Dark Obsession

Harry stood staring out of the kitchen window, still as a Muggle statue. Hermione was asleep upstairs, Jamie tucked in right beside her. He envied his wife. Sleep had eluded him tonight, and he had a suspicion that it would for some time to come. In fact, it seemed highly doubtful that he and restful slumber would be on speaking terms any time soon. Not until he figured out just what the bloody hell was going on around him.

From what Draco had been able to determine, the woman they knew as Faren was a fabrication. Her entire life, from her training by a local witch to her very name, had been created simply for them to find. When Hermione had sputtered indignantly about how carefully they'd researched everything Faren had told them, Draco had laughed mirthlessly and told them that that hadn't mattered a tinker's dam. He'd told them quite grimly that none but a deliberate search would have revealed the truth.

"Hermione," he'd explained, "we had to use techniques that are...well, let's just say a bit left of acceptable in order to discover the truth. And even then we didn't find much; just that it was all a ruse. There was nothing you could have done, or found, without first going on the assumption that she was an imposter. You had no reason to do that. We did." That had mollified Hermione to some degree, but Harry knew she'd berate herself for a while for not discovering the duplicity herself.

After Draco had dropped his bombshell about Faren not being Faren, theories and comments had flown around the room like snitches run amok. Nothing definite had been accomplished other than Ron's final decision to take his father's advice and borrow a sharp axe to gain entrance to her flat. Harry was going to meet him later tomorrow afternoon to help. This afternoon, he reminded himself as it was well into Saturday even though the sun was still a few hours below the horizon.

As unbelievable as Draco's findings had been, they weren't what was keeping Harry from sleep. It was the comment he'd uttered to Harry as they'd left the Tavern.

"Why would anyone go to such lengths to create the perfect nanny for us?" Harry asked.

"That's the real question, isn't it? Does this have anything to do with your mysterious admirer or is it something we're just now discovering?"

Harry turned from the open window and walked over to the couch near the cold, empty fireplace and let his mind work. There was a parchpad on the coffee table filled with Hermione's notes for an upcoming exam. He flipped past them and placed her quill on the first blank page.

Words poured from the quill as he recorded the events, big and small, that had occurred since the summer. Since the Dursleys had died in that fire. Dawn was starting to break the horizon, and the first fingers of daylight were streaming through the living room window when he finally threw down the quill and massaged his aching hand.

"Harry?" Hermione said, her voice still heavy with sleep. "Have you been up all night?"

"Yes," he sighed, leaning back onto the couch and removing his glasses to rub overly taxed eyes.

"What's this?" she asked, taking up the parchpad before cuddling into his side on the couch. Harry dropped his arm onto her shoulder and pulled her close. He was quiet as she flipped through the pages. Her eyes were darting left and right as she answered her own question. "Do you think all of this is somehow related to Faren?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," Harry admitted, letting his eyes close.

Hermione fell silent again as Harry drifted off to sleep. She knew precisely when his conscious mind turned off by the depth of his breathing. Hermione closed her eyes and let herself melt into her husband's side. The peace of the quiet house surrounded them. For a fleeting moment, Hermione longed for Harry's old invisibility cloak. Not to hide from the eyes of the world, but as a way to be apart - to be just them for a bit. Just Harry and Hermione; two normal people in a normal life. Harry's glasses fell to the floor and the quiet thud startled her back to the present. His hand had loosened on the frames as he'd fallen further into sleep. She raised her eyes to study his face, noting that the worry lines had eased as the peace of sleep had filtered in.

So much,

Hermione thought, raising a hand to brush his fringe away from his eyes. You've been through so much, Harry. We've been through so much. Aren't we due a break? That thought brought her focus away from his sleeping face and more towards the parchpad he'd filled with dates and events while she'd slept upstairs. They may be due for a cosmic break, but until they puzzled out the mystery currently invading their lives from all sides, they weren't liable to get it. Not sitting on their duffs waiting for it to happen, at any rate. Hermione's eyes darted over the various things Harry had jotted down in an attempt to at least begin working towards that break.

They had the pieces, Hermione mused as her eyes flew over the parchment, but it would be bloody helpful to know what the puzzle was supposed to look like. It wasn't the first time they'd flown blind in the face of an enigma and she had a dread feeling that it probably wouldn't be the last. Steeling her resolve to solve one puzzle at a time, Hermione focused on the words in front of her.

Dursley fire. Rosie fired. Faren hired. First letters. Draco's accident. Katia's accident. Katia notices special award missing. Jamie's dog missing. Jamie's blanket missing. Window broken. Office ransacked. Scar tingling. Faren disappears. Sara and Snape. Hermione out of town. Jason. Imperius. Faren's behavior changes. Mariah's powers. Renae's predictions. Diviners. Connection charm on scar. Beloved. Polyjuice.

There were many scratching outs among the decipherable words, and thinking back, Hermione thought that Harry had come up with quite a comprehensive list. Wracking her brain, she could come up with no other events or odd happenings over the past few months. Some of them surprised her because even she had forgotten them as life had rolled on. The prickles on Harry's scar, for example. She knew they still happened, because seeing him press his fingers to his scar had become a common occurrence. But it took reading over Harry's list to realize that until this year, he hadn't felt so much as an itch along that scar since he'd started to look for her.

Since he'd started to look for her...

The phrase echoed in her mind like a shout in a canyon. Could that have any bearing on what was going on? The prickling at the base of her neck said that it did, but she couldn't make the connection. Relegating it to the back of her mind for further study, Hermione placed the list back on the table and curled into Harry's side once again. His sleep, while peaceful at first, was becoming more active as he slipped into his dream cycle. Head whipping side to side, Harry was saying something just this side of intelligible.

"Shhh, love," Hermione soothed, taking his hand in hers.

Harry didn't seem inclined to listen. He continued to thrash and mutter next to her. "My fault....Jamie...Hermione...my fault..." He awoke with a start, twitching as he was pulled violently from sleep and looked around as if not sure where he was.

Hermione pulled him back to her, and pressed on his head until it once again lay upon her shoulder. Knowing that he must be exhausted, she was hoping that he'd fall back to sleep. But as they sat silently for a few moments, Hermione could tell that sleep wouldn't claim him again that day. His pulse rate was way too erratic for that.

"It's not, you know," Hermione whispered into the silence.

"Not what?" Harry asked on a defeated sort of sigh.

"It's not your fault," she explained, raising herself up to kiss his temple.

"I wish I could believe that, Hermione. I wish I could believe..."

"You can and you will," she insisted. She turned herself sideways on the sofa, legs crossed in front of her and framed Harry's face with her hands, forcing him to look at her. "The fault lies with the person or persons perpetuating this fiasco. Would you blame me if the letters were being sent to me?"

"Of course not. But it's..."

"I know, Harry. It's what you've dreaded since the moment I told you I was pregnant. That someone would hurt me, or Jamie, because of who you are. But I still don't think that's the case. Whoever is behind this hasn't hurt any of us. Not physically, anyway. Nor is there any indication that this person intends us any harm. The only one who's been injured was Draco, and that was an accident."

Harry wanted to comment that he wondered just how much of what had happened to Draco had really been an accident, but decided that that way madness lay. If he started second guessing every mishap over the last few months, he'd go insane.

"You're forgetting what Ginny said, about stalkers turning violent when they realize that their affections are not returned."

"I'm not forgetting that, Harry. I'm just focusing on what's in front of us, what we know for certain, not what could happen in the future. Our best defense right now is knowledge, and our best hope is discovering who is behind this before she reaches that violent stage."

Harry wanted to point out how little defensive knowledge they had, but didn't. He very much hoped to increase that small stock of information this afternoon when he and Ron entered Faren's flat.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

"Harry's on his way," Ron told Mariah, standing and brushing the soot from the knees of his jeans.

"How does he look?" Mariah called from the bedroom where she was rocking Rianne in preparation for the baby's afternoon nap.

"About how you'd expect. If he slept for more than twenty minutes last night, I'll eat the Giant Squid."

"Not very convincing, Ron. You'll eat anything if it stands still long enough," Mariah snickered.

Ron walked into the bedroom on the heels of her comment. He stood in the doorway watching mother and daughter, drinking in the smile still lingering at the corners of his fiancée's mouth. How odd it seemed now that just two weeks ago, the sight of Mariah smiling was about as rare as Snape giving points to Gryffindor. Ever since she'd come to accept her powers, however, the shadows beneath her eyes had faded completely and the only thing that had her tossing and turning in bed now was him. Ron had to stifle a grin of his own at the memory of just how he'd tossed her the previous night.

Once she'd accepted her power for what it was, blessing rather than curse, the rest had just fallen away. The nightmares, the shadows, all of it. He had his Mariah back.

You never lost me, love

. Mariah had obviously noticed the wistful look on his face and tuned in to what he was thinking.

Thank God for that. But there for a while...

Their eyes met over the head of their daughter, now fast asleep in her mother's arms. That statement didn't need finishing. Because there for a while, he didn't know if she'd ever get past what had haunted her. He knew her strength, knew it better than anyone on the planet. Strong as she was, though, he hadn't been sure if the mental turmoil would overcome that inner strength in the end. Thankfully, it hadn't. But Ron knew it had been bloody close.

Harry chose that moment to knock on their front door quietly before pushing it open and entering. Ron allowed his eyes to linger on Mariah briefly and he pictured, in great detail, his ideas on how to spend their evening. Mariah blushed profusely as she rose to lay Rianne in her crib.

You're on,

she grinned, sending him an image that nearly made standing face to face with Harry an impossibility. Nearly. He was wearing his robes today.

"You set?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow at the red tinge to his best friend's ears and the lecherous grin still turning the corners of Ron's mouth. Harry smiled in return.

"Just about. Ginny should be here any minute." Ron walked over to the fireplace and hefted the large axe his father had brought over that morning before popping over to Ginny's to get Morgan. The gleam in his eye at holding the lethal Muggle instrument could have been Arthur Weasley's. "Like it?"

"It's you." Harry tried for a smile but didn't quite get there. "Why's Ginny coming?" he asked when that statement sunk in.

"She went on for about five minutes this morning, blathering about how Mum and Dad were already going to have Morgan today, and some other nonsense. But I know better. She's curious as hell and doesn't want to hear about what we find second hand."

"Always assuming we find anything," Harry said, as if mentally preparing himself for an unsuccessful trip.

"I'm surprised Hermione isn't here," Ron commented.

"How thick do I look, Ron? Why do you think I wanted to do this while Jamie was napping?" Hermione hadn't had any comment one way or the other on his timing for this expedition...and that non-reaction had concerned him. Her silence could only mean one thing; she was saving her argument for later. But Harry had his reasons for not wanting his wife present, and would deal with her vitriol when she finally let it loose on him. Regardless of the argument she was planning on using, he refused to even entertain the image of her stumbling into a trap set for her presence. He wanted his wife and child safely tucked away in their home.

"And what did she have to say about that?" Ron asked, mentally wincing at the tongue-lashing Harry must have received.

"Nothing."

"Uh oh," Ron said, matching the grimace on Harry's face. A silent Hermione was never a good sign.

Ron stopped talking the moment Ginny walked through the door. Whatever he said in commiseration would be on the next local owl to Hermione. And he liked his body just the way it was. Free of hex marks and such.

But I heard it, Ron,

Mariah quipped in his head.

I'll throw myself on your mercy later,

Ron thought back.

Deal.

And she smiled so hard Ron felt it from across the room.

"Shall we?" Ginny asked from the doorway. They joined her and moved the few paces to stand directly in front of the offending door.

Just to be on the safe side, Ron tried Alohomora one last time. No luck. Both Harry and Ginny tried different spells. The door remained shut and the knob refused to turn. Harry eyed the axe warily and asked Ron to wait. He reemerged from Ron's flat with a dish which he promptly threw at the door. When it connected and shattered, Harry repaired it and returned it to the kitchen.

"Making sure it's not imperturbable?" Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. "I didn't know if Mariah's powers extended to putting Ron's head back on if the axe had rebounded."

"Good plan," Ron muttered, the gleam of excitement gone from his eyes and his face just a bit pale.

He swung the axe at the door with the skill and force of his brothers' legendary Beater skills. It landed dead on between the doorknob and the doorjamb. Either by luck or by design, that was all it took. The moment metal met wood, the door popped open. There was only a millimeter or so of daylight showing through the crack, but it was enough for the three of them to realize it was no longer shut firm. All of them were too eager to see what lay beyond to even bother removing the axe from where it remained, embedded in the wood.

"She's a tidy thing," Ron commented, glancing around the spotless room. It took a moment for it to register why it was so spotless. "Her things are gone."

Harry, who had once helped Faren move into this room, had noticed that immediately. She'd had loads of books, but few personal possessions. All those books were now gone; the shelves that had once borne them empty except for a thin layer of dust. The bed was made up in the sheets Mariah had provided and looked as though no one had ever slept there.

"Not all of her things," Ginny commented from the far corner of the room. She held an old, battered looking book in her hands. The expression on her face was something like horror.

Ron was by her side a second later. "Gin?" he asked, a hand on her shoulder as he looked at what she held.

"It looks like a diary," she said, her voice softer than a whisper. "It looks like his diary."

"That diary is gone," Harry reminded her, now standing on her other side.

"I know that," Ginny said, a bit more defensively than the situation called for, in Harry's opinion.

He tried to take it from her, to see if there was anything written on the pages. He had a vague memory of seeing Faren scribbling furiously in a book of some kind, and he was positive this was that book. He also wanted to compare the handwriting in this book to see if it looked anything like the notes he'd received.

Ginny, however, refused to let go of it. Before Harry could protest, she flipped through the pages and Harry could see for himself that they were all blank. Ginny took a breath, and he could have sworn he heard a slight whimper when she did so.

Ron must have heard it as well. He tried harder to get the book from her hands. Their eyes met and Ron glanced sideways, telling Harry to look at Ginny's face. It had gone as white as chalk, as white as the knuckles now gripping the leather-bound tome.

"Ginny?" Harry asked softly, trying to get the book again. "Maybe we should let Mariah..."

But Ginny wasn't listening. With a twist of her shoulders, Ginny freed herself from their hands on her arms and walked toward the small desk in the corner. She opened it to a page somewhere near the middle. Her hands shaking, she removed a self-inking quill from her robes and placed it on the page in front of her. Harry and Ron moved to peer over her shoulder.

Hello

, Ginny wrote.

There was a pause, during which all three of them held their collective breath as they waited. And then it happened. The word disappeared into the page. They didn't move. They only breathed when their lungs demanded it. Each waited with anticipated dread, staring at the blank page in front of them.

When the words finally appeared, it was almost a relief.

WHO IS THIS?

Ginny let out another muffled whimper and stepped away from the desk. Harry and Ron both turned to go after her, but she held out her hands in a warding off gesture. Harry saw her mouth Draco's name before she disappeared.

Knowing that Draco would be able to comfort her better than either of them, they turned their attention back to the diary. Their eyes met again as they tried to decide who would answer. At a nod from Ron, Harry took up the quill Ginny had left behind and bent over the parchment.

Harry Potter

, he wrote.

The delay in answering was less this go around and the reply came glistening back within seconds.

Beloved...

This time it was Harry who took a few uneasy steps back, eyes fixed on the word as it faded.

His first instinct was to start writing; to demand that he be left alone, that his family be left alone. To ask who she was and why she was making his life a living hell. There was so much worry and anger bottled up inside him, he wanted this outlet. He wanted to spew all his pent up ire at this woman. Reason regained control of him before he reached the small writing desk. Mr. Weasley's warning to Ginny during second year echoed in his head. There was no way to be positive that whoever was on the other side of this diary was, in fact, his stalker. It probably was. After all, who else called him "Beloved" these days? But without knowing for certain, Harry would leave it be. He laid the quill on the desktop and flipped the cover shut.

"Mariah?" Harry asked, his voice a tremor of fear and anger as he turned to face Ron.

"I think so," Ron agreed, taking up the journal and crossing to the door. He waited until Harry had passed into the landing before pulling the door shut by the axe.

"Give it to me," Mariah said before Harry could even ask. She was standing at the open door to their flat, her hand outstretched.

"Handy, that communication thing," Harry commented, forcing a smile to his face.

"Saves time," Ron replied, shrugging.

Mariah took the journal and held it in both hands, palms flat against the front and back leather covers. Her fingers splayed before moving to flip through the pages. Her eyes remained firmly closed, her breathing was soft and measured. It seemed forever before she finally opened them and sighed.

"Nothing?" Harry said, knowing her answer by the look in her eyes, but needing to ask anyway.

"Nothing," she confirmed, but there was something else in her eyes now. Confusion. "Nothing at all."

Ron caught on before Harry did. "Shouldn't there at least be a sense of Harry or Ginny? They just had the book in their hands."

"Got it in one, love," Mariah smiled at him. Their eyes met and held and Harry had an uneasy feeling, like he had somehow stumbled across them making love. Even though Ron and Mariah were fully clothed and standing five feet apart, Harry turned his back and gave a discreet cough.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said, and Harry turned to find his best friend grinning at him.

Harry waved off Ron's apology and grinned in return. In truth, no matter his own inner turmoil, he was happier than he knew how to express that Ron and Mariah had found each other. He'd be hard pressed to say just what he'd expected of the woman who would eventually win his best mate's heart, and he couldn't honestly say he'd pictured anyone like Mariah. But thinkings and supposings didn't matter. Ron and Mariah had found each other and battled over seemingly insurmountable odds to stay together. Through that struggle they had, in essence, become one being in two bodies. If that meant having to witness the occasional intimate moment, it was a price Harry was more than happy to pay.

"So what, exactly, does it mean that you can't sense anyone on that book?" Harry asked Mariah.

"I don't know for sure," she said. But there was something in her face that told him she had a pretty good idea. "I'll need to go...somewhere to see if it's what I think it is."

"Where?" Harry asked, none too chuffed at having the diary taken out of his possession.

"To Kalena."

Mariah offered no further explanation, and Harry knew that any inquiries would be left unanswered as well. Although she was learning to be more open about her Diviner powers as she grew to accept them, she was still very closemouthed about the Order as a whole. Ron had told him that as much as she hated secrets, she would keep the Order's. As for keeping Kalena's location a secret, Harry knew it was the only way she could protect her niece.

Fastening her traveling cloak at her neck, Mariah walked over to Ron and pressed a kiss to his cheek before turning to Harry. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she assured him. A loud crack later and he and Ron were alone.

Almost as if she knew her mum was no longer in the vicinity, Rianne began to fuss in her crib. Ron and Harry shared a brief commiserating glance before Harry left the flat. Jamie usually napped well in the afternoons, but the other witch in his house was probably pacing a hole in the floor waiting for him to return. Truth be told, he was half shocked that she hadn't stuck her head through Ron's fire to try and overhear.

With that thought foremost in his mind, Harry bypassed the short walk and Apparated to the front door. He reached out to open the front door, but it was pulled open from the inside before he could grasp the knob. Hermione was standing in the now open doorway looking both anxious and annoyed, her arms crossed across her chest and her eyebrows raised.

"Well?" she said without preamble.

"Well what?" Harry sighed, edging past her into the house.

"Well, what do you think of England's chances in the World Cup this year?" Hermione asked, exasperation dripping from her words. Harry merely raised his eyebrow at her tone. She must have read some of what he was thinking because when she joined him on the couch, she took his hand and softened her voice. "What did you find in the flat?"

"Nothing much, unfortunately. The flat was almost empty, Hermione," he told her. Her eyes narrowed and he felt her small hand squeeze his.

"Almost?"

Nodding, Harry told her of the journal and what he'd seen in it. He told her what had happened to Ginny as well. He wasn't quite prepared for the play of emotions across her face. As he spoke, he saw anger, fear, confusion, and disbelief warring for dominance. He couldn't be sure, but he believed that anger won out.

Harry wasn't sure where that anger was directed, whether towards him for timing it so she couldn't be there or towards the stalker. Right now, he'd say the odds were about even on both options.

"Where is the journal now?" she asked when he'd finished.

"Mariah took it off to Kalena. She seemed a bit intrigued that she couldn't sense anyone's presence on the book. I think she has a theory, but didn't want to say anything until she'd checked."

"Why was Ginny there?" Hermione asked, almost as if to herself.

"Apart from her incessant curiosity, you mean?" Harry asked.

"There is that," Hermione agreed. She fell silent for a moment, staring at their joined hands, the space between her eyebrows crinkling as she thought. "I just can't believe it, Harry."

"Believe what, love?" Harry sighed, leaning his head back onto the sofa.

"That we were duped so badly. That all the time we've spent wondering who was behind all the letters and chaos and it turns out she's right under our nose."

Harry didn't say anything. He couldn't. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, he still didn't believe it was Faren. Hermione must have picked up on his reticence. She turned to him, crossing her legs on the sofa. It mirrored her position from this morning, but he felt no comfort coming from her now. All he felt was annoyance.

"Harry?" she questioned, her eyes now searching his face for some evidence of what he was thinking. "You can't still think she's innocent in all of this?"

Again, Harry remained mute. Green and brown eyes locked together. Harry was the first to look away.

"You do?" she huffed, incredulity evident in both her words and her face. "How can you after what just happened?"

"Hang on, Hermione," Harry began, holding up a hand to stop her before she could get up a good head of steam. "I'm not saying she's innocent in all aspects. Her disappearance worries me, as does the diary we found in her flat. But I don't believe she's the one who's been sending the letters." He expelled a great breath when he finished and braced himself for the storm he knew was approaching.

"And on what do you base that astute assumption?" she asked, one single eyebrow a testament to the tirade she was obviously trying to keep from uttering.

"Because I know her, Hermione. Probably better than anyone. When you were away, we spent a lot of time together, and I never, in all of that time, felt anything from her but friendship."

"Harry, that was months and months ago. If memory serves, that was before the letters began arriving, wasn't it? In fact, the first letter came not long after I returned."

"So?" Harry asked, inwardly wincing at his childish tone.

"So, she probably got used to playing house with you when I was gone and decided she wanted that all the time. It's the only explanation. Look at your list, Harry," Hermione said, indicating the parchpad still on the coffee table in front of them, "who else had access to all of Jamie's things, the ones that have disappeared?"

"Anyone who can perform a summoning charm?" Harry suggested, still churlish.

Hermione shook her head. "Who else would know that those were her favorites?"

"Hermione, we don't even know that those things are related to this. Not for sure. They could have all just been misplaced."

"Misplaced, right," Hermione spat out, rising from the sofa as if she couldn't contain her anger properly if she wasn't moving. "Okay then, let's set that aside for now."

Hermione began to pace in front of the fireplace, her hands clenching and unclenching. Harry could almost hear her teeth grinding from where he sat watching her.

"How do you explain what just happened with the journal?"

Harry didn't even have to think about that one, he'd thought of nothing else since he'd left Ron's. "Do you remember how Riddle's diary worked?" he asked, waiting while she nodded. "Ginny wrote and Riddle wrote back. Logic says..." and here Harry waited until she stopped pacing. He knew she would. Hermione was a sucker for logic.

"Logically," he repeated, "whoever wrote 'Beloved' in that journal was the person Faren was talking to, not Faren herself."

"Perhaps," Hermione stated after a brief, silent deliberation. "But you're assuming that because it looked like Riddle's diary that it also works like his diary, and that's a dangerous assumption, Harry. Perhaps she charmed the diary to talk back to her."

"You're guessing," Harry said, anger rising in his voice.

"So are you!" Hermione's voice was near to shaking with righteous indignation. "Are you choosing to ignore that Faren, her whole persona, was created solely for the purpose of landing her in this house as our nanny?"

"Of course I'm not ignoring that, Hermione," Harry spat back. "I'm as puzzled as you are about it. I'm just saying that there's a very strong possibility that one thing has nothing to do with the other."

Hermione stared at Harry. Her mouth was opening and closing like a trout desperate for water. Before she could articulate what she was thinking, however, Jamie let out a piercing cry from upstairs. Their raised voices had, no doubt, awakened their daughter. It wasn't a sound Jamie was used to. Harry hoped with everything in him that she never got used to it. Based on the acid fairly spitting from his wife's eyes, their argument was far from over, however. They'd just have to try and keep their voices down while they continued it. Or, declare a truce until she was asleep again that evening.

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed awkwardly. The tension between Harry and Hermione grew as each minute passed, but they were both loathe to continue their argument in Jamie's presence. By mutual, silent agreement, they tabled any further discussion of the matter until she was settled for the night.

That turned out to be the wrong decision. They didn't speak at all, except to Jamie. By the time she was finally laid in her crib for the night, each had spent the afternoon dealing with an increasingly fussy baby and mulling over what the other had said. Hermione remained upstairs after putting Jamie down. He heard water in their bathroom and left her to soak in their oversized tub. He wanted to join her, but knew he would not be welcome. Not until they resolved this. And Hermione would not want to continue the conversation naked. Instead, Harry spent the evening staring into the fire as if the answers to all that plagued him would leap out of the flames.

The clock on the mantle struck ten and Harry knew it was time to face his wife. Dread slowed his progress towards the stairs. It churned in his stomach like something alive and trying desperately to get out. He didn't want to fight, or even disagree, with Hermione. He hated it. At the same time, however, he refused to back down simply to keep the peace. Maybe he'd be proven wrong, but only time would tell that. In the meantime, he could only go by the guidance of his own instincts.

Gathering up his Gryffindor courage, Harry mounted the steps. He found her already in bed, lying on her side with her back to his side of the bed. Sighing, he shed his clothes, placed his glasses on the side table and climbed under the blankets. He let the silence reign for a moment, and then placed a hand on her shoulder in a silent plea for her to look at him. She complied.

"Why are you being so stubborn?" they both said at the same time.

"I'm stubborn?" Hermione hissed. "About what, Harry? Wanting to keep you safe?"

"I'm not a child, Hermione. I've been known to keep myself safe for years now. I can do up my own laces and everything."

Hermione glared at him, ire shooting from her eyes at his sarcasm. He ignored it.

"I could make the same argument, Harry Potter. Don't even try to deny that you arranged to go into that flat at a time when I'd be here with Jamie."

"I don't deny it," Harry said, checking himself to keep his voice low enough so as not to disturb his daughter. "And I had my reasons -- just as I'm sure you have yours. We're married; we love each other. Wanting to keep the other safe goes hand in hand with that. But I'm not going to bend to your mindset about Faren, either. Which means, I suppose, that I'm being stubborn because I refuse to see everything your way."

"What, precisely, is that supposed to mean?" Her voice was a whisper, but the ice covering it could have frozen the Atlantic.

"Ever since we were children, Hermione, you've always known you were right, about everything. From elf rights to my Firebolt. I'll grant you that you usually were. It's just," Harry paused before plunging on, "you've never been gracious about finding out that you weren't. Is it so impossible for you to believe that you might not be right in this situation? That you might just be jumping to the wrong conclusion?"

"It's not impossible for me to believe that, Harry," Hermione sighed, "just damned improbable. All of the evidence, ALL of the facts point to her. Maybe you're just too enamored with her to realize it."

Harry sat straight up keeping his eyes on hers. "What, precisely, is that supposed to mean?" His voice was just as cold as hers had been a moment earlier when she'd said the same thing. "Do you expect me to believe that you think I have...what...feelings for Faren? That I was attracted to her romantically?"

"I'm not saying that at all," she placated. "But it goes back to what you said earlier, that you spent so much time together when I was gone. And I think that time is coloring your judgment of what's happening now."

Hermione had nothing else to say, apparently, because she turned over and presented her back to him again. Eventually, they both fell asleep. It wasn't an easy sleep for either of them. In the past, when one was restless, the other was there to comfort. Tonight, there was no comfort to be found.

Even though there was only a foot of space between them, the chasm was wider than the Urals.

*^*^*^*^*^

Across town, Draco wasn't sleeping any easier. He lay in bed, Ginny curled into him like a spoon in a drawer, and tried to relax. Relax...right. It would have been easier to resurrect Salazar Slytherin for a quick game of Quidditch. Ginny trembled beside him and he tightened the arm around her waist. He wasn't sure if it was sympathy or empathy, but he felt a shiver run down his own spine. Ever since Ginny had arrived in his office that afternoon, all but speechless with some unknown fear, he'd been fighting that shiver.

He hadn't been able to get much out of her at first. He'd dismissed his assistants from his office and had enfolded his trembling wife in his arms. She'd been mumbling; the only word he'd been able to discern was "Tom". That in itself was enough to scare him green. Anything that brought her experiences from first year back was bad, but to have her seek him out at work...

He knew now that her ordeal with Riddle's diary had left scars so deep, time had never fully healed them. She could go months without incident and then, without warning, he'd be awakened in the night as her unconscious mind recalled and snared her in yet another nightmare that ended with her screaming Riddle's name.

Riddle. Voldemort. The owner of the diary he'd been instrumental in giving to her even though it hadn't been his hand that had dropped it into hers.

He could still remember his father's words before they'd left the mansion for Diagon Alley that morning. Confront them, Draco. That will give me the opening I need to approach them. Desperate to know why his father wanted to get near the Weasleys, Draco had come within a hair's breadth of asking. But he hadn't. Lucius Malfoy disliked being questioned by anyone, least of all by his son. So, Draco had performed as commanded and had let the occurrence drift into the recesses of his twelve year old mind. Before long, Quidditch, and beating Potter at anything and everything, became the center of his life. Even as all hell began to break loose at Hogwarts, he'd placed no significance on his brief quarrel with Harry and Ron before the start of term or his father's strange request.

It wasn't until years later, when Ginny had come barreling back into his life, that he'd found out just what had transpired that day inside Flourish and Blotts. He was man enough to admit that, if he'd known at the time what his father was doing, he'd have thought it a grand idea.

Little did he know back then that, in the full course of time and circumstances, he'd want to go back to that day and stay hidden in the shadows as Potter and the Weasleys left the shop. That he'd tell his past self to risk the wrath of his father's cane to spare Ginny the nightmares she still carried with her from her first year. As he held her through another bout of trembling, he wanted that more than he wanted his next breath. But that wouldn't help Ginny now. It was one of the things she'd taught him. That changing the past wasn't the answer...the answer was dealing with it and moving on. He supposed that in that sense, he and Harry were very much owls of a feather.

Once they'd arrived back at the house, Draco had sat in the large armchair by the fire and held her fast in his arms as she'd stared blankly at the flames slowly consuming the wood. He knew her well enough to know that she needed calm and quiet before she could tell him what was wrong. He'd given her that. The silence had seemed to last hours, during which he'd kneaded the knots at the base of her neck, and whispered nonsensical things when she started shaking.

After what seemed an eternity, Ginny had finally calmed enough to tell him what had happened. Her cold voice had given him shivers, as if the sound of her voice was somehow chilling his blood. The tale had come spilling from her lips with no more inflection than Binns had used during lectures. When she'd finished, she'd heaved a great sigh and jumped off his lap to begin preparing their dinner.

Draco wasn't fooled, however. There was something else; something that bothered her even more than being reminded of her possession by Voldemort. It was that something that was haunting her now as she slept, but she'd just shaken her head when he'd tried to draw it out of her earlier that evening.

Ginny jerked out of the restless slumber she'd fallen into a few hours ago; her eyes the only indication of the dream she'd pulled herself out of. Even in the room's darkness, he could see the whites of her eyes like beacons through the gloom. He didn't care for seeing his wife wide-eyed in terror. He cared even less for the sense of powerlessness; for his inability to do anything about it.

"Red?" he whispered, using his wand to light the candles scattered here and there throughout the room.

"I'm okay," she responded, the crack in her voice proving otherwise.

"No, you're not," he countered. "Talk to me, Gin. Please. Something else is bothering you, I know it. I know what happened with the diary shook you, but that's not all, is it?"

"So when did you get to know me so well?" she asked. It heartened Draco to hear the smile in her voice, to feel her body relax slightly in his arms. "You're right," she sighed, "there is more."

Taking a deep breath, she plunged on. "Seeing the words appear in that diary, just like Tom's did, frightened me, reminded me, but beyond that initial shock...I don't know, Draco. I just couldn't shake it. I started thinking about what Sabastian said to me, remember? That the dark energy from Voldemort lingers in me? That it's what drew us to each other?" Ginny took another deep breath. "That it's just a matter of time before I succumb to that," she finished quietly. As she'd told him, she'd sat up and turned to face him.

Relief flowed into Draco, the tidal wave of it so strong he felt like laughing. He had known from the monotonal way she'd told him about Faren's diary that there was something lingering in her, some unspoken fear. Knowledge was power, and now that he knew what it was they could set about fighting it. Together.

"Let me ask you something," he murmured, his finger lifting her chin until they were eye to eye. Once he had her full attention, he continued. "Do you think I've changed? From the Slytherin you knew in school?" He felt another insane urge to laugh as he watched her hackles rise as they always did when she defended him.

"Of course you have, Draco. I've told you over and over that you're so different, that you've come so far from that boy. Pardon the pun, but you've shed that skin entirely and you damned well know it. I won't have you thinking for one minute that..."

Draco kissed her before she could get her speech rolling. "Now then, if I've changed so much, if I was able to move past being raised by Death Eaters and trained in dark magic from birth, how can you think that Voldemort's brief possession of you could ever change what's in your heart?"

He let that question sink in while he drew her into his arms and lowered her to the bed. "And if there is some lingering darkness in you that drew you to me, then I thank the heavens for it daily."

Draco let his lips fall to hers again, caressing her mouth gently before deepening the kiss. He wanted to keep it light and loving, but she wouldn't let him. The moment his tongue touched hers, she pressed her mouth more fully to his. Her hands rose to fist in the hair at the nape of his neck and kept his mouth where she wanted it. Then she went on the attack. He loved it when she kissed him this way, as if she couldn't get enough of him. Knowing that she needed to reassert a little control somewhere, Draco made the ultimate sacrifice and let her have her way with him.

"Let me ask you a question," Ginny said when she came up for air, keeping her hands fisted in his hair. "If I hadn't shown up at the mansion that day, would you have come looking for me?"

"Probably not," he said, completely blank faced.

Ginny pulled back from him and locked her eyes with his. She hooked a leg around him and rolled him until she was perched on his lap. "Oh really?" she said, holding his gaze. His only answer was a slow slide into a devilish smile.

"Really," he admitted. "If you'll recall, I kept trying to get away from you in the beginning, offering to leave you to keep the peace with your family. You wouldn't let me."

"Damn right," she grinned back. "You're stuck with me, Draco Malfoy. You have been since that first kiss. Deal with it."

And deal with it he did. Several times. By the time they collapsed into a sated sleep, arms wrapped firmly around each other, their minds were free of fear and worry. Satisfied smiles remained on their faces, all traces of the day's events wiped away by love, both physical and emotional. Draco's last thought before sinking into unconsciousness was of Potter telling him that love was what defeated Voldemort in the end. He felt that he now knew precisely how that was possible.

*^*^*^*^

Ron was dozing on the couch when Mariah popped her head through the fireplace.

Ron,

she called to him mentally, knowing that she could shout to the rooftop and not wake him. Even speaking to his mind, she had to call several times before his eyes fluttered open.

"You're going to spoil her, Ron," Mariah said, in reference to their daughter, sprawled out and fast asleep on Ron's chest.

"We were just commiserating and I guess we both nodded off," he yawned.

"Commiserating?"

"Yeah, we were both missing her mum."

Mariah smiled. "I miss you two, too. But I have to stay here for a bit." She said nothing more, not vocally or in his mind. And that silence spoke volumes.

"Okay," he said, letting her feel his grudging acceptance. "Is it what you thought?" She'd given him her suspicions mentally before she'd left, because Harry was with them.

"I can't say any more, Ron. I wish I could. But keep an eye out for Sa--for Faren. I have a feeling she's still somewhere in Hogsmeade and won't be hiding for very much longer. I need to talk to her."

"I think there's a line of people waiting for that privilege, Mariah," Ron commented sardonically.

"And for all the wrong reasons," Mariah said, so quietly he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. Before he could ask her to elaborate, however, she glanced over her shoulder and muttered something he couldn't hear. "I have to go. Give Rianne a kiss from me when you put her to bed. If all goes well, I should be back sometime late tomorrow afternoon."

"Love you, angel," Ron said, blowing her a kiss before her head disappeared from the flames.

He rose from the couch and went to put his sleeping daughter down for the night. He glanced briefly at his watch. It was half past two in the morning. Too late to go Apparating over to Harry and Hermione's to let them know what little he'd learned. More to the point, it might be better to wait until he had more concrete information for them before rushing over there.

He'd wait to see exactly what Mariah had meant by "all the wrong reasons", and why she'd almost called Faren by a different name.

*^*^*^*^*

When night had given way to morning and dawn broke through their bedroom window, Harry and Hermione awakened. Despite their argument of the night before, they'd apparently turned to each other in sleep and now found themselves wrapped in the other's arms. For long moments, their eyes remained fixed; as if they could say what needed to be said simply by looking, by searching their souls like they always had. After a while, it became apparent that they needed the words as well.

"I'm sorry," they said in unison. A small smile graced Hermione's face, widening when its twin appeared on Harry's.

They made quiet love before the realities of the morning infringed on their lives. Before Jamie woke up, before it was time to head off to their students, before they could start thinking about all that had happened over the last twenty four hours. Their disagreement still lingered between them, but its importance seemed somewhat lessened as they basked in the love they shared. The truth would come out in time; and it wouldn't matter who was right. For now, what mattered was that they face these tense days together, united, just as they'd faced every other obstacle life had thrown them since they were eleven years old.

Jamie seemed to pick up on the end of the conflict. She'd been fussy and easy to tears the previous evening, but this morning she was all smiles and gurgles for her parents. They took turns feeding and playing with her as they got their things together for the coming day: Harry gathering essays and lesson sheets for his classes, Hermione doing the same while also packing a bag for Jamie to keep her occupied while she taught.

"With any luck," she said, stuffing the bag with snacks and bottles, "she'll nap during my classes. Although that does seem to upset my students."

"Upset them?" Harry asked.

"Mmmm," she said, searching the kitchen for anything she may have forgotten. "Especially the seventh years. They love it when she's awake. They pass her around the class like a Quaffle."

Harry got a hearty chuckle at the image of his daughter being transferred and entertained by student after student. "I've got one open class slot today," he said, "right after lunch. I think I'll pop over to Ron's and see if he's heard anything from Mariah."

His face was blank, but inwardly he was waiting to see if the truce held. Mentioning the diary, even this indirectly, was the first either of them had said that came close to the topic of their argument the night before. But Hermione merely nodded.

"Good idea. I was going to suggest going over there this evening. But I'd rather know sooner over later. Just promise me that you'll come tell me whatever you learn."

"I'll come straight to your classroom after I leave. Shall I Floo in, then?"

"To my office," she grinned. "I don't think the girls in my afternoon double period could take the sight of you stepping into the classroom. It'll probably send all the papers flying with all the sighing they'll do." Harry merely raised an eyebrow while Hermione giggled. "You really don't have any clue, do you?" she grinned.

"About what?"

"About your appeal to almost every witch."

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, trying not to blush.

"I'm afraid it's true, love," Hermione replied, trying not to enjoy his embarrassment too much. "I'm quite the envied witch. Your secret admirer isn't the only one that wishes she were in my robes. Or, more to the point, in yours."

Harry goggled at her, at the devilish twinkle to her brown eyes. He felt his heart fill with love at her ability to lighten his mood with humor over something that had had them at odds for most of the previous day. He pulled her close in his arms and leaned down to brush a quick kiss on her lips, but a small squawk from the table halted his forward progress.

"Mamadadamamadada."

They turned in unison towards their daughter, who was looking straight at them, her chubby cheeks stretched in a smile.

"Harry, did she...?" Hermione was afraid to trust her own ears. Jamie had been babbling for some time, using various consonant/vowel combinations for just about everything around her. But this was the first time she'd directed a babble at something and been somewhat right. They turned towards each other, then looked back at Jamie, their arms still around one another, and stared. They were both mentally willing her to repeat herself.

"Mamadada!" Jamie squealed again, waving two chubby fists in the air before reaching for them.

Neither of them could move. They stood stock still, feet rooted to the ground, staring openmouthed at their daughter, both sets of eyes misting.

"Mamadada!" Jamie said, more insistent this time.

Hermione's feet uprooted themselves first. Grinning through her tears, she released Jamie from her high chair and swung the baby in a circle. "Who's my big girl?" she asked, pressing kisses to chubby baby cheeks. She walked over to where Harry stood watching them and passed Jamie into his arms. The moment his arms enveloped her, Jamie raised her arms in the air in silent plea for what she loved most. Harry acquiesced and lifted her high into the air then brought her down to blow bubbles on her exposed belly.

Once she was pacified with the game, Harry cradled her on his hip with one arm and drew Hermione into the embrace with his other.

"Mamadada," Jamie said again to the joyous grins of her parents.

Their eyes left their daughter to focus on each other. In that one instant, they were able to put away everything else. Stalkers, disappearing nannies, letters, chaos...all of it fled as their eyes held. The universe pared itself down to the bare basics for Harry in that moment. His wife and his daughter. His world. The rest of it wasn't worth the ash in the fireplace.

Harry tried to communicate this to his wife, and by the new tears glistening in her eyes, he knew she got the general gist.

"I love you, too," she said, rising up on her toes to place her lips against his.

^*^*^*^

Hermione sat at her desk, trying desperately not to laugh. Her seventh years were finishing up their essays, busily scratching away with paper and pen. Those that were Muggle born and/or raised were having no difficulty whatsoever. But the few in her class that were raised solely by witches and wizards were having a devil of a time. Knowing her mind was too preoccupied with her life outside the school, Hermione had decided to give them an impromptu test. A test in which they had to use Muggle writing implements. The occasional mutter of swearing when the erasing spell didn't work on the Muggle paper or ink had her biting the insides of her cheeks to keep the giggles in.

She was also fighting the urge to check her watch, or nip back into her office. Harry had told her that he'd be going to see Ron at lunch and would come straight to her office to tell her if there was any news about Faren's journal. It was now half past two and he was still a no show.

The bell signaling the end of the lesson brought many sighs of relief from her students as well as her request for them to bring their papers up to her for grading. She was just putting them into their proper file when a voice sounded over the voices of her students trading grievances over the task she'd set them.

"Professor Granger?"

Hermione turned towards the door to her classroom. She motioned for the girl to join her at her desk as the collective noise level in the classroom rose.

"Yes, Annika?" She didn't notice until the girl was right in front of her, but Annika seemed quite upset about something. "What is it?"

"It's Katia," she said, her voice trembling. "There's been some kind of accident."

Hermione's mind recalled the image of the young Gryffindor falling to the floor after Jamie's dedication. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Is she okay?"

"I don't know. I just saw them taking her to the hospital wing. She's unconscious. Professor McGonagall was levitating her, and I heard her say something about her being attacked. I...I thought you'd want to know. "

"Has anyone told Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not sure. He wasn't in his office when I checked. I went there first, since it's closer."

Hermione felt a renewed sense of unease over what could possibly be taking him so long with Ron, but that was for later. She needed to get to the hospital wing to see Katia. And then she remembered that Jamie was asleep in her office. Madam Pomfrey would be delighted to see the baby, Hermione knew, but she was a bit leery of taking the baby into the hospital wing. The Hogwarts' nurse might be a marvel at healing, and it sounded like Katia had been deliberately hurt rather than taken ill, but Hermione wasn't taking any chances with her daughter's health.

Not to mention that she was loathe to wake Jamie. Naps were her few times of blessed peace, and if Jamie's were cut short, they all paid for the rest of the day.

She was just resigning herself to use the fire to contact Poppy when an idea hit her. She took a moment to size up the student in front of her. Harry spoke very highly of her achievements and her abilities and, according to him, she had a real shot at being accepted into the Auror Institute after this year. Surely she could be trusted with Jamie for the few moments it would take Hermione to get to the hospital wing. Jamie knew her and would probably sleep through the whole thing, anyway.

"Annika, could I ask you to stay here with Jamie while I dash up to check on Katia?"

"Of course, Professor," Annika replied, voice still shaky. "Will you tell her that I'll be by later and that I'm thinking of her if she's awake?"

"Yes," Hermione smiled, glad to see that the bond between housemates was as strong as it had been in her time as a student. "Jamie's still asleep and I doubt she'll wake up before I get back."

Annika merely nodded before dropping her bag onto one of the desks and sitting at it. "I won't mind if she does. In the meantime, I've got some Dark Arts stuff to catch up on. I was on my way to the library to do it, but I'll get started on it here."

"Thanks, Annika," Hermione smiled before rushing from the room, trying to think of the fastest way to reach the hospital wing from here. Using secret passages she recalled from earlier days, she made it there in record time.

Poppy was standing with Minerva, their heads close together as they spoke quietly. "Minerva, Poppy," Hermione panted, still catching her breath, "I just heard. How is she?"

"Still unconscious," Minerva replied in her no-nonsense tone. "And we haven't a clue how she got that way. David says he found her on the floor in one of the empty Transfiguration classrooms. I asked Sara to take a look around down there to see if she could find anything that would indicate how this happened after she told you about Katia."

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Minerva that she hadn't seen Sara, but knew it was of no consequence. Hermione had taken shortcuts all through Hogwarts in her haste to reach the hospital wing and the odds of them crossing paths were next to nil. Annika would tell Sara that she'd already come here.

Hermione stayed only long enough to gather assurances from Poppy that the nurse would inform her the moment Katia awakened. She hoped that Sara would be able to find some clue as to what happened to the young Gryffindor. The poor girl had been through quite enough this year. She suppressed a small smile over Poppy's complaint that David and Zach were once again refusing to leave her side.

A tingle of unease pricked the back of Hermione's neck as she neared her classroom. Unease with a touch of panic. A feeling she hadn't had since she was a seventh year and Harry's confrontation with Voldemort was still looming on the horizon. Almost against her will, her feet began to move faster until she was all but running towards her classroom.

She didn't even try to stop the scream when her eyes fell upon the unconscious body and the empty cradle.

*^^*^*^*^*^*

Harry left Ron's apartment almost wishing he hadn't made the journey. No news was...well, it was no news. And bloody frustrating to boot. To top it all, he knew Ron knew something. The man's ears didn't go that shade of scarlet when he was being completely honest. Anger, embarrassment and lies were the only things that made it look like he was sporting tomatoes on the sides of his head.

He hadn't been angry, and he sure as hell hadn't been embarrassed. He'd just calmly told Harry that he hadn't heard from Mariah at all while his ears had gone steadily redder. But he'd respected his best friend enough, and was married enough, to know that some things you just can't say, no matter how much you may want to. Ron would never urge him to divulge Hermione's secrets; so he hadn't pushed Ron. He'd merely shaken his hand and taken his leave.

Even though he knew Hermione was waiting not-so-patiently for him to return and tell her about his meeting with Ron, Harry detoured to the house to pick up some papers he'd left behind this morning. Summoning charms were all well and good, but when a man needed to gather his thoughts before facing his wife, fetching things the Muggle way was the only way to go.

His mind on other things, Harry was unprepared for the hair on the nape of his neck to stand up the moment he crossed the threshold of his house. Something wasn't right here. The door handle had turned easily, but that was not a reliable indicator of it having been unlocked. The recognition charm Hermione had used at their Hogwarts' rooms was in place here as well. He closed the door slowly behind him, keeping as still and quiet as he could. That's when he heard it. A soft shuffling of footsteps directly overhead...in Jamie's nursery.

The mental debate over Apparating straight up there versus using the stairs took seconds only. The stairs creaked. Whoever was up there would undoubtedly hear him and Disapparate before he could get there. On the other hand, he wasn't too keen on Apparating into the room. If it was Hermione, he'd scare her into next week. If it was someone with ill intent, he couldn't be sure that he'd arrive facing him or her. In the end, he decided to plan his arrival for right outside the door.

Harry allowed himself another second's pause once outside Jamie's door, hazarding a glance through the slight crack between door and doorjamb. He could see the outline of someone standing next to Jamie's crib, leaning into it. A cloaked someone. A cloaked someone he didn't recognize.

The door made no noise when he pushed it open, wand pointed in front of him. "Can I help you?" he said, braced for action.

He nearly dropped his wand when the intruder turned to face him.

It was Faren. A Faren that hadn't been a close friend of a good night's sleep (based on the shadows beneath her eyes) since the last time he'd seen her. A Faren holding a sealed envelope in one hand and her wand in the other.

"Harry," she gasped, her wand hand going to her chest.

"What are you doing here, Faren?" Harry asked, not lowering his wand.

"I wanted...I had to...I...this is for you," she said, her voice trembling. Whether it was from being startled or being caught, Harry didn't know. And her face was giving nothing away.

"What is it?" His voice was cold. At his words, and tone, her face became a study in confusion, as if she couldn't understand the chill in his voice. Truth be told, he wasn't sure himself. No matter what Hermione had said, he'd never believed that she was responsible for the letters, that she was the stalker. But those firm convictions took a direct hit when he'd seen her near his daughter's crib...when he'd seen what was in her hand. Even from this distance he could tell it wasn't parchment. It was a Muggle envelope.

"It's a letter. I had to try and explain before..." she trailed off. Her eyes, still locked on his, suddenly glazed over, as if she was focusing inward rather than on him. He gave her a moment of quiet; he felt he owed her that much. But when she spoke again, his last thought was that perhaps that hadn't been the wisest course of action. Her mouth was twisting into some sort of mad smile. For a moment, he was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. She looked like an entirely different person.

"I didn't think I'd have this opportunity," Faren said, almost to herself. Her voice was hollow, and her eyes still slightly unfocused. "I thought he'd have time to read the letter. To understand. But no matter." She shook her head absently. "No, it doesn't matter. It's time."

Harry hadn't felt this lost since Hagrid had shown up at the hut on the rock the night of his eleventh birthday. He wasn't sure what to think, what to do. Faren continued to mutter to herself, but he couldn't make out the words. He'd tried to interrupt her, but she didn't seem to hear him. She just continued mumbling.

He was just about to take a step towards her when several things happened at once. Harry heard a creak on the floorboard outside the nursery, he saw Faren raise her wand towards him, and felt two spells pass on either side of his head. He raised his own wand in defense, but it was too late. The spell hit him on the side of his head.

He had time for one final thought, Hermione! before the world went black.

*^*^*^*^*

Harry came back to consciousness by degrees. His hearing was the first of his senses to return. There was a woman talking nearby. He hadn't a clue how much time had passed since the...whatever it was...had hit him. Hoping that sight was available, Harry opened his eyes cautiously. Based on his view of the room, Harry realized that he had been moved. He was sitting in Jamie's room, on the floor near the window. He tried to stand and failed miserably. It felt as though he was under the body binding curse. His arms and legs were completely useless. He could move his head, but didn't want to draw any undue attention to his now wakeful state, so he kept those movements to a bare minimum.

From his vantage point, he could see a single foot near the half closed nursery door, but from this angle, he couldn't tell whose foot it was. Deciding to end the mystery once and for all, Harry turned towards the sound of the voice he'd heard. It had sounded familiar.

What the bloody hell is

she doing here? he thought as his eyes focused and he saw who was holding his daughter.

She was looking at him with adoration, with love, and with eyes that said if she wasn't insane now, she was damned close to it.

"You're finally awake, my beloved," she crooned over the top of his daughter's head. "We're together at last."

~~fin chapter...one more to go, guys. Hang in there~~