Paradise Lost: Chapter Seven

Paradise Lost

Chapter Seven—Gota d’Agua

On the dawn of the fifth day after they’d bade the snakes good-bye, Hermione opened her eyes abruptly after dreaming a dream of Jack Calhoun. This had been the first time she’d thought of him in weeks. Yet upon awakening, she could not recall what the dream had been about.

She opened her eyes in the midst of a misty tropical dawn. They had been traveling by gaiola--the slug-paced riverboats that were the only way to travel in Amazonia--for three days and two nights thus far, heading to Manaus after saying good-bye to the snakes and heading immediately across the river to Santarém. Any other form of transportation would have made the journey in a day or less, but here in the Brazilian rainforest everything moved at a languid, syrupy pace.

Hermione brushed away beads of sweat from her brow with tired and lazy fingertips. Even after soaking in a tub in Santarém for hours, she felt as filthy as she had mere days before while traveling along with Ricardo and his serpentine progeny. It was close and hot and humid, making breathing difficult... almost as if one was pressed underneath an insistent lover.

She stretched carefully, as she was reclining in a cotton hammock that swung with the slight pitching of the mighty river’s waves. As she sat up, a sultry breeze hit her face, blowing in from beyond the open-sided deck.

Her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t had a proper meal since they’d left Santarém; the food on gaiolas ranged from badly cooked to just plain inedible. So their party had subsisted on the meager rations they’d purchased in town, dried tropical fruits, the beef jerky Ron always insisted upon when going on quests like this ("protein, mates, it’s all in the protein"), and the like. Hermione had never been much for dried food, however, and had passed on much of it.

She knew that everyone was concerned about her. She was finally starting to feel the stress and strain of her ordeal and the tension of the past two months. Yet she kept insisting she was fine... she knew that only her adamant stance and Harry’s ambivalence towards her being there were keeping them from placing her on the next plane back to England.

Hermione looked around for a sign of Harry. He was nowhere in sight. She wasn’t sure whether or not to feel relieved or panicked. Whenever he was around lately, she felt as if she couldn’t breathe properly. Let him disappear for a second, though, and contrary creature that she was, she felt irrational and uneasy.

They hadn’t made love yet. Hermione was determined to keep her word. She honestly believed that this was neither the time nor the place for such intimacies. Truth be told, she was also a bit... unsure... about whether or not she wanted to rush headlong into something that her instincts told her to recoil from.

All her life, Hermione Granger had been her own person. Even as a child. Even as a wife. She made her own decisions and prided herself on having mostly made good ones. The choices she’d made so far had given her room to continue that sort of autonomy.

She had the sneaking feeling that being with Harry... not just sharing a bed with him and doing nothing in it but sleeping... not just holding hands and kissing like innocent teenagers... but really and truly being with Harry would cause her to become a person she did not know... a person she couldn’t predict quite so easily... a person she wasn’t entirely sure that she’d be comfortable with.

If things had only been different...

No, one couldn’t change the past, could they? One had only the present to deal with. She needed to concentrate on getting her magic and Eva’s baby back. Then she’d worry about Harry Potter...

"All right, Hermione?"

She turned around and there he was. No, she couldn’t breathe... but then again, her heart wasn’t beating in a normal pattern either. It was very erratic.

Hermione nodded and stood carefully from the hammock, stepping into her shoes. "Where are the others?"

"Below, having a bite to eat. Are you hungry, then?"

She shook her head.

"Come on, Hermione. You’ve got to eat something."

"I’m not hungry. And smelling all that gaiola food makes my gorge rise. Don’t worry, when we get into Manaus, the first thing I’ll do is have a proper meal."

When he stood in front of her, her arms wound around his neck without her even thinking about it. His wrapped around her waist to pull her close. Her head rested easily in the spot just beneath his chin. And when she inhaled, she detected not only the inevitable smells of sweat and musk, but also something that filled her more than any meal could...

She exhaled.

And just as quickly, she pulled away.

"I’ve got to find the loo, or whatever it is that passes for a toilet on this Merlinforsaken vessel. I’ll be back."

So she scurried away before she was lost.

**********

They arrived in Manaus just before dark. As during her first visit, Hermione found it odd that the most remote of the major Brazilian cities seemed to want to disassociate itself from the surrounding rainforest. Instead of eco-conscious architecture, its buildings seemed an odd cross between those she’d seen in Brasilia and Rio de Janeiro. The eclectic mix seemed strangely out of place here.

Hermione could see that many of the older buildings were stuck in the art nouveau period of the late nineteenth century, when the rubber barons formed the aristocracy of Manaus, Santarém, and Belém. The ambiance of the newer districts reminded her of a cheap electronics bazaar.

"How I long for the nordeste again," murmured Eva. They were all disguised again; after all, it was here that Hermione had been captured by Cabalistica agents and taken into the jungles of Roraima. For instance, Eva had chosen to travel as a pretty Afro-Brazilian girl while Hermione had disguised herself as a cool blue-eyed blonde like the Swiss and German-descended women found in Rio Grande do Sul.

"What’s there?" asked Zach. For their part, all of the men and Juliana had chosen to disguise themselves as modernized Amazonian Indians. This way, the group attracted little attention.

"Ah, Bahia!" sighed Juliana. "Mistura fina... coração da Brasil!"

"I suppose it would be too much trouble to ask you to say that in English, right?" That was Ron, who’d made little attempt to learn any Portuguese. He was often impatient when the women and Zach chattered on and he couldn’t understand them.

"Oh, Bahia is a wonderful place. It is one of the states of the northeast... southeast of where we are in Amazonas. It is the oldest place in our pais, the first place where the white men setttled," Eva explained. "And that is where Senhora Helena says they first intermarried with the Indian women, and where they first brought their slaves... and the slaves brought their magic."

"I’m sure that everyone brought their magic," Ron replied flatly. "The slaves didn’t have a monopoly on it, did they?"

"Oh, but the magic of Bahia is mostly African and Indian, with only a bit of Catholic mysticism... only a bit," chided Juliana. "This was the wizarding tradition that I was educated in when I attended the Ilê do Afoxé. It is our answer to your Hogwarts, and yet it is closer to the traditions of the Mexican school of magic or the Angolan than the ones in Europe. Only some of the spells we learned are in Latin... the rest are in African and Indian languages.

"Salvador is also the seat of our magical government... it is over five hundred years old. When the Muggles moved their capital to Rio in the 1800s, there was some talk about following them, but then they moved again to Brasilia just before the dictatorship started and we witches and wizards saw no sense in moving our capital every fifty years."

"You have to see," Eva said. "You think Rio is beautiful? Nothing in the south can compare. It’s so... so alive."

"Or at least it was until Minister Jobim was murdered in cold blood," said Juliana grimly. "He was a dear friend of mother’s... his wife is a cousin, and their daughter Joseane baby-sat for me whenever they visited us in Rio."

Hermione frowned. "Is it as bad as they say there, Jules?"

"Worse. My mother is calling it the época de nossa tristeza--the time of our sorrow. Especially for witches and wizards of the nordeste... Eva was not the only one snatched from the streets. It is almost as if the dictatorship has come back again, but even worse."

"I know... we were monitoring the situation from Scotland, and were going to send an intervention team last I heard before I came here," Harry said. "Nothing like being in the midst of it, though... did the Confederation ever hear the case?"

"Senhora Helena says that it’s been stalled in committee for over a year," Hermione replied. "They’ve grown too much like the Muggle United Nations... too afraid to do anything that might seem like it’s attempting to become the world’s magical hegemon."

"Britain used to be that," Harry replied.

"Yes, but look at who we’ve got as Minister. Do you think we deserve to be?"

"Anyone else up for solving the world’s problems over a pot of stew?" asked Ron. "Of course, if no one else is hungry..."

So they found another little café in the Mercado Municipal. It was relatively clean and air-conditioned, and they were seated quickly. Soon they were dining on a heavenly turtle soup, bread, and a sweetish tropical salad made primarily of pupunha palm fruit. Hermione ate as if she hadn’t for days... Harry glanced over at her with a grin.

"Nice place," Zach said between mouthfuls. "They’ve even got some sort of a jukebox over there."

"Fancy finding something like that here, really," laughed Ron. "I wonder what it plays... somehow, I don’t think that ‘Rock Around The Clock’ would be suitable, do you?"

"Only one way to find out," said Juliana, palming a bit of change and going over to the archaic machine.

The music reached the table before Juliana returned.

You, who hear without speaking

You, who look without seeing

I’ll give you a clue... you will have to learn...

Eva was grinning, but it seemed a bit sad.

"My mother used to love this song," she said, eyes overbright. "A Tonga da Mironga do Kabuletê... she adored Moraes and Toquinho and played this tape when she..."

Juliana nodded, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know, querida."

You, who read without knowing

You, who pray without believing

You, who enter without fitting

You will have to live...

So they sat in silence and listened as tears rolled down Eva and Juliana’s faces. Hermione’s eyes stung too. Through their hard rainforest trek, there had seldom been a moment when she didn’t think of Rosângela... and yet now that they were all safe and cool and well fed the woman’s brutal death seemed all the more fresh.

As the song ended, Juliana wiped her eyes and said in a choked voice, "I picked another, Evinha, so you would not be sad. Only remember this one, and remember how you and I used to twirl about the garden hearing this float down from my mother’s bedroom window... pretending we were old enough to be in a samba school for Carnaval..."

Hermione wasn’t listening to Juliana anymore. The second the melody hit her ears, it was like a shock. Triggering a memory she’d long forgotten.

Você era a mais bonita das cabrochas desta ala,

Você era a favorita onde eu mestre-sala,

Hoje a gente nem se fala, mas a festa continua...

She closed her eyes and was no longer thirty-two but ten years younger, with a new mediwizarding degree and a new husband and a whole new life before her... not hunted with her magical ability gone, but powerful and strong, twirling on a ship anchored to the coast of Cape Verde...

When the chorus came, she was humming. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Ron was humming too.

Juliana had stopped talking.

Everyone was staring at them.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Then they laughed and spoke together at once.

"You see, what happened was this... we were just... I can’t believe you remember..."

"All right, you two, one at a time," said Harry. Unlike the others, he was not smiling.

Of course, Hermione did the honors. "We were... well, we took our honeymoon on a cruise of the Atlantic and Indian Ocean. We began in Spain, and from there went to the Canaries, the Azores, Cape Verde, and all the way around to Mauritius..."

"And there was this Brazilian group in Cape Verde, giving a concert," Ron continued.

"They speak Portuguese there, I think, and have a lot of the same traditions that I’ve seen here. Anyhow, they offered dance lessons at the concert and shipboard, and Ron and I... well, we did... we did rather well."

"Rather well?" laughed Ron. "We did quite well, I’d say... we won not only that competition, but a couple other amateur ones back home in our time. That’s hardly beginner’s luck, ‘Mione."

"Nossa! Is that so?" laughed Juliana. "Meus amigos estrangeiros can dance the samba? Oh, that is rich!" Eva giggled as well.

"Why is it so funny?" asked Hermione, a bit testily, avoiding Harry’s eyes. "Ron and I took a few Latin dance lessons on other holidays and at this restaurant we liked in London as well. We learned the salsa, the tango, the cha-cha, and others besides. We had lots of fun together."

"Oh, I don’t know about the salsa or the tango," Juliana said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Those Spanish dances are very easy... we do those here too. But the samba is in our blood. I mean, one of our words meaning ‘to dance’ is sambar! And I’m sorry, but I have never met any estrangeiro who could dance the samba or the forró or the lambada or the baile funk properly, not even my dulce Lena. And you are not even latina!"

"Well, for certain it was just samba we learned, not lambada," said Hermione. "I wouldn’t dream of doing any dance that degrading."

"Lambada is not degrading," protested Juliana. "I’ve seen those English-language movies... ‘the forbidden dance’. How very silly!"

She then explained to them what lambada really was--a sublime fusion of carimbó and merengue--a dance which incorporated elements of the sexy forró, the festive samba, and maxixe, a nineteenth century Brazilian ballroom dance that was all the rage in imperial Europe.

"The dancing is sexy, yes, but it is danced by all kinds of people, of all ages and sexes, without the dirty connotations given to it by very bad Hollywood movies," said Juliana, clearly in indignant lecture-mode. "It is very graceful, fast-paced, and when you have to move your feet and body that fast on the dance floor without tripping all over yourself and falling on the dance floor, the last thing on your mind is sex!" She shook her head. "Anyway, lambada went out of style in the early 1990s... if you think that is bad, wait till you see baile funk!"

Finished, Juliana rocked back in her chair, and clapped her hands once for emphasis as she laughed. As her face was still tear-streaked, it had quite the starling effect.

"Thanks for that, Juli," said Eva, rolling her eyes. "We can always play the song again... let’s see what they can do before we tease them, okay?" She scampered off towards the jukebox, jingling a bit of change in her hand.

Ron was looking at Hermione. "Do you remember the steps?"

She nodded slowly. "It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? But yes, I think so."

So they stood up together and made their way to a small gap near the jukebox. Hermione couldn’t bear to glance back at the table, but she sensed Eva and Juliana’s challenging grins... and Harry’s eyes boring into her back. What she was doing, she didn’t know... it had been such a long time... what had she been thinking?

Then Ron placed his hand in hers. The other settled in the small of her back. It wasn’t a loving gesture, but a friendly one, tentative, as if asking permission.

She looked up into his eyes and smiled. They’d been happy together in the beginning, hadn’t they? Before everything happened... they’d been content enough...

Once.

Even if they were no longer married, there was nothing saying they couldn’t have fun still.

And she heard his voice, ten years ago and an ocean away...

It’s in the music, Hermione. It’s in the music... just let go.

And it was. This was something she didn’t have to think about while doing. When you let go of your center, of your need to control, the dance came naturally. Latin music was so easy to dance to... the melody indeed did tell you where to place your feet, how to sway, when to fling your hands, where to dip and turn and twist...

And Ron... Ron was a natural dancer. He’d always been the perfect partner... she couldn’t remember him ever stepping on her feet, not even once. It had been very easy to follow his lead no matter what the dance, and she’d always trusted his strong arms and hands to keep her from falling flat on her arse. So far, he’d never failed her there.

He didn’t fail her now. With him she felt incredibly light on her feet... and lighthearted. Somewhere beyond them and the music, she heard Juliana’s loud gasp and Eva and Zach cheering, along with some other patrons... but here and now there was only the song and the dance.

Even now Hermione didn’t know what all of the Portuguese words meant, but she knew the gist of the song. The dance instructor on Cape Verde had told them. It was a tune about a very pretty girl who’d gone from humble beginnings to become a snobbish celebrity after her brilliant performance in the samba at Carnaval... and was told from the point of view of the man she’d left behind.

I don’t quite know why

One fine day

The girl who played the princess

Got used to the costume...

The song began, and the music filled Hermione’s ears as she began to move. She and Ron didn’t miss a beat or a step. For a fleeting moment, Hermione wished she had on proper clothes for the dance... a skirt made for twirling... perhaps a pair of high-heeled silver sandals too. But she did a fair job in her grubby canvas sneakers and jeans. She knew that Ron was the better dancer, but she was more than a match for him on the dance floor... perhaps even more so than his current wife.

Hoje o samba saiu, ay, yayaya!

Procurando você

Quem te viu, quem te vê...

Quem não a conhece não pode mais ver pra crer

Quem jamais esquece não pode reconhecer...

The final chorus ended, and Ron dipped Hermione with a triumphant fluorish. Despite the air conditioning, they were both flushed and warm. He pulled her up into a quick hug, and she laughed against his chest.

All around them, there was thunderous applause and shouts. Brasileros were contrary like that... as foreigners, Ron and Hermione would have been laughed to scorn if they’d looked ridiculous. Fortunately for them, they didn’t. Most of the other patrons were cheering and whistling. They’d generated quite the buzz.

Eva was nudging Juliana as they returned to the table. "Any more jokes to say, minha amiga? Nossos estrangeiros dance the samba better than either of us!"

Zach was nodding. "Wow! That looked like fun!"

"It was fun, mate," said Ron. "Highly recommended for reaching one’s recommended daily target heart rate." He winked at Hermione. "Helps to have the right partner, I’d say..."

"Pity your partner is half a world away."

That was Harry, coming up behind them. Hermione realized suddenly that she and Ron were still hand in hand, and drew back as if she’d been handling a poisonous viper.

She turned around. Harry didn’t look as if he’d enjoyed watching the dance at all. There was something in his eyes, too...

Before she knew it, Hermione was being kissed. Kissed in a way that she really didn’t like to be kissed in public, especially when she was the center of attention, and while her body responded instantly, her sensibilities were more than a bit annoyed. After she was first found in the favela, she hadn’t minded Harry’s possessiveness one bit, but that had been over a month ago. He didn’t fit the jealous role very well... she wondered why he was so being so damned insecure. She loved him... didn’t he know that?

At any rate, they needed to talk.

"Pardon us," she said, taking Harry’s hand in hers and pulling him back towards the corridor where the doors to the loos and the kitchen were. "We’ll be back," she called over her shoulder.

Once they were alone, Hermione launched straight into a tirade.

"Harry James Potter, I’m surprised at your behavior. What gives you the right to act like a spoiled toddler in public?"

"Spare me the lecture, Hermione. I’ve just eaten."

"I’ll lecture you all I please... you ought to be lectured. I’m so ashamed I don’t know what to say or think! You acted like a child out there. Since when are you the jealous and possessive one?"

"Since you decided to drape yourself all over your ex-husband!"

"Drape myself? I was not ‘draping myself’... we were just dancing!"

"Oh, so that’s what it’s called?"

"Damn it, Harry, grow up! I’m allowed to dance with Ron, for goodness’ sake!" Her face was very red now, and not just from the twirling about she’d just done. "After all, I was married to him, you know!"

Her last shriek hung on the air.

Harry looked at her coolly. "I'm well aware of that fact, Hermione. Thank you for reminding me of it yet again."

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to push her anger to the back of her mind. "This has got to stop, Harry. You know very well that I’m in love with you. I shouldn't have to justify it every time I have a good laugh or a good chat with Ron or any other man. It was just a dance. That’s all. You're the one I want. Not him, not anyone else... it’s you."

She trailed off as she looked into his eyes. The rage she’d seen smouldering there just moments before seemed to have disappeared. In its place was a quiet pain, tempered with desperation... but why should he be desperate when it came to her? She wasn’t going anywhere. Not for a long time.

Her arms wound about his neck, and even though he closed his eyes, she knew he could still hear her whispers.

"My darling," she murmured softly against his neck. "What do I have to do to make you trust and believe me when I say that I’m not going anywhere this time? Tell me."

In response, he wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned forward so that their foreheads were touching, the frames of his glasses cool against the bridge of her nose.

"Just... be patient with me, love."

"I’ll be patient with you forever, Harry. Forever."

She reached up and plucked off his glasses.

And that was all she wrote.

************

Once again that night, she dreamed of Jack.

This time, they were in downtown Atlanta, ordering at the Varsity, the world’s largest fifties-style drive in restaurant. Bobby Darin was playing on the jukebox, and the wait staff wore roller skates. She couldn’t recall why they were there; perhaps it was one of the few Saturdays that there wasn’t anything much going on at the Centers for Disease Control. All she knew was that Jack was ordering them both chili dogs, smothered with onions and ketchup and mustard and anything else that would guarantee indigestion.

She wasn’t much for hot dogs, or any kind of sausage for that matter. But especially not frankfurters... wieners... whatever they were properly called. She thought that it was as strange of an American eating habit as the practice of smothering chips with ketchup... why on earth didn’t diners around here think to keep good malt vinegar around?

Yet she always ate the dogs whenever Jack was around. He seemed addicted to the mystery meat... whether barbecued in sauce, surrounded by some sort of corn fritter, or covered with chili. Hermione supposed it was a psychological thing for Americans... after all, they needed to forget exactly what it was they were eating.

So she waited behind in Jack’s F-150 as he went and got the goods.

When he came back, there was a strange sort of smile on his face.

"They’ve run out of chili," he said. "So I got this instead..."

He handed her one of the hot dogs.

It was completely obscured by flies, beetles, and bedbugs...

Hermione screamed and dropped the wrapper onto the driver’s seat, causing a swarm of flies about her head. The hot dog itself she never saw. All that remained in the center of the seat was a pool of blood...

How long she screamed before she woke up Harry, she never knew. By the time she recognized her surroundings, and her screams had turned to whimpers and tears, he was up and holding her.

And as she told him what happened, she clung to him. Clutching his shoulders fearfully. Desperately.

"I’m afraid to go back to sleep."

"So you think that he’s in danger, then?"

"I don’t know what to think, Harry. I don’t know what any of it means. All I know is that I’ve dreamed of Jack every night since we left Santarém. I don’t believe in divination or fate or prophecy or any such nonsense, but..."

"But you’re worried about him." The tone was flat.

She sighed. Hermione knew it couldn’t be pleasant for him to know that she was dreaming of her ex, and yet this was a serious matter.

"Harry, if anything happened to him, anything at all, I’d feel responsible. I had the opportunity to tell him what I was and didn’t. I’m not sure that I would ever be able to forgive myself."

"From what I hear, love, Jack’s a big boy. Perfectly capable of taking care of himself..."

"No Muggle can do anything about a wand pointed at them, Harry. You know that."

She heard his thought in reply. Especially now that you haven’t got any defense against one either.

"I need to know he’s all right," she sighed. "I don’t know how or when, but I need to know."

Harry let out a deep breath. "Ron’s talked of sending word to Maureen... he hasn’t since we got here, you know, and it’s been over a month. We didn’t do it before now because we didn’t think it was safe--it’s still not safe now, but really, she needs to hear from him. Perhaps in the owl we could have her get in touch with your father, and your father could contact Jack. How’s that?"

"Fine, except my father would likely never let Maureen in the house. He knows exactly who she is, and what she is to Ron."

"Hermione," the tone was exasperated, "at a time like this..."

"You’re right. I’m sure Dad will let bygones be, especially if Maureen brings news of my welfare." She shifted onto one elbow. "I suppose I can shove my differences with her into the cauldron until such time that this all blows over. Then we can resume sniping at each other."

He leaned up, bent his head forward, and kissed her forehead. Then he cupped her elbow in his palm and drew her close again.

"Go back to sleep," yawned Harry into her hair. "Tomorrow we need to get into wizarding Manaus... we need to stock up before we head north to the Cabalistica facility. I expect it’ll be a long day..."

He was asleep again seconds later. Hermione lay there, in his arms, listening to his breath and his heartbeat. Her mind wanted to continue racing, but her body was completely at ease.

Heavy eyelids slipped closed... and soon, she fell into deep, dreamless sleep.

************

The entrance to wizarding Manaus was situated just behind the Teatro Amazonás, a huge opera house with Baroque architecture and a dome made of solid gold that glistened in the equatorial sun. It was similar to entering Platform 9 ¾ in London... you had to slip around the back and run at the building.

"Blimey, you’d think they’d cut another door," said Ron, eyeing the machine gun-carrying guards that were on duty at the gate.

"Leave it to us," said Eva. "Come on, Juli."

Eva and Juliana proved to be quite the distraction indeed. They flirted with the two guards expertly, while Harry, Ron, and Zach enchanted themselves Dim and sneaked around the corner.

But they’d forgot about Hermione, whose blonde hair had caught the strong morning light... and the eye of one of the guards, who fancied what was most unusual in these tropical lands.

"Ei, gata! Porque você não vem aqui falar comigo?"

Hermione shook her head, annoyed by the catcall.

"E falar exatamente o quê?" Exactly what is there for us to talk about?

"Vem aqui e você vai descobrir... ei, para onde ela foi?"

For just then, Ron had noticed Hermione wasn’t following along, and with a wave of his wand she blended into the surroundings with near-perfect visibility.

"Thanks," she said gratefully, as he grabbed her hand and pulled her behind the building.

"Don’t mention it," he said.

Zach had obviously already gone through the portal, as there was no sight of him. Harry was obviously waiting on them both.

"Are the girls all right?" he asked.

"I think so," said Ron. "As long as Juliana remembers to pull Eva in with her, they’ll be fine."

"Juliana’s no fool," said Harry, in a tone that left some doubt as to what he thought about present company.

Ron caught his drift and glared. "Come on, Hermione..." and before she knew what was happening, she was being pulled through the wall of the Teatro Amazonás and into wizarding Manaus.

It was perhaps one of the most unusual magical quarters she’d ever visited. If the city of Manaus itself wasn’t eco-friendly, the wizarding district seemed literally built into the trees. Hermione felt rather as if she’d just stepped back into the rainforest. After their dazed monthlong trek, it wasn’t the most welcome sensation in the world, that was certain.

Another strange thing was the way everyone was dressed. There seemed to be either one of two extremes... traditional Amazonian attire, which meant very little clothing to speak of, and what she guessed was customary Bahian dress... brilliantly colored robes that were almost shocking to look at, with many of the women wearing printed scarves and headwraps and many of the men sporting straw hats. Yet these were obviously witches and wizards. Not only did most of them wear a plethora of amulets and talismans around their wrists and necks, Hermione could see their wands holstered at their waists.

Perhaps the most uncanny thing of all was the overall tone of the district on that morning. Hermione supposed that she’d been expecting the color and vibrancy that had characterized the majority of the Brazilian communities she’d seen. While the district was plenty colorful, it was also strangely... silent.

Well, perhaps silence wasn’t exactly the correct word. People spoke in hushed whispers as they passed by, taking little notice of the strangers in their midst (also unusual for Brazil, Hermione thought). One could observe easily that something important had happened.

Ron noticed this too. "Right then. So when’s the manticore coming?"

"Unusual, isn’t it?" Hermione murmured.

"I’ll say. Wonder what’s up, and how fast we’ll have to run when it appears?"

"Ron, we never get to run at times like this. That’s just not how these things work. Everyone else gets to run, and off we trot towards whatever it is they’re running from. You know that."

"I know, I know." Heavy sigh. "Just let me have my pipe dream, will you, woman?"

Hermione sent a derisive look in his direction. "I don’t see Harry or the girls... perhaps we ought to go back?"

"That won’t be necessary, Hermione, I think they’re here," said Ron, tone suddenly going flat as he stared at something... or someone... behind her.

She whirled around... and was face to face with Sirius Black.

*************

It was a relatively calm early December morning for Fred Weasley. His sons Sean and Michael were sitting around the table, crunching through two bowls of Piggy Puffs and laughing at the antics of an old animated pop-up book of his. Malinda was dutifully doing the dishes, leaving them to drip dry Muggle fashion as she danced a foot or two above the ground... he’d levitated her up earlier. This was one of her favorite chores, as it allowed her to stare out of the window at the clouds she’d rather be riding amongst.

As for Fred, he was finishing the last bit of toast that Angelina had prepared before she’d scampered off to the Evening Prophet. She was always scampering, that girl, especially now that he and George had lost 3W. He remembered the evening he had to come home and tell her... remembered almost refusing to tell her... and after all that, she had just waved off his concern.

"I thought you were going to tell me you had some terminal illness," she’d said. "Is that all?" Before he could open his mouth to protest, to say that a business whose revenues once ran to several hundred thousand Galleons per annum couldn’t be dismissed so easily, she finished. "I’m sorry on your account... after all, it was your dream and George’s to do that... but you did do it, didn’t you?"

"For once I’m not thinking about me, Angel," he’d protested, sober for once in his life. "I’m thinking about you and the children. You just came home a couple of years ago..."

She waved a dismissive hand at that notion. "Fred, you’ve always provided for us. But you underestimate us. We’ve got our health and strength and magic enough to feed our family... and our children will be fine."

So it was settled. She would go back to work while he stayed home, took care of the children, and looked for a job.

That job search had lasted over a year. Angelina didn’t seem to mind. She manned the news desk at the Evening Prophet during the weekends and evenings as a correspondent, and weekdays worked for Ginny at the Malfosoft Foundation alongside Anya. Fred knew that the work his little sister had provided was basically charity--no one was really hiring--but they needed the gold, no matter how galling it was that Malfoy money was feeding his family. Draco might have been his brother-in-law now, but old habits--and hatreds--die hard.

As for Fred, he felt useless. After running his own company and calling the shots, it was a trifle humbling to sit in interview after interview for entry-level clerkships at this Diagon Alley storefront or the other. He didn’t want to work for Percy, either... although George had swallowed his pride and taken the assistant professorship in Charms at Hogwarts.

Just before Minister Goosey was assassinated, there had been some talk of Percy becoming a magical MP. The entire Weasley kit and kaboodle had been a-buzz... how far they’d come!... but the assassination, the Jenkins scandal, and the storming of Hogwarts had changed everything.

Fred barely looked at the wizarding broadsheets any longer. The Daily Prophet, which his Angel swore to never work for again, was filled with all sorts of gossip and scandal... the same lies and propagandic rubbish that had besmirched its pages during the war of their youth. Mostly about Hermione, who’d not appeared for Ministry questioning by 30th November after all... who was now wanted by the International Confederation, dead or alive.

It was a huge scandal, even nastier than that terribly scandalous 2009 year. Yet this time no one wanted any part of it, not even Angelina. Their entire set was tight-lipped and dignified this time around... partially from a general distaste for the wizarding news media, partially because they’d all grown up a bit since then.

And mostly because they didn’t know what the hell was going on themselves.

It was like the Missing Week, but worse... because this time, there had been no word for over a month. No word, that is, except from Charlie, who in early November said he’d seen Harry and Ron just before Halloween, that all was well, and that everything would be explained in due time.

The atmosphere seemed ominous. Strange. Everyone was acting oddly... everything was helter-skelter.

No wonder Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Ltd. hadn't survived in this strange new world.

Laughter itself had died here.

Fred looked up and caught Malinda staring at him. She looked worried... he and his daughter had always shared a special connection. It was almost as if she was he and George’s "third twin".

When he’d joked over something a few days before, on their way into the orchard for flight practice, Malinda had looked up at him, surprised.

"What is it, munchkin?"

"Nothing, Dad. It’s just..." She trailed off and scraped her heel in the dirt of the forest floor. "It’s just that you and Uncle George don’t joke around anymore. You don’t even smile."

Yes. Things had got that bad.

Nevertheless, Malinda was barely nine... she ought to be worrying about toys and her wizarding first school and such, not over her parents.

So on that December morning, Fred managed a tight smile. She mirrored it.

Her eyes let him know that she wasn’t convinced, though.

A sudden pop in the kitchen fireplace heralded a fireplace message from a visitor. After the subdued mood of the household, it was quite the shock. Malinda nearly fell in midair, the twins’ spoons froze in mid-crunch, and Fred stopped in mid-thought.

Until he saw who it was. Malinda identified the caller for them.

"Auntie... Aunt Diane?"

It was Diane indeed, but a very different Diane than the bitchy woman he’d always known. The Diane he’d known was a gorgeous woman with a barely-disguised veneer of hauteur, class, elegance, and grace. This Diane had hollow, haunted eyes, a gaunt face, and ragged nails. Whereas the old Diane was merely a nastily mean bitch, this Diane had seen too much and knew things that no mortal ought to know.

"Diane no longer," said the voice from the head in the fireplace, and the voice both was and wasn’t Diane’s. "I have long been Asha Djeli Babatunde, Grand Inquisitor of the Cabalistica."

Fred’s wand immediately shot out. Diane hadn’t contacted them, as promised, since that long-ago night in 2009 before she took her insidious vows. Why was she contacting him now, if not for nefarious purposes?

"Listen to me, Diane! You stay away from my wife and children! You made your choice and Angelina made hers... get out!"

Asha (or was it really Diane?) looked troubled. Her hands went up in a gesture of conciliation.

"Please, Frederick. You must listen to me." She lowered her voice. "Where is my sister?"

"She isn’t here. Besides, why would she want to talk to you?"

"I have already spoken with my sister Olivia, and my mother, and now there is only Angelina left. Please. There is much to be said, and I haven’t much time left..."

Fred hesitated, then addressed his daughter. "Munchkin, take the boys out of here..." For he knew the twins were trembling without even turning around to look.

"Okay," Malinda said in a small, frightened voice. "Bye, Aunt Diane."

"Good-bye, little one."

Once they were alone, Fred laid into his wife’s older sister in earnest.

"All right, you had better have a damned good explanation for disturbing us."

"Indeed. But you first must be silent and learn to listen. What I am about to say will cost my life, but will save your own."

So Fred sat and listened. For the next few minutes, he listened as Angelina’s sister explained "the things that have come to pass, the things which are, and the things which will soon take place."

When she was done, the red hair on the back of his neck and on his lower arms was standing on end.

"What can be done?"

"Total warfare. It’s the only way. All that is left that is good and pure in magic will have to fight the terror that is to come. The Cabalistica is like a weed, Frederick. It must be purged from all the Thousand Worlds."

"Including you?"

Sigh. "I am part and parcel of that evil. When it is uprooted, yes, I will die along with it. There is no other way."

"Then why come here?"

"Because once I was not Asha Babatunde. Once I did not carry the golden scepter of the Inquisitor. Once I was just Diane Johnson... a daughter, a sister, a whole person." Another sigh. "Before I took the death-vows, I thought that perhaps I would lose the memory of my former life. Yet that is not how it happens.

"It’s strange, but... the girl and the woman I once was seems but a dream. She would have wanted me to do this. She is driving me to do this before all is lost."

"But the Confeds... surely they can..."

"The Confederation is as useless as the British Ministry. I made sure of that long ago. Your only hopes are in India and in North America... everything else is lost to you."

"What about the Order? They..."

"Are fighting costly civil wars in Egypt and Brazil. That, too, was done on purpose... we will let them have a bit of ground there, some small victories... before all hell is unleashed."

Fred frowned. Then he leaned forward towards the fireplace and spoke in a low tone.

"You’re forgetting one thing. The Covenant. What dark power has ever withstood ancient magic like that?"

Asha, formerly known as Diane, laughed bitterly. Then she sighed.

"Oh, if it were only that simple! You ask if the darkness can stand again the Covenant of ages. Indeed that is ancient magic. Yet there is a magic that is even more ancient, a magic that is so black and foul that the Old Ones bound it at the furthest reaches of the Thousand Worlds, where it could only influence, not terrorize."

"Seems to me that if the Old really wanted to help posterity, they would have destroyed the bugger, not left it for us to clean up their messes," replied Fred. Some of his old sense of humor was returning at this incredible news.

"You cannot destroy what is immortal. She cannot be destroyed... she can only be bound, and then only for a time."

She? Fred scratched his head. "I’m confused."

"Are you, then? You soon won’t have that luxury." Yet another long sigh. "Please, Frederick. I need you to convey my message to the Order. And... tell my sister that it is time to use what I gave her more than three years ago. Enough for your entire family... enough for the horror that is to come."

Fred nodded. Then, despite himself, he made her an offer.

"Listen, Diane... all differences aside, I don’t know what sort of trouble you’re in, but if you need a place to hide out for a while..."

"No!" Her tone was one of horror. "No, don’t offer that! I wouldn’t dream of placing your family in such danger. No more of this. I’m a dead woman, and indeed, it is no more than I deserve. I thank whatever gods there may be that my mother and sisters will never know what wickedness I’ve... never mind. As I’ve said, I deserve no less for the woe and misery I have perpetuated since I first got my hands on the golden scepter... the staff of perdition.

"The great Lord Voldemort said that there was no such thing as good and evil. Only the powerful, and those too foolish or weak to seek that power. He told an untruth, and no wonder. He was merely the mouthpiece for she who is the Queen of Lies... but we will not speak of her. We will simply have to do all we can to keep her bound.

"Now I must go face my fate. Tell my sister I will be watching her in the times to come. Watching..."

There was a sudden rustle behind her in the fireplace, and with another pop Asha Djeli Babatu... no, Diane was gone.

It wasn’t ten seconds later that Angelina walked into the kitchen. Startling Fred completely.

"What’s wrong?"

"Forgot my coin purse... it was in my other cloak." She frowned. "You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, dear... what’s wrong?"

Fred pulled out another chair at the table.

"Angel, I think you’re going to have to owl in."

"Why?"

"Your sister popped in for a visit."

Instantly Angelina knew it wasn’t Olivia. "Oh."

She sat down, and Fred Accio’d her a cup of tea, and they settled in for a long chat.

*************

Hermione faced Sirius calmly. She hadn’t seen him since 2009... on that regrettable April evening when she’d confronted Ron and Maureen, and learned about what had happened between her and Harry so many years before.

And he looked much as she’d remembered. Hermione had always though of Sirius as a rather striking-looking wizard, even upon their first meeting, even when he had to hide in his Animagus form during the early years of the war. In his fifties, he was striking still, with long black hair, streaked here and there with silver and held back by a leather cord... he was tanned from the heat, letting her know that he’d been in Brazil for a while.

Back home, there wasn’t much sun in December.

Instead of the anger or annoyance she thought she’d feel, she felt rather relieved to see him. It was the same sort of sinking relief she’d felt when she thought she’d seen Draco six weeks before... and then when Harry, Ron, and Zach had found her.

Then she felt annoyed that she was relieved.

"Hello, Sirius," she said. "Looking for Harry?"

"Actually, I was looking for you, Hermione." He looked from her to Ron, apparently identifying him through the disguise and nodding in greeting. "How are you faring?"

"All right. Feeling a bit like a Sponge survivor at the moment, but other than that, faring as well as can be expected."

His tone was brisk and curt in his usual fashion. But his eyes studying her face with... with something that she hadn’t seen in them when it came to her for years... not since she was a young girl. And she hadn’t been that for many years now.

"I’m glad Harry found you, Hermione. We didn’t know of your kidnapping until three weeks after the fact. As soon as we found out, we sent a team here immediately. I’ve been here myself for the past ten days... and until I thought to contact Helena Medeiros, we’d had no word and we didn’t know if you had..."

Hermione held out a hand. "It’s all right. I got myself out. And then they came for me. I knew they would."

"Yes, I figured you would escape if you could," said Sirius, still studying her. "I knew he would find you before we did, as well."

"Glad to see you, Snuffles... hey, are your wizards still here?" asked Ron. "I need to get a message off to my wife, haven’t talked to her in a good while... and I reckon if you could find us, you could do that for me, couldn’t you?"

"Something can be arranged, I’m sure... listen, is there somewhere here we can talk?" Sirius’ eyes darted around. "I need to share several things with all of you, and there isn’t much time."

Just then, Harry appeared out of thin air, followed closely by Juliana, who was tugging on Eva’s arm.

"Ran into a bit of trouble, did you?" said Ron to Harry.

"Eva doesn’t know how to quit while she’s ahead," said Juliana with a vicious nudge. "Anyway, we’re stuck here until at least the shift change, if not after... não queiram."

They all looked at Eva, who shrugged. Zach, who must have been hovering somewhere in the vicinity, came up behind her and put his arms around her shoulders, then kissed her cheek and whispered something in her ear. She smiled.

"While you were chatting with Mr. Black, Ron and Hermione, I went and found a spot for us to regroup," Zach then said. "It’s sort of mangy, but..."

"What are you doing here?"

That was Harry, by way of greeting to Sirius, who he’d been staring at ever since he’d arrived.

"I can tell you that, Harry, once we get to the spot the boy’s found for us. We can..."

"No. I think we’ll go on with preparations as we intended and go on as planned all without your help..."

"Harry," said Hermione quietly, "Sirius is just trying to help."

"Help make things worse? Sorry, that’s exactly what we don’t need."

Ron laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. "Slow, deep breaths, Harry. Guaranteed to work in situations like this."

Harry was still glaring at his godfather. "Fine. Let’s hear what you have to say."

And they did hear it, in that out-of-the-way botequim that Zach had spotted. There were no chairs; just high tables that they stood about with their cups of guaraná, a ginseng-like health drink that was a specialty of Amazonás.

First, Sirius told them why everyone around was so tense.

"The civil war has begun," he said in a low voice. "You haven’t seen much evidence of it, as you’ve been sticking mostly to Muggle settlements and the jungle... in case you were wondering, there’s a Homing Charm on your Spider, Zach, that Stacy applied as part of our normal security procedures for new Ayr Island staffers, so once we figured that you were with Harry, we were privy to your location and monitoring it..."

"Yeah, thanks a lot," said Harry.

"...but you kept one step ahead of our team and after your breakdown in the jungle, we lost all trace of you. That’s when I made preparations to come. I also needed to get in touch with the Allied forces who have infiltrated Salvador and are about to move.

"The current Minister, Diego Fox, is the son of the former Mexican head of the Priesthood. He is bloodthirsty and cunning, but trusts those around him too well. We have our people in the ministry’s mansion, offices, and throughout the Wizard’s Quarter of Salvador. We’ve nearly got the entire state of Bahia sealed... we expect to complete operations within a week or two..."

"Who’s ‘we’?" asked Ron.

"Oh, the Order, our friends in the Confederation who haven’t been swayed by Sebastian Borgin and his neo-Death Eating faction, some of our brightest youngsters from Black and Potter, talented in magic and telesthetics..."

"All those?" asked Harry, frowning. "That’s quite the disjointed operation, Sirius. Surely you’ve got someone overseeing things on the ground here... we were planning similar offensives in Egypt, India, and Germany last I heard."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," Sirius said. "Young Malfoy’s here on the ground in Salvador..."

"Malfoy?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione said together.

"All right, ‘fess up. How much gold is in it for him?" Ron smirked.

"No gold whatsoever. Draco Malfoy has sat in the seat of Stealth at the Stone Table for more than two decades. Of the four revolutions, this one required the most care, especially since I had no idea whether or not Hermione was with you or in their clutches. At one point Diego had implied to the Confederation that she was being held here by his government as a willing hostage... I am sure the extradiction battle is still waging on."

Hermione frowned. "Extradiction? Why, what crime have I committed?"

"Well, according to Sebastian..."

And that’s when Hermione learned about the lie that had been spread about her throughout the wizarding world.

She scoffed. "Surely no one believes that."

Sirius looked grave. "Hermione, almost everyone believes it. Save for your closest friends, those who saw you at your birthday party, those who know you as something more than a public figure, the entire wizarding world thinks that either you or someone who looks very much like you passed sensitive information to the United States Muggle government that corroborated with whatever Victoria Jenkins told the British press. And so..."

"They want her head on a platter," said Juliana, not dressing the matter up.

"Exactly. There’s a media circus waiting for you back home. Of course your friends have spoken up for you, one by one issuing statements... just before he left England Malfoy drafted a lengthy statement that he wanted your approval to send, and he told me that if I saw you to let you know he’d testify before the Ministry about being Secret-Keeper for you."

"That’s nice of him," Hermione said. "Although I’m not sure that the word of a Malfoy would do much good in court... and anyway, why would he have to testify?"

Deep breath. "There’s a warrant out for your arrest. You’re being charged with violating the International Compact on Wizarding Secrecy. High treason."

Everyone gasped. It was one of the worst charges that a wizard or witch could face. It meant certain life-imprisonment in Azkaban, and these days post-Jenkins scandal, deep Freezing and Charm-Suggestion. Which in a way was worse than death... you were removing the criminal from everyone they knew and loved, leaving them to awaken in a strange future world.

The more notorious criminals, however, were not even given that mercy. The more damage that your violation caused, the worse the consequences were. Hermione knew she wouldn’t get off that easily. She was a member of the Order and a war heroine. She’d been well regarded, an example of the worth of the Muggleborn in their world.

And now they all thought she’d been responsible for the storming of Hogwarts and the stealing of all those children...the near-end of their way of life... the end of their world.

She wouldn’t be frozen. That much was certain. After a well-publicized trial, the Dementors would be sent for out of whatever realm they’d been banished to at the beginning of the Pax...

And she would be Kissed.

End of story.

"Over my dead body." That was Harry. "How dare that bloody Borgin bastard even think about suggesting such a thing about Hermione? His father was one of the most notorious Death Eaters of both wars! Old Borgin helped finance Voldemort’s second advance and they’re kissing his brat’s arse? What the hell is going on back home, Sirius?"

"Harry, you don’t understand. The Cabalistica is starting to play their hand... they’ve been working on this since you defeated the Dark Lord and you lot scattered their kind into the shadows. They’ve bided their time, and when Hermione broke the Covenant of ages and unlocked Tartarus, they went right back to where they left off."

"But how could they get into Tartarus?" said Hermione. "Even if what I... what I did three springs ago reversed the spell, wouldn’t everything we contained be locked into that particular dimension?"

"Come now, Hermione, don’t tell me that whatever the Cabalistica did with your magic affected that head of yours as well! During the Pax Dumbledorica, we allowed some of the Portal Lands to revert back to local government control, remember? Bad move, as magical administrations everywhere are being sucked into the Cabalistica’s slimy hands... only Ayr is still closed to them."

There was a note of pride in Sirius’ voice. He was descended from a line of Gatekeepers that went back unbroken to the Golden Age. Dark magic had never breached their entrance to the Thousand Worlds.

Then he sobered.

"Things are going from bad to worse."

Ron’s eyes were wide. "I’ll say, Sirius. Next they’ll begin attacking our families, as they did last time."

Sigh. "Yes, which is why I’ve brought Maureen and your boys to Ayr. She’s been a great deal of help in Harry’s absence with the teens at the school... Jocelyn’s placed her on the payroll and the kids really enjoy her and the boys. As for the rest of your family, Ron, Ginny is running both Malfosoft and channeling her Foundation’s funding into our coffers in young Malfoy’s absence. Your brothers and parents responded to our offer with a firm ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ Pretty much as I figured."

"The Weasleys can pretty much take care of themselves," said Hermione. "That I have no doubt of. But Sirius, what about my father? I don’t want wizards and witches harassing him because they think I’m their Malinche. He’s not as young as he used to be..."

"Ah." What little animation there had been in his face as he talked about what their side was doing to fight back faded away. "Hermione, I have no idea how to tell you this, other than to say that I feel half-responsible. I ought to have seen this coming, and..."

"Something’s happened to my dad." The blood in her veins turned to ice. Dear heaven, no... please, I can’t go through this... not again... not so soon...

"No, no... he’s as well as can be expected, Hermione. We have him at Ayr, too... he’s sublet the woodcutter’s cottage, Harry, I hope you don’t mind..."

"Not at all," said Harry, holding Hermione’s hand tightly, stroking the small of her back as her heartbeat slowed to a normal rate. Her father was safe, thanks to Sirius.

She looked up at the older wizard, some of this gratitude on her face. What did the past matter? Sure, Sirius had meddled and interfered in things between her and Harry time and time again. Yet he didn’t dislike her after all. He had looked after things well in their absence, and she was willing to let bygones be bygones... and all was well that ended well, right?

Harry wasn’t quite as relaxed, though.

"Sirius. Why was it necessary to move Ted Granger to Ayr? Wouldn’t wards around his house, usual routes, and workplace have sufficed?"

Sirius looked grim. "Not in this case, Harry. It’s one of the reasons why I came to find you so very quickly."

He came over to place a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. And his eyes... his eyes...

"Hermione, the Cabalistica has Jack Calhoun."

A strangled cry escaped from her lips. She wanted to scream. She wanted to slap herself and tear our her hair.

She’d told him. In another time, in another place, she’d told him who and what she was. She’d walked out of his life. She’d left him to be free.

Yet she had been a coward.

And now, they had Jack.

That was her fault.

"What... what do they want with him?" Her voice was very small, yet trembling with anger. She was now shaking badly, despite the rising heat of the day. Harry pulled her close.

"Well, they want you. Allow me to explain what’s been going on."

Three weeks before, Sirius had received a call from a badly frightened Ted Granger. Apparently that afternoon he’d received a second call from Jack’s Cabalistica captors, who were wanting to speak with Hermione. The first time, he’d disregarded it as a silly prank. The second time, he’d called the police. The third time he was told that the police had no record or memory of his earlier call, and if he involved Muggles again, he’d be dead.

"We brought him to Ayr that very day. Ever since then, Jack’s captors have called every day, sometime in the afternoon... it varies. They don’t want any sort of ransom. They just ask to speak to Hermione, and when we can’t produce her, Jack is put on the phone. He’s obviously being tortured."

"Did you check to see that he’s really missing?" Harry asked.

"Why even ask such a question? We sent a field expert to Atlanta the same day. He is very much gone. It’s received quite a bit of media coverage in the States... ‘CDC Director Missing.’ His colleagues are dumbfounded, and his mother is heartbroken."

Hermione thought of Jack’s mother, who’d been absolutely lovely towards her, whose home always smelled of magnolia and pine, and whose cooking had been absolutely sublime.

Then she didn’t want to think of it at all.

"Why do they want to speak to me specifically? Have you attempted to negotiate with them?"

"Indeed we have. Remus and Jocelyn are the best hands we have at negotiation... but remember the lessons of the Voldemort Wars. You cannot negotiate with those drunk on Dark Magic. Some things are simply impossible."

"When will they call again?" she asked.

"Impossible to say... but it will be sometime tomorrow afternoon our time, which means after the local café de manha. Always in the afternoon. Had a Spider from Stacy an hour before I met you here... the call for today is over."

"Does my father have to field these calls?" asked Hermione.

She knew her father was a strong man, but he was a Muggle after all. He was unused to that sort of thing. She had never wanted him to know exactly what the wizarding world was like... only the perks to being a witch, never the very real dangers. Otherwise, he’d regret his decision to allow her to attend Hogwarts and enter that world until the day he died.

"Gracious, no. Remus and Jocelyn had that Charlotte in hand the second he was picked up by Janet at the portal. They’ve set up a control room below to receive calls... we’ve put two of our youngsters in charge of tracking, tracing, connecting, and monitoring. Seconds after we receive the call, it’s put through to Remus and Jocelyn. When it’s done, our young staffers log it for us. And when the call happens tomorrow, it’ll be connected to my Charlotte... that is, if Hermione wants to speak to them. Something we’ll have to consider and decide upon before..."

"There is absolutely nothing to decide, Sirius. Of course I want to speak with them," said Hermione, shrugging Harry off and regaining some of her old spirit. "I want to tell them they had better let Jack go if they don’t want their spines ripped out through their noses!"

Ron winced. "Ouch, ‘Mione."

Harry shook his head at her. "Sirius is actually right, love," he said. "There are a number of factors to be considered. What if we can trace them instead?"

"Harry, if they could have been traced, don’t you think they would have done so before now? Black and Potter is the premier counter-magiterrorism organization. Stacy Apostolides can place a Homing Charm on a gnat... she, like Ron, was trained by Drakkar to track anyone and anything, anywhere. It’s obvious that wherever the Cabalistica has taken Jack, they can’t be traced... which is why they haven’t been tracked."

"If they can Spider in, why can’t they?"

"Well, it’s obvious enough, isn’t it? They’ve taken him to another world."

"How can you Spider in from another world, Hermione? Talk sense, please."

"Easily. Same way we can receive radio waves from distant stars... quasars, pulsars... the same way the Muggles who went to the moon could talk back to the control station on Earth."

"Sure, but you know where the radio waves are coming from, don’t you?"

"Not always, darling. Sometimes we have no idea how that works. If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a researcher over the past few months, it’s this: the more you know, the less you know sometimes. There are some things that neither science nor magic can explain... yet." She had to tack that last word on; Hermione Granger simply didn’t believe in the unsolvable.

"Then why even talk to them?" asked Juliana.

She, Eva, and Zach had kept out of the conversation mostly. After all, this was Sirius Black, the elusive Grand Wizard of the Order. Seeing him alongside their newfound friends reminded them that they weren’t just Harry, Ron, and Hermione... these were the most famous and revered witch and wizards of their world. What could they contribute to a summit like this?

But now Juliana was frowning.

"Correct me if I’m wrong, but what if Hermione’s voice is the signal they are waiting for? Maybe the fact that they’re not hearing from her is the only thing keeping Jack alive."

"Jules," Hermione said, with great patience, "I’m guessing that the problem is that they haven’t been able to keep the idiots on the Spider long enough. If I can keep them talking for a while with Remus and Jocelyn’s help on a conference call, Stacy and her wizards might have enough time to track them down and rescue Jack."

Juliana grinned sheepishly. "Guess that means I’m not up for consideration to join the Stone Table, né?"

Ron pinched her cheek affectionately.

"Not to worry," he told her. "All of us suffer the same doubts sometimes."

**************

Although Hermione was trying very hard to not stress out over her loss of magic, there were moments during their layover in Manaus that it couldn’t be helped.

It was her time of the month, with a vengeance. She’d been spared the cramping thus far, but felt terribly bloated and out of sorts in general. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so horrible because of feminine considerations. Perhaps this was because she’d not suffered from the undiluted curse for nearly twenty years.

Witches’ contraceptives, like the best Muggle ones these days, stopped most of the usual monthly cycle. For this reason, the most basic of anti-pregnancy potions were given to young witches at the tender age of fifteen... any younger and it was not considered appropriate. After all, no witch under the age of fifteen ought to know that babies didn’t come out of the Sorting Hat anyway.

Hermione suffered through two long years of the curse before the girls’ only special Potions class that McGonagall had taught at the beginning of fifth year. She’d been a late bloomer, receiving her first period on the morning after her thirteenth birthday, a most unwelcome belated gift.

Of course she’d known what to do. Even before her mum’s talk about such things right before she left for her first year at Hogwarts she’d read up on it. The items she needed was tucked into a corner of her trunk just in case.

Nevertheless, she remembered being horribly embarrassed whenever it happened and perennially afraid that Harry, Ron, or one of the other boys would find out. In her worst nightmares, she ended up like poor Susan Bones, who was walking down the hall one day later that year to the tune of Peeves’ shouting "BLOODY BONES, MIND THE BACK OF YOUR ROBES!" between mean cackles.

The worst of all was when she’d suffered from it just before the Yule Ball, and had been absolutely horrified... what if Viktor could tell? But then the night before, the curse decided it was done with her, a day earlier than usual. For that, Hermione had been thankful. She was certain she could have never held her head up at the ball with confidence otherwise.

Because she was a hyperempath, and felt everything twice as deeply, she had a difficult time with it. For seventy-two hours a month as a young teenager she was achy, crampy, and was forever conscious of her mother’s admonishments about good hygiene. So usually this was the cause of her worst moods.

"What’s the matter, Hermione?" Dean would ask at breakfast. "Haven’t had your Wheaties today?"

Ron would invariably chime in, if he hadn’t made a snide remark first. "That’s quite usual for her, so perhaps that’s what she needs. Wheaties."

Then the boys would all laugh, even Harry, and her roommates Lavender and Parvati would glance over in her direction with some sympathy. After all, they were usually suffering at the same time as well.

This time, it had struck sometime after dinner, while they were all sitting around the living room of the suite that Sirius, Ron, and Juliana were sharing, amusing themselves in various ways and trying not to think about the phone call that would come tomorrow.

Eva was in one corner, attempting to teach Zach how to sambar, using whatever happened to play on the radio, trying to avoid plowing into the pile of supplies they’d purchased in the wizarding quarter. Juliana was animatedly chattering on with Ron and Sirius about some ribald joke she’d heard at Panteras as they all shared a tray of salgadinhos, which were bite-sized pasties alternately stuffed with cheese, meat, and palmitos.

As for Harry and Hermione, they were sitting together in a chair, listening to Juliana’s joke and Eva’s lesson. Occasionally he’d laugh, and sometimes she’d nod at Zach and shout out encouragement, or ask Eva a question about the dance.

Mostly, though, they just sat. Her curled up in his lap, legs thrown over the side of the chair. Him with one arm thrown casually around her waist, the hand of the other holding one of hers. As content as possible under the circumstances.

She was a bit surprised when he began holding her fingers slightly towards the lamp on the side table.

"What are you doing?" she asked lazily.

"Examining your fingerprints," he said. "These two are loops," he caressed the tips of her index and middle finger, "your ring finger and pinky are whorls," he touched those two, "and your thumb is a perfect arch."

"Oh, heaven forbid that it be an imperfect arch... can’t have that." She drew away her hand and traced the side of his face with those same fingertips. "So why the scrutiny? Have I committed some crime?" Besides all the ones the Confeds and the wizarding world are accusing me of, that is, she thought but did not say.

"Of course you have, you thief. You’ve stolen my heart clean away, and won’t give it back."

"No can do. I need it, you know."

His own fingertips came up to stroke her lips. "And why is that?"

"Because you’ve stolen mine as well."

They kissed then, thinking everyone else was caught up in what they were doing... until they heard the chorus of awwwww, and looked up to find five pairs of eyes on them.

"You two are so... lindos!" said Eva.

"They get like that a lot, I would imagine," said Sirius, with something regretful in his voice. Which was odd... Sirius never sounded like that.

"All the time," said Juliana. "We are used to it by now."

"Yeah, that sort leaves you no choice. I knew a couple just like them... a long, long time ago."

But it wasn’t until Ron snapped his fingers a few feet in front of them that they came up for air.

"All right, you crazy kids," he said in a half-amused, half-annoyed tone. "Get a room or something."

"Actually, Ron, that’s a fantastic idea," Hermione said, leaping up and pulling on Harry’s hand. "Boa noite, everyone."

"Boa noite!" they chorused back.

Just before they closed the door behind them, Juliana said:

"Make sure you soundproof that room, Harry, sim? I need my beauty sleep tonight... don’t need you and Hermione’s usual noise keeping me awake."

Hermione made a fist and shook it at her new friend. "Remind me to kill you first thing in the morning."

Juliana waved her off with a wink. "Garota, I doubt you will have the energy left. Have a very good sleep!"

Their room was right across the hall. Hermione barely had time to close the door behind her before they were together again, caught up in an electric storm, as intense as the surf at Arpoador beating against the breakers.

She removed his glasses, tucking them in her shorts pocket as per usual. Then her hands were tugging his cotton shirt out of his waistband, sliding underneath, sliding the fabric up and off...

I’m going to break my word tonight, she thought as she shivered, feeling the divine press of Harry’s skin against her palms as their mouths fused and their tongues dueled. And the worst part is I don’t give a damn. How silly was I to think we could go on, week after week, holding each other all night, kissing and touching, but never...

And then her own shirt was off. He reached between her shoulderblades for the tie of her bikini top, but she slipped out of his hands, creating havoc by playing her lips and tongue against the sides of his neck, then fastening them on his Adam’s apple momentarily before moving south...

"Hermione," he began, "won’t you just..."

"Stop talking, darling," she whispered against his skin, velvet stretched over aço. "You’re ruining the mood."

He didn’t say another word. She was swift and efficient, loving the low groans that hit her ears as her fingers found one flat male nipple, then the other. Then her mouth followed, licking, nipping as her hands traced the ridges of his stomach, just before the perfect arch of her thumb found his navel... and dipped inside.

And then again, her mouth shadowed her fingers... moving down to kiss a trail of fire and lightning, marveling that his stomach could be so firm, feeling the lean muscles there quiver beneath her lips.

Her tongue dipped inside his navel... but just the very tip.

And her hands brushed the erection that strained against his trousers.

"Hermione."

She smiled in the dark. The one benefit to being a hyperempath at times like these was that you knew exactly what your partner was feeling. Hermione knew that Harry was close to the breaking point... but she would be the one to decide when and how he’d get there. It was humbling indeed to have such power... not to mention intoxicating.

"If you say one more word..."

She was still engaging in the same shadow-torture, on her knees before him now, kissing the skin just under his navel, just above... as her fingers struggled with the button and zipper. Once they were free, she reached inside his boxers without preamble, found her quarry, encircled it, and began to stroke.

If nothing else, once her mind was made up, Hermione Granger was a witch who very much believed in getting to the point.

And then the first cramp cut across her lower abdomen, much like a knife twisting into her stomach. Or a slightly modified version of the Cruciatus Curse. Either way, it didn’t matter.

She sucked her breath in, hissing a bit as the pain snaked through her mind and consciousness, magnified a half dozen times because she couldn’t even shield.

Unfortunately, she’d lost her train of thought... and when her concentration broke, the stroking became an ill-timed squeeze.

And well, as Juliana would have put it in one of her jokes, acabou criando uma pequena explosão ... sem falar numa grande bagunça...

In other words, slight explosion... royal mess.

"Well, that certainly wasn’t what I was expecting," said Harry, a while later. "Not that I’m complaining, though."

Then he noticed the tears in her eyes... and the fact that she was slightly green. He frowned.

"I could have done that myself, you know, and spared you the trouble."

"It’s not that, Harry," she said, between gritted teeth. "It really isn’t that. You should know better."

"Then what?" He made another guess at what was troubling her. "Come on, Hermione, it’s not the end of the world. Not your fault that I acted like an impatient teenager... we can certainly try again, and I’d say it’s my turn, fair enough..."

"I should have taken that potion when Senhora Helena offered it!" she said, still grinding her teeth. "Or I could have bought some today... but no, I was too busy worrying about poor Jack and what I would say in the phone conversation tomorrow. This is really all my fault... all my fault. How could I have been so irresponsible?"

"All right, love, you’re going to have to fill me in because I’m completely lost. What is wrong with you?"

Using a few, slightly vague words, she told him.

"Is that all?" he laughed.

"Oh, shut up, Harry, it’s really not funny! I’d like to see you..." she stopped to brace herself against another horrible wave of pain, "...suffer through what I’m feeling right now."

He sank down to his own knees to kiss her forehead and pull her into his embrace.

"If I could take it away from you and suffer it for you, love, I would. As it stands, all I can do is put you into a warm shower while I slip out for a moment. I’ll be back."

She did, taking what was perhaps the longest shower of her life. By the time she was done, Harry was back with a brown paper bag full of what she’d need to pass the night.

"All right, spill it. What Muggle girl taught you about all this?"

He shrugged. "Can’t remember which one it was. Tomorrow we’ll get you what you need from the apothecary in the wizard’s quarter so you won’t have to worry about it again. Until then..."

Soon Hermione was dry, clean, and relatively comfortable. Between the Muggle pain medicine and the compresses Harry held against her temples and lower abdomen, the teeth of the pain eased a great deal.

As he doctored her, she told him all about her past dealings with this sort of thing, and being as deathly afraid of being found out at Hogwarts as all the other young witches were.

"I suppose it’s part of being a teenaged girl," she remarked idly. "That you’re dead uncomfortable with your body. Slightly terrified of it, almost."

"Makes sense," he said, yawning. "A woman is perhaps one of the most formidable creatures in all the Thousand Worlds. Duels have been fought, wars have been waged, and the course of history has been changed forever over women. Long before there was wizardry, there was witchcraft... everyone knows that. And all of humanity spent the better part of their first year of pre-existence somewhere within a woman’s body. Women have the power to give life, and the power to destroy it... and we call you the weaker sex."

"One of the universe’s more diabolical ironies, I’d say." She sighed as he laid the last compress aside, then just held her. "I don’t deserve you."

"Nor I you. And that’s why I think it’s good that we don’t get half the things we deserve... and great that we get many of the things we don’t." She closed her eyes, and felt the firm pressure of his lips in her hair. "I’d do anything for you, love. Next time you need something, don’t be afraid to ask. That’s what I’m here for."

He fell silent then, and soon Hermione could hear the long, heavy breaths that accompanied his slumber. Normally she was the morning lark and he was the night owl, but over the past few weeks he’d been exhausting himself, providing leadership to their small group and doing most of the taxing physical labor in the jungle.

So far, he’d made good on his promise not to let her out of his sight. She knew that part of the reason why the annoying possessiveness kept flaring up was because he’d appointed himself her bodyguard, much as he’d promised on her birthday. He just didn’t believe she could protect herself without magic. Hermione suspected that Harry had some doubts about her abilities in that regard when she had full use of her wand, but knew better than to say anything to her about it.

Chivalry be damned.

She was a powerful witch and a very independent woman to boot. She was completely self-sufficient. Certainly she didn’t need him...

But Merlin, how she wanted him.

As she looked up and watched Harry sleep, she felt completely at ease. Optimistic. She’d keep Jack’s captors talking long enough tomorrow for the Black and Potter operatives to move in and rescue him. Then somehow she’d make all this up to him. She’d really been unfair to Jack... if she’d told him about who and what she was in the Time Before, she could certainly do so now. She would explain everything.

Might as well actually commit the crime she was being accused of.

She then thought about the wizarding civil wars around the globe, the swift rise of the Cabalistica, and of the false charges against her. Well, she’d lived through tough times before. She’d even walked through hell. Compared to that, this was small potatoes.

We’ll get Eva’s child back, find a Danae shower, and get home. I’ll find out what the hell is going on with the Confederation, and then Harry and I will sit down and have a long, long talk. Perhaps finally get the chance to do more than talk, for certain, but there’s so much that we need to talk about... and these past few weeks haven’t been conducive to that sort of thing, really. Not when our mates keep bursting into our room or tent every five seconds for something.

So I’ll take care of my magic, the Confeds, and Harry, in that order...

Yes, that’s what I’ll do when I get home.

But...

The wizarding world isn’t big on due process. Never has been. We have Pensieves and Veritaserum. We also believe in swift and decisive justice.

What if there is no trial?

Try as I might, I can’t get the pictures out of my head. Of Sirius Black when I was thirteen. Of Tartarus when I was seventeen. Of Hecate’s lair when I was twenty-eight.

Of demons and Dementors.

What if I...

No. It won’t happen. It can’t. I won’t let it.

Ridiculous for me to even worry about something so implausible.

Her last thoughts were of the Dementor’s Kiss, and Eva’s mother, and of Jack, awaiting rescue from the Cabalistica’s clutches.

Where do lost souls go?

Perhaps the same place where dreams come from.

For that is where Hermione closed her eyes and went.

***********

Early the next morning, there was a faint rapping on their door. By the time Hermione finished stirring and stretching, Harry had already got up and answered it.

It was Eva.

"Desculpa, do not mean to bother," she whispered. "Is Hermione..."

"Bom dia, Eva," she said, yawning and sitting up from the mass of sheets she’d been tangled in. "What’s going on?"

"Sim. It is Sunday morning. Juliana and me, we were going to go to that igreja we passed on the way back here last night, and we were wondering if anyone else wanted to join us... until we have to come back for the phone call, that is."

If Eva had announced she and Juliana were going to join the circus or were secret lovers Harry and Hermione could not have been more surprised. They both stared at her as if she’d recently escaped from St. Mungo’s psycho ward.

"What is wrong?"

Hermione recovered first. "Nothing. It’s just that, er, I never considered you two the churchgoing type."

"That is the difference here," said Juliana, coming up to stand behind her friend. "In your country, no one goes to church much, whether witch or Muggle. Here, everyone not only is a member of the Catholic church, but plenty also practice umbanda or candomblé. You are largely a secular nation. We are not."

"Well, technically I’m a member of the Church of England," said Hermione. "So is Harry. So are most English witches and wizards who had Muggle childhoods. We had to sit through years of religious assemblies at school before we got to Hogwarts. Most of it seemed rather pointless, though. And hypocritical, considering how many people that selfsame religion has oppressed over the centuries."

"Perhaps not all hypocritical and pointless, sweet," Harry said. "You know, one of the nicest people I remember from my childhood was the local vicar. He loathed the way my aunt and uncle treated me, and went out of his way to show me whatever small kindnesses he could. Whenever he came to our school to lead assembly, he’d..."

"That had nothing to do with his being a minister, darling, and everything to do with him being a decent person."

"Hermione, do you believe in God?" asked Eva, incredulously.

At that moment, the gap between them was an eternity wide. Not only were there the obvious differences of class, race, and culture between them, Hermione thought, there was also that of education. Eva hadn’t finished secondary school and had never received any formal training as a witch...her mother had been too poor to afford the fees for the magical school in Salvador. In contrast, Hermione had more formal education than almost everyone else on the planet.

Hermione’s world didn’t have any need of divinity.

Eva’s couldn’t exist without it.

"At least come walk with us, Hermione," said Juliana, saving the awkward moment. "Last night Sirius was saying something about wanting to have a chat with Harry today, so you can leave him to that. You will want some fresh air before it gets too hot to breathe and before you have to... anyway, if you don’t want to go in, you can sit on the steps."

So Hermione donned a lightweight dress, kissed Harry good-bye, and set off with Eva and Juliana out of the hotel and down the street.

Eva looked better than she had in days. Although she wasn’t smiling, there was a lightness in her step that hadn’t been there since they’d discovered her mother dead. She also had a trembling half-smile around her lips.

"O que foi, Eva?" asked Hermione.

"Oh," here she lowered her eyelashes and her cheeks darkened, "well, last night Zach and I... I had sort of a bad night, sim, thinking about minha mãe and meu bebê, and wondering what would become of us. And he said that I was not to worry about myself or my son. He said..." here she broke into a sad smile, "...that I would never have to worry about anything ever again if he could say something about it."

"Que lindo!" Hermione replied. "How sweet!"

"Ha! I knew you had him ever since that first lap dance, poor boy," laughed Juliana. "Sim... the both of you are around the same age. When I was nineteen and twenty, I was that optimistic about life. Ah, to be young again!"

"And you’re just so sage now, at all of twenty-four," laughed Hermione.

"It is not my fault you are uma velha, garota," Juliana said, teasing back. "I am in my prime... tell me, is there really life after thirty? Or is it a myth?"

Hermione grinned to herself. "First of all, boba, you’re a witch. At thirty-two you’re what a Muggle woman is at sixteen in proportion to your overall lifespan. Secondly, as a witch you get to enjoy the sublime state of not being young and foolish before you’re wrinkled and grey-haired. Then, too, the sex just gets better and better..."

Juliana and Eva howled.

"What?" asked Hermione innocently. "As with anything, prática makes perfect."

"And I am sure Harry’s making sure you get lots of prática, is he not?"

"Actually," she muttered, elbowing Juliana, "I wasn’t referring to Harry. We’ve not had that sort of practice. Não desta vez."

Both of her friends stopped in their tracks. Hermione had to double back.

"Wait," Juliana asked. "You are telling me that you’ve been sleeping with him for more than five weeks and you haven’t... ah, peraí, Hermione! You think we are burras? Idiotas?"

"Nem um pouco idiotas o burras," she said, instantly regretting the impromptu share. It wasn’t like her to talk to other women about her relationships. Then again, she’d never really had any close female friends other than Ginny, who really had been more like a sister, so...

"Then why do you expect us to believe that conto de fadas? The two of you can’t keep your hands off each other! You are worse than Eva and Zach, and I know they have..."

"Ei, não!" protested Eva. "I am a good girl!"

"Heh," snorted Juliana, then ignored her old friend. "Hermione, what are you doing, garota? Não entendo. Why haven’t you?"

"Lots of reasons why," Hermione said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I just don’t think it’s proper, really. We have a lot to talk about and resolve before we plunge headfirst into something that we aren’t really sure about."

"‘We aren’t really sure?’ Querida, there is no ‘we’ about it. I have never seen a man that sure of anything in my life. Ele te ama, Hermione. Really, I have ever seen anything like what you two have before in my life... only on television and in the Trouxas movies. It isn’t right to torture him like that."

"Him? What about me? I’m not exactly having fun either."

"Then why not put both of you out of the shared misery? Eu não entendo isso!" She sighed. "Especially since I would kill to have what the two of you have. Just my luck, to be traveling with two pretty girls, and both of them are straight and taken."

"You never know, Jules," Hermione said. "Six months ago if you’d told me I’d be living without magic as a fugitive in Brazil, I would have laughed. But, eh... quem sabe o que te espera na próxima esquina da vida?"

That had been one of her mother’s favorite expressions, and something that Jack used to remind her of often.

Who’s to say what’s waiting for you just around the next bend of life’s road?

"Sim," said Eva, back to her subdued tone. "Só Deus sabe... who’s to say?"

For they had reached the church. It was an imposing-looking cathedral, with the overdone Baroque architecture that the nineteenth-century rubber barons had favored. It towered over the neighboring buildings considerably.

"It is only nove horas," Juliana said. "Mass will not start for another hour or so."

"Still, we can go inside to pray," Eva said. "And if there is a priest available for confession..."

She opened the heavy double doors and entered the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Conception--Catedral de Nossa Senhora da Conceição, properly. Juliana followed her, and with a quick backward glance over her shoulder at sunlight and street, Hermione followed.

An Indian. A lesbian. And one of the most famous witches in the world. This is like walking into Azkaban, voluntarily... what are people like us doing in a place like this?

The place had the same antique aroma that almost all wizarding places had (the notable exception being the brand-new Emerald City). Hermione’s skin prickled... perhaps from unseen ghosts all around her? Perhaps from... a sense of what? Feeling out of place? Feeling a bit out of her league and experience?

Hermione knew from the guidebook she’d picked up that the cathedral dated back to 1692 and the first foundations of the city in the midst of the rainforest. Yet it had been completely destroyed by fire in the nineteenth century. The current structure only dated to 1878... young in a witch’s eyes.

Dumbledore was a man grown when this place was built, she thought. What sort of solace can one possibly find here? What comfort?

She looked up at the high ceiling, the frescoes of the Blessed Virgin and Child, then down at the lovely candelabras, altars where visitors could light a candle and pray for their loved ones.

When she glanced back at her immediate surroundings, she saw that Eva and Juliana had disappeared into the gathering crowd. People were filing in early to pray, to attend catechism classes, to go to Confession if they could. When compared to the relatively static Churches of England, the stately Notre Dame, and the historic Basilica and Vatican of Rome, this particular Catholic archdiocese was a veritable hubbub of activity.

Yet as busy as everyone seemed, from priest to parishioner, from graybeard to wee child, they rushed along in reverence. It was in their steps, in their voices. The characteristic exuberance and spirit that Hermione had fallen in love with here seemed to be toned down a notch, purposely. Almost as if to the people standing around her, this was no ordinary place.

For them, this was sacred space. Holy ground.

And as Hermione moved to the back of the cathedral’s sanctuary, to sit in the area designated for those not of the faith, she continued to feel cold.

Yes. This space was different somehow.

Was it the tears that had been cried here? Tears of happiness at the baptism of a baby? Tears of pride at Confirmation? Tears of joy at a wedding? Tears of grief and sadness at a funeral?

Or was it the hope? Hermione felt it, as surely as a hyperempath could feel anything, as if it had been rubbed into the pews like polish. So many came here hungry, wishing to be filled. So many came here thirsty, wishing to have it quenched. So many came here yearning for something, something...

Or was it... could it be...

Jack was a scientist, one of the best doctors and medical researchers of his time. And yet he found solace in a place like this... Jack, who hadn’t been far from her thoughts since she learned of his plight from Sirius.

She also thought of the men, women, and children she’d watched die in Texas, Chicago, and finally, one by one in Rio de Janeiro.

She thought of her own mother.

Is religion what we turn to when we search inside ourselves and find that we are not brave enough to step into the Great Unknown? Or is it simply that we are so disquieted by the idea of there being something beyond knowledge--any knowledge--all knowledge--that we instinctively worship what cannot be perceived?

I’ve read all about religion, of course. I understand why primitive man worshipped the elements, why the ancients worshipped their varied pantheons. I know how the great world religions were formed, and understand their historic significance. And yes, I do believe that the act of faith in and of itself, if nothing else, is powerful... it indeed is just as formidable as love. It’s a testament to the complexity of the human brain, really.

But what I cannot understand is how perfectly rational and intelligent people, Muggle or witch or wizard, can become so codependent when it comes to the religious act... they live and exist and die all for the sake of something that cannot be known. It’s not rational at all...

Perhaps not.

But what of her mother? White-lipped with pain, gaunt and thin, she’d been an educated person who’d believed in the unknown at the end.

Hermione’s last conversation with Caroline had been one of near silence. They’d spent the weeks before trying to crowd in a lifetime of conversations, hating sleep when it came, feeling as if it was a valuable waste of time.

Near the end, her mum had been merely content to be. Talking took energy... they both knew that. So Hermione sat at her hospital bedside, waiting. Her dad had slipped out for a coffee, as he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for nearly twenty-four hours before that.

Then suddenly, Hermione had felt a tight grip on her hand.

"I want you to be brave, my love," her mother had said, looking at her with so much affection that Hermione’s eyes immediately filled with tears. "You mustn’t be afraid of anything, Hermione, not ever. Death isn’t terrible. The universe is full of love... full of surprise... full of wonder. And in death you slip beyond a veil... and oh, Hermione, behind that veil there are splendid things... marvelous things... things so wondrous that there are no words here to describe them.

"It’s a beautiful place I’m going to, you know. I’ll be seeing your grandmother there. There are so many times when I’ve doubted in my life, but I’ve never doubted that. And my father, too, I think... I never knew him. I feel that they’ve been waiting for me, just beyond that veil... and when it is lifted, I’ll be with them forever and ever.

"I’ll do the same for you, darling. I’ll linger near the veil... I won’t hurry... and some fine day, many years and years down the road I’ll be waiting for you... I’ll be there to show you the way."

Do you believe that there is something beyond the veil, Hermione?

I’m not sure what I believe. All I know is that my mother is gone... and if I don’t succeed this afternoon, Jack will...

But they say, Hermione, that behind the veil is a mystery... and once you slip beyond it, all is revealed. All knowledge. You thought of your mother and grandmother as wise woman in life... imagine what they are now.

They’re dead now, that’s what they are.

Are they really?

Yes, really... and dead people don’t know anything. They don’t know anything!

How can you be certain of that?

Hermione uncovered her face (she’d buried it in her hands) and looked up. She was used to her mind racing, used to the constant complex interior dialogue that plagues all highly intelligent people. Most of the time it didn’t bother her.

Yet that question, and those last few thoughts, were not hers.

Goosebumps rose upon her skin. This place was giving her the creeps. She laughed to herself... really, this was what she got for not eating much on the gaiola trip. It was obvious. Her time of the month, she was malnourished... of course she was getting a bit disoriented. Hearing things...

"Tudo bem aí , Hermione?" came a whisper next to her left ear.

Hermione jumped. Then she saw that it was just Eva, sitting next to her, obviously amused by her friend’s skittishness.

"Tudo bem," replied Hermione. "Onde está a Juliana?"

"Out in the vestibule," whispered Eva, holding a finger to her lips. "She thought she saw uma velha amiga of hers or something. We should leave before Mass starts..."

Hermione followed Eva out of the cathedral, feeling as if a small weight had been lifted from her shoulders with every step she took. Finally, they were out in the brilliant sunshine again... Hermione exhaled gratefully, feeling as if she could breathe freely again.

They walked down the steps, and ran into Juliana halfway down. She’d stopped frozen in her tracks.

"Algo errado?" Eva asked.

Yet Juliana seemed not to be hearing them or seeing them. She didn’t seem to care that she was causing a virtual traffic jam for those arriving just in time for Mass. Her eyes were fixed on a point beyond both of them, and so both Hermione and Eva turned around to see what she was looking at.

It was a woman. From the olive-skinned face that was partially obscured by a black mesh veil, Hermione guessed she was in her early to middle twenties, but something about her eyes belied that. Despite the heat, she was dressed all in black, in a neat A-line dress with matching stockings and shoes. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a severe bun that created lines around her eyes where there should be none. There were pearl earrings in her ears, and on her left ring finger there was a solid gold band.

Standing next to her was a boy of about ten or eleven. He was as swarthy and dark-haired as many of the people swarming into the cathedral just then, but something about his looks seemed more Middle Eastern to Hermione than Indian or Latin. He was looking up at the woman at first, but then he turned... and fixed his gaze upon Hermione.

She had a flash of recognition then.

It was the boy from the airport... the boy from her August dream!

Before she could gasp or react, Juliana spoke. Her voice was heavy, almost husky.

"Lena Mendoza," she said. "É você mesmo?"

"Senhora Joaquim Vargas... I am newly widowed," the other woman said, in a cold and impersonal tone. "I also have another name that I use in another life, but the girl Lena Mendoza is no more." Her tone seemed to warm, and she carefully ascended two steps. "In all this time you have not changed, Juliana."

"E no meu coração, você terá sempre dezesete anos," muttered Juliana. "In my heart, you are forever seventeen."

The woman’s eyes seemed to veil themselves again. She turned away from Juliana abruptly and gestured towards the boy.

"This is Riki Abidijan," she said. "His parents were amigos próximos of my father’s. He has come here to be with me while his mother and father do business elsewhere in Brazil."

"Yes. And these are minhas amigas Eva and Hermione..."

"Of course I remember Eva," said the woman with another warm smile. "Como você está? Where is Marcelo?" She didn’t wait for an answer. "And... interesting choice of name, especially for alguém tão loira... one so very blonde. Did your parents name you for the Hermione Granger, or was it just a strange coincidence?"

"Strange coincidence," said Hermione, with a wink at Eva. Then she turned to Riki. "How are your parents, dear?"

Instead of asking how she knew his mother and father, the boy merely nodded. "They send their love to you and the others, lady. Father especially wanted me to pass on a message to the trickster... but I see he is not here."

"He is. We were going back there just now," said Hermione, then looked up at the other three women, who were staring at both of them. Then she tried to explain. "His parents, they... well, they were my mentors. His mum especially."

All three women seemed to understand this. Juliana and Eva because they knew who Hermione really was. Lena because she knew who Riki’s parents really were.

"Well, we were just going to Mass," said Lena. "My husband got me in the habit of attending, but if Riki has a message to pass on it’s perhaps best not to linger." Avoiding Juliana’s eyes, she smiled again at Eva. "Lead the way."

And so Eva did, followed by Lena and Riki. Hermione fell back so that she could walk with Juliana.

"Are you all right?" she murmured as soon as she saw Lena was out of earshot.

"I feel as if someone just handed me the moon," sighed Juliana, "or a very bright, very distant star. Why do we always want what we cannot have, minha amiga?"

"Because that is what it means to be truly alive," Hermione replied. "Heaven preserve me from the man or woman who wants absolutely nothing from life."

It wasn’t until they were one block away from the hotel that she realized she’d invoked heaven, not Merlin or some other great wizard.

Perhaps she was more of an advocate for the unknown than she ever realized.

**********

When they arrived back to the hotel, everything was set up for the phone call in Eva and Zach’s suite. They introduced Lena Mendoza as the Senhora Joaquim Vargas, then Riki... and Hermione was rather surprised that not only Sirius, but Harry and Ron seemed to know the child. She hadn’t known they’d had contact with Drakkar and Nephthys since war’s end.

In order to test things out, Sirius used the Charlotte hook-up to phone into Ayr Island so that Ron could speak with Maureen.

"Of course, if you want to speak to her after this, you can just build a fire anywhere now that you know where she is," Sirius said.

"As long as it’s safe to build one," Harry said.

Then they all left Ron to speak with his wife for a moment. When he was done, he opened the doorway.

"Everything’s fine," he said, with a subdued grin. "One son took his first solo flight on his mum’s first broom, the other’s fully toilet-trained, and the coast is clear for the third to be born in late February. Thanks, Sirius, for looking after them."

Sirius nodded, but Hermione saw something more in Ron’s eyes. "You aren’t going to be leaving us, are you?" she asked.

"‘Mione, I... I’m torn. I came to help Harry find you, and that’s all over and done with. On the one hand, I miss my wife and sons like crazy. I want to be with them. And yet... for some reason I think there’s a real reason why I need to be along right now. Haven’t completely figured out what or why that is yet."

"We could certainly use you in Salvador right now, Ron," said Sirius.

"We could use you more where we’re going, Ron," Harry said. "There’ll only be six of us."

"Seven," said Sirius.

"No one invited you along," replied Harry testily.

"See here, Harry..."

Hermione supposed that the conversation between them hadn’t gone well at all.

Thankfully, the ringing of the phone cut off the brewing argument. Everyone rushed back into the room. Sirius tapped several controls on the Charlotte with his wand, then picked up the cellular phone they’d attached.

"Sonorus... go on, Stacy, she’s here."

Hermione sat down in front of the phone. Harry placed his hands on her shoulders, and Hermione put on the headset that Sirius had attached. Specifically charmed, she assumed, to carry her voice and only her voice.

"Stacy, this is me. Go on."

"Good. They’re on the other line, and my, are they ever impatient today. Remus and Jocelyn are standing by... are you ready?"

"Of course I am. Is there anything in particular that they’re..."

"Sorry, Hermione, they’re getting very impatient. Let me put you through."

There were strange, antique sounds, sort of like the handshake old-fashioned computer terminals gave each other back in the days of dialup Internet connections. Then there was a slight scratching, like a needle running across the vinyl surface of a record.

Then a low voice. They could all hear it.

"Her... Hermione?"

"Jack!"

"Hermione, darlin’, did you do this to me? They said they’re friends of yours. That you’re a witch or something. Now, I don’t know what they are, but that can’t be true about you..." He trailed off. "It’s not true, is it?"

"Oh, Jack, I’m so terribly sorry."

"It’s... true?"

"It’s true that I’m a witch." Tears filled Hermione’s eyes. "But they’re not my friends... no friends of mine would treat you so. I wanted to tell you so much, Jack, but I couldn’t... it’s against our laws to tell. I’m so desperately sorry..."

"Don’t be. I wouldn’t have believed you. And I knew deep down you would never... didn’t think they were friends of yours anyway. Knew they were lying. They’ve lied to me ever since they broke into my house and brought me here... wherever ‘here’ is..."

"Jack... oh, Jack... what have they done to you?"

"Terrible things, darlin’. I’m... they’ve put a hurting on me like you wouldn’t believe. Hungry, too... they don’t seem to want me to have solid food, you see. Just water and some sort of vitamin drink that’s barely keeping me alive. I’m all skin and bones..."

It was definitely Jack. Even though the volume was low, she knew in her bones that it was him and not an imposter.

"I know, honey, I know... we’re going to get you out of there, I promise. Where are they now?"

"Just here, of course. They haven’t left me alone since they got me here. They’re listening in, it’s a speaker-Charlotte or something they’ve got here. Strangest one I’ve ever seen, though. So many things here are... strange."

"Oh, they’re listening in, are they? Tell them I want to speak to whoever’s in charge. Now."

"Why, there’s no need to get your knickers in a knot, Dr. Granger. Of course we’re here."

The voice had changed from that of a Southern gentleman to that of a rat. Sirius quickly took the phone cord out of the jack, and stuck his wand into the receiver. A grid consisting of purple light shot up in front of him, and Ron, Riki, and Lena ran over to it.

"Right here and not going anywhere. Listening to everything you say. Tracking your location while you enjoy your little chat with your scorned lover."

"You’re a terrible liar," Hermione said. "You have no idea where we are, and we like it that way. Now, what does your boss want from us? I think you’ve had enough fun with my friend."

"Friend? Hear that, Jack? Not ‘boyfriend’, not ‘the man that I love’, but ‘friend’. I told you she’s a faithless bitch... why do you think it took us so long to reach her?"

"Why don’t you tell the truth for once? You kidnapped me, and when I escaped, tried to have me killed. You and your kind are trying to discredit me everywhere that your poison has infected the local populace. That’s why I haven’t been reachable, not because of anything else. Now, your quarrel is with me, not with this man. Let him go, and then perhaps I’ll see that you’re granted mercy when you’re brought to justice."

There was a clucking of the tongue. "You have a very inflated opinion of your abilities, Dr. Granger. The entire Cabalistica knows that your magic is irrevocably frozen and have orders to blast you on sight. If you dare show your face in the magical world outside of Brazil, you will be tried and convicted on charges of treason due to your most unfortunate association with this man. I’d say that we have the upper hand at the moment, my dear." Then the voice became cruel. "You are in no position to make demands."

Then there was a shout of Crucio!--and a chilling scream.

Hermione’s knuckles tightened on the end table.

"Keep him talking, Hermione," Sirius demanded from the other side of the room. "We’re tracing it... let Remus and Jocelyn do their work. Don’t get overemotional..."

"Why did you just do that?" asked Hermione into the speaker, shaking with fury but trying to keep it out of her voice.

"So that I could hear your voice tremble with fright, just like that," the voice snarled back. "You know what Cruciatus feels like, don’t you? The Dark Lord made sure of that, didn’t he? So did Hecate Quirke. So did your jailers in the Amazon. You remember it well, I’m sure. They say that hyperempaths can die from an unrelenting Cruciatus alone... no need to waste a Killing Curse on that sort of mudblooded filth. Now, if you don’t want your friend to suffer like that again, tell me where you are."

"Will you let him go if I tell you?" She had no intention of divulging the information, and everyone in that room knew it. There was no way that Jack would get out of the Cabalistica’s clutches alive. Their only hope was to find out where the calls were coming from and to send a team in to get him.

"What is this, twenty questions? Didn’t I just say that you were in no position to make demands, Dr. Granger?"

Another Crucio, another scream.

A long cackle.

"Let me talk to them," Harry said harshly.

"Harry, no," Sirius said over his shoulder. "Let her be..."

"Do you see how badly she’s shaking, Sirius? She hasn’t eaten a damned thing since you told her about Jack... she’s not had a proper meal since we left Rio last month. I’m not going to let them torment her like this." His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Anyway, I don’t like this. Something isn’t right..."

"We’ve almost finished the trace."

"Hurry up."

Hermione reached up a hand to place over his and tried very hard to calm down. She didn’t want Harry worrying about her. Then she spoke into the new silence.

"Who are you? Do you speak for the Cabalistica, or for yourself?"

"The Cabalistica and I are one. The words I speak are their words. What the Cabalistica wants, I want. And right now I want to know where you are!"

Somewhere in the background, she heard Jack shouting, "Don’t tell him a damn thing, Hermione! You forget about me... they’re tracing you... get out of..." His voice was suddenly muffled, perhaps by a gag of some sort.

Sirius was shaking his head at her. "Don’t believe it, Hermione... they likely put him under Imperius so he’d bluff for them. There’s absolutely no way they can know where we are."

Hermione nodded.

"Where are you, Dr. Granger? Come out, come out, wherever you are..."

"Why? So you can get yourself killed? That’s what will happen, you know... if you come within blasting range of me, you will die. And if you touch another hair on that innocent man’s head, you will suffer the consequences."

"Will we indeed, Dr. Granger?"

"Doesn’t your kind always?"

"Are you certain about that?"

"When has Dark Magic ever triumphed over truth and light?"

Laughter. "There’s a first time for everything. And as for consequences and certain death," there was another scream, "I think I’ll take my chances."

The grid of lavender light disappeared in a shower of explosive sparks, and Sirius had to snatch away his wand in order to save it. Ron pushed Riki down and out of the way of the electric shock. Lena, Eva, and Juliana gasped.

Still the cackling continued. "Thanks, Dr. Granger, for the information. You’ve done splendidly. And as for your ‘friend’..."

"Hang up!" shouted Zach, grabbing Eva by the hand and lunging for his wand. "Now!"

The voice wasn’t done, though.

"Secaro!"

There was a sickening thud, then silence.

"Everything you love, bitch."

Then a dial tone.

Hermione screamed.

"Shit!" said Sirius. "We were so close... let me contact Stacy again and..."

"No, Sirius! We’ve got to Disapparate, now!" Harry shouted, snatching his wand from his pocket and grabbing a hysterical Hermione out of her seat.

"But why?" asked Eva, eyes wide with fright.

"We couldn’t trace them," Ron shouted, catching Harry’s drift, "but they sure as hell have traced us!"

And indeed there was a rumbling underneath their feet, in the walls... even the ceiling seemed to bubble.

"Saudi Arabian consulate," Sirius mouthed. "Rua Kako Caminha in the city centre... no time to grab anything... just go!"

And they did.

Mere seconds before the entire hotel was reduced to ash and rubble.

************

The Arabian consul at Manaus was the Squib son of a wizard who was one of the most prosperous merchants in the magical quarter of Dubai. A friend of Sirius’... but then, Sirius had associates in much more obscure corners of the Thousand Worlds.

Abdullah Said looked at the ragtag bunch on his doorstep rather quizzically, but let them in and into his parlor. Their various disguises via Gareth’s makeup kit were slowly fading, as the kit lost its potency once the vials were opened.

That kit was now amongst all the rubble.

Strangely, no one seemed as if they wanted to play at the blame game. They just all sat around, rather dazed, staring into space as Hermione sobbed uncontrollably and Harry held her close.

Finally, Sirius broke the silence.

"I’m sorry, Hermione. I miscalculated and made a grievous error. One that cost many innocent lives today, including that of your friend."

"No, no... it was me," she whispered. "When I met up with Jack in Miami I had the chance to tell him the truth. The truth about the magic, and about me and Harry, and I didn’t. And he died knowing that I... we all nearly died this afternoon because of what I did."

"You didn’t do it," Sirius said. "The Cabalistica did it. Stop blaming yourself for the actions of madmen..."

"Easier said than done," Harry snapped. "Could you see if Abdullah has a lounger or something? She needs to lie down, and the rest of us need to regroup."

The last thing Hermione wanted to do was lie down. She wanted to squeeze every single tear out of her ducts, down to the very last drop. Then she wanted to make sure that every single Cabalistica member, operative, and sympathizer was put out of their misery forever.

But the next thing she knew, someone was placing something bubbly and sickly sweet-tasting to her lips, something that was chartreuse and had the consistency of a milkshake. She wanted to reject it, but the hands upon her were relentless, and soon it was all in her stomach, warming it where she didn’t want to feel warm, filling it when she didn’t want to be full.

Jack was dead. What right had she to be anything but cold and empty?

Then she was no longer sitting, but reclining... and she curled up on what felt like cushions. There was something soft tucked around her, lips pressed against her forehead, and then after a distant voice called "Harry, Abdullah’s waiting..." the shaft of light disappeared and she was in the darkness.

Long after she fell asleep, Hermione’s eyes remained half-open.

*************

Harry closed the door behind him, leaving Hermione behind reluctantly. Her hair was no longer blonde and stringy, but decidedly brown and returning once more to its usual bushy state. Her eyes were nearly back to their normal coffee brown shade as well.

These days, he didn’t like leaving her by herself.

She was trying very hard to be brave, to pretend as if she had no fears and no worries. Yet the desperate way she held him, the relief in her eyes whenever she saw him again told the true tale.

She felt the same sense of foreboding that he did.

This is why I was so afraid, long ago, to tell her how I felt about her.

Everyone I love, I lose.

My parents died. Dumbledore died. Hagrid is no longer in this world. Hedwig disappeared. Lupin left to wander, to search for something that we couldn’t provide for him. Sirius changed once he assumed the Grand Wizardship of the Order... had to, of course, since he could no longer be solely my godfather. He had the entire wizarding world to consider, not just me.

Ron... I lost Ron in a very real sense when we both fell in love with her. Although he didn’t know it and I wouldn’t admit it. Things may be the same again one day, assuming we live to see that chance, but for a very long time, he was gone from me.

And Hermione... I lost her to Ron. Then I lost her to the Muggles. Then she was just, well, lost. But then I found her, and she wants me as much as I want her, and...

Well, perhaps not that much. I think that’s quite impossible. But she wants me very much. That’s good enough for me.

Now the Cabalistica wants her too. They’re hunting her the way that the Dark Lord hunted me for so long. And this time, they’re playing for high stakes... Hermione’s not their only target, only the first of many.

Strange that they began their obsession with her right after we...

No.

I told Sirius to fuck off earlier during his "I told you so" speech. Forget the Prophecies of the End. We make our own fates. Just because Hermione and I are together... all of this would have happened anyway, even if I were still back in Scotland finalizing wedding preparations with Diana.

That must have been the most stupid idea I ever had. I can’t believe I actually planned to marry that woman. Why? Just because everyone else I knew was either married or planning on it, and I didn’t want to be all alone for the rest of my life? Especially since I’d been alone for so long... it didn’t seem fair.

And I would have married her, poor girl. It’s a good thing that Hermione came back when she did. For if she’d come a few months later...

I would have done just the same as I did on her birthday.

I would have spent the day with Hermione. I would have tried to persuade her to let me make love to her. Only instead of breaking the heart of my intended, I’d be walking a mile in Ron’s shoes... and that’s not a route I intend to take. Never. Not even during the Ron and Maureen scandal, when she offered... well, pleaded with me to sleep with her. It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, saying no. Merlin knows I didn’t want to... but if we had done it, she would have never looked at me the same.

Of course, If Ron and Hermione had stayed married, I would have taken the secret of how I felt about her to my grave. I would have been godfather to their children, would have grown old with them, and would have gone on loving Hermione quietly even after death. I’m sure I would have had to answer for it, somewhere in Dumbledore’s Next Great Adventure... she would have known then... but I figured I’d be able to explain...

Life offers so few second chances.

Indeed, life’s offered me so very few chances, full stop, that I wake up day by day absolutely startled to find her sleeping nestled next to me. And I’m almost afraid to blink, afraid she’ll disappear. This time for good.

Yet here I am, with her, hers. In messy circumstances, granted, but we’re together. And I really don’t give a damn if our mates think I’m being overbearing or possessive or even sexist when it comes to her. I know Sirius thinks I’m obsessed, perhaps a bit mad, even... he can go straight to hell. When the Galleons are down, it’ll be up to me to protect her, to stick by her, to make sure that this time’s for keeps.

I’m not going to lose her. Not this time. Not ever again.

He turned the corner, and walked through the parlor door.

"There you are," said Sirius. "Perhaps it’s time for a few introductions now that the disguising is fading..."

A few swishes and flicks later, everyone pretty much was back to their normal state.

"First of all, Abdullah, I’d like you to meet Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. I wager they need no introduction."

"None at all," said the Arabian consul, coming around to shake hands. "I am honored."

Sirius then introduced Juliana, Zach, and Eva, then pointed to Riki.

"Riki Abidijan, son of Drakkar and Nephthys Abidijan."

Abdullah’s eyes widened. "I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes! When the Old Ones begin to have children that are young, Sirius, one must look at the signs of the times..."

"My mother and father aren’t old," protested Riki. "Besides, I’m not a baby... I’m almost twelve."

"All proper children think their parents are old," said Abdullah indulgently.

"And here we have Senhora Vargas, nee Maria Magdalena Mendoza, youngest daughter of the late Eddie Mendoza, one of our Order members from Cuba. She’s also the sister of Ana Cristina Mendoza Silvares, South American regional delegate to the Confederation. Magdalena herself was married to Joaquim Vargas, deputy minister to the late great Jorge Jobim, killed recently by Cabalistica agents. She’s also one of the more respected priestesses of Yemanjá this side of Recife, or so I’m told." Sirius patted Lena’s shoulder. "The witch wants in, and she’s got the talents to be of use on the ground in Salvador."

"I had Riki to think about," Lena explained quietly. "That’s why I didn’t join the resistance earlier. Also, I have other duties to attend to... and it is nearing that time of year for us."

Harry noticed that she was strikingly pretty. She’d removed the veil and taken her hair down from the prim bun. It fell to her waist and around her face. She was a tiny woman, with petite and delicate features, yet there was something about her eyes and her mouth that belied the strength and determination underneath the cool exterior.

Yes, lovely indeed...

Still can’t hold a candle to my Hermione.

Then he saw Juliana staring and not bothering to hide it. Harry wondered if he’d ever been that obvious with his infatuation for Hermione when it was unrequited... likely not, as Ron would have punched him in the nose had he suspected anything.

"I can take care of myself, Magda," Riki said, a bit testily. "I traveled with my parents all the time until they went to Atlantis."

"Atlantis?" Harry and Ron said together incredulously.

Zach frowned. "That’s not a real place, is it?"

"Only if one considers bits of legends here and there reality," said Sirius. "Atlantis? Are you sure that’s what they said, Magdalena?"

"It is indeed what they said, Señor Black. They seemed to be in a great hurry, tambien... I did not press the matter. Riki had visited with Joaquim and his parents several times before. Of course he was welcome, but I found it as strange as you did."

"Sirius, in all your travels, you’ve never heard talk of a real Atlantis?" Ron asked.

"We’ve found nine hundred and sixty-nine worlds, Ron. Some of them are found in Muggle legends, others in ours, others are not in any tales that I know of. Some of them are veritable heavens, like Avalon, and some are like walking through hell, like Tartarus. Some of them are uninhabitable. Some of them are much like this world, yet with some variation. And in all the history of the world, and even before that, there was never any evidence of Atlantis found. We’ve looked... the Muggles have looked... but all in vain."

"Perhaps this Drakkar and Nephthys went to search for this Atlantis pais," Eva said.

"No, if Drakkar went, he had a very good idea of where it was," Ron said. "He doesn’t do things just for the hell of it... ‘purpose’ is his middle name. The question is, why?"

"Well, our first task is to get inside of that Cabalistica magiresearch center and learn what they did to Eva and Hermione... and Eva’s son," Zach said.

"He’s right," Harry agreed. "And while we’re here, Abdullah, is there any way you could get a mediwizard in here to have a look at Hermione? She’s not well. Eva, too..."

Eva waved her hand dismissively. "Other than a magia, I am fine. Just so long as I get inside that laboratório and get my baby back... and have at those who did this to me and Hermione."

"All the same, Eva, it can’t hurt," Sirius said. "Best to make sure all is well before you set off. Can that be arranged, Abdullah?"

The consul nodded. "Definitely. The rest of you could also use a bite to eat, yes? Also a place to work, and the replacement of your supplies... not to mention a place to sleep tonight. Leave it all to me, Sirius. My family owes you several favors... consider this help as long-overdue restitution."

*************

When Hermione awoke in the strange bed, bright morning sunshine half-blinded her for a moment. She rubbed at her eyes, then tried to sit up...

"No, no! Rest easy... geez, they always say that mediwizards make the worst patients. Whoever ‘they’ were, they were absolutely right."

Hermione turned her head and came face to face with Virginia Malfoy.

"Ginny! What on earth are you doing here?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Woke up last night to Draco’s head in the bedroom fireplace... he’s been working in Brazil, you know..."

"Yes, I know. Sirius told us."

"He said you were in trouble, and to get to him via Floo Powder. I thought he was half-cracked... it’s extremely dangerous to Floo over extremely long distances, almost impossible... but he said he’d arranged it. Just in case he ever needed to slip back to me and Hazel... it was the only way he’d agreed to oversee whatever Sirius is up to here. So I took Hazel over to Mum’s straight away, and went to Draco. And he brought me here... I’ve been here since late yesterday evening."

"Malfoy was here?"

"Yes, but only for a brief moment to look in on you. He had to get back to Bahia... they’re about to move there and restore the proper government to power. And now I’m pretty much stuck here in the middle of the Amazon until he’s all done and we can go back home." She brushed a few strands of hair away from Hermione’s forehead. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"I’m absolutely fine. They all insist on making a fuss over me, when I’m right as rain..."

"Liar," Ginny said. "People who are ‘fine’ and ‘all right’ don’t sleep for eighteen hours straight. You needed the rest... you’ve lost a lot of weight. Great tan, though."

"Thanks. Although I’ll admit it was a necessity, not a fashion statement, in this climate."

"As necessary as sleeping with Harry, I’ll bet."

Hermione was flabbergasted. "I... we... well, it just... we..."

"Oh, stop being silly. I agree with Draco... it’s about bloody time. Finally glad that you’ve sorted things out between the two of you. And as far as what people back home will say about it, you shouldn’t give a damn. Just be happy. Life offers us little enough of that. You’ve got to seize it while you can."

"You’re not... not mad because I never told you?"

"How could you have told me what you didn’t know yourself, Hermione? I honestly believe you didn’t know until that awful night when we insisted on airing the contents of Ron’s Pensieve..."

"Oh, one of my poorer ideas, indeed!"

"Yes, well, if we didn’t have ideas like that, what would we tell our grandchildren? Anyway, for ages after that I was horrified that Harry could have done such a thing. I was a bit disgusted with him until Draco set me straight after the day you came to us during the honeymoon, wanting to hide under Fidelius. Said Harry’s suffered more for what he did than any of us would ever know... and perhaps someday you’d come to your senses and realize how much he cared."

Ginny grinned.

"Of course, I think it’s splendid. Growing up I would have never imagined... Ron was so infatuated with you for such a long time until... but I think this is better for all of you, considering. Much better, the more and more I actually think about it. You and Harry are so well suited that I wonder why I didn’t see it years ago."

"Nothing’s been settled yet," Hermione said. "We’ve been too busy worrying about the Cabalistica to sit and talk about anything..."

"Hermione. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with the man or not?"

"Well," Hermione smiled, "that might not be such a bad idea."

"Good. Then when you finish up with this and get back to England, you’ll allow me the pleasure of planning your wedding..."

"Wedding?" Hermione laughed. "Oh, no! I’m not going through that ever again. I’ve done my bride time, and paid my marital dues by spending six long years as a perfect little Weasley wife. That sort of thing isn’t me at all, and I would think Harry has the good sense to know that."

"Oh, come on, Hermione! It doesn’t have to be a huge ceremony and reception. Something very small and intimate... say, three hundred guests instead of the three thousand you had when you married before..."

"Sounds like a bloody nightmare. Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need the trappings to feel as if I’m legitimately Harry’s. I’m not a young girl with stars in my eyes... just being with him day by day is enough."

"All right, then," said Ginny, sounding genuinely disappointed that she wouldn’t have another huge society event to plan in the near future. "We’ll just have to celebrate when you lot get back, that’s all."

They chatted then about completely inconsequential things. Neither spoke of the charges against Hermione, nor the fact that the Cabalistica was after her and she couldn’t use magic at all. They didn’t talk about Jack, either. Ginny caught Hermione up on all the gossip, told her about the autumn fashions, and filled her in on what all the children were up to. In turn, Hermione told her all about Eva and Juliana, and explained who Lena was.

"Those Brazilian girls are so pretty," Ginny said. "If I were along with you lot, I wouldn’t sleep nights for worrying about Ron, except for the fact that I know Mo would kill his arse. Hypocritical of her, but there you have it. You know she’s a bit green that you’re the reason he’s here."

"Tell Maureen’s she got nothing to worry about," Hermione assured her. "Ron’s got a ‘been there, done that’ attitude towards anything where I’m concerned. As for the ‘pretty girls’ in question, Eva’s taken, Lena’s newly widowed, and Juliana’s gay."

"No! I would have never guessed it... and that Lena’s her ex-girlfriend? Oh, my... sounds like another George/Presh/Anya love triangle."

"Yes, and I feel sorry for her. From what I’m guessing, Lena sees Juliana as part of her youth, someone she once knew and loved but has moved on from. But for Juliana, it’s just like yesterday. It’s sad, really... I’m hoping Lena will thaw out a bit... but then again, I’m likely biased, as I’ve known Juliana a bit longer and have grown rather close to her." Hermione sighed. "They’re nice girls, really... and Eva’s got Zach wrapped around her finger without even trying. Poor lad didn’t even know what hit him."

"I can’t believe she’s had a child," Ginny said. "She seems like she’s little older than Percy’s Mary..."

"Don’t let the exterior fool you," Hermione replied. "She looks very young, and she is far younger than we are if you’re counting years. And yet at times I think Eva’s older than I am. She’s had a hard life... not that we had it easy, of course, but she’s known little else besides poverty and hard work. Being friends with Juliana provided some escape for her... and now..."

"She’s captured the heart of a gringo, which changes everything."

"They’re both so young that it’s painful, Ginny. They come from two different worlds. If Eva’s an old soul, Zach’s naive and idealistic. But sometimes, even at that age you know... and they definitely do. I’m happy for them."

"Yes, they’re cute together," Ginny agreed.

"You might be able to plan a wedding after all, come to think of it. Zach might bring her back to Scotland with him when we’re done. I’m glad about that, not only for her sake but for selfish reasons. She’s been by my side since we were both imprisoned in the Cabalistica facility and I’d miss her. I’ll miss Jules as well, but doubt she’ll want to leave Brazil..." Hermione laughed to herself. "Listen to me, going on about these girls I’ve only known for a few months."

"I’m just tickled that you’ve finally got some women friends besides me, Hermione. I mean, first you were close to Harry and Ron, then after that Draco and Simon, and even when you were with the Muggles you told Draco all about some guy named Wayne. I always wondered if you thought girls were useless and not worthy of your time."

"Well, men are easier to be friends with, I think. But there are some things that men just cannot understand. A good girl friend is worth her weight in Gringotts gold." Hermione clasped Ginny’s hand. "Oh, how I’ve missed you, Ginny. I’m so glad you’re here."

"I’m glad to be here, hon. Glad to be of some small service."

When Harry and Ron came in to check on them, Ginny was sitting cross-legged on Hermione’s bed, piling Hermione’s hair atop her head in a knot.

"Looks like an oversized owl pellet to me," Ron said as Ginny left off to hug her brother hello.

"Shut up," Hermione said, throwing a pillow at him.

Harry took over Ginny’s vacated spot. "I love your hair," he murmured in Hermione’s ear just before kissing her. "I love everything about you."

"Mmm, good morning, handsome," Hermione said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back. "Sleep well?"

"He didn’t sleep at all," Ginny said. "None of them did. They were awake the entire night, concocting some plan to get into the Cabalistica facility."

"And no one woke me up?" said Hermione indignantly. "You two had better not have come in here to tell me that I’m not invited to this little party."

"Definitely not..." Ron trailed off for emphasis, then smirked at Hermione’s narrowed eyes, "...going to tell you that. You have a major part to play in all this."

Harry was frowning. "You know I’d much rather you stay here with Ginny. If all goes well, we’ll be there and back in no time at all..."

"And what are the little women supposed to do while the men are off at war? Knit, embroider, and crochet doilies? Send bandages and tea biscuits to the front?" Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Oh, I think not."

"You know what? Hermione’s right. Hope you’ve got a part for me to play in all this, because I don’t fancy the idea of staying here all by myself."

"Ginny," Ron said, almost harshly, "you are not going because I don’t want to have to kill Malfoy when he finds out where we dragged you off to. He is not going to go for that. Matter of fact, I don’t know how much Sirius and Harry had to pay that git you’ve got for a husband to get him to send for you in the first place..."

"They told him Hermione needed me, Ron. Really, not everything Draco does is for financial gain."

Silence. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked at Ginny as if she’d just stated that Voldemort had really been a misunderstood and kindhearted old man.

"Okay, perhaps I’m overstating here." Ginny shifted a bit. "But anyway, who cares what he thinks? I’m an adult witch, aren’t I? Our child is being well cared for and as long as I return in one piece, I can deal with any objections he’s got in my own way." She smiled knowingly. "Besides, all our lives you three always got to have all the fun..."

"It’s not fun," insisted Harry, Ron, and Hermione together.

"It’s damned hard work," Hermione said.

"It’s dangerous," Harry said.

"Personally, I'd rather dig a hole to the center of the earth with my tongue," Ron finished. "But eh, a wizard’s got to do what a wizard’s got to do, right?"

"Right. No pain, no gain," Ginny quipped cheerfully. "How awful could it be?"

************

"You have got to be kidding," Harry said. "That’s how we’re going to spread the stuff?"

Everyone else sitting around Abdullah Said’s parlor echoed Harry’s stated sentiment on their faces. Sirius had thought up some half-baked plans in his day, but this... this took the Cauldron Cake.

Was he bobo?

"Actually, I’m not. It’s a potion-powder that’s got to be dispersed on the air. Other than an aerial drop, which is highly implausible as the flight space for miles around is being patrolled, what better way to do it? We’re just fortunate that the celebration coincides with our plans."

"Isn’t it tomorrow?" Ron asked. "How are we supposed to get all the way to the Guyanese border by then? The only two who might have a chance at Apparating there can’t use magic, and it’s not like the rest of us can get broomsticks for hire and just zoom in with a simple ‘hey, we were in the neighborhood and thought we’d drop by.’"

"You’re forgetting that you’re not on your own any longer," Sirius said. "We have contacts here in Brazil, as well as a fair amount of intelligence. Our mole in the corrupt Salvador government has made contact with Draco Malfoy in preparation for the coup... and wishes to help out here also. So he has arranged for your arrival tomorrow evening via Portkey, and has stashed not only your exit Portkey but supplies a couple of miles away just in case your escape doesn’t go as planned."

"For certain it’s a great idea, Sirius," began Hermione, "but don’t you think that just maybe it’s a tad...er, ambitious?"

Now it was everyone’s turn to look at Hermione.

"Well, it is! I mean, let’s face it, this isn’t just about magic and stealth any longer. You want us to do acting, real acting..."

"Not to mention singing and dancing," Harry added, looking quite horrified.

"In Spanish," Eva said.

"That’s crazy," said Ginny.

"Absolutely insane," Zach agreed.

"No, it’s not... it’s perfect," Sirius said. "We have the deactivated Somnus powder. We’ve got the plan of attack once the enforcers are incapacitated. So we looked at the lot of you, thought about your strengths, and... it was there, it works, it’s perfect, it’s..."

"Impossible," Hermione finished. "None of us besides Lena and Juliana are fluent Spanish speakers. None of us besides Eva and Ginny can carry a tune..."

"Oh, I’d say I do all right..." Ron began.

"Don’t start, dear. Remember, I lived with you for six years. And everyone sounds good in the shower."

Ron’s ears reddened as everyone else laughed. "Now, see here, Hermione..."

"But you are one hell of a dancer, Ron. I’ll give you that. However, you and Juliana are the only two who are..."

"You’re not so bad yourself, Hermione," Juliana said.

"Lena dances too," Riki said. "She said she’ll teach us what we need to know. And I have a pretty good voice... at least, that’s what I’ve been told."

Hermione frowned. "So that leaves Harry and Zach..."

"I’ll do magitech," Zach offered. "I’m likely best at all the gadgets and do-dads and sound charms we’ll have to fake."

"Which means that Harry will..."

"Cast the spell that activates the Somnus powder and make sure that it’s properly dispersed. Meanwhile, the rest of you are putting on the show of a lifetime. A bit of music to dance to, and those goons will never know what hit them. Foolproof plan." Sirius folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair, obviously satisfied with himself.

"Yes, well, as long as we can keep them all preoccupied long enough for me to cast," Harry said. "Which means that they can’t get thrown off the stage before I’m done. They’ll have to give me time to work. They’ll have to put on quite a show."

Sirius looked around the assembled group.

"Oh, I don’t think you’ll have any problems doing that."

*************

"This will soon be nothing but a happy memory."

Harry had returned to the table at the far edge of the terrace with shots of tequila all around and a salt shaker. They’d come a bit ahead of the group to scout things out and make sure that all was well. Harry and Ron were going to come alone, but Hermione got wind of their plan at the last minute and insisted on going as well.

Everything was in place. None of the Cabalistica enforcers and agents assembled seemed to detect a thing. All that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had to do in order to be accepted was to mutter enough about the uselessness of Mudbloods and the righteousness of the Cabal, and they were clapped on the back and offered a table.

The birthday party for some random Cabalistica higher-up was set at the edge of the campus (which was little more than a half-mile of clearing in the dense rainforest). Hermione had a bad moment when they first arrived and she could spot the edge of the actual "research center"... one that she tried hard not to let Harry or Ron see. There were many tables set up between a stage and a small arena at the very edge of the trees.

Now Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then glared at Harry.

"I wouldn’t use any part of this little adventure to conjure up a Patronus," Hermione said shortly. "Especially seeing as I’ve got pink hair and am wearing false silver eyelashes. And don’t get me started on this scary grey eyeshadow. Next time, I’m doing the disguises."

"At least it suits you, in a weird mock-Gwen Stefani sort of way," Ron said. "These green spikes are making me look like an iguana. And Harry looks like the top of his head is on fire."

"Always wanted to know what it felt like to be a Weasley," said Harry, grinning sans glasses. After clapping Ron on the back, he sat on the other side of Hermione and laced his fingers through his girlfriend’s. "Should we knock back a few while we wait for the others to come around with the equipment, you think?"

Hermione picked up her oversized shot glass and sniffed. "I hate tequila, Harry, and you know that. Where’s the glass of wine I asked for?"

"We’re supposed to be a punk banda de salsa from Cuba, Hermione," chided Ron. "You can have an entire bottle of your very favorite wine after we blow this ice cream stand." He raised his shot glass. "Viva Ché!"

They clicked the glasses together, then tossed the contents to the back of their throats, Harry with an exclamation of "Ayyo!" and a subsequent lunge for the salt shaker, Ron guffawing as he snatched the salt up seconds ahead of his best friend, and Hermione choking nearly to the point of death.

"What was that, undiluted petrol?" coughed Hermione, as Ron patted her on the back and Harry held out a slice of salt-covered lime so that she could lick and cut the effects of the tequila.

"Nah, José Cuervo," said Harry, taking the lime slice from her mouth to eat the pulp himself. "Makes the best margaritas in the world."

"Bleargh! Margaritas!" She shook her head. "Remember that time we all went to Cancún... Cho and Draco and Ginny and everyone? And I had four of the strawberry ones? For days afterward I was sick as a dog. Worst travel experience I’ve ever had!"

"Yes, well one of us had to be the lightweight," said Ron. "I wonder where the others are? It’s nearly nine and they’re expecting a concert. Else the ruse will be..."

"They’ll get here," said Harry confidently. "And if they don’t, we’ll think of something. We always do."

"Correction, Harry," teased Hermione, garish disguised-blue eyes twinkling over at him. "You really meant Hermione will think of something, she always does. I swear you two always take me for granted. Give me some credit for being the brains of the operation, please."

"Of course." He leaned in closer to her. "What would we do without you?"

"I haven’t the slightest clue. And don’t kiss me just yet... you’ll muss this ugly chalk-grey lipstick."

"Not to mention the fact that I’m still sitting here," remarked Ron. "And you’re right, that lipstick does make you look as if you’ve got Dementor mouth, ‘Mione."

Harry nuzzled the side of her neck, then dropped a light kiss on it. "According to Gareth’s spellbook, the lip color was supposed to be ‘pearl’..."

"The only people who have lips that color are recently deceased vampire victims, Harry..."

But now one of the facility’s minions, a grizzled man of vague Slavic descent, was approaching the table. Ron shushed his two best friends, then began speaking in exuberant Spanish.

"Si, señor!" said Hermione quickly, overdoing a Cuban accent. "It is time for la musica a comenzar, yes?"

"Yes. The director of the Amazonia Research Center will be here soon. You play a few songs, then do you know ‘Happy Birthday’?"

"Ayyo!" laughed Harry. "Do we know... do we know Feliz Cumpleaños? Ha!"

Ron pretended as if the grizzly bear man had told the best joke in the world as well. "Don’t you worry, amigo. We play just what you like... we make this party one to remember."

"Very good," said the bear-man. "You’ll begin in ten minutes."

The man retreated, never seeing Hermione stick out her tongue, or the lewd finger gesture Ron made behind his back.

"That was one of the worst ones," she whispered. "We called him the Bear for obvious reasons. He’s brainless, though, and not all that good at magic. I think that the Rat believes that his massive size is intimidating."

"Don’t underestimate him, Hermione," Harry replied, glaring at the man’s back. "Mountain trolls are stupid as well, but that won’t stop one from dashing your brains out."

But now Eva came running from the woods beyond the terrace. Instead of her usual sprightly self, petite and brown as a cacao bean, she was an albina who could stand to lose a few pounds. In each hand she held the handle of a speaker.

"Juliana and Zach are coming with the amps and instruments," she said. "The others will be here shortly as well... are you three ready?"

"As ready as you are," said Hermione. "Make sure all the instruments are charmed properly, and we’re good to go..."

Juliana and Zach were already up on stage, setting up the instruments, and Eva ran up to give them a hand. Seeing Zach struggling with a rather large amplifier, Ron trotted along behind her.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to remember the words to the songs they were to perform. If performed properly, the magic powder would lull the crowd of gathered agents into a state of hypnosis, and the rest of the plan would be easy. If they miscalculated, or if someone guessed what they were up to before the spell was fully cast, they would have to run for their lives.

Beside her, Harry squeezed her hand.

"Ready?"

"Of course I’m not ready. I’ve got the voice of a crow, Ron sounds like a bullfrog even in the shower, none of us know Spanish, you don’t have any discernible rhythm or vocal skills, and this is the most insane scheme we’ve ever cooked up in two decades of doing this. If this works, it’ll give new meaning to the word ‘luck’."

"Never underestimate the power of tequila, love," he said. "What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger."

"Ha, ha." She sighed. "I don’t see what’s so funny. This is a very complicated spell, Harry, and if Ron is pretending to be a lead singer, he can’t help you with it once we’re up there. Not to mention the fact that the rest of us won’t be much cover, as we’ll be busily dancing, playing, and using magic to disguise Ron’s voice so that all the glass from here to Caracas doesn’t shatter once he begins. Are you sure you can do it alone?"

Harry turned her to face him, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"I’m never alone. With you by my side, Hermione Granger, I can do anything. I swear that you make me invincible..."

His hands slid down her arms to wrap them around him. Then they slid down her back. And this time it was she who initiated the kiss, fastening her mouth to his hungrily. Never mind the garish lipstick. When they came up for air at last, her lips were no longer deathly pale but red as a hibiscus.

She looked up into wide, disguised brown eyes and smiled. For even masked she could somehow sense their sparkling green depths, shimmering just below the surface.

"Love you," she murmured.

"Whatever happened to the old adage ‘show, don’t tell?’"

"It’ll have to be ignored until after we finish what we came here to do." Hermione kissed him again. "There’ll be time enough to claim your hero’s reward then."

"I don’t want any reward," he said against her lips, brushing them with his. "All I want is the girl."

She shivered a little and blushed. "Not to worry. I think you’ve already got her."

And hand in hand, they headed up to the stage.

***********

Ron’s enjoying this far too much.

It was the shared thought that they all had towards the end of the second song. Trying desperately hard to remain in their assumed roles while making a valiant attempt not to fall over laughing. If the circumstances hadn’t been life and death, they probably wouldn’t have succeeded.

Yet Sirius could have never guessed that his idea would have worked so well. Ron lit up the stage, belting out the tunes with his magically enhanced microphone, using its stand as if it was a inanimate dance partner, grabbing each of the girls in turn for a spin as well. When he tried this with Harry, however, he got bapped with a self-playing sax for his trouble.

The audience of Cabalistica enforcers ate it up. They alternated between heavy guffaws, hand-clapping, and finger-snapping. And it wasn’t entirely because they were boors, either... most of this Dark contingent actually came from the various South American countries. They would have been able to smell a rat from a mile away.

Their nostrils remained unoffended by this concert. Quite the contrary.

Green-spiked Ron and pink haired Hermione were singing lead... after Lena had applied a handy Thrush Charm upon both of them just before they took the stage, and everyone had said a silent prayer. Fortunately, whatever Lena did seemed to work. Ron and Hermione sounded and looked great together. They were quite believable as the leads of the group. Hermione also was able to play keyboards with no assistance.

Harry was alternating between various wind instruments for the various featured solos the songs contained. All the instruments had been pre-charmed, and he was careful to avoid the trumpet which contained the packed powder-potion they alone were immune to. The sax suited him, but he did look so hilarious pretending to play a flute that Hermione wished Colin Creevey were there to take a snapshot.

Ginny, with bright blue hair and nails, was having fun playing lead guitar—and that wasn’t all magic, either, just a spell used to enhance the rudimentary skills she’d picked up from older brother Bill. Juliana had gone for the Marilyn Manson look, with jet-black hair, nails and lipstick and pasty white skin. She had been assigned the bass guitar, and was a perfect foil for Ginny.

Lena was in the magitech box with Zach, casting the extra spells that kept everything going. As they were visible from the stage, yet not really for the audience, Lena could feed Ron and Hermione lines.

The last two didn’t need any spells for their tasks after Lena had taught them the songs to play. Riki and Eva raced along the back of the stage, playing the various percussion instruments needed for the driving Latin beat. They would start on congos, and leave them to play themselves while Riki snatched up a pair of maracas and Eva rushed to the vibraphone. Once those were going, they’d rush back to the congos and change the beat. It was quite exhausting just to watch.

But by and far, Ron stole the show. More than a few female enforcers rushed up to the stage, shouting and screaming out what they’d like to do to him. Various articles of feminine clothing were thrown upon the stage... Hermione nearly lost it when a pair of knickers landed on Ron’s head.

"Mo’s going to have your hide once she hears of this," Hermione said through her teeth, grinning and dancing in place next to him during a musical interlude.

"Not unless she hears about it," he said back through his own grin. "Let me alone, I’m having the time of my life."

They performed two numbers before "Feliz Cumpleaños" was sung to the missing director "in absentia". Then Ron made an announcement in heavily accented Portuguese.

"Thank you, thank you very much... we’re very happy to be here. Since you have been so kind to us, in tribute to the witches and wizards of this wonderful land, we shall perform a song in your language... just for you."

That’s when they began a samba bolero, with a smooth Latin beat. Riki alternated between the tom-toms and the congas, while Eva went to the vibraphone to tap out the rhythm... unseen, Lena helped her by charming an extra set of mallets so that she could shake a set of maracas in one hand as she played with the other.

Magically-enhanced Ron and Hermione sang the main line, while magically-enhanced Ginny and Juliana sang backup.

When the rain gets me wet

I will walk down the streets

I will be... I will be... thinking of her...

I will be... I will be... thinking of her...

I think of all things that passed

And of the sorrow that stayed

I am... I am... thinking of her

I am... I am... thinking of her....

Tchup... tchup... tchup tchuru

Tchururu tchup... tchup tchuru

Tchup... tchup... tchup tchuru

Tchuruá...

It was a simple song, which was good for Ron and Hermione. It was also one that could be made longer by varying it a bit, which is what our group of imposters now did. So that Harry would have time to work.

And work he did. The song didn’t originally have a trumpet line, but Lena had invented one to go along with it. As Harry blew, he murmured the spell that unlocked the Somnus powder as it dispersed upon everything within a mile radius. Only the people on stage and in the box would be immune to it.

It took a good twenty minutes for everyone in the vicinity to fall asleep. Near the end of it, the women were so sick of singing the Tchup... tchup... line that they almost fell out of character and let the spell do the work for them without moving their lips.

Ron never had that trouble. He went right on until the last "pensando nela" was complete, and for a moment or two after everyone else had stopped.

"Blimey, they loved us!" he said at last. "We knocked them dead! Well, perhaps not quite, more’s the pity... anyone else up for doing this on a regular basis?"

***********

Hermione slipped backstage, where the other women were already waiting. As soon as Lena’s wand touched her, her stage costume was Transfigured into close-fitting cottons she could sneak around in... a sleeveless top and leggings... along with canvas trainers that made no sound as one walked.

"Camouflaged to blend with the surroundings," Lena mouthed over her shoulder while transforming Eva’s clothing. Juliana and Ginny were doing the same thing.

Hermione nodded, peering around the corner. The entire compound seemed to be wrapped in slumber. There was no sign of the men.

She then whispered their instructions. They all knew what they were supposed to do... had been over the diagram of the facility more than once... but were waiting on Hermione’s thumbs-up.

Sirius had placed Harry in charge of the operation. But as the most experienced witch in these matters Hermione was responsible for ensuring the witches liberated the women and children. Meanwhile the wizards were to override the wards and any Security Charms and traps, then free any remaining male prisoners. They also were all charged to bring back anything they could carry that looked as if it offered a clue about the strange magical loss Eva and Hermione had suffered.

Harry’s final directions were for Hermione’s ears alone, just before they were charmed to resist the effect of the Somnus powder and went on stage.

"Hermione, please don’t go off by yourself, okay? I know you’re more used to this sort of thing than the other witches, but stay with Lena or Ginny or Jules at all times."

Hermione had made an eloquent face, but nodded her assent.

With her fingers crossed behind her back, that is.

Now she faced the witches and gave them their assignments.

"All right, Eva, you and Juliana go and find the baby. Lena, you and Ginny liberate the witches... you’ve got the directions. I’ll meet you at the Portkey in three-quarters of an hour or less... go!"

After a quizzical look at her that she returned with a glance that brooked no refusal, the women all scattered in various directions. Hermione glanced around once, then reached into one of the amplifiers and palmed the compact directed energy weapon she’d had Abdullah secure for her back in Manaus. She knew that Sirius’ plan had called for her to stay with someone with a wand at all times... knew that Harry would kill her when he found out what she was up to... but he’d see that her idea was all for the best in the end.

She had to get her magic back at all costs.

So she raced towards the main compound, towards one of the twelve entrances... the lock was sealed via magic, but the men had gone on ahead and released this one... and found herself in the beehive-like corridors of the Boa Vista Containment Facility. Or so the sign at the entrance announced.

Hermione wondered what it was the Cabalistica was attempting to contain.

Instead of the usual sounds that she remembered from her captivity, there was little else besides silence. Not even the slightest stirring of air or footfall marred the eerie quiet.

She walked for what seemed like hours. As the entire facility was underneath the spell, it was without much fear. Here and there, she had to step over a stirring guard.

Other than that, she saw no one.

Hermione knew that the lab was located in a centralized atrium. After about fifteen minutes of walking, she found it.

The lab was huge, easily twice the size of Hogwarts’ Great Hall... and the entire facility was oriented around it. It was shaped like an octagon, with compartments for various procedures. It was quite easy for Hermione to find the Danae Chamber... after all, hadn’t she been one of the persons responsible for its invention?... and the door was unlocked. Grateful for anything that made her task easier, Hermione slipped inside and closed the door behind her.

The chamber looked like all the other ones that Malfosoft had installed the world over. The room she walked into was completely white, save for a long mirror that nearly covered one wall that camouflaged the window from which observers could watch. As always, a glass cylindrical bubble-like closet stood dead center. Instead of the stations for lab technicians to supply wizardpower, there was a rather large cauldron-like vial... one of the last things she’d done before leaving the wizarding world was to invent a potion-fuel so that the Chamber could be run with only minimal staff. It also would mimic the Oxyhydro Charming that provided the elements of life to the afflicted witch or wizard during the procedure.

Hermione wondered which of the MMRI magitechnicians had crafted this one. She remembered Cameron Sinistra, the very arrogant Squib who had been head lab technician to her and Simon during the last phases of their research and preliminary Danae trials.

Hermione hadn’t liked his attitude. Cameron had a habit of undermining Simon because he’d only had mediwizarding training and hadn’t conducted medical research in the Muggle world as Cameron. He tried to undermine Hermione, but didn’t succeed at it. Hermione had a distinct way of putting subordinates in their place... as a supervisor, she was firm but fair.

Right after Angelina Johnson-Weasley’s procedure had been done, Cameron had come to see her in his office. He challenged her taking over the session when her own sister-in-law had been involved. When she told him it was none of his business, he questioned her ethics. Angering Hermione even further.

The very last thing Hermione did before leaving for the CDC in Atlanta was to sack Cameron. She never regretted that decision, either. There was no way she’d leave that pill behind for Simon to deal with.

If Cameron liked the Muggle world so very much, well... he could just find work as a Muggle, couldn’t he?

Shrugging off the memory of the nasty little upstart, Hermione began to ready the Chamber. Although it had been well over three years since she’d done it, she went through all the protocols as if they were second nature. After all, Simon may have been the odds-and-ends wizard on the project, but Danae had been her brainchild. Unlike the technicians, who understood the rudiments of the magic that ran the Chambers, Hermione had concocted the theory that it ran upon.

The only danger to doing this herself would be of swooning. There was little chance of that, as it usually only happened to pregnant women, the very old, the very young, or the infirm. And she felt absolutely fine...

The last thing she did was to funnel the fuel-potion into a small valve on the side of the Chamber. When she resealed it, it began to light up and whir, as if humming pleasantly.

Hermione exhaled. It would be a very good thing to have use of her magic again. She’d been as gracious as possible under the circumstances, but she was ready to feel like a witch again.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside of the bubble.

***********

"Hermione?"

Thin hands were shaking her, hard. Hermione blinked, then came to.

She was absolutely shocked when she looked up into the starry, pale blue eyes of Diana Oliveira. It took a few seconds before the other woman’s entire face came into focus.

"What... what happened?"

Diana shook her head. "Get up! You’ve got to get out of here!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to chat, girlie. You’re going to have to haul ass and get out of here before..."

And then Hermione heard them. Voices. Footsteps.

She turned back towards Diana.

"What the hell is..."

"That little ruse that you and your friends concocted at Sebastian’s party worked, honey... about three hours ago. Now they’re all awake, and storming the place, and you had better be glad I found your ass before they did."

"How... how did you get here?"

"Didn’t I say there’s no time for questions? Get up!"

She pulled Hermione up so swiftly that she nearly pulled her arm out of the socket. It was good for Diana that she wasn’t touching Hermione’s bare skin, for she would have gotten quite the sting for her trouble.

Hermione rubbed her sore shoulder, then put her hands on her hips.

"I’m not moving until you tell me how you got into a Cabalistica-only compound. You, of all people! Harry trusted you..."

"Yeah, and he trusted you too. Thanks to you, he might have got himself killed looking for you before I ran into him and offered to help!"

Finally, the implications of what she’d done hit Hermione. The entire mission was supposed to have taken forty-five minutes. Diana claimed she’d been out cold for nearly three hours. She only could imagine what happened when the rest had reached the Portkey and she hadn’t showed.

Oh, no... this wasn’t supposed to happen...

"Harry... he came back for me, and..."

"Yes, he did. Saw him five minutes ago and told him I’d find you if it was the last thing I did." The voices and footsteps were coming louder. "Get out of here, Hermione. I’ll find Harry for you... get out!"

And two blinks later, Diana had Disapparated.

Hermione closed her eyes. If the procedure had worked, she could easily Disapparate back down the hallway. She was certain there were wards and spells protecting the compound, so that she couldn’t Disapparate all the way outside. Yet and still...

She closed her eyes and concentrated.

Nothing happened.

She repeated it once, twice. Trying to keep her mind clear. Then she picked up a vial from the counter and tried simple Transfiguration with her fingertips.

Nothing happened.

Either she’d done something wrong readying the Chamber, or...

Or her loss of magic was far beyond Danae’s help.

The voices and footsteps were now just beyond the Chamber door. Hermione’s eyes widened with fear. An icy finger of terror snaked its way into her heart.

I’m still helpless.

Her eyes darted towards the directed energy weapon on the floor nearest the door Diana had disappeared through.

Well, perhaps not entirely helpless.

Now the voices were just outside that door, not three feet from where Hermione stood.

"So they’ve been here, Sebastian, my lord?"

"Yes, and liberated all the remaining test subjects. What a grievous miscalculation on your part, Vlad."

"I..." Hermione heard the fear in the grizzled man’s voice. "I thought you’d enjoy the performance, my lord."

"Vladimir, you fool, I wasn’t around for the performance at all. I had a little invitation to hand-deliver in El-Kharga. She should be here at any moment now, and I want to ensure that she is very pleased with the traitor who I have secured for her sport... what was that?"

Hermione hadn’t moved. She barely was breathing. Yet she couldn’t still her rapid heartbeat... it pounded in her ears and flooded her senses.

For the voice was that of the man on the phone.

The voice of the Rat.

The voice of Sebastian Borgin.

Had she been in full possession of her magic, Hermione would have blasted the door from its hinges and hexed both Vladimir the Bear and Sebastian the Rat. She would have killed them both and thought of the consequences to herself later. They’d murdered Rosângela and Jack and Merlin knew how many other innocents. They deserved to die for it.

Yet Hermione was helpless against them... with only one gun and two wizards...

The doorknob began to rattle. One small favor that Diana had done for her was to lock it. But locks were little hindrance to any witch or wizard over the age of twelve...

"Alohomora!"

The door opened. Sebastian and the Bear stepped inside, looking around. Confused.

"There’s nothing here, my lord."

"Hmm..." The sweep of Sebastian’s red cloak nearly knocked over half the supplies in the small room. "I sense otherwise. This Chamber has been recently used."

"My lord, there is much to attend to. I’ll send an enforcer or two to comb through there."

"Hmm..." Hermione could hear him sniff. The door to the bubble opened, and Sebastian bent to pick something up. "Curious. Very curious."

"What is curious?"

"This hair..." More sniffing. "What do you think of it?"

One long, snot-rattled sniff.

"It’s her!"

"Yes. That bitch of a Mudblood doctor. I knew this was her doing. But she had help, Vladimir. Help from the Order... help from the Accursed One and the Weasel. Never mind. If she is here, she will be found. And if she is not, we will trace her. It was foolish of her to think that anything in our lair could help the likes of her, was it not?"

Both Sebastian and Vladimir shared a laugh.

"Come, my friend. We have other matters to attend to before she arrives."

Hermione dodged from her hiding place, just behind the fuel cauldron and beneath a chrome desk. She waited a few seconds, then opened the door that Sebastian and Vladimir hadn’t bothered to lock...

...and came face to face with a Cabalistica enforcer.

It wasn’t for nothing that Hermione Granger was considered one of the most powerful witches in the world. Part of that was due to lightning-quick reflexes. Before the enforcer could even register her presence, Hermione had blasted him with the DEW.

"Argh!"

The blast stunned but did not kill him. Hermione’s head split with pain, but she was careful not to touch the man as he fell.

She leapt over him... and heard the footsteps just out of sight, at the far ends of the laboratory atrium. At all twelve of the doorways.

Hermione bit her lip.

Think quickly... come on, Hermione, think!

Then she saw them. Twin metal staircases, slender and winding. Glittering and gleaming ephemerally, as if any mortal step on them would cause them to disappear.

Hermione had to take that chance. She raced towards the closest one, tucked the DEW into the belt of her leggings, and began to climb it.

It was steep. Not to mention quite the climb... Hermione hadn’t realized that the second-level ledge they led to was so far up. Yet in the Time Before, back in the States, she’d climbed the elevator shaft of a skyscraper with a mysterious man who called himself Heath.

Hermione thought of Heath as she climbed. It was very true that she’d been attracted to him. That attraction had been pretty superficial, though... she’d thought of him all the time until she’d reunited with Harry. Then she hadn’t thought much about him since. Only when Harry brought him up.

She thought of Harry, somewhere in the facility, looking for her. Somehow, she didn’t relish the look on his face when he saw her next. At the same time, however, she longed to see him again... longed to have him near.

Perhaps then she wouldn’t feel so... insignificant.

If he knew she was all right, maybe she could get him to leave and get himself out of danger.

Harry, I’m okay.

She tried very hard to send the thought outward. If it had worked once, perhaps it would work again. Yet she didn’t feel any answering presence, no assurance that he was hearing her, that he was with her.

Perhaps it couldn’t be summoned at will.

Perhaps it had only been a figment of her romantic imagination.

Hermione reached the top landing and the ledge before she knew it. Her mistake was to put both feet on that last step...

The entire staircase disappeared.

Again, having good reflexes saved Hermione. Both her hands grasped the corrugated metal ledge just before her feet swung into thin air and...

She lost a shoe.

It hit the ground below with a bang, as it obviously landed on something that it shouldn’t have.

Right, nice move there, doc.

Two things happened at once then. The footsteps quickened from a firm march into a brisk run. Hermione, who had made a great show earlier that week about not believing in the unknown, did quite a fine job at silent prayer, then managed to swing one leg up on the ledge, followed by the other.

She pressed herself against the wall, or as close to it as she could possibly get. For this entire level seemed to be used for storage. There were boxes and cupboards and crates and barrels everywhere.

Still Hermione stayed pressed against the far edge of things. Knowing that her clothing was blending into the background, but that there was very little she could do about her face...

But when she pressed her back against the first cupboard she got to, the door swung open... a hand cupped tightly over her mouth... and she was snatched inside.

Her first instinct was to sting her captor. Perhaps it was just as well that she couldn’t summon that particular ability at will, either. For the arms that had pulled her down into a sitting position and held her fast weren’t threatening, but embracing her... and warm breath tickled her ear.

"I’m not sure whether to throttle you or to kiss you," Harry murmured, pulling her so tightly to him that she almost couldn’t breathe.

"Why don’t you do both?" she whispered back. "Sounds exciting if you ask me."

"If we get out of this alive, beautiful, you’re on. I’d say that you’re overdue for both a good spanking and a good shagging. Perhaps then you’ll learn to take my orders seriously... are you ready to get out of here?"

She aimed for his lips, but ended up kissing the corner of his mouth instead. "Yes."

But just then there was a great big noise underneath them, and Hermione’s eye was caught by a shaft of light from below. She could see that the cupboard they were sitting in had no bottom; one had a clear view of the laboratory atrium from their vantage point. The grating that formed the ledge outside of the tiny closet was also underneath their secret perch. Because of this, they had a very good view of what was happening below.

A large contingent of enforcers had rushed into the place, followed by Sebastian, the Bear, and a number of others who seemed to be Cabalistica higher-ups. Sebastian barked out orders for them to clean up the mess that Hermione’s shoe had caused (they couldn’t detect the shoe itself, as it had been camouflaged like the rest of her outfit and had rolled away from the scene of the crime) and ‘make preparations for our special guest’.

The second he, the Bear, and the other Dark VIPs were out of sight, Hermione reached up to push out of the cupboard... but Harry grabbed her hand.

"Not yet," he whispered. "We’re here... we might as well stay and get some answers."

"What happened to the others?"

"Safe in the rainforest about two miles away. We met at the appointed time with mixed success... the women and men were freed, we sent them ahead to Manaus via the designated extra Portkeys along with Ginny. At that time, we didn’t know you weren’t with Juliana and Eva... they were searching for the babies and young children, but they were gone."

"Gone?" muttered Hermione. "Gone where?"

"We don’t know. There was no trace of them, no signs of a breach. Eva... well, Zach’s with her, trying to calm her down. And then when you didn’t show... Ron wanted to come along with me, but Lena was injured on the way to the Portkey and he went to help... she and Riki got caught up when the enforcers started to awake. Although that Riki’s quite the little wizard... no formal training, but he’s quick and thinks on his feet..."

"He’s Drakkar’s kid. Of course he would be."

"Of course." Harry shuddered with relief, and buried his nose and mouth in her hair. "When I found out what you did, Hermione, I was ready to strangle you. I was so angry... not to mention scared as hell that something terrible had happened to you. Why did you do something that foolish, sweet?"

"Because I wanted my magic back, Harry," she whispered sadly. "I’m tired of being frightened and vulnerable and weak... I want to be a witch again."

Tears slipped down her cheeks. The frustration of the past months... nay, of years... had finally built up so that it was more than she could take.

Just then, it all hit her like a tidal wave. Jack Calhoun’s senseless death. The brutal murder of Rosângela de Souza. Losing all of her magical ability. The lies that were being spread across the wizarding world about her. Her father’s nasty little Muggle girlfriend Clara making her digs. The frustrations of being a competent professional woman moving in magical and Muggle spheres that were largely seen as masculine territory. The pressure of always having to succeed and be the best.

Then, too, there was the lingering embarrassment over the failure of her marriage... no matter if she no longer wanted to kill Maureen Ludlam or put Ron’s eyes out, there would always be that.

There was the constant longing for the presence of her mother, perhaps the only person who had ever loved and understood her no matter what.

And the continued irrational yearning... undeniable, fast becoming unbearable... for the man whose arms she was in now.

Hermione closed her eyes against the oncoming flood, yet tears slipped from her eyes unbidden. She blinked her eyes in the semi-darkness and suppressed her shudders... she didn’t want Harry to know she was crying. She’d always been strong for him. Just because she was the one in trouble this time didn’t mean that she would become a good-for-nothing weakling, some weepy female who wasn’t worthy of him.

But he knew already, knew this as he knew her so well. The hands that came up to dry her tears were not her own, but her beloved’s, warm and familiar against her cheeks. Yet the sensations he evoked were brand new.

The closet they were sitting in was little more than a squared cubicle, very compact and close. There was only a few feet of space above Harry’s head, and the storage area was taller than it was wide. Yet somehow Hermione managed to twist herself around so that she and Harry were sitting face to face. If there had been more light, they could have looked into each other’s eyes. But that sense was barred to them... Hermione’s move had blocked all but the slightest light from below.

Perhaps they could not see. They dared not speak much, either, for the enforcers’ cleanup efforts had brought them just underneath their hiding place.

Yet they could still smell and touch and feel.

Hermione was still crying, still trembling. And so he pulled her close so that her tears fell upon his own shirt, held her fast so that her shivers were contained. Despite the close, erotic setting, she did not need or want passion just yet. She needed his strength. She needed his forgiveness.

It was a while before she stopped trembling. When she did, he drew back a bit. She started to gasp in protest, until he took her hands in his and began to stroke them from palm to fingertip. Hermione closed her eyes and gave herself up to the massaging, soothing sensation.

When a hyperempath relaxes, she is a vessel of peace and content. Harry had created for her a safe place, the eye in the middle of the storm. With him she knew nothing horrible could happen to her, ever... she’d been by his side forever and had truly been fortunate because of that simple fact.

With one last shudder, a final tear fell... and she collapsed against his chest, his hands still holding hers. Completely relaxed.

He pulled her around to sit with him again, and she went easily, more than willing to use him as a chair since the metal grating was cold and uncomfortable. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, and the other raised her fingertips to his lips.

"After the first time we make love, Hermione," he whispered, tickling her ear once again, "I’m going to do this... like so..." His teeth nipped at each of her fingertips, gently... just before his tongue darted out to finish the deed.

Under cloak of darkness, Hermione didn’t mind blushing.

"And after the second time we make love, I’m going to kiss you from head to toe. Starting here," he kissed her scalp, then finished the rest of his journey with his fingertips, "and going here... moving right along to end up there... and there... let’s not forget there, and there and there together..."

Unseen fingers caressed a path down her body, over the charmed cotton, causing a slow burn. Wildly, Hermione thought of the petrol station she frequented when in the Atlanta area, on the way to visit Wayne and his family in Conyers, a filling station that marked the starting point of Sherman’s march to the sea.

Cotton burning... slow flames... burning, burning... trees... smoke... fire...

Now his hands were at her belt, putting the DEW aside, undoing the buckle and pulling it from its loops... then at the front of the tight cotton trousers, unbuttoning, unzipping...

"Now after the third time we make love, I’m going to feast on you like I did that night at the Terrace..." his fingers slid home for emphasis, "just there... you do remember it, love, do you not?"

Hermione couldn’t believe that he was doing this here, when one false move or sound could put their lives at peril. And yet it was an extremely tantalizing thought, the risk and the danger, coupled with the adrenaline rush spinning through her head and stomach, overriding any thought of them aching... especially when other parts of her body were already aching so exquisitely because of his touch.

Harry’s teeth scraped gently against her neck, as if he were still an eager teenaged boy determined to leave his mark on her. The other free hand found her hair, brushing it from her forehead and temples, playing with the springy curls. As he brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek and throat, her breath hitched. Then he ran those fingers slowly over the features of her face, memorizing them as a blind man would, before moving due south to the gentler climes of neck and breasts.

Hermione’s hands were not still either. There was no way they could be. After trying to pull his questing hand free of her trousers and knickers without success, she allowed one to tangle furiously in his hair while the other continued to tug him free of her in vain.

This time, there was no bed beneath her to absorb her squirming and thrashing. Only him. She felt him rising beneath her fast, and instead of shifting away as she’d done for two months of late nights and early mornings whenever this happened, she began to move with a vengeance. And with a purpose.

Apparently neither the Latin dance lessons of her failed marriage nor Juliana’s impromptu lap dance tutorial had been in vain.

There was no more talking then. Neither of them could speak. Save for an occasional groan low in his throat or the happenstance whimper that escaped her lips, there was no sound other than their heavy breathing and pounding heartbeats.

When it happened for Hermione, the intensity of it was quite unexpected and without warning. She very nearly screamed... but he turned her head to one side and muffled the sound with his own lips. He followed her soon afterwards, grasping her tight as he could, and she leaned up to kiss him soundly to stifle his own cry...

"What happens on the fourth night?" she whispered some moments later, after he used his wand to freshen them up and put their clothing to rights.

"Fourth night? I’m only on the fourth time... surely you don’t think it’s going to take us four nights to get there?" he murmured, kissing her ear again.

"Not when I’m wishing we weren’t quite so dressed at the moment." She leaned up to nip at his lower lip, in imitation of the way he so loved to kiss her. "I can’t wait to get back home... I can’t wait to be in your bed."

"I can’t wait until you’re in my bed," he groaned softly. "You have no idea."

They murmured little sweetnesses against each other’s lips, meant for their ears and their ears alone, until a loud fanfare below signaled the presence of more than just enforcers in the atrium. Quickly, almost silently, Hermione shifted so that she was sitting next to Harry and they could use the grating beneath them to peer down below.

***********

The parties walked in from opposite sides. First Sebastian, the Bear, and their entourage entered the right side of their vantage point, and on their left, a line of red-cloaked witches and wizards filed in.

The last person to step inside the room was Asha Babatunde. Only she didn’t merely step... she appeared in the center of the atrium in a puff of smoke so thick that the enforcers nearest her began a fit of coughing.

She stood in the center of the circle, erect, the staff of the Inquisitor planted firmly on the cold marble floor.

"Asha, my dear," smirked Sebastian, "how pleasant it is to see you."

Asha stared at him.

"We do have a front door," Sebastian continued. "I did ask you to use it. However, since you are so determined to make a scene in front of everyone..."

"I have no need of doors." It was said flatly. "And if I’d known that you had Brazil in such a sorry state, I would have come long before."

"Brazil is ours, milady." The hiss was just beneath the surface of Sebastian’s voice.

"Is it? Then what is this I hear of a resistance movement being organized by that Scots bastard, Sirius Black, that self-styled head of the despicable Order?"

"Rumors, Asha. Surely you have better things to do than to listen to what idle tongues say. Everything in Brazil is contained, and soon, all of the Latin American delegates will be eating out of the palm of our hands."

"Overconfidence. I warned you about it in August at the international sabbat, and you still haven’t heeded my words. I told you to leave Hermione Granger alone. Your sin is the sin of the Dark Lord Voldemort... made all the more unforgivable because you do not learn from your mistakes!"

"Mistakes? My mistakes?" Sebastian threw back his head and laughed a laugh that made the hidden Hermione’s blood curdle. "My dear, the only one who has made a mistake is you..."

Asha raised the staff of the Grand Inquisitor high over her head, and the very foundations of the compound began to shake.

"You will pay for your insolence!"

The enforcers cowered, and so did the Cabal delegates who’d accompanied her. For Asha appeared as if she were doused in infrared. Her dark skin had become deathly pale. The whites of her eyes and the pink of her mouth were a morbid inky black.

In the cubicle above, Harry grasped his wand, tightly. Hermione grabbed the DEW.

They waited. Everyone, everywhere waited.

Only Sebastian didn’t move a muscle. He merely clucked his tongue.

"Dear me, Asha. Such a display of temper. Such an unseemly display. Why, it just isn’t ladylike, Asha... but then again, you’re no lady, are you?"

His voice was calm and even, but it echoed everywhere. It rang in Hermione’s ears, bringing back the memory of the earlier headache she’d received after stunning the enforcer.

Asha’s eyes flashed onyx fire, but... she seemed unable to move.

"While you were sitting on your black arse in Egypt, getting rich from the Cabal’s exploits, I was busy. Busy, busy, busy. Busy gathering support from all the heads of our affiliate organizations. Busy setting up coups in India, Germany, and Mexico. Busy running experiments here in the Amazon, in the Congo, in Nepal, and yes, even under your ugly little nose in the Sahara. Busy running the British Ministry of Magic..."

"My husband is the Minister, and I put him there! For my purposes!"

"Did you really? Well, perhaps you put him there, but I keep him there at my pleasure. And for my pleasure... it was dead easy, really, all I had to do was screw the brains out of that simpleminded husband of yours once or twice and he gave me everything I wanted. I daresay he found me a much better lay than he ever found you.

"So you see, bitch, while you were sleeping and living off the fat of the land, I stole the Cabalistica’s hearts and souls away from you. You may be Grand Inquisitor... but mine is the power and the glory."

Sebastian raised his own wand, and as if twirled it in his fingers it became a whiplash in his hand. Asha screamed as it wound about her body, tying her from head to foot as the strange light that had engulfed her like a nebula disappeared.

She dropped the staff of the Grand Inquisitor.

Sebastian picked it up.

"Prepare the sacrifice."

Above, Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She started to speak, but Harry grabbed her arm and sent a thought.

Don’t move.

So helplessly, they both looked on as a round metallic table with a pentagram and arcane runes scored on top of it was rolled into place... it looked very much like a corruption of the Stone Table located deep beneath Ayr. Hermione wondered which Order member of centuries past had betrayed the design.

It appeared to be made of platinum. How like Dark Magic, Hermione thought, to want to outdo the Light. They were destroyers who could not create... whenever they tried to give anything life, it turned out to be a foul corruption of the original.

They bound Asha to the table hand and foot, using the enchanted cord that had been Sebastian’s wand. Hermione wondered if it hadn’t been disguised rope all the time... from her vantage point, she saw what looked like dots and typing all over it and knew that it contained powerful written enchantments and spells... for in many cases, writing a spell down was as good as speaking it.

Unspoken hexes, spells, and countercurses were so taken for granted by witches and wizards that none of them ever thought anything about them. The subtle difference between a magical home and a Muggle home were that the former contained these silent markers and the wizarding did not.

For instance, Hermione knew the second she entered Rosângela de Souza’s shack that she was with a fellow witch, albeit one who’d not been trained formally. The salt and the bread on the side of the rusty sink, the barely-there mark of menstrual blood of two decades past sprinkled upon the two battered windowframes, the dried wasps’ nest over the door of the room they used for sleeping and eating, the small amulets mother and daughter wore... all the signs of common hexes of protection were there even in this poorest of poor homes.

The day after she’d arrived at Senhora Helena Medeiros’ home, she noticed other signs, but ones that indicated a fully qualified witch was in residence. Scattered about were signs of Aware spells, Comfort Charms and Scrambling Speech Hexes at work everywhere in that home... including more than a few Calming Hexes that were obviously intended for Senhor Carvalho. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all noted this and taken it for granted. They had similar hexes on their own domains and always had. So did all their friends. Again, this wasn’t something that was talked of; it was just simply there and taken for granted.

To be sure, there were still a few Muggles who remembered the old ways that had been taught to them by their witch neighbors before the Receding Ages... so if one wasn’t careful, one could be fooled. Yet even the most prescient Muggles got the occasional item or ingredient wrong, if you paid attention.

The problem with tangible spells was that they could be broken quite easily if the agents were disturbed... or if confronted with powerful sorcery.

Which was why it was confusing to Harry and Hermione that Asha, the Grand Inquisitor of the Cabalistica, an organization that had been a thorn in the side of good people everywhere since Voldemort’s fall, couldn’t break free of a few weak runes. It made absolutely no sense.

As they watched the binding, Hermione thought at Harry, We’ve got to help her.

Why? She’s pure evil.

No, she’s not. She’s Angelina’s sister... Fred’s sister-in-law...

She’s turned her back on them, on everything that is good. Do you know how many murders she’s responsible for? How much blood is on her hands?

That’s not for us to judge, Harry. I think she could change. She told Sebastian not to harm me...

She was likely fearful of the consequences.

So what? She’s about the only ally I’ve got down there... and who knows what it will take for me to find out what they did with my magic? What if we...

Hermione, we can’t.

We have to...

Commit suicide? Even if you had full use of your wand, Hermione, I don’t think both of us are a match for nearly a hundred enforcers trained in Dark Magic.

How many thousands were in Tartarus, Harry? Fifty? A hundred?

Hmm. A bit more than that, I’d say, if you’re counting demons, Dementors, and the like. But we were under Covenant, and Ron was there, and...

We were also only seventeen. We’re twice that now. So when exactly do we break out of here and save the day?

Have you got a plan?

Not yet. But I’m working on it.

The binding was complete. Sebastian himself came to test the tautness of each knot.

"Any last words, Asha?"

"Only a final question. Why? Why the treachery?"

Sebastian laughed again, as various enforcers went to dim the lights and light candles around the rim of the mock-Stone table. Candles made of Cabalistica victims, Hermione supposed with a sickening feeling in her stomach. She’d heard the stories and dismissed them as rumor. Yet one couldn’t deny the evidence right before their eyes.

"Treachery? My lady, it is you who have betrayed the Dark Side. Do you not understand that once we have your soul, we hold it fast? We know your every thought, your every motion. We knew what you gave to your sisters and your mother. We knew that you thought of her often, just as you think of your filthy Mudblood father that the Dark Lord squashed like the vermin he was.

"We know all, we see all, and we don’t suffer fools and cowards. You have been weighed in the balance and found wanting, Diane Johnson Riordan, and now the one who gives the Cabal its strength and power has designed yours to be the blood that will herald her arrival."

Sebastian lowered his face to hers, tied to the table.

"How shall I kill you?" he said, with great relish.

Hermione fought the urge to retch. He’s enjoying this.

"I’m sure you already know," Asha... no, Diane now that all power had been stripped from her... snapped back. "Get on with it."

"Oh, no... no... you see, swift killings are only for inconsequential and insignificant beings. A swift Secaro! to the head means instant death. Near painless, or so I’m told. But for you..." Sebastian touched his slimy lips to Diane’s, "that just won’t do."

"I want to make it linger, make it last. Draw it out... I want to taste your terror, sip on your sorrow, lap up your pain. She’ll be here soon enough, but I want your corpse to still be warm when she arrives." He leered. "Or perhaps I’ll warm it myself. From what Brian’s told me, it won’t make much difference whether you’re dead or alive when it comes to it."

Harry used his free arm to wrap around Hermione’s waist. He now understood why Hermione had been spared long enough to escape... why she woke up terrified at night, like he used to for so long... why she was trembling now.

Voldemort couldn’t have had a better protégé. Only Voldemort lusted for power, not blood and perversion on top of it... this sick bastard craved all three.

Sebastian shifted the staff from his right hand to his left. A random enforcer presented him with a bone knife.

"This was made from the skeletal remains of your interim predecessor," Sebastian said, stroking it fondly. "Oh, what a feast we had that night! I seem to recall that you didn’t partake, my dear..."

"That is because cannibalism has absolutely nothing to do with the Dark Arts. Anyhow, you yourself told me that human flesh tastes like chicken. So thanks, but no thanks, I’ll stick to the bird."

"Ah yes, but you did partake of the chalice that made you First Lady of Darkness, didn’t you? Liberally mixed with his blood. You were drunk from it, drunk from the wickedness and power that it imbued you with. I saw it spilling from your mouth, dribbling down the side of your chin..." Sebastian traced the spot with his knife. "This time it will be your blood, Diane. I wonder if you’ll find the taste as sweet?"

"Perhaps this idle chatter is turning you on, Sebastian, but it is doing nothing for me. Stop your jabbering and get on with the business of flaying me alive."

Sebastian looked into Diane’s eyes. He saw no fear there.

Clucking his tongue again, he raised the bone knife high.

"You had the mind and stomach of the Dark One herself, Diane. Pity that you didn’t have the heart. So long, dear heart..."

He made a motion to plunge down into that very organ, but found that his bone knife was stuck in midair.

His arm was paralyzed, shriveled.

Hermione whirled her head away from the grating, and saw the last golden sparks shimmering from the end of Harry’s wand.

"That was your plan?"

"You told me to save her, didn’t you?"

Below center, Sebastian’s face grew purple with rage.

"They’re still here!"

Scores of wands emerged from beneath red robes. In the semi-darkness, they glowed.

"Find them! Kill all but the Mudblood bitch doctor! Bring her to me!"

Back up in the cubicle, Harry turned to Hermione. He grabbed her tightly and kissed her soundly yet swiftly.

"What was that for?" she whispered, as all hell broke loose just under them.

"Because although I love you, I really am going to throttle you once we’re out of this scrape. Stay put, and I’ll be back for you in oh, say... ten minutes."

"What?" Hermione asked, as the ledge rattled with footsteps.

"Okay, maybe not ten. Fifteen, tops."

"You are not going out there by yourself, Harry Potter! I’m going too..."

Harry got angry. "Why do you always do this? Why can’t you for once listen to good sense when you hear it?"

Boxes were being tumbled at the head of the enchanted stairs to the ledge. "Because I’m not a child! I’m not some airhead who needs to be ordered about!"

"It’s not about that! It’s about keeping you safe!"

"Right, well then, who’s going to keep you safe? Harry, I’ve been doing fine taking care of myself thus far, even without magic, and I’ll be fine if you’ll just..."

"Merlin, I must have fallen for the most exasperating witch that ever drew breath." Harry’s tone was resigned. "I hate to have to do this, love, but..."

She felt the firm prick of his wandtip against her bum.

"Adhesio... if I can’t tell you to stay put, Hermione, I’ll make you."

Yes. She was quite effectively stuck in place.

Her whisper was furious. "Harry!"

He muttered another spell under his breath, then kissed her forehead. "Charm’s only temporary, you know that... it’ll break in fifteen minutes. If I can’t get back to you, get yourself out."

Before she blinked again, he’d Disapparated to stand on the other side of the table from Sebastian.

The enforcers stopped their rummaging through the boxes, a few paces away from their cubicle.

"You didn’t tell me we were playing hide-and-go-seek, Borgin." Harry folded his arms and glared at the vile man. "Looks like I win."

"Potter," Sebastian spat. "So the Accursed One saw fit to join our little soiree."

"Crashed it, looks like. I’m afraid I didn’t receive an invitation. Which explains why I’m not properly dressed... I see your theme seems to be blood-red," Harry glanced down at Diane. "What fascinating parlor games. How do I play?"

Fifty wands pointed at Harry.

"You don’t," Sebastian growled.

"Nice way to treat a guest."

Vladimir the Bear walked up to stand beside Sebastian.

"Shall I kill him for you, master?"

"Stand aside, you fool, I’ll kill him. He’s a crafty one... the only reason why the enforcers didn’t Avada Kedavra him immediately is because they understood that I am to have the honor."

"No, they understood that they’d likely die as well. The Killing Curse has a bad habit of rebounding when it comes to me..."

"The Slicing Charm works," said Vladimir flatly. "Master, I saw him bleed from it in that Muggle hovel in Rio."

"Does it work, now? Only one way to find out, isn’t there?"

Sebastian raised his staff over his head and shouted "Secaro!"

Unfortunately, the axe-hex wasn’t directed at Harry. It was directed at the overhead ceiling.

Plaster rained down to the center left of the atrium in a fantastic shower until the star-studded night sky was visible. The enforcers ran aside for cover.

When the dust cleared, Harry was the one clucking his tongue.

"I’ve heard of people being uncoordinated before, but that’s bloody ridiculous."

Sebastian appeared too angry to reply. Not to mention uncomfortable.

For now his other hand was stuck in place. So were his feet.

"Break this charm!" he shouted at Vladimir.

"Yes, master... Finite Incantatem!"

Nothing happened.

He tried a plethora of other spells. None of them worked, either.

Harry folded his arms and looked bored.

Diane laughed.

Vladimir lunged for her throat.

"Not so fast," Harry said.

Vladimir hung in midair, hands extended and cupped.

For once, Sebastian was getting tired of the game.

"Kill him now!"

Fifty enforcers shouted fifty different curses.

Quick as a fox, Harry leaned over the table, punched Vladimir in the nose (which seemed to break whatever hex that had held him in place) and cast a Shielding Charm over Diane.

Then he scrambled underneath the table itself as all the curses aimed at the ceiling came raining down on the Cabalistica’s heads... along with most of the rest of the ceiling itself.

Hermione, watching from above, didn’t see his scramble. So her heart was in her throat until the dust and sparks cleared.

When they did, she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Most of the Cabalistica enforcers had fallen, either from ricocheted spells or the falling plasterwork. All of them had sustained some injuries or hexing.

And those who were not on the floor, dead or unconscious, were frozen in place. Wands up. Staring as if they couldn’t just believe what happened.

Then Harry emerged from under the table, and Hermione was so relieved that tears flooded her eyes.

Great plan, darling, she thought, grinning from ear to ear, not knowing if he’d be able to hear her.

He could. Looking up at the storage cupboard, he winked.

Well, I learned from the best, didn’t I?

And he pointed at her, and blew her a kiss.

Hermione decided not to be angry about the Sticky Charm after all. Well, perhaps not angry, but of course she couldn’t forgive him entirely... once she got her magic back and they were back home, she had a few sudden bright ideas for Adhesio that involved her, him, minimal clothing, and several pieces of...

Okay. Now was not the appropriate time for such thoughts.

She made a move to push out of the cupboard, but was still held fast.

Below her, Harry was trying to figure out the binding runes that held Diane to the table.

"Quite the impressive display there, Harry," Diane remarked.

"Child’s play," Harry said. "Your young lieutenant didn’t realize that we’ve been doing this since he was in diapers. No time to gloat, though... we’ve got to get you out of here."

"If you can undo this rope, I’ll believe all the legends they’ve made up about you."

"Why, what is it? Isn’t it regular enchanted rope?"

"If it was, you would have undone it by now, wouldn’t you have? There’s nothing regular about it. It’s not even anything I’ve seen in all my years of studying the Dark Arts... I don’t know what it is or where it came from."

"Strange. It looks oddly familiar to me... as if I should know it." Harry stared at it, getting closer to the knots.

Hermione was staring too. A bit antsy, because she knew if she were standing there beside him she could help out more easily.

It’s grey and mottled like a Dementor’s hand, he thought at her. Writing all over it... squiggly, fish-wormy writing, like Arabic in a child’s hand... runes, obviously, but not of any language I know.

Get some of the shapes in your head and let me think.

Harry did so, and Hermione was puzzled. It wasn’t a language. It indeed looked like the nonsense scribblings of a toddler.

And yet... it seemed oddly familiar to Hermione as well.

This is something I ought to know, darling. I’m thinking, give me a minute.

Whatever help you can give is appreciated... because I can’t break it...

That thought was the last he was able to send her, however. Hermione was so busy thinking that it wasn’t until Diane gasped and shouted "Look behind you!" that she saw Sebastian, who’d obviously come to in a very foul temper, raise his staff above Harry’s head.

His temper was so foul that he didn’t even bother to utter a curse. He just simply hammered him on the head and Harry fell down unconscious.

A cry escaped Hermione’s lips. However, she was still stuck in place. And no one seemed to be paying any attention to her, either.

"I tire of these games, Diane."

Above, unseen, Hermione pointed the DEW through the grating, aimed it at Sebastian’s head, and fired a virtual volley of energy blasts in his direction...

And missed.

Sebastian noticed nothing. Evidently Harry’s Obscurity spell was enough to save her from detection even if she was determined to draw attention to herself.

But it wasn’t enough to save Diane.

Without further hesitation, Sebastian took the bone knife and plunged it into the soft tissue of Diane’s stomach.

Even then, she perhaps could have lived... even perhaps when the monster began to disembowel her slowly, hissing with pleasure, baring his teeth to the gums... but soon, tired of her screams, he opened up her chest with a deft blow and pulled out her heart.

Hermione didn’t bear to look at the butchery, the carnage. Her eyes were on Harry, only Harry... for she knew that he would be the next target of Sebastian’s staff and knife...

That is, if the demon masquerading as human hadn’t knocked him dead. There was a horrible laceration on Harry’s scalp, and the blood had begun to pool underneath him onto the marble floor. She almost screamed from not knowing what the extent of the injuries were... and damn him, he’d stuck her here, when she could have helped him... tears streamed down her face as she sat, utterly helpless.

Yet Sebastian seemed to be paying Harry no attention. He was busily flaying Diane much as she’d predicted, laying her organs around her on the etched runes of the table. Muttering constantly under his breath, tending to his work almost reverently.

This wasn’t magic, Hermione thought. This was depravity. Sheer depravity.

Perhaps Hermione wasn’t sure what she believed about God, but she knew the Devil when she saw him.

Vladimir had come to, rubbing his head, and had joined his master’s side.

"I see you’ve begun, master."

Sebastian broke off his chant to answer. "Indeed. What a nuisance." He indicated Harry with a nod of his head.

"Shall I dispose of him for you?"

"I’ve had a better idea. Use the rope..." he removed it with a swift jerk, "to bind him. I’m sure that my little gift will amuse her when she comes."

Vladimir took it, then looked back at the body. "It’s a shame we can’t feast tonight."

"She needs this more than we do. Besides, once she walks again, feasts won’t matter any more. Nothing will matter any more... for she shall reign forever!"

Sebastian’s voice was triumphant, but Vladimir looked doubtful. Nevertheless, he turned to his work, and...

"Master! The Accursed One has disappeared!"

"Then go find him, you fool! He can’t have gone far."

Hermione wondered where in Merlin’s name Harry had got to as well. She took it as a sign he was alive, though, and half expected him to appear beside her in the cupboard. When she didn’t, she began to squirm again. She had to get free, somehow. Taking off her leggings wouldn’t work... this was a spell, not glue.

The next time she saw Harry, she would strangle him.

Now that Vladimir had Disapparated out, the only motion in the entire laboratory was Sebastian’s grisly work and the only sound was that of chanting, beneath his breath. Meanwhile, above him, Hermione thought of every way possible to free herself, straining against the spell, yet not able to get the image of the runes out of her head.

She’d seen them before. On something grey. But not rope or parchment... or...

Stone.

The runes had been inscribed on stones!

High, tall stones from the place that Voldemort and his followers were trying to open when they came face to face with him in...

Tartarus.

The runes were of Tartarus. Inscribed in a foul language that no member of the Order dared speak... the tongue of the netherworld...

Spells from hell.

Unfortunately, Hermione’s brainstorm came a tad too late. Sebastian, finished his grisly work, wiped his hands on robes that were already stained with blood. He stepped right at the head of that table, and raised his staff high.

The entire lab was dark now, save for the outline of his face and robes, his hands and his eyes. It was a darkness that was not of this world.

And in an inhuman voice, he summoned back to Earth what had not been summoned in nearly ten thousand years.

"Ereshkigal, come."

The lights immediately came back up. Only now, they were red.

And the dead figure of Diane Johnson Riordan sat straight up.

Her organs were gone from the runes without a trace. The body was no longer flayed but smooth, and the skin was no longer brown but tanned. It was tattooed with those same strange runes, and pierced all over.

Hermione saw this in the flash before Sebastian removed his own cloak and robe and covered her up. She blinked, and the witch? Corpse? Zombie? was now standing upright clad in Sebastian’s robes.

He was kneeling prostrate before her, naked as a newborn babe... although Hermione had her doubts as to where such a foul creature had actually been born.

"My mistress... my queen."

"Yes." The she-demon looked around at the chaos. "Quite the reception for one who has been absent for many ages."

Her English was heavily accented, almost as if her first tongue was Arabic, Hermione thought. Surely this couldn’t somehow be Diane Johnson... no. Diane, even as horrid as she’d been, had never possessed such an inhuman voice.

"Majesty, we secured your release at a great price. You will find that all is in readiness at El-Kharga... and a half million of your loyal subjects have gathered to receive your counsel... and your orders."

"Very good. And my pets?"

"They will be fully accommodated, majesty..."

But the she-demon raised her hand. She cocked her head to one side, listening.

Then she smiled.

"She is here. You have done well, Sebastian."

Sebastian looked as puzzled as Hermione was at that moment. Yet Sebastian did not speak until the she-demon gave him leave to do so.

"Who is she, your worship?"

The she-demon looked down at him with contempt.

"Have you not dedicated your life to the spread of my lore? Do you not know?"

Still kneeling, Sebastian’s eyes widened. "The In... it cannot be!"

"It is. Within these walls, she draws her breath. While I remained bound in Tartarus for ten thousand years, she has breathed the sweet air of Gaea the same length of time. My ally and enemy. My sister and foil. My bane and my salvation. Myself."

She bestowed a glance upon Sebastian, then threw her eyes upward.

"Delilah," she called. "Where are your manners? Come down and greet your twin sister properly."

And she looked straight at the spot where Hermione sat... straight past Harry’s Obscuring spell.

Their gazes locked.

A heartbeat later, Hermione found herself sprawling on the floor, about fifteen feet away from the she-demon and Sebastian.

Well... you said you wanted to break that spell, didn’t you? she couldn’t help but think.

The she-demon’s eyes bored into her.

Hermione, although untouched, had the sudden sensation that she had been the one flayed mere moments before. She felt as if her skin was no longer big enough to fit into, that she would split open in short order. The pain was absolutely excruciating.

She wondered if this was what Harry felt like when his scar hurt.

"Delilah, Delilah. The ages have not been kind to you, dear sister. Not to your hair..." the she-demon raised her finger, and Hermione felt it stand on end, "or to your eyes... or to the figure that was the envy of all the Land Between the Rivers. You have grown weak... and mortal... and... where is your magic?"

"Where indeed?" Hermione grated out, thinking those words would be her last.

"Sebastian was to prepare you as the gate for me, you are aware of this, yes? He came to me with the report that he’d captured you, brought your magic to me to partake of, and offered your body as my living sacrifice." Her lips curved into a slight smile. "Imagine it. Sisters. Reunited. After all these ages spent apart."

"Excuse me," said Hermione through clenched teeth, "but I really think you’ve got the wrong woman. My name is not Delilah... I don’t even like that name... and I haven’t got any sisters."

The she-demon turned to Sebastian.

"Is my path so easy, then? Wherefore was I bound? I expect a worthy foe upon my return, and she has preserved herself... in this?"

"Your majesty, she lies. She is the one whom you seek."

"Yet she does not know it." The she-demon turned back to Hermione. "We must alleviate her ignorance, then, if we are to proceed."

"Begging your pardon, majesty, why can’t we just kill her and..."

The she-demon looked back at the sniveling, horrid wizard with cold eyes.

"I cannot eliminate her until my sister and twin awakes within her. It is because you lost her and required that my gate be this poor substitute that I was channeling at the time. I enjoy a fresh kill as much as you do, Sebastian, but in ten thousand years I have learned patience. She is not going anywhere... and neither are you."

The pain... Hermione had never known anything like this. She felt as if she was dying every minute... she couldn’t see or breathe and her ears rang furiously... but somehow she heard the question the she-demon asked next.

"What do you call yourself, child? What is your true name?"

As if she was going to divulge her name...

Her true name?

Then Hermione remembered something important. Names gave a witch or a wizard power over another. In the she-demon’s time, persons were given both a public name and a name that was whispered into their ear at birth... Hermione had paid attention to the oldest of the old stories in Professor Binns’ class long ago. It was too bad her parents were Muggles...

"Her name is Hermione, majesty. Hermione Anne Granger."

...and too bad that every last witch and wizard in their world knew her name.

But the she-demon didn’t look pleased.

"That is not her true name. If it was, I would have been able to call up Delilah and kill her instantly."

The pain abated somewhat. Hermione’s eyes widened. What does she mean, that’s not my name? How dare she? What could she mean by...

Grandmother.

There’s another name that she must have given me when I was a newborn, and it’s lodged somewhere in my mind. She must have done it so that Mum and Dad never knew. Whispered it in my ear... and it’s deep inside of me somewhere. Just like in the first chapters of our History of Magic texts.

Well, that answers my lifelong question.

Grandmother Helen was a witch.

Hermione wanted to run, to find Harry, to flee this place before she died. Yet she found that she could not run. Her body no longer was responding to her will but to the she-demon’s whims.

"Stand up."

Powerless to refuse, dizzy on her feet, Hermione did just that.

"Face me."

Hermione looked at her and saw the true face underneath. It was completely unhuman, so devoid of vitality that it was impossible to believe that it had ever lived.

"Do you think you can defeat me, Delilah? You cannot hide yourself for long. Reveal yourself and know my plans for your beloved Gaea before you die, for the place you call Earth I shall soon tie into knots. When my army is finally unleashed from the place of my banishment, husbands shall slay wives and mothers will slaughter their young rather than have them suffer my wrath. All shall serve me and follow my truth or die. All because of your deception, Delilah, and what you stole from me."

Hermione couldn’t say a word.

"You wish to speak? Hold your peace, I have no wish to hear your voice until you are ready to speak what I wish you to say."

The she-demon walked around Hermione, in a slow circle.

"You think very highly of yourself, don’t you? Yes. That much hasn’t changed over the untold ages. A Sharer as well... all of the women of our line have that gift in some measure, although it was always strongest in you.

"You still possess your other virtues as well. They have not diminished, it seems. The power to fight... to love deeply... to suffer and endure... no, that has not diminished. Not at all...

"You are no longer beautiful, Delilah, but you still make all who gaze upon you think of beautiful things." The she-demon’s eyes narrowed. "Guilt by association."

In spite of herself, Hermione began to tremble.

"And yet, Delilah, you wish to defeat me by making her oblivious to my plight? Very well. I shall tell her... in the telling I shall pluck the name from her mind... you will be free, and then I shall slay her and you."

The she-demon came to a stop in front of Hermione, and began her tale.

*************

"Long ago, only created immortals knew magic. We who lived in the time before the runes when all the Thousand Worlds were young worshipped these gods. And our gods were not the distant, invisible ones of this degenerate age... they were gods who walked amongst us, supped with us, strived with us. They took mortals as their consorts, and meted out swift punishment.

"It was into that world that you and I were born in the Land Between the Rivers, literally at the same moment, killing our mother in the process. They always said that neither of us could bear to be subordinate to the other. Something that continues to this day, does it not?

"Yet there may be little truth to that tale after all. We have both mortal human blood and the blood of the Giants within us. Not the lumbering vicious idiots of the latter Ages, but that of the golden messengers from the dawn of time... and indeed, your false name is ‘messenger’, is it not? Interesting.

"You, Delilah, and I sought to know more. We were always prescient, always eager to sit at the feet of the gods when they came to visit us. Always wanting to pretend that we were goddesses... do you remember those games, dear sister?"

Hermione couldn’t think at all. Pain had become her entire world.

"When we were older, we did something that no women had ever done in all the Land Between the Rivers... we wandered. Over our people’s world, over the homeworld of our unearthly parent, through lands which I will not tell.

"It was then that we stumbled upon the waters of the Source... and drank to become immortal. Yes, dear sister, do you remember the Land of Fountains, the fairest civilization that humankind has ever produced? My servants have told me that the land has been lost for all these ages, and yet..."

In the she-creature’s face, there was something akin to longing.

"Although it was immortality that we sought, it was power that we knew. The gods gifted us with immortality later, yes, us and those we raised up to be apprentices due to our good works and our benevolence once we returned to our homeland. We taught them the lore of creation, of power and of mystery, and of destruction. We taught them how the gods ought to be truly worshipped, how they could be possessed by them, how they could summon them to do their bidding. We taught them all of this...

"Do you realize, dear sister, that I keep saying we? Credit ought to be given where credit is due... however, that is not the way that contrary humans work, is it?

"They began to worship you and you alone, Delilah. How could they help but love you? You had always been the favorite... lovelier to look at, with your graceful step and your gentle voice and your curves in the image of the Great Mother Goddess. I was darker and leaner... with a voice deep enough for a young man... never as well beloved.

"So they gave you a new name. They began to say you were the Great Mother Goddess, come in the flesh. They made figures in your image, yours, when you were born as mortal and frail as I! For ten thousand years they have worshipped you, adored you as if you were their mother! You, whose womb only bore one child!

"And... there is something I never could comprehend. You knew I loved him, Delilah. You knew very well that I loved him. You listened to my pinings before we slept at night and as we worked side by side throughout the day. Yet in the dawn and in the twilight, and when there was a full moon, you were stealing away to meet him. To make love to him... he who was mine..."

Hermione’s eyes flashed.

"He was not yours, Nidaba."

Where did that come from? Who the hell was Nidaba? Whatever it was, Hermione soon paid for it when her head almost did explode open this time. She felt as if her brains were being pulled out of her ears and nostrils... and cried out.

"So you are in there somewhere, Delilah. Very good. In short order this vessel’s true name shall surface, and the fun can begin..."

There was a flash in front of Hermione, and her view of the she-demon was obscured...

...by Harry!

Chains appeared on Sebastian’s arms and legs, just in case he thought of moving. His lieutenant Vladimir rolled right next to him, tied up by the rune-enchanted rope.

The she-demon hissed, obviously taken aback.

"Where were you?" Hermione said, flinging her hands up to her head, which no longer hurt so badly.

"I’ll explain later... sorry I’m late," he muttered. "Do me a favor?"

"Yes?"

"Run."

For the she-demon seemed to want to assume her natural form now. No more playing at the shape of being a regular witch. She was Transfiguring the poor remains of Diane Johnson and herself into...

Something horrible.

Hermione was frozen in place at first. Then she realized that Harry was serious.

She ran.

The she-demon, fully realized, bared her teeth, each as long as a sword. She raised a hand, seven feet in diameter, to reach past Harry, to snatch up Hermione and...

It never happened. For just then, the floor of the decimated laboratory shook as if an earthquake had struck it.

Harry had picked up the staff of the Grand Inquisitor and struck it against the ground. The lore of the Order forbade the staff of perdition to any member... it was supposed to either have no effect or mean certain death.

Of course, Harry never did hold much stock in rules when the stakes were extremely high. A wide crack appeared just in front of him, splitting the atrium in two. The demon’s massive legs and feet, however, spanned this fifteen-foot gap easily.

She roared, and Hermione, from where she pressed against the wall in the furthest corner, felt her legs turn to jelly.

Harry held the staff high above his head.

"Nidaba of Ur, now called Ereshkigal, Dark One of Tartarus, I bind you once more and send you back to your prison."

The staff flashed white, and lightning seemed to strike it from the night sky above. A sudden whirlwind overtook the place, rustling Harry’s hair and the papers that had been scattered everywhere from the earlier destruction.

The she-demon laughed and stood her ground. She leaned her massive fanged, horned head forward, bared her teeth, and asked:

"Who is this mortal that dares to bind she who cannot be bound?"

"I am Harry Potter, twice-blessed Partaker of the Covenant of Ages, last of the line of Godric Gryffindor, himself of the ancient seed of Math ap Mathonwy, first among Celtic sorcerers. I am a servant of the secret Order, Keepers of the Stone Table made gold. I forsook the Chalice once in Tartarus, and yet again in Avalon, and in doing so chose the human life you mock. I oppose you and your foul works. Go back from whence you came!"

Now Hermione had to hold on for dear life, for there was another earthquake, another whirlwind. Save for the light that the staff was casting around Harry, all was dim and dark and foul...

Somehow, she could smell the stench of Tartarus again.

"So, this mere child does know the lore of Old. He identifies himself in order to have the power to bind, yet neither does he give his true name. Very clever... yet not clever enough."

For now the she-demon (Nidaba? Ereshkigal? Hermione was confused) had raised a scythe with jagged edges in her hand.

"Since you wish to play with sticks, boy..."

The sword clanged against the staff of the Grand Inquisitor, and held.

Harry seemed to have to struggle to keep it up. The force of the Dark Magic... for that was what the scythe was, not an actual weapon... was apparently strong, and the staff was treacherous, for it kept wanting to slip from Harry’s hand.

Never had Hermione felt more helpless than she did now.

Then there was a voice from the shadows.

"Secaro."

Vladimir’s spell hit Harry’s left wrist, severing it at the hand.

Hermione screamed.

It was fortunate that Harry had Seeker reflexes. He used the other hand to grasp the staff, and pressed the stump into his trousers, hard, as the severed one continued to cling.

Vladimir, somehow free of the ropes, was preparing to cast another spell. Hermione saw this, and cried out Harry’s name.

Now, Harry was busily trying to keep the demon scythe from splitting the staff in two. He was also bleeding profusely and in excruciating pain. But he was able to summon enough concentration to murmur "Leviosa Argus Terminatus"...

His wand extracted itself from its holster at its belt and cast a spell of blindness upon both Vladimir and Sebastian.

As a result, Vladimir’s second Secaro spell hit the demon, not Harry.

The demon exploded into a fantastic fireball.

Harry should have been burned to death on the spot. But the second Harry had cast that spell, out of the opposite corner from where Hermione stood ran Diana Oliveira.

Run was not the word Hermione wanted to use. She’d only seen cheetahs run that fast... and it was likely Diana was moving faster.

She also shouldn’t have been able to snatch Harry, wand, and hand the way she did, half-running, half-carrying him. Harry was half again her weight.

The thing was impossible.

Diana brought a weary, bleeding Harry straight over to Hermione.

"Stop the bleeding."

She didn’t have to tell Hermione twice. Hermione covered Harry’s wrist, which was pumping out blood furiously, with her palm. She probed, sealed the hundreds of severed arteries, capillaries, and veins, commanded them to shut.

Meanwhile, Diana had cast a quick spell to encase Harry’s hand with ice.

"I’ll get you both to the Portkey. Save his hand, you can do it."

Hermione nodded. "But Diana, how did you..."

"No time for that. And my name is not Diana, honey." She laughed to her, then looked up. "We’ve got to get out of here, this place is going to blow."

"He can’t run!"

"But we can, can’t we? We’ll just have to carry him... let’s go!"

Diana Levitated the block of ice to lead them, and then she and Hermione ran out of the laboratory just moments before it exploded.

The fire sped in all directions. It was so close behind them that Hermione could feel the hairs on the back of her neck singe. Yet she was running fast, running as if the girl who claimed not to be Diana was the Red Queen and she was Alice yet again, through the looking glass, in a world full of horror and wonder.

When they finally stopped, there was a huge blast behind them. Hermione, turning for a minute much as Lot’s wife did, looked at the hollow clearing in the rainforest.

The prison where she and Eva had been held was no more.

She turned back, and Diana was gone. She was alone with Harry, moaning and cupping his wrist with his good hand, the block of ice next to him.

There were footsteps then, and screams, and then their friends were with them once again.

Ron got to them first, of course. In his eyes was a look of self-anger... I wasn’t there this time. So it was he who asked the question that was foremost on all their minds:

"What happened?"

************

It was decided to wait until morning light to begin the journey to Manaus. This was an absolute necessity, as the intervention team was exhausted and Hermione needed to see to Harry’s hand. So the liberated men and women were sent to Sirius via Portkey, with Ginny accompanying them to explain things.

Meanwhile, Zach, Juliana, Riki, and Eva broke camp as the rest made Harry as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Ron would cast the spells Hermione needed, and Lena would use her healing magic and potions made from the rainforest herbs.

Together, perhaps they could save Harry’s hand.

"Lucky we’ve got supplies," Ron said, trying to put the best face on things.

"We’ll need more than that," Hermione replied. "Much more."

There were only two tents this time, longer and wider than the ones they’d purchased in Brasilia and with cots. They decided to use one for the men and Riki, the other for the women. They also planned to take the shortest route back to Manaus, Apparating in leaps and bounds.

Walking was for Muggles.

But Hermione didn’t care about sleeping. She didn’t even care how they were to get back.

All she cared about was Harry.

It was perhaps the craziest thing she’d ever been charged to do. Save his hand, you can do it. Doctor, hyperempath, mediwitch... even she couldn’t heal everything.

Yet she began, asking Ron to charm away the ice from the base of the cut, pressing the hand back to the wrist, then asking Ron and Lena to perform a few Binding Spells as she performed the nonsurgical operation.

He was asleep. Hermione had asked Ron to put him to sleep almost as soon as they were found. She was hoping he’d remain unconscious through the ordeal at least.

She still didn’t see how she’d be able to do this.

Everyone kept vigil around the cot as long as they could. In the end, though, only Ron and Lena stayed awake with Hermione as the others passed out onto their own beds with exhaustion. Ron cast the spells Hermione asked him to, Lena would slip out from time to time and come back with the odd jungle plant to use in a salve, and Hermione...

Well, she just held wrist to hand and began to probe.

It wasn’t just blood vessels. The spell had severed muscle, tissue, and bone. It was exhausting work to heal it... and the most frustrating thing was that everything kept wanting to come undone.

Why wouldn’t he heal?

Just before daylight, Hermione sighed.

"What else can be done?" she asked. "Magdalena, do you know?"

Lena shrugged. "Querida, I know you do not want to hear this, but there are magical hands that he can have instead..."

Hermione thought of Peter Pettigrew. "No!"

"Right, Hermione, don’t think of Wormtail. Remember that Muggle movie you liked so much when we were kids? Star Wars? A mechanized hand can’t be all bad, can it?"

"This is not Star Wars, Ron," Hermione snapped. "If it was, Voldemort would be his father, Harry and I would be twins, and we’d still be married, damn it!"

"All the same, ‘Mione, it’s not the end of the world," Ron said soothingly. "Better his hand than his head. Neither of you had to come out of this alive... but you did."

Ron was right.

"Let’s get some rest," Ron said. "Let him be for a while."

"I will leave the salve to boil until morning, yes?" Lena offered.

Hermione nodded. "That’ll be fine. I’ll be there in a minute, Magdalena..."

Once Lena had left, Ron came over to Hermione and patted her shoulder.

"You’ve done a splendid job. I know that whatever you did back there, Harry’s proud of you. You’re an amazing woman, ‘Mione... and an amazing witch."

Hermione glanced up at Ron.

"Ron? I haven’t said this in years, but..."

He leaned down to kiss her ear.

"I know. Now, go get some sleep... you’re not good to anyone exhausted and sick like you’ve been these past few weeks, least of all him."

"Okay."

Hermione waited until she heard Ron’s breathing on the next cot. Then, still holding Harry’s wrist to the block of ice with both hands, her own fingers and palms numb with cold, Hermione stretched herself out next to Harry, curled up, and fell asleep.

************

Harry was extremely groggy the next morning, in a way that only chemicals or spells can cause. It was well past dawn, but everyone else was still asleep...

He sat up.

Why had no one thought to set up a watch?

Then he exhaled. Calm down, Potter, you’re overreacting as usual.

Perhaps the violence of his awakening was due to the fact that Hermione was not with him. A glance around the tent showed the new sleeping arrangements—next to him was Ron, and across slept Riki and Zach—but still, he was so used to waking with her beside him now...

Then he glanced at the indentation on the pillow beside him, and inhaled.

Oh, she was here. Just slipped away before everyone else awoke.

He smiled. For his dreams had not been of the horrors inside the Cabalistica facility, but of her.

They’d made it out of there. Alive and together...

A small frisson of joy shot up his spine, similar to the thrills that he’d got in his childhood after a particularly great Quidditch match.

He sat up, and a block of ice fell to the floor.

An empty block of ice.

He stretched out both hands and saw.

Everything came back to him.

"Oh, my God... Hermione!"

Three heads shot up, shaking off sleep.

But Harry was out of the tent, running over to where the women were just getting out of bed.

"Where’s Hermione?" he asked, flipping up the flap. Everyone slept fully dressed on the trail. No need to worry about misplaced modesty.

"Not here," said Lena. "I woke up first... and see, her cot hasn’t been slept in..."

"Must be out taking care of nature," Juliana said.

But Eva’s eyes were wide.

"Harry, sua mão!"

"I know. Isn’t it the most amazing thing?"

Eva nodded. "Yes, it is."

Then the tears began to slip down her cheeks.

Harry hugged her. "Eva, you know we’re going to get your son back. We’re going to find out what they did to all of those children. Don’t worry, okay?"

Through her tears, she nodded.

Once he was certain that Eva wouldn’t crumble, Harry transferred her over to Juliana and Lena.

"I’ve got to find Hermione."

But a quick survey of the surrounding rainforest revealed nothing at all. Not even a trace of a broken track was there. All was quiet and undisturbed.

Harry began to worry.

Then the others joined in the search effort.

No trace of her.

By noon, they had to face the inevitable.

Hermione was missing.

Home