Part One

By Mena Baines

It was chillier back at Hogwarts than it had been at the Weasley’s burrow. It was the first thing Hermione noticed upon returning, and she shivered in her tank top, pulling her hair down to cover her shoulders. Maybe it’s not just the weather, she thought with a shudder. Now that she had been away it seemed so obvious that there was something very wrong at Hogwarts. She could feel it in the wind as she stepped off the train.

Harry had been tense and quiet since she’d told him about his father being alive. She’d asked him a million times if he was angry with her for keeping it from him, but he insisted that he was too numb from the shock of the news to feel anything yet. She hated to see him this way. All of the students were greeting each other happily as they got off the train—glad to see their friends were still alive in dangerous times like these. Perhaps they could feel it, too. The dark mischief in the breeze that ruffled their hair.

“ Harry, my god!” Of course the first unhappily familiar voice Hermione heard was that of Cho Chang. She rushed over and threw her arms around Harry’s neck for a friendly moment that was a little too long. Harry stood motionless, and gazed back at her awkwardly when she released him.

“ I was SO worried,” Cho said, placing a hand on her chest, “ I heard what happened up at the Weasley’s place—how TERRIFYING!”

Harry looked at her, without speaking for a few long seconds.

“ Yes,” he finally said.

Cho looked hurt—Harry had never been impolite to her in the past, despite her toiling. Hermione couldn’t believe herself, but she actually felt bad for her former rival.

“ We’re all just really tired,” she explained apologetically to Cho, leading Harry away. She looked up at him warily as they neared the castle. “ Are you okay?” she whispered.

Harry shook his head, “ I don’t know what to do first,” he said, “ Don’t even know what to think first…. I want to kill Dumbledore for keeping this from me. Kill him. And…my father. I have to find him before…” he trailed off.

Oh, just say what you mean! Hermione wanted to scream. Before you die, you want to meet your father. Maybe kill him too. But she kept her thoughts to herself—there was no sense in provoking him any further.

“ Well do you want to go straight to McGonagall and Dumbledore and have it out?” Hermione asked, getting a little bit fed up with his vagueness. They didn’t have much time now, and there was a lot to be done. All the time turners in the world couldn’t save them, and they had to mange every second because who knew how many more they had.

“ No,” Harry answered, and Hermione was glad for that. “ All I want to do is sleep. I feel like I could sleep for a thousand years.” Hermione sighed. After the long trip back to the castle, she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do—yet it seemed a colossal waste of time.

When they got to the Gryffindor common room Hermione saw Ron slumped on the coach, looking even more miserable than Harry.

“ Hey,” Hermione said, walking over to him and kicking his shoe lightly. “ What’s with you?”

“ What ISN’T with me?” Ron asked, standing, “ Everything’s gone bad, Hermione! At least you two get to be together—I have no idea if Clio is safe or not!” With that he stormed out of the room.

“ I don’t know what he’s so worried about,” Hermione said, as she walked with Harry to her room. “ I think Nail and Clio O’Ryan could survive a nuclear explosion if they put their minds to it.”

Harry blinked, and she knew he wasn’t really listening. They got to her dorm, and she tried the door, but it was locked.

“ Rosa?” Hermione called, knocking. Of course she could open it with magic, but it might be locked for a reason… She recalled the scene she’d stumbled upon in the Weasley’s hall bathroom.

“ Herm-oine!” came Rosa’s breathless response, “ Can you…um….give us a minute?”

“ Us?” Harry muttered.

“ Get your own room, Potter!” Draco shouted through the door.

“ Oh, ugh,” Hermione moaned, “ They haven’t seen each other in two weeks—they’ll be in there for awhile.” She rolled her eyes. As if Draco and Rosa were allowed to have problems and feelings at a time like this. They conceded to going back to Harry’s room to get a nap, where they found Ron’s chamber curtains pulled around his bed. Hermione climbed onto Harry’s with him, and did the same with his curtains.

“ Now tell me,” she whispered, “ Great Wizards, Harry—what’s going through your head? I’m so sorry I had to tell you like that—I just had to tell you. That was all—I didn’t think about whether it was the right time or not.”

Harry rested his head in the crook of her arm, removing his glasses and shutting his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“ Half of me doesn’t want to believe you,” he muttered, “ I’m wanting to think that this is some kind of mistake. Another part of me… well, that’s the confused part. The part that wanted a father…any father. But I don’t understand. I don’t understand how he could be alive.”

“ McGonagall said he thought you and your mother were both dead,” Hermione said, “ And he was so ashamed that he couldn’t save you that he just ran away. By the time he found out you were alive, well, years had gone by, and he didn’t want to show up looking like a coward. He wanted to hide from you forever, I guess.”

“ Idiot,” Harry muttered.

“ But he must have come to visit you sometimes in secret,” Hermione said, “ Remember the year Lupin came? The Patronus?”

Harry nodded, “ I thought it was his ghost.”

“ Well, I guess it was his spirit that saved you,” Hermione said, “ But a living spirit, conjured by him.”

“ So you think Lupin knew all along?” Harry asked, shaking his head, “ That bugger. And he pretended to be on my side!”

“ I’m really not sure,” Hermione said, “ McGonagall thought he did. She was angry, too. But, oh, Harry, he is on your side! They were protecting James’ secret, that’s all!”

“ God, Hermione,” Harry muttered, shutting his eyes, “ You’ll forgive them anything.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say to that. She slid down and let Harry fall asleep in her arms—he needed his rest. There would be a lot of things to sort out. She could hear Ron crying softly in his bed, and her heart went out to him. Everyone was so scared. Hermione was almost afraid to go to McGonagall and ask what had happened while they were away.

She was about to fall asleep herself when she felt the air around her get colder. Thinking someone had opened the curtains, she opened her eyes lazily and saw a pair of chilly green ones staring down at hers. Hermione gasped and tightened her grip on Harry, who was still sleeping soundly.

“ Ellie,” she breathed, settling her heartbeat, “ You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that!”

“ What’s the matter with him?” Ellie asked, her brow furrowed. She moved her head closer to Harry’s and examined his face with a frown.

“ He’s upset,” Hermione told the ghost in a whisper, smoothing Harry’s hair affectionately. “ He’s just found out that his father is alive,” she explained. Ellie narrowed her eyes.

“ His father?” she asked, “ Alive? But… how could he! Why didn’t he come and save him?”

“ He was afraid,” Hermione said quietly, “ And I don’t think he knew how bad he had it, growing up.”

“ He didn’t know!?” Ellie exclaimed, and Hermione was glad Harry couldn’t hear her, or she would have woken him, “ How could he not know? What did he expect for his son, growing up in that…place?”

“ Look, Ellie, I don’t know,” Hermione said, “ What do you want, anyway?”

“ This,” Ellie said, pointing to Harry’s scar, “ I meant this. What happened? This is my father’s mark.”

“ What happened?” Hermione asked in disbelief. How could she not know? How long had she been dead, anyway? “ Well, your father struck him, of course!”

“ Father struck him with the Bolt and he survived?” Ellie asked, brightening, “ When did this happen?”

“ Long ago,” Hermione said, “ When he was a baby.”

“ Nonsense,” Ellie said, “ Why would father waste the energy of a Bolt on a baby? And anyway he never had that mark while he was living at Shinra.”

“ Living where?” Hermione asked, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Something wasn’t right with this—she was just beginning to see it.

“ At Shinra,” Ellie told her, looking at her as if she knew nothing, “ I’ve seen every inch of his body, and there was never any scar like that on him,” she said, pointing to her own scar as an example.

“ What do you mean you’ve seen every inch of his body?” Hermione asked, squeezing Harry closer to her.

“ I used to heal his wounds, among other things,” Ellie said, “ He would have survived my father’s attacks without me, but…” she trailed off for a moment, “ I hated to see him in pain.”

“ What?” Hermione was thoroughly confused, “ Ellie,” she said, holding onto Harry protectively, “ I think you’ve got the wrong boy.”

“ No,” Ellie said quickly, “ This is he. How could I forget him, even in death? My father got what he wanted out of the two of us and then killed me, for fear that I’d find some way to take it back. But he’s got more plans for him,” she reached out as if to stroke Harry’s cheek, and then drew back. Hermione saw tears gathering in her ghostly eyes. “ Thank you for taking care of him like this,” she whispered, “ I never imagined he’d find someone so good as himself.” She smiled shakily, “ He deserves someone good. But I loved him,” she added quietly, “ I loved him, too.”

Hermione saw Ellie begin to dissolve and disappear as she finished her little speech, and she was glad to see her go this time. She was making her head spin, telling her all these things about she…and Harry. Was Ellie someone Harry knew at his Muggle home? She must be. And he loved her, too? It still didn’t make any sense to Hermione…the business about his scar…it rang a bell somewhere in her head but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Suddenly Ron pulled apart the bed curtains violently.

“ Ron!” Hermione said, startled. Harry stirred and woke beside her.

“ Hermione?” Ron said, his eyes full of tears, “ I didn’t know you were here.”

“ What’s the matter?” Harry asked sleepily. Ron’s chin quivered and he let out a funny kind of defeated sob.

“ Dean,” he said, bursting into tears, “ Dean Thomas is dead!” he cried.

Hermione felt a sinking inside her. This wasn’t so distant anymore. It wasn’t someone they’d known in the past, or some adult with a wrecked life, like Hagrid. This was Dean, the bright, funny boy who was a member of their Gryffindor family. Still in shock, Hermione stood in silence and put her arms around Ron.

“ How,” Harry asked, standing, his face like stone, “ How did it happen?” Ron lifted his tear-stained face.

“ They found him dead in his house,” he said, his voice quaking, “ Over the break.” He brought a shaking hand up and pointed his finger at Harry’s forehead, “ With one of those,” he whispered, gesturing to his scar.

Harry muttered some curse words and stormed out of the room without another word. Hermione watched him go and gave Ron’s shoulders a squeeze.

“ You gonna be okay?” she asked. Ron looked at her.

“ Probably not,” he whispered, “ You and me… we’re Harry’s best friends. If he’s aiming to get to Harry, we’re as good as dead.”

___________________________

It was odd, knowing she was walking around in world where Dean would never again exist. Hermione didn’t start crying until she heard the other girls sobbing in the hall. She stopped for a moment in the girl’s bathroom and vomited twice, her painful sobs making her stomach hurt worse. Get a hold of yourself! She screamed in her mind, wiping away tears. You knew there would be casualties. But… Dean! What had he ever done? Hermione felt angry for a moment, like she could snap the head off a chicken. She tried not to let the rage surface—she knew that was what Voldemort wanted to bring forth in Harry, killing all these people he cared about. And you’ll be the last straw, a wicked little voice of distraught whispered inside of her head.

Hermione threw open the door to the bathroom and shouted one of the spells she’d heard Harry use.

“ Vindivicdivavius!” she screamed with anger, throwing her hands toward the mirror. Nothing happened. Only Harry could perform that rage-induced magic without his wand. It made Hermione sob harder. She went to the mirror, bringing her fist back and shattering it with her hand. Shards of glass flew everywhere, cutting her knuckles and dropping her dark, red blood into the white sink. Hermione watched it run down the drain, and thought of Dean. What a waste Voldemort had made of a perfectly good life. And how scared he must have been! Hermione could see a picture of him in her mind, in a scene that she wasn’t sure had really happened. He was standing on a hill near the woods, looking at the sky and half-smiling as the breeze picked up around him. Dean—he was dead now, for no good reason. Hermione thought for a moment that she might throw up again, but she shook herself out of it and left the bathroom.

She had to stop Harry from killing their professors first.

Hermione made her way toward Dumbledore’s office, passing more crying students in the hall. Some, however, who either didn’t know yet or had no idea who he was, were laughing and carrying on like normal. Hermione found herself wanting to punch them at first, but told herself that life goes on. Dean wouldn’t have wanted the whole school moping.

She pushed her way into Dumbledore’s office, and found Harry sitting in a chair in front of the old wizard’s desk, tapping his foot impatiently. McGonagall stood at the window, looking distant and sad.

“ When were you planning on telling me?!” Harry was screaming.

“ Whenever James wanted me to,” Dumbledore answered smoothly, “ I would not betray his trust, even though I had loyalties to you, too. He thought it best that you didn’t know.”

“ The coward!” Harry shouted, “ He thought it best for himself!” Dumbledore did not answer that. He eyed Hermione, who stood near the door.

“ I imagine you’re the one who told him?” he asked, raising a furry old eyebrow.

“ I’m sorry.” Hermione said flatly, though she wasn’t. McGonagall turned from the window and walked to her.

“ Don’t be sorry!” she said, and Hermione could see that she had been crying, “ We were counting on you to tell him eventually.”

Dumbledore nodded, “ We thought it best that he hear it from a…friend.”

“ Well I think it would have been best for me to hear about this seven years ago!” Harry shouted, “ Wouldn’t it have made sense to have me be the first one you told?”

“ Harry,” McGonagall said, “ We knew you would be upset like this. And James is very far away… knowing wouldn’t have brought him home any sooner.”

Harry clenched and unclenched his fist. “ Well, when is it over with?” he grumbled, “ Let’s finish this before Voldemort can kill anyone else.” He cast a wary glance over his shoulder at Hermione.

“ It’s not as if he’s given us a date, Harry,” Dumbledore said, sitting back in his chair and closing his eyes. “ He is near to us, though. I’ve felt him here for weeks now.” Hermione saw a copy of a wizard newspaper on his desk. It wasn’t the Daily Prophet, it was more of a sensationalist publication, and the headline on the front page glared up at her: THE END IS NEAR.

“ Here?” Hermione squeaked, “ At Hogwarts?”

“ It’s unclear,” Dumbledore said, “ The dark arts are very hard to detect. Sneaky, they are. They have you expecting one thing, only to hit you with another.”

“ Bugger to all of this,” Harry said, jumping out of his chair, “ Where the hell is my father? I need to have some words with him before this is over.”

Dumbledore didn’t open his eyes. “ It is a far off place, and not safe,” the old man said, “ Not under the control of the Ministry.”

“ Bullocks to the Ministry,” Harry sneered, “ Where is he?”

“ James resides near the town of Argentine,” Dumbledore said, “ It is a small, land-locked magik village, surrounded by wild woodlands that are mostly inhabited by fairies. You will not find it easily, and I think you will feel uncomfortable leaving your school at a time like this to embark on your own crusade.”

“ I’m not taking your advice anymore you old fool,” Harry said, getting up to go, “ Besides, I’m taking what’s important with me.” He grabbed Hermione’s arm and dragged her out of the room. His tight knuckled grip on her wrist gave Hermione the chills. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him.

“ Wait!” McGonagall called, taking hold of her other arm and stopping them before they could go, “ Do bring him back here, won’t you?” she asked tearfully.

“ Oh!” Hermione said, yanking her arm out of Harry’s grasp and embracing her professor, “ I’ll try for you,” she whispered.

“ And one more thing,” McGonagall said, addressing both she and Harry, “ Remus has been missing for almost a week now,” she said.

“ Dammit,” Harry cursed, bringing his hand to his forehead and turning.

“ Great Wizards,” Hermione whispered, “ Do you think he could be with James?”

“ It’s possible,” McGonagall said with a sigh, “ They were living together for awhile, before Remus came back to teach, and for a bit after that. It’s possible that Sirius is with him, as well.”

Hermione was excited at the prospect of seeing Harry’s godfather. He reminded her of Nail, he made things seem easier, and okay despite everything.

“ I’ll look for him,” Harry said, “ But…at a time like this…”

“ I know,” McGonagall said, “ Don’t hope for too much,” she whispered, letting a tear loose onto her cheek. Harry nodded, and headed for the door.

“ Come on, Hermione,” he said, walking out of the office.

“ I’m so sorry for the way he’s acting,” Hermione whispered to McGonagall once he was gone, “ I can’t believe he called Dumbledore an old fool. He doesn’t mean it.”

“ I understand,” McGonagall said, “ I got so frustrated with everything this morning that I was breaking plates in the kitchen before breakfast.”

“ Ha,” Hermione said, “ I smashed a mirror in one of the third floor bathrooms,” she admitted. She and McGonagall laughed dryly about this for a moment, and then hugged each other again.

“ Thank goodness,” McGonagall said, “ You’re not as level-headed as you seem, either!”

“ Hardly.”

“ Do be careful, dear!” McGonagall said, stepping back and squeezing her shoulders, “ It’s a big, bad world out there, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“ We’ll be careful,” Hermione promised, “ And Lupin will turn up, safe and sound. Don’t worry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fin was pacing. He knew Voldemort was angry with him for not having killed Harry’s professor, but Fin had convinced him that they could learn more about Potter’s strategy by drilling all the details out of this man, who had been training him.

“ It is not necessary,” Voldemort had growled through Fin’s mind, “ Defeat is not what we want for Potter. Conversion is our goal.”

“ I know, sir,” Fin had said, speaking out loud, as his Master could not read his thoughts, “ But… perhaps I could learn more about his weaknesses from this man?”

“ I know more about Potter’s weaknesses than any man,” Voldemort had barked angrily, but he had left it at that, allowing Fin to keep the man alive.

The dark lord hadn’t given him an assignment in awhile, and Fin had some time to think. Whenever the man he had kidnapped started talking too much, Voldemort would frantically demand Fin to knock him out again. It was almost as if his master didn’t want him finding out about something, something that this man might know.

At the moment his prisoner was out cold, slumped gracelessly in the chair Fin had bound him to. He was surprised the older man didn’t know any spell to free himself of Fin’s enchanted shackles. Didn’t he know enough magic to counteract Fin’s? He was beginning to see, however, that his informal training with the dark lord had made him quite powerful—that most other people couldn’t manage or didn’t know the spells he used easily.

Fin wondered sometimes if his Master would use him in the final battle, but he knew that was mostly wishful thinking. He would have to wait until after Harry Potter was converted to the dark arts and living under the Dark Lord’s wing before he killed the boy who’d stolen his place in the sun.

And that was the funny thing about it. Fin felt that Harry Potter had stolen something more than his chance to succeed Voldemort, somehow. He’d felt it since he’d met the pretty cinnamon-eyed girl in the hall that night, that this life inside the Hogwarts castle that belonged to Harry Potter could have been his somehow. Fin didn’t understand his feeling about this—perhaps it was instilled by the Master, an extra hatred for Potter, something to move him along on his missions.

But his captive was saying things that had stuck in his head, in the moments when the dark lord wasn’t paying attention, before he called for the man to be silenced again. Just the other day the man had been watching him holding his head in his hands, suffering a headache from Voldemort’s presence there. It was so tiring, so heavy, to have another person in your mind.

“ You don’t have to do this, you know,” his prisoner had said, lifting his head to Fin. Fin had frowned at him, and forgot the pain in his head for a moment. “ There are people in this world who love you.”

Fin had felt a jolt in his stomach, like a sharp kick in the gut, just hearing the word. Marielle poured back into his brain, he could see her leaning over him on the last night he saw her alive.

“ Do you think I love you, Fin?”

It had been the first time she’d addressed him with his name. He remembered staring up at her with huge, terrified eyes—there was no answer to that question, Marielle was incapable of loving anyone, especially him. But there was a hope in him that hadn’t wanted to give up. There was something kind in her cold green eyes that let him fool himself into thinking…maybe.

“ What are you talking about?” Fin had asked the man.

“ Sages, your voice,” the man had whispered, and Fin saw tears glistening in his eyes, “ Sounds so… terrified, so timid. What he must have done to you…” he trailed off and let his head fall onto his chest.

Who did he mean? The master? Fin had taught himself to speak softly, to be humble and small, it was the only way he survived at Shinra mansion.

The man had lifted his head and looked at him again.

“ There are people who would love to have you back, Thomas,” he’d said. Something in his words sent Fin reeling. No one had ever called him Thomas before, it was nonsense. But…it wasn’t. Fin felt very small and cramped when he heard the name, he remembered holding onto someone else in darkness, in a space he could never return to. Suddenly he felt very angry with the master.

“ SILENCE HIM!” Voldemort’s voice had then screamed through his brain, “ QUICKLY!” And Fin did as he was told. He was afraid now that he’d struck the man too hard in his confusion, for he had been out for almost three days now.

Fin grew tired of pacing. The master seemed to have no more assignments for him, it was all waiting now. Waiting to see if Potter would be destroyed, or transfigured into the next Tom Riddle on the rise. Fin wanted to be the one who finished Potter, but he wasn’t sure if that was possible. Things weren’t going as he imagined that they might have—he hadn’t even seen Potter since he’d come to Hogwarts. In fact, he had never seen Harry Potter; not once. He imagined him as a tall, shining boy with gold-blond hair and a big, mean smile—a lot like Dickie had been. Only Dickie was over-rated. Harry Potter was supposedly the best wizard alive in the world right now. Fin still thought that he might be able to destroy him with all of his anger, with his indifference to whether he lived or died. Sometimes he thought he was the only one who could kill Potter, the only one with reason enough.

He laid down on his bed and shut his eyes, wishing that the man would wake up and tell him more things that made him feel warm and sickly scared at the same time. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have a problem killing him—the man would surely do away with Fin if he got the chance. But he liked having the company. He daydreamed about the girl he had met in the hall, the one who had held him and told him things would be okay. He hadn’t seen her again, but he planned on finding her before he left Hogwarts. She must have made some kind of mistake, telling him that, because she hadn’t sought him out since their last meeting. But no matter. Fin had done his job, and done it well, he thought. He deserved to have something of a reward, perhaps Voldemort would allow him a companion after he had his precious Potter.

He also daydreamed about Marielle, and continued to re-live their last night together. All this talk of people loving him was arising his old emotions, his doubts and hopes about her feelings for him, her reasons for staying with him in the basement that night.

Fin watched Marielle as she lay beside him. Bathed in moonlight, she almost looked like a normal girl, a beauty with nothing on her mind but boys and mischief. She traced her finger along a permanent scar that Voldemort had given him, a little dash of a thing under his eye. That was the night Fin had learned that the master had retractable claws, like an animal.

“ I could hurt you like this,” she said softly. She was behaving strangely that night, too careful, too close, too gentle with him, and she seemed sad. “ Just like everyone else, I could torment you, I could give you bruises and wounds like you wouldn’t believe.” She pulled his head closer to hers, until their noses touched, “ Do you trust me not to?” she asked, her eyes pleading with him for something. There was so much ache in them, and more anger than he had in his own watery green eyes, a deeper green than her icy shade.

“ I hope you won’t,” Fin whispered. Hope was all he had.

Marielle’s face twisted for a moment, like she might cry. Fin was shocked—he had never seen anyone cry, save himself. Not the way Ellie looked like she might, out of emotional pain rather than physical.

Then she did something that she’d never done to him before, in all the times she’d comforted him and then left him alone in the basement. Marielle grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close, squeezing him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Fin’s heart almost burst as she enfolded him in her arms, soft though scratched with snakebites in places. She held him like that for a long time, and Fin cautiously put his own arms around her, his hands tangling in her loose blond hair as he felt her silent tears on his bare shoulder.

“ Oh, you’re so good!” she choked out, “ You’re the only good thing I’ve ever known!”

Fin didn’t know what she meant. He’d never seen Ellie get upset about anything before, and it made him sad to see her like this. He kissed her neck lightly and let his hands wander over her back.

“ Do you love me Fin?” she asked him, regaining her composure a bit, and leaning back to look at him.

“ Yes,” he whispered without thinking. She looked sad again for a moment. Marielle was always asking him if he thought she loved him, and Fin never responded, because how could she? She told him all the time that she didn’t, just reminding him, only very purposefully. But if she didn’t love him then why was she here now?

“ Maybe you can save me, then,” Marielle whispered. “ Show what it feels like to have all of that good inside you.”

Fin started crying, remembering it. He curled up on his side and shook with dry sobs, squeezing a handful of his blankets into his fist. Marielle, the only person who had ever made him feel worthy of anything, and almost lucky, in the sense that he had her to take care of him, which was more than you could say for the others in the house.

Did I not take care of her enough in return? Fin wondered sadly. Why had Ellie acted so terrified, so sad that night? Why then had she disappeared, leaving him to wait in vain for her each night in the basement, alone with his pain and desolation? And what about him was good? It was only with her that Fin had felt any good at all—maybe she had been the only good in him.

Just as Fin had felt something wonderful had happened between them; that now they would have each other to rely on in this horrible place, Marielle seemed to grow upset.

“ I’m so sorry,” she whispered, stroking his face. Fin opened his eyes sleepily. Sorry for what? So far as he could tell she hadn’t done anything terrible.

“ Oh, Finley,” she said softly, “ I wish I could love you, I wish I didn’t have all this ugliness inside me. But whenever I want to think good things, to do what’s right, the bad things creep in like spiders, and take over. Because I am my father’s daughter.”

Fin shook his head, desperate to convince her otherwise. “ You’ve done right by me!” he insisted, “ I’d be dead if it weren’t for you!”

Ellie shook her head, and sat up. Fin reached for her but she pulled away, quickly gathering her things to go.

“ You’d be so much better off,” Marielle whispered, “ If I hadn’t treated you this way. If he’d just have let you get cold, like Dickie, like Magdalay…and like me.”

“ Ellie!” Fin had called out to her, sitting up, terrified that he’d done something wrong, “ I don’t care what you say, you’re not cold to me! Stay with me, please!”

Marielle shook her head, fastening the last buttons on her gown. “ I can’t,” she whispered, tears falling again. With that she was gone, up the stairs, wails of sadness echoing through the castle as she left.

“ Ellie…!” Fin sobbed, pressing his face to the sheets. His shoulders shook harder with his sobs, remembering how he’d heard later that she’d died. When? Fin wanted to demand, How? But he was not allowed to ask questions of the dark lord or his family, and he was told merely that she died while facing the trials, like all the others. Fin had told himself to believe that. But he’d always known, deep down, that she’d died because of him.

Why did the master want to drive me crazy with this? Fin wondered sadly, why punish Ellie and not me? Shouldn’t I have been the one he killed, finding out about the two of us, and our secret, bittersweet happiness?

Suddenly Fin heard movements behind him, and he looked up from his mattress. It had grown dark while he was in his trance, and the shutters were banging against the old cabin in the wind. The only light in the place was the glow of the moon outside, coming in strong through the windows. And something was stirring on the other side of the room…

Fin turned his head and spotted his prisoner, the professor from Hogwarts, squirming in his chair, struggling against his shackles. What was wrong with him? He looked odd, covered in sweat, his features twisted in pain.

The man managed to open an eye as he writhed, and he caught sight of Fin watching him curiously.

“ Thomas,” he croaked in a strangled voice, “ Run…get…away from…here…AGH!” He let out a horrible wail, and suddenly fur began to appear all over his skin. Fin stumbled backwards, paralyzed with fright and shock. What was happening? The man’s kind face transformed into that of a dog, no, a wolf, and his anguished scream turned into an animal’s howl. His arms and legs became that of a large, hairy animal, and with newfound strength he ripped out of his shackles, glaring madly at Fin with an animal hunger.

Fin, still in disbelief, stood watching the beast like stone. Then the thing charged at him, hungry fangs bared, and he panicked.

“ Vindivicdivavius!” Fin screamed the first defensive curse he could come up with, and the wolf was thrown backwards, only to re-assemble itself and run at him again. Fin ducked out of its way, and grabbed an old milk pitcher from the counter. He smashed the glass pitcher over the beast’s head, but the thing, still unfazed, pounded on top of him. Fin took a sharp shard from the broken pitcher and slashed the monster across the chest with it, managing to shove it off of him after he stabbed the it.

The wolf whimpered in pain and stumbled away, jumping out one of the open windows and landing with a painful yelp outside. Fin saw it running away toward the woods, leaving a trail of bright red blood in its path.

Fin watched the thing go, keeping the sharp piece of glass in his hands in case it threatened to return. He looked up in the sky and saw it—a full moon. Who would have known that the man he’d kidnapped would be a werewolf?

And why had he warned him before he changed? Furthermore….why did the name Thomas make his ears ring?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Night had fallen around the castle by the time they got back to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione was rushing after Harry, trying to keep up with his fierce strides, his quick planning.

“ It’s actually safer to travel by night,” Harry was saying, walking ahead of her and talking more to himself than to her, “ Less of a chance of being seen. We’ll take my broom, and the invisibility cloak. You can sleep, I’ll steer.”

“ Harry SLOW DOWN,” Hermione insisted. She was happy that for once he was including her in his insane plans. But she wasn’t sure if leaving Hogwarts at a time like this was a very wise idea. It might not be here when they got back. The thought made Hermione’s stomach turn.

“ You’re leaving?” Neville Longbottum asked, running after them as they rushed through the common room.

“ Oh, Harry don’t go!” Pavartti cried, jumping up behind Neville.

“ I’m sorry,” Harry said, turning to them, “ But I suppose you should all know—my father is alive.”

Pavartti gasped, Cho walked over from the fireplace.

“ You should go to him then,” she said, breaking the shocked silence, “ But do come back, won’t you?” she asked in a timid voice—quite unusual for Cho.

“ Of course I will,” Harry answered sweetly, giving her a sympathetic look that made Hermione’s heart melt for his kindness and her blood boil for her own rivalry. “ I’ll be back soon,” Harry promised all of them. Pavartti threw her arms around him almost childishly, and Ron came over to pat him on the back. Ginny kissed her hand and pressed it to Harry’s cheek. Hermione saw for the first time how much everyone was relying on him—it was no wonder that he was going a bit nuts.

She followed him up to the boys’ dorms, and into his room, where he pulled out one of Ron’s National Quidditch League duffel bags and started throwing items into it. He filled it mostly with food that he’d swiped from the kitchen, and added a picture album with his father’s photo inside, a couple clean shirts and pairs of boxers, and some exploding dust capsules—those on Hermione’s advice, as she had told him that they were good for fending off packs of wild fairies without harming the little sprites.

For a moment she wondered if he was going to take her after all as he hurriedly prepared his bag in rushed silence. Then he slung it over his shoulder and looked at her.

“ You taking anything?” he asked almost shyly, letting her know with his eyes that he needed her very badly to help him through this.

“ I…I suppose I could take some sweaters. We can take off from my window,” she suggested. Harry nodded, and grabbed his broom. He set his duffel bag down for a minute, and walked to Hermione, bringing his face close to hers.

“ I love you,” he whispered with his eyes shut, kissing her, soft, and then more adamantly, pressing closer to her.

“ Harry,” Hermione cried softly, blinking back tears. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, “ I can’t believe he’s gone,” she murmured quietly. She felt Harry sigh against her.

“ There will be time to mourn Dean and everyone else when this is over,” he said, stepping back and grabbing the bag, “ It won’t be long now,” he added. Gee, that’s comforting, Hermione thought sarcastically, following him out of the room.

They pushed their way inside Hermione’s room, which was now unlocked, Rosa laying behind Draco on her bed, arm draped over him as he slept fitfully. She sat bolt upright when she saw Hermione come in.

“ Herm-oine!” she hissed, her eyes bloodshot, “ What’s happening? Oh, Great Wizards—you won’t believe what he’s been through,” she said, looking down at Draco and tearing up again. She lifted part of his sweater up, exposing a painful-looking blue and purple bruise on his pale hip. Hermione’s breath caught. She went to Rosa and hugged her while Harry opened her bureau and grabbed some sweaters, shoving them into the bag.

“ I know,” Hermione whispered, “ Everything’s gone bad.”

“ Oh,” Rosa cried, squeezing Hermione’s shoulders, “ He’s in big trouble, I think. It wasn’t even his father this time.” Hermione sat back and looked at her somberly.

“ Look out for him while we’re gone,” Harry instructed, “ I think they’re wanting to get him away from here before Voldemort strikes—he’s probably scared to go off with his father’s kind.” Harry looked down at Draco. “ He’s not really black-hearted, after all,” he admitted, “ They might kill him if he resists—I’m sure they’re afraid he knows too much through his father.”

Rosa let out a sob.

“ Just make sure he doesn’t leave here with his father—or anyone, for that matter. Keep him at Hogwarts as long as you can,” Harry instructed.

“ Where are you going?” Rosa asked, grabbing onto Hermione’s arm as she stood.

“ Here,” Hermione said, pulling her Atlas of the Magikal World out from under her bed and locating Argentine in the index. She found the page and tore it out of the book—magical maps served as compasses once they were out of their book, leading you in the direction of the place you pointed to with your wand. Hermione pulled hers out and tapped the mark for Argentine twice. The map turned toward the window.

“ It’s my father,” Harry said, “ He’s alive and I’m going after him. Lupin and Sirius might be with him, I don’t know.” He looked out the window for a moment, “ It just seems like the right thing to do.”

“ Of course,” Rosa said, wiping her tears, “ Be careful, will you?”

Hermione nodded, and joined Harry at the window.

“ Don’t worry,” she said, “ Everything will work out—I’m sure of it.” Of course she didn’t believe her own words for a moment, but they seemed to brighten Rosa’s face a bit. Draco stirred beside her and rolled over in his sleep, wrapping his arms around her waist. Rosa turned back to him and cupped an arm protectively around his shoulder and head, looking like a determined bodyguard.

“ You can take the Waverunner, if you want,” she called over her shoulder as Hermione slipped onto Harry’s broom behind him, performing the weightless spell on their bag and tying it to the handle.

“ Oh,” Hermione said, remembering her former perils on the device, “ That’s alright.”

___________________________

Hermione’s back hurt when she woke up. She was in the air, which was a bit of a shock at first, then her memory came rushing back to her. She tightened her grip around Harry’s waist and lifted her head off his back slowly.

“ We aren’t wearing the invisibility cloak anymore,” she mumbled, sleepily blinking away the sun’s light.

“ Don’t need it,” Harry said, looking at the map, “ We’re in pure magic country now. Look,” he said, flicking his head in the direction of a girl up ahead, flying on a broom.

“ Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, happily surprised that they no longer had to hide from Muggles. “ Shan’t we say hello?” she asked.

“ Ho, there!” Harry called to the girl, and she stopped and turned on her broom. She grinned when she saw the couple flying behind her.

“ Travelers?” she called.

“ How’d you know?” Harry joked, fumbling with the map. The girl smiled.

“ You’re not from around here—you got a funny accent,” she chirped. Hers sounded almost Indian—with a bit of Irish and Asian mixed in.

“ That’s right,” Harry said, “ Where are we, anyhow? I know this is Ireland.”

The girl flew up beside them and nodded, “ Ireland indeed,” she said, “ Part that the Muggle people can’t find, thank goodness. We’re Heharn—we have a small village just below the tree tops here.”

“ Heharn?” Hermione asked, “ Sounds familiar—aren’t you nomads?”

“ Gypsies is what they call us,” the girl said, “ Me names Ditka—I’m actually new to these parts too, we were living in the desert, prior. We don’t move quite so much as Gypsies, and our magic is more natural-based,” she explained, “ We should have liked to stay in the desert, but our Prophet said there was bad fortune coming our way there.”

“ Bad fortune?” Harry asked, “ You mean a bad kind of magic—dark magic? Was it affiliated at all with Lord Voldemort?”

“ Aye, man!” Ditka shouted, putting her hands over her ears, “ You call that wrong man Lord?”

“ Well, its what he calls himself,” Harry told her.

“ Never mind that,” Ditka said, shaking her head, “ Prophet says we shall be real scared of him if we know what’s best. His kind was moving our way, he said. So now we’re here.”

Harry nodded, “ Do you know where Argentine is?” he asked, “ Is it far from here?”

“ I don’t know nothing about that,” Ditka said, “ But thems full of fairies,” she said, pointing to the woods below, “ You watch yourself. Say, you want to come back to our camp? We’ve got eats and potions, always glad to look after travelers, Heharns are, not like Gypsies in that way.”

Hermione recalled the unpleasantness Calliope had expressed when they had come to stay with her in New York, remembering that Rosa’s mother was a Gypsy.

“ Thank you,” Harry said, “ But we don’t have much time. I’m looking for a man—James Potter? I don’t suppose you’ve heard of him?”

Ditka shook her head, “ This man done you some wrong?” she asked.

Harry nodded, “ Yes,” he said. Hermione gave him a reproachful squeeze around his middle. He was so quick to judge—she hoped he’d be less harsh with his father once they met.

“ Well I’m hoping that you find him, then,” Ditka said, “ But be careful of them fairies. They’s cousins of the leprechauns, you know—they’ll trick you and rob you blind if you don’t mind yourself.”

“ We’ll be careful,” Harry said.

“ I’m off to the campment then,” Ditka said with a grin, grabbing hold of the front of her broom and doing a swan dive toward the forrest below, “ Be seein’ ya!” she called as she raced away.

“ Maybe we should have stopped,” Hermione said, feeling her stomach growl, “ Aren’t you tired of flying?”

“ Yeah,” Harry said, “ But I don’t want to get mixed up with a big pack of strangers. I’d rather we stopped somewhere up ahead and rested on our own. Fairies could rob us blind—so could a charming Heharn girl and her friends.”

“ Oh,” Hermione said, “ Very practical, I suppose, but she seemed nice.”

True to his word, Harry stopped soon after, landing in a huge tree with enormously thick branches. Hermione could almost fit length-wise across the width of the enormous boughs. Harry settled back against the trunk while Hermione removed her shoes and walked out farther onto the mossy branch.

“ I’ve never seen ANYTHING so huge!” she exclaimed, turning back to Harry with a grin, “ This thing makes Big Ben look like a dwarf!”

Harry smiled at her, chewing a mouth full of one of the peanut-butter sandwiches he’d brought.

“ Come here,” he said, holding out his arms. Hermione grinned and made her way over to him, sitting down and leaning against him. She pulled a sandwich out of the duffel bag and started in on it, chewing slowly as she rested on Harry’s chest. She loved the feeling of being there, his breathing pushing against her with a rhythemic rise and fall, and his heart beat thumping against her ear.

“ Are you nervous?” she asked him, pulling the crusts off her sandwich.

“ No,” he answered, a blatant lie. Hermione sat back and looked at him.

“ Hey,” she said, holding up her hand and showing him the little brass ring he’d made for her. He held his up and put his hand against hers. “ You’re going to buy me a real one someday, okay?” Hermione asked.

“ Hermione…” he said, letting his hand fall into his lap, “ You know I would if I could. Let’s just not talk about it right now, okay?”

“ Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t help it!” Hermione said, “ It’s just this, and this,” she said, putting one hand on his flat stomach, against movement of his breath, and the other on the place on his chest where his heart beat was strongest. Harry looked at her quizzically.

“ I can’t imagine this stopping,” Hermione said, “ And not having you….it’s like a person trying to think about the world going on without them after they’ve died. I can’t even comprehend it!”

“ Enough already,” Harry said, hugging her and pulling her back down to his chest, “ My heart is still beating now, so why don’t you stop thinking about it?”

Hermione let herself relax against him, knowing that he was right but not able to accept it. She’d always thought obsessively about the future—there was no stopping her now.

Before too long the comforting rise and fall of Harry’s breathing was lulling her to sleep, not to mention the peaceful, shady atmosphere of the thick surrounding forrest. Unlike the Forbidden Forrest back home, this one was warm and friendly.

But just as she was drifting off, Hermione felt the end of the branch they were dozing on shake. She lifted her head and turned to see and over-sized fairy sitting on the end of the branch, watching them curiously, her wings fluttering daintily behind her.

“ Uh-oh,” Harry moaned, propping himself up a bit, “ Looks like the locals have spotted us.”

“ I’ve never seen a human-sized fairy before!” Hermione gushed, “ Hello there! Do come over, we won’t hurt you.”

“ Hermione…” Harry groaned, stretching.

The fairy jumped up in the air and fluttered over to them, turning herself upside-down as she approached. She wrapped her legs around an overhead branch and hung down, looking at them as she floated backward.

“ Humans?” she asked in a tiny squeak of a voice.

“ Yes!” Hermione said, so excited to meet a fairy that spoke English, “ We’re humans, we come from London. It’s far from here, but only a days journey on broom.”

She grinned enormously, hearing this. “ You fly on brooms!” she exclaimed, “ Wickett says the Creator forgot the humans' wings.”

“ Hermione,” Harry said, standing, “ We don’t have time for this.”

“ Fascinating!” Hermione said, ignoring him and stepping behind the fairy to examine her diaphanous wings. “ Is there a community of fairies here?” she asked.

“ Many,” she said, “ But the communities aren’t too nice to Opheila,” she said.

“ Who’s Opheila?” Harry asked.

“ Me!” the fairy said, giggling, “ I’m Opheila! They don’t like me much, cause of my fondness for humans.”

Hermione and Harry exchanged a look. That was just the kind of sweet-talk a fairy pick-pocket would feed them. Hermione grabbed her amethyst necklace and held it safely in her hand.

“ We’re looking for the town of Argentine,” Harry said, “ Is it near here?”

Opheila nodded, “ Just over those mountains. It’s mostly a human place, but a few fairies live with their sweethearts there. And some elves work on the farms.”

“ What about James Potter?” Harry asked, “ Do you know anyone by that name, living there?”

Opheila frowned for a moment, “ I know James Brown,” she said, “ He lives in Argentine with his brother, Sirius.”

Hermione and Harry looked at each other. Harry fished through the bag until he came up with the picture album.

“ Is this them?” he asked, pointing to a picture of Sirius and James, taken his parents’ wedding.

“ Wow, they look so YOUNG!” Opheila exclaimed, grabbing the picture book, “ Sirius looks exactly like Johnny here!” she said with a grin.

“ Who?” Hermione asked, puzzled.

“ Opheila!” they heard someone calling from the ground below.

“ Johnny!” Opheila said, “ That’s him. Want me to show you? You’ve got to see—he looks just like that picture there!” With that she dove off of the tree branch, swooping down toward the ground.

“ So she knows him,” Hermione said, looking at Harry. He nodded slowly.

“ Guess she knows Sirius, too,” he said. Hermione could hear the shake in his voice. How do you meet someone who’s been dead, at least in your mind, for 18 years?

Suddenly Opheila came flying back up to their branch, holding a squirming black-haired boy. He looked to be about Harry and Hermione’s age—maybe a few years younger. Opheila hovered near the tree, holding him up proudly.

“ Here’s John!” she chirped, “ Doesn’t he look like the picture?”

“ Phelia!” the boy cried, clawing at her, “ I hate it when you do this to me! Put me down!” Opheila giggled, gave him an affectionate squeeze, and then placed him down on the branch. He didn’t just resemble the picture of the younger Sirius—he WAS the younger Sirius, standing there before them. He brushed off his pants and t-shirt, and Hermione remembered well the day the Sirius of the past had given her a lift on his flying motorcycle. This was his exact match—maybe a bit skinnier.

John looked up and nodded politely to Hermione, and then Harry—and stopped. He looked back at Harry, eyes like saucers, and started backing off the tree branch. He would have tumbled off backward if Opheila hadn’t caught him.

“ Holy shit!” John screamed, staring at Harry like he’d seen a ghost. “ You’re James’s kid!”

“ You know my father?” Harry asked. “ And Sirius Black?”

John’s eyes bulged again, “ You know my dad’s real name?” he asked.

“ Huh?” Hermione said.

“ Black,” John said, “ My proper surname. We’ve been going by Brown while my dad is hiding out—say, you’re not here to try and get him back into trouble, are you?”

“ Of course not,” Harry said, “ Sirius is my godfather and I know he’s innocent. Are you saying you’re his son?”

“ Pleased to meet you,” John said with a nod, and a killer Sirius grin, “ I never thought I’d get the chance to meet the famous Harry Potter.” He shook hands with Harry.

“ I never knew Sirius had a kid!” Hermione said.

“ Two kids!” Opheila chimed in.

“ That’s right,” John said, “ I got a twin sister, Melissa. Why don’t you guys come back to the village, and, er, meet everyone?” He eyed Harry. “ That is why you came, right? To finally meet him?”

Harry swallowed, “ We need to have some words,” he said dryly. John nodded.

“ Okay,” he said, “ Well I see you’ve got a broom there, so you can follow us. Argentine is just over that mountain up ahead.”

“ Right,” Harry said, standing very still. Hermione gathered the sandwich wrappers and the photo album up and put them back in the duffel bag.

“ Do you need more time?” she asked Harry softly, zipping up the bag and touching his leg. He shook his head.

“ We haven’t got time to be bashful,” he muttered. Opheila grabbed John under the arms and took off with him, despite his complaining about the transportation she provided.

“ Phelia, you’re embarrassing me!” he said through his teeth. The fairy just giggled.

Harry grabbed his broom and mounted it, Hermione climbing on behind him. They followed Opheila and John up through the trees, over to the mountain, flying up higher and clearing the peak. Beyond the height of it was a valley of bright green grass, spotted with modest wooden homes, and surrounded on all sides by mountains. A clear blue river flowed through the village, steaming from a tall waterfall on the other side of the mountain.

“ Beautiful,” Hermione whispered as they flew closer to the settlement.

“ Yeah,” Harry muttered, “ He’s been living here in luxury while our friends are dying back home.”

“ Harry,” Hermione said quietly, “ Give him a chance.”

As they flew lower over the valley they saw people farming and working magic in the town below. They landed near an orchard of some kind of purple fruit that Hermione had never seen before. A man in a straw hat waved to Opheila and John.

“ I forgot to ask you,” Harry said, when they met up on the ground, “ Is there a man named Remus Lupin staying here?”

“ Oh, no,” Opheila said, “ He’s not allowed to come back here, he’s been gone for almost five years.”

“ There was a little incident with his werewolf-ism,” John explained.

“ Damn,” Harry muttered, “ I hope he’s alright.”

They followed the fairy and Sirius’s son into the town square, where a group of small children, including on little boy with translucent wings, were playing exploding snap.

“ No fair flying, Link!” one of the human children scolded the fairy boy, “ That’s cheating!”

“ I can’t help it!” the fairy boy insisted with a wicked grin.

They walked further into the square, past several interesting looking shops. A few fairies in skimpy outfits were standing on the corner—they whistled at John as he walked past.

“ Hey, Johnny, why don’t you come over here and hook up with a REAL fairy!” one of them called. Opheila turned and stuck out her tongue at them.

“ My sister’s cousins,” she explained, “ Working girls.”

“ So, if you don’t mind me asking, who’s your mother?” Hermione asked John, “ I didn’t know Sirius was married.”

John smiled, “ He wasn’t married when I was born,” he said, “ This ain’ England, sister.” He winked at her, “ We’re a bit less proper, but more self-sufficient if you ask me. My mother is Carin Blythe, she helped Sirius out after he graduated from Hogwarts. He met her in Quigley and she helped him fix his bike when it broke down. That’s what my mum does—fixes up enchanted machines.”

“ Here we are!” Opheila said, doing a mid-air cartwheel as they came upon a little cottage with a bridge over the river leading to its door. “ You can meet her for yourself! And Siri, too—I think he’s home from work.”

A girl wearing her hair in a loose black braid was sitting in the front yard and listening to the radio while tinkering with an old motorbike. She saw the group headed her way and looked up, brushing a black grease stain off her cheek, partly—mostly just smearing it.

“ Hey, Phelia,” she greeted the fairy, “ I thought you were going to be in Withe until next weekend?” she said, glancing at Harry and Hermione.

“ The festival got cut short,” Opheila said with a shrug, “ Our Divinator got a bad feeling.” Hermione remembered what Ditka had said earlier, and her stomach twisted nervously, her mind flashing back to the newspaper headline on Dumbledore’s desk. Was the end really near? All the clairvoyants seemed to think so.

“ Who’ve you got with you there, John?” the girl asked.

“ Harry Potter!” John whispered, like it was a secret, “ And his friend, er….”

“ Hermione,” Hermione said quickly. “ Pleased to meet you….”

“ Melissa,” the girl said, smiling. She shook Hermione’s hand and rubbed grease onto her palm. “ Oh, sorry!” she said, embarrassed. “ What a first impression…” Hermione just shrugged.

“ It’s okay,” she said, “ Is your dad around?”

“ Yeah…” she said, looking at Harry, “ So is yours.” Hermione could almost feel Harry having a secret anxiety attack—she was panicking enough for him, he must have been really bad.

“ Hey, dad!” John called, and Sirius emerged from a garage beside the house. He, too, was covered in grease stains. He walked over to them, cleaning a wrench with a rag.

“ Harry?” he asked in disbelief, “ Is that you?”

“ Yeah…” Harry said, “ I…came to, um, see him.”

“ Harry, oh, Sages believe me, I wanted to tell you,” Sirius sighed heavily, “ Especially seeing you…and how alike the two of you are… But he had me and Remus look out for you—please don’t think that he didn’t care.”

“ It’s okay,” Harry said, holding up a hand, “ I’m not mad a you.” Sirius nodded, and looked at Hermione.

“ Caroline?” he asked, squinting.

“ Hermione!” she corrected quickly.

“ Right,” Sirius said, shaking his head, “ Well I almost had it, didn’t I?” he asked with a grin.

“ A-heh,” Hermione said, unable to believe that he would remember her name from twenty years ago, rather than from when they’d met in her third year at school.

Sirius looked back to Harry, “ How’d you find out?” he asked, “ If you ask me…well, I’m glad you did. You and James should be together…at a time like this.”

“ Dumbledore finally told McGonagall,” Harry said, “ And she told Hermione.”

“ Oh, man,” Sirius said, scratching his neck, “ How’s Minny holding up? And Remus?”

“ Minerva is okay…” Hermione said, “ Remus is…well, he’s actually missing.”

Sirius sighed, “ I know everything’s coming down on top of you guys back there. I wish I could come back to help…”

“ No,” Harry said, “ Not until we’ve cleared your name. We don’t want to take any chances, not with everything that’s going on.”

“ Hey,” they heard a woman’s voice call from one of the front windows, “ Is that who I think it is?” A pretty, brown-haired lady leaned out the window and waved.

“ Harry Potter!” John said, pointing to him and jumping up excitedly, “ In the flesh!”

Meanwhile, Harry was looking a little green.

“ S-so, is he around?” Harry asked, visibly shaken now.

“ Who, James?” Melissa asked, “ He was going to get some polish for my bike…should be around somewhere.”

“ Hey, Carrie,” Sirius called to his wife, who was climbing out the window to come greet them, “ Where’d James get off to?”

“ James?” she said, jogging over, “ He’s right there,” she pointed behind them.

Harry and Hermione whirled around, while everyone else turned casually. Hermione saw Harry’s knees wobble when he turned to look at his father. But he kept his composure.

“ Harry?” James asked quietly.

To be Continued

Dedicated to Clifton Cruise

1985-2000

“ To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”

--A. Dumbledore

“ I think in heaven, there is a big line, waiting to get your next life. Clifton just got a head start.”

– Z. Mucho