with ordinary, well-nourished hyenas?"

Everyone ignored him. "Clearly, stopping him is our top priority," Diz said. "I don't know about the dismemberment part."

"I disagree," Remus said. "Our top priority should be to locate and free the hostages. That'll accomplish the whole 'stopping him' part by default. He can't acquire a world's worth of knowledge if we've got all his sources. It'll also negate any advantage he's hoping to gain by using them as a threat to get the Chancellor to bow to his demands."

"Okay," Hermione said, holding out her hands to slow everything down. "So how do we locate the hostages? Somebody's got to know where they are besides him."

"Don't count on it," Allegra said. "He takes paranoia to levels previously unknown to science."

"Someone has to be guarding them."

"Not necessarily. He has the means to guard them magically."

"Well, he must go there himself to check on them. Considering the investment they represent, surely he just didn't stick them somewhere and then never give it a second thought."

Allegra was shaking her head again. "You are all being far too logical. You're thinking like goddamned intelligence agents."

Remus and Diz exchanged a glance. "I'm afraid that's the only way we know how to think."

"That is achingly clear. Listen to me. There's no list you can steal, no witnesses you can Veritaserum, no company of guards you can infiltrate by Polyjuicing yourself. He does not surround himself with evidence of his activities, or with people in a position to jeopardize them. This man is not some bonehead dark wizard leaving you a trail of breadcrumbs to follow to his secret lair. You can't take his secrets from him. You can't figure out where those people are." She sighed. "You're going to have to make him show you."

"And how do we do that, exactly?"

Napoleon rubbed his chin. Hermione could almost see the scenarios popping into his head and being discarded or set aside for further consideration. "We need to listen to him when he doesn't know we can hear, and watch him when he thinks we can't see."

"That means bugging the Circle headquarters," Hermione said, the prospect making her heart sink.

"That won't be easy. And even if we pull it off, it's still a long shot," Allegra said. "He doesn't give away much."

"He hasn't left us with many short shots," Remus said.

"We'll have to start with some surveillance. Small team, to reconnoiter the defenses and see how we can get in without being observed. I assume you can help us with that," Diz said, looking at Allegra.

She shrugged. "I'll do what I can. No building is impregnable, but given that I'm persona non grata there these days, he may have changed things around to make my assistance useless."

"That's why we need some surveillance. Let's get started on a rough floor plan," Hermione said, going to the worktable. She returned with a large sheet of parchment and parked herself down with it. "How large is the building?"

Ron hadn't known what to expect, doing research with Sirius. Would they find themselves in dusty, moldering rooms full of forgotten texts? A secure, high-tech, magically shielded chamber from which no secret could escape? The reality turned out to be neither of these scenarios, but only Sirius' rather ordinary office.

Sirius himself had been gone for about two hours, saying that he was going to go secure some document or another that Ron ought to see, leaving Ron alone with several stacks of old books, the provenance of which was unclear. He'd given Ron a few talismans to help him search the text, and so far the results had been simultaneously frustrating and illuminating. He'd learned a great deal about the extensive web of spells, charms and incantations surrounding the Chancellor's position, but not much about the position itself.

He was trying to stay focused, but it had been a long day and he kept thinking about Laura. Right now, she was probably sitting up in their bed (it gave him a happy little shiver to think of it as their bed), reading and having a cup of cocoa. Was she wondering where he was? Did she miss him, and wish that he'd come home? He wanted nothing more than to do so, but the minutes were slipping past him with alarming rapidity.

"Out woolgathering?" Sirius' voice jerked him back to reality.

"Oh, no...I was just, uh..." He sighed. "I was thinking about Laura."

Sirius smiled and set down the ornate leather folder he was carrying. "Ah, that flush of new romance. Enjoy it while it lasts, before your children beat every last passionate impulse out of you."

"They do?"

"They do their best to."

Ron cocked his head, watching Sirius' expression. He'd only met Mrs. Black and the kids once, at his welcome-home party. "Where did you and Cordelia meet?" he asked, suddenly curious.

"At a coffee shop. I was the night manager."

Ron blinked. "You were the night manager at a coffee shop? How long ago was this?"

Sirius looked off into the middle distance. "Uh...eight years? That's about right."

"And now you're Deputy Chancellor of the Federation."

"Quite."

"I believe that's what they call a 'meteoric rise.'"

"Well, I have Harry to thank for that. Among others. But I'm glad to have worked in the food service industry, if for no other reason than it brought her into my life."

Ron shook his head. "It's just amazing to me that everyone went and got themselves lives while I was away."

"You're catching up admirably well. You've gotten yourself a home and a girlfriend...and, it appears, a job as well."

"This is not a job. I have no intention of enrolling in Spy University, I'm just helping Harry."

"And when are you going to tell him why you don't want to resume your magical training?" Sirius said.

Ron looked up, surprised, to find Sirius watching him with one eyebrow cocked. He cleared his throat and picked up the leather folder Sirius had brought. "What's this, then?"

"It's the Acts of Federacy. It's our constitution, you might say. Written sixteen hundred years ago."

Ron reached out and took the folder, awestruck by the tangible history he held in his hands. "Wow. I've never even seen a copy."

"Few have. The actions of the Federation are so removed from most people's daily lives that they don't really teach this in the schools." Ron was already reading. "The Chancellor's duties and responsibilities are outlined in Article VII." Ron glanced up at him, then skipped to the relevant section. He read it - it was surprisingly short - then looked up at Sirius, frowning.

"This can't be right."

"I assure you, it is."

"There has to be more to it."

"There isn't, actually. It's a common misconception that we don't bother to correct. The perception, although erroneous, is more useful."

"I can see that. But this makes the Master's interest in the Chancellor even harder to understand! Why does he care? There has to be something else."

"If there is, I'm not aware of it. Then again, I've hardly studied the history of the position in depth."

Ron stood up and grabbed a very old book, opening it to a page he'd marked. He turned it around and showed it to Sirius, pointing to a symbol buried within the lines of text. "Do you recognize this symbol?"

Sirius frowned. "No. What is it?"

"I don't know. It looks like a star, or maybe a pentagram...but see how three of the points are elongated? I've never seen it before. It's mentioned here in the context of a secret ceremony that isn't named or described. By the text, I suspect that this symbol represents an object of some kind. It's referred to by a word I can't translate. It has a prefix that's used to connote the number three, as we use 'tri' in English, but..." He shook his head. "This seems important, but I haven't seen it mentioned or used again in any of these other books. It's like it's been forgotten, or deliberately obscured. I need to go back further."

"I've exhausted my resources here." Sirius watched Ron's face as he flipped through another book. "You have a theory already, don't you?"

Ron glanced up briefly. "I have a theory of a theory. I need more information, older information. There's got to be someone who can help me with that."

Sirius nodded. "There might be. But not tonight. You need to get some rest. Do you have everything you need from these volumes?"

"Yeah, I've got a lot of notes and transcriptions to keep me busy."

"Then I'm taking you home. Tomorrow, I'll take you to the ID. It's time you met the Librarian."

"How are the sight lines in this office?" Hermione asked. She was focusing all her concentration on the task at hand to avoid thinking about the fact that she and Allegra were alone in the library. Diz had gone to see the I.D. Potions Master, Remus had gone to Tactical Magics, and Napoleon had stepped out on unspecified "business," leaving them here to continue working on a surveillance and infiltration strategy.

"Bad," Allegra said, leaning forward over their hand-drawn floor plan. "There are views of the desk from this corridor and this doorway," she went on, pointing. "But this corner would be an excellent place to Apparate in."

"Except the entire building is protected against unauthorized Apparitions."

"So is this house, but as you're well aware I've taken a few outdoor jaunts. I can get us around the anti-Apparition wards."

They fell silent for a few moments as Hermione scrawled notes on the floor plan and wrote out bullet points in her notebook. Sensing herself observed, she looked up to find Allegra watching her, her chin propped on her hand. "Can I help you with something?" she said irritably, lowering her eyes to her work again.

Allegra sighed. "You know, when I got here last night, the thought occurred to me that if I was to be stuck hanging out with Team Goody-Goody, I might as well avail myself of the chance to have a few laughs at your expense."

"Is that so," Hermione said, hoping she sounded like she couldn't care less. Whether she did or not, Allegra continued.

"Yes, that's so. I thought I might needle you with lurid tales about exactly how long, hard and often Harry and I used to bang each other senseless, that kind of thing. Rub your face in the fact that I'd borne his child. I even wondered if I could get you to start doubting his fidelity. You know. Have a bit of fun with you."

Hermione looked up, nonplussed. "As naturally you would, because what's not fun about those things?" she said, hoping that her sarcasm masked her discomfort with the entire topic.

"Hell, it might have worked a year ago. Even six months." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You're not as insecure as you used to be, you know. I doubt I'd get much reaction with such tactics."

"Don't lose heart. I'm sure you'll think of new and better tactics any minute."

Allegra laughed. "That's the spirit! Oh my, that is rich."

Hermione fiddled with her quill, thinking. Oh hell, what difference does it make? she finally thought, and went ahead. "What was it like?" she asked.

"What was what like?"

"Being pregnant."

Allegra sobered. For a few long beats, she said nothing. "I loved it, actually," she finally said, quietly. "I felt empowered by it. At first I was horrified, of course. But as things progressed, I...I came to feel destined for it. For my child, that is." She looked away. "And look how proud he's making me now. If there was any destiny at work it was his, not mine. I was just a vessel for the Eternals to magically engineer their Messiah. It rather cheapens the entire experience, I don't mind telling you." She met Hermione's eyes. "It won't be like that for you, I'm sure."

Hermione jumped a bit, as if that hadn't been exactly what she'd been thinking, too. "What do you mean?"

"If you and Harry have children, it won't be like that. They'll be yours, and you will be the ones to guide them and teach them. That's what was taken from me, you know. Not just my son, but my chance to be a parent." She looked down at the table. "My only chance," she added, under her breath.

Harry returned to Bailicroft that evening in poor spirits. He'd spent eight hours with the Society, and while they'd seemed incredulous at the progress he made in just one day, to him it didn't feel like nearly enough. He had to be better, and fast. He knew he had to take some drastic steps if he was going to go up against the Master, and he had an idea about how he could take it to the next level. He'd try it tomorrow, but he had to do so on a good night's sleep.

He found his team in the library, bent over a large hand-drawn schematic. "Well?" he said without preamble. "Let's hear the plan."

Napoleon stood up. "Looks like we're gonna go old school on this one, boss. He ain't gonna give up where the hostages are, so we just want to bug the shit out of everything around him and hope to hear or see something that'll lead us to them. First step will have to be surveillance, to see how we're going to infiltrate Circle headquarters."

Harry sighed. "He'll have excellent anti-surveillance magics. We'll need the best, newest stuff we can get."

Remus nodded. "I've got Tactical Magics working up some new tech for us."

"It's old fashioned, but Polyjuice could be useful here."

Allegra shook her head. "No good. He has Polyjuice detection charms in every room."

"The ID Potions Master has been working on a new Polyjuice formulation that can fool detection charms," Diz said. "She's trying to get us some samples soon."

"When do you suggest we go on this road trip?"

"Three nights from now. It's a new moon and the ley lines will be at the lowest ebb in two weeks' time," Hermione said.

Harry nodded, relieved to have some course of action before them. This aspect of the operation could not be his chief concern. He had to concentrate on preparing himself. "I might not be joining you."

Everyone stopped and looked at him. "You're not coming?" Napoleon said.

"I've got to spend as much time with the Society as I can. I have to try and make these Mage powers usable if I'm going to have any chance at all against him."

"If we can free these hostages, you might not have to," Allegra said, her voice kinder than he'd heard it in a very long time. "You shouldn't face him unless it's absolutely necessary." Harry saw Hermione shoot an alarmed glance at Allegra, worrying, no doubt, that she might reveal the Master's parentage.

"Why not?" Napoleon said, indignant. "If there's down to be smacked, than it'll have to be Harry that delivers it! We can't let the Master slip away, he's too dangerous!"

"It's dangerous for Harry to face the Master," Allegra said. "For reasons that don't concern you."

"Don't concern me?" Napoleon turned to Harry. "What the fuck is she talking about?"

Harry held up his hand. "Not now, Jones. And I am going to have to face him, Ali. If not now, then soon. Someday. I can't escape it. As usual, it's my sodding destiny."

"There's no such thing," Allegra said, approaching Harry, her eyes flashing. "There is only what we choose to do, and how we choose to act. I don't want you to face him. It could end badly." She grasped his arm. "He'll kill you. You know the advantages he has. He'll use them in a way that you can't, because you're not built that way. I'm glad you're not built that way." Her voice dropped to a low whisper, and her dark eyes seemed to fill the world. He was painfully aware of Hermione watching this entire exchange from a few yards away. "I don't want you hurt," Allegra said, her fingers tight around his wrist.

Harry looked at her, images rising unbidden to his mind, images from their shared past. How intense their connection had been, and how completely she had taken over his thoughts until it seemed she was all he could think about. It was hard to reconcile how it had once been between them with how it was now. "I'd like to believe that," he said.

"Then believe it."

He shook his head. "I can't," he said, quietly.

An awkward silence fell in the library. "Look," Hermione finally said. "Let's just concentrate on finding these hostages. That has to be our top priority. Harry, you do whatever you need to do to prepare yourself; however, much as it pains me to say it, Allegra might be right. You shouldn't confront him directly unless it's the only way."

"He'll make sure it's the only way," Harry said.

Remus rose. "Listen, we're all tired. I think it's time we packed up for the night."

Harry nodded. "I heartily agree, though not about being tired. Being with the Society always leaves me a bit wound up."

"I'm jumpy, too," Allegra said, running one hand through her hair. She turned to Harry. "Hey, are you game for some sparring?"

He stared at her, wondering if he'd heard her correctly. Everyone else had begun to gather the day's work into neat piles, but at her question they stopped and looked up. "Pardon?"

"I've been cooped up here all day. My shoulder's getting stiff, I need to loosen up. Surely you must have some kind of workout room here somewhere. You up for it, Potter? Think you can still beat me at your advanced age?"

She was serious, Harry realized. "You actually want to fight me?"

"That's kind of the short definition of me, you know. Although I suggest we stop short of deadly force, just this once."

He glanced at Hermione, eyebrows raised. She was eyeing Allegra with a suspicious expression on her face. She glanced at him and shrugged, as if to say 'it's your call.' "Well...okay, if you want to. We use the ballroom for sparring sometimes."

Allegra grinned. "Let's go, then!" She strode out of the room. Harry looked back at the team, at a loss for words.

Napoleon made shooing motions with his hands. "Off you go!" he said. "Do not tell me you're going to pass up the chance to pound Tallulah Skankhead senseless when she's asked you to!"

She was quick, just as quick as he remembered. Her injuries did not seem to slow her as they sparred.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, grinning. "Feels like old times," she said.

Harry cracked his neck. "Everything in working order over there?

"Come see for yourself!" she exclaimed, laughing, as she darted forward and ducked under his blocking arm to deliver a quick swipe to his side, then his chest. Harry spun and pistoned a kick to the back of her thigh. They danced around each other, and Harry could not help but agree - it felt like old times. Since her betrayal, animosity had changed his mental image of her. Through his rage, she grew in stature, her features twisted, her voice sharpened. Now, as he was confronted with the fact of her, he could see how the lens of hatred had warped his vision. She seemed smaller than he remembered. When he thought of her, she was always tall and threatening, but in reality, she was only about five foot four.

He hadn't seen her like this in many years - unguarded, unpolished. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, her face clean of makeup. She was wearing some slightly too-big sweats borrowed from Laura's closet and they made her seem smaller still.

Recovering from a kick, she stumbled and fell hard on her shoulder, the same side on which she'd so recently sustained a broken collarbone. Harry stopped and approached her, but she scrambled back to her feet before he could do anything. He saw pain on her face, but she just gritted her teeth and beckoned him forward. "Come on!" she growled.

"We don't have to do this," he said, reluctantly resuming sparring stance. "You're not being cleared for active duty. This was your idea, we can stop anytime."

"We can't stop," she said, firing a series of blows at his face. He blocked them, but her ferocity surprised him. "He can't put me on the floor," she snapped, spinning in a tight circle. Her foot flashed out and Harry saw stars as it landed on the side of his face. He staggered backwards and looked up at her, alarmed.

"Something I said?" he said, straightening up and taking a step back. She stayed where she was, fists raised, rage in her eyes. Harry held up a hand. "I didn't sign up to get my arse kicked today, thanks ever so."

"Come on," she said. "You know you've been dying for the chance to give me what-for."

"Doesn't mean I have to take that chance."

"I need this."

"For what? I thought we were burying the hatchet. Is a savage beating part of the deal?"

"That's not what I need it for!" she cried.

Harry sagged. "Oh." He spread his hands. "Look, I get that you might have some stuff to get out, but I don't think giving me a pasting is going to make you hate him any less."

"Maybe not, but it'll sure make me feel better."

"I know how you feel, but..."

She dropped her hands and took a step forward. "Oh, you know how I feel, do you? You know how it feels to have your own son force you into submission while he sticks his dick in you night after night? You know what it's like to have wizards who once cowered in your presence look at you with pity and laugh at you behind your back?" Her voice was rising steadily. "Do you fucking know what it is to have everything you are taken from you?" she cried, striking at the air with her hands as if she could bruise it with her words.

Harry just stared at her for a few beats of silence. "Gosh, Ali...I don't..." He cleared his throat. "I'm sor..."

"No," she snapped, holding up a hand. "Don't you dare pity me, too. I can take it from them because I know they're too dumb but to follow where they're led, but I can't take it from you."

"Why not?"

She exhaled, and the anger seemed to leave her body. "Because I actually care what you think." She met his eyes and Harry wanted to look away, but he couldn't, because it was just too fascinating. She swallowed hard and then, to his astonishment, her chin began to tremble slightly. He had never seen her cry, ever. He would have doubted she was capable of such a display.

Suddenly, she turned and walked quickly away. Harry flicked his eyes to the doors and they shut before her. She tugged on the knob but it didn't budge.

"I have to get out of here," she said. "Let me out."

Harry came up behind her. "You can leave the room, but it'll follow you."

She leaned forward against the door, still gripping the doorknob. "Don't do this to me, Harry."

"You're the one who said you needed it," he said.

She turned and looked up at him, her eyes welling up. "Don't make me look at it."

"You haven't been looking at anything else since you got here." He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's time to look past it."

"It's too big to see over," she whispered, shaking her head, her eyes downcast.

He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up. "You're taller than you think."

That did it. Her face, which he was so accustomed to seeing in a state of total control and composure, collapsed into an untidy mess of creases and downturns. Her chest hitched and she didn't so much lean as fall forward. Harry caught her and held her as she wept in strangely self-conscious, broken sobs as if she weren't quite sure how to cry properly. He felt her arms go around his back and the strength leave her body as she surrendered herself to it, perhaps for the
first time in her adult life.

He didn't know how long they stood there, but he held her until she quieted, marveling at how things could change in the space of a few days. She sighed and lifted her head. "I think I'm going to be sick," she whispered.

"No, you're not. That's actual emotion you're feeling. It can sometimes masquerade as nausea."

She smiled a little. "Thanks," she said, cutting her eyes to one side. "I don't deserve this kind of support, not from you."

"Lefty would say that it's the ones who deserve support the least who need it the most."

"Lefty is twenty pounds of bullshit in a ten pound bag."

"Maybe, but he was right about a few things." This continued eye contact was becoming uncomfortable. He saw Allegra glance at his lips briefly before looking into his eyes again, and he knew it was coming a split second before it happened. She raised her chin and kissed him, softly, allowing her mouth to linger over his for just long enough to make it clear that she didn't mean it as a chaste, thanks-for-the-hug kiss.

She drew back, gauging his reaction. She must have liked what she saw because she tucked her head back into the hollow of his shoulder, drawing one of her hands around to rest on his chest. "This brings back a few things," she murmured, running her fingers back and forth, pressing her hips closer against his. Harry stood motionless, waiting and thinking. When he did not protest, she ran her hand down his stomach. He sucked in a quick breath as she cupped him through his trousers. "Harry," she sighed, lifting her head again, her eyes full of beseeching hope. "Take me somewhere. Bring me back. Make love to me the way we used to. I know you've thought about it. It's all I can think about, too."

"I don't..."

She put a finger over his lips. "You're the only man I ever loved. You know that, don't you?" she said. He looked at her. "And I still do. I know a part of you loves me, too. It's okay to say it. I'm the only one that'll hear."

He shook his head, his eyes downcast, waiting for his moment. "Ali, I..."

"Go ahead," she purred. "Tell me the truth."

"I just - I need to know one thing first."

"What's that?"

He reached out and grasped her upper arms, then fixed those doe eyes with as firm a stare as he could muster. "Exactly how dumb do you think I am?" he asked, flatly. He felt her stiffen, then watched as that tender, amorous expression drained from her face. Her lip curled in a familiar sneer and he winced as she gave his nether regions a rather painful squeeze before releasing them. He let her go and took one step backwards. "Did that little scene play out the way you hoped it would when you asked me to spar with you?"

She sighed. "Right up until the end, yeah, it did. As I've always said, you are nothing if not predictable." She put her hands on her hips. "Though I didn't predict you'd get wise. What gave me up?"

"When you said that you couldn't take pity from me."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Because you'd just spouted off a speech about all the wrong that had been done to you in which you said that the Master had been sticking his dick in you, among other things. Now, I already knew what you'd suffered at his hands, so the only reason to say it like that was cheap shock value to make me pity you. So to say you didn't want my pity didn't make much sense."

"That's pretty thin."

"Not when I'm already inclined to disbelieve everything you say."

"Fair enough." She smirked at him. "The offer still stands, though."

He laughed. "If you thought you could waltz in here, play nicely with the other children for a day and expect to be able to seduce me away from my work, my friends, my family, away from my wife, then I overestimated your intelligence." He headed for the door. "Still, it was a pretty convincing performance. I'm impressed with your ability to cry at will."

"I'd like to thank the Academy." She cocked her hips and tossed him a flirtatious glance. "Come on. Admit it. You got a little juiced up when we were getting snuggly."

"My reaction...or lack thereof...has nothing to do with you, or with me."

Undeterred, she stepped closer. "You just can't stand it that I was the hottest shag you ever had in your life, and you missed your chance to have me again."

He arched one eyebrow. "People who advertise themselves as hot shags rarely live up to their own hype. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to shower - and burn these trousers."

Hermione didn't hear him come in. She was washing her hair, eyes shut so she wouldn't get soap in them. She ducked her head under the shower spray, and nearly choked when an involuntary gasp escaped her as she was suddenly grabbed and turned around.

Before she even had her eyes open she was being pushed back against the tile, a warm naked body pressed all along the length of her own, a pair of warm lips kissing her with urgent insistence.

"You couldn't wait until I had the conditioner on?" she teased him, slipping one leg between his and twining herself around him. He kissed her again, growling into her mouth as she gripped his arse in her hands.

"No, I couldn't wait. Don't ask," he said. He needn't have worried, because she'd lost all interest in conversation. Harry had barged into her shower and was now ravaging her with the kind of ferocity that he rarely displayed, but which always rendered her helpless in his clutches almost immediately. She lolled, she sagged, she melted, but she did her best to return his ardor in kind.

She sensed that he wasn't here just because he was feeling peckish, or because he'd been overcome by her irresistible sexual magnetism. He seemed to need something, something that she could give him. Whatever the reason, he was taking too goddamned long. She had needs, too. Hermione turned around and braced herself against the tiles, grateful for having had prior shower-sex experience, and arched her back. He wasted no time now, bending over her and burying himself deep with one hard stroke that made her gasp.

By the time it was over, she had made a mental note to have handgrips installed in their shower. For next time.

He carried her into the bedroom, wrapped in her robe, and they collapsed into a tangled heap, their wet heads dampening the pillows. He gathered her into his arms and began to kiss her shoulders, her neck, her arms and hands. Hermione sighed, feeling pleasantly wrung-out. She loved that loose, warm, tingly feeling that always came over her after good sex.

"My goodness," she said, after a few minutes of peace. "You haven't done me like that since the honeymoon. What's gotten into you?"

He hugged her closer. "I don't know."

She turned in his arms and laid a hand on his cheek. "Having her here is really freaking you out, isn't it?"

She saw his jaw clench. "You have no idea."

"I hate to admit it, but she's been on reasonably good behavior so far."

For some reason, this made him laugh. "Oh, yes. Stellar. Can't complain."

"You didn't thrash her too badly downstairs, did you? I'd hate to have to play field medic again."

He shook his head. "No. Just ordinary sparring. No permanent damage." He smoothed the damp tendrils of her hair back from her face. His serious, thoughtful expression was setting off the alarm bells in her head. "Hermione, I..." He lowered his head, his throat working.

"What?"

He met her eyes again, sighing. "I just don't think I've ever needed you as much as I do right now."

She wanted to ask why, but she didn't. He probably didn't know why, but she thought she did. He was afraid of losing grip on himself as he explored his Mage nature with more intensity. Hermione had long suspected that being a true Mage could mean losing who he was. She hadn't fought by his side for almost twenty years only to have him destroy himself in some quest for ultimate power, power that she wasn't sure any wizard should even possess. She had held her tongue for a long time on this subject. Every time he went off for another attempt to be all he could be, all she wanted to do was say, "Look at what you've done, look at who you are. Look at our life. I love you so much, for just who you are. Why do you need more? What's wrong with the wizard you already are?"

The problem was that now, there was something wrong with it. It wasn't good enough, not for the Master. Harry's savior-complex meant that he had to push himself further into that abyss no matter what she had to say about it.

She kissed the tip of his nose, and drew his head to her chest, wrapping him up as tightly as she could. "I would fight him for you if I could," she said.

She felt him shake his head. "There's nothing you can do."

She didn't reply, but in a deep part of her mind that she rarely looked at when she was with him, she wondered if he'd ever know just how much she could really do if she were forced.

Laura was asleep when he finally made it to their bedroom. He undressed as quietly as possible, but heard her stirring as he was brushing his teeth. "I'm sorry, I tried to be quiet," he said as he came back into the bedroom.

She was holding up the sheets for him. He slid between them and Laura came into his arms, warm and soft and smelling of the herbal treatment she put on her hair to keep its ringlets from going into all-over frizz. "I was trying to stay awake until you got home," she murmured, her hand sliding over his chest.

"I'm late, I know."

She raised her head and looked at him. "There are big hairy things happening around here today, aren't there?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"That woman - with the black hair - that's her, isn't it?"

"Allegra."

"She looks - I don't know what she looks like. She doesn't look like a supervillain." Laura sighed. "She looks like somebody we could be friends with. She doesn't look all evil."

"Actually, she always reminded me of Xena."

"Who?"

Ron chuckled. "A character on a TV show I used to watch when I was inside."

Laura nestled her head back against his chest. "I tried to talk to Hermione all day but I could never catch her alone. This must be really hard for her."

"She's okay. That woman is a bloody rock."

"What about Harry?"

Ron hesitated. "If Hermione is a rock, then he's the water that flows around it. Always moving, always changing, never still. I don't envy him. He's going in eight different directions at once. And he's trying to do something to himself that sounds dangerous to me."

Silence fell for a few moments. "Water will wear away a rock given enough time," Laura said.

"Hmm. That's cryptic and ominous."

Laura burst out laughing. "It is, isn't it?" She turned her head and kissed his neck, then again. "Why are we talking about them, anyway? I haven't seen you all day."

"I'm sorry about that," he said, feeling the pangs of guilt again. "I haven't exactly been distinguishing myself as the most attentive boyfriend in the world."

"Make it up to me now, then," she said.

Harry blinked and rolled over, wincing at the sunlight pouring into the Cloister. Too much sunlight.

He sat up. What time is it? He picked up his watch. Goddamn, it's almost noon! He'd wanted to be at the Society by ten. He leapt out of bed and grabbed for the first pair of jeans his hands touched.

The door opened and Hermione came in, holding a glass of orange juice. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she said.

He fought down irritation with her. "Why'd you let me sleep so bloody late? I have a zillion things to do!"

She grabbed his arm and pulled him back towards the bed, her strength surprising him. She sat him down and shoved the juice into his hand. "You have one thing to do today, and that's rest. The others are working on our surveillance strategy. Ron's off at the I.D. with Sirius. Allegra and I are very busy becoming best pals. Everything's being taken care of."

"I have to go to the Society," he insisted.

She sat down next to him and handed him an owl post. "You're not going anywhere." He took it, seeing that it bore the Society's seal. The post was opened; presumably Hermione had read it. He glanced at her. "Spousal privilege," she said.

Harry opened the post and skimmed its contents, his heart sinking. It was from Sola, the head of the Society, forbidding him from continuing his work until tomorrow. Their mediwizard was concerned about continuing his training so quickly and felt that Harry needed a day to rest, especially if he intended to take things even further during his next visit. He tossed it aside. "You must be loving this," he said, shaking his head.

Hermione shrugged. "Actually, it's rather boring to be right all the time. Sometimes I'd like to be wrong, just to break up the monotony."

"I don't need to rest. I don't feel tired. I didn't feel tired last night, and I don't now."

"They're not talking about physical fatigue and you know it. You can't overextend yourself magically like this and expect to do it again the very next day."

"Well, I can't just lie about like a gentleman of leisure."

"You don't have to. Napoleon's at the office, I suggest you join him. Don't forget that there's still a division to be run, and that most of the ID has no idea that any of this is going on."

He looked at her, bemused. "So who made you the boss of me?"

She grinned. "You did, my love. When you said 'I do.'"

Ron feared he was developing a rather impatient nature. Right now, for example, he could hardly sit still. After two solid days of research he was ready and willing to tell everyone what he'd learned about the Chancellor, but Harry would have none of it while Allegra was in earshot. Discussing ID tactics was one thing, after Allegra had once been a member and knew all their tactics, but taking chances with the Chancellor's nature was quite another. So here they all sat in the library, pretending to work on other things, waiting. He didn't know what they were waiting for, but Harry had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to wait until the appropriate moment. He only hoped he'd know the appropriate moment when it arrived.

At seven o'clock on the nose, the library door opened and Sukesh walked in, an expectant expression on his face. "Well? I'm here," he said, in a way that let Ron know that Harry had asked him to arrive at this particular time.

Harry stood up. "Sukesh, I believe you know Allegra," he said. She stood up, looking puzzled.

Sukesh's expression didn't change. "Unhappily, yes, I do."

"Please take her back to the ID for a complete medical workup."

"Harry, I'm fine," Allegra said, rolling her eyes.

"You were beaten badly. I want you checked out by a professional. Besides, who knows what residual curses or spells might be attached to you? For your own sake as well as ours, I want you examined."

She sighed. "Fine. Let me get my robe." She left the room.

Sukesh looked irritated. "And how long do you need her to be gone?" he asked.

Harry smiled. "Two hours ought to do it." He looked over at Ron. "Will that be enough?"

"Yeah, plenty."

"No problem." Allegra returned, and Sukesh escorted her out. Ron stood up and opened his mouth to speak, but Harry held up a hand to stop him, one ear cocked. He waited until they all heard the front door open and then close.

"Okay," Harry said. Everyone moved to the central table, the largest in the room. "Ron, tell us a story."

Ron sat at the head of the table, a position in which he was becoming more and more comfortable. "If you've come for a story, I think I've got one for you. I spent yesterday examining documents of the Chancery, provided by Sirius. Today, I spent the day at the Research division of the ID, a place in which I believe I'd be content to spend eternity." He opened his notes. "The first thing I learned is that the Chancellor's job isn't what everyone thinks it is."

"What does everyone think it is?" Napoleon said.

Diz shrugged. "Head of everything?"

Ron pointed at her. "Exactly. And it's exactly wrong. I had the opportunity to read the Acts of Federacy, set down in 415 C.E., which set up the structure of the Federation government. Anyone else here ever read it?" Silence. "Didn't think so." He turned a page. "It has surprisingly little to say about our friend the Chancellor. It says, and I quote, that the Chancellor 'is to provide guidance to the governing body of wizards, serve as a symbol of the independence of the wizarding nation, and should be consulted in matters of wizarding import.'" He looked up. "Does that sound very vague and non-legally-binding to anyone else, or is it just me?"

Hermione nodded. "It's not just you. What else does it say?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. That's it."

Napoleon sat up straighter. "That's it?"

"Yep. If one were to go by the Acts, the Chancellor has virtually no governmental power whatsoever. He is not empowered to veto legislation, introduce legislation - not formally, at least - make unilateral decisions or appoint staff members. You know who does have those powers? The Deputy. The actual business of governing falls to him and to the Federation Council. They do the work. The Chancellor - well, as it says. A symbol of the independence of the wizarding nation."

"So he does nothing, in other words," Remus said.

"I wouldn't say that. According to Sirius, the Chancellor's blessing is considered politic if you want your agenda to move forward. A proposed law or ordinance won't have much of a life if he comes out against it, but it's purely a matter of perception. The Chancellor has virtually no enforceable power of action or reaction where the business of government is concerned."

Diz was shaking her head. "How is it that no one knows this? How did we all get it so wrong? Was this deliberately kept a secret?"

"Hardly. The Constitution can be read by anyone who asks. No one ever asks, is the thing. It's just accepted that things are the way everyone thinks they are, and as any good politician will tell you, politics operates not on reality but the perception of reality."

"If the position doesn't have any real teeth, why create it at all?" Harry said thoughtfully, tapping a pencil on the tabletop. "Why set up a government with a dummy figurehead? And why is his huge importance so ingrained in everyone's mind when it isn't even true?"

Ron held up a finger. "You've got it backwards, actually. The framers of the Federation didn't create the position within the government. They created the government around the position." Blank faces met this statement. He sighed. "The Chancellor predates the Federation. He wasn't always called that, of course. The framers thought up that term. But there was always someone in that spot, that revered spot. The further back you go, the greater the reverence. As far as I've been able to tell, as long as there have been wizards, there has always been a Chancellor. Back to the Progenitors." Everyone was leaning forward now, listening with rapt attention. "Thousands of years, tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands. Apparently, the Progenitors chose someone to be this central figure. Over the years this person acquired a totemic, almost religious significance. They were protected, and their identity gradually became more and more guarded until now we see that it's restricted to one person. By the time of the Acts of Federacy, the religious aspect had been lost, but the position retained its status, and it was written into the Acts and renamed The Chancellor. The position has been handed down from one person to the next in a single, unbroken line since the time of the Progenitors." He hesitated. "All this I learned yesterday. But it left me with a rather large, scary question."

Hermione was nodding. "Why did the Progenitors feel the need to have such a person?"

"Right. Nothing in any of the books Sirius so kindly provided gave me any clues about what purpose this person served, or why it became such a closely guarded secret, or why the position became so central. Today, however, I was provided with some older materials." He shook his head. "This kind of research is so frustrating. No one ever just comes out and says it, there's nowhere you can look to find the answer. You have to find what you're looking for by looking around it, if that makes any sense. It's kind of like a black hole. You can't see a black hole, you can only infer its existence by how it affects other celestial bodies. This has been like that. Nothing's ever said about what the Chancellor does, or why he exists. I can only make guesses based on how it's talked about, or where, or when, or by whom."

"So what's your guess?" Harry said.

Ron took a deep breath. He would never tell them just how fragile the web of logic was that had led him to his conclusions. "My guess...and remember, that's all it is...is that the Chancellor is guarding something. That's his whole purpose. He's the keeper of some great secret, or some object of great power. That's why his identity is so protected."

"The Progenitors discovered most of the magic we use today. They were the first people to control it," Remus said, thinking aloud.

"Yes. And I think that while they were busy damning us to long hours spent learning Charms, they stumbled upon something powerful enough that it frightened them, or possibly struck such awe into them that they didn't feel worthy to keep it. So they chose one person, perhaps one of their own number who they trusted, and tied this secret to that person so that it could never be found again. Once the keeper's identity was lost to the general public, no one would ever know that this...whatever...even existed."

Silence fell in the library as they all pondered this theory. "Well," Harry said, "your theory does have one rather large point in its favor."

"What's that?"

"It would certainly explain why the Master's so keen to get his hands on the Chancellor."

"That did occur to me, yes."

"Did you run this theory by Sirius?"

"I did. He said that he didn't know if I was right or wrong, but that it sounded like a good theory to him, too."

"Even if he knew that you were right or wrong, he probably couldn't say," Napoleon said.

"Probably not."

"Unfortunately, I don't know that it helps us," Harry said. "So he's guarding something huge. Terrific. Without knowing what it is, where it is, and what it does - it's just an explanation."

"We should just continue with our current plans," Remus said. "Make our infiltration at Circle headquarters the day after tomorrow and proceed with the hostage extraction when we have enough information to do so. The best way to keep the Master from getting his hands on the Chancellor is to give him no leverage to do so."

"No, the best way would be for me to just find him and neutralize him," Harry snapped. "If only I weren't too wimpy of a wizard to manage it, we might not have to worry about any of this! That's what you mean, isn't it? If I could only handle these Mage powers then this would all be over in a heartbeat!"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "No one's suggesting that you're somehow not holding up your end of things!"

"Personally," Napoleon said, his brow furrowing, "I think you're off your rocker, trying to Mageify yourself to be more like him! We like you because you're not like him, you know! And Hermione tells me it's dangerous, and you could end up lobotomized or just generally fucked over and I'm not in favor of that, none of us are!"

"What happens to me is not the issue here!"

"Well, let's make it the issue, shall we?" Napoleon shouted back. "Aren't we supposed to be the good guys? Aren't we supposed to come out against sacrificing people on the altar of tactical advantage? If this is just another stab at massaging your martyr complex, Harry, then I suggest you let the rest of us onto the pitch! What's wrong with going after this bastard with the same procedures and techniques that have let us catch a thousand bad guys in the past? I get that he's more powerful than most, but my God, the man's not Satan himself!"

"No, he's my SON!" Harry thundered. Ron froze. He saw Hermione gasp. "And it is my responsibility to make sure that he does not hurt anyone else! He has condemned hundreds of innocent people to lifetimes of imprisonment! He cost my best friend twelve years of his life! I will not allow him to go unchallenged just because it's risky!"

Ron doubted that anyone had heard the rest of Harry's outburst, they were too stunned by the first sentence. He saw shock and disbelief on their faces, except Hermione's. She knew, he realized. Thank God. That would have been a hell of a way for her to find out. Strangely, he didn't feel confused himself. Somehow, this seemed inevitable. Harry was a Mage, the Master was a Mage, they were sworn enemies - naturally, they had to be father and son or brothers or some other long-lost relative. The pathos was irresistible, even to Fate, it seemed.

Harry was standing there, his eyes bulging with agitation, and Ron saw him suddenly realize what he'd said. He put one hand over his face and his shoulders sagged.

"He's your...what?" Remus stammered.

Harry turned his back. Hermione was watching him, her eyes welling up. "The Master is his son," she whispered.

"Oh, no," Napoleon said. "Wait just a goddamned minute. He's a fucking kid? Like it isn't demeaning enough that we're now in league with the Knickers of Pure Evil? Please, I'm begging you, tell me that we're not dealing with some red-eyed preteen spawn of the Devil like fucking Damien or something, because that would just be too goddamned much."

"He's not a child," Hermione said. She hadn't taken her eyes off Harry's back. "He's almost fifty, by the way we measure time."

"Who's his mother?" Napoleon asked, his eyes fixed on Hermione.

A few beats passed. "Allegra," she finally said, when it became clear that Harry wasn't going to answer.

"Does she know that?"

"Yes," Harry said, turning. "She's the one who told me. She became pregnant right before she betrayed us." His voice was flat and unaffected. It was arranged, you see. By the Eternals. I am Mage, she is half. They wanted a Mage of their own, to raise knowing his powers. When he was born, he was taken from her and a body was substituted in his place."

"Just like what happened to me and the others," Ron said.

"Yes. He was taken to their realm, where time does not pass. He grew up, believing himself to be an Eternal in human form - and when the time was right, he contacted Allegra and insinuated himself into her organization, so he could put his plan into motion. He has taken over her operation, a little bit at a time. Only a few months ago, he revealed his real identity to her, and joined her here in our world for the final steps. He did his best to disempower and shame her. He raped her on a regular basis." He looked up at them. "This is the man we're dealing with. This is the man I have to fight. I am not ready. So don't tell me that we can find some safe, practical way to deal with him, Napoleon. Don't tell me that it's not my place, it's not my job. I owe him this." A frightening, implacable look came into Harry's eyes then, and Ron wondered if that had been the last thing Voldemort had seen on this earth. "He has believed himself invincible long enough," Harry said, his jaw clenched.

"Harry," Hermione said, quietly, "how ready were you when Voldemort came to kill your parents? How much training had you had? None. And yet, you defeated him."

"Voldemort didn't know what he was facing. Julian not only knows, he's been preparing for it his whole life."

Ron stood up again. "Listen, everybody should just take the night off. We've all been working for two days straight. There's nothing more we can do tonight. The plans are set for the infiltration; it's a waiting game now. Let's just...relax." He glanced at Harry, whose place it really was to be giving these kinds of orders, but he was just standing there with his hands in his pockets.

"Excellent notion, mate," Napoleon said. "I could use a drink, myself."

Ron gathered his notes together, taking his time about it. Napoleon was already out the door. Remus and Diz made half-hearted goodbyes, both of them wearing the shellshocked expressions of people who'd just gotten a lot of information at once, and excused themselves. Harry and Hermione were just standing there, motionless, not looking at each other.

Ron finally went to the door, leaving them alone. He turned back, thinking he might invite them to join him for dinner. As he did so, he saw Harry reach out his hand. Hermione took it at once, and they stepped into a practiced embrace. She wrapped her arms around his waist, looking relieved. Ron sighed, then left them there in each other's arms, knowing they'd be all right if they still had that.

"I just can't believe it," Remus said, for what had to be the twentieth time. "Harry's son."

"I know," Diz agreed. "Poor Hermione. I can't imagine what this must be like for them."

"I can't bear to think about it. Haven't they been through enough yet?"

"Have another margarita."

He accepted the drink without protest, and took a long swallow. "I shouldn't be drinking this much. Not with all the fancy footwork we're going to have to do in the next few days."

"So we'll put another Galleon in Sardoff's pocketbook, big deal." Diz hesitated, playing with her glass. "Speaking of which - I have something I ought to tell you. I've been meaning to for weeks, but it just kept slipping on by."

He frowned. "Talking about getting drunk reminded you of something you have to tell me?"

"Have you ever thought about retiring?"

"Sure. This business takes a lot out of a person. I have these fantasies about resigning my commission and living a life of intellectual pursuits. Traveling, researching, meeting people..." He smiled. "Alas, one must eat."

"Well, that's the thing. Not necessarily."

He blinked. "One doesn't necessarily have to eat?"

"No, that's not what I meant." She reached over and took his hand. "I meant one doesn't necessarily have to work to eat."

He laughed. "Of course not, as long as you're independently wealthy." She said nothing. Remus stopped laughing and looked at her. "You're not, are you?" She met his eyes, an embarrassed smile on her face. Remus sat back. "Oh my God, you are."

"Well, here's the thing. I know Abraham Sardoff, we were at school together. He was a bloody genius at Potions. Everyone always said he'd invent something astonishing and retire to the south of France. When I heard he was going public with his sober-up potion, I just knew. I used all my savings and I bought as many shares in his company as I could afford."

"Great Merlin's Ghost," he said. "What was it going for?"

"Three Galleons a share."

"And what's it worth now?"

She grinned. "Five hundred. Not to mention that the stock has split five for one." She paused for effect. "Twice."

Remus's mouth was hanging open. "You little minx!"

"I sold my shares when the rise leveled off. I reinvested my proceeds. I'm..." She hesitated. "I'm worth a lot of money. Enough that you could retire, if you want."

"Why haven't you?"

"Because I love what I do. And I know you do, too...but I've always gotten the sense that you would rather engage in more peaceful pursuits if you had the freedom to do so."

He nodded. "I would. I just never imagined I'd be in a position to make that choice." He slid closer to her and grinned, slipping one arm around her shoulder. "So you're suggesting that I stop working and become a kept man?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On what you'd do to earn your keep," she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"Aren't you freezing out here?" Laura said. "It's February!"

Hermione held up her wand. "Nope. Warming charm. Here, sit down. Pull up a quilt." Laura settled into the lounge chair next to Hermione on the rear verandah, snuggling beneath a crazy quilt. Hermione was sipping a mug of something steamy, her legs tucked up.

"Would you rather be alone?"

"No, it's fine."

"Well, you're out here in a dark corne - one might think you wanted solitude."

Hermione sighed. "I might have when I came out here, but I'm glad you found me." She was, too. The prospect of a conversation that didn't involve Mages, the Master, Allegra or the imminent demise of several hundred hostages was very appealing. She looked at her friend's profile as she stared out at the moonlit yard. "We haven't really had a chance to talk. A lot's happened."

"Yeah," Laura said with a sigh.

"So?"

Laura looked at her. "So, what?"

"How is it?"

"Nosy parker."

"Hey, you grilled me about my sex life when Harry and I got together. Turnabout is fair play!"

Laura smirked, pulling the quilt tighter around her. "It's good." Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Okay, it's really good. It's good to have him here, where I can touch him whenever I want, and he's in my bed every night." She sighed. "He's still a little hesitant. Sticking to the basics."

"Well, he is pretty new at this."

"I'm no expert, either."

"Maybe that's good. You can explore things together."

"Yeah." She hesitated. "He's got a really nice chest. Broad, not too much hair."

"Harry doesn't have much chest hair at all."

"With a butt like his, it doesn't much matter what else is going on."

Hermione laughed. "And here I thought I was the only one with a profound appreciation for Harry's butt."

"You and half the wizarding world, honey."

"This might sound weird, but - I am quite enamored of Harry's forearms. I don't know why, I've always had a thing for men with nice forearms. Abel didn't have much of a body, but he had terrific forearms."

"That's not weird. I have a thing for necks."

"Ron has a nice neck."

"Yeah. Not too thick, not too scrawny. And I hate it when blokes have that huge Adam's apple. It's like a speed bump or something, you've got to swerve to avoid it."

Hermione laughed, feeling the heaviness of the past few days float away on a cloud of girl talk. "Well, neither of us have that problem."

Laura grinned, reaching out to squeeze Hermione's hand. "I think it's safe to say that our men have got it going on."

Hermione nodded. "Now, if we could only get them to pick up their socks."

"You shouldn't drink alone, you know."

Napoleon looked up to see Allegra standing in the game room door. He'd sequestered himself in here with a bottle of the Admiral when no other opportunities for imbibing had presented themselves. "If I wanted company, I would have hung out a sign."

"Isn't Ron your usual drinking buddy?" she said, coming inside, uninvited.

Napoleon flapped a hand. "He's playing chess with Harry."

"Hmm," Allegra said, taking a swig from his bottle, conveying whole books' worth of meaning in that one syllable. "Harry seems to abscond with all your people, doesn't he?"

He squinted up at her. He wasn't quite drunk enough to miss the meaning behind that little dig. "How'd you figure that?"

"I'm not stupid, and you are a terrible actor."

He reclaimed the bottle for another big slug of the Admiral. "It's ancient history."

"Naturally. That's why you're shut up here alone, drinking firewhiskey from the bottle. Because it's ancient history." She sat down on the arm of his chair, letting her hand rest on his upper arm. "You need to learn to let go, my friend."

"You're not my friend."

"I could be. I'm not here to pick fights, you know."

"You don't need to pick fights - they find you all by themselves."

She was idly playing with one of his hair spikes. He tried to ignore her. It was really hard. "You're a tough one to figure, Napoleon. First, there's that name. I know it isn't your real name. Why'd you choose it?"

He shrugged, affecting an air of disinterest. "I just liked how it sounded with Jones. And I thought it was a bit ripping, you know. Name myself after a chap who conquered half the world despite being tragically short."

"You like to pretend you're all street-smart and jaded, but you're really a big softie, aren't you?"

He made an attempt at snide laughter. It came out sounding like he was choking. "Who you been talkin' to?"

"You look at her, and I can see that you'd do murder for her." He didn't answer. "Would you murder him?"

"Harry's my friend," he said flatly.

"Interesting that your objection is only that Harry's your friend, and not that murder is wrong."

"That, too."

"Why is he your friend? And how? You two go out and hit the town, do you? Have long, deep conversations? Enjoy going to Quidditch games and trading stories about your old girlfriends?" Napoleon took another swig. "No, I didn't think so. He has other men for that, doesn't he? What does he need you for?"

"If you're trying to turn me away from them, it won't work."

"I'm not," she said. "I'm just curious why you maintain the illusion of civility when your veneer is so thin. You're not good at hiding your emotions. Why do you stay near her when it hurts you so much? Surely you can't be hoping she'll tire of him and turn to you. Haven't you heard? They're soulmates."

He looked up into her eyes. "I've heard." He reached up and clamped one hand over her wrist. "If you want to shag me, just say so. Stop this fucking charade of empathy. Is that the best come-on you could think up?"

"No. Just the one I thought would work the best on you."

He yanked her off the arm of the chair. She landed half across his lap, immobilized by his hands on her wrists. "Did you already try this with him?"

"Why would I?"

"You're not the only one who can read people, you know. You want him, don't deny it."

She leaned forward over his hands on her wrists, their noses nearly touching. "Maybe between the two of us we could..."

"No," he interrupted. "We couldn't. And I wouldn't ever try. I'm not like you. I love Hermione, yeah. But that doesn't mean that all I want is to have her for myself. What I want is for her to be happy, and she is. So I'm out of it, big deal."

"Aren't you the noble soul? Maybe someday she'll actually notice the sacrifice you've made."

"I don't care if she does," he said. "And maybe I'm not so noble after all."

Napoleon's first thought as he felt his lips crashing into hers was that Hermione would hate him for this. Harry too, maybe. His last thought, before she tore off her own clothes and they fell upon each other like wild beasts, was that maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

Hermione brushed her hair, doing battle with her morning tangles, watching Harry as he dressed. She knew where he was going and wished she could dissuade him...or that there was a way to free him from the burden of having to go at all.

"Don't overdo it," she said, knowing he'd do what he had to regardless of what she said.

He snorted. "Even if I do, it's probably too little, too late."

"What is it that you're hoping to accomplish, if you can't match him?" Harry didn't reply, but his face looked grim. She reached out and grasped his arm, forcing him to stop and face her. "When you go there, when you work with them, you're...him, aren't you? That Mage that lives inside you. You turn into him."

Harry nodded, slowly. "Yeah." He looked away.

She swallowed hard. "Am I still going to know you when you come back?"

He met her eyes, and she saw that he was scared, too. "I don't know. Sometimes I hardly know myself. Sometimes when they've really got me going, when I'm totally inside it...I see things. I feel things that aren't coming from me. It's like putting my hand on a live wire and the current runs through me and makes me know a thousand lives I might have had and die a thousand deaths that won't be mine. Sometimes I think I can feel every wizard and every witch who's ever touched magic in the history of the world. In those moments it swells inside me until it squeezes Harry out and all I am is the magic. One of these days, I think it'll swell enough that my skin won't be able to hold it and I'll burst...not literally, but magically." He hesitated. "The problem is...I think that's what I need if I want to be as powerful as he is. I have to bust open this shell, because it's holding me back. He never had it; he learned to exist outside it before he learned to walk." He looked around, uneasy. "Okay, now I've freaked myself out."

"Harry, calm down."

"How am I going to do this, huh? How is it even possible?"

"All things are possible when you're looking for your car keys," Hermione blurted out.

Harry stopped pacing and blinked, turning to look at her quizzically. "What was that?"

She shrugged, wondering where that had come from. "Just something I heard a comedian say once. How you'll look in some really strange places for something you're desperate to find. I can remember looking in robes I hadn't worn in five years for something I had five minutes before." She stepped closer and took both his hands in hers. He gripped her fingers back, tightly. "What can I do to help you?" she said, looking into his face.

He dropped her hands and pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her, trapping her own between them so all she could do was stand there and be embraced. "Just stay here," he murmured. "Just exist." He drew back and kissed her forehead, smiling a little. "You know..." He paused and cleared his throat. "You understand how bad this could all be, right?"

She nodded, her smile fading. "I understand."

"He could be a thousand times worse than Voldemort ever was. He could..." Harry trailed off, his head dropping so she couldn't see his eyes.

"Hey," she said, grasping his upper arms and giving him a little shake. "We won't let that happen, right?"

"He's my son," Harry whispered, the words barely more than puffs of air.

She put her hand under his chin and lifted it up so he was looking at her again. "You are not responsible for what he's done, or what he's doing."

"What if that megalomania gene came from me?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You're about the least megalomaniacal person in the world. I think he takes after his mum." He smiled a little. "Now, off you go. Go become super. Super-er, I should say."

"Shame on you, Miss Granger. Using such terrible grammatical construction," he said, winking as he pulled away.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, slapping at his arm. "I resent that!"

"I didn't realize you were so sensitive about your grammar."

"No, that's not what I mean," she said, smirking. "That's Mrs. Potter to you, chief."

Harry's expression softened, and for one instant, she was sure he was about to burst into tears. Then he smiled, and the impression was gone. "That's what you can do to help me."

"What?"

"Be Mrs. Potter."

She kissed him. "That's my favorite thing to be."

The day was long. Hermione went to the office, having nothing better to do. Napoleon, inexplicably, had volunteered for the job of babysitting Allegra, so he'd stayed at home. She was profoundly distracted all day, and accomplished very little. She was convinced that Isobel suspected that something was up. She would hover nearby as if she wanted to ask, but then drift off without doing so.

She returned home, amazed at how tired getting nothing done could make you. Remus and Diz were already there, going over the floorplans with Allegra for the hundredth time. Harry had not yet returned from the Society, which was worrying if not surprising.

As the hour passed eight o'clock, the sun long ago having slipped below the horizon, Hermione's concern had risen in a geometric progression with the passing minutes. Harry had been gone all day. She did her best to hide her anxiety, although she was sure that anyone would have forgiven her for it.

At about quarter past the hour, the sound of the front door chimes echoed through the house. Everyone jumped up, and Hermione almost laughed. They had all been nonchalantly gathered here all evening - working, reading, discussing, and successfully feigning normality when clearly they'd all been worried about Harry.

She went to the door, hearing the patterings of nosy feet behind her, and opened it. Standing on the stoop was a stranger, albeit one of no small powers of intimidation. Hermione looked up, and up, her eyes rising for what seemed like forever before finally arriving at the woman's face. She was impossibly tall, perhaps six and a half feet, and slender as a reed. Her skin was dark and flawless, as if she'd been carved out of chocolate; her features were so sharp and defined that she had to be of some pure African lineage. She was bald as a crystal ball and dressed in formless orange robes.

Hermione blinked. "Can I help you?" she said, for lack of anything better to say.

The woman smiled, and it warmed her face considerably. "Are you Mrs. Potter?" Her accent confirmed Hermione's suspicions about her ethnicity.

Hermione swallowed hard. The last time someone had shown up on her door asking for Mrs. Potter, she'd ended up with a metal spike through her stomach. "Yes."

"Then I believe I have something of yours," the woman said, motioning to someone standing to the side, just out of sight. A musclebound man stepped to the doorway, but Hermione scarcely noticed him. Her attention was immediately drawn to Harry, who was slung over the man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, ducking to look into his face. He appeared unconscious. She looked at the mysterious woman. "What's happened to him? And who are you?"

"He'll be all right, he's just a bit overextended. Bring him inside," she said to the man, not waiting for an invitation to do so.

"The study," Hermione said, shoving the man towards the doorway. "There - put him there." The man deposited Harry on the sofa while the household gathered around.

"And my second question?" Hermione said, turning to face the tall woman. "Who are you people?

"My name is Sola, I'm the head of the Society of the Scythe. I assume you've heard of it."

"What happened?"

"Well, Harry came to us this afternoon insisting we assist him with exercises that we were reluctant to suggest. He made a remarkable breakthrough today, although I daresay he's paying for it now."

"What's wrong with him?" Hermione spoke to Sola, but didn't take her eyes off Harry. Napoleon was checking his vital signs.

"Nothing a few hours' rest won't cure. He just isn't accustomed to controlling such powerful magic. He can tell you about it himself when he comes around."

"So...he isn't hurt?"

"No. Just a bit knackered. He may feel groggy and unfocused for the rest of the night, but by tomorrow he ought to be right as rain again."

Hermione bit her lip. This wasn't a good sign, to her way of thinking. If Harry couldn't handle his Mage powers he had little hope of challenging the Master. It wouldn't do at all to have him collapsing into unconsciousness in the middle of a confrontation.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she became aware of Sola peering at her. "What?" she said.

"I've just been so curious about you," she said. "The infamous Hermione. You're the subject of much speculation in the Society, I can tell you that. Harry talks of you often, and with such...emphasis."

"Curious, he's never mentioned you."

"It wouldn't surprise me if he were disinclined to discuss his activities in the Society, even with you."

"Disinclined? That's one way to put it. It's been like pulling teeth to get him to tell me anything at all."

Sola looked thoughtful. "Harry's journey through his Mage nature is intensely personal, and one he must make alone. Not even we know what he goes through, what he feels, as he explores this part of his identity. All we can do is provide whatever guidance we can glean from our years of study. Poor though our tutelage may be, it's all we can offer him and we are honored to do so."

Hermione sighed. "I don't even have that poor tutelage to offer him. I have nothing at all."

"That isn't true, and you know it," Sola said.

Napoleon lifted one of Harry's eyelids, then jumped backwards with a yelp of surprise. Everyone flinched; Hermione hurried to the sofa. "What?" she said.

Napoleon swallowed. "Look at his eyes."

Trepidation rising in her throat, Hermione lifted Harry's eyelid. "Great Merlin's ghost," she murmured.

His eyes weren't there. Beneath his lids was a coruscating convex surface of what looked like blue-green flames. This close to him, she could feel his skin thrumming beneath her fingers as if it had been filled close to bursting. The unsettling effect was that he had become hollow, and that she was looking through his eyes into his fiery insides. She looked back at Sola. "You said he'd had some kind of breakthrough. What did he do?"

Sola hesitated. "Harry came very close to transcending his corporeal form today," she said, quietly. "It's something we suspected was possible. The attempt took a lot out of him, as you can see."

"We shouldn't have let him try," said the muscle-bound man who'd carried Harry inside. So far, he had been silent.

"Hermione, this is David, the Society's resident mediwizard," Sola said.

"Why did you let him if it was so dangerous?" Hermione said, her ire rising. These people were supposed to help Harry, not stand by and watch while he tore himself apart.

"And how, do you think, we could have stopped him?" David retorted. "He does what he thinks is necessary." He shook his head, as if despairing of the entire situation. "Mrs. Potter, I need to have a word with you in private."

Hermione stood up, a cold feeling creeping up her spine. "Very well. Come with me." She led the mediwizard out of the study and into the deserted library. "Now, what was it that you couldn't tell me in front of others?"

David just stared at her, then looked to the side. A ripple passed over his form and he turned back to her - except he wasn't a he anymore. A wave of relief passed over Hermione, powerful enough to make her knees go a bit wobbly. "Oh, bloody hell," she gasped. She couldn't help herself, she threw her arms around Theo's neck. "Thank God. I thought you didn't know...or you didn't care..."

"Shh," Theo said, hugging her back. "Get a hold of yourself, Granger."

Hermione stepped back, swiping at her eyes. "So you - are you - I'm confused."

"The Society's activities are of a great deal of interest to me. I've been a member for years. As David, of course. I do enjoy being him. He's a good-looking guy. Gets a lot of action. I wonder what it says about me that I rather enjoy having sex as a man."

"I'm not touching that one."

Theo laughed. "Nor should you. But I wanted you to know that what's going on down here has not escaped my attention."

"With the Master getting help from Seth, I wondered if you cared. I was afraid that you'd just washed your hands of all of it."

"Believe me, I care," she said, her face grim. "But there are limits to what I can do to interfere with the affairs of mortals." She crossed her arms. "Seth is another matter. I will deal with him, but I don't know if he even has much interest in what the Master does."

Hermione frowned. "Not much interest? He sent him here to...I don't know, rule the world! Conquer everything!"

Theo stared at her for a moment, then chuckled. "Is that what you think?"

"Well, it was until you said that."

"I'm sure that's what Julian would have you believe. He probably thinks so himself. His capacity for self-delusion is truly exceptional."

Hermione blinked, thoroughly befuddled. "Can you indulge me and spell things out for the dim-witted mortals, here?"

Theo sighed. "Seth took Julian when he was born. You could practically hear the maniacal laughter in the Domain. His very own full-blood Mage. He was envisioning the Incarnate, a mortal that was pure magic, a being who could bridge the gap between the Eternal and the mortal worlds. And it worked. It worked a little too well. Julian grew up without any of the mental checks and balances that mortal life programs into us. He believed himself to be the Incarnate. He believed it too much, actually. He became...mentally unstable. He didn't consider himself any kind of mortal at all. He couldn't bridge any gap; he couldn't be the Incarnate. His Mage powers, unrestricted by any kind of grounding in a mortal mindset, were wildly unpredictable, although eventually he learned to control them. Before long he was prancing about the Stronghold, every day a new grandiose plan for world domination. It got old." Theo smiled. "Seth didn't send Julian here to do his bidding. He sent him here to get rid of him. He just wanted to give him a little project, something to occupy his time...because he was driving Seth crazy."

Hermione stared. "Are you telling me that the Master's grand plans are...busywork?"

"Essentially. Of course, he doesn't see it that way. In his mind, he's here to fulfill his glorious destiny and harness all Earthly magic for himself, and then Seth will make him a real Eternal. That will never happen. Seth could not care less if Julian succeeds or not, or even if he lives or dies...as long as he's out of the way and kept occupied."

"Well, I can't say that I'm not relieved to hear that Seth doesn't have a lot invested in Julian's plans, but it doesn't make those plans any less dangerous."

"Correct. And don't forget that Seth may still want Harry. Especially given how the Julian experiment went awry. He may still think he can turn Harry into the Incarnate. I can't see into Seth's head, I don't know what he's cooking up." She put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Just...stay alert, okay? There's only so far I'm willing to go."

Hermione nodded. "I know."

"But whatever else happens, do not let Harry attempt noncorporeality again."

She frowned. "You mean, whatever he did today?"

"Yes. It's too dangerous."

"Because he might fail?"

"Because he might succeed. Magic unchecked by mortal reality is dangerous. He'd become a being of pure magic, and he can't handle it. No one should have that kind of power. It'll destroy him, turn him into something he's not. It happened to Julian, and don't you think Harry's above it. He isn't. No one is. He could become just as dangerous, just as destructive."

"He's trying to match Julian's powers. How can he do that if he can't - I don't even know what words to use, here."

"He can't match Julian's powers. He shouldn't even make the attempt. He can't be like Julian and remain the man that he is."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, wishing Harry were there to scold her for this nervous habit as he usually did. "How can he hope to defeat him if he can't..."

Theo cut her off. "That's for you guys to solve." She paused. "One more thing. Be careful of Allegra. Watch her. She wants to help, but if your vigilance wavers for one second, she may take someone you love away from you." With this proclamation, the ripple passed over her again, and David, the Society mediwizard, was back. They returned to the study in silence, new worries circling inside Hermione's brain and getting acquainted with all the old worries.

She barely noticed Sola and David leaving. She sat on an ottoman near the couch and looked down at Harry. "It seems to be going away," Napoleon said. She lifted his eyelid again. The green light still obscured his eyes, but she could see the rough outlines of his irises and pupils through it now. She nodded.

"What'd that bloke say to you?" Ron asked.

"He said that Harry shouldn't try that again. The noncorporeality thing. He also said he doesn't think Harry can ever match Julian's powers, and that he shouldn't try."

"That's not good news," Remus said.

"We'll just have to think of some other way," Ron said, his tone thoughtful in a way that let Hermione know he was already thinking of another way.

Harry stirred. Hermione picked up his hand. "Harry? Can you hear me?"

He made a growly noise in the back of his throat. "Mum?" he murmured.

Hermione glanced at Ron. "No, it's Hermione. Do you know where you are, Harry?"

"Mum," Harry said, smiling. "So glad you're here."

Hermione shrugged and went along. "I'm glad, too."

"Did you meet Ron?" Harry sounded slurred and dreamlike; Hermione wondered what he was seeing or thinking.

"Yes, he's right here."

"He was dead before."

"I know. It's wonderful to have him back."

Harry's throat was working; in fact, he looked near tears. "I wish I could see you, Mum," he said, his voice choked.

Hermione felt tears rising in her own throat. It tore at her soul to hear Harry talking to his dead mother. He very rarely spoke about it, but she suspected that his parents' absence ate at him in a way she could not soothe. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "So do I, baby," she managed.

As quickly as this attack of melancholia had come upon him, it seemed to pass. His face smoothed, and he relaxed a little. "I feel twirly," he said.

"Crikey, he sounds high," Napoleon said. "Do we know that they're not just toking up the doobage over there are the Society?" Hermione shot him a severe 'shut up' look, and he fell silent.

"Twirly?" she said, hoping he wasn't experiencing some kind of neurological damage.

He nodded, his eyes still shut. "S'nice." He reached up blindly and found her face with his hand. "I don't wanna be a wizard no more, Mum. S'too hard."

"Okay," Hermione said.

"I think...I wanna be...a rock star!" he said, raising both hands as if he were saluting an invisible audience. Hermione had to hand it to the gathered observers - they all managed to keep their mad laughter quiet.

"A rock star, huh?" She glanced up at Diz. "This cements my theory that all men secretly want to be rock stars."

Diz shrugged. "Only because rock stars get laid a lot."

"Can I get laid a lot?" Harry burbled.

Hermione smirked. "You'll have to speak to your wife about that."

He sighed, smiling. "My wife, yeah. I like her."

"I certainly hope so."

He opened his eyes, just a little, but he didn't seem to be seeing her. "I hope..." His lips fluttered and he started again, his hand back on her cheek. "I hope you and Dad were happy like I am."

Hermione covered his hand with her own. "You're happy?"

He nodded. "Shouldn't be. Scared. Bad stuff. Still...happy. Have Ron back now. Love my wife. Did you meet her?"

"Um...no, not yet."

"Oh." His head sagged back against the cushions and he seemed to fall asleep again. Hermione lowered her hand, still holding his.

"Man, that's weird," Ron said. "What'd he do to himself?"

"I wish I knew," Hermione said, her voice tense even to her own ears. "Maybe when he wakes up he can..."

She cut herself off, startled, when Harry suddenly opened his eyes wide, jerking as if he'd been woken from a deep sleep. His eyes looked normal now. "Hermione?"

"You're home. Sola and David brought you."

She was expecting a tirade. Or a weary tale of woe and defeat. Another round of insistences that he had to do this, dammit.

But he said nothing. He just pulled himself to a sitting position and hugged her, letting his head fall to her shoulder. Hermione hugged him back, not caring what this meant for the plan, or for the Master's plots, or anything else. Right now, she just cared that she had her husband in her arms, and he was okay.

For now.

Ron sat in a lounge chair near the verandah railing. His two best friends were in the wicker couch opposite him. Harry was sitting; Hermione was lying down with her head in his lap. He was stroking her hair with one hand, looking out at the yard. No one had spoken for at least twenty minutes.

Laura had been with them at first, but she had quickly excused herself. Ron suspected that she'd sensed their need for some "trio time," as she called it. This was what was required for real healing, for real progress. Just some trio time.

Harry gently moved Hermione's head from his leg, then stood up and went to the railing. "It's over," he said, his back to them. "I can't try that again. Even I'm not that crazy."

"What did it feel like?" she asked.

"I don't think I can talk about it. I don't think I want to. But...I think that might be what dying feels like." He turned around, leaning on the railing, hands in his pockets. "So that's it. The Master wins before I even face him."

"Surely you've made some progress," Ron said.

"Oh, of course. But not enough, not nearly enough." He sighed. "It's time we face the truth. I will never be Mage enough to fight him."

Ron smiled, the idea he'd had in his head since Harry had turned up unconscious this evening suddenly gelling into a course of action. "Good."

Both of them turned towards him. "What's that?" Harry said.

"Harry, we've been going at this all wrong."

"We have?"

"Yes. You've been concentrating only on how you're less than the Master, how you're not good enough. The advantages he has over you. We haven't even considered the advantages that you have over him."

"And what would those be?"

Ron leaned forward, hesitating over what, to them, would seem like a change of subject. "Neither of you have asked me why I haven't even tried to pick up a wand since I got back."

Hermione sat up, swinging her legs down. He saw them exchange a glance. "Well, no," she said. "We thought you'd talk about it when you were ready."

"The thing is...I'm not sure I want to get my magic back. When I went away, I had to come to terms with who I was without it. You both started out Muggle - you know what it's like. I was never a Muggle. I knew I was a wizard from the day I was born. I had no identity that didn't include magic. Then, it was all taken away from me, and I had to figure out who I was as a person. Just Ron. Not Ron the Wizard, just Ron the human being. It was very difficult, and ...I'm not sure I can go back, now that I've turned that corner. I'm okay with being Ron the human being. I like that bloke. I've left the wizard behind me."

Harry was nodding. "Well, of course we'll respect your wishes, but...why bring this up now?"

Ron stood up and faced him. "Harry, who are you?"

Harry paused, but only briefly. "I'm an intelligence agent, I'm a husband, I'm a...."

"No, more basic. What are you?"

"I'm a wizard."

"No," Ron said, smiling. He put a hand on his shoulder. "No, Harry. You are a wizard, yes. But you are a man first. And that is how you're going to beat him - because that is something he knows nothing about."

"But how does that..." His words dropped off the edge as comprehension came into his eyes. Ron saw the light dawn for Hermione at almost the same moment. Harry looked over at her. "Is that possible?"

"For a regular wizard, yes. For a Mage? I don't know. It must be. It'd have to be very advanced magic."

"If there's a spell we can find, then I can do it."

"Harry...no offense, darling, but complicated spells have never been your..."

He grinned and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. "Come on. I have something to show you." Ron followed along as Harry led Hermione into the study. "I hope I'm right about this. I've been feeling it all night."

"Feeling what?" she asked. He dropped her hand and sat down at Justin's piano. He ran his hands over the keys, his head bent - then he began to play. Ron didn't know what he was playing, but it sounded good. Hermione put her hands to her face. "Oh, Harry...you got it back!"

Ron blinked. "Got what?"

"Ron...Harry doesn't know how to play the piano. He's using a Mage power called the Knowing Touch. He had it once - briefly - but he hasn't had it in awhile."

"After what I did to myself today, it's come back. It means that anything I can touch, I will immediately know how to use. I could pick up a guitar and play it, or a gun and shoot it." He nodded. "I could read a spell and be able to cast it." He rose to his feet. "So if you're suggesting that I face the Master not as a wizard, but as a man...then we'll need a spell that will take his magic away. It doesn't matter how complex or difficult the spell. I can do it, because I've got the Touch back."

"Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves," Hermione said, holding up a hand. "We've still got to find a spell, and one that'll work on a Mage, plus there's the infiltration and the surveillance and then themmmmpppphhh..." Ron grinned. That's certainly a way to shut her up that we never thought of in school, he thought, watching as Harry kissed her.

He drew back, his expression lighter than it had been in days. "You worry too much."