~~~

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.
 7. Gota d’Agua
“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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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
never have 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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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 was pretty much 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, née 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 revealed 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.
 7. Gota d’Agua
“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,
 7. Gota d’Agua
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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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
Her-mione’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 stayed 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.
 7. Gota d’Agua
“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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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 radius of a mile. 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 for 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.
 7. Gota d’Agua
“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, which 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 and
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 would also 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 had
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 might 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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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 could only
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
 7. Gota d’Agua
had a little invitation to hand-deliver to El-Kharga. She should be here at
any moment now, and I want to ensure that she is very pleased with the
traitor whom 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 a 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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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. 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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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 using
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; 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 a safe place for her, 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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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.
 7. Gota d’Agua
“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 latter did not.
 7. Gota d’Agua
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.
 7. Gota d’Agua
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 still to 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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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 ricochetted
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.
 7. Gota d’Agua
“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!”
 7. Gota d’Agua
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.
 7. Gota d’Agua
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 was no longer
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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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 truly ought to be 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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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.
 7. Gota d’Agua
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.
 7. Gota d’Agua
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
 7. Gota d’Agua
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.

Chapter Eight – How Quiet the Storm

Summary: Political upheaval and plagues and passion... oh
my! In the year 2012, the Wizarding world faces the threat of
genocide amidst a time of turbulence and terrible prejudice
towards Muggles and their magical progeny. The only one who
might be able to erase this threat is the most famous Muggle-
born Witch of all, Dr. Hermione Granger... that is, if she and her
friends can figure out this most diabolical of puzzles before she
is erased.
This story is based on characters and situations created and
 7. Gota d’Agua
owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not
limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast
Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other citations
will be provided at the beginning or end of chapters, where
needed. This teacher and aspiring writer is ever so grateful that
Ms. Rowling has allowed us to enter Harry’s world through her
novels.
Chapter Summary: After Hermione’s kidnapping and
subsequent return, she and Harry come to a crossroads in both
friendship and relationship. Secured behind the wards
surrounding liberated Bahia, in the eye of the storm they must
both make choices... and the choices they make here will last
forever.
Dedicated to my shipmates, who had to wait the better part
of two years and twenty chapters for this. O ye of little faith,
why did you ever doubt? ;-)
 8. How Quiet the Storm

I no longer can tell if you are a

shadow
or if you always were a shadow, and
our story
is fiction in a painfully deciphered
book...
– Carlos Drummond de Andrade
Brazilian Poet Laureate

Hermione was missing.

Before they could fully register that fact, there was a strangeness
upon the wind. The air, formerly close and hot, became unnaturally cool.
A sudden breeze stirred up the moist dust of the forest floor, rustling the
leaves, whistling melody and harmony twinned amongst the trunks of
the trees.
There was a sudden light, so bright that none could bear to look
upon it. They shielded their faces, turning away, pressing their eyes
tightly shut against the living gold.
When it faded, they turned back.
There sat Hermione, sprawled in the middle of the rainforest floor.
Her palms were on the ground, fingers splayed to brace her backwards.
Her knees were bent; her shins bruised. Her clothing, still the outfit
she’d worn into the Cabalistica stronghold, was soaked beyond
recognition. Drenched in her own sweat.
And nestled on her lap was an infant child, about two months old.
Eva lunged forward with a cry. She scooped the babe up from
Hermione and into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Meu filho, meu filho!” She fell to the ground, crying, oblivious to
everything save for the child mewling in her arms. Zach followed her
down, holding both her and the baby at the same time in his boyish arms.
Juliana turned away from the sight, eyes filling with tears.
Meanwhile, Hermione was shaking off her disorientation, rubbing
her eyes.
“What... how did I get out here?”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
Harry, Ron, Riki, and Lena immediately surrounded her. From this
closer proximity they could tell she’d just been through quite an ordeal.
There were dark circles under her eyes, and combined with the yellowish
cast to her skin she looked gaunt. Jaundiced, almost. The bruising they’d
noticed on her shins was repeated elsewhere, on her chin, arms and
calves.
“Someone look through our supplies and get me that vial of
Pathfinder antidote, now,” Harry barked out, perhaps sounding more like
Sirius than he would have liked.
Riki dashed off. Within moments, the vial was found, and pressed
between her lips. Ron and Lena helped to tilt her head back so that the
potion would go to the back of her throat. Harry held her hands tight,
features scrunched up into a frown. Riki returned with an unused port-a-
pot just in time to catch the start of Hermione’s violent retching.
It seemed to go on forever... Ron muttered something under his
breath about Hermione hurling half her body weight... then the deluge
subsided into a generalized dry hacking.
“Water,” Hermione managed to gasp. Again, thanks to Riki, a
canteen was quickly provided. She used the contents to rinse her mouth
out, paused to wait for it to magically refill, then tipped it up again. By
the end of the third “bottoms up”, she seemed to have regained her
bearings.
“Where did you go, Hermione?” Ron asked. Slowly but firmly.
She shrugged wearily. “I... don’t know.”
Ron turned to Riki. “We’ve got Veritaserum in the pack over
there...”
“No,” Harry said. “Don’t give her that stuff.”
“Harry, we need to know what happened to her... not to mention the
fact that we’re vulnerable right here! If they knew enough to take her
away all morning and put her back seamlessly...”
“I don’t think we’re in any immediate danger, Ron...” Hermione’s
speech was deliberate and slightly slurred.
“She’s right,” Juliana said. “Whoever took her could have very well
got to all of us while we slept... we were all so tired and overwhelmed
that no one thought to set up a watch. Since Hermione’s back safe and
sound, all’s well that ends well, right?”
“Not so fast,” Ron said. “Harry wanted that Pathfinder antidote for
a reason. If somehow Hermione’s ingested Pathfinder serum, we’ll have
to re-administer it every hour for the next twenty-four. That is, if we
don’t want her to pull another disappearing act.”
 “Or lead whoever took her right to us,” Harry said. Still frowning,
still cupping Hermione’s hands in his.
“But who fed that mierda to her?” Lena demanded. “Hermione, you
didn’t eat or drink anything in that place, did you?”
“Only tequila... but several of us had it too...”
“It wasn’t poisoned, I checked...”
“Then how did they get her in and out of here? Tell me that, and I’ll
stop insisting on the Veritaserum...”
“I am fine,” Hermione said, putting extra effort into making her
voice firm. “More than fine. Now, Eva’s got her baby back, and I say
all’s well that ends well... whoa!”
For she’d tried to jump up and stand to her feet, but her treacherous
knees gave way. She swayed and stumbled... then held up a hand so that
Harry wouldn’t try to help her.
“If no one minds, I’m going to change clothes... I’ve had this on
since yesterday evening... and at least splash some of that rancid water
on my face. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Hermione left them there and went into the women’s tent. A few
minutes later, the flap lifted and Harry stepped inside.
“What is it?” Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
She’d already put on another pair of denim shorts, but hadn’t quite the
chance to slip on her sleeveless top yet. It was underneath her folded
arms.
“It’s a bit late for modesty, don’t you think?”
“Better late than never.”
“You gave me quite the scare a moment ago.”
Nod. “I’m sure. I’ve been scaring myself for months.” She
shuddered. “Harry, I can’t remember where I went. Although I’m sure it
couldn’t have been a very horrible place if they gave me back Evinha’s
son, and... oh, my...”
For she was now in Harry’s arms again, the need to hold and be
held overriding any rational thought or care or want. He was holding her
so tightly that it was painful, and as she wrapped her arms around his
neck...
Her shirt fell to the ground.
“In the five minutes between when we realized you were gone and
your reappearance, Hermione, I...”
“But I came back, darling. I’m here.”
“You can’t keep doing this to me, beautiful,” he murmured. “You
just can’t. It’s driving me absolutely insane.”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
“I know. I know.”
“Three years ago... back in September... last night when we all got
back to the Portkey... just now...”
“Harry, I know. I know what that’s like... remember, I’ve been at my
wits’ end over you since I was eleven. It’s a unique sort of hell... never
being certain.”
“Yes. That’s exactly it.”
“But there’s nothing in this life that is certain, Harry, at least
nothing that I’m aware of. Not even death and... dismemberment.” She
reached for his left hand and held it in hers. “How did this happen?”
“I’m not sure. But you did it.”
“I certainly did not,” Hermione said. “When I fell asleep, you were
still in pieces. That injury was far beyond my skill.”
“Was it? Remember, you saved me from death in Tartarus,” he said
huskily. “What’s a severed hand, more or less?”
“I didn’t fall asleep in the middle of the healing, either, but well
after it,” she pointed out. “And my wrist is none the worse for wear... it
was almost as if I couldn’t absorb any of the pain for you. Perhaps
whoever took me healed you.”
Harry kissed her then, delving deeply, stealing her breath and her
heart away.
“It isn’t like you to be so modest, love,” he said. “I believe in giving
credit where credit is due. And I’m damned lucky to have the Witch I’ve
got. You were absolutely amazing last night. I was proud.”
“Who helped you come to in the lab? Diana?”
“She did, yes. I’m starting to gather that she isn’t who I thought she
was. She’s somehow connected to Zach and Heath, although I get the
feeling that none of them are allied at the moment.”
“I don’t trust her, Harry. What was she doing walking about the
Cabalistica facility?”
“Same reason why Zach is with us, and Heath was scaring you half
to death earlier in the year. I think that whoever and whatever they are,
they’re helping us for their own purposes. What those purposes are, what
they are, or where they came from, I haven’t figured out.”
“Why not interrogate Zach, then? It’s really a matter of concern.
There are ways of getting the truth from him without his knowledge...”
“That would be underhanded, Hermione. Zach has more than pulled
his weight over the past two months, and now he’s got an additional
motive to be loyal. He’s young, but he’s sincere about little Eva. He was
also at Hogwarts with Percy for two years before coming to work with
me at the school.” He laughed to himself. “I wonder how my students
are faring. Some Headmaster I make, running off in the middle of the
year without notice.”
“You did what you felt you had to do, no one’s blaming you for
that,” Hermione said. “Jocelyn is more than capable of running things
until you get back. Hopefully, that’ll be as soon as we can get back to
Manaus... we’ve got Eva’s child back, and I can just as easily look into
my magical loss at the MMRI. And we do need to give the Order a full
report of what transpired last night...”
Harry held her face in his hands. “You know, I was hoping that
you’d come back to Ayr with me. To live.”
“Were you? And whatever gave you that idea?”
“I don’t know. Wanted someone to magic up my meals, iron my
shirts, dust my house... warm my bed on cold nights... what do you say?”
“Well, as I don’t have a job at the moment, I suppose beggars can’t
be choosy...”
“Hermione.”
“Oh, but I’m afraid I’m woefully underqualified for that task,” she
smiled. “My father always said that a proper girl ought to have heaps of
brains and a dash of domesticity to boot. Someone like my mother, who
managed to balance everything. I’m afraid I’ve never been able to
measure up to Dad’s ideal of womanhood, though.”
“Well...” Harry cocked his head to one side, studying her face, “I’m
quite used to taking care of my own shirts by now. If you’ll do the
laundry and dust twice a week... and tend the garden...”
“What about the cooking? You’re much better at it than I am.”
“I’ll teach you,” he said with an impatient groan, pulling her to sit
astraddle him on her unused cot. “I’ll show you how to make all the
things I like best...”
“Oh, I think I already know what you like,” she whispered, tracing
his lips with her fingers, then planting a firm kiss on them. “And the
second we’re back home, I plan to make sure you have plenty of it in full
measure.”
“It’s a deal, then.”
He reached to lengthen the kiss and perhaps do more, but Hermione
slid from his lap and moved to the edge of the bed.
“Hand me my brush, will you?”
Harry Accio’d it to her, then groaned, green eyes going to the tarp
that formed the roof of the tent.
“What are you trying to do, kill me?”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
“No, trying to quit while we’re ahead. Everyone’s just outside
waiting for me to finish getting dressed... I’m sure that they’re nearly
done packing up camp. We need to move out...”
“They can’t wait five minutes?”
“Five minutes? Harry, perhaps my memory is failing in my old age,
but I’ve had five minute lovers in my day and you certainly weren’t
among their ranks.”
“You know how well I can work under pressure. I’m up to the
challenge.”
She laughed, wielding the brush with practiced strokes. “Certainly.
But as I’ve said before, self-denial is a virtue. It’ll be all the sweeter
once we’re relaxed and alone, don’t you think?”
Harry looked doubtful.
“Men,” Hermione said. “Well, let me grab my shirt, and...”
She stood from the bed and walked over to where she’d dropped her
top.
It was then that Harry saw the writing. Letters of living gold had
been inscribed just beneath Hermione’s shoulderblades.
“Hermione! There’s something on your back...”
“Is there? I don’t feel any insect bites.” She looked over her
shoulder and gasped. “My goodness, I wouldn’t have suspected that.
I didn’t sense it at all.”
There were three lines of text, and they were inscribed in a language that Hermione
quickly identified as Greek. Harry spoke only a little Greek, and read even less than that,
so Hermione had to translate for him.
The message was strange but clear. It also gave a clue to where
Hermione had been.
FOLLOW ME TO ATLANTIS
EIGHT TO ENTER
THE EXQUISITE CORPSE SHALL DRINK THE NEW WINE – AND LIVE
AGAIN

Translation done, they both looked at each other. Then they went
out and clued the others in. Hermione even showed them her back just
before the letters faded back to smooth skin.
“Nice. ‘Follow me to Atlantis.’ No map, no directions to a place that
doesn’t even exist!” Ron shook his head. “You can count me out. I’m
going home to my wife and kids.”
“Ron, it says that eight are needed to enter,” Hermione pointed out.
“Then find someone else. Take Sirius. I’ve done what I came to do.
You’re safe, Eva’s got her child... I want to be home for Christmas.
That’s only two and a half weeks away. I need to get back. It’s not fair to
Maureen and it’s not fair to the boys!”
“Do you think we like being here?” Harry said. “We all have lives
that we left behind, Ron. I don’t think it’s mere coincidence that the
message specified eight when there are eight of us here now.”
Riki trotted up to stand beside Ron.
“Hey, Ron? My dad told me to tell you something... and because of
everything that’s happened since Lena and I found you guys, I forgot.”
He looked down guiltily for a moment, then glanced back up, chibi-
eyed.
“Say what you have to say, Riki.”
“No, when I said I forgot, I meant I completely forgot what it was.
Sorry, Ron... guess you’ll have to go to Atlantis and find out what he had
to say.”
He grinned sheepishly. Ron was less than amused.
“Then your father can come visit me at my home, where I’ll be with
my family...”
Hermione tried to appeal to Ron’s sense of adventure. “Ron, aren’t
you the least bit curious about what Drakkar had to say? Aren’t you
curious about what this Atlantis place is?”
Ron sighed.
“Let’s just get back to civilization, okay? I’m all for finding
somewhere with running water and clean bed linen before nightfall...”

~~~
Ever afterward, the weeklong journey from the north Amazon to
Salvador was a blur in Hermione’s memory, filled with speedboat rides
and propeller-plane takeoffs and Harry grabbing her to Apparate, almost
splinching her once when he wasn’t fully certain of where they were
going. He never did that again.
Hermione was indeed a bit peaked for most of that week, and more
than a bit out of it. Harry didn’t let her out of his sight save for hygienic
purposes, and twice mediWizards poked her with their wands and looked
down her throat. The third time, Hermione called them all quacks and
ordered them out with unmistakable vim.
Then Sirius arrived at the hotel in Recife they were staying at in the
middle of the night... and Harry shook her awake. They were all fully
dressed, so it didn’t take them long to get to the roof. There, a funny
 8. How Quiet the Storm
little armored helicopter landed on the roof, and they were whisked
away, far above the city.
At first, Hermione was nervous. A copter that was so obviously a
Wizarding device might attract undue attention from both the corrupt
Diego Fox administration in Salvador and the Muggle authorities in
Brasilia. But she was so tired that she fell asleep anyway...
And awoke to brilliant sunlight.
“Where are we?” asked Hermione, even as the panoramic view
before her dazzled her weary eyes. She’d been seeing trees for two
months straight, and the sight of azure ocean lined by unspoiled beach
dazzled her.
Sirius regarded her with a half-smile.
“Salvador da Bahia,” he replied. “Welcome to Paradise.”

~~~
The Brazilian Ministry-provided limousine had zoomed through the
city so swiftly that it was reminiscent of the Knight Bus back home. It
passed over the cobblestone streets of Salvador's recently restored
historic district, better known as Pelourinho, as smoothly as if it were
skimming on ice.
There was a small herbal lojinha in the district that led the way to
the Wizarding world. To the European eyes in their party, the real
surprise was that both Wizards and Muggles browsed the aisles freely,
sometimes stopping to talk with one another in a strange guttural
combination of Portuguese and some other language.
It was a curious sight indeed... yet no more curious than the sight
that awaited them as they walked through the back corridor, into a
corridor, and then through a wall... Zach holding Eva’s free hand and
Harry holding Hermione’s.
If Muggle Salvador’s oldest district was an awesome sight because
it contained the largest collection of preserved Baroque architecture in
the world, the Wizarding side of Pelourinho was a supernova of color
and sunshine, of song and dance, of life.
It was far larger than Diagon Alley, and much different from the
Wizarding quarter of Manaus. This was no magical establishment in the
middle of the jungle. Salvador had been Latin America’s leading capital
of sorcery for half a millennium, and was a small self-contained city in
and of itself. A Wizard or Witch could live here for a lifetime and never
need to go anywhere else.
As far as the eye could see, there were streets paved with smooth
golden cobblestones and buildings that gleamed soft pastel in the
shimmering hot afternoon light. Here the lacework balconies had been
wrought in precious metals like gold, silver, and bronze... much more
romantic than the prosaic black cast iron of the Muggle Old City.
There were also gardens here and there, lovely with tropical
vegetation, wide benches, and cool fountains. Copper-skinned fairies
sipped nectar from the flowers, and Snidgets fluttered unmolested in the
trees... along with many, many creatures Hermione had only ever read
about in books.
She’d only ever read about Carnaval in books as well. Yet this was
exactly what seemed to be going on in Wizarding Pelourinho that
afternoon. The streets were crowded with magical folk from every
corner of Brazil and the world. Here and there an obviously foreign
beast like a centaur could be glimpsed as well. The atmosphere was
exciting, the air charged with the exciting noise of competing sambas,
conversations, and laughter.
Everyone seemed to be moving towards some unknown destination,
either walking or Disapparating suddenly in their impatience to be first.
Their excitement was infectious... Hermione couldn’t stop the gooseflesh
from rising on her bare arms.
“What’s going on here?” she asked Juliana. “Some sort of
celebration?”
“Likely that would be tonight, after sundown,” Juliana said. “It is
unusual for baianas to be on the streets at this time of afternoon. What
I’m supposing is that our Council is in session... and that they are
electing a new Minister.”
Hermione nodded. That made sense.
“Maybe the session’s over, and everyone’s waiting to hear the
results announced...”
“Juliana! Lena!”
The voice was coming from the depths of a long luxury car that had
pulled up silently behind them. A young man who looked to be in his
early twenties stuck his head out.
Both women smiled.
“Túlio! What in the world are you doing here?” Juliana laughed.
“As a security Auror for the Ministry,” grinned the young man, who
Juliana quickly introduced as Getúlio Brandão, an old schoolmate of
theirs. “I’m to bring you to the Palace so that you can attend the Council
 8. How Quiet the Storm
press conference.”
There was nothing to do but to climb in. The car was more than
large enough on the inside to accommodate all of them, and included
such amenities as a color television, Cooling Spells, a self-replenishing
mini-bar, and the latest Wizarding publications from all over the world.
“Those just arrived by owl this morning,” Túlio called over his
shoulder. “First bit of free press we have had here in a long time. Please,
help yourself to refreshment... the guaraná is especially good on a cold
day like today.”
They laughed, and passed around guaraná, bottled water, and some
sort of Wizarding cola that tasted rather as if one was downing a five-
course meal. Hermione let her guaraná slip down her throat with a
grateful sigh.
Outside, the crowd parted to allow the silent stretch limousine
access. In only a few moments they were pulling up to the Palace... and a
palace it was indeed.
“Glory,” muttered Zach, helping Eva and her baby out of the car but
with blue eyes transfixed on the imposing stone castle.
“You can say that again,” Ron added. “This is almost as large as
Hogwarts! Surely the Minister of Magic can’t require all this care...”
“Brazilian magical custom is different from your own,” Juliana
answered. “For four centuries, there was a consul who was the sovereign
over our Wizarding affairs... one who was blood-related to the
Portuguese nobility and often appointed with their approval. When the
Muggles moved to a more democratic way of governing themselves, so
did we.”
“The national school of magic, the Ilê do Afoxé, is located here,”
Túlio added. “As is the third largest Wizarding library in the world,
along with some very impressive gardens. The Council Chamber is just
over there, and the Minister and his family lived here.”
“Was anything destroyed during the Cabalistica occupation?” Harry
asked.
“Precious little, ainda bem,” Túlio said. “They were only here for
two and a half years... and for most of that time they were too busy
trying to establish their hold over the rest of this country and the rest of
Latin America. Anyway, here are a legion of palace workers... they’ll get
you freshened up and ready for the press conference in no time.”
Before they could express surprise or consternation at this, an army
of liveried House-Elves scampered all around them, speaking in broken
Portuguese. Litters were produced out of thin air... they were encouraged
to scamper into them... and six (for Eva and her son) to ten (for Ron)
House-Elves carried them off to their chambers.
Hermione soon found herself in a bathtub, being scrubbed
vigorously from crown to sole. She rather felt like Eliza Doolittle in
Pygmalion, but it did feel good to be clean for a change. The massaging
of her shoulders and the steaming water helped as well. By the time her
House-Elves lifted her out of the tub and wound towels around her, she
was pink and glowing.
Once she was dry, they split functions. One gave her a pedicure,
another a manicure, a third a facial. Still another dried her hair with
charms, conditioned it, cut it so that it fell only a centimeter beyond her
shoulders, and pulled it back from her face with a barrette.
Then they provided her with sleeveless robes of a plum color so rich
and vibrant that Hermione almost cried. She hadn’t worn robes since her
birthday... and hadn’t on a regular basis for almost four years.
The most surprising thing was that the robes fit perfectly.
“Bahian cloth, senhora,” answered one, as she gasped at the tasteful
fit and he slid matching sandals onto her feet. “One size fits all.”
“It’s... it’s like tailoring,” stammered Hermione. Tailored robes were
expensive, but well worth the money, as one would never outgrow them
or wear them out. They were all that rich Wizards (like the Malfoys)
wore, but Hermione had never spent her money extensively that way. In
her line of work, she didn’t deem it practical. Besides, she had to buy
Muggle clothes as well for her work at St. Ormond’s, and more recently,
at the CDC.
Yet nothing flattered Witches as well as Witch-clothing. Muggle
women had forgot how to dress a long time ago, either choosing to look
like mini-men or tarts. Witches’ robes played to a woman’s physical
highlights and detracted from her shortcomings.
The House-Elves seemed pleased that she liked the robes. The
problem was that she felt rather plain in them. Before she could silently
lament her lack of jewelry or makeup, orchids were brought. One to
slide into the barrette; the other for a wristlet.
And a House-Elf with some sort of glittery pot came forth and
stroked her eyelids and lips until they glowed naturally.
Then she was back in the litter, and whisked down the corridors so
swiftly that the paintings, sculptures, plants, and furnishings were all in a
blur. When she was set down, she found herself at the very top of an
imposing marble staircase.
“Hermione!”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
She glanced across the staircase and saw Juliana, in a pink robe. To
her right stood Lena and Eva, in robes of green and blue. Eva was
holding her son tightly... the baby’s olive face was the only bit of him
visible in blankets of palest blue.
Eva sighed. “I like being... how do you say it?”
“Pampered,” Hermione smiled back.
Down the staircase and around to another corridor, they met the
guys. They were also clean, with obvious signs of recent haircuts and
shaves. They were wearing imported guayaberas, khaki trousers, and
Ron and Riki were holding the wide-brimmed straw hats that were
traditional for baianos.
Harry was charming his glasses into sunshades again. When he
looked up and saw Hermione, he smiled.
“That’s pretty.”
She came to stand next to him and nuzzle his neck. “You smell
heavenly. Why don’t you just make them automatically do that?” she
asked, pointing at the glasses.
“I didn’t think about it. And you know about those automatic
shading charms, they take a while to sWitch on and off.”
“I know. I still don’t see why you won’t try contact lenses...”
“Because some Witches find Wizards in glasses irresistibly sexy.”
He put his glasses back on and grabbed her around the waist. “And
imagine if I’d been wearing contacts last week at the Cabalistica holding
center, fighting that Demon.”
Hermione laughed as he kissed her. “Oh, how funny! I could see
that... ‘time out, Ereshkigal, I’ve got to find my contact... don’t move...
it’s either stuck to my clothing or on the floor... just there...”
A series of precise clicks sounded on the marble just around the
corner. Their source was a Witch about five to seven years older than
Hermione. Her hair was cropped short in a no-nonsense style. She wore
a black business robe over a linen shirt and skirt. A man wearing
business dress and Sirius, who was also dressed quite formally,
accompanied her.
“Great, you’ve made it here on time. Everyone, I’d like to introduce
Joseane Jobim, the newly appointed Minister of Magic for Brazil... the
first Witch ever in the position.”
The woman smiled as they all clapped for her.
“Now Sirius, some of these people need no introduction,” She went
to Juliana and hugged her. “Juli is my dear cousin. I also know Lena well
from the Ile do Afoxê, when she and Juli would come for dinner, and
later when her husband was so helpful to my father in his final days in
office... and I remember little Eva helping her mother work at my aunt
Helena’s estate.
“And with the exception of this handsome young man,” she
indicated Zach with a cordial smile, “I think I can identify the remainder.
I have met young Riki before, years ago when his parents were here on
official Order business... and of course, everyone in our world knows the
great Harry Potter and his dearest friends Ronald Weasley and Hermione
Granger.” Joseane looked back at the man standing next to her. “I’d like
to introduce the five of you to my husband Renato Braga. He has long
been the chief of security for the magical government here.”
She clapped her hands together.
“It is indeed an honor to welcome all of you to the Palacio do
Bruxos, the seat of our magical government for the past five hundred
years. I hope that you will make yourselves at home here in Brazil. After
the press conference, Sirius will have full use of one of our secured
rooms so that you can debrief as needed... and make plans to go where
and as you wish from here.”
Hermione’s face didn’t show it, but a surge of happiness flooded
her...
To go back home again...
Yet at the back of her mind, there was a small voice, chastising her.
What about Atlantis? What about the place where they took you?
Why can’t you remember it?
Why do you feel that something’s still very wrong here?
Her face furrowed into a frown as they all walked down the corridor
after Joseane, Renato, and Sirius. Harry saw this, and placed her hand in
his, squeezing it firmly.
Ron noticed it too.
“What’s wrong, Hermione?”
She shook her head. “Never mind me. I’m just worrying about
nothing as usual.”
Yes. That was it.
Nothing.

~~~
The press conference didn’t take very long. When Joseane was
announced as the new Minister, the streets did erupt with sparks and a
 8. How Quiet the Storm
loud, roaring cheer. Apparently Jorge Jobim had been well beloved by
the Witches and Wizards of this country, and seeing his daughter at the
helm made things begin to revert back to normal again.
Joseane might have been an altruistic enough Witch, but she also
was a politician to her fingertips. She had the party sit on the dais behind
her, and introduced them all in turn after her inauguration.
When she got to Hermione, the initial reaction was mixed. There
were just as many jeers as there were cheers.
Joseane held up a hand, then turned to her countrymen.
“You must understand that during the occupation of Diego Fox,
misinformation and lies were the order of the day. Only recall that the
same people who told you that this Witch is a traitor to our world
besmirched my good father’s name. So my fellow Brazilians, if
Hermione Granger is a traitor, then Jorge Jobim was the thieving worm
that the Fox administration made him about to be. Is that the truth,
then?”
“Never!” shouted the crowd.
She turned around, took Hermione by the hand, and led her up to
the dais.
“This good Witch worked tirelessly to help Harry Potter defeat the
Dark Lord. Then she spent another ten years of her life finding a cure for
the damaged victims that the evil Voldemort left behind. Most recently
she has been researching the terrible epidemic that has surfaced amongst
our poor. Along with our other honored guests, while the resistance took
back Bahia and sent the cowardly Fox running...” there was another
great cheer, “...she helped to pull down a secret Cabalistica operation
hidden in the Amazon.
“Dr. Granger has dedicated her life to stopping evil in all its guises.
She has committed no crime against Witchcraft and Wizardry. However,
I understand that she is now wanted by the Confederation’s tribunal... a
Confederation that did nothing about the murder of my father and so
many other innocents on our precious soil.
“Therefore, I wish to put the Confeds on notice today that Brazil
will not hand her over... that I will not hand Dr. Granger over... that she
has amnesty here in Salvador, in liberated Bahia, and soon in all of
Brazil! Indeed, we are honored to provide a place of refuge and
sanctuary for one of the foremost Witches of our time!”
Joseane smiled at Hermione. Then she raised their hands high as the
cameras flashed.
This time, there were no jeers.
 Yet despite Renato’s best security efforts, there were two wands
withdrawn towards the back of the crowd, in the tumult. In the resulting
din, the incantations were not heard...
But the tussle with the security guards resulted in chaos... and
screams.
“Secaro! Secaro!”
The Slicing Hex was directed at Joseane and Hermione’s heads.
Sirius and Renato quickly pulled the women down, while Harry and Ron
countered the curses, flying in twin red arcs towards the stage.
Just before the curses reached the dais, the one that Harry targeted
turned into rice-paper confetti... and Ron’s turned into glitter.
“Glitter,” said Harry. “Nice touch.”
“Thanks. Not bad yourself... although next time, it’d be nice to do
the confetti in yellow and green. You know, for the Brazilian national
colors or something.”
“Or even little flags. You know, there’s an idea. Makes everything
more festive, as this is a national occasion, I’d say. Kicking out an evil
overlord like Fox’s likely the best thing for them next to winning the
Quidditch World Cup.”
Sirius and Renato were helping the women up. Joseane gripped her
husband’s arm tightly while Sirius scooped up Hermione by the waist.
Offstage, the Cabalistica infiltrators were being pulled into security
cars... and being pelted with spitballs and rotten fruit and wand-conjured
slime by the angry crowd. Had it not been for Renato’s staff, it was more
than certain that the enraged mass would have trampled the assassins to
death.
Joseane took the podium again.
“Sonorus... all right there, everyone? Nothing like an assassination
attempt to liven up the afternoon, right?” Everyone laughed; Jorge Jobim
had been known for his sense of humor as well. “Well, then, this is
probably a good time to inform you that all of Bahia state has been
sealed off by a series of powerful wards. We are still in the process of
tracking down those with ill intent, but this state is now officially out of
Cabalistica control. Bahia is now free.
“There are other operations that have been simultaneously triggered
in other areas of the country. Now that the capital is back in Brazilian
control again, we plan to have great ease in coordinating resistance
operations from Amazonas to Rio Grande do Sul.” There were more
cheers. “While in Bahia, you are safe... however, I caution you to
exercise care while travelling to other parts of the country until further
 8. How Quiet the Storm
notice.
“A new day has dawned, fellow Brazilians. Embrace it... and I will
see you at the celebrations I know will follow tonight.”
Amidst the cheers, Joseane and her guests were whisked away by
security.

~~~
The debriefing was set to begin shortly. There were several Order
members present, including the famous Trio, Sirius, and Lena (who
would be appointed in her father’s place as soon as there was a need to
sit at the Stone Table again). Remus and Jocelyn had also Floo’ed in
over the secure Bahian network. Non-order members included Gareth
Starling, Joseane Jobim, RenatoVargas, and Helena Medeiros... whom
Hermione embraced for long moments before letting go.
A knock sounded on the door, admitting one of the last members to
the quickly assembled group. It was Draco Malfoy.
“I thought I was done here, Sirius,” Draco said, brushing the soot
from his robes. “I understand my duties to the Order, but I have a
corporation to run.”
“Apologies, Draco. We’ve got some new information in.” He
indicated Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Lena.
Draco nodded once. “I see.” He sent a half-smile in Hermione’s
direction. “Quite impressive, Granger. After that ordeal, you didn’t even
suffer a hangnail?”
Hermione smiled back at what she knew was a compliment. “Stuff
it, Malfoy. Appearances are deceiving... I’d take a hangnail over the loss
of my magic any day.”
“With that, why don’t we get started?” Sirius said. “I’m not certain
how best to begin... but as much of what we know seems to focus in and
center upon Hermione, it might be good for her to share what she knows.
Then we’ll have others fill in as needed.”
Hermione nodded. After taking a deep breath and a sip from a
chalice of water provided by Renato, she began her story, starting from
the strange occurrences that past August in Atlanta and leaving only the
most personal details out. She told of Heath, of seeing Riki and Zach
before officially meeting them, of time sWitching and not-Hugh and
being tricked into coming to Brazil. Then she told of being a Cabalistica
prisoner for a month, escaping with Eva, living as a fugitive in Rio for
another month (and having to threaten Draco after his snarky comments
about “strip club? Granger... you?”) and then the seven long weeks of
jungle trek once she was discovered by Harry and Ron.
It took her nearly an hour, as Sirius saw fit to interrupt her with
questions whenever the whim struck. But soon, she was at the
disappearance of two days before...
“And now I’m here. I’m grateful for that.”
Sirius nodded and patted her shoulder. “Now you’re here. We’re all
grateful for that, dear.”
Another half hour, while Harry and Ron, Gareth and Draco added
other dimensions to recent history. Harry and Ron told about the
encounter with the Cabalistica in São Paulo’s airport. Gareth and Draco
spoke about the strange ease they had in retaking Salvador.
“Diego and his allies fought... but they didn’t fight hard enough,”
Gareth said. “Strange. Very strange.”
“Not so strange at all,” replied Draco. “Sirius, have you considered
my message from this morning?”
“What message?” Harry asked.
“Well, Potter, it seems that Diane Johnson Riordan talked to
someone before you saw her die the other day. Apparently she revealed
aspects of the Cabalistica’s Latest Diabolical Plan to her brother-in-law.”
“WHAT?” everyone said at once.
“Draco, I was saving that owl for later,” Sirius said, not bothering to
hide his irritation. “I’ve been deluged since I got here... why didn’t you
send it by fireplace?”
“Because I was busy saving my corporation from financial ruin,”
Draco said dryly. “I couldn’t afford to just take two weeks off during the
Christmas season without repercussions... our quarterly profits are down
nine percent from this period last year...”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Ron said angrily. “Malfoy, where
the hell are your priorities? If the world ends, how the fuck do you plan
to spend extra gold?”
“And if it doesn’t end, Weasley – and the odds are that it will not ,
as it never has before – then I’ll have gold to spare. Pity that’s a concept
quite alien to you. Others include thrift... hard work... sacrifice...”
“You will not start this now,” roared Sirius. “Please, act like men for
a change instead of bickering, sniveling cubs!” He turned to Lena and
whispered something in her ear. “I’m using your father-in-law’s old
office... thanks, querida.”
Lena was back with the letter in no time flat. Sirius opened it and
 8. How Quiet the Storm
read it to himself. When he finished, he shook his head and laid it down
on the table.
“This is just what I feared.”
“What, old Aragog’s family is relocating to Brazil, and they want
housewarming gifts?”
“Ron!” Hermione said.
“No, it’s an attack on three fronts,” Harry said, surveying the letter
from Fred and Angelina quickly. “Government infiltration and
propaganda against Muggleborns. Germ warfare to eliminate all
Muggleborn Wizards and Witches.”
“And... worst of all... they’ve decided that using Dark Lords and
Sorceresses aren’t enough,” Gareth said, taking the letter from Harry.
“They’ve decided to resurrect the Dark One herself.”
“Was that what Sebastian Borgin conjured up at the Cabalistica
facility? If so, I’m not impressed,” Hermione said. “Harry took care of
that creature with little difficulty...”
“She’s overstating,” Harry said quickly. “You don’t actually believe
she’s gone, love, do you?”
“Of course not, not if she’s immortal. But she didn’t seem like the
source of all evil to me. She was too insane for that.” Hermione shook
her head. “She kept saying that I was her twin sister, and that once she
extracted my true name she’d kill me.”
You could have heard a pin drop.
“What did you just say?” Sirius asked slowly.
Hermione repeated it.
“Why didn’t you say that before, Hermione?” Harry asked.
“I thought you heard it! You were there!”
“I was knocked out while that was going on, obviously.” His eyes
held concern... then he looked at Sirius. “Damn. So the creature knows
about Hermione already.”
“Knows what about me?”
“Hermione,” Sirius began, “do you remember our legend about
where magic came from?”
She shrugged. “There are a lot of legends, Sirius, about that. Every
culture seems to...”
“No, not ‘legends’. Our legend. Before you were initiated, it’s what
you learned from the Order-lore about the origins of magic. I know you
remember...”
“Oh, yes... I see. Well, we were taught that there was a time long
ago when none but created immortals had supernatural abilities. Then a
pair of sisters stole the knowledge from the gods, and from then on there
have been Witches and Wizards all over the world, in every culture that
exists. An interesting folk tradition, of course, but I don’t believe a word
of it...”
“Then where do you think it all comes from?” asked Lena. “The
magic?”
“Natural selection. Evolution. For some reason, there are people
who evolved that have our abilities. That’s all. No hocus-pocus or
thundergods riding in the sky.”
“What about Demons, Hermione? And the Old Ones?” Jocelyn was
frowning.
“Simple... there are other worlds and other dimensions, aren’t there?
None of the Thousand Worlds are identical... so they must all have
different rules. Demons exist on Tartarus, we know that... and the Old
live forever in Avalon and other places that have slowed time-event
relationships.” She folded her arms. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned
over the past twenty years, it’s that magic makes sense.”
More silence.
“Right. Why is everyone acting as if someone died? Please, fill me
in on what I’m missing.”
“You are indeed Ereshkigal’s blood kindred, Hermione,” Sirius said
slowly. “And now that she knows it...”
The Trio all spoke at once.
“That’s ridiculous, Sirius!” Hermione said. “Surely you don’t
believe that tale?”
“This is how you planned to tell her?” Harry snapped at Sirius.
“You knew about this, Harry, and you didn’t say anything?” Ron
said.
Hermione whirled on both Harry and Ron. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake,
you two, shut up so I can think!” Then she looked up at Sirius. “Please,
tell me what this means.”
Sirius sighed. “Of course. But it will mean that you’ll have to
forgive us all again, Hermione. You see, there was some question about
your being sent to Tartarus along with Harry and Ron. Nephthys and
Drakkar were against it. This was one of the reasons why. They knew
that the Dark One would sense the presence of her sister lingering on
Earth, and she would stop at nothing to return.”
“Because I’m... I’m...” Hermione’s voice squeaked a bit at the end,
the composure she always prided herself on having beginning to break.
“Sirius, how can that be? I’m Muggleborn!”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
“Yes, you are. But all Muggleborns have magical ancestry
somewhere in their lineage, no matter how far back it was... magic
doesn’t just creep up from nowhere. In your case, the magic is much
more recent than you may have realized. Because of your ordeal with
Ereshkigal, you must have figured out by now that Helen Blavatsky
Means was a Witch. Your mother was born a Witch as well... but your
grandmother saw fit to find a way to extract her magic. I believe that this
is what has been done to you, Hermione, and to Eva. According to the
Abidijans, Helen traveled to a Portal Land somewhere in the Americas
and petitioned the Gatekeeper there to make her child a Muggle.
“According to Fred and Angelina’s letter, this Gatekeeper,
Demetrios Solon, was captured by the Cabalistica during the Muggle
crisis. We had no idea until well after Hogwarts and our world’s secrecy
was secured again. He evidently was tortured and forced to divulge part
of this ancient Dark magic to Cabalistica operatives... but he escaped.
His whereabouts are unknown.” Sirius paused for effect. “I knew all
about old Solon, and the Portal Land he guarded, but I’d never been
there or considered what this letter says.”
“Yes? What does it say?” asked Joseane.
“Evidently this Demetrios Solon is the immortal Gatekeeper of
Atlantis.”
“Then this means that Atlantis is a real place,” Ron said.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Draco muttered back.
Ron glared at Draco, but pressed on. “D’you think that this Solon
bloke’s the one who took the children from the Cabalistica facility? Took
Hermione away, gave her Eva’s child, and wiped her memory before
sending her back? Even... healed Harry’s hand?”
“It sounds very much like the work of an Atlantean,” Helena
Medeiros said quietly. “I have devoted much of my research to the study
of Atlantis legend. These are all things that the Atlanteans of legend
could do. They were capable of magical feats that not many in this age
could attempt.”
“What does this have to do with me being Ereshkigal’s sister?”
Hermione pressed on, frowning. “It’s been many years since I studied
that legend, but if I recall correctly, Ereshkigal killed her sister, the
Inanna... and after the Inanna was resurrected, the Old Ones bound
Ereshkigal in Tartarus... and she’s been there ever since.” She shrugged.
“Or at least until this Tuesday.”
“Yes, she did kill her sister,” Sirius said. “However, her sister bore a
child before dying, from her relationship with Enki, the king of that land.
Ereshkigal was led to believe that the baby died... was even presented
with the corpse of a baby girl. Meanwhile, the Old Ones were raising the
child in the wilderness, and later that child married and had a child of
her own.
“It’s an unique bloodline, Hermione, and a completely maternal
one,” Jocelyn said, unable to hide her excitement. “From the Inanna all
the way to you, for nine thousand years you have a lineage of women
who married, had a single female child, who herself had a single female
child, and so on. It’s an unbroken line, and one that has produced some
formidable Witches over the years, primarily in the countries of the
Middle East and the old Soviet Union. Shela of Salem... Asherah of the
Hyksos... Esther of Kiev... Baba Tila of Minsk... primarily Russian
Jewish Witches, and yet their names...”
“I’ve read all about them,” sighed Hermione heavily. “Feats of
Famous Witches, Successful Sorceresses Through the Ages, and all that.
Yet... it’s a bit disappointing that I’m actually descended from them.
Don’t you understand? All my life I’ve been proud that I was a Witch of
no Wizarding family and nevertheless able to contribute so much to the
Wizarding world. Now you’re telling me that I’m not really
Muggleborn...”
“But you are,” Remus said imploringly. “Your mother was not a
Witch at all... she lived and died not knowing what her mother truly was.
Your father is a Muggle, as were most of the husbands of your maternal
line, going back to the mighty Enki.
“And you are the last of that line which began ten thousand years
ago with Delilah of Ur... known to Muggle history as Inanna, the Great
Goddess of Mesopotamia. Known to Witches and Wizards as The
Inanna, mother of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
Tears filled Hermione’s eyes.
“We kept it from you because Nephthys and Drakkar demanded that
we do so, if we chose to induct you into the Order and place you under
Covenant. They feared that the knowledge would be extracted from your
thoughts by Voldemort or by his followers... or even by Ereshkigal
herself.” He turned to Harry and Ron. “That is why you two were also
not told. We knew that telling you would be just as good as telling her.
I only told Harry later, after Tartarus, after Avalon... after everything.”
Hermione was now staring at Draco.
“That means you knew as well,” she said quietly. “From the
beginning. You were in Council when the decision was made, Draco.
You knew and you never said a word to me.”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
“What can I say, Hermione? It was a secret I had to keep. You know
the importance of that more than anyone, as you’re one of the handful of
people in the world who trusts me... and whom I’d trust with my life.”
His eyes flew over to Harry. “I’m not the only one who knew.”
But Hermione couldn’t even look at Harry. She stood up and went
to the window. She’d been so happy just a short while before. Now she
felt sick and fearful, a weird combination between wanting to run and
wanting to throw up.
Harry made a move to go to her, but Sirius shook his head. He stood
up, walked to the window, and placed his hands on her shoulders. She
spoke softly to him.
“How I wish that this wasn’t true. I wish that it wasn’t me.”
“So do all whom a heavy burden falls upon,” said Sirius gravely.
“None of us choose the times we live in, Hermione. Yet it is our duty to
fulfill our destiny...”
“What about choice, Sirius? Dumbledore always advocated free
will over fate. I learned my magic from him, at his school.”
“As do I. And here is choice... you can choose to walk in your
destiny, or not. You can choose to fulfill your purpose, or you can reject
it. No man or woman, no Wizard or Witch is an island. We all have been
affected by the things that have gone on before us. We all have been
given a certain measure of everything... and some of us have more in
some areas than others.
“When Albus said that it is our choices that make us, not our
abilities, he did not say that we were all born with equal abilities or all
had the same choices to make. When Tom Riddle was born, he was born
with great innate power. He chose to use that power for evil. On the
other hand, you know Harry, know that he was born just as powerful as
that, and know that there are Wizards who couldn’t equal that power no
matter how hard they tried. Yet Harry chooses to use his power for good.
“That is the choice set before us all, Hermione. And you are not
exempt. None of us are. Now, are you ready to help us plan a
counterattack?”
She wiped her eyes.
“What other choice do I have?”

~~~
About an hour later, Hermione jumped out of the litter chair, opened
the door to the room she’d be using during her stay here at the palace,
and almost slammed it off its hinges. Once inside, she began to pace at a
furious rate. Eyes blazing. Face heated. Wringing her hands and
breathing heavily.
This was... this was like that awful time when she learned about
Ron and Maureen. And Maury. And Harry. She thought she’d never
recover from that. Even years later, she would never forget the intense
feelings of helplessness, anger, and despair that she had to work through.
Dealing with her mum’s illness and death less than six months later
hadn’t helped matters, either.
Only this time, it was worse. Much, much worse.
This hadn’t been a few people lying to her. This had been all of the
higher-ups in the magical world keeping the truth of who and what she
really was from her. This had been her own grandmother, who’d done
something awful and unnatural to her own daughter for reasons only
known to herself. Hermione had loved her Grandmother Helen. Yet she
had to wonder, if she hadn’t died when she did... would she have taken
Hermione away to that distant Portal Land and had the Gatekeeper steal
her magic as well?
Perhaps she should have. Then maybe Hermione wouldn’t ever
have faced such misery.
She would have been still in Oxfordshire, quietly practicing
medicine, likely with a family of her own. Happy. Untroubled by the
sturm und drang of the world...
Hermione’s mind spun so fast that she felt dizzy.
No. That wasn’t reality. Hermione shook off the wild flight of
fantasy and made herself face the here and now.
She wasn’t only a Witch, she was apparently everything that the
Prophecies said she was. Which meant, according to the Prophecies, that
she would surely die. No matter what they did to try to prevent it, unseen
forces with the power to turn the world upside down would prevail. The
Dark One would find her, and overpower her, and...
No!
She wouldn’t let herself die. No matter how much she wanted to
reach up to Heaven and rage at her grandmother in the moment, the will
to live... to thrive... was much stronger.
And if she failed, there was always...
No. There wasn’t.
Without trust, there could be no love. Twice Harry had proven to
her that he couldn’t be trusted. He’d walked around for years with
 8. How Quiet the Storm
secrets about her... terrible secrets. Who knew what else he knew about
her?
After all that, he had still agreed with the outline of the plan that put
her under virtual house arrest here. While everyone else had been
assigned interesting tasks ranging from tracking down the elusive
Demetrios Solon to finding corpses infected with the virus that was now
raging amongst the Brazilian magical poor, Hermione was charged to
stay put... relax... utilize the library for research on Atlantis and the
mysterious disease.
And that was all.
Sirius had actually invoked his powers as Grand Wizard of the
Order to confine her to Brazil, then Bahia, then Salvador, and finally the
Palace. Even if she’d broken a Covenant and flaunted many other
conventions, a bloodsworn member of the Order could not oppose the
ancient magic of the Grand Wizardship.
She couldn’t hate Sirius. She was starting to realize that he did this
not because he hated her, but because he cared for her welfare. He also
didn’t know her extremely well.
Whereas Harry had no excuse...
Knocking on the door. “Hermione? Come on, open up... I want to
talk to you.”
Speak of the devil. She wished she had use of her magic so she
could fling the door open and then slam it in his face without moving
more than a finger or two. As it was, she had to cross the room like any
old Muggle and open it. Only a sliver, though.
“Yes?”
“May I come in?”
“No.”
“Fine, then, if you want to have this conversation in the corridor...”
She opened the door wider. When he stepped in, she made no effort
to close it. So he shut it himself, and went to sit on the bed. The fact that
he did this without asking irritated her. When he opened his arms as if he
actually thought she was going to sit with him after all that had just
transpired, she was enraged.
“What do you want, Harry?”
“You flew out of there so fast that you didn’t give me the chance to
explain.”
“So explain.”
Harry let out a deep breath. “Sirius told me about your mother and
grandmother the same day we wiped your memory of Avalon. He told
me a lot of things that day. I forgot. At the time all I could think about
was that I’d lost you. I forgot for years... and then, when Sirius and I had
that talk the last Sunday we were in Manaus...”
“He reminded you again.”
Long pause. Then a nod.
“And you’ve had many opportunities to tell me since then. Yet you
chose not to say a word. You chose, Harry, to keep this from me...”
“It wasn’t a choice. More of a necessity. First you were ill, then we
were off to the Cabalistica facility, and then you disappeared, and...”
Hermione raised her voice, exasperated by the excuse making.
“That was almost a week ago, Harry! Surely you could have...”
“Yeah, I could have, but I didn’t. Do you have a Time-Turner,
Hermione, so that I can change the past and make it all different? We’ve
all made bad choices. You certainly aren’t perfect, so why the hell do
you expect it of me?”
“I don’t expect perfection from you! I expect reciprocity! I’ve never
kept anything that mattered from you, ever. I’ve spent the past two
decades of my life giving you everything...”
“Everything? Everything, Hermione? Let’s not rewrite history,
please. You never gave me everything, even when I asked, and you
certainly aren’t giving me everything now.”
“I have! I’ve been the best friend I knew how to be... the sort of
friend that I would have wanted...”
“Damn it, Hermione, that’s not everything!”
“Then what more do you want from me? What do you want?”
He stared at her, silent, angst written in his eyes. Those eyes had
been her anchor for so long...
Finally, he turned away from her, shoulders lifted in a shrug of
indifference.
“That’s not an answer, Harry Potter. I swear on my mother’s grave,
what do you want?”
“Hermione, you’re safer here. We can’t protect you, apparently ;
they stole you right from under our noses.” He was avoiding the
question, and that was exactly what she expected. “Let us help you.”
“Us?” She huffed. “Who’s this ‘us’ supposed to be?”
“Me. Ron. Sirius. Everyone who loves you.” He wasn’t looking at
her anymore either. He looked like he was hiding something else.
Something far deeper than a secret about her heritage.
Hermione was tired of the subterfuge.
“Loves me, Harry? Do people who love me keep such vile secrets?”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
Somewhere she was still a solid wall, made of steel covered in a coat of
pure gold. Somewhere she wasn’t crumbling to pieces.
“I only wanted to protect you...”
“Ron would have told me.”
The comment fell flat, a dirk’s blade stabbing moist, trodden
ground.
He turned around then, eyebrow quirked. “Oh? Just like how he told
you ever so much in that marriage?”
Deep breath. “All right, that was a low blow.”
“So is throwing Ron into my face.”
“Take that however you want to, Harry. For it wasn’t a statement
about love, really, it was one about friendship. Ron didn’t tell me about
Maureen or the child for the sake of our marriage, but for the sake of our
friendship, you bloody well should have told me about what my
grandmother did! Harry, this is the third time you haven’t shared
something important with me about my life...”
“That’s dragonshit, Hermione, and you know it! If you truly
remember Avalon, then you should remember that you agreed to be
memory charmed! You agreed to it!”
“Only because we were both supposed to forget! Dear Merlin,
Harry, you walked around for almost a decade, remembering that every
time you looked at me. I know you must have, because now that I have
the memories back, I just can’t help but... how could you have kept up
such a charade?”
“The same way you married Ron when you knew you weren’t in
love with him!”
“But that’s just it. I didn’t know! We’d agreed to the charming, and
I followed through! And then when we got back, you withdrew from me
until I thought our close friendship was a thing of the past. For eight
years I wondered what the hell I’d done to offend you... why you no
longer seemed to consider me your best mate too. Do you have any idea
how lonely that made me feel?”
Harry folded his arms. “I couldn’t be close to you, Hermione, or
else we would have done the same thing to Ron that he did to you with
Maureen. Remember what you asked of me four springs ago, in my
classroom? That would have likely happened sooner and earlier, and
how could either of us have lived with ourselves then?”
“Yes, but do you know what led up to that?” There were red spots
on her cheeks and tears were fast filling her eyes. “Do you know why
I was never satisfied with Ron? Because Harry, no memory charm is
absolutely perfect! Not even Remus and Tatiana’s expert one. And I’m a
hyperempath. Which means you could wipe my mind, but you couldn’t
erase what happened to my senses.
“I didn’t remember details of what happened in Avalon.
I remembered flashes of it, like a waking dream. I remembered eating
with the Lady... for sometimes I’d remember tastes that I knew I’d never
sampled in my life. I remembered riding that winged horse you had
there... what I remembered was the fluttering of his wings, and his smell.
I remembered meeting the knights and the kings and the heroes and
heroines at the ritual bonfire... not their faces, but their voices correcting
the versions of the legends I’d learned in my history courses.
“And you know what? I even remembered snatches of us making
love... but I could never see your face. What my senses recalled was the
way your hands felt against my bare skin. The heft and weight of your
body. The way your mouth always tasted like summer rain. Your scent,
too... and when I remembered it all in that Cabalistica jail, I kicked
myself for not being able to piece it together. It was so obviously you
that I felt like the world’s biggest idiot.
“Those snatches were all it took to ruin my marriage. No matter
what Ron did for me, emotionally, physically, it was never enough.
I tried to pretend as if nothing was wrong, but you see, Harry, I’m not
half as good at pretending things as you are. Ron knew deep down I was
disappointed with him and disillusioned with the marriage... and so
when Maureen came skulking about, he was vulnerable. And there was
nothing to be done, because as great of a person as Ron was and still is,
he wasn’t you... and you, Harry, already had my heart. Even if I didn’t
know it, you did.
“That, Harry, is why I am so wary of letting you make love to me
again. That’s why when I think about going home and living with you,
I tremble inside. You don’t know how to make a relationship last... I’ve
watched you over the years with your girlfriends. If that were me, I’d
just...”
“It would never be you, Hermione,” Harry said flatly. “Never. Want
to know the real reason why I could never just be with one woman?
Because of you. I always felt like I was betraying you when...”
“And what,” she replied, “did you feel when you knew Ron and
I were together? Why in the world would you, a man who supposedly
loved me, let me go to another man, memory charm or not?”
“Because I thought he’d make you happy! What, are you going to
blame me for what he did with Maureen?”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
“He would never have had the chance, Harry, if you had just been
honest from the beginning!”
“Don’t you think,” he said coldly, “that I’ve spent the past four
years replaying that over and over again in my mind?”
Tears spilled over, and she placed her face in her palms. “And I’ve
spent the past four years wishing I’d never met either of you! All you’ve
done is hurt me...”
“You haven’t given me the chance to do anything else! And damn it,
you’ve hurt me too!”
Hermione’s face flew back up. Her eyes were glittering.
“Yeah. Surprised? Well, think about it! First, I had to suffer through
your engagement, then your marriage. Memory charm or not, Hermione,
I still was madly in love with you. I went to Avalon with that millstone
around my neck, and the second I was able to put it aside, you showed.
Then the past four years weren’t exactly a smooth broomstick ride for
me. However you feel that memory charm ‘wronged’ you, Hermione, the
debt was more than repaid when you left me in bed after Malfoy and
Ginny’s wedding without so much as a word and disappeared into thin
air.”
Long sigh. “I never meant for you to fall in love with me, Harry.
Too bad it’s been such a burden for you. Love shouldn’t be an
obligation, should it?”
“No.”
“Harry, do you see why we wouldn’t work? We’d end up just
like...”
He threw up his hands. “Don’t even say it. Not when you gave him
the chance and never me.”
“So is that what you want after all? A chance with me?”
Harry looked at her incredulously. “Hermione, if you don’t know
what I want from you, if the past seven weeks haven’t shown you, if the
past sixteen years haven’t given you a clue, then...”
“Then it’s over, Harry. It’s over before it’s even begun.” Fresh tears
were still emerging from her eyes, but her face was tight and drawn.
“You’ll see that I was right all along... no sense in sleeping together
before we’d dealt with all this.”
“Yeah, whatever you say.”
Hermione knew she was right... but why did she feel as if
something inside of her was dying? “I hope this finally frees you to live
your life. You’ll find someone who’s just right for you, and I hope we’ll
always be friends...”
 “I don’t want your friendship anymore, Hermione. I haven’t wanted
to be only your friend for half our lives. Now that we’re done with
pretending, I don’t wish to pretend that, either.”
She laughed dryly, shaking her head. “We can’t just not be friends,
Harry...”
His look stopped her laughter rather quickly. Apparently he was
being quite serious.
“Then if that’s the way you want it...”
“That is indeed just the way I want it.”
For the first time since they’d met, they were completely closed off
from one another. Neither could read the other’s true thoughts. Both
were as far apart as if they were strangers, wearing masks.
“Well, then. You’re the one who sought me out. Is there anything
else you wanted?”
“Not at all.”
By the Lady, his face was positively frozen... he’d never looked at
her like that before. Hermione felt as if she’d never be warm again.
“Then I’ll have to ask you to excuse me. I’d like to get some rest.”
She couldn’t help the tremble in her voice. “I’m glad we’ve finally
clarified things.”
“Yeah, Hermione, we have. You’ve made yourself crystal fucking
clear. Good night.”
The door slammed behind him.
A porcelain washbasin shattered with a splash upon the jamb.
And Hermione cried until the dawn.

~~~
There was no way that Harry and Hermione’s “truce” could have
remained unnoticed by their companions. At breakfast the next day,
instead of sitting next to each other and tasting the occasional bite from
each other’s plates, Hermione sat down near the head of the long table
next to Joseane and Harry sat close to the other end across from Sirius.
After breakfast, Harry left with the others to search for Demetrios
Solon... and Hermione was off to the library. Neither said a word to each
other as they passed by.
“Something is not right between those two,” whispered Eva as Zach
kissed both her and the baby, Daniel, good-bye.
“No, it’s not,” said Zach. “Lovers’ quarrel, I think. It’ll blow over
 8. How Quiet the Storm
soon.”
Yet it didn’t blow over. At lunch everyone from their party save
Hermione and Eva were still in the field, but at the first state dinner that
evening, there were placards. Harry and Hermione were assigned seats
next to one another.
Hermione took one look at the cards, then swept towards Renato
Braga in her golden robes like a queen. With the understated confidence
that was her defining characteristic, she began a quiet conversation and
soon had him laughing... and within five minutes her placard was
sWitched with Juliana’s by the head of security.
Harry looked daggers at her throughout the meal.
Hermione didn’t look at him at all. Her chin and nose hadn’t been
stuck so high in the air in a very long time.
“What is with you two?” asked Ron grumpily of Hermione just after
dessert.
“Absolutely nothing, thank the heavens,” she said, pecking him on
the cheek. “Ron, you worry too much. Be a love and save a dance for me
later on tonight... you are going to the plaza, aren’t you?” She saw Harry
in the corner of her eye and raised her voice. “I can’t abide a man with
two left feet.”
Yes, she was being petty. She couldn’t have cared less.
After changing out of her robes into a sleeveless top and calf-length
black skirt, Hermione went down to the plaza where the first of several
nights of celebrations were just beginning. There were fireworks, food,
and fun. There were streamers that were charmed to snake all around the
throng, the aroma of smoked meats and freshly baked breads filled the
air, and the caipirinha flowed freely.
Above all, there was music... and Hermione did indeed dance, with
a thousand other young senhoras and garotas. She wasn’t as good as
many, but she was at least better than some. And her very English looks
stood out in the crowd of black-haired Brazilians with skin tones ranging
from palest olive to dark mahogany. Here her rosy complexion, toffee
brown hair, and brown-gold eyes were alluring... and quite a few of the
men got over the fact that she was the Hermione Granger and asked her
to dance.
You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but you can teach a
thirtysomething mediWitch and hyperempath new dances. Hermione
learned that some of the moves she and Ron had learned a decade before
were outdated... and her partners were more than willing to show her the
latest.
 The men also were a bit more liberal with their hands than she
would normally have liked... but after a goblet or two of wine, she was
flushed and chalked it all up to the dances. Of course, she wasn’t nearly
drunk enough to take any of the men up on their propositions... when it
came to that, it was time to change partners.
The dancing didn’t end until a ridiculously late hour... around three-
thirty in the morning; when Hermione was ready for bed, the party in the
plaza was still going strong.
She looked around for any sign of her friends... and ran into Ron.
“Ready for that dance?”
“Oh, Ron, I’m tired... some other time.” She looked around, trying
not to seem too obvious, but failing miserably.
“If you’re looking for Harry, the last I saw of him he was at one of
the botequims at plaza’s edge. That was hours ago.” He shrugged. “You
know Harry... he draws Witches like bogies draw Puffskeins. These
Salvador girls get to the point.”
“I’m sure,” Hermione said.
Her sleep that night was fitful, and she awoke with bags beneath her
eyes and a strangely hollow feeling at the pit of her stomach.
The second day and night were much the same. They sat far apart
from each other at breakfast, didn’t see each other all day, sat apart at
dinner, and then went their separate ways.
Yet this night, instead of ignoring Harry, Hermione was acutely
aware of his presence. No, he didn’t dance, as she’d pointed out... but he
did seem to be having the time of his life at the botequim Ron had
mentioned the night before. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched
him say something to one of the garotas sitting nearest him. Unlike most
of the Bahian girls, who were clearly of mixed ancestry or of African
descent, this girl was extremely fair, with a milky-white complexion and
long curly dark hair.
As Hermione watched, the girl threw back her head in laughter,
revealing her smooth creamy throat and thrusting her well-proportioned
chest out...
What a slut, Hermione thought, using it as a chance to dance even
more exuberantly with her partner.
When she looked up again, both Harry and the girl were gone.
This time, it was more difficult for Hermione to sleep. And when
she did, she dreamed those dreams of Avalon that left her flushed,
sweaty... red-faced and quite unconvinced that she could have ever been
so young and innocent... and free.
 8. How Quiet the Storm

~~~
The search for Demetrios Solon was not going very well. Hermione
could tell that at breakfast, which was a much smaller affair on the third
morning. They were convinced that he was somewhere in Salvador, but
their leads were turning up nothing and the trail was getting cold. No one
could find evidence that he’d left Bahia, though.
“Likely he’s still scared that there are Cabalistica sympathizers
afoot,” Ron remarked. “We’ll smoke him out if he’s around.”
Hermione tuned them all out, picking at her fruit salad with little
appetite. She looked up to find Harry’s eyes upon her. The expression in
them was unreadable.
Exasperated, she turned away.
Hermione’s research was going well. Many of the earliest accounts
of the mystery illness had been preserved in great detail, and Hermione
began taking frantic notes. She wished that all her notes hadn’t been
destroyed... three times over...
She brushed the tip of her quill against her lips absently. Was that
why the Cabalistica had taken her things upon her kidnapping?
Ransacked Rosângela de Souza’s tin-walled home? Blown up that hotel
in Manaus?
It wasn’t just her that they wanted.
They didn’t want her to find a cure for the disease.
Hermione would do just that. She had a comprehensive list of the
symptoms, of the disease cycle, of the demographic profile of the typical
victim.
All she needed to find out was what was doing it.
Frustrated with that, she turned to Atlantis-lore and Inanna-lore.
One particularly large tome on Atlantis contained an interesting article.
Atlantis was a mythic continent of the Atlantic Ocean where,
according to Plato, and advanced civilization developed some 11,600
years ago. Plato affirms that, as the result of a huge volcanic cataclysm
of worldwide extent, this continent sunk away underseas, disappearing
forever. Official Science – the one you learn at Muggle schools – rejects
the actual existence of Atlantis, and even the most adept of Wizard
Gatekeepers have thus far been unable to find any traces of its reality.
The New World is perhaps the region where the probable civilizing
impact of Atlantis is easiest to observe. In contrast with the
establishment doctrine that claims the Americas were peopled via the
Bering Strait and developed an autonomous civilization, we are
convinced that civilization along with a substantial component of the
population of the Amerindian nations came to the Americas via the
Pacific Ocean. This is particularly the case of the more advanced
cultures such as those of the Incas of Peru and the Mayas and Aztecs of
Mexico.
Amerindian contacts with the Far Orient were both regular and
intensive throughout antiquity. White Civilizing Heroes such as Bochica,
Quetzalcoatl and Kukulkan are indeed the Nagas or Minas, the fabled
Serpent Peoples of the Eastern Indies. Our arguments are based on the
solid evidence afforded by the domesticated plants and animals that exist
on both sides of the Pacific Ocean, and on the cultural and linguistic
parallels that make of pre-Columbian America the perfect dual of the
ancient Indies, and a replica of Atlantis.
This was something new, Hermione thought. She’d always assumed
that Atlantis, if it existed, would be a culture much like that of the
classical Greeks. After all, it had been the Greeks who’d preserved the
legend in the first place.
But hadn’t the ancient wise philosopher, Solon, learned of the
existence of Atlantis from an Egyptian priest, who said that the
civilization predated Egypt itself?
She supposed Nephthys would know something of it. Her mentor
was born at the height of the Old Kingdom, she knew... long ago, but
still, even Nephthys was as much of a babe compared to Ereshkigal as
she, Hermione, was a babe compared to Nephthys.
That reminded Hermione of the other subject she wanted to look up.
She needed to learn more about this Inanna person.
Hermione had learned some things from the Demon herself.
Evidently, Inanna and Ereshkigal had been born twins... but had not been
born to those names. Delilah and Nidaba were indeed common names
that dated from New Stone Age times in the Fertile Crescent. Hermione
assumed that the reason she knew that the Demon’s true name was
Nidaba was because the knowledge had been passed down through the
generations.
And the king of that time... Enki, rather. She remembered that
name, dimly, from somewhere in one of her History of Magic books.
She closed the text on Atlantis and opened another she’d pulled
down from the shelf.
The Witch Enheduana was the earliest known author of written
literature. High Priestess to the goddess Inanna, she lived in
 8. How Quiet the Storm
Mesopotamia around 2300 BCE. The hymns she wrote to Inanna
constitute the earliest written portrayal of an ancient goddess and also
represent the first existing account of an individual’s consciousness of
her inner life.
As Hermione flipped the page, she felt chilly despite the
comfortable temperature of the library.
First, she read the carefully preserved accounts of the Descent of
Inanna. Hermione could not read the Babylonian texts, and certainly
couldn’t make heads nor tails of the Sumerian. But she could read Greek
fluently, as could all mediWizards and mediWitches, and some
hieroglyphs... so the Alexandrian translations of the Descent were what
she used.
According to legend, the ancient Mesopotamians believed that each
year Inanna descended to the underworld to resurrect her consort,
Dumuzi. At each of the seven gates of the underworld she left one of her
garments behind until, naked, she met her sister Ereshkigal, queen of the
underworld. Ereshkigal killed Inanna and hung her on a hook until
Inanna herself is resurrected and returns to life.
“Well, that’s nice,” murmured Hermione, shuddering.
She opened a dusty scroll, this one from medieval times, to read
another account of the legend.
Enki the Wise is the god of fresh water and wisdom. He is a great
helper of humankind, and gave to us the Seven Sages, who taught us
many arts and skills. To the beautiful Inanna, of whom he is most fond,
he gave many gifts as well: wisdom, justice, love, the sacred women,
and the fruit of the vine. Inanna is the morning star and the evening star,
the rose, and Queen of the Heavens. She is the daughter of Sen, the god
of the Moon.
Inanna has a sister named Ereshkigal, who lives and rules in Irkalla,
the land of the dead. Though Inanna was always very wise, in her youth
she knew nothing of her sister's land, and wanted to learn of it. She
asked the permission of the other gods to go. After much hesitation and
debate, they granted her wish.
Hermione re-rolled the scroll, shaking her head. Just like the
medieval scribes, she thought, to rewrite legend. In the original stories,
Enki was not a god at all, but the beloved consort of Inanna. She hadn’t
received her gifts from him, they were innate! And Delilah could never
have been so naive as to believe that there was no evil in the world... not
with a sister like that Nidaba creature...
She sighed. Likely this translation was from a text from patriarchal
Babylonian times, millennia after ancient Sumeria had been forgotten.
Just as the first deities of Muggle religion were female, the first
magicians were women as well. Easy for men to forget, wasn’t it, now
that they’d had control of things for a few millennia...
Soft footsteps upon the library floor interrupted her thoughts. It was
Eva, with her sleeping baby son in a sling, coming to sit with her. They
were alone in the library, as it was the start of the summer holidays for
the young students, so they were free to talk.
“How is that coming?” Eva asked, obviously interested.
“Fine. How has your morning been?”
“Esse daqui dá um trabalhão... this little one is a handful.”
Something unutterably sweet washed over Hermione as she
watched her new friend cuddle her sleeping son more closely, in the
inimitable gesture of motherhood. Then she swallowed the lump in her
throat and told herself to stop being silly and sentimental.
“I can imagine.”
“Yes.” She smiled, then sobered. “There is something I want to talk
to you about, Hermione. No one wants to say it, but I think...”
“If it’s about Harry, then I don’t want to hear it,” she said
stubbornly.
“You are being boba, minha amiga,” said Eva. “If you do not stop,
you will drive that man away from you.”
“Right now, I’d like nothing more.”
“Oh, please be serious! We are watching the two of you be
ridiculous... and you are putting us all in the middle of this.”
“There is no ‘this’ to be in the middle of, Eva.”
“You know very well that there is a ‘this’!” said Eva, sounding
more like Hermione than Hermione herself. “There will always be ‘this’
when it comes to you two. I told the others what I will tell you now...
you need to stop being so stupid. You need to stop fighting and get on
with the business of making babies. That is what you want to do with
him, sim, but you are too stupid to admit it. You are teimosa como uma
mula... stubborn as a mule!”
Hermione’s chin went up. “You’re too young to know anything
about it.”
“Ah, but I am old enough to know ‘stupid’ when I see it.”
“What do you know, Eva?” Hermione snapped. “You’re all of
twenty years old. You never had any formal schooling beyond age
eleven. And you’ve never left Brazil! What can you tell me about life?”
Eva nodded slowly.
 8. How Quiet the Storm
“You are right. I never had book learning, like you. I cannot heal
people like you. I never had a lot of things that you have, sim, and
I admit this. But I do know about people, yes, and the way it is between
a man and a woman. The way it must be.”
Hermione shook her head. “You don’t know anything, Eva.
I haven’t told you and Juli everything that happened between Harry and
me. Not everything. If you knew, you’d see that...”
“I see that you need to make babies,” said Eva again, with a giggle.
“I don’t want his babies,” Hermione said with a derisive snort.
“Boba. What proper garota does not want babies?” She shook her
head as if Hermione was the most ridiculous creature she’d ever laid
eyes on. “You and Harry together, you would make pretty ones with
him...”
“Not all women want babies, Eva. I know this might be impossible
for you to understand, but in the world I come from, Witches have many
other options. I would make a terrible mother, he would be an even
worse father...”
“I think you would be a good mãe. So wise and kind, tambem ...
your babies would love you. And Harry, he is a teacher,” Eva pointed
out. “He has talked about the young ones he teaches. Why does that
make for a bad father? He would be a very good father, I am thinking...”
“You are deliberately missing the point, Eva. Whether or not Harry
becomes a father or a Graphorn herder has nothing to do with me any
longer. We are not going to be together. Ever again.”
Eva’s small frame shook with silent laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Hermione demanded.
“You are. You have everything and you cannot see it.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t presume to know what I’ve been
through. You can’t!”
“You are right. I do not know what it is like to be Hermione
Granger. I will never know. You have lost much. Your mother, your
friends, your love... yourself, I am thinking. You went to that bad Tartar
place to save us all... and you made it back. You went to another place
with Harry as well... no, you did not tell me that, but I hear you say it in
your sleep at the laboratorio. Your eyes are sad some of the time...
“No, I do not know what it is like to be Hermione Granger.
“But I do know what it is like to be Eva de Souza. I know what
many things feel like that you do not. I know what it is to be hungry and
thirsty with no food or water. I know what it is to be sick with no
medicine. I know what it is like to want the book learning and the magic
learning and not even to ask... for minha mãe was poor, and she needed
me to earn a wage, sim?
“I know what it is like to be Eva... and that means not being a girl
for long. Marcelo first took me when I was only fourteen years, minha
amiga. You speak to me of love and choosing... I ask you if I could
choose him freely as I chose Zach. He was my companion and Juli’s
brother too... but I was not ready to be a woman at fourteen. Não.
“There were others, yes. Senhor Carvalho wanted me. That is the
reason why I was sent away, not because of ‘Celo. Senhora Helena
arranged that when I told minha mãe my fears. It was a Wizarding
family. She thought I would be safer. But the senhor took me too, and
then sold me to the Cabalistica.”
Hermione closed her eyes. “I’m sorry...”
“No. Don’t say sorry. It is not your fault. It is my life. And it has
been a good life. I have life better than my mother. My father beat her,
see, and that is how we got to Rio and Rocinha... why I am carioca and
not nordestina. Minha mãe did not get schooling at all... none at all... and
you see how she died. And my grandmother. They took her from the
Amazon before she was a woman. She was loved by one of the white
missionaries in Santarém, she said... he left her with only minha mãe to
remember him.
“My grandmother had a hard life. She did better for my mother. My
mother did better for me... and me, my son will have everything,
Zachary or não.
“Yes, Hermione, I am not you. I know this. I am only Evinha, the
poor little girl from Rocinha with baby and nothing else. And since I am
Eva, I know that it is not easy between a man and a woman. I have seen
that all my life. It is also not easy between a man and a man sometimes,
if they love in that way... just as it is very hard between Juli and her
Magdalena.
“It is not easy. It will never be easy. But is it worth it? Sim, that
always.”
Hermione sighed. “I still say you don’t get it at all.”
Eva twinkled at her.
“And when you make those pretty babies with your Harry, garota,
I will not say that I told you so. I promise.”

~~~
 8. How Quiet the Storm
After yet another unsuccessful morning and early afternoon out in
the field, the Wizards, Lena, and Juliana returned to the palace to escape
the unrelenting rays of the sun.
“Merciless,” muttered Ron, wiping the sweat from his extremely
freckled forehead and underneath his eyes. “I can’t believe the summers
here.”
“Summer?” laughed Juliana. “Meu amigo, this is still spring!”
“Summer does not begin until the twenty-first of December,” Lena
told him solemnly, obviously sorry for the discomfort of their English
friends. “That’s four days from now.”
“Do you mean it gets hotter than this?” Ron asked incredulously.
Juliana and Lena laughed. So did Riki.
“You have not seen anything yet!” said Lena. “Just wait until
Carnaval comes...”
Ron shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m hoping to return
home soon.”
He stepped into one of the House-Elf litters, and asked to be
transported to the kitchens. There he found a pitcher full of a cool citrus
drink and some glasses. Replenished for the afternoon, he almost asked
the House-Elves to head to his room...
And then he remembered Harry, who had fled upon reaching the
palace stairs.
So he ordered the House-Elves to find Harry.
They found him in the foyer just outside his suite of rooms, pacing.
The large windows showcased the tropical sunlight, yet inside the walls
and floors were cool underfoot. Harry, however, looked anything but. He
looked so tense that his skin was barely enough to contain him.
Ron slid out of the litter with the drinks and dismissed the
contingent of House-Elves.
“Lemonade?” he asked.
Harry turned around, arms folded. Surveyed the glasses.
“No, thanks. I had water just a short while ago.”
“Thought you still might be thirsty.” Ron shrugged, easily levitated
the tray, and poured a glass for himself without using his hands. “I’ll
drink alone, then.”
Harry let out a deep breath, something indecipherable on his face.
Then he turned back to face the window.
“You know, Harry, I don’t know why you thought it was going to be
easy.”
“I never thought that. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy.”
 “Sometimes you have to ask yourself if what’s lost is truly worth
the find.”
“And then there are some things that are priceless,” Harry said,
almost muttering now. “A man would give up all he has to...” Then he
trailed off. “I wager we’re not referring to the same thing, are we?”
“Well, I would hope so. Some crusty old Gatekeeper-type’s not my
idea of priceless,” Ron chuckled.
Harry’s laugh was dry and bitter. “She’s absolutely impossible,
Ron.”
“Yeah, she is that. But you knew that all along. She’s also stubborn,
headstrong, bossy, and thinks she knows more than anyone else
breathing. She always was and I see no signs of her mellowing in her old
age. More than likely that this isn’t just a phase for her.” Ron shrugged.
“We all have our faults.”
“I’d love her for them if they weren’t driving me insane.”
“You still do love her,” said Ron. “But you have to ask yourself if
you really want that from her. Grass being greener and all that, mate.”
“I can’t see how you can stand here and talk to me about her.”
“There is a such thing as getting over someone, Harry. Really, there
is. I haven’t been in love with Hermione since long before the divorce...
and maybe I never truly was. I know that in spite of all the pretty girls
here, I’ve not been tempted to stray.”
“The mind is willing but the flesh is weak.”
The corner of Ron’s mouth twitched with cynical delight. If Harry
could still joke around, he would be all right.
“I’m saying that Maureen and I were always a different sort of
marriage than Hermione and I. Just like our friendship, the friendship
that we’ve always had, is different. The sort of friendship I have with
you and Hermione, it’s... different from any other friends I’ve ever had
in my life.”
“Or was,” said Harry sadly. “I’m afraid that we’ll never get over the
past. That things will never be the same again.”
“Eh, who wants them to be the same? It’s the difference between
innocence and experience if you ask me, mate... ignorance may be bliss,
but it still means you’re ignorant. Naïve. Wet behind the ears. Green.
Everything happens for a reason, I’m thinking. Even if we can’t figure
out why all the time. Know what I mean?”
Harry turned around then. “You do realize that it’s dead easy for
you to be gracious, as you have the wife and the kids? What I wouldn’t
give to have...”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
“You could have had, Harry. There are plenty of Witches whom all
you had to do was raise a finger and beckon. Understandable, though.
After her, everything and everyone else seemed sort of flat and dull to
you, doesn’t it?”
“How would you know?”
Ron laughed. “Because I feel the same way about my wife, you
prat! Yeah, yeah... I know. It was horrible, what the gypsy and I did... but
from the first time I was with her, I understood exactly what was wrong
with my marriage. What would never be right.”
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell Hermione. Or me, for
that matter...”
“Because I’m quite often the stupid arse that you two call me. And
because I was afraid of losing you both completely. Sure, I’d have Mo,
but what kind of man would I be without the two of you?”
Harry considered this, then nodded slowly.
“Why are you being so nice about this? It can’t be pleasant for you
to see the two of us together.”
To that, Ron shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. Ten or fifteen years
ago, I would have killed you where you stood...”
“Or at least, made a go at it,” Harry smirked.
“But this is not ten or fifteen years ago. I’m not seventeen or
twenty-two anymore, a boy or a youth. I’m a man now, and... you know,
I guess it’s because I’m happy, Harry. Despite the bad press and the loss
of our careers, I’m happier than I ever dreamed possible. Maureen
wasn’t just some random fling... not like the girls I had before we
married... I was determined to keep my vows to Hermione. When
Maureen Ludlam walked into my life, she turned it upside down. We
kept our hands off each other for years. She even ran away from what we
both saw coming... and I tried harder with Hermione... but what is meant
to be, will be.
“She’s my match, Harry. When everyone found out about us, I was
relieved in a way. No more hiding or skulking about. No more being
ashamed. I love Hermione, but I’m in love with Maureen and always
will be. She’s given me two beautiful and healthy sons, and after the
New Year I’ll have another.
“I’m a lot worse off financially than I was four years ago. But
because of my family, I’m not poor at all. I’m richer than a Gringotts
Head Goblin. Having Maureen and the boys has changed me utterly. For
the first time in my life, I’m not just living for myself. Fatherhood
straightens your priorities. And it makes you less selfish, too... you start
thinking beyond just your lifetime and you stare into the future... into
forever. I know I’ll never be the sort of man my Dad is... I’m not so
good as that... but I do hope someday that I can be half the father he was.
“I want all that for you, Harry. Do you know, I’ve known you for
twenty-one years, and in all that time, I can’t remember once where I’ve
seen you completely happy? Even at the best of times, there’s always a
bit of you that you hold back. As if you’re waiting for the AK blast to
come... but if I could ask one thing of you, for you, it would be that you
let go and live life.”
Harry folded his arms again. Looking down at the floor. Exhaling in
a way that sounded very much like a sigh.
“There was a time, Ron, when I did do that. Only you weren’t there
to see it. I didn’t just taste life, I devoured it. And that’s when I ended up
betraying you, and walking around with the guilt of it for twelve years.”
Ron walked towards Harry. He clapped his hand on his shoulder.
“Do you really think it’s necessary to go House-Elf on yourself for
the rest of your life, then? No, I think not. Debt repaid... although if you
ask me, there never was any. We weren’t married then, we were all
young, and God knows I strayed more than a few times back in those
days. If I were you, I would have...”
“But you’re not me. You’re not me now. You don’t understand what
it’s like between us.”
“I can imagine,” Ron said, drawing his hand back. “She’s not an
easy Witch to love. But you knew that. You have to ask yourself, mate, is
she worth it?”
Harry looked at Ron incredulously.
“Of course she’s worth it. That was never the question.”
“Then what was?”
“If I’m worthy of her. My track record with women isn’t very...”
Ron laughed indulgently. “And what of mine, and Seamus’ and
Dean’s... and most of my brothers’? Let’s not forget George’s men...
I could go on and on, you know, with the mistakes all of us have made
while we occupied the time until she came. We’ve all done things we
regret, Harry.”
“It’s different for me. I’m different.”
“In a lot of ways, yeah, Harry. You are. Not in this category, though.
You’re still a man. And she... I’ve seen you with her these past few
weeks. Yeah, it was dead difficult at first for me to see you with her, and
to see how different she is with you from what she was with me. I’d be
lying if I didn’t say it hurt. But, you know what... I don’t think you need
 8. How Quiet the Storm
to worry. Not when it comes to Hermione.”
“Thanks.”
“Any time, mate.”
Ron walked out of the room, tray with the drinks floating behind
him.
“Oh, and Ron?”
He turned around. “Yeah, what’s that?”
“If you ever dance with her again like that, just know that I’ll be
forced to rip your head off.” Harry wasn’t smiling, but his green eyes
were twinkling. “Slowly.”
“I’ll try to remember, Harry,” he smirked. “See you at dinner.”

~~~
That night, the celebration in the plaza reached fever pitch. The
small group heard it long before they finished dinner, and Riki chattered
on excitedly with Lena about a kite he wanted to try out.
“You need to go to bed early, hijo,” Lena insisted. “You have been
staying up far too late.”
“But Magda...”
“Do you want your mother and father to hear of everything?”
He hung his head. “No.”
“You can stay up late when we go to Itacaré tomorrow,” she said.
“You’ve been doing great work this past week with us. We all could use
some time on the playa, no te parece?”
“I think that is a splendid idea,” Zach said. “Of course Eva and
Daniel ought to come along as well. And you, Hermione.”
“What’s in this Itacaré place?” asked Hermione, who was trying her
best to ignore Harry, who just then was talking quietly in the corner with
Ron and Sirius.
“Demetrios Solon, we think,” Lena replied. “Juli got the lead on her
search today. We have an address and everything. Quite impressive...
I was proud.”
At Magdalena’s use of her old nickname, Juliana blushed.
“Why do we all have to go?” asked Hermione. “I thought I was
under house arrest.”
Juliana explained. “Itacaré is small enough to see to your safety.
Salvador is a large city and the capital... not so safe. Besides, you’ve
been restricted to the Palacio all week... we thought you and Eva and the
baby could use some fresh air and a walk on the praia.”
“How magnanimous of you,” said Hermione shortly. “Did you clear
it with them?” Her head jerked in the direction of the three conversing
men.
“Actually, it was Harry who suggested it first,” said Zach, studying
Hermione’s face for a reaction. “After Juli and Magdalena told him what
the place was like, he thought it would be a great opportunity for you
ladies and the baby to have a chance to relax. I suppose he’s talking
Sirius into it.”
“I see,” said Hermione, no visible reaction on her face at all. “And
is this for the entire day?”
“It’s a three-to-four hour drive for the Muggles, but only ninety
minutes by Ministry car. We can’t all Apparate, since Juli and Lena are
the only ones who know where it is, and it’s just not a place where a lot
of Wizards converge, if you know what I mean. So Renato will drive us
there in the morning and return for us the next day.”
“Why are we staying there overnight?” Hermione asked.
“It was Juliana and Lena who suggested it,” said Ron, leaving Sirius
and Harry, to join in this new conversation. “Renato has to supervise
security for another state dinner here, so we’ve all got rooms at some
eco-friendly resort. Muggle, though... it doesn’t have a significant
Wizarding settlement, which is why we think it’s a very plausible
location for Solon to be hiding.”
Hermione openly glared at the back of Harry’s head. “What about
my research? Surely that’s important.”
“Come on, Hermione,” Ron implored. “For once in your life, take a
day off! Take your notes and a few books with you, if you like. The
change of scenery might do you some good. Who knows when we’ll get
a chance like this again?”
If Hermione had refused – and she very nearly did – her life might
have turned out very differently indeed. She had every intention of
saying no and staying behind while the others had their beach fun. She
would stay in the library and brood. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done much
the same thing before, over and over again.
She didn’t.
Instead, she merely nodded.
“Why not?”

~~~
 8. How Quiet the Storm
Tucked somewhere in Bahia between the grand old city of Salvador
and the cacao-producing town Ilheus, nestled between the Atlantic
Ocean and Rio de Contas, there is a tiny village that not even many
Brazilians know much about. It is an unique place in that country,
marked by dazzling sunsets, quiet and lonely beaches with pristine white
sand and a rainforested backdrop, the stillness broken only occasionally
by the movement of small fishercraft and young, sun-browned local
boys practicing the tradition of the capoeira in the windswept valleys
amongst the dunes.
The village is not much like the rest of Bahia, or for that matter,
anywhere else in Brazil. It has such particular people and customs that
the visitor can be forgiven for thinking that he is in another period or
another country. There the Mata Atlantica, that part of the Amazon
rainforest mostly destroyed during the colonial era, has been reasonably
preserved. So strangely enough, there are cool nights here at sea level
even during the summer.
Ten years before the earth road leading from Salvador to Itacaré was
transformed into a park road. There was some fear that the secret
paradise would be disturbed... but edicts from the Brazilian government
and the United Nations ensured that the last preserved remnant of the
Atlantic coast that the explorers first laid eyes upon would be preserved
for generations to come.
On the day that they arrived, 18 December, that newly paved road
happened to be jam-packed. So they simply floated above the melée,
planning to arrive ahead of the pack.
They arrived in the sleepy little village of Itacaré to find it a
teeming mass of humanity. As far as the eye could see, there were
swarms of people.
They soon learned the reason for the crowds. It happened that the
whole of the village and beaches were preparing for a fantastic live
Christmas concert to honor some of the towering greats of Brazilian
popular music, now mostly in their seventies and eighties. Newer artists
Daniela Mercury and Bebel Gilberto and others were expected, along
with the honorees and special guests.
“So much for a quiet retreat,” Ron said, after questioning a local.
“Five reais says that Solon took off the second he heard the first car
horn.”
The journey to the little house only took a few minutes. Renato
drove them there. Of course, no one was home at all... the place looked
locked and deserted.
 “Shame,” said Renato. “Well, if you would like to go back to the
Salvador, you are more than welcome... we can try again tomorrow.”
“But we’ve already got the hotel rooms,” Ron pointed out. “Why
don’t we at least stay the night?”
“Because I’ve got research to do, Ron,” Hermione said. “We can
always cancel the rooms, as we’re here well before our check-in time,
and re-book for tomorrow night.”
“Do you really think this crowd will disperse by then?” Ron asked.
“I say we stay... we’ve been working our arses off, we’ve already got a
place to stay here, and it’s not as if we have a lead regarding Solon’s
whereabouts. Might as well wait for him to come back.”
Eva was surprised. “Do you mean... we can go to the concert?
While we are doing all this? I thought that was not allowed at a time like
this?”
“What’s that, love?” asked Ron. “What’s not allowed?”
“Having fun.”
Harry and Ron laughed, and even ticked-off Hermione had to crack
a smile.
“Oh, we had the little fun we could as kids during the war. Yeah, it
was war... but we were still kids. You have to decompress sometime.”
Harry turned to Renato. “You can go on and tell Joseane thanks. I’ve got
a Black and Potter Visa, and we can buy tickets.”
“If they are not sold out,” said Juliana after Renato said his good-
byes and took leave of them, “I doubt that we can get tickets for a MPB
concert, though. Especially a televised one.”
“Then we’ll conjure them out of thin air if we have to,” Harry
joked.
“That’s morally reprehensible,” Hermione snapped. “If we can’t get
them legitimately, then...”
Harry ignored her. “Ron and I will worry about the tickets. Zach,
you and Eva can go to the hotel to check in, while the rest of you
ladies...”
Juliana was giggling. “We’ll keep ourselves occupied, you can be
sure of that.”
“Just no beach until we get there,” Ron said. “You have to wait!”
“Aw, Ron, you are not fair!”
Once the men left, Juliana turned to Lena.
“Do you remember the shop we frequented when we came here to
Itacaré as girls?”
Lena’s mouth dropped open. “I do remember it! Dios, I’ve been half
 8. How Quiet the Storm
the world over and I still haven’t found the like of Anneliese Figueroa’s
designs!”
“Anneliese Figueroa?” asked Hermione curiously as they walked.
“I’ve never heard of her.”
“Not many outside Brazil have. She is an eccentric,” explained
Juliana. “She could have been hired by Gladrags in Paris or Malkin’s in
Milan long ago... but she prefers to stay here in old Itacaré by the sea,
weaving her own cloth, making her dresses for those in the know.”
“She’s a Witch, then?” asked Hermione, surprised.
“Yes, she is. But a Witch that sells to Muggles,” Lena said. “It’s a
Muggle shop that she runs, and you have never seen the like of her
dresses. Muggle women here have made her rich... they say her clothing
fits as if it is custom-made.”
“This I’ve got to see,” Hermione replied.
And she did indeed see it. Anneliese was a small woman of mixed
German and Portuguese descent who fluttered about her shop like a
hummingbird. The garments on display reflected the taste of highborn
Brazilian women... sensual but not trashy, designed for both comfort and
feminine appeal.
Juliana and Lena immediately indicated what they wanted.
Anneliese produced a dress all of fabulous blue shades from periwinkle
to royal midnight for Lena to try... and for fair Juliana, there was a lovely
two-piece frock that was the same shade as the juicy inside of a peach.
Hermione was at a loss. She watched the other two women fly into
dressing rooms... and continued looking.
“Is there anything I can help you with, dear?”
“Oh... I’m not certain.” She frowned, biting her lip, then
remembering herself and stopping the bad habit. “I do love everything
here...”
“But you’re not sure what would be best for you?” Anneliese
looked her up and down. “What color are you thinking of?”
“Oh, I don’t know... perhaps a pale pastel, like pink,” Hermione said
with a shrug. “And not as casual as the dresses you gave those other two.
I’d like something with class.”
The dress was produced, a princessy confection designed for the
relentlessly hot climate. Hermione looked at the filmy mass Anneliese
put into her arms and was doubtful, but the older women half-shoved her
into a dressing room.
Hermione tried on the dress.
It had to be the loveliest garment she’d ever put on. And that was
saying something. Not even her wedding robes had fit and flattered like
this! The dress, barely tinted pink, fit her like a dream, making her look
like one of the Greek deities that her mum had so loved...
“It’s called the Aphrodite,” said Anneliese, as Hermione walked...
no, floated... out of the dressing room. “Very popular, and I make no two
that are alike.”
“It’s lovely,” Hermione said. “I love Grecian-styled clothing, and
it’s hard to get where I’m from. But it’s a bit too much for tonight... too
formal. I’d want something I can move a bit in. I plan to dance!”
Anneliese cocked her head from one side to the other.
“I have just the thing,” she said. “Wait one minute...”
When she produced the next dress, Hermione’s eyes widened.
“Wow, that’s tiny and red,” she said, blushing just a bit.
Anneliese laughed. “This one I call the Roxane. Every girl ought to
be a scarlet woman one night of her life. Go on, dear... try it on and see if
you like it.”
Hermione went nearly as red as the dress when she first glanced
into the dressing room mirror. This was emphatically not the sort of
thing she would have ever chosen for herself. Ever.
This wasn’t to say that the dress was trashy. Far from it... Anneliese
Figueroa didn’t know how to sew rubbish. Rather, the lines of the dress
fit, and flowed, and conformed to every curve and every tuck of her
figure. The front was semi-modest, but the garment left her back nearly
bare. The skirt was slightly flared, and as she turned around, it swirled
with her... revealing a good third of her lower thigh.
I can’t wear a bra with this, was Hermione’s first thought. And
I can’t even charm myself for support. Out of the question.
Her second was: I’d have to get knickers to match... otherwise, one
good breeze and it’s Christmas a week early.
Her third was: I can’t believe I’m actually considering buying this
thing!
Anneliese knocked.
“Everything all right, dear?”
“Did you find something you liked?” called Juliana. “Lena and I are
all done.”
Hermione came out of the dressing room.
Juliana and Lena both gasped, while Anneliese smiled.
“Can I have one of those?” Lena asked.
“I dare you to wear it,” Juliana laughed. “I know you, Hermione...
you’ll be tugging that skirt down and hiding your front all night!”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
Anneliese was still smiling. “I think it’s lovely. And what, my dear,
do you say?”
Hermione exhaled, then met her smile.
“Do you happen to have shoes to go along with this?”
Anneliese nodded.
“Then I’ll take it.”

~~~
There.
With a pair of strappy red sandals with low heels and a bright red
flower for her hair, the Hermione in the Muggle looking glass was ready
for dinner.
Well, not quite ready. A second after she’d dressed, Juliana burst
into her room, brandishing a bottle of bright scarlet polish.
“I’m going to give you a pedicure,” she said, in a tone that brooked
no refusal. “I just finished Eva and Lena...”
Hermione looked down. “My feet are just fine.”
“They look frightful, ‘Mione... I won’t let you wear sandals like
that!”
So Hermione relented and allowed Juliana to pumice, soak, clip,
file, and lacquer. When she reached for her hands to do the same,
however, Hermione produced her own bottle of clear nail enamel from
the overnight bag.
“I’d rather have the clear polish on my fingernails, thanks,”
Hermione said, thinking irrationally of Clara.
Then Lena came in with a diamond-shaped bottle of some sweet-
smelling stuff, and Eva trotted in with baby Daniel to watch.
“We look positively decadent,” said Hermione once they were done.
“My friends in England would die of shock if they saw me like this! Not
to mention my father.”
“Every girl ought to look decadent once in her life, Hermione,”
chided Lena gently. “This is my last night to have fun before my duties
as priestess call me away for a while. I plan to enjoy it to the fullest!”
Hermione looked at Eva. “You’re not going to be lonely, are you?”
After dinner, Eva would not be attending the concert. She would be
retreating back to their hotel, the Itacaré Eco Resort, with the baby.
Eva laughed.
“There is color television here! And air conditioning. And Harry
says I can order whatever I want from room service.” She sighed her
content. “This must be heaven on earth!”
The women all shared a friendly giggle, and then went downstairs
to the hotel restaurant to eat.

~~~
Harry’s bad evening began at dinnertime. The afternoon, after
purchasing the tickets and securing the hotel rooms, was spent napping
in his unshared room. So he was adequately refreshed for the evening,
but hadn’t prepared at all for everything that was to come.
He did find the sleeping arrangements a bit difficult to fix at first.
The original plan was to stay two per room, same-sex, but there were
problems with that. Zach wanted to be with Eva and Daniel. Lena was
uncomfortable sharing with Juliana. And now that he and Hermione
weren’t going anywhere near each other...
They’d booked four rooms originally, but Harry, not thinking at the
time they met Zach and Eva at check-in, went and paid for five. This
meant there was one more room than needed.
“Juliana can share with Hermione,” Ron said with a shrug. “Or
I don’t mind sharing with her. And Lena and Riki can share.”
“Then that means both you and I have got single rooms.”
“Why not? Doesn’t bother me. Or better yet, Riki can share with me
and Lena can have a rest.”
So that was the arrangement. They had to book the rooms for a
week, as the Eco Resort didn’t honor overnight-only accommodation. It
wasn’t as if they couldn’t afford it... the Black and Potter Visa went
directly into the Gringotts exchange, and if the Muggle hotel staff had
known the credit limit, they would have goggled. It was likely Harry
could have bought a medium-sized airplane with it and still had enough
for drinks afterwards.
What the Muggles didn’t know never hurt them, though.
Dinner was in the hotel restaurant, Mãe Josepha. It served not only
Bahian specialties, but international food from the world over. There was
outdoor seating available, within sight of the beach, but they chose to sit
indoors where it was far cooler.
“Where are the girls?” asked Ron, looking at a menu. “Glad to see
this is printed in English for a change.”
“Upstairs in the hotel still,” Riki offered. “Why does it always take
 8. How Quiet the Storm
them so long to get dressed, Ron?”
“Because they’ve got more to put on than we have, I suppose.
They’re also a lot prettier than we are, and so it takes them more effort to
get that way.”
Riki shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
“Yeah. My thoughts exactly,” said Ron, unable to hide a smile.
Then there was laughter, and the tinkling of feminine voices, and
then they were all together again, flouncing into the four vacant seats
across the table.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Juliana said.
“We’re used to it,” said Zach, smiling at Eva.
Hermione sat across from Ron with a grin. “Seems that they only
left four menus.”
“You can borrow mine,” he said, lowering his menu as his mouth
gaped open. “Where on earth did you get that dress? You look...”
“You’re welcome,” said Hermione with a grin, taking up the menu.
“Let’s see, what’s good to eat here? Any suggestions?”
“As if anyone else has ever been here before. Get a waiter.”
Hermione did so, charming him with a smile and feigned
helplessness. The waiter peacocked a bit, taking great pride in describing
the house wine cellar in tremendous detail. She learned that the Bahian
specialties available included vatapá (shrimp, fish oil, coconut milk,
bread and rice), sarapatel (liver, hearts, tomatoes, peppers, onion and
gravy), and caruru (shrimp, okra, onions and peppers).
She ordered the vatapá, and after taking the others’ orders, the poor
waiter walked off with his chest noticeably stuck out.
All things considered, the meal was extremely funny or extremely
uncomfortable, depending upon who you were. This was because Harry
and Hermione adamantly refused to engage in conversation with one
another, or to participate while the other was. Because Hermione was
more of a talker than Harry was, this meant that she dominated the
conversation while Harry nonchalantly breezed through the courses.
Instead of brooding as usual, he seemed completely unconcerned with
her or anything she did.
“Who do you think will break first?” Juliana whispered in
Portuguese to Eva.
“I think it will be a tie,” Eva said.
“My money’s on him, as he’s a man,” muttered Lena, catching wind
of the conversation. “She’s playing with fire. I think she had better watch
herself...”
 Hermione was too busy laughing at something that Zach had just
said, but Ron caught on. “What was that, girls?”
Eva twinkled at him. “Nothing. We were just...”
“Saying how handsome Harry looked tonight,” Juliana said.
“Wouldn’t you agree, Hermione?” she said, nudging her friend.
The smile died from Hermione’s face. She sent a pointedly mean
look in Juliana’s direction, turned back to Zach, and continued the
conversation.
“Ouch,” Ron muttered. “That wasn’t very nice.”
Harry tossed his napkin onto his empty plate. “I’m done here.
I think I’ll see you at the concert...”
It wasn’t to be, however. Eva, who was sitting across from him,
made a too-clumsy-to-be-real movement as she tried to screw the top
back on her baby’s bottle... and the formula splashed forward on Harry’s
shirt.
Eva looked horrified, while Juliana and Lena could barely contain
their laughter.
“Oh, sorry, Harry!”
Harry glared at her, knowing what she was about. For the only one
who hadn’t cleared their plate yet was chatterbox Hermione, who was
also glaring at Eva while starting to eat at a pace that would give anyone
indigestion.
“Nice try,” said Harry, returning his cerulean blue guayabera to its
dry-cleaned state with a single subtle flick of his wand, then opening the
buttons of it to the waist so his skin could breathe. “Have a good night,
Eva. See the rest of you at the concert.”
Eva whispered to Juliana, “Perhaps we were wrong. He didn’t look
at her, not even once.”
Juliana pecked her friend on the cheek.
“No, querida. That only means we are right!”

~~~
The concert was held on the largest beach of Itacaré, Tiririca, where
a modern bandshell had been constructed the year before. The trail there
was a wide park one, heavily forested. The contrasting scents of fresh
greenery and flora and the sea were enchanting, as was the evening sun.
There were not many seats. The tickets they’d purchased were in
the standing room only section, just beyond the cleared flat space on the
 8. How Quiet the Storm
sand nearest the forest. The area was ringed with botequims where
concertgoers could get something to drink and nibble on. They also sold
towels, small cheap blankets, hats and sunscreen.
Ron purchased a wide-brimmed straw hat for himself, and
sunscreen, while Harry purchased a pitcher of caipirinha.
“There are only six glasses here,” said Riki, knowing the answer he
was going to get before he even asked.
Lena handed Drakkar’s son a can of chilled Fanta. “Lo siento,
Riki... but the cachaça is not for children.”
“Then I will just go splash around, with the other kids,” the little
boy said with a shrug, pointing at the surf visible in the distance.
“Can you swim?” asked Hermione.
“Yeah, of course! I’ll see you later... and I know where the hotel is,
so...”
The rest of Riki’s statement was lost as he dashed away.
Juliana took a sip from her glass and sighed. “I haven’t had good
caipirinha in months. Try it... you’ll love it!”
“I’ve had it before,” Harry said. “It’s not my favorite drink by any
means, but it gets you there fast. It really does.”
“It’s the cachaça which does it,” Juliana said, with great content.
“Best rum in the world.”
“Phenomenally strong rum, at least,” Ron said with a nod. “Careful,
‘Mione.”
Hermione was sipping gingerly. “Not bad.”
“Just don’t drink it any faster,” Ron advised. “You know how you
are.”
“Are you saying that I can’t handle my liquor, Ronald Weasley?”
“Anyone who can’t handle one margarita or one shot of tequila
ought not to be drinking cachaça at all,” said Harry in a casual tone, as if
to a passer-by.
“Anyone who can quaff tequila and rum as if it is water ought not to
give others advice regarding moderation,” Hermione shot back just as
casually.
Ron had shed his casual shirt, and was trying to reach his back to
apply sunscreen.
“There’s hardly any sun left,” said Zach, one of the few blonds who
didn’t have to worry that much about exposure. “It’ll all be gone within
the hour.”
“Yeah, but I’m tired of the freckles, and I’ve had burns at sunset
before... Juliana, get my back, will you...”
 “That’s fine, Ron, I’ll do it,” Hermione said, removing the bottle
from Ron’s hand and squeezing some of the lotion into her palm. Before
he could protest, Hermione was smoothing it over his back. “There,
that’s better, isn’t it?”
“Quite,” Ron said, ignoring Harry’s eyes but feeling them bore into
the back of his skull nonetheless. “Seems like they’re about to begin.
Shall we get closer to the stage, then?”
Hermione shook her head. “I’d like to finish up this glass. You go
on without me.”
Juliana and Lena started over the sand, followed by Zach.
“You coming, Harry?”
“I want another drink,” he said coldly. “I’ll catch up later.”
With a shrug and a glance back at Hermione, Ron trotted along after
the others, white shirt still draped over the table next to the mostly-
empty pitcher of caipirinha.
Live as if you’ll die tomorrow
Dream as if you’ll live forever
Dance like no one’s watching...
Talk about tension. Just then, the air between Harry and Hermione
was so thick that it could have been sliced up and made into tea
sandwiches.
As the concert began, both did their very best to ignore the other.
Hermione nursed her glass of caipirinha at a snail’s pace, ignoring the
burning sensation that it produced at the heart of her... and the fact that
the liquor was fast going to her head.
Meanwhile, Harry, who had finished off two and a half glasses of
the same stuff, had gone to the bar and returned with a glass of his
favorite straight Scotch without another word. He seemed uninterested in
the stuff, however, letting it rest on the table.
They stood there, at the same round table, facing away from each
other as they watched the concert. Side by side. Not touching... no, never
that... but breathing the same sea-salted air.
A tall, wide man with a broad face came up to them. His accent
branded him as American, perhaps from New England.
“Excuse me, I don’t know if you’re with...”
“Not at all,” Hermione said, smiling pleasantly and turning her back
more on Harry. “How are you this evening?”
The man smiled. “You’re British.”
“I am. What brings you to Brazil?”
“Business. And you?”
Hermione’s smile was quite dazzling. “The same.”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
They chattered on pleasantly for a few moments. Then the man,
whose name was Robert, offered to buy her a drink. She thanked him
and said she’d love to take him up on his offer. Before she could,
however, Harry cut in.
“She doesn’t drink,” he said flatly.
Robert looked at Harry, who had made no sign of noticing them up
until then. As for Hermione, she was too furious to speak.
“She doesn’t?”
“No, and she shouldn’t.” Harry lowered his voice conspiratorially.
“She’s got a bit of a drinking problem.”
“I see,” said Robert.
Hermione’s eyes were flying sparks. “The only one with the
problem is...”
“I take it the two of you know each other?” asked Robert.
“We do indeed. He’s my brother. My little brother,” Hermione said.
“Note the accent. And a damned annoying one he is.”
“Yes, I’ve got siblings myself.” Robert laughed. “Really, young
man, I mean your sister no harm. I just want to buy her a drink.”
“Thanks for that, love,” Hermione said, showing Harry her back
again as she turned towards Robert. “I’ll have the sex on the beach. It
looks really very good...”
But just then, Robert’s hand shot up to his temples, and he cried out
in agonizing pain.
“Damn it, I’ve got another one of my migraines... let me get you
that drink, but... aaah!”
Hermione didn’t even have time to touch the man before he
muttered his apologies and fled.
She whirled around to find Harry’s eyes on her. A look of supreme
satisfaction was on his face.
Before she could tell him off, a very pretty girl sidled up to them.
Hermione wondered if there was something in the air or the water. The
chit was at least ten years younger than Hermione, reddish blonde, with
smoke-grey eyes and a chest that was half-hanging out of the low-cut
front of her leopard print dress.
“Care to dance?” she asked in an accented voice. “That is, if your
sister doesn’t mind.” Obviously, she’d assessed the situation before
approaching. She surveyed Hermione with one haughty sweep of her
eyelashes.
“Of course she doesn’t...” Harry began.
“Of course I do,” Hermione said suddenly. “Haven’t you ever heard
of the other love that dares not speak its name?”
The girl’s mouth dropped open.
“Pay no attention to my sister,” said Harry, glaring at Hermione,
“she’s cracked in the head.”
“Oh, brother dearest, how can you say such cruel things about me?
You might be embarrassed about what lies between us, but I can assure
you that I’m not ashamed.”
She grabbed Harry’s head then, and kissed him so soundly that she
nearly suffocated him. When she finally let him go, his glasses were
askew and slightly steamed up.
Satisfied, Hermione turned back to the woman and winked.
The vixen stormed away, obviously offended.
It was now Hermione’s turn to look extremely pleased with herself.
She met Harry’s outraged eyes with a gleam of triumph in her eyes.
“You ought to thank me,” she sniffed. “A tart like that was liable to
give you some sort of nasty rash just from looking at her.”
“At least my taste doesn’t run to smarmy old Muggle farts from
America, of all places!”
“At least that smarmy old Muggle fart from America offered to buy
me a drink! I don’t see you offering me anything other than a hard
time...”
A blink later, a cocktail landed with a click in front on her.
“There’s your sex on the beach, Hermione,” Harry said sharply.
“And you had better stop playing games with me.”
“Really? I had better?” Hermione replied, cool as the ocean breeze.
“Perhaps that’s it, Harry. I’ve never played games with you, not really.
For if I had, you’d know it... and you wouldn’t want them to stop,
either.”
With a poker face, she took the orange slice from the edge of her
glass and inserted it into her mouth. Eyes upon him, but saying
absolutely nothing with them.
It might have been the hardest thing she’d ever done. For her
insides instantly turned to flame.
As for Harry, the blood was roaring in his ears. In twenty-one years
of knowing her, he’d never been more angry with Hermione than he was
at that moment. Who would have thought that she could be so silly, so
petty and vengeful, such a damned tease and so... well, just like other
women.
His ears weren’t the only place the blood was roaring.
“Be careful, Hermione,” he warned her again.
 8. How Quiet the Storm
She removed the orange slice from her mouth. “Thanks for the
heads up, dear, but it’s totally unnecessary. I wasn’t sorted into
Gryffindor for nothing. Besides, unlike most of the other Witches we
know, you don’t intimidate me. I could never be afraid of you.”
Picking up the glass, she lifted the straw to her lips... and sipped as
she continued to stare at him from brown eyes dilated, due to the potent
alcohol she was unused to and the falling dusk.
Harry wanted nothing more in that moment than to turn away from
her, to walk off and ignore her, to give her the cold shoulder that her
childishness deserved. But he couldn’t move at all. He was riveted to the
space. If he moved at all, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. By
no means did he want her to know how she affected him.
Hermione sensed all this with the heightened perception of the
hyperempath, and her very insides turned into pure molten gold and then
steam. She felt as if her knees would soon give way and she would sink
into the soft sand.
She would not tremble, though. Even if the very devil seemed to
have got inside of her, making her do womanish things she normally
scoffed at and think of even worse things that she wouldn’t have
dreamed, she would stand her ground.
He wouldn’t see her sweating, even if it killed her.
Once the drink was half gone, she pulled the straw from her lips.
“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Not my idea of sex on the beach.”
“Have you ever had it before?” Harry said before he thought. It
really wasn’t his fault, though... the blood flow that was supposed to be
swirling around in his brain was missing in action, having traveled due
south.
“Which? The drink, or...”
“Take your pick.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said, licking her lips lazily to get
the last of the orange and cranberry taste.
“Oh, I already know. It was a purely rhetorical question.” Harry
lowered his voice deliberately. “After all, I was there.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Sure of ourselves, aren’t we? How do you
know that was the only time?”
Where there had been three feet between their faces mere moments
before, there was now less than thirteen inches. Yet and still, they did not
touch.
“Because I know.”
“Well, then,” she said, grasping at straws, “it stands to reason there
was no repeat performance. Beach sex is overrated.”
“Is it really, Hermione? I had no idea we were on shagging... I was
still on cocktails.”
Cluck of the tongue. “Slow as always.”
“Slow when it counts, at least... and from all accounts, slow when it
matters.”
Mock sigh. “They always do exaggerate when it comes to you,
Harry. Part of being a legend, I suppose.”
“Perhaps so. But it’s unlike you, Hermione, not to want to
investigate... to see if there’s a grain of truth in all those rumors you’ve
heard whispered on the wind.”
The concert’s melodies droned on all around them. You can’t just sit
still listening to Brazilian pop music. That’s not what it’s designed for.
You are supposed to dance. As the newer, younger artists one by one
covered their favorite MPB classics, the area that had been swept clean
of sand drifts began to fill. Even those who clung to the botequims
started swaying and snapping their fingers.
All except for Harry and Hermione, that is. They were conspicuous
in their stillness. As the world spun and whirled in gaiety all around
then, their private drama was swiftly and surely mastering all their
thoughts as it unfolded much as a budding flower opens her petals in
June.
Ron, glancing from his vantage point with Juliana, Lena, and Zach,
wasn’t quite sure what was going on between Harry and Hermione.
From what he could tell, they looked as if they were arguing. With a
heavy sigh, he decided to meander back over to see if they were about to
kill each other.
What else were friends for?
Just as he reached them, “Quem te viu, quem te vê” was announced
and the opening bars of the music sounded over the speakers.
Hermione, glancing up and seeing Ron approach, grinned and
sprang from the table.
“Oh, Ron, it’s our song! Want to dance? Oh, you have to!”
Ron, alarmed, remembering the sunscreen incident from earlier and
Harry’s threat from the day before, yet wishing to be the peacemaker,
sent Harry a quick “don’t kill me, I had nothing to do with this” glance.
“I’m a bit tired, ‘Mione... don’t you think that...”
“Nonsense,” Hermione declared. “Ron, if you don’t dance with me,
I’ll never speak to you again.”
“I don’t want to... interrupt anything,” Ron said, not daring to
 8. How Quiet the Storm
glance in Harry’s direction.
“Don’t be silly. Harry doesn’t mind.... do you, Harry?” She waited
all of one second for a reply before speaking again. “Oh, come on, Ron!
It’s nearly half over!”
And so Ron and Hermione danced again. Again, they danced so
well that soon the people nearest to them stopped in their tracks to
observe and cheer them on. Again, there were whistles and catcalls and
loud oaths and suggestions for Ron from the men.
They talked to each other as they danced. To a casual observer, it
might have seem like lovers whispering in each other’s ears and
laughing at the knowledge of what would happen immediately
following...
In reality, Ron was using the dance as an opportunity to tell
Hermione off.
“You’re being a real bitch, do you know that?”
“How dare you call me names?” Hermione said, furious but not
breaking her smile for the benefit of the observers.
“I’ve known you long enough to call you as I see you,” Ron said,
dipping her. “And you really are being a bitch tonight. You had better be
glad that it’s Harry you’re stringing along like this... any other bloke
would have dusted off his hands by now and left you flat on your
stubborn arse.”
“And you won’t even see my side of things, will you? Isn’t that just
like a man?”
“That’s just it. I am a man. And so is he. And you ought to be
woman enough not to do this to him. It’s mean, Hermione.”
“What about what he did to me?” Hermione snapped, still grinning
through her teeth. “I can’t trust him any more... goodness knows I’ve
had enough of untrustworthy Wizards to last me a lifetime...”
“And you’re blaming him for something he did to protect you. Not
like me, who hid the truth from you to cover my own arse... he hid it
because he cares. You certainly don’t tell him absolutely everything, and
you didn’t tell me everything when we were married. So what’s good for
the golden goose isn’t good for the gander, eh?”
Hermione didn’t reply.
“If you’d stop being so selfish, you’d see that you’ve got a man who
desperately loves you and needs you. He worships the ground you walk
on, and all you do is step on him time and time again. Any Witch worth
her salt would do anything for a man like that. I suggest you get your act
together before Harry wakes up from whatever spell you have him under
and realizes that there are other women around who will treat him far
better than you have.”
Now Hermione was indignant, her dancing becoming violent and
carnal. Reflecting anger, frustration, and pent-up sexual tension.
But Ron didn’t care. For once in their lives, he was the voice of
reason.
“Harry’s not going to wait for you forever, Hermione. Nor should
he. Consider carefully what you’re doing... because in the end, the only
one to blame for your actions is you.”
“Advice from Master Morality himself,” snarled Hermione.
“Experience is a hard tutor,” Ron quipped back. “But in the end, it’s
the best one.”
“Why don’t I just have nothing to do with either of you? That’s also
good advice.”
Ron shrugged. “What’s done can’t be undone. Maturity is learning
to make the most out of what you can’t change. Your mistakes, your past
and all that. Stop punishing Harry, Hermione. He doesn’t need it,
especially not from you.”
“And I don’t appreciate this lecture,” Hermione replied. “Especially
not from you. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“So you’ll go and make it up with him?” asked Ron, dipping her
one last time as the song ended.
He pulled her up to his face as the last beats of the song died down.
Hermione grinned slightly, but her eyes were guarded.
“You’re so wise.... you figure it out.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Women. You lot can be frustratingly
infuriating at times, you know that?”
“We’re still the better half of the human race,” Hermione sniffed.
“Then heaven help us all.”

~~~
As the song died down, a few distant storm clouds dappled the
moonlight, forming mysterious shadows. Heedless of the inevitable
oncoming storm, the fabulous beach party went on. The speakers blared,
the spotlights for the cameras stayed trained on the stage, and the
cachaça flowed freely.
Harry, who wasn’t privy to the conversation between Ron and
Hermione, was really ready to strangle them both. As the song ended,
 8. How Quiet the Storm
they stood face to face, then hugged each other and exchanged quick
kisses that were nothing but chaste. Harry knew this as well as anyone,
knew that there was no spark between them to be rekindled...
Even so, the glass that he was holding broke in his hand.
After that performance, of course they’d come back over to where
he was standing. During the entire song, he’d been flanked by two local
girls who’d come to flirt the second Hermione was away from him. He’d
uttered noncommittal answers in broken Portuguese to both as he
watched the dance, eliciting giggles and touches from both until the
glass broke. Both the girls seemed flustered, snatching up napkins from
nearby tables. One beauty set to cleaning up the glass while the other
dabbed at the gash upon Harry’s hand.
Ron was frowning. “What’s happened?”
“He’s cut his hand,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Here, Harry,
let me just...”
He tried to snatch it away, but the Brazilian girl was holding it fast.
Hermione sent a look to both of the girls that plainly said “get lost, you
don’t want to tangle with me” and took Harry’s hand in hers.
“Don’t touch me,” he said, snatching it away.
She grabbed it back. “Shh... don’t be silly...”
“He say he not want you to touch him,” said one of the girls in
broken English. They were both still hovering nearby.
Hermione promptly turned around and said something to both the
girls in Portuguese that made them both storm away angrily.
“You’ve been hanging around Juliana far too long,” said Ron. “Not
the best influence.”
“They got the hint.”
“Yeah, let’s hope they don’t get their big brother Felipe too.
I wanted to enjoy tonight...”
“Ron?” Hermione said, not unkindly, as she held Harry’s cut hand
in both of hers.
“Mmph?”
“Do me a favor and go back to the concert. Okay?”
Ron shrugged. “Right, see you two in a bit.”
Hermione was still studying the cut. It was a bit deeper than she
liked, and she had no antibiotic handy. Nevertheless, considering that his
other hand had been completely removed only the week before, this was
child’s play.
“Harry, once I stitch this up, I’ve got something to ask you.”
“Whatever it is, my answer is no.”
 “You can’t answer until you know the question. My question could
have been any number of things, including ‘Are you really a man, or
have you been hiding something important from us all these years?’”
“My answer’s no to that as well. If I were any kind of man, I would
have...”
Hermione, intuitively knowing how best to heal the cut, raised his
hand to her lips and kissed it for several moments. Deeply disinfecting
and healing it until the skin was smooth and unbroken, by the time she
was done there was only a damp spot and a gloss print in the shape of
her lips left to mark the injury.
And all the while, she never took her eyes from him.
Meanwhile, onstage, there was a great stir. The crowd went
absolutely insane as Chico Buarque and Maria Bethania, both estimable
music icons in their seventies, were asked to reprise their nearly fifty
year old classic along with the young group who’d just covered it. The
cheers echoed out towards the accelerating surf.
“There,” Hermione said, reaching for a napkin to wipe all traces of
her lips away. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Green eyes gleamed dangerously in the muted moonlight. “What
are you here for? Come to finish the job?”
“No. I’m here to ask a question of you. Just as I said.”
“Yeah?”
Deep breath. “Will you dance with me?”
“I don’t dance, you know that.”
“I’ll teach you.”
“Teach me to make a fool of myself, you mean?”
“How’s that possible?” Hermione said, placing both her hands in
his. “The great Harry Potter and all that.”
“The great Harry Potter doesn’t dance.”
“The great Harry Potter doesn’t care what others think, either.” She
twinkled up at him. “And since when did we start referring to you in
third person?”
“Since one beautiful yet frustrating Witch was deluded into thinking
I was Twinkletoes.” Harry shook his head. “I can’t do it, Hermione. And
I’m not going to.”
“What if...” Her eyes darted to and fro. “What if we stand off
centre, somewhere that no one can see?”
“Like where?”
“Behind the stage!” She was laughing at her ingenuity. “Somewhere
between the back of the stage and the surf... and you can Apparate us
 8. How Quiet the Storm
there, past security!”
Harry looked doubtful.
“It’s perfect! That way, we won’t get the full blast of the speakers,
and there’ll be no one there to see... no one but me...”
It was indeed a plan. Harry Apparated them both to just beyond the
designated spot, and held on to Hermione perhaps a moment longer than
necessary. She pulled away, still smiling, tugging his hands so that they
were no more than fifteen feet away from the sea.
“I don’t think we’ll be needing these,” Hermione said, kicking her
shoes into the sand and bending down in her lovely dress to tug at his
loafers. Harry looked down at her... and realized that he could see
perhaps more than she might have intended.
“There,” Hermione said with a smile, standing back up. “We’re
ready.”
He pulled her close so that she could feel the reaction to her he’d
sought to contain all night long.
“Yes. I’d say we are.”
Hermione’s darkened eyes reflected the many stars overhead.
“Listen to the music, it’s perfect! Now, this is what you do. Put your left
arm around my waist like this... and then hold my right hand out... yes,
just like that... and then you move your feet like this... no, not quite like
that...”
It took quite a few times, and more than a few stumbles upon
Hermione’s prettily pedicured toes. But soon he at least wasn’t stepping
on her feet any longer, and seemed to get the most basic of all the steps.
“Very good! See?”
“I still feel stupid, Hermione.”
“That’s because you’re so stiff!” she laughed. “Let’s see, what did
that instructor at Cape Verde say to get us to loosen up? Oh yes! She said
to imagine that you’ve got a stick of chalk stuck between your arse
cheeks, and you’ve got to write on a blackboard with it...”
“What?”
“Oh, never mind, Harry. Just move... like this, you know...” She
placed her hands on either side of his hips and tried to pull them into a
rhythm that mirrored hers.
Whereas dancing with Ron had been fun and exhilarating,
Hermione found little to laugh about now. The newer version had a
brisker, electronic studio feel... the old had a slow and insistent beat like
that found in most classic sambas. So where she’d intended to teach
Harry a version of the samba, she had to stop herself several times when
she realized that she was moving into one of the more risqué dances.
By the time the song finished, Hermione was no longer very giggly
or lighthearted.
Rather, she felt faint.
“Perhaps we ought to go back to the botequim, Harry,” she
murmured when the song ended, panting heavily against his chest from
the humidity, the cachaça she’d downed earlier mixing with the vodka,
and her exertions. She wanted to move away from him, but knew
without something else to lean against she’d faint.
“Why? Fun’s just getting started.”
“I’m not making for a very good teacher. I’m far too hot.”
“I know. That’s exactly how I like you.”
She looked up and him, and started to say something. Then she
decided against it and leaned her head against her chest. For the acts
were changing again, and Djavan had just been announced. The cheers
were so loud that Hermione had trouble making out what he was saying.
“Who’s this?” Harry asked.
“Djavan. A balladeer... oh, Eva loves his music. She’ll be sorry she
missed him.”
“Well, I’m sure she can hear this at the hotel. It’s not very far away,
is it?”
“No, it isn’t...” Hermione tried to listen to what the famous singer
was saying into the mic, but the sound was muffled by the surf and the
waves. “Oh, Harry, I think he’s taking requests. Isn’t that the most...”
She was cut off by an emphatic shout in unison from the
concertgoers.
“Meu Bem-Querer!”
“What’s that?” asked Harry, close to Hermione’s ear. “Some sort of
battle cry?”
“No, silly,” Hermione said, as whatever Djavan said in reply made
the crowd laugh and the band struck up the first few bars. “It’s a ballad.”
“What does the title mean?”
“My Beloved,” she replied. “It’s a very popular love song here.”
He laughed. “I think I want to know the words to this song. Care to
translate?”
“I don’t see what it would hurt, Harry,” Hermione said, trying to
conceal a small yawn. She didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the
humidity or him, but she felt almost ready to fall asleep right there in his
arms.
At least, that’s what she thought.
 8. How Quiet the Storm
So Djavan and the crowd sang the words together. Sometimes, the
legendary artist would drop out altogether and just let the crowd sing, as
this song was pretty well known.
As they sang in Portuguese, Hermione translated to English for
Harry. Because of the din and the tide, she had to speak low into his ear
as he inclined his head... but he didn’t seem to mind.
My beloved
Is secret, is sacred
is sacramented
in my heart...
My beloved
Is something slightly sinful
caressed
by emotion...
My beloved...
My lovely...
I’m suffering so much, love!
But what does suffering mean
to I who am
sworn to die
of love?
Although Harry wasn’t much for intricate Latin dances with fancy
footwork, when the music slowed he was more than passable. Indeed, he
knew how to make a woman forget everything else when she swayed
with him.
That was what Hermione thought about... or rather, marvelled over
as her heartbeat accelerated, hands clutching at his neck and at his
shoulderblades as his palms slid down her bare back. There, they cradled
her fabric-covered hips in his hands and pressed her closer than close to
him.
“I think... that I missed part of the words the first time around,”
Harry said. “They seem to be going through the song again... do you
mind?”
“Not at all,” Hermione said breathlessly.
Djavan and the audience went through the song five times, with
variations. Yet Hermione could only bear to translate for Harry twice.
Yes, there was that damned word morrer again, “to die”... but this time,
it was there with a difference. For she would indeed die right there in his
arms if she didn’t stop this... break away now... for slowly she felt her
freedom slipping away from her.
She was becoming no longer her own but something and someone
else entirely... someone she’d never been before... her truest self.
If anyone had been observing them, they’d likely conclude they
were going to end up making love right there on the sand. They were
moving like lovers reunited, overjoyed by one another. His hands slid
over her body, caressing, softly touching her in places he’d memorized
long ago... fingertips holding the memory of all her spots.
Hermione responded with soft enthusiasm, winding her arms
around his neck, pulling him close, breathing shallow and hitching. Then
her hands trailed around to his shoulders. Since his shirt was completely
unbuttoned, it was a simple matter to push the dark blue fabric down to
rest halfway toward his elbows.
Her fingers trailed and traced along the planes of his shoulders and
chest, finding the lines and ridges, taking the rumbles deep in his throat
as an invitation to linger.
Leaving one hand on her backside, Harry reached the other up to
push one side of her hair behind her ears. The better to trace the delicate
line that began just under her ear, along her jawbone and to her chin. In
eloquent response, Hermione’s fingertips went up to trace his lips, then
she leaned forward to brush them gently with hers.
It was as if they could no longer hear the crowd, nor indeed the
music. The world itself in that moment only held two people... and
everything else melted away in the face of that truth.
All the petty arguments of the past few weeks... all the childish
games... meant nothing. Nothing at all. He meant everything. She meant
everything.
And together, they were everything.
Can the temporal ever obliterate what is eternal? What is immortal?
The things that are seen pass away, but what is unseen remains
forever.
Harry and Hermione were so enchanted, so caught up in each other
that they didn’t hear the distant peals of thunder upon their pounding
eardrums, or feel the first drops of rain against thirsty, sweaty skin. But
as the song ended, the raindrops were coming regularly... and Hermione
sprang away from Harry quickly, much as a frightened doe dashes away
when she recognizes the hunter’s trap.
“The rain...” she murmured. “The storm...”
“I don’t mind getting wet, do you?”
“Nn... no. I mean, yes. I mean, my dress! I’ll ruin it!” She leaned up
quickly, and pecked the corner of his mouth. “We’ll talk in the
morning... have a good night!”
Without giving him a chance to discuss further, Hermione snatched
up her sandals and dashed off, up the beach towards the hotel.
 8. How Quiet the Storm

~~~
By the time Hermione made it back to the Eco Resort, the light rain
had turned into a downpour. It had taken her a good half hour up the
beach and around the rainforest-surrounded yet crowded park trails, but
soaked to the bone or not, she made it back in one piece.
She wasn’t certain if Ron, Juliana, Lena, and Zach had returned.
Perhaps they’d gone into the village with a lot of the other concertgoers
for a pub crawl until the rain subsided. After all, it was only a bit after
eleven o’clock, very early in the Latin evening.
The corridor was illuminated only by low-wattage lights. After all,
this was an ecologically friendly hotel, designed to not drain the
environment much. Yet the gathering thunder set the cool floor beneath
Hermione’s feet to humming... and the first few flashes of lightning gave
all an otherworldly, temporary glow.
As she passed Eva’s room, Hermione heard the television going...
and training her hyperempathic sense of hearing to focus, she also
detected the labored breathing of sleep. Hermione was glad her friend
was resting. She would soon be in dreamland herself.
And thanks to Harry, how pleasant indeed her sleep would be.
Smiling to herself, Hermione fumbled and dropped the key she’d
picked up from the concierge. After swearing a mild oath and picking it
up, she stuck it in the lock to her door... damn, these foreign hotel keys
were always so difficult to manage...
Then her wrist was removed from the doorknob... and pinned to the
door.
Soon followed by the rest of her.
The shoes she’d been carrying fell to the floor.
Of course, it was Harry, somewhat drier than she was, as he must
have Apparated in, yet still pretty thoroughly soaked nonetheless. His
glasses were gone, and the second he touched her Hermione was caught
up in his wild and dangerous mood, sensing the blood pulsing in his
ears, in his throat, deep in his chest and down to the soles of his feet. He
was still fully aroused, and somewhere far removed from her present self
Hermione wryly wondered if he was always in that dreadful condition
these days...
Your fault, he thought back at her, kissing at her lips, her neck,
hands running over her rain-soaked dress. In the pit of her stomach there
was a taut feeling, as if a million tiny threads were being stretched to
their limit... and if any one of them broke, she would die. Her breasts
ached to their very... and her legs felt like... and as if she wasn’t already
drenched enough, the place between them began to just...
His hand slid beneath her hair to hold her head still for yet another
kiss. He brushed her lips... once, twice... her breathing hitched, and...
Then his mouth claimed hers, searing hers, branding her forever as
his. And that kiss contained the universe. Fire and water. Sunshine and
rain. Springtime and autumn. War and peace. Death and life. Birth and
resurrection...
Hermione’s mind screamed at her to stop him, stop him before it
was too late. They hadn’t talked enough, resolved enough, reasoned
together enough... it was too soon, too soon!
My mouth, my body, my pride, my honor, my God! He’s kissed me
time and time again, but not like this. Never like this.
Then Harry straightened up, pulling her away from the door so that
she clung to him. And as he kissed her this time, his arms tightened
around her, lifting her so that her bare toes barely grazed the floor.
She knew what would happen next. He would turn the key in the
knob for her, and they would be inside, and soon he would be in her bed,
and then...
And then he removed his mouth from hers, setting her back upon
her feet.
“Just wanted to make sure you got in safely. Good night, Hermione.
Sleep well.”
With that, he turned around, walked down the hall, inserted his own
key into his bedroom lock... and shut his door behind him.

~~~
Harry had never had a more compelling reason not to sleep with
Hermione than on that night.
He had to repeat this fact to himself over and over, as he stripped
off his clothing, palmed a bar of soap, and stepped into an ice-cold
shower. The water felt like icy daggers against his skin, and was almost
painful against his poor groin. Good. He welcomed the ache... better that
than other methods to get rid of the nuisance. Dragon’s blood, he felt as
if he was seventeen all over again.
Yet although his body might be reacting boyishly, his mind would
not.
 8. How Quiet the Storm
He was not going to let Hermione do this to him again.
This was the twenty-first century. Women wanted to be liberated
and all that, but they all wanted to be swept off their feet like Cinderella.
They teased, they flirted, but they never made the first real move. So
when things fell apart, the bloke would be to blame... for chasing her, for
pursuing her, for doing to her something she wanted done in the first
place.
It had been like that in Avalon. He’d initiated their first time
together... although she became an avid participant, it was always his
idea.
It had definitely been like that at the Terrace. He’d made love to her,
not the other way around.
It had been like that on her last birthday, when she’d slipped out to
the balcony. He’d followed her out there.
And even the argument of the past week... the first time she’d ever
talked about why she sought to perpetually punish him for crimes
unknown... only happened because he went to her. In retrospect, he
should have let her sulk.
There was no way, then, that he would go to her room tonight. So
that she could slip out of his arms early in the morning, while he was
still sleeping contentedly? So she could claim the next day that the
alcohol and the atmosphere had impaired her good sense?
So that they could repeat the past all over again?
He couldn’t do it. He refused to do it again.
This time, she would have to come to him.
Earlier she’d said that when she started to play games with him, he
would definitely know it.
What she didn’t know yet, but would soon figure out, was that the
game had already begun.
Tag, Hermione.
You’re it.

~~~
Between the cool sheets of her hotel room bed, Hermione tossed
and turned as the thunder vibrated throughout the hotel and lightning
crashed against the sky. The torrential rain that poured just beyond her
window and the skylight above was a mere drizzle compared to the
storm that she was trying to quiet within herself.
 He was in her blood, she knew. There was something between them
that could no longer be denied; indeed, it was long overdue. The
prologue had been written in Avalon years before... and now, it was time
for their story to begin.
She could still feel him all over her... his hands burning through
blouse and skirt... his lips brushing hers... his arms, pressing her closer
and closer still as they danced, as if he could just absorb everything that
she was deep within him and never let her go for all the world.
And that final kiss in the hallway... even an obscenely long soak in
the bathtub, scrubbing until she glowed pink all over, had done nothing
to obliterate the memory of it.
Sleeping without him was a near impossibility—how did she ever
think she would go about it?
Well.
There was only one thing to do about that.
Join him.
Hermione Granger, you are not going to trot off to that man’s bed as
if you’re some common strumpet. Have some dignity about yourself,
girl!
Where’s the dignity in yet another sleepless night? Hard to look
dignified with bags beneath your eyes. If you go to him, perhaps you’ll
get some sleep.
I refuse to go to him! He’s obviously waiting for that to happen, and
I am not going to give him the satisfaction. All men are totally selfish...
even the word “men” begins with “me”...
Fine, then. He’s selfish. Why don’t you tell him that in person, so
you can get some sleep? I’m exhausted, and Ron was right, cachaça
doesn’t suit you at all. I’m not sure what you were trying to prove, but
you’re going to pay for it in the morning.
But I...
What’s your objection to going tonight? What is it?
It’s simple, isn’t it? I don’t want to...
Careful, dear. When you begin to lie to yourself, that’s bad.
Well, then. Well.
And nothing more could be said after that.

~~~
Harry’s door was unlocked. Hermione was perhaps less surprised at
 8. How Quiet the Storm
this than she ought to have been. She stepped inside his room quickly,
closing the door behind her.
His bed was illuminated by the wall of windows opposite and the
skylight above, through which palm and gingko provided the perfect
green-grey backdrop. When her eyes flickered over to the bed, her breath
was taken clean away.
Watching him sleep never failed to make her heart melt into a little
puddle. She loved the way his ridiculously soft black hair fell onto the
pillows, how his face always looked so uncannily naked and vulnerable
without his glasses, the way the sheet slid down to his waist to reveal
strong arms and a well-toned torso.
She hated to disturb his rest...
“I’m not asleep,” Harry said, hearing her thoughts and sitting up
with a yawn. He stretched, then threw back the covers so that she could
join him. “Couldn’t.”
Hermione crossed the room gingerly and sat down on the edge of
the bed, not daring to look at him. Wishing she’d been woman enough to
drag him into her room an hour before... this way, the momentum that
began at the concert could have carried them. Now her opportunity
seemed to be gone... and she wasn’t quite sure...
Then came his hand, reaching up, lifting a curl of toffee brown hair
from her shoulder, twirling it around his finger. She placed her hand over
his.
He drew her down upon the bed to face him. Lacing her fingers
through his, then bringing her hands close to his face so that he could
brush his lips to their backs. There was silence, save for their accelerated
breathing and the relentless beating of the rain and their pounding hearts.
“Couldn’t sleep either?”
Slowly, she shook her head.
“Next question. Are you tired?”
She shook her head again.
“Then what are you doing here in my bed, Hermione?”
Because I want you to shag me until I have neither the energy nor
the inclination to move ever again, Harry.
Hermione didn’t say that, though. No. She had far too much pride.
Instead, she just lied through her teeth.
“I had another bad dream,” she fibbed. “About Ereshkigal, and what
happened at the Cabalistica lab. Silly of me, isn’t it, to be so frightened
of a little rain and shadow? And I think...” here she trailed off cautiously,
“I think I’ve got so used to sleeping in your arms that I don’t know how
to do without you any more.”
That, at least, was the truth.
He stroked her temple lazily, almost casually. Yet something behind
his eyes revealed to her what he was really thinking, really feeling. It
brought to Hermione’s mind all the many near-misses of the past seven
weeks, nights of “almost but not quite” and “not yet” and other excuses
that seemed to dissolve in her mind like snow in April.
How utterly silly she had been.
Under his eyes, she shifted impatiently. Something akin to a
whimper escaped her lips.
“Is that all?”
“No, it’s not...”
“Then what is it?”
With her heart in her mouth, Hermione took a deep breath and said
it.
“I want you tonight, Harry. More than anything else in the world,
I want you. Pact be damned, I don’t think I can wait another night for
you.” She lowered her eyes, and with gentle fingers he raised her chin so
that she was looking directly at him again. “Please.”
He smiled. “So I win?”
“Depends on how good you are. My memory could just be playing
tricks on me.”
Suddenly, Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Hermione gasped
with surprise as he pulled her flush against him so that there was no
space between them. And apparently no cloth, either, other than the ice-
blue silk of her dressing robe. From the scent of him, and from the soapy
tang of the skin that was now tickling her lips and tongue, since leaving
her he’d showered and dried off. And that was all.
In that moment, he became her world. As their mouths met, fusing,
tongues dancing, lips and teeth serving as point and counterpoint,
something at the very core of her quaked.
Yet this total invasion of her senses wasn’t enough anymore. It
wasn’t nearly enough.
He drew back, and they both released their breaths in a shared pant.
“I want you too, Hermione,” he grated out, stroking her back down
to her hips through the robe. “You can’t know how much. I think I’ll die
if I have to wait another second... but are you sure?”
Harry’s hands and words made Hermione feel as if she was made of
crystal... and that at any moment, he was going to make her shatter.
“Yes, I’m very sure,” she breathed. “And Harry? You don’t have to
 8. How Quiet the Storm
ask, ever again, for something that’s always been yours... from now on,
just take it.”
The melody of the rain outside added to the atmosphere. She felt as
if she was lying beneath one of the tropical waterfalls they’d trekked
through in the rainforest. A brown-haired, brown-eyed dryad, offering
her body as a living sacrifice to a green-eyed forest king.
His hands reached for the sash of her robe, shaking a little... but no
more unsteady than her entire body was at the moment. Hermione was
positively quivering.
“Hermione...” She’d never heard his voice so deep before. Or so
urgent. “I just... I mean, I can’t... I know you can remember now... how
I was with you before... in Avalon... at the Terrace...
butGodknowsIcantbegentlewithyouthistime,” the last bit came out in a
heated rush of breath against the skin of her neck. “Don’t expect it of
me. Not just yet, anyway.”
He shuddered as if he was attempting to contain something that
would not be contained, and her own shivers were his answer. From
Ipanema Beach to here in Itacaré, she knew that she’d been priming him
for this, knew she didn’t want him gentle and tender, not just yet. Time
enough for that later.
This first time she wanted him to claim her as his, without
preamble, without explanation, without apology or regret.
Hermione nodded once. That was all she had time to do. An instant
later, she was lying down face up in the center of his bed, pinioned
between his thighs, and their eyes were locked together as he untied her
robe quickly and let each side fall with a whisper to the sheet beneath.
Looking down at her, he made a sound, either a curse or a prayer or
perhaps a bit of both. She reached up, placing her hands over his
shoulders as he settled most of his weight on his elbows. One knee
spread her legs wide, as if in offering...
Then with a single swift motion, he sheathed himself to the hilt
within her. Her mouth opened wide and a small gasp escaped, answered
by his own helpless groan as he pulled her up to him as if he wanted to
absorb her.
Neither of them wanted or needed any further foreplay... two long
months of self-imposed torture and twelve long years of heartache had
been more than enough.
“Only this first time, Hermione... just this time,” he rasped, tasting
the salt and scent of her hairline. Another whimper fell from her lips, and
she clutched his shoulders hard. “So beautiful... got to have you this way
first... need to possess you... infect you... claim you.”
Harry pulled back a little, only to delve deeply into her again. Then
he pressed her down so that she revelled in the very weight and feel of
him for a moment, just before he began to move in earnest.
Hermione struggled a bit against him now, her own arousal not
being quite enough at that point to mute the invading, battering presence
that seemed to knock at the door of her very soul. She’d pushed him
over the edge these past few weeks with her antics, with her teasing and
denial, and now she was paying the piper. Not that she minded such
payment... but this... this total assault...
When he felt it, she knew it. She knew he was tasting her
vulnerability on the tip of his tongue, knew that to him it was the
ultimate aphrodisiac that a woman who was so self-confident and self-
reliant could surrender so sweetly in his arms. And indeed, he wasn’t
really hurting her... his presence was so overwhelming that she was only
afraid of losing all control.
At the same time, she felt his triumph and total arousal... felt her
own presence invading his bloodstream, filling his heart and his mind...
“Harry...” she finally managed to gulp, tears streaming down her
face, heart so full that she was certain it would burst open in short order.
Quickly, his lips pressed against her cheekbones. The better to taste
each teardrop.
“Say it again,” he demanded, continuing his ungentle motions as his
lips mouthed those words next to the smooth skin of her cheekbone, then
against her own again.
She did. Over and over again she said his name, until it became a
hymn in her soul, utterly sacred to her. Her entire body convulsed, legs
wrapped anaconda-tight about him in a futile attempt to contain the
sensations that jolted her like the lightning that flashed outside. Her lips
came up to meet his forehead, tongue tracing the scar of old, then
covering it with little bites.
Her hips rose in time with his motions, eagerly answering his
clarion call with a siren response. And indeed there was no beginning
and no end to that response... nothing as simple as a mere climax. It was
almost as if he had set her upon a lofty peak and had temporarily
abandoned her there... there was no such thing as floating back down to
Earth. Not yet.
In her heart, she knew that his body was not only reminding her of
whose she was, but also whose she had always really been. It was also
asking her a question, repeating it over and over with each stroke,
 8. How Quiet the Storm
demanding her answer.
When it came, it came as a scream.
“Yes!” she cried. “Oh, dear Merlin... Harry, yes!”
Something broke within both of them then, something akin to the
thunderclaps outside, something that had never been present during their
previous stolen, sweet moments of loving... something desperate,
something feral and savage. Animal, even.
She arched up to meet him as their frenzied, brutal lovemaking
reached its zenith, and finally, finally he was climbing the peak he’d set
her upon earlier to rescue her. He sped up the pace then, and she thought
she’d go utterly mad from the impact.
His teeth were on her neck, tracing and tasting the skin there. Her
small fingernails dug sharply into his shoulders, his back, and his
backside. They savaged each other in desperate, violent need, nipping
and clawing, trying to pull the other inside of themselves in their all-
consuming need to be one.
And when he reached her, their strangled cries mingled and
pounded against their senses as surely as the rain pounded against the
windowpanes just above and beyond. Her name or something akin to it
escaped Harry’s lips in a roar. As for Hermione, she spun into blissful
unconsciousness... the mark of the sated hyperempath.
She came to, and all she saw were his eyes. Then he kissed her,
making her heart melt afresh.
“No, no...” she murmured weakly, weeping without any shame at
all, tightening her legs about him again. “Don’t... leave me... please
don’t leave...”
“Never, love,” he rasped heavily, tasting the salt of her hairline,
rolling over onto his back and taking her with him so that her sobs were
cradled against his chest. “Never, never.”
And those simple, few words, shared between two lovers, said all
that needed to be said at a time like this.
I’m sorry. And oh, how I love you.
You’re forgiven... and in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I love
you too.

~~~
The first fingers of dawn had barely touched the sky when Harry
first opened his eyes the next morning. The downpour of the storm had
relented sometime during the night, and only the dripping of the leaves
onto the skylight above remained.
Somewhere in the rain forest beyond, a single bird sang.
He blinked a couple of times, then realized that he was not alone.
Tucked into the curve of his arm, curled into him was his Hermione,
sleeping so heavily that it made him smile. He couldn’t be certain if it
had been the alcohol or him, but it was amusing to see his morning lark
still meandering in the deepest reaches of her dreams.
Once hadn’t been enough. After that cataclysmic first time, they’d
relaxed a bit, each murmuring sweet little incoherencies against the
other’s hair and skin and lips, until they were on the brink of sleep...
almost, but not quite.
Their second joining was less hurried than the first. Reminiscent of
their night together three and a half years before... sans expensive
champagne, of course.
After that, they’d slept lightly... for perhaps an hour or two. But
sometime during the middle of the night, she’d reached for him again...
or perhaps he’d reached for her... or more likely, they’d reached for each
other in silent agreement and mutual need.
In the darkness, they had come together swiftly once more, getting
to the point, with her in control this time. Then they slumbered for good,
for the night.
And in the morning, she was still here.
The certainty of her presence struck him so hard that his eyes began
to sting.
Hermione was here. Last night she’d come to him of her own
volition. This time he hadn’t coaxed her into it. This time she wasn’t
engaged or married, and neither was he...
Suddenly, a wild thought struck him.
Why not ask her to marry him?
What? Why, so she can laugh in your face? Harry, you must be mad.
It’s far too soon. Things are going well... don’t mess up now like you
always do.
As if she could hear his thoughts, Hermione stirred softly. Harry
pressed his lips to her neck as she yawned, and shifted, and stretched
into him.
“Mmm,” she mumbled, smiling just before she opened her eyes.
“‘Mmm’. That’s a most eloquent way of putting it.”
“Good morning, handsome,” she whispered, turning over so she
could kiss him, morning breath and all. Then she yawned and stretched
 8. How Quiet the Storm
again. “Oh, there’s a dreadful stitch in my side... and my head’s so
foggy... I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’ve likely got a hangover.”
“No, I don’t,” she protested. “Other than that, I feel just fine. You?”
“Fair bit of a headache, but that’s to be expected.” He kissed her
again, then settled her more comfortably into his arms. “We didn’t get
much sleep last night, did we?”
“We can sleep when we’re dead,” Hermione said huskily, hip
brushing against his as she stretched up to cup his temples in her hands.
“Anything else aching? Other than your head, I mean?”
“As a matter of fact, Dr. Granger, there is something you can help
me with once you’ve finished seeing to my headache...”
Hermione swung her other leg over his. “Is there? And just what
might that be, Mr. Potter?” Her hands smoothed over his cheeks. “You
must be certain to share all your symptoms with your doctor, if you want
the most effective cure.”
Kingsley Amis famously wrote in his book, On Drink: There's no
better cure for a hangover than making love to your partner the
following morning. Indeed, studies have shown that lovemaking releases
the feel-good chemicals endorphins, into the bloodstream. These also
carry a natural analgesic.
During lovemaking, blood drains away from the brain, reducing the
intensity of any headache. Metabolic rate also increases, meaning the
liver has to work faster to rid the body of all hangover symptoms. Sex
also encourages the participants to breathe more deeply, a process which
helps to oxygenate the blood and aid the recovery process.
Therefore, it was a while before they spoke intelligently again. For
after Hermione “cured” Harry’s hangover, they showered together, Harry
finally making good on certain promises he’d made to himself nearly
two months before. He shampooed her hair up into a cone-shaped
beehive, told her she looked like Marge Simpson, and got a handful of
bath suds in his mouth for his trouble.
Once they were fully rinsed, they sat in a single chair, wrapped up
in damp towels, contemplating the day ahead.
“What time is Renato coming back?” asked Hermione.
“Sometime after breakfast. Around noon.”
She rested her head against his chest. “We still need to talk. About
everything, you know.”
“I know.” He stroked her cheek. “We will.”
They sat like that for a while, until their skin was nearly dry.
 “What time is it?” Hermione finally murmured, half-drowsy again.
“Almost but not quite eight o’ clock.”
“That early? Breakfast isn’t for another two and a half hours!”
He dropped a kiss on the top of her wet hair. “We could always go
for a walk, you know. See what, if anything, in the village is open this
time of morning.”
“We could, yes.” Hermione considered it. “Sounds like a plan,
actually. Otherwise, I’ll doze off again.”
So she slipped back to her room to get her change of clothes. Then,
dressed again, they slipped out of the quiet hotel, trying to contain their
laughter like two silly kids.
“Don’t you feel like we slipped out of Gryffindor Tower just then?”
Hermione laughed, as they left the resort grounds for the park trail
leading to the beach.
“Yeah, only we don’t have my Invisibility Cloak or Ron with us,”
Harry said, laughing too.
“Oh, I think Ron would kill us if we woke him up this early,” she
said. “He’s less of a morning person than you are... and besides, I don’t
want him particularly right now. I only want you.”
His reply was not in words, but in his eyes. She laced his fingers
through his, and they walked.
The shore path to Itacaré village was actually the longest route by a
good hour. Neither Harry nor Hermione minded. They meandered down
the shore, waving at the workers who were cleaning up the rain-soaked
remains of the night before, leaving behind twin sets of footprints that
were soon washed over by the incoming tide.
Every so often, those footprints would be irregular... for every so
often, Harry would stop, and turn, and lift her off her feet for a kiss.
They reached the village around nine-thirty, and found, of all things,
a Starbucks Café. As an American franchise, of course they were open.
Yankee businesses didn’t believe in keeping decent hours or giving their
employees holidays... if there was money to be made, their doors would
be open.
“There has got be a Starbucks in the Gobi Desert, Harry,” said a
much-amused Hermione, bringing over her espresso, his frappuchino,
and a sweet roll on a tray.
He took the tray from her hands, set it on the table, and pulled her
down onto his lap. “And in the Congo as well, I’d wager... we know
there’s some in the Amazon. We saw them in Manaus and Santarém.
Evil Americans.”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
“Yes, in Oxford Starbucks bled all the local teahouses dry... we’ve
got about seven of them in the city centre now. Like a lot of bloody
leeches, they are.”
“Yeah, but leeches that make great chocolate. You’ve got to give
them that...”
She watched him sip his frappuchino thoughtfully. Without waiting
for her to ask, he held it to her lips.
“Nice and sweet,” was her assessment. “Too much milk and cream,
though... and this early a lot of anything that rich would give me a
stomachache.”
“Let me have some of yours, then.” After taking a sip of the double
espresso, he frowned. “Now, that’s what I’d call undiluted petrol. I never
understood how you could drink the stuff.”
“Caffeine addiction,” Hermione admitted. “When you’re a
workaholic as I am, strong coffee really is petrol... it gets you going.”
He touched her lips with his fingers. “Yes, we really do have to talk,
Hermione. Not only about us, but about the way we live.”
“I’ll have to start all over when we get back home anyway. I’m not
certain if I’ll be going back to the clinic, or my hospitals, or the MMRI,
or...”
Harry shushed her with his lips.
“Just don’t worry about it right now, okay? No matter what, you’ll
always be taken care of.”
She popped a bite of the pastry into his mouth. “I don’t need to be
taken care of, thanks. I’ve always taken care of myself.”
“And a fine job you’ve done of it,” he said sincerely, returning the
favor. “But the idea isn’t necessarily that you need to be taken care of.
We all know you can do that in a pinch. What might be interesting to
contemplate, then, is whether you’d ever want to be taken care of. If not
forever, then just for a time.”
She stared at him for a moment, not believing her ears. “I’d get
bored. However would I amuse myself?”
His eyes darkened. “I can think of several ways.”
“Oh, you! Silly... none of those ways would be possible if you’re
working and I’ve got eight to ten long hours every day to fill up.”
“You’d find something, I’m sure. You could read and garden all day
if you wanted. Or better yet, write a medical textbook or something.” He
grinned, then mumbled fast, “Of course, the most productive use of that
time would be to learn to cook...”
“What’s that about my cooking, Harry Potter?”
 “Nothing, nothing!”
“As a matter of fact, I can make all sorts of dishes...”
“Hermione, you make exactly seven things, none of which besides
toast I am particularly fond of. And of those, six of them are instant or
ready-made or quick-magic recipes.” Harry shook his head. “I’ll teach
you to cook. Someone should have done so long ago...”
“I never had the time or the inclination,” Hermione grinned. “But if
I’m properly motivated, I’m certain that I’ll cotton on sooner or later.”
“Oh, I’ll motivate you, all right. You can be sure of that.” He
grinned. “But until you get the hang of things, for the sake of our
digestive tracts I’ll do the cooking... you’ll just stick to the washing up.”
Then his grin turned positively wicked. “Aren’t you a lucky Witch? Not
many women can say that they’ve got a boyfriend who’s great in the
kitchen and in bed...”
The door of the café swung open. Before Hermione could glance to
see who it was, Harry had captured her mouth in a possessive, all-
consuming kiss.
“Harry, what?”
“‘You have ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse,’” he replied in
a husky tone, but loud enough for the patron to hear, just before kissing
her again. “You have ravished my heart with one look of your eyes...”
Hermione broke the kiss and turned towards the door to see the girl
who’d asked Harry to dance the night before, mouth gaped open in fury.
Behind her, holding her hand, was the American Muggle who’d offered
to buy Hermione a drink.
“Let’s go, Margarethe,” Robert told the woman, glaring at Harry
and Hermione. “I think if we eat here I’ll be sick.”
And as Robert and Margarethe walked out of Starbucks in a huff,
the last sound they heard was the silvery sound of the couple’s laughter.

~~~
“Hi, Zach!” Riki said, running ahead of Ron to greet the young
man as he backed out of Eva’s suite carefully, baby in arms. “How did
you sleep?”
“Well, thanks for asking. And you? What time did you get in?”
“I can’t remember. I think I fell asleep on the sand... then Ron was
shaking me so we could come back. Then Ron told me to sleep in his
room, and left with Juliana and Magda... then it was morning.”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
The young boy yawned and rubbed his eyes. When he saw Eva, he
smiled.
“Hey, Evinha! Can I hold the baby?”
Eva nodded at Zach. “Of course you can.”
“Hello, little baby... you know, I always wanted a baby brother, but
Mum and Dad said that I’d have to be content with them. Did you ever
want a brother or sister, Eva?”
“Sim,” Eva replied. “But I feel as if I have a sister in Juli.”
“What about you, Ron, Zach?”
“I’ve got brothers to spare, and a sister tossed in for good measure,”
groaned Ron. “Not to mention their spouses and children and all that...
I used to wish I was an only child.”
“I’ve only got one brother,” Zach said. “And as I’m not speaking to
him at the moment, I don’t have an opinion one way or the other.”
Ron, having knocked on Harry’s door, was now knocking at
Hermione’s. Next door, the door to Juliana’s room swung open... and out
stepped Magdalena, clad in a robe that she was holding together. The
sash was conspicuously missing.
“Dios!” she exclaimed, squinting at the bright hallway light. “What
time is it?”
“Almost eleven,” Zach said, covering his smile with a hand. “Good
morning to you both. Did you sleep well?”
Juliana, also in a robe, came to stand behind Lena. She curved her
hands over the shorter woman’s shoulders.
“We are sorry, but we will not be having breakfast with you today,”
Juliana said. “We will see you when it is time to check out.”
And with that, Juliana closed the door in their faces.
Zach chortled. “My God, I wonder what was in that caipirinha?”
“Do not be stupid,” Eva said, jumping into her boyfriend’s arms so
that he could swing her around. “It was just a perfect night in a perfect
place. Made for lovers...”
“Ew,” said Riki with a frown as they kissed. “That’s gross.”
Ron was frowning too. “Listen, I’m worried about Harry and
Hermione. It isn’t like Harry not to answer my knock, and Hermione is
always up at some ungodly hour unless she’s sick.”
“Perhaps they are not here,” Eva suggested between kisses. “Zach
told me he saw Harry standing alone with two girls... he could be with
one of them.”
“Or both,” said Zach, still laughing, trying to catch his breath and
kiss Eva at the same time.
 “Nah, ‘both’ is not Harry’s style. It would be either or... he just isn’t
into that sort of excess.” Ron’s frown deepened. “Actually, I saw those
two girls. Hermione got rid of them, and was trying to heal his hand...
then told me to go away.”
“They ignored each other at dinner,” Eva said thoughtfully.
“Oh, but babe, you should have seen them at the concert,” Zach told
her. “They were ready to claw each other’s eyes out. Are you sure
they’re not together, Ron?”
“If they are, they’re not in their rooms,” he said. “Come on, let’s go
down to breakfast... if they don’t show, then we’ll drum up a search
party.”
As it happened, no search party was needed. When they reached the
restaurant, Harry and Hermione were sitting at the same table they’d all
occupied the night before, in their same seats.
Harry was surveying the menu.
Hermione was reading the paper.
They both looked up from what they were doing when the others
“Hello,” they chorused.
Ron looked from one to the other, then folded his arms.
“Oh, no. That’s it. We’re not going anywhere until tomorrow. Once
Juliana and Magdalena decide to emerge from their love nest, and
Renato gets here, we will go question Solon ourselves...”
“Since when do you make the decisions?” Harry said, raising an
eyebrow. “Sirius put me in charge of the search, let’s not forget...”
“That was before last night,” Ron said, trying his best not to laugh.
“Harry, where are your glasses?”
Harry’s hand went up to the side of his face. Then he reddened.
“Right. I was wondering how on earth you were reading that menu
without them. And speaking of reading, Hermione, in the more than
twenty years that I’ve known you, I have never seen you read a
broadsheet upside down.”
Hermione went pink, but met Ron’s eyes defiantly. “I’m always up
for new challenges, of course...”
Everyone laughed.
“Of course. Nice try. Get upstairs, both of you. If we run into Solon,
we’ll let you know. If not, see you tomorrow morning. Unless, of
course,” here the corner of his lip twitched, “you’d rather not.”
They didn’t have to be told twice.
 8. How Quiet the Storm

~~~
Later, much later that afternoon, Harry was sitting up in bed, the
covers at his waist. Hermione’s head was rested upon his lap, using his
thighs as a pillow, the rest of her curved around his legs and feet. His
own fingers twined through and stroked her hair as she dozed lightly.
When Ron had ordered them back upstairs, they didn’t fall
immediately into one another’s arms again.
Instead, they just curled in up that chair near the balcony window
and talked.
First, they’d talked about the past. This didn’t take nearly as long as
it would have for just about any other couple. Rather, it was more a
study in filling the gaps and cracks that had formed in their friendship
and relationship since Avalon... and explaining things misunderstood.
“I did try to confess about that memory charm,” he’d told her.
“Remember the afternoon before Fred and Angelina’s wedding, in the
hall?”
Hermione thought a moment, then nodded vaguely. “I’m not
certain...”
“Remember, you tried to get me to come out of the closet.”
She tossed her head back then, laughing, remembering. “Oh, my
goodness! So I did!” Then she nudged him. “You’re such a bloody git,
Harry. Actions speak louder than words... you should have just grabbed
me and kissed me.”
“Like this, you mean?” he asked, demonstrating.
“Yeah,” she whispered back once the demo was done. “Exactly like
that.”
Then they talked about her marriage.
“Were you ever happy with him, Hermione?”
“I was, yes,” she admitted. “The first few years were good... and
I’m sorry for what I said the other day in Salvador, Harry. You really
thought I would be happier with him than with you, didn’t you?”
“Yes and no,” he admitted. “Of course I felt guilty for shagging you
behind Ron’s back... and then Sirius telling me the world was going to
end if I was with you didn’t help, either. Tartarus was fresh in my mind
then... and so was the war. He knew exactly which buttons to push.”
Hermione shook her head. “Well, now that the world’s falling apart
anyway, what the hell, I say...”
“Got to grab your happiness while you can,” Harry agreed. “There’s
little enough of that in this world, right?”
“Right,” sighed Hermione. “Oh, Harry. We’ve wasted so much time.
Just imagine if we’d been together straight out of Avalon...”
“Ron wouldn’t have been with Mo then. He would not have been
half as understanding... as it was, he barely spoke to me for a year after
he learned what happened between us, and that was eight years after the
fact. He’s mellowed out over the years.”
“Well, so what? He would have felt hurt and betrayed, but he would
have got over it...”
“He might not have, Hermione. And at the time, I wasn’t ready to
be with you. If I was, I would have been.” He sighed deeply. “Twelve
years. Seems more like a lifetime ago... we were both little more than
children then.”
“Nearly that,” she said, smoothing the hair away from his forehead
and temples. “But to me it seems as if it was only yesterday... do you
ever wish to go back? I know you can’t, but if you could?”
“Only if I could go with you.”
She smiled. “I’d like nothing better.”
They then talked about the present. About Diana and Jack...
Hermione shed some bitter tears over the good doctor who’d been both
boyfriend and mentor during her Atlanta days. About her birthday, and
the aftermath. About her capture and ordeal in the Cabalistica facility,
and his search. About her loss of magic, and what they could do to find
out what happened to her. About the very real dangers they still faced,
and the risks they were taking.
Then they talked about the future.
“So it’s settled, then... you will come to live with me?”
“Are you kidding? If you hadn’t asked, I was moving in anyway.”
Hermione frowned. “Is that woman’s stuff all over the place? Or is it still
the bach pad I remember?”
“Diana took most of her things with her when she left me. And as
your father’s staying there, I’m sure it’s reverted to a male domain...”
“Oh, Dad. That’s right, I forgot.” She grinned. “There’s another one
who’s not going to be very happy about this.”
“So you admit it at last! Your father really does hate me.”
“I have no idea why. What did you do to him?”
“Nothing but fall for his little girl, I swear. But I wasn’t the only
one... why do I always feel as if he wants to tear me limb from limb?”
“Something you’ll have to ask him when we see him next.”
“Great,” said Harry. “Anyway, once he goes back to Oxford, you
 8. How Quiet the Storm
can fix the place up any way you like. As long as there are no pink bows,
floral bedsheets, or yellow fuzzy pillows involved. Or if you’d rather, we
can find a place somewhere else and I can commute back and forth...”
“You have got to be kidding. Ayr is one of the loveliest spots in all
of Scotland. Why on earth would I want to live anywhere else but
there?” She settled in closer. “Besides, I have an ulterior motive. I’ve got
plenty of naughty fantasies that have a certain woodcutter’s cottage as
the setting...”
“Wicked,” Harry chided her.
“Which is just how you like me.”
“That’s just how I love you, beautiful,” he corrected. “We’re far
beyond ‘like’ here.”
Hermione sighed with content. “Oh, it’ll be perfect. Just the two of
us... in our little love-nest... finally together...” she yawned, “with no
more worries or woes.”
Above her head, Harry’s brow furrowed.
“Do you want it to be only the two of us always, Hermione?”
“Why?” She giggled. “Neither of us are into the whole menage-du-
trois thing... what, are you saying you wouldn’t be satisfied with only
me?”
“No, what I am saying is that we’ve not used our heads over the
past twenty-four hours. For a woman who swears often that she’d make
a terrible mother, you aren’t doing much to prevent yourself from
becoming one.”
“What about you?” asked Hermione lazily. “It’s a shared
responsibility, you know.”
“Ah, the doctor rears her pretty head again... I feel like I’m back in
Snape’s Personal Health Management mini-course. Well, if you must
know, it was sheer lack of forethought. I was quite prepared, but my
preparation is all in Salvador, while we’re here,” he replied with some
amusement. “But I don’t mind the consequences as much as you do.”
“You don’t?” Hermione said with a laugh.
“No, I don’t. In fact, I don’t mind children at all. I happen to enjoy
them immensely... especially if I can help them have a better childhood
than I did.”
“Well, Harry... you know how I feel about it.”
He nodded. “Yes, I do. And you know that I respect that.” At least,
for the time being.
“This isn’t the right time of the month for me to worry anyway.
Next week is when we’ve got to be careful,” Hermione said, matter-of-
factly.
“Then, my love, if you don’t wish to worry, we both need to take
the appropriate measures.”
“What would that be? Decide not to have sex again until after the
New Year?”
In reply to that, he’d shifted her around so that she was straddling
his lap, facing him.
“You must be mad,” he groaned.
And then for the better part of a blissful hour, Harry proceeded to
show Hermione just how mad she really was.
Once mutually convinced of her insanity, they’d curled up together
in the big bed after another quick shower (they’d been on the trail long
enough to overappreciate clean running water), and talked of the
upcoming Christmas holiday, and how strange it was to be spending it in
the tropics.
“It doesn’t seem like Christmas here, does it? Even with the
decorations in the village?”
“No, it’s far too hot for Christmas,” she replied. “It’s more like the
Fourth of July...”
Harry shook his head. “You’ve been in America too long. What sort
of British girl gets excited about a Yankee holiday? Especially that one?”
“Well, it’s spectacular, Harry. Next year we’ll have to go to Atlanta
so you can see. The American Muggles really are very patriotic. We
haven’t had anything like it in Britain since the Jubilee celebrations ten
years ago... although the Americans seem to be more enthusiastic about
our royal family than most of us are!”
“Well, having a king instead of a president is what makes us British
and not American,” Harry pointed out. “And right now, I miss it there.”
“Oh, I do as well. What I wouldn’t give to be eating Molly
Weasley’s Christmas pudding in six days’ time.”
“And the lights.... you haven’t been to Ayr at Christmastime, have
you?”
Hermione considered this. “Come to think of it, I’m not certain
I ever did. Between the Weasleys and my parents, there was never
enough time. And besides,” she poked him in the ribs, “you never stayed
put during the holidays. You always came down for the festivities.”
“So I did. Well, next year, you’ll see how we celebrate in Scotland.
You know the forest at the north end of the island, just beyond the
cottage? Well, imagine a billion fairy lights...”
“Oh, how lovely! How many spells does that take?”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
“It’s not our spells at all. The fir and spruce trees just know. And we
always have snow... we don’t believe in green Christmases up there. And
the nights are long, but the Northern Lights are clearly visible... and
when it’s fair enough, you can see all these stars...” Harry trailed off,
avoiding her eyes. “I know, I must sound ridiculous. A grown Wizard,
totally enraptured by a bit of glitter and a few snowflakes...”
She shook her head. “It sounds enchanting, Harry. I can’t wait to
spend Christmas there with you... we’ll have our own tree. And it must
have a train around it. I always insisted on a train, but Ron couldn’t
imagine why...”
“If you want a train, you’ll have a train. And we’ll stay up all
night... and roast chestnuts... and pull Christmas crackers...”
“And it’ll just be the two of us. We can have dinner with the
Weasleys, but not Christmas Eve. I love them, but sometimes it’s all so
overwhelming... the crush of people and the children with their toys and
the small talk...”
“You know, I agree with you. We’ll keep the twenty-fourth for
ourselves, then. Christmas Day can be spent with the Weasleys, and of
course Boxing Day will be for visiting friends. We’ll start our own
holiday tradition...”
“And we’ll party on New Year’s Eve, of course...”
“Well, since they’d be mostly in the south, we can just spend the
week in Greater London if you want.”
“Where, Harry? On the mercy of our friends?”
“That’s what hotels and inns are for.”
“But not every year. Some years we’ll want to go on holiday
elsewhere, of course... and some years we’ll want to just stay at home
and curl up next to our fire. We’ll just send everyone their presents well
in advance.”
“And a lot of presents there are to send. Which reminds me...
I haven’t done a bit of shopping. I’m not sure if it’s possible, but I’d like
to send the kids back home presents.”
“Of course you do,” laughed Hermione. “Good old Uncle Harry.”
“Stop it. You had Malfoy forward them all presents while you were
gone. Good old Aunt Hermione, yourself. They’re a fun lot, aren’t
they?”
“They are,” she said, leaning up to kiss him. “And it’s fun to have a
man who doesn’t mind doing his own Christmas shopping...”
“Well, I must confess that I hope you’ll take over. It’s not something
I particularly enjoy, but...”
 “But you want to make sure that every child you know has a good
Christmas always,” said Hermione softly. “Harry, I love you so much.”
He smiled at her, a bit uncertainly. And in that moment, Hermione
was reminded that behind the confident man who was with her now
there was still a neglected, love-starved boy who had ten years of missed
Christmases to make up for.
She slid down to cradle her own head in his lap, one hand tucked
between her ear and his sheet-covered thigh.
“From now on, Harry, whatever you want for Christmas, I promise
that I’ll do my very best to make sure you have it. Starting with this
one.”
And with those words, Hermione drifted off to sleep.
Harry wasn’t tired, though. He sat there for hours, watching her
sleep. And thinking.
He had a great deal to think about.
He was still thinking when a soft knock sounded on the door.
Glancing down to make sure Hermione was decent, he unlocked it from
where he reclined.
It was Ron.
“Got an update about Solon,” he said quietly, poking his head in,
then quickly back out again. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything...”
“Not at all,” Harry whispered. “Just one second...”
Shifting carefully so that Hermione’s head went from lap to pillow
without being jarred, Harry slid out of bed, reached for boxers, his
glasses, and a robe, then went to the door.
“We can talk on the balcony,” Harry said. There’s plenty enough
room there.”
Ron followed Harry into the room, and avoiding even the slightest
glance at the bed, walked out of the sliding door to the balcony. It was
early evening now, and the temperature had only cooled slightly. But it
was a welcome change from the near-glacial air conditioning, and the air
was perfumed with the scent of tropical flowers from the gardens below.
Both men sat down at the small mosaic table before they began
talking.
“Did you speak to Solon?”
“No, we didn’t. He’s still in Salvador. But his wife and housekeeper
were back home today... and they contacted him to set up an
appointment. We’ll be meeting him at his home for a late breakfast,
eleven o’ clock tomorrow morning.”
“That’s great.”
 8. How Quiet the Storm
“It is. While the rest of you lot lazed about this afternoon, I went
back to have a cafezinho with the lady. She shared quite a bit with me...
nothing earth-shattering or that would compromise her husband’s
position. But she said that if anyone would know how to get Hermione
and Eva’s magic back, it would be the Atlanteans.”
Harry frowned. “I still can’t believe it’s a real place. How could it
have been hidden all these years?”
“I don’t know. But if it’s a lost paradise we’ve got to find in order to
get Hermione’s magic back, then we’ll just have to go. No question.”
“Ron, what about your family?” Harry asked quietly. “It’s
Christmas.”
“Well...” here Ron trailed off, uncomfortably. “I’m not sure what to
do. On the one hand, Mrs. Solon seemed to imply that if the Atlanteans
wanted eight, and there were eight around when they took Hermione,
and I was one of the eight... then I’d have to be along or they wouldn’t
let us in, Solon or not.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
“Well, she said that the eight of us aren’t just going to Atlantis for
Hermione and Eva. Evidently there’s something for all of us there.” He
shrugged. “But I have to be home for Christmas, Harry.”
“Perhaps there’s a way that you can do both. You can go from
Salvador and come back. If Malfoy’s doing it, then of course you can.”
“It’s a security risk. The Cabalistica also knows that I’m actively
aiding both Hermione and the resistance. Besides, there’s no link
between Ayr and here... the link is in Malfoy’s and my sister’s bedroom.”
Here Ron’s long, freckled nose wrinkled with distaste.
“I’m sure Malfoy will oblige, Ron. We’re not boys any longer, as
you had to remind me... the man’s got a wife and a child of his own.
He’ll understand.”
“Yeah, but will Sirius? He’s got a wife and a child as well, and ten
Galleons says he’s not going back to them until after the New Year.”
Harry let out a deep breath. “Family means something different to a
Weasley than it does to Sirius Black. Don’t get me wrong, Sirius is the
closest thing I’ve got to a parent, but to him collective duty far
outweighs individual sacrifice... ever since just before my parents died,
it’s been an obsession with him. Carole Black knows the sort of man she
married... and this won’t be Max’s first Christmas without his Dad.
“But your sons... Ron, you’ve got to go. You’ve got to be there for
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, if nothing else.” He grinned.
“Besides, after being here for two long months, I know you miss your
wife.”
Ron caught Harry’s drift. “I do. Although right now she likely looks
as if she’s swallowed a couple of Quaffles. She gets huge whenever she’s
expecting...”
“And you still love every bit of her, don’t you?”
“Yeah, of course I do. She’s even more beautiful pregnant, I think...
but I think this time will be the last.”
Harry shook his head indulgently and laughed. “Liar. If you’re
trying to follow in your dad’s footsteps, you’re not even halfway there!”
“Shut up, Harry. Well, what about you and Hermione? What have
you decided?”
Harry’s smile faded and his eyes grew distant. “After we finish up
in Atlantis and head back home, she’s coming to Ayr with me.”
“And?”
“And we’ll take it from there.”
“Seems like you’d be a bit happier about it, mate.”
“Like I said, it’s a ‘wait and see’ sort of thing.”
“Which is bad because...?”
Harry tore his eyes from the swaying leaves and stared at Ron.
“Because I want what you have, Ron.”
“Ah.” Ron looked grim. “Well, as she’s so famous for saying, ‘Men
always want what they can’t have.’ I’m afraid that our divorce has
soured her on the institution of marriage for good. Or even the idea of
permanence in relationships.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of as well.”
“Well, you must understand you’re likely never going to make a
traditional wife out of Hermione, anyway. Flying toads, I tried... but the
girl’s too set in her ways. She’s not much like my mum or my wife.
She’s not going to bake cookies, and you’re not going to keep her
barefoot and pregnant.”
“Ron, that’s not what I want at all.”
“Then what exactly do you want from her, Harry?”
That question again. Hermione had asked it of him nearly a week
before, and now Ron was doing the same.
Fortunately, just then, the sliding doors opened. Hermione, wrapped
in her robe, stepped out with a glass in each hand.
“It’s hot out here, isn’t it? Thought you two might like some ice
water.”
She set the glasses down on the table. Ron, with a nod of gratitude,
picked his up and set about the work of draining it. Harry opened his
 8. How Quiet the Storm
arms so Hermione could sit with him again.
“What did you find out about Solon, Ron?”
Ron repeated everything that he’d told Harry. Hermione frowned.
“I don’t know why I don’t feel the most comfortable about this
Atlantis business. Sounds too much like a snake oil sale for some
reason.”
“Perhaps so, but if it’s the only chance we’ve got to restore your
magical ability...”
“Ron, it can’t be that easy. Oh, I wish I had access to the MMRI.
There’s something that I’m missing... about both my magical loss and
the disease that’s afflicting so many.” She turned to Harry for a moment,
then back to Ron. “I’ve thought of something else. I think the cases I’ve
run into have been Cabalistica test cases. I also think that some of those
who were imprisoned with me were tested as well... I’m starting to
believe that the Cabalistica is trying to develop a vaccine, and that we
were the casualties of that. Our magic, I mean.”
“So they want to inoculate all their members first, then kill the rest
of us?” asked Ron. “Nice.”
“You heard what Fred wrote to Draco. That is one part of their plan.
And you know what? Even if the disease isn’t always a killer, if it
ensures complete magical loss without the nasty mental side effects of
Sponging, then they’ve already won. You’ve seen me... struggle because
I can’t use magic. Imagine what these past two months would have been
like had none of us been able to use a wand.”
Both men were silent.
“Exactly. It goes against every instinct you’ve got. These past three
months have been difficult for me, but if I hadn’t had both my Muggle
childhood and a recent stint in the Muggle world to fall back on, I would
have gone insane. We use magic from the time we awake until we fall
asleep at night... it’s very much a part of us, as much as our limbs are.”
Hermione sighed. “Now I understand what my Sponge patients felt
like.”
“Hermione, we will get your magic back,” Ron said fervently. “No
matter what we’ve got to do. I’m here with you until the end.”
He said this so sincerely that Hermione’s eyes filled with tears.
“What about your family? Ron, I no longer come first... you’ve
done what you came for. I’m safe and sound. You’ve got a wife and
children to think of...”
“Do you want me to be here or not, Hermione? Say, if there wasn’t
that dinner invitation for eight at Chez Atlantis... would you still want
me here?”
Blue eyes locked with brown. No words passed between them, but
twenty years and more of memories scrolled through their minds. And
not all horrible ones, either.
Slowly, Hermione nodded.
“Always, Ron,” she whispered, tears spilling over. “Always.”
“Then here I stay,” Ron said.
His eyes were moist too.
And the Trio sat there, in silence and in tears, until dusk began to
fall.

~~~
When night fell, Ron left, saying he wanted a bite to eat and some
beach time.
“I’ll see you two tomorrow morning. Don’t stay up too late,” he
said smilelessly, watching them both turn one interesting shade of red
after another. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover in the morning.”
“And why would we do that?” Hermione said, recovering first.
“Stay up late, that is?”
“Of course we wouldn’t do that. We’re going to sleep early. We both
need our beauty rest,” Harry joked. “Although I daresay I need it far
more than this one does... if she gets any more beautiful, then I’m going
to have to take a cue from our Arabic friends and insist she wear a veil.”
“And I bet you’d like a harem too, wouldn’t you?” Hermione said
with mock severity. “Pig.”
“Of course he would,” Ron said, nudging Harry over Hermione’s
head. “I’d like one myself. What Wizard in his right mind wouldn’t?”
Harry laughed, but Hermione was not pleased.
“Men.”
After saying good-night to Ron, Harry and Hermione stretched out
on the bed and ordered room service. Then they took their dinner on the
terrace, feeding each other from a single plate, drinking champagne from
the same crystal glass. The stars overheard were like a thousand tiny
candles... and there was still the heady trifold mix of the jungle, the
gardens, and the sea.
“This is nothing like the stuff we had at Draco and Ginny’s
wedding,” Hermione remarked.
“No, but then, I doubt few others in any world have a cellar like
 8. How Quiet the Storm
Malfoy’s. That’s why Ginny always gives away so many bottles at
Christmas and birthdays... she says he’s got too much of the stuff, and he
hardly ever drinks it.”
“Draco’s not about using what he’s got,” Hermione pointed out.
“He’s just about having it.”
There were fresh fruits with cream, along with cheese and crackers
for dessert. They talked and they ate, and when their mouths weren’t
occupied with food or words, they exchanged kisses of every variety.
Then Harry suggested that they have a look at what was on
television, as they hadn’t yet had the chance to engage in one of Brazil’s
favorite pastimes. Hermione curled up with him for a minute to translate
until he dozed off. Then, growing bored with the telly as she usually did,
she extracted a small cachet from her bag and slipped into the bathroom.
She’d found the stuff at a Muggle shop in the village the day before,
right after she’d purchased the dress. It had come in handy during the
bath she’d had just before coming to Harry... nothing else could have
relaxed her more. The tub was smaller than the one she’d had in Atlanta,
around the same size as the one in her bathroom at Oxford, but
nevertheless it would do.
Hermione ran warm water, threw the salts in... and soon the tub was
filled with vanilla-scented suds. Once her hair was pinned up, she’d
grabbed a face cloth for her eyes, slipped off her robe, and sank down
into the bubbles.

~~~
When Harry awoke a few minutes later, he was disoriented. For a
weird moment, he wondered if the past twenty-four hours had all been a
strange dream.
After blinking a few times and wiping his glasses, he relaxed. The
telltale signs of girlish things were literally all over the room.
Harry wondered why women always did that. Whether neat and
precise or messy slobs, they never restricted their things to one place or
one corner, but placed various things all over a room. They’d put their
brush on a dresser... their purse on the table... their makeup case and
pillbox on the nightstand. Perhaps it was a territorial thing, marking her
domain.
Then he heard splashing, and humming.
Of course, he was going to investigate. If she hadn’t wanted him to,
she would have locked the bathroom door, right?
The sight that greeted his eyes was absolutely tantalizing. She
couldn’t have enacted one of his pet fantasies better if she’d interviewed
him and taken copious notes.
“And here I thought I’d already had dessert,” he whistled.
Hermione removed the face cloth from her eyes. “Harry!”
She sank down so that only her head was visible above the bubbles.
He laughed, walked into the bathroom, leaned forward... and swirled the
water around. She screamed, brandished the wet washcloth as a whip,
and smacked him soundly in the head with it.
“Ow!”
“Good for you,” she said. “Harry, you scared me half to death!
I could have drowned.”
“You scare too easily. And I wouldn’t have let you drown,” Harry
replied, taking off his glasses to wipe the water from his eyes. “Let me
wash your back.”
Hermione sent a petulant look his way.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“This tub isn’t big enough for two.”
“We don’t need much room, do we?”
“Harry,” she frowned, “my bath time is... well, special. It’s the only
method of relaxation I’ve ever tried that actually works.”
“I see. So I take it you don’t really care to share your bath with me,
then.”
“Don’t take it personally. I don’t care to share my bath with anyone.
Same as I don’t use the loo with anyone around.”
Harry grimaced. “Okay, point taken.”
“Just... go back into the room, all right? I’ll be done with this in a
little while, and I’ll make it up to you. You’ll see.”
And she looked at him so wickedly that he nearly complied
immediately.
But he tried another course of action first.
“Right, that sounds good. Tell you what. I don’t have to share the
tub with you at all, but why don’t I give you a back massage before
I leave?”
Hermione looked skeptical. “Only a massage, Harry?”
“Only a massage, Hermione. Same as you’ve given me many times
before any of this happened. Same as I’d give to any friend.”
She studied his face a moment, then conceded. “All right.”
Triumphant, he came to the side of the tub, placed his hands on her
 8. How Quiet the Storm
shoulders, and began to knead. It only took a few seconds before
Hermione relaxed into his touch.
After a while, Hermione handed him the washcloth. “You know,
I think I do want you to soap my back...”
And after another shorter while, she said: “Might be snug, but see if
you can fit in here...”
Then after yet more time had passed, and the water was lukewarm,
and the suds had mostly gone flat, she murmured to him, “How large did
you say the bathtub was at home?”
“I didn’t. But it’s about this size, more or less.”
“I see. Well, Harry, I’ve only got two things to say to you. The first
is that if you ever give anyone else a massage like that, I’m going to
have to hurt you. Badly.”
He laughed in her ear. “All right. What’s the second thing?”
“We’ve got to have a bigger tub installed. As a matter of priority.
Because we have to try this at home.”
Once they were dried, and back in the room, Harry asked her if
she’d ever tried yoga as stress relief.
“You’re always so tense, love, even when there’s nothing to be
stressed about. I’m just wondering if you’d tried anything other than
your sacred bath ritual to alleviate it.”
“Well, Draco’s studied Eastern magic and homeopathic remedies,
and he got Ginny into it as well, but I’m too damned impatient. I never
stuck with it. He couldn’t get me into it, not really, and although I joined
a class in Atlanta it wasn’t a priority.” She looked at him skeptically.
“Don’t tell me that you’ve done yoga. That really doesn’t seem like you
at all.”
“Not at all. It’d be impossible for me to clear my mind of
everything at once, anyway. Unless I’m...” his fingers traced her arm,
“well, let’s just say that I’ve tried something closely related to yoga that
works.”
“What’s that?”
He told her.
She blushed.
“Oh, dear. Why did I know you were going to say that?”
“You mean to tell me that you’ve never...”
“Well, I’ve read all about it, of course.”
“But you’ve never actually...”
No, she hadn’t actually! Hermione had been married, and as doctor
and mediWitch she knew a lot of things, but her actual experience in bed
wasn’t all that vast. She’d been far too busy for many carefree romps as
a fiancée and a wife... and Jack’s demands hadn’t been all that frequent,
considering his age.
Even a few post-marital flings hadn’t been enough to convince her
that she wasn’t an absolute dud in bed. As confident as she was about
everything else, at thirty-two she wasn’t all that sure of herself when it
came to... well, this sort of thing. Between the sheets she was usually
restrained and dutiful, but also not extremely adventurous.
Once again, Harry was proving to be the exception to the rule.
A bit embarrassed and very flustered, she shook her head, still
blushing.
“Ah. Well, you’re in for a treat, then. Reading about it is one thing.
Actually doing it is infinitely better.” He kissed her. “You’ll love this.
Guaranteed.”
And he discarded their towels, and turned off the lights so that the
only illumination came from the bright moon, and pulled her to sit with
him upon the rug, on the floor.
“For tantra, first you must sit in my lap, face to face...”
And all through the night, Hermione learned that the Kama Sutra
wasn’t merely a historical account, but an instruction manual.
Later, much later, Hermione drowsily curled up next to Harry and
asked for a bedtime story.
“A story?”
“Yes, a story. I’m used to reading myself to sleep... and I can’t
possibly read after that, now can I?” A smile played about her lips as she
pressed them into his chest. “All thanks to you, of course.”
So he began to tell their story, the story that Sirius had diabolically
told on that night that all their lives had changed so drastically forever.
But now, there was more to tell.
“And when the princess learned of her grave betrayal at the hands
of the knight and the prince, it broke her heart. She forsook both crown
and throne, becoming a lady-in-waiting...”
“Lady-in-waiting. I’ve always wondered about that term. What on
earth was she waiting for?”
“Listen to the story, and you’ll find out.”
So he told the story of the forlorn former princess, who journeyed to
a distant land to mend her broken heart. There she lived and made new
friends and found new love. Meanwhile, the knight searched far and
wide for her, until all the nobles of the court marvelled at his devotion.
He avoided the prince, but in time, there was a new princess... and his
 8. How Quiet the Storm
old friend admitted him to the royal court again, although there now
existed a cool formality between them.
The former princess, now a lady-in-waiting, grew dreadfully
homesick. She returned from the distant land, and trysted with the knight
once more before running away again. But in time she was captured by a
fearful dragon, and the prince and the knight rescued her, slaying the
dragon and...
“No, no. Neither the prince nor the knight slew the dragon this
time,” yawned Hermione. “The princess... lady-in-waiting, rather...
escaped from the dragon’s lair herself. If you’re going to tell the tale,
darling, you have to tell it right.”
“And I ask you, fair lady,” he said, kissing her softly, “who’s telling
this story, you or me?”
“No wonder scholars can’t sort truth from fiction when they peruse
the old legends,” she remarked drowsily. “Go on, Sir Harry.... I won’t
interrupt again.”
He did continue, telling of the reunion of the knight, the prince, and
the lady, of the new lands they traversed, the new people they met, and
the wondrous feats that were accomplished.
And then he told of the night when the lady-in-waiting came to the
knight... and loved him at last.
“So as the moon rose, the knight asked the lady-in-waiting, so
unearthly fair as she rested in his arms at long last, ‘wilt thou be my
wife?’ And the lady said in reply...”
But Hermione said nothing. Exhaustion mingled with content had
its way with her at long last. She was fast asleep.
Harry’s arms tightened around her as he closed his eyes. The long
hours of thinking earlier came back to him. He hadn’t been able to come
to a decision then. He wasn’t sure if his timing was off. Neither was he
much for gambling. He had been trained in Wizardry as a Gryffindor, so
he wasn’t averse to risk... as long as the cost was counted.
He no longer trusted his judgment when it came to her.
He didn’t like being uncertain, either.
At least, he hadn’t been certain until he’d finished the tale. Now not
only was he certain indeed, he knew. He finally knew how the story must
end. Even if it meant tossing the dice, he knew how to had to answer
Hermione’s question, and Ron’s question.
What more could you possibly want from me?
What exactly do you want from her, Harry?
Oh, yeah. Harry knew what he wanted this Christmas, and from
Hermione forever.
Absolutely everything.
 A/N: Wow. That was a long time coming... makes it sweeter,
methinks. :-D
Next chapter, there just might be a wedding. Not a Wedding of
the Century like the 2003 R/H deal... not a Wedding of the Rich and
Famous, like the 2009 D/G ceremony... but just a tiny Christmas
wedding on an out-of-the-way Brazilian beach. Spur of the
moment. Sans reporters. Sans fancy trappings. Sans everything save
two people who are desperately in love with each other... and a few
friends, both old and new, to witness their joy.
After all, Eva and Zach deserve no less, right? No? Well, what
about Juliana and Lena? They’re getting along nicely, I think...
Okay, okay. You’ll see who pops the big question... and what
the other party’s answer is... sometime this September.
In that same chapter, we get back to the plot (yay!). More is
learned about Atlantis, and Zach finally explains who he, Diana,
and Heath really are, just before our group embarks on the final leg
of their journey to the paradise lost of Atlantis. Meanwhile, Brazil
and the rest of the Wizarding world is rocked by civil war between
the forces allied under the Order’s leadership and the Cabalistica
sympathizers... and of course, we’ll learn exactly who and what
survived that containment facility blast.
Playlist—well, I just proved you can write a chapter on just
Songs in the Key of Life. I did use a couple of other Stevie CDs
(Song Review and Innervisions), but other than the MPB songs
mentioned in the scenes, the beginning of the chapter was basically
fused together where one woman, one month, and one artist
intersect.
There’s another song I have to explain the significance of. The
week that Goblet of Fire came out, I also bought D’Angelo’s CD
Voodoo ... what an odd fusion. It’s a great album, perhaps one of the
best neosoul discs of late. It was nominated for several Grammy
Awards, and won Time-Life’s Album of the Year award (ironically,
the same year that JKR was their Author of the Year). So I listened
to that CD while reading and re-reading the book at home. The
fusion even happened in my car, as I had both GoF and D’Angelo
on tape there.
Anyway, a week later, I happened to be listening to a
particular song from that CD on my computer the night I first ran
into Lori’s Paradigm of Uncertainty on ff.net, right as I got to
Chapters 8 and 9. I was addicted to this CD and that fanfic for the
entire summer of 2000—those two things, along with GoF, are
tangible bookmarks of that summer for me. Weird, I know.
“Send it On” is really just a live studio session cut. Not really
about the words (as the entire song is ad libbed), it’s more about the
longing and sensuality of the music. D’Angelo himself plays
several jazz instruments on this cut, I believe. The lyrics might
seem a bit disjointed, but they’re totally meant to be. Here the
speaker is trying to express the inexpressible - how he feels for this
girl - and what he keeps coming to is that he’s got to send what he
feels “right back” to her. D says the music and the instrumentation
is the focus of this song... because sometimes, what a man feels for
a woman is beyond mere words.
Tell me, what will I do?
Send it right back to you...
Since that song will always personally remind me of PoU8,
I decided to play it as I wrote my own ‘crossing the line’ scenario
here in PL8. That, and the decision as I outlined PL to have them
wait until the eighth chapter, was done as a small tribute to the
inimitable Lori, without whose stories there would be no Paradise.
It’s also perfect, because just as seven is the number of perfection,
culmination, and completion, eight is the number of new
beginnings and hope...
The only other important song here is Djavan’s “Meu Bem-
Querer”, which I must thank Ana for introducing me to, and Beta
for certifying the popularity of both tune and artist in Brazil.
Special thanks to Steph Salerno, who sang for her supper
during her visit to Motown by jump starting the H/H argument
scene I was blocked on. And to Lissanne, who read the bits I wasn’t
too certain of over IM, and encouraged me that fading to a tasteful
grey was much more preferable than all-out black. If the
consummation is too sugary sweet for your tastes, blame her. What
can I say? My Aussie sistah needed some cheering up this
summer... and she happens to like her pumpkin pie... well, rather
rich, with whipped cream on top. ;-)
Hugs and kisses to my beta-readers and BDT, who are on a
well-deserved vacation. Because of the overall sugar and spice of
this chapter, and because it is August, I decided to cut them a break
this time. This is the twentieth chapter of Paradise... even God is an
Advocate of days off. So any mistakes here are the fault of the
author.
Let’s see, what else? The scarlet pedicure is all parker’s
fault... and the lovely dames of Avalon know exactly what I mean.
sings “he gives me fever”... But the little red dress is my fault, and
so is the sex on the beach.
The lemonade Ron offers to Harry in Salvador is thanks to a
participant in a recent Paradise list conversation that cracked me up.
She said that Ron had made lemonade out of his lemons, but that
the other two were refusing to take the glasses. Oh, I laughed for an
hour after I read that! And I had to use it.
Oh, and one more thing... the OCs Robert and Margarethe are
a tribute to all my dear friends on the good ships Ron/Hermione
and Harry/Ginny who insist often and loudly that Harry and

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Hermione are “just like brother and sister”. The “ravish my heart”
quote is from the Song of Solomon, perhaps one of the most
beautiful odes to love ever written. grin Loff you guys, really, even
if you happen to advocate OBHWF and see Star Wars parallels in
everything. schnomps
See you next time around.
~eb, 8.24.0

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