"Probably not long," Jane agreed. "She's never been one to be beaten at anything."
The two sat and watched as Hermione circled Harry, one hand cupping her elbow as the other tapped her chin. And then the questions began. While neither Henry nor Jane could make much of them, obviously Harry could, for he patiently answered every one. Finally, Harry transformed back and the two flopped onto the couch in there together, Hermione immediately turning her body and tucking one leg under her so that she was facing her best friend.
"I know that fathers aren't supposed to ask this, but remind me why didn't she leave with him all those years ago. They could have been married with kids by now," Henry sighed. "Not to mention happy."
"I know. It's so rare to see her this happy," Jane replied. "But to answer your question, if you remember, she was still dating Ron back then, not to mention that she'd not long started her career and had all of those goals."
"And how many of them have become a reality? The magical world is so backwards and as much as I admire Hermione wanting to ensure equality for all magical species, I doubt that one woman, no matter how impassioned, is really going to make a difference," Henry stated.
"I completely agree," Jane said. "But you have to admire her for what she's trying to do."
"Oh, I do, don't get me wrong," Henry replied quickly. "It's just … seeing her so happy like this, it's all we ever wanted for her."
Jane watched as Hermione laughed at something Harry said and gave him a slight push and the lip-sided grin and bright eyes that Harry was giving her back.
"Who knows, maybe having Harry here in England for a bit will get her to think where her life is headed," Jane suggested.
"Maybe," Henry agreed.
ooo00ooo
Standing in the small run-down park, Harry stared at the town house across from him. In the years that he'd been gone, it hadn't improved – nor had the neighbourhood. The same derelict car, its tires gone, sat in the same place in front of one of the houses down the street. Half of the street lights were no longer working and the ones that were only enhanced the dreary, dead feeling. Rubbish littered the pavement, road and park. And every house looked as though they were long past the time that they should have been demolished.
Unfortunately, the town house across from him was his. Number twelve Grimmauld Place, the ancestral seat of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Such as it was. Sirius had hated the place, but it had been his, making it the only reason that Harry had kept it.
With another sigh, Harry plucked the heavy, gaudy ring from his pocket and placed it on his right ring finger. He grimaced at the feel of the oppressive magic that coursed through him before settling into his core. He'd felt it a number of times and each time he'd hated it, thus why he hardly ever wore the thing.
When he'd left England, Harry'd sealed Grimmauld Place up tight, activating the Black family wards. No one could enter and any that tried wouldn't live long enough to regret the decision. Unfortunately, the ring was needed to once more unseal the house for use.
Steeling himself, Harry marched across the road, up the short flight of stairs and pressed the ring against the door.
He could feel the magic at work, testing, tasting before grudgingly doing what he willed it to do. At the sound of the lock disengaging, Harry took his hand away and turned the knob.
The hall was pitch black, but a simple wave of his hand towards where he knew the nearest torch was located solved that problem. One by one, the torches in the hall lit, sending a soft golden light through the hall.
It was just as Harry remembered it: clean (meaning that Kreacher was still alive and doing his duty), but full of dark woods that enhanced the shadows and the claustrophobic feel.
"Who dares enter the House of Black, defiling and sneaking in to steal and cause havoc?" a raspy voice croaked.
"Hello, Kreacher," Harry said.
The old elf stepped into view then, his face turned up quizzically. Harry noticed that he looked much the same, albeit with some extra tufts of hair growing from his ears.
"Master has returned," Kreacher stated. "Kreacher wonders how long for?"
"I'm not sure," Harry replied. "A few weeks, maybe? It'll depend on how things go."
"Master'll be wanting some food," Kreacher stated before shuffling about to head to the kitchen.
"No, that's alright. I already ate; with the Grangers," Harry said.
Kreacher stiffened slightly as though he'd just been insulted.
"You remember Hermione, don't you?" Harry asked.
"Kreacher remembers. Girl helped Master retrieve Master Regulus' locket for Kreacher and fulfil Kreacher's vow," the ancient house elf replied.
"She did," Harry smiled.
The fact that Kreacher wasn't insulting Hermione or calling her names told Harry that, even after all of these years, Kreacher hadn't slipped back into how he was before he was given the locket that he still wore around his neck.
"Kreacher will prepare the Master's suite, then," Kreacher said before trudging off.
"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry replied.
As much as he'd prefer to head to bed as quickly as possible, Harry decided to rest for a short time in the parlour before heading up; after all, the ancient house elf wasn't as quick as he once was and Harry didn't want to rush him.
Unseen by Harry as he entered the parlour was the interested look that one particular portrait gave him before he turned and walked straight out of his frame.
ooo00ooo
Her world had phased in and out, perhaps some semblance of reality, perhaps simply a dream. Either way, this time, this 'waking', felt different to Jennifer.
As always, there was only darkness, but this was attributed to her closed eyes rather than a lack of light. The beeping – that was constant, although now it registered as a separate sound and not something ambiguous that could be ignored if she chose. The one thing, the big change that she noted, were the voices. Indistinct and muffled had become words.
Focussing on those words caused a frown to appear on her face – another new sensation, that of her skin moving. But what really caught her attention was the fact that she recognised one of those voices.
"Dad?"
Her voice was soft and scratchy, barely there, but it was enough. A rough, calloused hand lifted hers up and held it tight, its thumb stroking the back of her hand.
"Jennifer? Can you hear me?" he asked.
Once again, Jennifer frowned. Her Dad sounded scared and worried.
"Dad?" she repeated.
"I'm here, Baby," he said and she could hear the relief and tears in his voice. "You're safe."
Why she wouldn't be safe, Jennifer didn't know. But her Daddy said she was safe, so she allowed the small amount of tension to bleed back out of her body.
A second set of hands began touching her head, her cheek, her wrist, her stomach. Who they belonged to was unknown, but her Daddy was there, so Jennifer knew that there was nothing to worry about.
"She's on the mend and out of danger," an unknown female voice stated. "She knew who you were; that's a very good sign. It won't be long until she wakes properly but the longer she sleeps, the better."
"Just rest, Baby, sleep some more," her Daddy instructed.
Jennifer gave the smallest of nods before allowing the small hold that she had on consciousness to slip away once more.
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