Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Moments in Love	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 175861 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 14
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All rights belong to Rowling. Nor do I make any money from the story.

Chapter List
- 58
- 59
- 60
On the Run

The Potters and their friends stirred at the sound of loud noises outside, waking up well after noon following their late night at the Ministry. The dismal grey light entering the Parlour suggested the possibility of rain again. Hermione peered out of one of the Parlour’s windows; she heard and felt the heavy thumping which indicated the presence of a sound system and an illegal street party nearby. But nothing could be seen.
“What’s going on?” asked Daphne, trying to look out of the window too.
“I think it’s a Take Back the Streets protest,” Hermione replied. “There was one in this part of London earlier in the summer...”
“But it’s cold and drizzly,” said Parvati, looking puzzled. “It’s almost winter.”
“When people think something’s important enough to protest, a little bit of rain won’t stop them,” said Luna. “If it weren’t so dangerous to protest against the Ministry now that they’ve ended the ban on Unforgivable Curses and want to arrest Harry and Hermione, I expect we’d all be out there too.”
Hermione nodded in agreement, her chest tightening. After some time had passed, just as they were finishing up a late breakfast, the sound of wailing sirens could be heard. His curiosity finally getting the better of him, Harry turned on the television to see if there was any news coverage of whatever was happening the next block over.
Sure enough, BBC news was at the scene which appeared to be erupting into chaos as police in heavy riot gear surged into the crowd swinging their truncheons. Harry’s jaw clenched when he also saw what looked like armed police units taking up strategic positions, including snipers on rooftops.
“...and the protests which began in the Borough of Islington are escalating rapidly and spreading into business districts as police respond with force,” a news announcer was saying. “What initially began as a relatively peaceful action by Take Back the Streets of the sort seen in July, was joined by groups protesting the current policies of the Prime Minister and his party.
“The recent austerity measures and cutbacks imposed by both government institutions and private corporations has brought together a diverse crowd of ecological activists, ravers, students protesting budget cuts, and union and health-care workers.
“Government officials including the Prime Minister and the Metropolitan Police are claiming that Black Bloc Anarchists and a faction of the IRA are behind the protests, despite the lack of supporting evidence. Protesters point out that there was no violence until the police arrived.
“The use of special tactical police units to suppress the protesters is being called into question by both Labour and Liberal members of parliament, and even a few conservative MP’s are expressing some reservations. But officials claim the units are necessary to prevent terrorist actions...”
“Bloody ‘ell!” Dora gasped when police began firing tear gas canisters. “It looks like a bloody war-zone out there.”
“I wonder...” Harry muttered, scowling.
“What? ... What are you thinking Harry?” Hermione peered at her husband, wondering if the same thoughts were running through his mind.
“I wonder if somehow this is all connected, Hermione,” Harry responded. “The timing just seems a bit odd, don’t you think? I mean, if the PM and the Minister of Magic are colluding...”
“...maybe they’re both taking the opportunity to crack down at the same time,” Hermione continued. “There’s no way to be certain, but you’re right - it does seem to be a bit too convenient to be entirely coincidental...”

~o0o~
The drizzle had turned into a downpour and Clara Dawson was drenched. Panicked, she pushed her way through a crowd of protesters, doing her best to avoid direct confrontation with the police while looking for her sister and Warren.
Clara, Gemma, and Warren had been among those who had showed up earlier for the Take Back the Streets party. The atmosphere had been festive with the dance music playing from the sound system on the back of a truck covered with a tarp, despite the miserable drizzly weather.
Even when the protesters from other groups had started arriving, the mood had still been one of exuberance, an exhilarating feeling of shared experience - of solidarity in the face of those who would deprive society of that which made life worth living. Then the police had arrived.
At first, despite the anxiety that began to sweep through the gathered, it seemed as if the police were just there to keep the peace and make sure that things didn’t get out of hand. Then, out of nowhere - later some would say that they had seen them emerging from police vans marked with the insignia of the special tactics units - a small group of perhaps fifteen or twenty masked individuals dressed all in black hurled a few bricks through windows.
The “response” of the police had been swift; but instead of going after the masked men in black - who were left to run around unchecked and throw a few molotov cocktails and more bricks - the police in riot gear stormed the crowd of protesters and started whacking at them with their truncheons.
Bloodied people fell in the streets. Several burly union workers set upon a police officer beating on a teenage girl. All hell broke loose as the rain began coming down in buckets and tear gas canisters were fired into the throng.
Gemma had somehow been separated from her sister and swept away by the scattering crowd when the tear gas canisters began to rain down on them. For a split second, Clara was certain that she saw her younger sister being roughly shoved into the back of a police van. Terrified and angry, Clara pelted across the street, splashing through puddles, dodging bottles and batons, trying desperately to reach her sister. But she didn’t get far; a strong hand grabbed her arm. She whirled around, balling her fists.
“It’s me...” gasped Warren as he dragged his friend towards the pavement on the other side of the street. “Come on... We gotta get out of here Clara!”
“Not without Gemma!” shouted Clara, rivulets of rainwater dripping from her soggy hair.
“It’s too late!” said Warren. “The coppers already nicked ‘er - I saw it. She’ll be alright... we’ll bail her out tomorrow. But it won’t do ‘er any good if we get nicked too!”
Clara was torn. The only thing that mattered was saving Gemma, but Clara had to admit that Warren was making sense. Clara glanced back at the police van one last time before allowing Warren to lead her into an alley away from the mayhem...

~o0o~
Hermione returned to the Parlour after cleaning her teeth, thinking that she and Harry could both use a shower and a change into clean clothes. But she only spotted Luna and Daphne still watching the television, as the others had apparently all been thinking the same thing.
“Do either of you know where Harry is?” asked Hermione, wondering if he had just thrown himself back into training in the basement.
“I think he’s in the library,” said Daphne.
“That’s right,” Luna replied, nodding. “And Dora and Fleur are looking in on Mr Weasley.”
Hermione made her way to Number Twelve’s library, where she found him poring over documents.
“Oh, Hi Hermione...” Harry looked up from the table and smiled when he heard her enter the room, but Hermione could sense Harry’s somber mood.
“Hi Harry...” Hermione murmured, returning Harry’s smile with a sad one of her own. “Are those from the Ministry?” she asked.
“Yeah...” Harry replied, “I spotted these pamphlets and files on a desk in the Department of Mysteries while you and Parvati and Dora were dealing with the guards. I used that Gemino spell that we found in the really advanced Charms book we brought from Hogwarts to replicate the documents, and I shoved them in my bag before we got Mr Weasley...”
“How bad is it then?”
“Not good Hermione!” Harry sighed, running his fingers through his messy black hair. “Not good at all... We’ll have to find some way to get these files to the Order. They should be useful to Dumbledore in building a case against the Minister. It looks like Minister Umbridge and the Operations Division of the Unspeakable Office has had a lot of what’s going on now in the works for a long time.
“They must have been planning this even long before Voldemort came back - since at least the beginning of our Second Year at Hogwarts if not earlier! Fudge can’t have known about it though. They’ve been building secret facilities all over Britain - unfortunately they’re unplottable, though there are at least general locations. There’s a big one in Wales for example.”
Hermione picked up one of the pamphlets from the table, and her eyes widened in shock.
“Yeah... that’s a publication they’re producing for general consumption,” Harry muttered darkly. “If that’s the stuff they’re actually telling the public, then you can bet that whatever they’re doing at the secret facilities is much worse... Look on page Nine!”
Hermione’s breath quickened and as she flicked through the pages of the pamphlet, Mudbloods, and the Dangers they Pose to a Peaceful Pureblood Society. She bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears when she found page Nine.
“Mudblood Relocation Programme?” Hermione squeaked; her voice quavered and she began to shake. “These are just like concentration camps. This is h...horrible... I c...c...can’t believe that she’d g...g...go this far!”
Harry could see that Hermione was starting to hyperventilate, something that she hadn’t done since the day she’d found out that she was going to be put on trial along with Harry for destroying the Dementors.
“Here,” said Harry, “swallow this...” He picked up one of the vials of calming draught which he had placed on the table, anticipating this eventuality, and tipped it into her mouth.
“I know...” Harry whispered as he held Hermione tightly and kissed her forehead as tears trickled down her pink cheeks. “...it’s like Nazi Europe and Grindelwald all over again - except in Britain this time. I had a bad feeling it was going this way...”
“What’s goin’ on in here?” asked Dora, who had just poked her head in the doorway of the library, holding a tea-tray. Hermione swallowed, feeling a bit calmer.
“We were just looking at some of the documents that Harry found in the Ministry,” she replied.
“You should probably put that tray down before you look at this stuff,” Harry warned. “There’s more calming draughts here if anyone needs one,” he added when he spied Fleur and Jennifer behind Dora.
Dora picked up the file marked Dick Turpentine after setting down the tea-tray carefully.
“Looks like you and Hermione were right,” she muttered. “They made this bloke up outta whole-cloth. They’ve just had some polyjuiced Unspeakables stealing wands, pretendin’ to be him and a gang of muggleborn...”
“We have to get this lot to Dumbledore somehow,” said Hermione, “but we can’t send it with Hedwig or via the floo, even if we knew where he was. It’s too risky.”
“I could take it and apparate and meet up with someone - Shacklebolt maybe,” Dora suggested.
“I was thinking the same thing,” said Harry. “But I spoke to Sirius and Remus a few minutes ago - they think we should all lay low for a bit until Mr Weasley’s well enough to travel. They said Dumbledore is in France at the moment, and that they’d work something out the moment he gets back...”
“Sirius and Professor Lupin are right about laying low, Harry...” Everyone turned to see Luna at the entrance of the Library, her face pale. “You’d better see what’s happening on the BBC,” she continued. “Quickly! It’s not good...”
Everyone made a mad dash for the Parlour where the BBC news announcer was continuing with the latest updates regarding the ongoing unrest in the streets of London. Hermione squeaked in distress, gripping Harry’s arm tightly when she saw the bright green eyes, the unkempt black hair, and the lightning shaped scar. The others all gasped in horror and Harry groaned, rubbing at his forehead.
“...continuing investigations into what and who sparked the ongoing riots in London appear to have been traced by government officials to a young man with alleged ties to the terrorist associated with the most intransigent elements of the IRA - Sirius Black - who is alleged to have been responsible for the Old Trafford Stadium attack.
“Harry James Potter - alleged to be the godson of Sirius Black - is wanted for questioning related to credible bomb threats placed during the riots - possibly instigated by Sirius Black himself - which has just now been confirmed by Scotland Yard officials.
“In denying the rumours that the police themselves are responsible for the Anarchist elements suspected of precipitating much of the violence, a Scotland Yard Spokesman suggested that Harry Potter is one of the key organisers who brought together several groups previously associated with Black Bloc activities, and who have apparently infiltrated groups known generally as advocating peaceful protest such as Take Back the Streets. All members of Take Back the Streets taking part in the riots are also currently being sought for questioning...”
“Fuck!” Harry exclaimed, sounding more resigned than anything. “I should’ve bloody known this was coming...”

~o0o~
Shivering from cold and fright, heart thumping as she ran, her sodden clothes clinging to her skin, for a brief moment Clara thought that she and Warren had escaped the police. Rounding a corner into another wet alleyway, Clara suddenly realised that she had lost Warren. Panicking, she spun around to see him in the clutches of two armed policemen in special operations gear.
“RUN!” Warren screamed at her. Clara hesitated for a moment. “GO... GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!”
Clara bit her lip, turned and ran for it. Amazingly, she managed to find her way through the maze of alleyways and emerge, gasping for air, onto a London street untouched by the riots. She swept aside the wet hair clinging to her cheeks and eyelashes from her face, looking around wildly, spying a red phone box nearby.
Not knowing what else to do, Clara darted into the phone box and slammed shut the door. For a few minutes she just leaned back against the glass door and sobbed. Finally beginning to calm down, Clara considered her options. She was too frightened to go home by herself, and there seemed little point in ringing her parents who lived in Chippenham.
Then she remembered the sweet old hippie she’d met in the London nightclub. He had said to give him a ring if she was ever in trouble. Clara wasn’t sure if he could really do anything to help, but there was something about him, something reassuring. She supposed that Mr Dumbledore might have some experience with this sort of thing, having passed through the protests of the 60’s and 70’s unscathed.
Hands shaking badly, Clara fumbled in her purse for the card he had given her and some change for the phone. Holding the telephone receiver to her ear with her shoulder, the card in one hand, she tried inserting the coins into the slot with the other. She cursed when several coins slipped from her fingers and clattered to the pavement.
Ignoring the coins on the ground, Clara reached into her purse again for more change. This time the coins successfully slid into the coin-slot.
“Please pick up...” she muttered to herself, “Please pick up...” Clara gasped with surprise and relief when there was a click and she heard the comforting voice on the other end.

~o0o~
Albus Dumbledore peered worriedly at the television in the Paris hotel room in which he and Elphias were staying, watching the London riots unfold and seeing Harry’s face on the screen. Albus felt torn; he knew that he needed to get back to England quickly, but he still had business to conduct in Europe - in the uppermost corner of Norway, somewhere to the northeast of Lille Havvannet lake.
Picking up his mirror to call Harry, Dumbledore wasn’t surprised at all that he could already hear someone muttering. But he was quite surprised when he saw the features of someone who didn’t look like Harry or his wife, or any of their friends. The viewing angle and the fact that the individual couldn’t see Dumbledore herself, suggested that the call was from a telephone - from a telephone box in London to be precise...

~o0o~
Hands trembling slightly with anxiety, Hermione peered into the mirror which she had picked up from a coffee table in the Parlour and called out Dumbledore’s name while everyone else was still glued to the television and wondering if it would have any more information regarding the false accusations against Harry.
Hermione frowned when Dumbledore didn’t respond right away, supposing that she couldn’t expect Dumbledore to be available at a moments notice. But she held onto the mirror and stared into it hopefully anyway. Hermione’s hope was rewarded when a few minutes later comforting blue eyes peered back at her.
“Professor Dumbledore,” she gasped, “Thank goodness! It’s really awful...”
“Yes! Quite!” Dumbledore replied. “I am watching the current events on French television at this very moment. Though it is imperative that you all remain out of sight for the time-being, I am afraid that there is another pressing matter that will require Harry and Nymphadora’s special talents...”
“Harry!” Hermione called out, “I’ve got Dumbledore...”
“Professor... Good to see you,” said Harry, relieved to see Dumbledore looking as well as could be under the circumstances. “I suppose you want us to all to hole up for a bit until we work out a plan.”
“Indeed,” said Dumbledore with a sigh, “That would be for the best. However, there is a matter of great urgency with which I need your assistance, as I will be engaged in Europe for another day or two...”
“Sure... Of course sir! Anything!”
“Very good! Thank you Harry! There is someone who very much needs looking after. I would like you to meet her in Trafalgar Square in half an hour and provide her accommodation until I can return and extract her along with Arthur Weasley when he has recuperated enough for travel. The young woman in question is non-magical, but for the moment the Statute of Secrecy is the least of our concerns...”

~o0o~
The umbrellas provided less protection from the elements than one could have hoped for, which was a shame as the wind had risen, driving the icy rain at an angle. It was only midafternoon, but one wouldn’t know it as the sun was well hidden behind the nearly black rain-clouds. Only the hardiest of pigeons and tourists remained in Trafalgar Square; the rest had all wisely taken shelter under eaves or in hotel rooms.
The two young women under the umbrellas looked around under Nelson’s column, spying a girl who didn’t look any older than them shivering under one of the bronze lions. She was the only one without an umbrella and looked like a drowned rat.
“That’s gotta be ‘er, don’t you think?” said Dora, who didn’t look at all like herself.
Harriet nodded. “Yeah... I think you’re right. Brown hair... blue coat...”
“Poor thing!” Dora muttered. “That coat must be soaked through.”
Taking a nervous glance around, Harriet tentatively approached the thoroughly drenched girl while Dora kept a sharp eye out for any potential threats. The girl looked just as anxious to see a stranger nearing her.
“Er... are you Clara?” asked Harriet; the girl hesitated as rivulets of water streamed from the bedraggled ends of her hair. “It’s okay, Dumbledore sent me,” Harriet reassured her, “I’m Harriet... Harriet Potter.”
“Oh thank God!” Clara heaved a huge sigh of relief before sneezing violently. “Y... yeah, I’m Clara.”
“Great!” said Harriet, peering at Clara sympathetically. “Let’s get out of here then. That’s Dora... she’s with me.”
After brief introductions, Dora hailed a passing taxicab. The cabbie seemed a bit reluctant to drive to Islington at first, but after a quick radio-call to his dispatcher he was reassured that the riots near that part of London were by and large over, dispelled by police and rain. Nevertheless, Clara slunk down in her seat when they passed through the streets of Islington.
The cabbie let them all out at Number Eleven Grimmauld Place, then drove away shaking his head at the oddity of the numbering. Harriet hesitated a moment before saying anything; Dumbledore had left the task of informing Clara about wizardry to her once they had reached Number Twelve, not wishing to alarm Clara by seeming completely mental over the phone.
“You gotta be the one to tell ‘er Harriet,” said Dora. Harriet nodded and took a deep breath.
“Er... I know this will seem a bit weird,” Harriet told Clara, “but we’re at Number Twelve...”
“Are you joking? There’s no Number Twel...” Clara’s expression altered from one of bewilderment to one of shock when the space between Number Eleven and Number Thirteen expanded, revealing a terraced house which hadn’t been there moments before.
“B...b...but how... what...?” she stammered.
“We’ll explain inside,” said Harriet. “I promise, it’ll all make sense...”
Unnerved, Clara followed Harriet and Dora into the strange house. Dora took her wet coat and hung it on the rack. Clara swallowed anxiously when she was led downstairs to a kitchen, but her trepidation lessened considerably seeing another girl, younger, with a mass of unruly tawny brown curls.
“Oh... you poor thing,” said the bushy haired girl. “You’re soaked to the bone. Come upstairs with me and we’ll find you some clean dry clothes. I’ve got some which will fit you. I know you’re closer to Dora’s age, but you’re about the same size as me. Dora and Harriet will make some hot cocoa while we find you some things. By the way, I’m Hermione... Hermione Potter.”
Clara tried to follow everything the younger girl was saying as all of her words tumbled out in a rush. But Clara definitely made out the last bit.
“Oh,” Clara responded, “Are you Harriet’s sister then?”
“No!” Hermione Potter giggled, shaking her head. “I’m Harriet’s wife...”
Clara gasped and peered back and forth between Harriet and Hermione. Harriet’s face reddened.
“Erm...” said Clara, not sure what seemed odder: two girls being married... not that Clara had any qualms about two girls being together - she’d messed around experimentally a bit with a friend herself - but as far as she knew, same-sex marriage was illegal in Britain... or the fact that one of them seemed a bit too young to be married.
“I’ll explain in a minute,” said Hermione. “You’ll catch your death of cold if you stay in those wet clothes any longer... if you haven’t already caught cold,” Hermione added when Clara sneezed.
Clara had a good look around as Hermione led her up several flights of stairs, thinking that everything looked rather posh, considering that it looked like an ordinary terraced house from the outside. It also appeared much bigger on the inside than ought to be possible.
As she toweled off in Hermione’s (the Potters’?) bathroom, while Hermione rummaged in the bedroom cupboards and drawers for clothes, Clara listened to Hermione’s explanations with one ear. Clara wasn’t quite sure what to believe about magic, despite having seen a house appear out of nowhere, but even the one thing which was at least in the realm of possibility still struck her as very odd.
“Wait, you mean Harriet’s actually your age and a guy?” Clara asked, her head spinning as she tried to wrap her mind around things when Hermione passed her some clothes through the cracked open door. “I mean... he’s much prettier than most blokes in drag...”
“Harriet’s actually almost a year younger than me,” Hermione responded, “and at the moment Harriet really is a girl in all ways you can think of - and she aged herself up a bit to meet you...”
Sure enough, when Clara entered the Parlour she was stunned to see a boy with messy black hair who looked similar to the girl she had just met, sitting on a settee next to a roaring fire. At that moment Clara was convinced that everything Hermione Potter had said was true. Harry Potter’s impossibly green eyes were exactly the same as Harriet’s, too pretty to be a boy’s eyes really.
“We’ll introduce you to the others in a bit,” said Hermione as Clara settled into a comfy armchair as close to the fire as possible. “I just thought it might be a bit overwhelming for you to meet us all at once...”

~o0o~
Arthur Weasley blinked and the smiling faces came into focus. For the first time in he didn’t know how long, Arthur felt lucid and it no longer hurt to move. As he shifted, he realised that he was in a comfortable clean bed. He really hoped this wasn’t a dream.
“Mrs Potter, Harry, Tonks - is it really you? Is this real? You really did get me out then?”
“Yeah Arthur,” said Dora with a grin, fluorescing her hair violet so that he would know it was really her. “You’re really outta that hellhole!”
“It’s really us Mr Weasley!” Hermione smiled sadly at him and squeezed his hand comfortingly.
“Hi Mr Weasley... How are you feeling?” asked Harry, looking concerned.
“Much better... Thank You!” Arthur replied, still feeling a bit confused. “But... but I can’t imagine how on earth you managed to break into the Ministry - the Department of Mysteries especially - and set me free... Where are we?”
“You’re in Number Twelve Mr Weasley,” said Harry, his features broadening into a smile as Arthur sat up properly in bed without wincing. “In any case, we had a little ‘inside help’ from Phineas Nigellus...”
Arthur still felt a bit puzzled, but something important forced its way into his mind.
“H...how long have I been here?” he asked, suddenly becoming alarmed.
“Three days - you’ve been either asleep or delirious for three days Mr Weasley,” Hermione responded. She gave Arthur’s hand another squeeze. “We’ve been really worried about you.”
“Three days?” Arthur gasped, crestfallen. “You’ve got to get out of here! I can’t believe they haven’t stormed the place yet - they put an Experimental Tracking Spell on me - supposed to be detectable through Fidelius and Unplottable Charms...”
“It can’t be workin’ properly then.” Dora frowned worriedly and glanced at Harry and Hermione. “I mean, we’re still ‘ere and nothing’s happened.”
“But... but they could still be working on it...” Arthur groaned.
Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead, peering anxiously at Hermione. “Bloody hell! I was just getting used to the idea of holing up here for a bit! I dunno... what do you think Hermione? Is it worth the risk, us staying?”
“I... I really don’t know Harry - not for certain. We might be alright... but if they’re still working on the other end of it - who knows? It might be best for us to leave...”
“But where would we go...?” moaned Dora.
“We... we could go to my place for a bit,” said a small voice from the doorway. Everyone turned to look at Jennifer.
“It’s in Dorset - in the countryside near Corfe Castle...” Jennifer continued, looking disturbed. “I’m pretty sure the Ministry doesn’t know about it, because I remember Dumbledore talking about keeping everything th...that... that happened there a secret.”
Everyone was quiet and Hermione’s brows furrowed as she tried to gauge Jennifer’s emotional state. “Are you sure Jennifer?” she gently asked. “You did go through rather a lot there.”
“I... I think I can manage!” Jennifer responded. “And I... I think I need to go there anyway... to really face up to things - to Mum and Dad being gone. And... and there’s loads of room for all of us - it...it’s really nice.” Jennifer peered at Harry almost pleadingly.
Harry felt a surge of emotion as he looked into Jennifer’s pooling eyes, and even though he no longer really believed in the House system at Hogwarts, he knew that if Jennifer had been sorted, she would have been in Gryffindor.
He swallowed and blinked back tears, knowing that one day he needed what she needed - closure. With the world in turmoil, Harry had been putting it off - he really hadn’t had a good opportunity. But he had known that one day, he needed to go to Godric’s Hollow... to go home and put the ghosts of his own past to rest. Hermione took Harry’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.
“Yeah... alright Jennifer!” Harry agreed with a nod, his voice hoarse. “We’ll do that then. We should get packing - we’ll go as soon as we’re ready.” Harry glanced back at Arthur who looked very relieved. “I suppose we’ll head out when you’re ready to meet Dumbledore, Mr Weasley...”
Arthur Weasley readied himself to go and was surprised to find a muggle girl among the Potters’ friends when they had all gathered in the foyer of Number Twelve.
“This is Clara Dawson,” said Tonks, by way of introduction when she passed him the bag containing all the intelligence that Harry had collected from the Ministry. “Shacklebolt’s gonna be with Dumbledore when you meet up. He’ll get ‘er to another safe-house... In fact, I got Dumbledore on the mirror for you to explain things... You can keep it - it’s a spare.”
“What? Oh... er... yes of course,” Arthur took the mirror from Tonks and peered at Dumbledore’s grave features. “I must say, you’re a welcome sight for sore eyes Albus.”
“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “And I am quite pleased to see you looking well Arthur, no worse the wear given your ordeal in the hands of the Minister. Now, to business. I take it you recall the safe-house in Waltham Cross?”
Arthur nodded.
“Very good,” Dumbledore continued. “I would like you to bring along Miss Dawson by side-along apparition. As Tonks has said, Kingsley will collect her straight away. Once they have safely gone, I shall deal with the Tracking Spell before you and I depart from the Waltham Cross safe-house. Is everything clear?”
“Quite clear, Albus,” said Arthur, nodding again. “I’ll see you momentarily then.”
Dumbledore’s features faded from the mirror and Mr Weasley turned towards the Potters and their friends. “Again... I can’t thank you all enough for the rescue and looking after me. Now, with a bit of luck, we’ll all make it to safety. Bye for now then...”
“And thanks loads from me too,” said Clara, giving the Potters and Dora a quick hug goodbye.
“I hope Dumbledore can help you find your sister and your friend,” said Harry.
“Good luck!” Hermione added.
Harry and Hermione watched Mr Weasley step out through the front door onto the concrete top step with Clara and vanish before following suit with their friends.

~o0o~
The wispy pink clouds caught the rays of the setting sun as the sky turned purple above the copses of beeches, willows, and evergreens encircling the overgrown lawns and gardens of the Elizabethan manor house at the top of the hill.
Glad that it wasn’t raining as it had been much of the week, everyone stood in awe of their new surroundings as the cold evening breeze brought with it the smell of the sea. Stretched out around them was a patchwork vista of rolling meadows, farms, and woodland, and the steeples of village churches in the distance.
“Wow... this is amazing Jennifer!” Dora’s jaw dropped at the sight. “I ‘ad no idea you were this well off.”
“You have a lovely home Jennifer!” Luna said quietly, her wide eyes drinking in the beauty of the estate.
“It’s gorgeous!” squeaked Parvati.
“Très magnifique!” Fleur gasped.
“What a beautiful view!” said Daphne breathlessly. “I can see the ruins of a castle in the distance one direction and the sea in the other...”
Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry, sighing happily as they peered at the familiar sight of the ruined castle, both remembering the day they had spent there two summers ago.
“The ruins... That’s Corfe Castle,” Jennifer replied, blushing, feeling a bit embarrassed by the opulence and grandeur of the estate. “The house is probably a mess inside though... after...” she trailed off, her eyes stinging.
“We’ll make it feel nice again Jennifer... I promise!” Daphne embraced Jennifer tightly, growing a bit teary herself. “We’ll make some new happy memories for you here!”

~o0o~
“Ma’am, I’ve got a ping...”
“What?”
“Arthur Weasley - I’ve got a ping. It’s not precise, but somewhere in the Borough of Islington. He must have stepped outside of the wards to apparate.”
“Can you narrow it down before he disapparates again?” The Unspeakable Operations Division Shift Supervisor began to get excited. This could be the break they were looking for.
“Working on recalibration now Ma’am... I don’t think I can get an accurate current location. But I think I can get enough of a lock on him so that we can pinpoint his reapparition more easily. There... Gah! He’s gone...”
“Damn!” swore the Supervisor, “keep a close watch on the map. Maybe we’ll get lucky...”
“He’s back Ma’am... There ‘e is! Blimey! Much better... I’ve got a general street location - just outside of London in Waltham Cross. He’s just gone inside an Unplottable though Ma’am, maybe a Fidelius as well - I still can’t quite penetrate those... maybe...”
The Unspeakable Tech fiddled with the equipment and sighed. “If he steps outside to apparate again, I’ll ‘ave another chance to recalibrate... the next place, I think we’ve got him for sure!”
“Excellent... good work! Keep an eye on him. Keep working on those Charms - I’ll send a team to canvas High Street... maybe we’ll get lucky before he moves.” The Supervisor barely dared to hope as she darted into the Operations Centre to quickly mobilise a squad.

~o0o~
So far everything was going smoothly. Kingsley Shacklebolt had apparated to safety with Clara Dawson, and now Dumbledore was inspecting the Experimental Tracking Spell which had been placed on Arthur Weasley during his period of incarceration.
“Hmmm... let me see...” Dumbledore peered at Arthur Weasley and held a palm up towards him, reaching out to feel the magic with his senses for several minutes, then he flicked his wand.
“Ah yes... Yes!” Dumbledore waved his wand several more times; an emerald and gold spell matrix centred on Arthur Weasley became visible. “I see it. Stay very still Arthur, this will be a bit tricky as I do not wish to simply remove the spell - I want to send a feedback signal...”
Arthur held his breath as Dumbledore traced a complex web of scarlet, silver, and amethyst around him with his wand. The scarlet, amethyst, and silver filaments of light entwined with the green and the gold, flaring brightly, then vanished. Arthur let his breath out and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Is it gone?”
“Yes...” Dumbledore nodded as he passed Arthur a new wand, “but we should move quickly! This location is no doubt compromised... Though with any luck, they shan’t be attempting to use that spell on anyone again anytime soon.”
Dumbledore and Arthur cautiously stepped outside of the brick flats to apparate, peering up and down High Street. A hissing red bolt of magic barely missed them as they ducked, twisting the iron railing at the side of the doorsteps into molten metal with a burst of sparks and smoke, and they heard shouting. With a stunning spell, Arthur dropped the Unspeakable who was calling to the others further down the road, then he and Dumbledore both disapparated before anyone else drew near.

~o0o~
“AAAARGH! Bloody Fucking Hell!” screamed the Unspeakable Tech who was monitoring the map and the now smouldering, sparking tracking apparatus. “I was so close...” he moaned with his head in his hands. “I almost broke through the wards...” he sobbed.
The blood drained from the Unspeakable Supervisor’s face as she examined the wreckage of the equipment. Months of work on the Experimental Tracking Spell had just gone up in smoke, and the Chief wouldn't be pleased... not pleased at all.

~o0o~
“We should probably set up some protective enchantments around the estate before it gets too dark,” Dora murmured.
“Good idea,” said Hermione as she summoned a seventh year Charms book, the advanced Charms book, and a highly specialised book of Protection Charms from her bag. “But I’m not sure which ones would be best...”
“Maybe just a few basics,” Harry responded. “It depends - if we use an Unplottable and a Fidelius, Jennifer’s friends and the post won’t be able to find the place anymore. Jennifer, what do you think about that?”
“Oh... er... I can just set up a postbox at the post-office in the village nearby if necessary,” Jennifer replied, then she reddened and looked slightly tearful. “And I... erm... I haven’t really had many close chums since I was little...”
“After Dad got promoted to regional manager of the bank he worked for, he made some clever investments and got super-rich - then we moved here when I was about eight. I do... I did have a few friends from school nearby... but we... er... weren’t very close except for one or two. I... I didn’t really fit in. It... it’s probably best just to put whatever Charms up you think will keep us safe.”
“Well... er... if you’re sure!?” Detecting more than a hint of ambivalence, Harry’s brows furrowed slightly and he looked at Hermione.
Jennifer bit her lip uncertainly, glancing at Daphne and Luna and the others. Hermione could sense Jennifer’s inner-turmoil, her reluctance to confront what must have been a bit of a sore point, warring with her need to tell someone about it.
“Harry and I just don’t want you to feel cut-off from everyone you ever knew before, now that you’re home,” said Hermione gently.
“It... it’s just... you’re the best friends I’ve had in years! Really...” Jennifer finally said, a tear trickling down one cheek. “After primary school, Daddy tried to send me off to a Public School* at first - but I hated it. Everyone was snobby, and looked down on me because I didn’t come from old money or a peerage - they tormented me horribly for a whole year. So he and Mum let me go to the nearest high-school the following year.
“I liked it better at the high-school, because the kids there are more like what I was used to growing up when I was little. And most of them were nice enough I suppose, but... but I could tell that most of the kids I hung out with just thought of me as The Rich Girl.
“They’d hang out with me a bit, but it was mostly superficial when they did... and they’d often snub me for being a ‘Toff’... even though it was the last thing I’d ever wanted to be. And... and the one girl I really liked - we... erm... had a bit of a falling out. That happened not long ago... just before... you know...”
Jennifer sniffled and wiped away a few tears, but now that she’d started talking she couldn’t stop.
“I... I didn’t even quite realise how shallow most of my friendships were until I met you lot! Or at least I tried to pretend not to. You were all so nice to me, accepting me without question... ever since I met Luna... ” Jennifer paused and smiled tearily at Harry and Hermione, then at everyone else before concluding. “I felt like I really made a connection with you lot... like I’d finally met people I belonged with!”
The stars shone brightly between the gaps in the clouds which were gathering again, and the moon had risen over the witches and the wizard by the time they had completed warding Jennifer’s estate with every Protection Charm they could think of. The Fidelius had taken the longest to figure out, as not even Dora had learned how to do that one yet.
“We should be able to work out how to key the Charms to make exceptions for non-magical people that we like and trust,” said Hermione, “But this should do for now.”
“Thanks loads guys!” said Jennifer. “Well, here goes... I suppose we should take a look inside.” Feeling a bit anxious, Jennifer lit her wand and unlocked the heavy oak front door with her key. “So... er... I forgot, there probably won’t be any electricity because nobody’s been paying it for months, and it mightn’t work with all the Magic Charms up anyway. But you can fix that right?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Harry responded as he lit his own wand and entered the foyer. “Hermione and I found the spell in a book at Number Twelve to make things run on magic and she’s already learned it...”
“We can probably just charm the junction box,” Hermione interjected. “It should go through all the circuits and make everything work...”
“Oh!” Jennifer swallowed and her stomach clenched when she realised where they’d have to go. “It’s... it’s in the basement...”
“We can probably find it ourselves Jennifer,” said Hermione, looking at Jennifer with concern. “You don’t have to...”
“No... I’ll be alright!” Jennifer replied, steeling herself. “I should get this over with now!”
Daphne put an arm around Jennifer as they made their way to the basement door, which was still ajar. Heart pounding loudly, her breath quickening, Jennifer pushed it open and led the others down the steps. The glow of eight lit wands pierced the darkness of the cavernous subterranean room.
“Th... that’s wh...where he usually kept me ch...chained me up...” stammered Jennifer, pointing at the iron leg shackles attached to one of the stone pillars. “Ratface...”
Daphne squeaked and horrified gasps could be heard all around. Dora and Harry felt their stomachs churning in quiet rage. They all knew what Wormtail had done to Jennifer, but seeing where it had happened for themselves for the first time and imagining being in Jennifer’s place was still a bit of a nasty shock.
Jennifer stared at the shackles as her trepidation melted away. She had been dreadfully afraid that seeing them again would trigger a nightmarish relapse into terror, shame, and crawling revulsion. But all Jennifer was left with was some residual anger; everything else had evaporated in the Room of Requirement the day that her recessive magical genes had been activated. Ratface was dead and gone, never to harm anyone again.
“Right then...” Jennifer said almost brightly, kicking the shackles out of her way, “The main junction box is over this way.”
When Hermione had finished charming the junction box everyone returned up the stairs from the basement where they found that much of the house was ablaze with the lights which had apparently been left on by the police at the conclusion of their fruitless investigation. Jennifer had been right, much of the house had been left in quite a mess when Voldemort and the forces which had been meeting there had departed to take Azkaban.
“I’m famished now! It’s a good thing we brought sandwiches,” said Jennifer as they walked down the corridor and approached the kitchen, “because everything is probably rotten...”
She gasped in shock as she pushed the door open to the kitchen, coming to a dead halt, bringing up the rest short as they all bumped into her. Everyone tried to peer over Jennifer’s shoulders to see what was wrong. Harry burst out laughing.
“Dobby... when did you get here?” he chortled at the cheerful bustling House-Elf.
“Dobby gets here hours ago Master Harry... when Master and Mistresses leave London. Dobby is bringing Mr and Mrs Potter's owl and cat. They is being much nicer to Dobby this time. Dobby makes kitchen work, but Dobby is sorry he has not had time to clean most of the house yet...”
Jennifer giggled and shook her head as she and the others filed into the bright spotless kitchen, wondering how they could have all missed the delicious smells of the feast that Dobby had prepared for them.
“Where did all the food come from Dobby?” Hermione asked in curiosity.
“House-Elves is being very good at kitchen magic Mistress Hermione,” Dobby replied gleefully, “Where there is little fresh food, we is making into much, and is changing into what Masters and Mistresses like best. Dobby is finding many tins of food in cupboards...”
“Oh... of course!” Hermione mentally kicked herself. “That makes sense.”
“I’d forgotten about tins of food,” murmured Jennifer. “Of course most of those would still be good.”
“So you’ve been in here cooking and cleaning the kitchen the whole time we’ve been outside setting up Protection Charms then... and we didn’t even know it?” Harry said in amazement; he had told Dobby and Hedwig where they were going and to follow along, but he hadn’t really expected this.
“Oh, no...” the cheerful House-Elf beamed, “Dobby is also cleaning all the bathrooms, one of the parlours, and four of the bedrooms besides the main kitchen and making dinner. But Dobby is not having enough time to clean all the rest of the house...”
Jennifer gaped in awe. “I should think not,” she squeaked. “There’s eighteen bedrooms plus servant’s quarters, seven bathrooms, a library, two studies, two dining rooms, the main kitchen and the servant’s kitchen, three parlours, a sunroom, a ballroom, and a recreation room with a swimming pool. And that’s not including the basements, the coal cellar, the attic, the garage, and the three bedroom farm-cottage near the stables... and the barn.”
“It’s no wonder Voldemort picked this estate,” squeaked Daphne, half in amazement, half sorrowfully. “It’s bigger than my family’s. Though... we do also have a Chalet in Switzerland.”
“I think it’s almost as big as Madam Black’s estate!” Dora interjected.
“Even my family’s, our home ees grand, but not so large,” Fleur added.
“Stables? Did you have horses then?” asked Parvati, sounding hopeful.
“And a farm too?” chimed in Luna.
“No,” Jennifer shook her head. “The main farm has a much bigger farmhouse and had already been sold decades ago before Dad bought this place. That’s at the bottom of the hill behind us. The cottage on the estate was for the stable and grounds-keepers. We didn’t have horses though. But there’s a beautiful pond in the gardens, and I think there’s over a 115 acres on this hill, about half of it woods.
“Honestly...” she continued, “this has always seemed too much to me. We were just average when I was little. I don’t really know what possessed my father once he’d made a fortune... It was a bit lonely with only the three of us and a butler and a maid in this massive house. I think I would have been happier in a nice little cottage with just Dad and Mum and having my old friends around to play.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Harry said, nodding as he sat down at the kitchen table next to Hermione and took her hand. “I still feel really weird about my godfather just giving me Number Twelve and one of his family’s vaults at Gringotts stuffed to the ceiling with all kinds of gold and treasures.
“I suppose I could buy a huge posh place in the country too without making much of a dent in the vault, but I don’t really see much purpose to that. I’d rather just share what I have with people I care about!” Harry added earnestly, grinning at Hermione and all of their friends. “Number Twelve is much nicer when it’s full of family... and you’re all like family to me as far as I’m concerned.”
Jennifer smiled tearily at Harry as she sat down at the table and took Daphne’s hand as the Potters sat beside them. She wiped the tears away again and glanced around the table as Dora and Fleur, and Luna and Parvati took seats as well.
“I miss Mum and Dad...” Jennifer said in a slightly creaky voice, “but you’re right Harry. You’re all like my family too now, and I’m happy you’re all here to fill this house up. You’re all welcome to stay any time you’d like.”
After dinner, Harry had to order Dobby to get some rest when it appeared that the all too eager House-Elf was ready to spend all night cleaning every room in the Manor and in the cottage as well.
“But only four bedrooms is being cleaned yet,” moaned Dobby. “Dobby must still clean rooms that werewolves and rodent-man is staying in - they be shedding everywhere. And rooms which have dirty Snatchers and Misters Crabbe and Goyle is needing much sanitising!” Dobby grimaced as he concluded his complaint.
“It’s alright Dobby,” said Harry, grinning “Four bedrooms is plenty of room for us.”
The portrait of Phineas Nigellus grumbled about being dislocated from Number Twelve when he was placed on the wall in one of the parlours after being pulled out of Harry’s bigger-on-the-inside bag. The Wiz-Vision screen was taken out of Hermione's bag and set up in the same parlour while Phineas went exploring through the muggle paintings in the manor.
Jennifer took everyone on a brief tour through the rest of the opulently decorated house. Dora and Hermione were both tempted to have a go at the grand piano in one of the other parlours, but thought that could probably wait. One of the studies had been turned into an art studio and was full of oil paintings and watercolours.
“Wow... these are amazing!” said Dora as she admired the oil paintings.
“Yeah, they’re fantastic! ” Harry agreed, wondering if he’d ever be able to manage anything quite as nice whenever he got around to making some time to give painting a go.
“They’re beautiful! Did you paint them?” asked Daphne.
“Well a load of them are my Mum’s, but most of them are mine,” Jennifer blushed.
“Oh... this one has a first prize,” said Luna she peered at the landscape painting that Parvati and Fleur were swooning over. “Is that one yours too?”
“Y...yeah,” Jennifer nodded and bit her lip, turning even redder. “That... that’s when my friend - the girl I really liked - that’s when we had the falling out... We’d both entered a painting in the art-show. I... I probably shouldn’t have though when I found out she’d already entered, as I nearly always win the local art-competitions in our age-group. I... erm... I just really wanted to enter it, I'm not really sure why though.”
“Maybe because it made you feel like you belonged - like you fit in somewhere?” Daphne suggested.
A familiar figure wandered onto the canvas they were looking at. Harry raised his eyebrows as he regarded the painted person, trying not to smirk at the awed expression on the figure’s features.
“My word! ” gasped Phineas Nigellus after his stroll through the paintings of the manor, “Well... it’s a bit untidy - could definitely use a few house-elves, but this is quite an upgrade from Number Twelve, Potter!”
AN: For those who don't already know, in the UK "Public School" really means Private School... :P
@ Meltyman: Thank you! ... :-) ....I'm glad you're enjoying both versions of the storyline. I'm looking forward to seeing how the city battle works out in this version myself.... ;-)
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Moments in Love