The Joining of the Three

Chapter 1

Harry stood at his office window looking down over the grounds. Many former students had a fondness for Hogwarts once they left. For him, though, it was almost a reverence. Twice the ancient castle by the lakeside had saved his life -- first from a miserable existence with his horrid aunt and uncle, and second from the aimless, wasted life of a man mired in grief.

After they'd left school, Harry and Ron had moved into Hogsmeade to set up a branch of his brothers' joke shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. But Harry, unable to cope with the apparent death of his best friend Hermione, had taken to spending most of his time drunk in the Three Broomsticks, instead.

Everyone had watched his decline, but no one had commented on it, at least not to his face, until Professor McGonagall had spoken up. Grinning, he could still remember her words. "For heavens sake, Potter. I seriously doubt Miss Granger would appreciate you going to pieces like this. Shape up."

And so he had. It had taken a while, though. Ron, with some help from a mysterious message, had rescued him from the bottle and had given him hope. Dumbledore had given him a job. And then, miracle of miracles, an American witch named Mariah had helped him find Hermione.

But as it turned out, finding Hermione had been only half of the battle. An aftereffect of the Avada Kedavra counter charm she'd written had caused her to lose her memory completely. He could still see her, sitting behind the desk of the library where she worked, looking at him with no knowledge of who he was. It had been like a sword through the heart.

Slowly, through dreams and real life encounters, she had begun to remember. First, she had begun casting spells without knowing what she was doing or why. Then, she had grown to know him as a polite British stranger that had happened into her library. Finally, after a traumatic encounter with him in her flat, her memory had returned.

Six months ago, the journey they'd begun after knocking out a mountain troll in a girl's bathroom when they were eleven had ended, when she'd become his wife. Their new journey together had begun.

Some of his married friends had told him to expect a few bumps in the road of married life, but Harry figured they'd already had their bumps…in spades. He had to constantly control the urge to shout out his happiness. He didn't want the other teachers to think he'd gone mad again. Or at least, madder than his wife.

Just then, a loud thump hit the office wall and he could hear Hermione swearing. Fighting laughter, he walked through the door adjoining their offices and poked his head in.

"Everything all right, love?"

"No, it's not all right. Unless we fit every witch and wizard who uses this bloody counter with a tracking device, they'll never be heard from again."

Harry, used to his wife's ravings over her imperfect charm, casually walked behind her. He scraped her hair to the side and placed a gentle kiss to the base of her neck. Without comment, Hermione stood and raised her wand towards the door that opened to the hallway. He heard it slam shut and lock as she turned into his arms and kissed him back.

As it had been from the beginning, a single meeting of mouths wasn't enough. One taste and he turned into Dudley at the dinner table…greedy for every last bit of her. His hands fisted in the bushy brown hair she'd let grow. Her fingers threaded through his own unkempt hair, teasing the nape of his neck with her fingernails.

"This promises to get interesting," Harry groaned as her lips found the sensitive hollow beneath his ear. "But I've got a class in five minutes."

"Spoilsport," she grinned then looked back at her desk. The only things on it were a large glass container filled with spiders and the wand she'd dropped as she kissed him.

"Not going well, then?" he asked tentatively. Any conversation about her work these days was liable to send her into one raving mood or another. Hermione had focused on perfecting the counter charm and teaching her one class in her usual tenacious fashion.

There had been a bit of tension between them the previous month after she'd contracted the flu. Harry had wanted her to go straight to Madam Pomfrey, but Hermione had refused because it would put her behind schedule. He'd asked how she could schedule charm writing, but she'd only glared at him.

"Ron should be pleased," she said stiffly. "I am single handedly depleting the spider population of the United Kingdom. Every time I try it, they disappear."

"Memories intact?" Harry felt like living dangerously today.

"You're a riot, Potter."

"And you're beautiful, Mrs. Potter."

Hermione gave him a wicked smile that said she was planning on making Harry very late for his class, but just then an owl swooped through her open window, dropped a letter on her desk and left.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"It looks like a letter. But as I'm horrid at Divination, maybe I'd better actually open it," she smirked as she opened the envelope. She scanned it briefly, then sank into her chair.

Harry picked it up and read. There was no salutation.

I am writing to inquire as to the whereabouts of Miss Mariah Jamison. She left us six months ago to attend your wedding and has not yet returned. Any information you could provide would be greatly appreciated.

Kalena

Harry glanced down at Hermione. Her face was blank. "Have you heard from her, love?"

"No. But as her letters were sporadic at best before the wedding, I didn't dwell on it too much. I wonder who Kalena is?"

"You don't think Ron's heard from Mariah, do you?" Harry asked.

"I don't think so, but he's still mighty touchy on the subject. I mentioned her name in passing just last week, and he nearly removed my head. But I think it's worth asking again. Something's up with him. Whenever I talk to him, his ears go red."

"A sure sign he's hiding something," Harry agreed. That was the nice thing about enduring friendships…no secrets. When Ron was nervous or lying, his ears went red. Hermione bit her lip. He wasn't sure what his outward sign was, as neither one would tell him, but they always knew when he wasn't being entirely honest. It was like having two walking Sneakoscopes wherever he went.

"I'll just go this evening and drag him off to the Three Broomsticks. He usually gets talkative over a pint." Harry placed a furtive kiss on Hermione's forehead as the bell rang, signaling the beginning of his class.

^*^*^*^*^

Harry walked through to the back office of Weasley's later that evening and knocked briefly on the door. Ron called a hurried "what is it now, Lissanne?"

"First off, it's not Lissanne," Harry grinned as he walked through the door.

"Sorry. My new assistant's after me every five minutes with questions. What are you doing off school grounds, Professor?"

"Haven't seen you in a while. I just thought I'd stop by. Maybe take you to the Three Broomsticks for a pint."

"Hermione kick you out already?" Ron grinned. But there go the ears, Harry thought.

"No," Harry laughed, "although with her mood swings these days anything's possible."

"Charm still giving her fits?"

"Yeah, she's sending spiders off into the unknown by the dozens, though. She thought that'd make you happy."

"She feeling any better?" Ron asked casually, knowing Hermione had suffered through a bout of Muggle flu right after a trip to her parents.

"I guess. She's not as sick as she used to be, but it still bothers her occasionally. And yet, she refuses to go to Poppy. Says she doesn't have time." And Harry'd had about enough of that reasoning.

Ron forced a smile, but then frowned. "Sounds like Hermione. Listen, Harry, I'm gonna have to pass on the pint. I've got somewhere I've got to be just now."

Harry stood alone in the office after Ron Disapparated. The first stirrings of worry were beginning to unfurl in his stomach. It wasn't like Ron to be so secretive, not with him. But he respected him enough to wait until he was ready. Smiling inwardly, Harry decided to give him a week. Then he'd beat it out of Ron if need be.

"Excuse me, Mr. Weasley," a tall Australian witch with flowing brown hair came bustling into the office. "I was wondering about these inventory sheets…" She broke off when she realized who was standing there instead.

"Sorry," Harry smiled. "Ron just left. Can I help? I used to work here a time or two."

"Uh…no…it's okay…er…Mr. Potter," the witch stammered. Harry swallowed the chuckle that was bubbling up in his throat. After all the years of dreading being recognized, he'd finally grown to see the humor in it.

"I didn't realize Ron had hired an assistant," Harry stated, making it sound like a question. If he couldn't ask Ron, maybe Lissanne would know more about his friend's odd behavior.

"Just last week," she smiled nervously. "He told me he's working on something that will require him to be away from the shop a lot."

"He didn't tell you what he was working on, though?" Harry prodded.

"No. I assumed it's something for Weasleys, even though his brothers are the inventors. But he is gone quite a bit. That's why I'm after him whenever he's here. It's driving me mad, one minute he's in the office, the next he's gone." The bell over the door jangled and Lissanne excused herself.

Once back at Hogwarts, Harry went straight to their quarters.

"Well?" Hermione asked before he could even remove his cloak.

"It's getting curiouser and curiouser," Harry sighed, grinning with Hermione's reaction to his quote from Alice in Wonderland. Harry sat on the bed, removed his shoes and lay back among the pillows, feeling as though he'd accomplished nothing on his trip to Hogsmeade. "Ron's hired an assistant."

"There's that much business these days?" Hermione sounded both pleased and doubtful.

"No. The assistant, Lissanne, said he's gone quite a bit though. Sometimes Disapparating without even telling her he's leaving."

"That's not like Ron," Hermione stated thoughtfully. "Suppose we better get over there on the weekend and hash it out?"

"You get to do the hashing, love," Harry said, pulling her onto the bed beside him and wrapping his arms around her. "I'll just sit back and enjoy the fireworks."

And, smiling, they found other things to occupy their time.

^*^*^*^*^*

Ron walked into the quiet room and stopped just inside the door. She was asleep and he hated to wake her, but he was tired of all the questions plaguing him. He was tired of the secrecy. And he wanted answers. He'd done everything she'd asked for the past week, and now, he wanted the reasons behind her almost desperate need for secrecy.

"Mariah?"

She stirred as much as she could, a slight toss of her head and shifting of her shoulders. Whatever had happened to her, she was still very weak from it. As far as he knew, she hadn't been out of this bed since he'd magicked her there. Logically, he knew she'd made it as far as the bathroom, but he hadn't seen her on her feet once. Whenever he was around, she remained huddled beneath the quilt on the bed.

Seven days, he mused. Seven long days since she'd collapsed at his feet. Seven days of caring for her, and worrying about her…and hating her for throwing his life into an uproar once again.

After assuring himself that she was alive the night she had collapsed at his feet, he'd levitated her to his bed, covering her with the quilt. Her face, though cut and bruised, was fuller, as was the rest of her. He'd kept his eyes firmly on her face, though. Any thoughts that included activities below the neck were only dooming him to further heartbreak, so he'd steered clear of them. He'd adopted, as best he could, a brotherly attitude toward caring for her. So far, it was working.

When she'd awoken, he'd discovered that she couldn't speak. He'd given her water, and when that hadn't worked, he'd started wracking his brain for vocal spells. Mariah had put a rapid end to that with a wave of her hand and a weak smile. Then she spoke to him…in his mind. He'd been even more disconcerted when he'd found that she could also read his thoughts.

If she knew why, she wasn't telling him.

"Mariah?" he asked again and this time her eyes flew open. "It's okay, just me."

What's wrong?

"Nothing," Ron muttered, suddenly feeling bad for waking her over something so trivial.

If it's bothering you, it's not trivial, Ron.

"I asked you to stop that, Mariah," Ron sighed, then crossed the room to sit on the chair next to the bed.

Sorry, but when you scream things in your head, it's kind of hard not to hear them. Now what's wrong?

"Nothing, really. Harry was just downstairs. He knows I'm hiding something, Mariah, and I don't know how much longer he'll let me lie to him. I don't know how much longer I want to."

Ron, I told you. No one can know I'm here.

Even though he was only hearing her voice in his head, he could still hear the sadness in her words. "Why, Mariah? What's going on?" He wasn't much on cloak and dagger stuff anymore. That had been during his Hogwarts days. After You Know Who had died, he'd been very glad to put that part of his life behind him.

I can't…

Ron stood and prowled over to the window. "I've had it with that, Mariah. And it ends now. You either tell me why your presence here is such a great secret, or I take out an ad in the paper announcing your address."

That's blackmail.

"Damn right it is. You appear battered and unconscious in my house, without your voice. Then you tell me, in my head no less, that I have to keep you hidden and that I have to place wards around my own apartment to keep anyone from sensing your presence here. I hate lying to my friends, and I won't continue without a good reason."

Ron paused to calm himself down. After several deep breaths, he continued. "What happened to you, Mariah? I need to know."

Her eyes closed. Ron could see her shoulders rise and fall with each breath she took. And when she looked up at him again, the tears in her eyes almost floored him.

You're right. And I'm sorry I've been so secretive. The truth of it is, I didn't know how to tell you. She paused and took in a deep breath. When I left your house after the reception, I decided to take some time to myself before heading back to America…to think. I wandered all over London. Throughout the week, I had the eerie impression that someone was following me…almost stalking me. It took the better part of a day to narrow it down to a tall, blond man I'd seen on more than one occasion. Once I'd figured out who it was, I tried everything to elude him, including Concealment Charms and random Disapparations. I did this, she indicated the rather stark change in hair color, as a last ditch attempt to hide from him. It didn't work.

It sickened him to think that while he had been cursing her for leaving him, she'd been terrified and running from a stalker. "Who was it?" Ron said sharply, barely controlled rage swimming within him.

I don't know. I've never seen him before in my life. He cornered me in Harrod's, put some sort of spell over me that prevented me from Disapparating and took me off to this old castle. I've been there ever since. I tried several times to escape, but he caught me each time. After every attempt, something was taken. Lesser amounts of food, bedding, that sort of thing.

"Did he hurt you?" Ron interrupted. He'd wanted to ask if he'd touched her, assaulted her in any way. His mouth had refused to form the words.

Mariah wouldn't meet his eyes. I don't think so, she answered vaguely. Not until the end, when my escape attempts came closer and closer together. My last try, I got as far as the gates to the castle before he caught me. That must've scared him, because after that one, I was locked in a basement room and shackled to the wall. That's when I starting trying to contact you. And I have to apologize for draining you like that, but he was feeding me very little and I needed to get my strength back if I was going to escape again.

"Draining me?" Ron asked, stunned. Mariah looked at him, tears falling from her lashes, leaving wet trails down her cheeks. He was at her side a moment later, wiping them away with his thumbs. "Tell me, Mariah. Please?"

I wouldn't know where to start, Ron.

"Start with how I can hear your voice in my head and end up with how you could 'drain' me," Ron suggested.

It all has to do with my being a Diviner. Do you remember back in America, when I ran off?

"Vividly," Ron said blankly, and he was rewarded when she gave him a teary smile.

When I was in the bathroom, I noticed this on my wrist. She pushed her sleeve up to show him a black band there. It's a Bonding mark. The Order was trying to Bond us together, Ron, because of what happened. But I couldn't allow that. You deserved more than to be saddled with me hanging around for the rest of your life due to a set of circumstances you knew nothing about. When I left you, I went straight to the head of the Order, Kalena, and begged her to remove the mark. Because you are a wizard, she agreed. The Bond was removed provided I had nothing more to do with you.

"But then we made love again, after the reception," Ron continued, beginning to get the picture.

Yes. The mark returned that morning, and I knew there was no releasing you this time. I just hoped that the distance between Britain and America would be enough to keep you from knowing.

"Knowing what?"

That we were Bonded. It's more than just a mark on the arm, Ron. A Diviner can communicate with her Bond without words, as you've seen, can feel his feelings, and, in some cases, draw energy from him. I think it's stronger between us because you're a wizard.

"That's the second time you've said 'because you're a wizard', Mariah. Why should that make any difference?"

Because it's never happened before. Diviners are only born of witch mothers and Muggle fathers. We're forbidden to Bond with wizards. Preservation of the Order, Kalena calls it. I don't know why, that's just the way it's always been.

"But if it's forbidden…" Ron trailed off.

Your guess is as good as mine as to why the mark came back. I assumed because I'd gone against my word to Kalena about avoiding you at the wedding. Truth be told, I half expected her to summon me home that morning, but she didn't.

Ron stood and walked slowly to the window. After a week of silence and shunted questions, his brain was on information overload. Unfortunately, the more questions she answered, the more he came up with. Some of which he wasn't entirely sure he wanted the answers to.

"But why was this man after you, Mariah?"

I don't know, Ron. Mariah's eyes settled in her lap where her hands were clenched together over the bunched up comforter.

However, he got the distinct impression that she did.

^*^*^*^

"Avada Kedavra," Hermione pointed her wand at the spider she'd just placed the counter on. Zip. It was gone.

"Bloody hell," she muttered under her breath, placing her head in her hands. If anyone had told her years ago, after Moody's class, that she'd be repeatedly performing the Killing Curse on spiders, she'd have laughed herself hoarse. Yet here she was…

"Hermione?" a voice at the door asked, and Hermione raised her head.

"Come on in, Minerva," Hermione sighed.

"Am I disturbing your work?" Minerva McGonagall took a seat opposite the desk.

"Please, disturb me," Hermione smiled. "I'm about ready to fling the whole mess out the window and tell everyone it was just a fluke that I survived." She looked over at the new supply of spiders from Hagrid and felt her stomach roll slightly.

"You'll get there, Hermione. You're the most persistent witch I've ever met." They spoke for a few minutes, but Hermione was having difficulty concentrating on her words. The rolling in her stomach was getting worse.

"Minerva, please excuse me," Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth and ran for the small washroom in the hallway. When she came back in, Minerva was still there, her arms crossed at her chest and a rare smile on her face.

"Hermione, how much longer are you going to keep denying it?"

"Denying what?" she asked.

"That you're pregnant."

The women's eyes met as the words seemed to bounce around Hermione's brain. Pregnant? She thought. That was ridiculous. She couldn't be pregnant. She was just wrapped up in the counter and still shaking off her bout of flu.

But that was over a month ago, and you were feeling queasy before you went home. Come to think of it, you haven't felt well for about three months. And it has been three months or so since …

"Merlin's beard," she breathed. "I've got to go, Minerva. I want Poppy to confirm it before I tell Harry."

"Go right ahead," Minerva smiled again and watched her run from the room.

^*^*^*^*^

At the opposite end of the castle, Harry was reviewing his lesson for the incoming second years when the shadow of three Gryffindors -- David, Zach and Katia -- darkened his doorstep.

"Professor Potter?" asked Katia, the leader of their little group. Last year, he'd noticed similarities between these three and another Gryffindor trio. And those similarities grew every time he saw them together.

"Come on in." They walked into the room and stood around his desk. The déjà vu was almost overpowering. He checked his watch, then met their eyes. "You're a bit early for class, what can I do for you?"

Both boys turned to Katia and waited for her to speak. "We were wondering if Professor Granger was all right?" Although Hermione used his name in everything else, they'd decided to use Granger for her professional name to cut down on confusion.

Harry's stomach gave a slight lurch. "Why?" he asked, somehow managing to keep his voice even.

The tallest boy, David, answered. "I saw her running towards the Hospital Wing right after lunch."

"But my older brother told me she was teaching her afternoon Muggle Studies class," Zach added quickly.

"Then I'm sure she's fine," Harry assured them. As the rest of their class began to arrive, the three took their seats.

Harry couldn't keep his thoughts from straying to Hermione. He knew that she was fine, that if anything serious was wrong he would have been notified. But a small sliver of dread hung over him. She'd been ill on and off for too long for it to be a simple case of flu. And something had to have happened for her to finally agree to see Poppy. But he had a class to teach, so he tried to push the disturbing thoughts to the back of his mind.

^*^*^*^*

"Mione?" Harry called, pushing the apartment door open with enough force to slam it against the wall.

"Harry?" Hermione said, rising from the window seat.

"Are you all right?" he crossed to her immediately, taking her hands in his. If he'd been thinking clearly, he'd have noticed that she looked like Crookshanks after a bowl of cream.

She led him over to the window seat and they sat facing each other. After a few minutes of heavy silence, Harry finally spoke. "You planning on telling me? Or am I supposed to dust off the Divination skills? If you're sick, just tell me…"

Hermione had raised a hand to stop him, so he held his tongue. "I'm trying to find the right words, but I can't seem to phrase it properly. Harry," Hermione took his hands and smiled into his green eyes, "I'm pregnant."

"You're what?" he said softly, his mind going in a thousand directions at once.

"Pregnant," Hermione said, happiness radiating from every inch of her. "Poppy just confirmed it. She says I'm about three months along. Harry?" She finally noticed his expression. "What's wrong? Aren't you happy?"

There was no answer. Harry simply stared at Hermione, his face blank and his hands tightening painfully in hers.

"I'm a lot of things right now, Hermione. Happy is a fair bit down on the list." His voice was as harsh as she'd ever heard it…cold and distant.

Pulling his hands from hers, he quickly stalked to the door. He turned, gave Hermione one last unfathomable look, then slammed the door shut behind him.

Hermione felt a fist reach up and grab her heart.

^*^*^*^*^

"Milord?" a timid voice sounded behind him. He turned with such speed she nearly lost her footing.

"Renae." Just hearing him use her name in that silky, sinister way made her want to cringe. "What word is there?"

"None, milord. There is no trace of her to be found. I've used every resource available to me, and I can't find her."

"Then I suggest you find some new resources," the man spat back at her, then banished her with a flick of his hand.

So. The witch thought she could escape him, eh? Thought she was smarter than him by hiding did she? Well, she was about to find out that he was no one to fool with. His plan had many facets. Her imprisonment here had been the most straightforward approach, but was by no means his only option. He simply had to shift gears. The groundwork had been laid. He still had time.

After all, he mused, she was only a stepping stone towards what he really wanted.