Paradise Lost2a

Paradise Lost
by AngieJ
book 2
From the World Wide Web
Gathered and bound by
Lily Ossendrijver; 2005
Paradise Lost
book 2
Harry
Contents
5. The Girl from Ipanema (continued).............................7

6. If You Come Softly....................................................95
7. Gota d’Agua.............................................................159
8. How Quiet the Storm...............................................263
aaaaa
5. The Girl from Ipanema
(continued)
Sunday, October 28, 2012. Evening.

Approach to Guarulhos International Airport.
São Paulo, Brazil.
Despite Harry’s last minute ticket purchase, the three Wizards
managed to get three seats next to one another. It really didn’t matter...
for the duration of the two hour flight, they really couldn’t talk about
much of importance without performing magic. And again, they didn’t
wish to attract attention to themselves. Not only was there the
Cabalistica to consider, there was also the very real possibility that Sirius
had alerted the legitimate team to notify him if they learned their
whereabouts. Not that Harry much cared if Sirius tried to interfere – it
wasn’t as if his godfather could stop him – but he didn’t feel up to the
aggravation.
Gareth had kept them up all night, going over and over important Portuguese phrases,
local customs and protocols, and the like. They also had to take some precautions. Instead
of the usual Polyjuice, they used simple Potions and spells to change hair and eye colors,
and to hide Harry’s scar. The spells would last for a good seventy-two hours before
needing to be touched up, unless they chose to reverse them beforehand.
Malfoy, eat your heart out, thought Harry, touching the platinum
blonde strands of his hair. He’d deliberately chosen Draco’s coloring.
After all, Malfoy had been Hermione’s Secret-Keeper... if they found
her, instead of blasting them to the next world before she learned who
they were, the uncanny resemblance to Draco might give her pause.
Zach, who was now catching up on much-needed sleep, appeared
vaguely Asian. His artificial dark hair and eyes enhanced the natural
almond shape of his eyes and his light olive toned skin... the exact same
shade as Diana’s.
Ron had exchanged his red curls for chocolate-brown ones and eyes
to match, giving him the appearance of his ex-wife Hermione’s brother.
His freckles were gone. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. He
was listening to some TuneDisc he’d swiped from Charlie on Harry’s
Charlotte, and was snapping his fingers. Then all of a sudden, he burst
out into song:
Paradise Lost 2
Life could be so fine, like mm-hmm, wine!
I used to walk, walk in the shade with my blues on parade
But I’m not afraid... it’s over... Casanova!
Harry’s mouth dropped open. To be fair, this might have been quite
a performance if Ron could actually carry a tune. As it was, it was still
quite amusing to watch, as Ron accompanied the lyrics with appropriate
gestures like guzzling wine, “walking”... and kissing the air with the
“Casanova”.
If I never had one cent, I’d be rich as Rockefeller
Gold dust at my feet,
On the sunny side of the street!
Ron opened his eyes the second Harry snatched the earpiece away.
“Hey, what’d you do that for?”
Harry jerked his head towards the surrounding passengers, all of
whom were now staring in their direction with either amusement or
annoyance.
Ron shrugged. “Cuanto lo siento, por favor. No entiendo inglés
mas... pero la música es muy buena.”
Harry was impressed at this. Then he remembered that Ron and
Hermione’s favorite vacationing spot during the years of their marriage
had been Spain, and they had tried to get to the Caribbean once or twice
a year as well.
Soon the fasten seat belt sign overhead flashed, and a gravelly voice
over the intercom announced their descent into Guarulhos International
Airport.
“Estamos chegando em São Paulo,” said the captain. He then
rattled off local time, the weather, and gates of flights connecting to
points all over Brazil.
Harry nudged Zach awake. “We’re almost there. See if you can
catch our gate number... we’ve only got a few minutes to board the one
to Rio.”
Zach cocked his head and listened. “It’s in Portuguese, Spanish, and
English... it’s heavily accented, but they repeat so that you can
understand.”
Harry tried listening too, and then caught the gate information for
their flight to Rio... asa A, portão 4. The rest of the words were pleasant-
sounding and lyrical to ears used to English in the way that all Romance
languages are, but also pretty difficult to understand. He wished that
Portuguese and Parseltongue were mutually intelligible... but about the
only similarity was that they both began and ended with the same letter.
When the plane landed, Harry stood up first and shuffled past Ron
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5. The Girl From Ipanema
to get into the aisle. He opened the overhead compartment and quickly
lifted out the carry-ons they had brought along. After handing the red
one with a large yellow R emblazoned across one side to Ron and the
smaller, more modest black leather case to Zach, he reached for his own
tattered bag. It was an old school rucksack of Hermione’s that he’d
borrowed from her once and forgotten to give back. He felt a pang
somewhere in his heart.
Harry, Ron and Zach disembarked from the plane and tried to look
natural. They, however, more or less stood out like Dr. Neville
Longbottom would at a Death Eater meeting.
As they passed through the gates and entered the large terminal,
Harry looked for signs leading to their connecting flight. Unfortunately,
there was no charmed signs flashing “This way to your next flight, Mr.
Potter” as he had hoped.
“Onde ficam asa A portão 4?” Harry heard someone ask from
behind him. He turned to see Zach conversing with a young woman in
her early twenties. She twisted a finger around a curly lock of dark
brown hair and smiled up at him with both her red lips and sparkling
green eyes. She cast a suspicious glance towards Harry and Ron before
refocusing her attention on Zach.
Ron smirked and nudged Harry.
“Regular Casanova. We’re going to have to keep an eye on Junior
here,” Ron said in a low voice.
The young woman bade Zach farewell with a kiss on the cheek and
sauntered off with the sort of walk that just screamed the fact she knew
three sexy foreign men were watching her every step.
Ron waited until she was far out of sight before clearing his throat
and muttering a very explicit phrase in Portuguese (no doubt the most
accurate Portuguese he knew) that Harry would never dare repeat in any
language.
“Careful,” Harry replied dryly. “Your hormones will get you in
trouble all over again.”
“No, no, my friend. With Mo, it’s ame até a morte... it’s all right to
look as long as we don’t touch,” Ron replied quickly and perhaps a bit
defensively. He fell silent then as Zach approached them.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Harry asked. He glanced
toward the airport map on the wall, which roughly resembled the
digestive system of a diseased puffskein, and looked hopefully at Zach.
“Couldn’t understand a word she was saying,” Zach confessed. “But
her hand motions make me think it’s straight ahead, then we make a
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Paradise Lost 2
left.” Ron opened his mouth – no doubt to make a comment about the
aforementioned hand motions – but Harry cut him off.
“Right. Lead the way then, senhor,” Harry said. The three Wizards
again picked up their carry-on bags and headed in the direction Zach had
pointed.
Zach looked unsure for a few moments before bounding ahead with
youthful ambition, eager to please. Ron and Harry followed at a slightly
more reserved pace, but nonetheless kept up.
And, of course, they found themselves lost again. Harry looked
impatiently at his watch.
“We’re going to miss our flight, Zach. Are you sure it’s this way?”
Harry asked. Zach half-nodded, half-shrugged and then paused, spotting
something.
Without another word, Zach pushed his way through throngs of
travelers and to a small booth which read “Informações – Información
– Information”. Ron and Harry exchanged glances before following.
Behind the booth was a short man with brown hair that was rapidly
thinning. “May I help you?” he asked in abrupt English upon seeing the
three men. Harry’s defenses automatically fell into place; it was a very
slim chance that a tourist service guide would be able to nail down a
specific language at a simple glance.
“We’re looking for asa A, portão 4. We’ve got a connecting flight to
Rio that leaves in about ten minutes. Can you help us?” Ron asked.
Harry stole a look at Zach, who looked equally as wary.
“Well, you see, I’ve got a map in English right here...” the tourist
guide said, reaching into his jacket. “Perhaps it could be of some help.”
Before Harry could pull Ron back, a wand appeared in the hand of
the mysterious guide and a hissing, sharp red stream of light shot out of
its tip. Ron spun away as quickly as he could, but a splatter of blood still
erupted from the side of his head.
Without a second thought, Harry grabbed Ron’s arm and pulled him
through the mingling tourists. Ron’s hand was pressed to the side of his
head, and he was swearing profusely (Harry didn’t even know a
broomstick was capable of doing those sorts of things). Other than that,
Ron seemed no worse for wear.
Harry cast a quick glance to his side to make sure Zach was with
them. Luckily, Zach was maneuvering through the crowd with precise
agility, dodging red streams of light that seemed to come from both
everywhere and nowhere.
The entire atrium was filled with screaming, as a couple of Muggles
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caught Slicer Blasts and fell to the ground, bleeding and screaming. One
of them was a young child.
“Go for the – ” Harry began, reaching inside of his jacket for his
wand, but was cut off as a stinging pain tore through his arm. He
stumbled and began to fall, but Ron was there to catch him and haul him
to his feet. Harry saw that most of the left side of Ron’s head was red
with blood... and most of Harry’s left sleeve was stained the same
crimson shade.
Ron took Harry by his good arm and swung the both of them
around to flatten their backs against a pillar. As they caught their breath,
Zach zoomed past them, only to double back once he caught a glimpse
of his bleeding friends.
Ron’s cursing slowed and Zach crouched behind Harry.
“What do we do now?” asked Zach, panting.
“Blast back,” Ron snarled in reply, clutching the side of his head.
“No, no! Only as a last resort,” said Harry. “It’s too crowded... we
don’t want to risk a misdirected spell. We only need to get to that plane.”
“But the Muggles! We could be endangering them,” Zach said.
Harry nodded, clutching his arm. “You’re right, of course. And now
that they know we’re here, we’ll have to change disguises and
circumvent the route we take into the city.”
Chaos still reigned in the corridor when Harry, Ron, and Zach
emerged from their cover. Yet there was no sign of the mysterious airport
agent, and no more wand blasts.
Before Ron could object, Zach yanked the baseball cap he had been
wearing onto Ron’s head to cover up the bleeding gash. He also draped
his jacket over Harry’s shoulders.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The men hurried out of the airport and into the mellowed evening
sunshine. It was warm, about twenty-five degrees Celsius, and the
jackets they’d worn because of the air conditioning were now
unnecessary.
“Exactly how far is it from here to Rio?” asked Ron.
“Approximately four hundred fifty kilometres from city centre to
city centre,” replied Zach instantly.
“Ah, a nice walkable distance. Perfect for a Sunday stroll,” was his
sarcastic reply. “So, Harry, what do you think?”
He couldn’t. All he could think of was that now the Cabalistica was
aware of their presence in Brazil. So much for stealth... it had been a full
day and a half before any of Voldemort’s forces had known that they had
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Paradise Lost 2
breached Tartarus. They hadn’t been in Brazil ten minutes before they
were dodging Slicer Spells.
Harry considered their options. They could fly – he and Ron were
both excellent fliers, and Zach would just have to keep up – but most
flyways were monitored by the local governments and if this one had
been as infiltrated by the Cabalistica as Gareth had guessed, they’d be
hovered over by Aurors almost immediately.
Apparition was also an option... but somehow he knew the
Cabalistica was watching and waiting for that. It was likely the reason
why they weren’t followed. Either there were wards up around the
airport now or Tracking Magic that would send whoever was monitoring
magic done in this Muggle area their location.
Another stupid move could endanger Hermione further, he thought
to himself. I’ve got to think... think... what would she do if she were
here?
“Why walk when you can drive?” he heard himself saying.
“Drive?”
“Yeah, drive. We’ll do what Muggle tourists do when they leave the
airport. Rent a car and drive. Don’t you see? It’s the last thing that the
Cabalistica will expect us to do, and we might have a chance to get into
the city undetected if we take a roundabout route.”
Ron stared at Harry. Then he began to laugh.
“Tell you what, mate. If we rent the car, I get to drive.”
“Right, and I ride shotgun... actually, shotwand,” said Harry, patting
the side of his jacket. “Just in case there’s trouble. Zach, you’ll
navigate.”
“Will do,” Zach whistled.
Ron looked around, then pushed them forward.
“What are we waiting for? I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve... just
watch. We’ll be in Rio before nightfall.”
Monday, October 29, 2012. Morning.
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil – Rocinha, then Ipanema again.
On the fourth night after she began serving drinks at Panteras in
Copacabana, Hermione had another dream. And in her dream, she was in
Avalon again, as she’d been every night since her breaking.
This time, it was her least favorite of the dreams. The last night
dream. The last time dream.
“Don’t make things worse by lying even more than you already
have, Harry!” She was breathless from all the running and crying she’d
- 12 -
just done. “How can I trust you when you don’t think enough of me to
allow me to make up my own mind?”
There was the sweet pressure of palms curving over her shoulders,
then the all-encompassing sensation of arms around her waist. Then a
whisper against her ear: “I didn’t know how to tell you. But we have to
do this, you understand?”
One quick shove backwards and the pressure was gone.
“Don’t ever touch me again.”
He started after her. She could sense it without turning around. But
she did anyway, and there he was again, inches away from her. Leaving
her trembling.
“I’m sorry, Hermione.”
“Why? Because you don’t love me as much as I love you? Because
you’re not Wizard enough to tell Sirius to go suck an Alihotsy leaf and
leave us the hell alone?”
“No. Because I wasn’t strong enough for both of us. Because I had
to have you or die. Because in doing so, I’ve betrayed you and Ron and
perhaps everyone.” He sighed. “We have to go back, Hermione, and
you’re right, we can’t pretend away the last three weeks. So what Sirius
is proposing might be the only way.”
“It’s not a way at all, Harry! Why can’t you understand that? You
know, when I came here, I was searching for something... it was as if
there was this tiny, tiny voice in my heart that would ask me why I was
so lonely if Ron was really my heart’s desire. That voice is gone, Harry.
The empty place inside of me is all filled up after what seems like forever
and you’re telling me that you want me to be empty again.” Her eyes
filled with tears. “I thought you loved me.”
“I do, Hermione, more than anything. If I didn’t, there’s no way
I could do this.”
Looking up, she saw how much pain he was in. Somehow, this hurt
her more than her own anguish. The thought of what they were planning
to do in the morning was breaking his heart.
She grabbed his hands impulsively.
“Let’s not ever go back, then. Let’s stay here in Avalon forever.”
She laced her fingers through his and felt them tighten. “Please?”
This time, as Hermione shifted in her sleep, the dream shifted as
well. She was no longer a girl of twenty but a woman of twenty-eight.
And she was with the same person, this time not a youth but a man full
grown... a man who happened to be as tipsy as she was on a hot August
night only three years back...
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Paradise Lost 2
“You’re drunk,” Hermione giggled, holding out her glass for
another fill-up of champagne. They were sprawled on the floor of his
hotel suite, still dressed in their wedding finery, albeit loosened
somewhat. A few empty bottles of fine champagne as well as a tray of
cheeses, fruits and vegetables surrounded them.
“I am not,” Harry replied back, voice only a bit slurred as he
poured the rest of the bottle into her glass. “I’ve got two hollow legs,
thank you very much. Now, shall I uncork another?”
“Oh, we are going to be in so much trouble in the morning.”
“Only sleepy, and that’s because you’ve kept me up all night
talking. As usual.”
She giggled again, blowing bubbles into the flute. “See? What a
nice, innocent reason to be kept up all night. Besides, so has that arse
I’m legally married to until next month... I’m nothing special.”
Her words were interrupted by twin fits of hiccups and giggling, as
she’d just snorted champagne up her nose. He took the glass from her,
shaking his head.
“No more, Hermione. You’ve had quite enough.”
She groaned, holding her decorative handkerchief to her face.
“He’s probably making love to her right now, you think?”
Harry pulled a face. “No, I don’t want to think about that! It’s not a
mental image I’d care to capture, thanks.”
Hermione turned over on her stomach, propping herself up on her
elbows and cupping her chin in her hands. “Come now, be honest. You
can’t tell me that you don’t think Maureen’s pretty.”
Harry shrugged. “She’s nothing to owl home about. Mostly eyes
and hair, I think. And she’s going to get massive as Marge Dursley
before it’s all over.”
“Oh, don’t be mean!” Hermione giggled. “Even I wouldn’t wish
that fate on Ron. Go on, Harry, you’re not being completely honest. No
Wizard in our set can seem to keep their eyes from that woman’s chest...
surely you think she’s got it made in that department?”
“Yes and no. Singularly, yes. Comparatively, no.” He poked her in
the ribs before undoing another button of his doublet and using her
discarded handkerchief to mop sweat from his face and chest. “Again,
why are we discussing Maureen’s breasts?”
“Ah, it’s just a sad game that rejected women play. We do point-by-
point comparisons of ourselves to our successor, and in the end, we
always rack up the most points. This way, we can call the ex a stupid
prat for not realizing how much better we are than she is, and hopefully
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move on with our lives.”
“Does it work?”
“Sometimes. Depends.”
“In this case?”
Hermione sighed. “I certainly hope so.”
“I hope so as well. Because Ron is a stupid prat for not realizing
how much better you are than Maureen is. So much so, in fact, that
there’s no basis for comparison.”
“Really?” Hermione muttered.
“Really. After all, you’ve got better hair...” here, he reached out a
lazy hand to touch the top of it, curling his fingers to comb through the
length of the honey brown mass. “You’ve got better eyes...” and he came
up on his knees, bent down, and kissed the corners of them. “And you’ve
certainly got better...”
Hermione slapped his hand away playfully, but not before he gave
her a light squeeze. “Stop it, Harry! You’re being crude.”
“What? I was just going to say you had better lips,” he said,
tracing them with his finger. Before she knew it, she was being pulled
into his lap, and being thoroughly kissed by a delectable, champagne-
sweetened mouth.
After a while: “Of course, your breasts aren’t half bad, either...”
And after another while: “We had better uncork that last bottle of
champagne after all. And no, we won’t be needing any glasses.”
Hermione awoke with a start, sitting straight up on her cot. Cheeks
flaming. After everything she’d seen and done over the past weeks and
over the course of her lifetime, she was stunned that the dream-memory
of what they had done with the last of the wedding champagne could
still make her blush like a schoolgirl.
She buried her face in clammy hands. It was ironic that the breaking
had done this for her. Suddenly everything that had happened made
complete sense. As she’d told Harry so long ago in Avalon, he set
everything in her life that was empty to overflowing. All the blanks in
her past and in her life had been filled in... with him.
Of course her marriage to Ron hadn’t worked.
In her heart, she’d already been married years before.
That was Juliana’s assessment when she first heard the entire thing.
Juliana Medeiros de Carvalho, Pontifícia Universidade Católica student
by day and Pantera’s star stripper at night, was Eva’s very best friend
and Hermione’s self-appointed therapist.
Eva and Juliana had been friends since infancy, since Rosãngela de
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Paradise Lost 2
Souza had been cleaning for the Carvalhos – a wealthy Rio merchant
family – for decades. They’d played together quite a bit, despite the
differences in their social classes and ages... Juliana was three years
older than Eva. Their “third” – the playmate and companion that
completed the circle – was Juliana’s younger brother Marcelo.
When they reached their teenage years, things changed. Juliana, the
oldest of the three, hit adolescence first and began to develop new
friends and new interests. Meanwhile, Eva and Marcelo were left to their
own devices. Senhor Carvalho, observing their interaction one day,
decided that his son and heir was growing a little too close to this poor
garota from the favela. Without his wife’s knowledge, Senhor Carvalho
persuaded Rosãngela to allow Eva to work for a business associate of his
in Recife.
Marcelo had disappeared shortly after Eva left for the northeast. No
one had heard from or seen him since. At first the Carvalhos and
Rosãngela had supposed that he was going back to the northeast in
search of Eva, but then his car was found... and the blood on the seats
matched his DNA samples.
Kidnapping of the wealthy was a common occurrence in Rio, as it
was in all of Brazil. Yet no one ever contacted the Carvalho family for
ransom. There had been a memorial service, and shortly thereafter
Gustavo Carvalho disowned his only daughter for reasons that neither
Eva nor Juliana divulged to Hermione... and Hermione didn’t press the
matter.
Since then, Juliana had been on her own, paying her university
tuition, feeding herself and paying her rent on her own. She’d made a
name for herself at Panteras... she had a voluptuous figure and a sinuous
grace that drew every male eye in the club as she danced in her signature
silver tanga and four-inch matching sandaled heels.
On the day of the conversation, Hermione, Eva, and Juliana were all
having a late lunch together at Ribeira’s, a rodízio situated a comfortable
distance away from the club. This particular barbecue restaurant featured
tender cuts of beef, sausage, fish and chicken barbecued to perfection, all
served by skilled professionals that seemed tireless. The side dishes were
served buffet style and included choices like rice, farofa (scrambled eggs
and manioc flour), french fries, buffalo mozzarella, pão de queijo (a
fresh-baked cheese roll), brown and black beans, fresh lettuce, and
tomatoes.
At that particular meal, the girls were sharing a couvert, which was
a basket with bread, rolls, and assorted spreads. Although Hermione was
- 16 -
a de facto captive in Brazil, since their escape from the Rat’s nest she
certainly had been fed well.
Juliana
“I think every customer falls in love with her at least once,” Eva
was saying between bites. “Ju’s fabulous.”
“Yes, but this one is stealing all of my men away,” teased Juliana,
reaching over to poke Hermione. Her English was good, as she’d been
studying it in school since she was six. “When I danced before this
garota Ana came, no one bothered with the bar. Now they’re lining up at
her bar during my shows!”
“Only so they can freshen up their drinks before returning to ogle
you, my dear,” laughed Hermione.
“This is the truth. But it is a good thing that you are not dancing...
I might have to pull a Pati on you!” Patricia was the dancer who’d left
just before Hermione was hired. She was in her late twenties and had
been dancing at Panteras for a decade. She got into a confrontation with
Eva over tips, things escalated, Patricia flicked open a blade, and Juliana
wrestled it from her and let her know exactly what she’d do if ever she
threatened her friend again.
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Paradise Lost 2
“Oh, I’ll never be half as interesting as you are,” said Hermione.
“I’m clueless when it comes to flirting, and I’m always asking customers
questions about the economy and political affairs if they’re from around
here, and where they’re from if they’re not... always items of substance.
I’m not much fun and I never have been.”
“You could have a lot more fun here if your heart wasn’t back in
Europe,” said Juliana matter-of-factly. “I know that you are saving
enough for your passage back,” Eva had filled her in on the kidnapping,
but not the minute details, “but pining away isn’t going to have whoever-
he-is back between your legs any faster, yes?”
Hermione blushed hotly and began to stammer a protest. “Oh, it
isn’t like that at all!” she exclaimed, before realizing that she was lying
to herself. It was exactly like that, and Juliana was worldly wise enough
to call her on it.
Eva came to her rescue, punching her old friend lightly on the arm.
“Ana’s not like you, Ju. She’s a nice girl, quite the lady. Likely she’s
only remembering his kisses.”
Juliana gave Eva a look so skeptical that both of the other women
had to giggle. “For certain she is, Evinha... and I’m quite willing to bet
that not all of them were on the lips!” Then she cocked her head,
winked, and made another comment or two that made Hermione throw a
crusty slice of Italian bread at her as she and Eva had a good cackle at
her expense.
“A Paris love affair. So very romantic,” said Juliana finally,
sobering up. “Won’t you tell us all about him, Ana?”
Hermione shook her head. “Too much in that story to tell,” she said,
remembering Jack’s reaction in the Time Before. “We’d be here for
days.”
“But you were in love with him, were you not?”
She sighed, eyes very far away from that place, before nodding. “If
only I hadn’t been so blind for so long. Now it’s far too late. He’s
marrying another woman and it’s all my fault.”
“So you came here to Brasil to forget all about him, yes?”
Hermione couldn’t deny it. Cabalistica capture and breaking
notwithstanding, he had asked her to stay and she’d refused. She told
them this, and Juliana and Eva’s eyes widened.
“Then you have another chance!” said Eva excitedly. “You’ve got to
go back to him, boba!”
“I can’t,” she said. “I made a promise to you, Eva, and besides, it’s
not safe for me to go back like this. Juliana, Eva’s told you all about the
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people who kidnapped us, the Cabalistica. I can no longer defend myself
from them. Both Eva and I were broken, and we’d be as vulnerable as
Muggles. I can’t allow anyone to know where I am, which is why I am
trying my hardest to stick to places that they’d least expect. If they knew
that Eva was truly a carioca, there is no way I could be here now.”
“We’ll find a way to get you back,” said Juliana with a determined
look on her face. “I am a believer in true love and fate and all that other
disgustingly mushy stuff, and I hereby assign myself the role of your
therapist and matchmaker.”
“Is he truly your alma gêmea, Ana? Is he your soulmate? Is he the
one?”
“Ai! Come on, Evinha! Did you even have to ask that? Look at this
girl’s face! A lost cause if ever I saw one.”
“Well, I’m sure I’ll get over it,” said Hermione flatly. “Poetic
justice, really. He’s going to be married in two months.”
“Sure he will,” said Juliana confidently. “Hope you’ve got your
dress picked out.”
“To sit on the sidelines as the man I love marries some silly girl that
can’t ever appreciate or know him the way that I do? I’d rather wear a
shroud.” She shook her head. “Poetic justice, really... he had to do the
same a decade ago. How could I have been so stupid? So blind?”
“Now, look, my best subject in secondary was Adivinhação,”
Juliana replied. “Divination. You may feel stupid and blind, Ana, but
I just have the feeling that everything will work out for you very soon,
minha amiga. I can’t wait to meet him myself.”
“Why?” teased Hermione. “So you can try some of your more
diabolical tricks on him?”
“Of course,” said Juliana with a wink. “Let’s hope for your sake that
I don’t succeed.”
“You won’t. He’s immune to even the most beautiful Veela. Your
charms will do nothing for him, trust me.”
Juliana laughed. “But yours will?”
“What charms?” Hermione sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve never been very
good when it comes to flirting or seducing. It’s just not my forte... even
in my past relationships I felt so silly whenever I did anything like that.”
“That is because you’re so serious!” replied Juliana. “Love itself is
very serious, this is true, but good lovemaking is play. It’s a game
between men and women. And it is played best when both of you win.”
Eva nodded. “Isso! Men like a garota they can laugh with.”
“They also like a garota who wants them and isn’t afraid to show
- 19 -
Paradise Lost 2
it,” Juliana continued. “This is 2012... there is a definite way to let your
man know that he turns you on and still maintain your self-respect.” Her
full lips curved into a smile. “Although I grant it isn’t done best working
at Panteras.”
“Oh, stop it, Ju,” said Eva. “There is a line of respect even for us.
We’re not like some of the girls there... we don’t do anything other than
lap dance for our clientes.”
Hermione was alarmed. “And some of the others do more?”
“You didn’t know? Of course! Sometimes the cliente will give you
far more than what is expected for a lap dance, and this means he
expects more. Most of the girls need the reais.” Juliana shrugged.
“I couldn’t do that myself, but who am I to criticize another woman
about how she survives in times like these?”
“That’s what I don’t like about the whole femme fatale act,” said
Hermione firmly. “Surely we have got more to offer men than that.
I mean, look at yourself, Juliana! You’re a very smart girl with top marks
in your college course, and yet no one wants to think of that when we’re
at work. We have brilliant minds, we have compassion, and to top it off
we have high emotional and social intelligence as a gender...”
“And that’s exactly what your lover thinks about when he takes you
in his arms,” Juliana replied sarcastically. “He thinks about your superior
intellect and social-emotional skills, of course.”
Hermione giggled. “Well, my smarts have saved his arse quite a few
times.”
“Certainly. And I am sure he appreciates them very well... outside of
bed. But unless you recite passages from the Encyclopaedia Magica
while you’re making love to him, garota, I don’t want to hear that.”
All the girls laughed out loud at that particular mental image.
“Meu pai used to tell me all the time as a little girl,” continued
Juliana, “that the greatest fulfillment a woman could have was to be a
good wife and mother someday. The whole duty of a woman is love and
comfort... anything else was ornamental, as we were never really
intended for anything else.”
“I can’t think we’re that useless, Jules,” said Hermione with a
frown. “You just aren’t going to convince me of that, I’m far too
arrogant for it.”
“Useless?” Juliana looked at her as if she were the most ridiculous
creature on earth. “Ai! Quite the contrary! We mulheres – we women –
are indispensable! Do you really think that the men could get anything
done without us?”
- 20 -
Hermione had to grin. “Now, that I can agree with!”
“Sim, that is what men want women for the most, I think,” said Eva
quietly. “Love and softness and comfort and peace... where else can they
find that, if not in us?”
Garota de Ipanema
Hermione considered this conversation again the morning after the
dreams, as she went for her hour on the beach before her day began. She
- 21 -
Paradise Lost 2
understood what they were saying, but still wasn’t sold... she thought
that perhaps their ideas of the purpose of womanhood were more
reflective of their culture and upbringing than of universal truth.
Over the past weeks since their escape she’d observed the carioca
men with some amusement. Even well into the twenty-first century,
there still existed the cult of the body beautiful in Rio. Many of the men
who she met on the beaches in the mornings, as she worked at Panteras,
and even travelling back and forth to the favelas were simply gorgeous.
And many of them were the sort who would make vociferous love to a
woman, and then pay her little attention in any other sphere of life.
She was frequently interrupted as she tried to talk sense with the
carioca clientes when she poured their drinks. “Que pena!” they’d say.
“What a shame! That mouth that was made to supply some lucky man
with kisses – and why not me? – is spoiling itself asking about ‘steel
production’ and ‘wages for indigenous peoples’ and the ‘depletion of the
Amazon rainforest!’”
This attitude infuriated her... and it wasn’t just the Brazilian men
who did this. She thought it was a shame that quite a number of men of
all races, ethnicities, and religions still had Byzantine ideas about a
woman’s place. It was all that she could do sometimes not to shout at
them that she wasn’t an idiot or a bimbo, that she had two medical
degrees and likely knew more than ten of them put together.
She stretched out on her beach towel, on the morning after her twin
dreams, and sighed. At least the turistas from America and Western
Europe humored her, even if they stared at her bustier as they answered
back...
“Why do you call me beautiful?”
It was long ago – nearly twelve years before – in Avalon. Perhaps
the third or fourth day after their first time together. Harry was propped
up against an apple tree, legs spread out in front of him, one hand
stroking her hair lazily. Hermione’s head was resting comfortably on his
lap, holding his other hand as both rested against her stomach.
They’d been sitting there silent for a while. Hermione was
beginning to feel that these times were just as intimate as their
lovemaking, even though they were both fully clothed. She always felt so
close to him that there was really no need to talk or think or do anything
but just be... mere existence was more than enough.
Now that her question had intruded upon their solitude, he was
forced to speak aloud.
“Because you are beautiful. Although if you like, I could call you
- 22 -
hideous... would you like that better?” He tickled her stomach, and in
return received laugher and a light finger jab in the ribs.
“But of all the nicknames you could have for me, one would think
you’d pick one that is true.”
Harry considered her for a moment. “You’re right, of course. Too
bad they haven’t made the word yet for you... ‘beautiful’ really isn’t good
enough.”
“Oh, come on, Harry, you’ve got eyes!”
“Last time I checked, my mirror told me that I did. Have they
Disapparated since then?”
“About a week ago. Harry, I’m not beautiful and you know it. I’m
all right with that, really. But you can’t tell me that you honestly think
that I’m...”
“Hey, I thought I was the one who got the telepathy at the Stone
Table, not you!” he laughed. “Obviously you can’t read minds very well,
then... don’t I make you feel beautiful?”
She reached up her other hand to stroke his cheek. “Always.”
“Then why ask such silly questions?”
“Not silly, just honest. The only thing that’s beautiful about me is
my mind, that’s about it. I’ve never been a great beauty and I’ve
accepted that... so my point is that you don’t have to say things like that
to make me feel better.”
“Oh, so you’re only allowed to have a beautiful mind, then?
Forgive me, I was under the impression that every Wizard worth
anything at all thinks that his Witch is the loveliest thing ever created.
Hermione, for the past five years I’ve known that I’ll never get my fill of
looking at you. Sure, you’ve got a mind that is beautiful, but so is your
face and body. And the most beautiful of all is this.”
And he placed his hand over her heart.
“So yes, you are my beautiful, Hermione Granger... and you always
will be.”
She bit her lip to stop from crying. How cruel the breaking, not only
to leave her without an identity and a home, but to give this back to her.
Worse still, it seemed as if the memories she’d forgotten were as clear as
if they had all happened yesterday. The erosion of time had done nothing
to soften their edges. Leaving so many “if onlys”.
If only she hadn’t slept with him the night of Draco and Ginny’s
wedding (and how!). If only she hadn’t kissed him until she was
mindless six weeks before. Then she could have told herself that what
had happened between them on the Lady’s Blessed Isle had faded away
- 23 -
Paradise Lost 2
with their first youth. But now that all the pieces of the puzzle were in
place, she understood that Harry Potter was the only man she had ever
been in love with... could ever have loved like that.
And she... she had been not only blind and stupid, but cruel.
It shouldn’t have taken the breaking for her to remember what had
gone on between them. She should have known it in that Aberdeen pub
as she ate ravenously, should have known when she looked into his eyes
and saw the way that he was staring at her. That was the look that had
haunted her marriage with Ron... the basis for one or two below-the-belt
“I don’t like the way the bastard looks at you” barbs that her ex-husband
had tossed out during their frequent arguments.
She should have seen that look and known.
As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she knew the night of
the thoroughly embarrassing Pensieve show, and Sirius’ little tale. He
had the look he saved only for her on Avalon in his eyes then... making
love to her with only his magnificent eyes... so intensely that even with
Ron and everyone else watching, she had trembled.
And Hermione realized something else there in Brazil, as she
lounged on Ipanema beach, alone and hunted.
She had hurt Harry badly.
In all this, ever since the horrible spring of 2009, she’d never
stopped to consider Harry’s feelings. All she knew was that he’d made
love to her and then let her be charmed so that she couldn’t remember,
allowing it to be brought up at the most inopportune time. She’d thought
she could never forgive him for that, never. Back then she really thought
that Harry had betrayed her as much as Ron had... that secretly it was a
source of amusement for him.
So she’d divorced herself not only from Ron, but from Harry as
well, by breaking the Covenant. But then she’d been captured by the
Cabalistica, and it had taken them the better part of a month to find her.
Not until Ronald’s precious Maureen was snatched before their eyes did
they even think to...
Then she realized that she was being uncharitable again. Harry had
gone to look for her the second he knew she was missing. The only
reason that had taken so long was because she’d bolted, saying that she
never wanted to see them again, sincerely believing she meant it.
Mere words couldn’t describe how she felt when Harry had burst
into Hecate’s lair. After learning that her marriage to Ron indeed had
been a farce – that his love wasn’t enough to save her from her icy
prison – she had begun to despair. There weren’t many situations that
- 24 -
she couldn’t think her way out of, but dealing with a lamia while stuck
from the chin down had stumped her. She was certain that she was done
for.
Then Harry had come and made everything all right.
Didn’t he always?
And that kiss... well, it certainly had made more than just that block
of ice melt.
When Ron had flaunted Mo at Draco and Ginny’s wedding, daring
anyone to say anything about it, Hermione had felt horrible. It was the
most humiliating thing. Just as she was being celebrated all over the
world because of the success of the Danae Project, her personal life had
fallen to pieces. Not only had she been rejected by her husband, she’d
been utterly betrayed by her best friends.
Then Harry had tried to talk to her yet again after the wedding, and
this time caught her off guard with his silly “reintroduction” scheme.
That had lasted all of five minutes... they knew each other too well to
pretend.
They’d ended up in his hotel suite, laughing, drinking, and talking
about the details of the wedding for hours and hours. Then things got a
bit more serious, as words turned to kisses and kisses turned to caresses
and caresses turned to...
Despite the sweltering sea air, Hermione shivered.
She really hadn’t intended to make love to him before she left for
the Muggle world. Or for that matter, spend any amount of time alone
with him. And when she awoke the next morning before he did, she was
almost persuaded to call the CDC and tell them ‘thanks, but no thanks’.
She wanted nothing more than to kiss him awake, tease him about their
shared hangover, share a pot of tea and a quiet morning of togetherness.
The first of many.
Her birthday six weeks before had been the best she’d had in years.
She hadn’t spent the majority of her birthday with Harry since her
twenty-eighth, just before her pregnancy and the Prophet scandals and
Orla. And this time had been much different... for the first time since
they were children, she wasn’t married or otherwise committed and
neither was he. There was only the two of them.
She’d played quite a few fantasy games in the weeks since. One of
her favorite ones was the one in which her father hadn’t come home
when he did, and she’d kissed Harry all afternoon on the bed where
she’d had so many dreams that she tried her best to forget. Another was
of their ride on the ABFN... this time at night, after they ditched the
- 25 -
Paradise Lost 2
party without a word to anyone else and he whisked her away to
somewhere they could finish what they’d begun on the roof garden...
No.
Too late for that now.
Hermione closed her eyes and saw Diana’s face. I hope you know
what you’re getting, little girl. Then again I suppose you do. What
I wouldn’t give to have your chance again... to be in your place.
When I left Harry three years ago, knowing very well that the last
thing Harry needed was to have the one he loved leave him on purpose,
you found him and took care of him. I suppose that means that I’ve
forfeited my place in his life to you... which is why I had to leave, you
see. Much as I love him, I will not share him. Not even with the guilt he
would have felt over leaving you.
Continue to care for him, she admonished silently. He needs
someone to do it. On the outside he’s nearly invincible, you might think,
and for certain he is the most powerful Wizard of our time. Yet on the
inside, he’s still that same little unloved boy who was locked in that
cupboard beneath the stairs...
And a lump formed in Hermione’s throat as she realized that the
woman who had hurt the man had really hurt that little boy by her selfish
actions.
And this time, she did cry.
Harry, please, she thought, fingers too slow to wipe away all of the
hot tears that fell. Please let me have one chance to make this up to you.
Somewhere along the road I forgot how to love and learned how to hurt.
And because I hurt, I wanted you to hurt along with me... I wanted you
to know how I felt.
But now I know that you hurt for twelve years... and you spared me
that pain.
Harry, only know this...
Once upon a dream in Avalon, I loved you well.
And given half a chance – I know I ask the impossible, but if only
given even the slightest chance! – I’ll love you well once more.
With a final shudder, Hermione wiped away her tears and stood up
from the sand with determination. The time for dreams was over. Reality
– and a growing number of mysteriously sick patients – awaited her in
Rocinha.
Perhaps she could do little to change the past, but she would make a
difference here and now.
And as for the future... ah, well.
- 26 -
What was meant to be would be.
And sometimes even things that aren’t meant to be happen anyway.
Somewhere in Brazil.
Time and place indeterminate.
A woman’s hand turned the doorknob of the testing room, seeking
the slight solitude that it might provide.
Diana Oliveira was officially no more.
The Witch from Sabera had finished with her self-scheduled detour.
Now she was once again herself, Lenore Raven, a cool professional who
regarded this mission as nothing more than necessary anthropological
fieldwork.
She was surprisingly calm, even in the midst of the Cabalistica
facility. Much of the magic in use here would astound every single
human on the planet at the time, yet it all looked hopelessly primitive to
her. Technology would far surpass magic in just a few short years, and
yet if allowed to flourish and evolve Lenore was certain that magic
would have been able to reshape the very laws that held the dimensions
apart.
Too bad that magic wouldn’t be given that chance.
On the entire Earth, she reflected, there were perhaps five people
who understood just how important the fusion of magic and technology
– science and faith – physics and metaphysics really was. This was so
important, in fact, to all of the Watchtower that it was called simply
Fusion. Their entire purpose was to solve this single problem.
Of the people here and now, Draco Malfoy perhaps understood the
most (according to both her mother and the holos he’d been the closest
to discovering what they already knew), but he was looking in all the
wrong places. The little contact she’d had with him over the past few
years hadn’t been enough. Her independent research that she’d Spidered
to his console department in the Emerald City had been ignored.
The rest either were leaning too heavily on one side of the fence or
the other. Hermione Granger was leaning too heavily on the technology
side... however, if she’d continued her work at the MMRI instead of
accepting the CDC position, the Witch would have almost certainly
stumbled upon Fusion. Her work with the Danae Project and the
encounter with Hecate Quirke had brought her and her team extremely
close. Simon Branford’s interests, according to the holos, then branched
off into derivative applications, but Hermione had wanted to see the
- 27 -
Paradise Lost 2
entire project through.
“Whatever made you think of Absorption-Projection?”
“It’s like I said. All that work we’ve been doing with the Danae
Project is really helping me understand elemental theories of magic, the
nuts and bolts of it... I’ve been talking with Simon, Neville, and some of
my other colleagues, and I really do believe that we may be on to
something...”
Much as she hated to admit it, Lenore thought, Hermione wouldn’t
have done badly for herself back home.
Yet Intervention proved impossible in 2008-2009, which was a
shame. The Sabaean Council would not allow for them to alter a
lifecourse so completely... they couldn’t risk any more Paradoxes than
necessary. Enough only was to be done to solve the Fusion problem and
to report their findings to the Council, who would then submit it to the
Gaea Alliance.
Lenore herself had thought that Intervention this close to the
termination of a lifestream was extremely risky. When Heath had
disagreed, she was almost certain that he had ulterior motives. His
fascination with Hermione Granger’s work nearly equaled her own with
Harry Potter’s history.
There is a fine line for us Watchers between our occupations and
our obsessions...
- 28 -
The door to the room opened. In stepped Sebastian, and she stepped
into his arms.
“Darling, I was certain that you wouldn’t be back from Tartarus this
soon. What news from the Dark One?” Inwardly, she rolled her eyes.
The way that these so-called “evil” Wizards and Witches spoke sounded
archaic even to contemporary ears... and to a Watcher like Lenore, it
seemed phony and contrived.
Sebastian didn’t detect the slight note of sarcasm. Instead he drew
back, studying her face.
“You are in a good mood tonight, my dove. I hope that I shall be the
one to reap the benefits.”
“You shall,” she said, smile full of promise. “Ask me why I am so
pleased.”
“Because you are in my presence, that is why,” Sebastian replied, as
if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“That always,” she said, beaming up at him. Cue... sexy gleam in
the eye. Cue... touch there... yes, there... I’ve watched the holos on this
bastard to know all of his kinks, twirks, and quirks. Cue... abdomen
forward. Cue... ah, never mind.
Reaction.
“My darling, I have news from Rio,” she said.
He pulled her closer. “Tell me your news, bitch, and don’t be coy.”
- 29 -
Paradise Lost 2
“We’ve found her,” she said, in a sing-song voice, just before she
kissed him full on the mouth.
Eh. Breath. Must slip an anti-halitogen into his food pronto. Might
help the flatulence as well.
She pulled back just enough so that he wouldn’t get angry, and
began to fill him in on the details of Hermione’s daily routine in Rio.
The morning walk to Ipanema Beach, and the hour spent reading O
Globo or Jornal do Brasil to practice her language skills, all while
baking in the sun. The six hours daily volunteering at the favela hospital,
where many of the test subjects had ended up. The short afternoon nap
before the daily dinner with Juliana Carvalho and Eva de Souza just
before working the night shift at Panteras.
“There aren’t enough hours in the day to do all that,” Sebastian
snickered.
“You know that Mudblood bitch. She thinks she’s Superwoman.”
“Well, at least she’s sleep deprived. Too bad. It would make her
recapture all the more thrilling if she were wide awake. I plan to torture
her thoroughly for causing me this sort of trouble.”
Cue... pout.
“I don’t understand why you won’t just kill her, Sebastian...”
Slap!
“She shall die when I decide that she dies, bitch! Do not think that
you are wiser than the chosen of the Dark One!”
It took every ounce of willpower – and every single lesson she’d
learned in over thirty years of intensive study – to stay put on that floor.
One strategic blow... he’d be dead... and she wouldn’t even have to use
any magic...
No, no.
She was a professional. She could never justify such an Intervention
to the rest of the Watchers. There was no simulation of the possible
echoes it might have throughout the Gaea Alliance, and when she
returned, she had no desire to have to answer to the Council for even
more than she would already have to when they returned.
If they returned.
If she returned.
In her mind, she saw Heath’s face, trademark smile quenched, eyes
grim and glittering...
Fuck you, Heath. The next time I see you...
“I... I’m sorry, Sebastian.” Trying to brace herself on the floor to
stand.
- 30 -
He kicked her in the ribs. “Not sorry enough. Crawl, you whore,
and kiss my feet. Then perhaps I’ll let you stand.”
She paid the required obeisance on hands and knees. The revenge
scenarios that ran through her head gave her the strength not to focus on
the moment.
I’ll kill you with my bare hands, Heath, Paradox be damned.
I almost thought of stirring poison into his food... you know, the one
whose holos you stared at so many times as the vain stare into a mirror...
just to see what would happen. Would you disappear all of a sudden?
Would you dissolve and crumble? Or would you suffer tremendous pain?
That’s what I want most for you, Heath Canyon. What Zeus did to
Prometheus, what the EUAA did to the rest of humanity in the Purges,
and what those who threaten all of Gaea are planning will seem like
tender loving care compared to what I wish to happen to you.
When she began kissing his feet, Sebastian pulled her up roughly to
stand.
“Control your tongue next time. We have work to do, and it will not
be served by unwise challenges to my authority.”
She bowed her head. “The agents who have been watching her are
in the area. Shall I have them move in?” In fact, the search agents had
been sent to Miami. She’d told them that Borgin himself wanted the
Miami area searched on a tip, and not to ask questions.
“Indeed, along with another team that I shall send. This is why you
are not in authority... you underestimate the Mudblood Pigeon’s
cunning.”
“I thought you broke her.”
“There’s Danae. She invented it.”
“I thought that even Danae couldn’t reverse a breaking.”
Lenore braced herself for a slap that never came.
“You may be correct for once. Yet still her Muggle abilities remain.
None of the methods tested could absorb her hyperempathy, and she is
sneaky. This is why we do need to be cautious.”
Bear knocked only once before walking into the open birthing room
door. He was followed by the Crocodile, who was looking more pinched
than usual.
“Sir, begging your pardon,” Bear said quickly, “but there is news
from the local magical authorities in the South.”
Sebastian forgave the intrusion in the light of his usually slow
underling’s hasty tone. “What is it?”
“The Accursed One is here, master.”
- 31 -
Paradise Lost 2
Lenore’s heart sank.
Harry...
“Where is ‘here’? Define it, please. And please, have your brain
work faster than a re’em’s pace this time.”
“In Brazil...”
“Where in Brazil? He could be near the Argentine border, or he
could be outside our front door. Where?”
Croc finally spoke in her Colombian-accented voice. “Master, he
came into Brazil quite suddenly. Guarulhos Airport in São Paulo. It
didn’t occur to us that he would think to use Muggle transport instead of
a Portkey or various Apparition points. Our own agents were unaware of
his entry until the local cooperating magiauthority owled us.”
Sebastian nodded, considering this. “And exactly where is he now?”
“He’s in Rio de Janeiro. Searching.”
“Alone?”
“No, he had the Weasel and another with him.”
“Thanks, Chela, for the full report.” He glared at Bear, then returned
to consider Croc – Chela. “Ports of entry are your jurisdiction, are they
not?”
Chela nodded, obviously pleased. “Yes...”
It was the last word she ever spoke. Before she could take another
full breath, Sebastian drew out his wand, shouted Secaro!...
And Chela’s head fell from her shoulders and onto the floor with a
sickening thud. The spell itself severed the wall behind her, leaving a
jagged, bloody cut in its wake.
The rest of her body crumpled onto the floor.
Bear was frozen in place.
Lenore willed herself to stay steady, although she was feeling her
gorge rise, burning her throat. Sebastian Borgin was one of the most
depraved men, Wizard or Muggle, ever to have drawn breath. Not even
the architects of the EUAA Purges had gloried in the perverse.
Sebastian ignored them. He simply re-holstered his wand.
“He should have never been allowed to enter the country. Vlad!
Notify the patrol Wizards to keep a double watch. I am going to Rio
myself, and you are coming along with me.”
Lenore watched them step out of the door before daring to say
anything.
“And me? What about me, Sebastian?”
He whirled around, wand in hand, pointed at her. He stepped into
the carnage that was now Chela-Croc, leaving bloody footsteps as he
- 32 -
came closer and closer to her.
Then he used his wand to trace a path down the front of her robes.
“You can clean up this mess, then clean yourself up and wait for me
in my chambers,” said Sebastian huskily.
“And when will you be back?” she said. The tone wasn’t insolent. It
was her intention to sound like a woman complaining about her lover’s
job taking him away from her.
He leaned down and kissed her. Lenore could taste the bloodlust on
his lips, and had to fight the urge to vomit once more.
“I’ll be back when I’m back. Not a moment before and not a
moment after.”
She watched him leave, ignoring the dead body and the blood.
“Bring me back a Pigeon, Rat,” she whispered.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012. Afternoon.
Rio de Janeiro – Copacabana.
“Does anyone speak English in this country?”
More than thirty-six hours of frustration had led to Harry’s outburst.
They’d been on the road since renting their car Sunday evening in São
Paulo... except for the times when they enchanted the car to fly. Since
the airspace between any given flyway network and tree level was
unmonitored by local magical authorities, a few puffs of Gareth’s
StealthSpray (an aerosol camouflage potion only available to Confed
officiaWizards) rendered the car nearly invisible.
Yet none of this mattered now that they were off track. Harry hadn’t
had to pull out his wand once... they hadn’t been harassed at all.
Everyone who they’d met during their few stops from São Paulo to their
Sunday night detour in Curitiba, and then back towards Rio had been
very friendly and hospitable and had been completely useless at giving
them directions.
Somehow, they’d made it into Rio proper utilizing the Via Dutra
just in time for Monday evening rush hour traffic. After a fruitless hours-
long search of the Aeroporto do Galeão, they’d booked the earliest
tickets to Manaus possible – six a.m. Wednesday morning – and had
slept away what Harry felt were precious hours that night.
They’d gotten an early start, combing the tourist district, looking
and questioning. Now they were walking the streets of Copacabana in
the midday heat, trying to while away the time until then.
Harry was frustrated. The people were nice enough and patient
when it came to communication – it wasn’t like trying to use English in
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Paradise Lost 2
France – but he felt as if he wasn’t doing a good enough job of
describing her. Of course he had a couple of pictures, but he’d only start
flashing around pictures of Hermione Granger to perfect strangers here
as a very last resort.
No one had seen her.
“Well, Harry, I’d sympathize with you,” said Ron, “if we were
actually still in England.”
Harry wasn’t amused by his friend’s attempt at a joke. “If we were
still in England, people wouldn’t be trying to get us lost on purpose.”
“Come on, Harry, the people here have been perfectly friendly,”
Ron chided. “Lots of people here in Rio are fluent enough in English.
We’ve even met a few Americans... of course, they don’t really speak
English, they speak American...”
“Damned Yanks are everywhere you go,” muttered Harry crossly.
He was in an extremely bad mood, and it was surfacing. “Seems you
can’t walk six steps on this planet without bumping into one of them.”
“Well, if it wasn’t for a damned Yankee, we’d be a lot worse off.
That stuff Gareth gave us back at Charlie’s worked wonders for these
cuts,” Ron said, touching the scabbed-over skin just above his ear.
Gareth’s Healing-in-Motion Potion Lotion was another classified recipe
concocted by the Confed’s researchers, and had been included in their
packs along with the StealthSpray.
Harry didn’t say what he was thinking... that if Hermione were with
them, they would have no need of Gareth’s Confed hocus-pocus. She
would have healed them with a touch, fussing over the situation in
general and their carelessness in particular, and there would have been
no scar...
No scar.
Voldemort may be in hell, but the Dark Side still knows where to hit
where it hurts the most.
If only...
But there, it wouldn’t do to dwell on the impossible. He’d done that
for years and it hadn’t changed a thing. Life had dealt him this hand. He
could do nothing but play it to the best of his ability.
“This place is infectious,” Zach agreed, eyes darting everywhere.
“I’ve read a lot about Rio, but there’s nothing like the real thing.
Nothing.”
Ron nodded, then glanced over at Harry as they walked. “So, should
we grab something to eat? We haven’t sat down to a meal since
Charlie’s.”
- 34 -
“I’m not hungry,” said Harry shortly. “We’d better spend the time
going into the other neighborhoods. Perhaps even the favelas.”
“How many drug dealers are you prepared to bribe or blast today?”
asked Ron. “What, are we supposed to just walk into the middle of some
shantytown, hold up a picture of Hermione, and tell them to hand her
over at wandpoint?”
Zach was considering this. “The more I think about it, the more
I think Harry may be right. She could have been snatched by Muggles...
happens a lot here, or so I hear.”
Harry shook his head. “Then why wasn’t anyone contacted about
ransom? And why would she have just gone along with it? Unless she
was unarmed again this time...”
He tried to suppress the thousand and one horrible scenarios that
raced through his head.
When I get my hands on her...
“There’s no way we have of knowing exactly which hotel she
stayed in,” Ron said. “From what Ted told you, I reckon she was slated
to meet the WHO contact here and then travel to Manaus the next
morning. And we do know she was on the flight to Manaus.”
“Do we even know that she stayed in a hotel?” Zach asked. “It
could very well have been a private home...”
Harry’s hand went to his temples. He pressed down in a vain
attempt to stop the headache that was forming. “I can’t help but think
we’re missing the obvious.”
“We can think about it over lunch, can’t we?” Ron said, moving
closer to the door of a nearby cafe. “I do my best thinking on a full
stomach.”
Harry was going to argue against this, but before he could protest,
his stomach growled loudly. They hadn’t had a real meal since the road.
Ron and Zach stepped into the door of Ribeira’s rodizio, and Harry
followed them in.
According to the hostess, there would be quite a wait. It was only
four o’clock and the last of the lunch crowd had arrived just ahead of
them. Before they could turn around and leave, one of the wait staff
came up to her, speaking in rapid Portuguese, and the hostess brightened.
“Come with me.”
The food was good and plentiful. Harry’s appetite surprised him –
his body needed the nourishment even if his mind was really elsewhere.
Yet Ron’s mind and conversation were both still on the task at hand.
“You know, Harry, I’m rather surprised that Hermione didn’t give Ted a
- 35 -
Paradise Lost 2
ring when she got here.”
“Maybe she intended to call from Manaus,” Zach suggested.
“No, not Hermione,” Harry replied. “That isn’t like her... whenever
she has a trip with multiple stopovers, she’s got a habit of sending word
from each one. A phone call, a postcard, or an owl.” He smiled,
remembering the notes that he’d received from her during her marriage
to Ron... sometimes from one of their vacations, most often from a
business trip. He’d always returned the favor, always thinking of what
she and Ron would enjoy the most from his own travels... and it had
always taken three times as long to figure out which souvenir would suit
her...
“Well, perhaps the Cabalistica intercepted communication before.”
Ron was shaking his head. “No, Harry’s right,” he said. “If the
Cabalistica had done something like that, Ted wouldn’t have heard from
her in Miami... they would have intercepted both calls, not just one.”
“She was with the Muggle during the first layover, though...”
“Doesn’t matter, he’s a Muggle,” said Ron dismissively. “Easy
enough to Obliviate. That’s just it. If Hermione rang Ted in Miami, it
doesn’t make sense that she wouldn’t have done so in Rio as well...”
Harry’s fork clattered down to the table.
Clara.
“Hermione did call her father from Rio, Ron,” he said. “He likely
didn’t get the message, though.”
“What?” Ron and Zach said together.
“I’ve got to owl him right away... damn, he’s a Muggle... give me
your Charlotte, Zach.”
Harry took the palm-sized personal digital assistant and clicked it
open. He then logged in via the VoicePrint system and entered a brief
Spider, asking Ted to look at his last WebCharge statement carefully and
to please interrogate Clara. When he ended the session, he handed the
mini-console back to Zach.
“Explain, please,” requested Ron.
Harry told them about his encounter with Clara Lancaster on
Hermione’s birthday the month before.
“Sounds like quite the bitch,” was Ron’s assessment.
“Not ‘quite’... she is,” Harry replied dryly. “She’s half the reason
why Hermione left so early in the first place. I’ve a mind to strangle
her.”
“When Ted finds out what she pulled, he’ll spare you the trouble,”
Ron said.
- 36 -
Zach’s Charlotte beeped once. He handed it to Harry, who read
Ted’s quick response.
Harry –
She was at the Rio Sheraton the night of 21 September. I’ve attached
the console code to this Spider so that you can perform a trace. Am
dealing with Clara now, so can’t say more. Will phone later. Keep me
posted.
– Ted
“Do you think Clara’s...”
“Cabalistica, Zach?” Harry shook his head. “No. Just an idiot.
Likely when Hermione turned up missing Clara was too frightened to
own up what she’d done to Granger... that she’d kept Hermione’s
messages from him.”
Ron pushed his plate away.
“Let’s get out of here.”
~~~
Just as the three Wizards turned the corner to get to the ponto de
táxi...
...Hermione, Eva, and Juliana rounded the opposite corner and
headed into their favorite rodizio for an early dinner.
Ribeira’s.
Several hours later.
Harry never knew how Ron managed to book the same hotel room
in the Rio Sheraton that Hermione had stayed in the previous month. The
search for clues around the room had been finished hours ago... neither
their senses nor their Scanning Spells could detect anything that was out
of the ordinary.
“At least the cleaning staff’s efficient,” Ron remarked with a shrug.
“You’d think they were House-Elves, the way some of the Muggles
work.”
There was nothing to do other than head to Manaus... and risk an
almost certain clash with not only whatever detained Hermione there,
but with the Black and Potter-endorsed team and goodness knew who
else.
“For all we know, she’s been found already, Harry.”
And with those words, Ron closed the shutters and took a nap,
snoozing on one of the double beds. Even in sleep, a slight frown was on
his face. Harry knew that Ron was just as concerned as he was. They had
- 37 -
Paradise Lost 2
little chance of finding Hermione in the dark, and once in Manaus they
ran a huge risk of another clash like the one at Guarulhos in São Paulo.
Zach was tapping along on his Charlotte. He told Harry he was
keeping a log, and when asked readily showed it to him. Harry examined
it for a long while before being convinced that Zach wasn’t feeding
information to outside interests.
All in all, Harry couldn’t complain. It was great, having a third, and
the buffer between himself and Ron was more than welcome. He didn’t
know why he trusted the kid, but he did.
He just hoped his instincts weren’t wrong.
If he didn’t stop pacing and thinking of all the worst case scenarios
possible, Harry thought, he would go insane. A shower was in order... he
hadn’t had one since Bariloche. Perhaps it would do something to calm
him. Help him think.
But when he stood underneath the shower spray, all he could think
of was that his Hermione had stood in the selfsame spot six weeks
before. It was ironic... only ten days ago he’d been standing in another
shower half a world away and thought of her the way he was thinking of
her now.
“You know what – we should make it up with Hermione. She was
only trying to help.”
He was only half listening. He didn’t seem to be able to get rid of
the picture of Hermione, lying on the hospital bed as though carved out
of stone.
“Hermione! She doesn’t know about the troll...”
Harry thought of the date. 30 October 2012. Tomorrow was an
anniversary of sorts for him... he’d always had mixed feelings about
Halloween because of what had happened in 1981. Somewhere in the
deepest recesses of his memory the complete picture of what Voldemort
had done rested, ever since he’d accessed it via Pensieve right before
war’s end. He hadn’t looked at it since... it bothered him that he’d
watched the murder of his own parents and felt numb rather than angry,
cold rather than hot, analytical rather than resolved to act.
It was then, and only then, that the Order decided that he was ready
for Tartarus.
Yet there had been other Halloweens. There was Halloween 1989,
when he’d won a costume as a classroom prize and Petunia Dursley
actually let him wear it. With a bit of improvisation, using the magic that
he didn’t even know he had, he was the perfect Batman with wiggly
black ears.
- 38 -
Two years later was the Halloween of the troll incident, the day
when Hermione became friends with him and Ron.
There was the Halloween three years later, in 1994, when he’d
become TriWizard Champion.
The next year, 1995, there had been a fantastic hayride... that and
Christmas at the Weasleys two months later had been their last hurrahs
of childhood. The Scourge and the Sponge, Nephthys and Drakkar,
Sirius’ pardon and selection as Dumbledore’s successor in the Order
soon descended and their innocence was taken away forever for the sake
of their world.
There was Halloween 1999, his one foray back to Earth during his
time in Avalon to speak at Draco Malfoy’s Confederation trial. The
picture of him shaking hands with Draco was one of his favorites.
There was Halloween 2003, when newly married Ron and
Hermione had come to host the largest costume party that the fledging
DSG school had ever seen.
And then there was Halloween 2008, when he first knew for certain
that something was badly wrong with Ron and Hermione’s marriage.
She’d come to him in tears... she didn’t want to talk... she’d slept in his
cottage in Ayr that night, tossing and turning on the futon. Harry had
begun in his own bed, moved to sit and watch her suffer in sleep from a
chair, and then ended up holding her until she was still and drifted off.
That was the first time they’d ever slept together since she and Ron had
married. It wasn’t the last.
Now this.
He didn’t want to remember this as the Halloween that he lost her...
lost himself.
Come to me, Hermione...
And this time, stay.
~~~
Hermione closed the door of the favela hospital, then sat on the
worn step. Every day she grew more and more frustrated with her efforts
there. She was almost certain that Paulo and Cristina were beginning to
think that she was something more than a trained nurse, so efficient were
her methods. They’d begun unconsciously to take direction from her
during the five to six hours daily that she spent there, during the hottest
portion of the day.
- 39 -
Paradise Lost 2
She was frustrated. Never had she met a Pattern that was so
completely unresponsive to hyperempathic shaping. She’d tried
absorption... and had ended up so ill that Eva had been afraid she was
going to die. That night, both of her friends forced her to stay in
Juliana’s apartment so they could keep an eye on her.
She’d tried diffusion and displacement and every other healing
technique that Nephthys had taught her as well.
The problem was that this virus wasn’t really a virus at all.
Hermione could detect no viral agent. Neither was their any bacterial or
fungal component. There wasn’t even any magiparticular agent or
residual magic that Hermione could detect, although without the use of
her wand she couldn’t be sure. Blood, urine, fecal, and tissue samples
made her suspect what the first autopsy she’d performed in the hospital’s
Neolithic, cupboard-sized lab confirmed.
These poor people were getting sick for no reason at all.
None of this makes sense! Hermione thought. I fancy myself to be a
decent pathologist, but medical detective and researcher that I am, this
mystery is making me positively ill. Almost like when you are looking so
hard for something that you feel nauseated.
I’ve spent a decade and a half studying diseases and I have never
seen anything like this. The only explanation is a genetic one, and what
is the probability of three isolated outbreaks occurring among largely
unrelated populations? And the CDC genetic traces showed no patterns,
no specific abnormalities...
Hermione’s mouth dropped open.
But magic is hidden from Muggle geneticists... their helix is three-
dimensional. Don’t they understand that there are five?
There’s only one place on the planet to study this sort of thing. The
MMRI. That’s why Draco and I set it up... although we never had
anyone interested in working on the Wiz Project, as Draco and I called
them. All of the brightest researchers, like Simon, were hired into
Danae... Danae was everyone’s top priority four years ago. Now they’re
all tied up in tangential projects, and Malfoy has his Malfosoft engineers
working on the Ruby Slipper... recreational time travel. Hmph. Anything
for a Galleon...
Everyone’s forgotten about Wiz. And the funniest thing is that some
of the Danae research came from my initial Wiz notes... notes about
where and when magic might be in our bodies, notes about where in the
helix it might be found.
If I could run some of these samples at the MMRI...
- 40 -
Hermione sighed. How in the world could she get there? There was
no way of contacting the Wizarding world the normal way... she couldn’t
owl or send a fireplace message to Draco. She’d thought of asking
Juliana to do so, but her friend had assured her that every owl leaving
Brazil these days was detained at the borders and inspected.
“It’s like a police state, Ana,” she’d said. “Fewer and fewer of the
good people are using magic anymore... all spells and charms are
carefully tagged and identified and monitored by the government now.
And only the highest echelon of the Wizarding elite here get any owls
in... my mother is the only person I know who’s seen a copy of the Daily
Prophet all year.”
“But I’ve got to contact them,” Hermione had replied. “In spite of
the danger.”
“Well, why not just call? Surely you can’t tell me that the younger
set of us in England don’t have Spider-consoles and Charlottes?”
To that, Hermione had shook her head. “No, I can’t do that. I don’t
want them knowing I’m in trouble. It’s dangerous enough, me being
here. I don’t want...”
“That alma gêmea of yours to come searching for you?”
She’d sighed. “I don’t want anyone hurt. I got myself into this,
Jules, and I’m going to get myself out. By myself.”
They’d had that conversation the day before. For the past twenty-
four hours, Hermione had thought of little else besides getting the
samples to Draco, who’d then make sure they got to Simon Branford at
the MMRI. Without alarming anyone.
That was the professional Hermione of the favela hospital, and then
at Panteras, where she quizzed all of the clientes about world affairs.
Somehow, she’d learn something.
The private Hermione – the Hermione of the beach and the night –
thought of Harry and little else.
She felt lost and frightened without him. Sure, she had more than
enough brains to solve the mystery, and her extreme compassion coupled
with her hyperempathy were valuable at making new friends like Eva.
But she couldn’t defend herself... and even when she had her magic,
she’d had Harry and Ron as backup, so she never really worried very
much about her own safety.
Here she knew she was in more danger than she ever had been in
her life. Not even in Tartarus had she felt this way... in Tartarus deep
down there had been a glimmer of hope that they would accomplish
whatever they needed to.
- 41 -
Paradise Lost 2
Here in Brazil, when she searched her soul, she felt nothing but
despair.
She wondered if Harry had ever felt this way, back before the war
and up until the Missing Week. If so, she marveled how a child had dealt
with the constant feeling of impending doom.
Knowing that your time was near...
I’m being silly. No one knows the hour in which they die in
advance... not even Wizards. We can never know when our time has
come. I ought to stop being morbid. Good will prevail, it always does.
Likely I’ll find a way back to the MMRI, step into a nice warm Danae
shower, find out what’s frying these poor people here in the Americas,
and live to be an old Witch with many, many great-grandchildren.
That’s right... great-grandchildren. The breaking made that
possible, didn’t it? And here Blaise assured me that the charm was
irreversible.
I can’t say that I’m sorry. My decision to sterilize might have been
too rash. Too sudden and ill-advised. I might not make the world’s best
mother, but if and when the time comes I’ll certainly give it my best shot.
She sighed. Not even daring to think of what she wanted to dream
about most. It was not yet night.
But then... it came.
Come to me, Hermione.
She jumped a little, causing two small children and a dog to look at
her askance. Yet she didn’t see them... she couldn’t.
For now she was nestled in the lap of someone familiar. Arms
around her. Warm and cherished.
Safe.
Are you safe?
Fighting the tears that welled up behind her eyes, for the first time
since the phantom had started coming to her Hermione reached inside
herself and answered the call in words.
Safe... frightened.
I know... but safe?
Yes.
Where?
Hermione was losing the experience, and struggled to hold on to it,
grasping, tugging.
Hermione... Manaus? Amazon?
She tried to form a simple “no” but found that the word would not
form. Beneath her she felt the cracked step again and the phantom at the
- 42 -
same time... twin sensations of sweltering sea breeze and exquisite arms.
Losing you... going to Manaus...
No! That time she managed it, and felt the phantom beneath her
again.
Where? But this time it was not as strong.
Here, here... Tears were running down her face.
Rio? It was like a whisper against her ear.
Yes, yes! She tried to think, but the words wouldn’t form. The
experience was so surreal... the favela was so vital and concrete...
Rio?
Yes, a thousand times yes, I’m here!
She heard a strangled sob in her hair, and a benediction, as quiet as
breath.
Slipping away... Hermione... love...
And once again she was alone in the middle of Rocinha again.
Sitting on a broken-down shantytown hospital stoop, anguished soul in a
place beyond tears.
~~~
Harry came out of the bathroom, fully dressed, yet obviously still
damp from the shower. When he did, he immediately got Ron and
Zach’s undivided attention.
A strange glow that seemed to emanate from his pores was all
around him. It faded fast before their eyes, and yet they could tell that it
had been far brighter.
That glow was matched in his eyes... and that didn’t dissolve for
some time.
“She’s here,” Harry said. “The question is, where?”
Later that night.
When Hermione entered Panteras with Juliana and Eva, all was
chaos. They’d been a bit late leaving the rodizio and as a result had
arrived at the club with only fifteen minutes to spare before opening.
None of the girls were in the dressing room as they should have
been. Instead, five of the newest dancers and waitresses were standing
around the main floor of the club, chattering animatedly. All were in
various states of dishabille, and none seemed to care.
Juliana was the best dancer at Panteras. As such, she carried quite a
bit of authority in the pecking order. So she quieted them with a few
- 43 -
Paradise Lost 2
words and then began her interrogation.
“O que está acontecendo? Qual é o problema?”
The girls then began to all chatter at once, and their speech was so
rapid that Hermione couldn’t follow it at all. She turned to Eva.
“Whatever is the matter?”
Eva’s eyes were wide. “Daniel – you know, João’s partner...”
“Yes?”
“He’s gone and opened a club in Ipanema. And took all the dancers
away from here, exceto these galinhas ridículas.” She indicated the girls
left with a dismissive hand.
Hermione was shaking her head. “Oh, no... that’s horrible!”
It was even more horrible to deal with João a few moments after
Juliana had herded everyone back into the dressing room and ordered
them to begin making themselves up. The other girls gossiped together
as Eva and Juliana talked together in low, ominous tones. As this was all
in Portuguese and Hermione was too tired to want to follow much, she
sat in her Panteras-issued robe, using Juliana’s iron and frightening
amounts of spray to curl her hair, then leaning towards the mirror to
paint her eyes with the glitter they all wore.
The other girls had many colorful and varied outfits to choose from,
but all were easily detachable, Velcro being the fastening of choice,
except for the specialty outfits where teasing the clientes with a zipper
here and a button there was desirable.
Hermione’s and the other bartender’s were less interesting. They
wore black silk capri pants that clung like a second skin, an elaborately
beaded bustier that revealed more than it concealed, and strappy sandals
with three-inch heels that Hermione usually kicked off behind the bar.
For after all, who in the world would be looking at her feet?
She was eyeing her costume with contempt when João came
storming into the dressing room. The Flighty Five screamed and tried to
cover up. Eva and Juliana looked at each other and laughed.
“As if he hasn’t seen it all before!” Eva said.
“And in closer quarters than Panteras, all of you,” Juliana smirked.
But João wasn’t looking at them. His eyes were on Hermione.
“Ana!” he said gruffly. “You will not be needing these tonight.”
And he indicated her barmaid costume.
“Why, am I fired?”
“Not at all.” He brushed hair from the side of her face with a sweaty
hand. “I want you to dance for me.”
Hermione felt cold all over. “You don’t understand. I can’t dance.”
- 44 -
“I see. Let me rephrase for the French-Spanish girl who prefers to
speak English. I want you to strip tonight. Any dancing you do is a nice
bonus... the cliente will give you more reais for it.”
“What about my bar?”
“I will tend my bar. I want you to tend my customers.”
Her arms folded. Her chin went up. Her stare was defiant.
“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything so degrading...”
“You shall!” He accented his words with a violent, angry shove.
When Hermione’s head hit the tile floor, all she saw was stars.
And then, overcome by the pain, she blacked out.
~~~
“Exactly what are we looking for, Harry?” asked Ron.
“Hermione. She’s somewhere here, I know it.”
They were walking down the Avenida Atlãntica in Copacabana
where many of the district’s best clubs were located. The lights and glitz
and tropical ambiance was infectious... and the streets were crowded
with those in search of a good time.
“A city with ten million people,” said Zach, shaking his head. “Even
if she was here, she could be anywhere.”
“That’s why I asked what, not who. Of course we need to find
‘Mione, it’s just that I’m starting to understand why you weren’t chosen
as strategist.”
“Well, you were the tracker,” Harry shot back.
Then neither of them said anything. Ron had been Tracker back in
the days before the broken Covenant... after the break, he hadn’t even
known Hermione was missing until her parents grew worried.
Ron stopped for a moment in the middle of the walk, nearly causing
a human traffic jam. His eyes darted to and fro.
“Well, I’m sure I’ve got the city map from the hotel still in my
pocket. Come on, let’s look at it over a drink... Zach, are you sure you’re
old enough?”
Zach looked slightly indignant. “For your information, while I was
at Hogwarts I was the last Wizard standing after the infamous seventh-
year Pub Crawl... ’
“Pub crawl?” asked Ron, confused.
“Don’t think we ever had one,” Harry said. “Wartime and all that...
although I’m certain you’ve more than made up for lost time, Ron.”
- 45 -
Paradise Lost 2
Ron laughed heartily. “Me? I’m not the one whom Hermione
wanted to put into Butterbeer Busters Anonymous.”
Harry had to chortle too. “‘Ron?... Ron, I think Harry’s developing
a bit of a drinking problem...’” he began, doing an almost perfect
imitation of Hermione’s voice.
Ron picked up the joke, putting a hand on his hip and shaking a
finger. “‘Ronald Weasley, don’t you dare tell me I’m sticking my nose
where it doesn’t belong! He’s our best friend! And it’s dead
embarrassing when he falls asleep underneath the dining room table after
parties...’”
They both laughed at that, leaving Zach confused.
“A lot of these in this section are strip clubs,” the younger man said.
“Look at those signs!”
Harry looked. “One has to wonder if they’re like that in the
daytime.”
“What, got something against the beauty of the human body?” Ron
asked Zach, lifting a disguised-brown eyebrow but trying to hold back
another wave of mirth.
“Nothing at all,” he replied. “I just didn’t want to get distracted...
and those kinds of clubs are a distraction we don’t need. After all, from
the way you two describe Hermione, this is the very last area we ought
to be looking for her in.”
“Yeah, but we still need to have a look at the map,” Harry replied.
“This place looks likely enough,” said Ron decisively. “Might as
well try it out... at least the sign looks nice and boring.”
As three foreign Wizards with English accents and clean-cut dress,
they were given no trouble from the bouncers. Together, the twin
bouncers opened the doors...
And Harry, Ron, and Zach walked beneath the life-sized ceramic
panther that was perched just above the doorway and entered the club.
~~~
Hermione was in Juliana’s arms, trying to heal the bruising from
João’s push and the headache from the crash to the floor. João had been
soundly stung for his trouble, and had fallen against Eva’s dressing table.
His tonsure had received several scratches, but no one felt sorry for him.
As he left, João had told the girls to give the semi-conscious
Hermione his ultimatum. Either she would strip or she would be fired.
- 46 -
He had no other place for her.
With that, he’d slammed out to bandage his head and then see to the
bar.
Juliana was large enough to cradle her new friend and mother her a
bit. Although she was eight years younger than Hermione, at times like
this she seemed much older.
“I can’t do it,” Hermione murmured, lip still a bit swollen. “Please
don’t think that I feel I’m better than you because I can’t. It isn’t that, it’s
just...”
“I know.”
“It may be because I’m from a different culture...”
“No, you have enough girls like me in your country and I know it,”
Juliana said with a laugh. “And most carioca girls would never dream of
doing what I do... they’re all good Catholics from good homes! You’re
not so different than me, querida, and that is why I like you. We are both
women who do whatever it takes to get the job done.”
“Up to a point.”
“I never had that luxury.”
Hermione sighed. “I don’t see how you can do it, Jules. How can
you go out there every night and do it?”
“Because I know how to put work into its proper perspective. Ana,
I am studying psychology at university, but I have learned more about
people from working here at Panteras than from any old textbook.”
“What could this possibly teach anyone? Places like this set back
gender relations a century.”
Juliana shook her head. “Unless we evolve into another species,
we’re still going to be women. How do you think women have survived
through the ages, all over the world? You learn early that you must save
something of yourself for yourself, and tuck it deep inside of yourself.
Then and only then can you know that you are never what they say you
are, but who you say you are.”
“So self-determined.”
“By any means necessary.” Juliana smiled. “They may say I’m a
whore, a slut, a moça. But I say that I am a painter of possibilities and a
student of souls. And you?”
“I’ve been so many things over the course of my life that I’m not
sure which to claim,” Hermione laughed.
Juliana did too. But then she lowered her voice.
“And of the many of those, isn’t it a pity that right now you are Ana
Chevalier... a name that doesn’t belong to you?”
- 47 -
Paradise Lost 2
Hermione stiffened.
“Stop it. If I weren’t your friend, I could have done something about
what I know long before now. I just can’t believe that I’m offering
advice to... you.” Juliana shook her head. “All my life I’ve looked up to
you. I mean, I still do, but... I never expected you to be so human.”
“If even that.” Dry laugh.
“More than that. You are simply amazing, Hermione,” here her
voice was a whisper, “and no matter what you decide to do here tonight,
you are still amazing.”
And the most famous Witch in the Wizarding world looked up at
her new friend and smiled.
~~~
“I suppose some of these establishments have learned the art of
subtlety,” remarked Zach.
Loud music blared from surround sound speakers. Synchronized
light beams were refracted from the black marble floor and side
paneling, giving the club an otherworldly appearance. Everything
appeared new... and best of all, the air-conditioning was on full blast,
offering relief from the humidity and heat outside.
A few scantily clad waitresses served the patrons. They wore
revealing leotards with sequins and beads that flashed underneath the
lights, and feathered Carnaval headdresses. All of them were exquisitely
beautiful and although their demeanor was quite flighty, as they walked
towards the bar Harry heard them sWitch easily from English to
Portuguese to German to Spanish to Italian... he was certain that they
couldn’t be fluent in all of the above, but whoever owned the
establishment was wise to choose girls who were intelligent enough to
converse in a patron’s language of choice.
Disrupting the visual delights was the sight of a beefy Brazilian
with a bandaged bald head. He seemed rather grumpy as he slammed
their drinks on the table and snatched up their money.
“Someone’s having a bad day, aren’t they?” Ron remarked.
They planned on getting a table on the back platform so they could
begin looking at the map. However, everywhere was completely full...
until two men checked their watches and left abruptly, leaving a table
near the front clear.
There was no help for it. Harry, Ron, and Zach sat down. Perhaps
- 48 -
someone in the back would leave soon so they could get down to
business. If not, they’d just have to find somewhere else to go...
The music changed from a pounding club beat to a flirty Brazilian
pop song. The lights swirled in time, swinging away from the floor and
onto the stage.
Three girls came on stage. Harry saw that one was supposed to be
dressed as a cop, another as a nurse, and the third and smallest as a
schoolgirl. He leaned back in his chair as Ron and Zach leaned forward
in anticipation. They would... Ron had been either engaged or married
for his entire adult life and Zach was only a kid.
As a jaded bachelor, strip shows had lost a large portion of their
thrill for Harry long ago. He’d seen so many women undressed that it
took an exceptional one to draw his interest. Unless one of these women
was Hermione, he simply wasn’t interested... and his Hermione was
more likely to become a Death Eater than to end up in a place like this.
The overpriced drinks weren’t even good... he had more Coke than rum
in his glass, and he wasn’t pleased.
The littlest of the dancers was exquisite, he had to admit. She had
smooth copper skin, piercing black eyes, and her silky black hair
cascaded to her waist in a ponytail. Although she was extremely petite
he could see that her body was perfectly formed... this was no underage
girl, but a young woman. Not really his type, but before his engagement
to Diana he would have definitely seen her for a few weeks if she’d been
interested.
She did seem interested. As she let the last bit of external clothing
fall from her twirling hand, his magnetic eyes drew her to the side of the
stage. Here she danced closer, taking her time unclasping her bra, then
trailing it across her breasts before letting it fall.
“Nice, little one,” said Ron, handing her a few crisp reais. The
denominations of these made her reward him with a bright smile as she
took them between her fingertips, traced them down her side and tucked
them into the side of her g-string.
Then smiling again over her shoulder she went to the nearest pole
and began to swirl around it.
~~~
Juliana was fixing Hermione’s makeup when Eva burst into the
dressing room excitedly. They heard catcalls and whistles and applause
- 49 -
Paradise Lost 2
just as she shut the door behind her, long hairpiece swaying behind her
as she rushed in.
“Ah, vocês nunca vão adivinhar!” she said, breathless. “You will
not guess...”
“Exactly,” replied Juliana. “So tell us already, Evinha.”
Eva clutched her sides to calm down, dropped the costume she’d
taken off onstage into a chair, then grabbed her robe from a hook.
“Remember how Ju and I have told you that when you dance, Her...
I mean Ana, sometimes it’s easier if you find someone to dance for?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve found the perfect table! They’re sitting up front right
now... they speak English like you, at least, one of them did... and he
gave me this.”
When Eva held up the money, both women were shocked.
“Cristo, that could feed me for a week!” said Juliana. “Or at least
pay for a text at university...”
Hermione stayed quiet. Although she got tips when she was tending
the bar, it had been small change compared to what the girls on stage
made. If she was able to earn that much from a dance, she’d have
enough to pay for a plane ticket within the next week to ten days.
When it came down to it, it was either her patients or her self-
respect.
“What did they look like, Evinha?” Juliana was asking. “I mean,
money is all well and good, but we don’t want Hermione... oh, no,
I meant Ana...”
Eva looked from Hermione to Juliana, eyes wide. “Oh, I’m sorry!
I didn’t mean...”
Hermione shook her head. “No, it’s all right, Eva. She figured it on
her own. Therapy will work much better if I have no secrets from my
psychologist, eh? Go on with your question.”
“Still, I won’t call you that here anymore, Ana,” said Juliana,
shaking her head. “Anyway, I just wanted to know what this table of rich
men looked like. Money is good, but good looks would be a bonus...
especially if this is her first time.”
“Oh, all maravilhosos! One looks almost Japanese... one looks a lot
like you, with your hair and eyes... and the other has white hair, but he is
young!”
Juliana smiled and nodded. “Sim! Perhaps you’ll even get a lap
dance, querida... those pay my rent. Now, you don’t let them take you
back there for less than 300 reais... I don’t for less than R$500. That’s
- 50 -
$250 American, or 750 Euros, and that’s only when I’m in a good
mood.”
“Do not go back there with all of them at once, too much trouble!”
advised Eva. “One, then perhaps another if you leave his friend smiling.”
“And you don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable
with,” said Juliana. “Grego is always watching... he will send help if the
cliente has Roman hands and Russian fingers.”
Roaming hands and rushing fingers, thought Hermione. Funny.
I can’t believe that I’m actually giving this a moment’s
consideration. This must be the very definition of irony. I have two
medical degrees and two bank accounts full of money. I own property on
two continents and am my father’s sole heir. Yet I’m actually considering
this.
“They should not touch you unless you say so.”
“But don’t say so unless you mean it.”
“Like opening the floodgates, garota... me and Evinha, we don’t let
them touch anything! You don’t either, understand? Unless you plan to
do more than just dance for them!”
“Ju, she’s seen the stripping, but does she know how to lap dance?”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “What is there to know about it?
I assume you just plop down and wiggle round a bit, then you’re paid.”
“No, you do not plop!” Eva was laughing so hard that she was
doubled over.
Juliana smiled. “Evinha, you’re losing money. Go back and work
the bar a bit. I’ll have this one out there in a minute.” She looked at
Hermione significantly. “You see, you’re a scientist. I have to show you
that seduction is an art.”
“What’s so artful about taking your clothes off for some man or
sitting in his lap? Anyone can do that... most women end up doing both
sometime during their lives, and most never get paid for it.”
Juliana winked one long-lashed eye at her.
“That’s because most women can’t breathe life into a man’s fantasy.
You can. Come, let me show you.”
~~~
“Aren’t you two bored yet?” asked Harry. Since the club never
cleared so that they could move to the back, he had pulled out the map
anyway. After all, it was an establishment that catered to tourists. As he
- 51 -
Paradise Lost 2
suspected, his examination of it didn’t attract much attention as long as
he glanced up and appreciated the display of flesh onstage every so
often. Otherwise, they would be greatly offended.
Ron was handing another bill to yet another beauty, this time a blue-
eyed blonde who let him slide it between her breasts before she squeezed
them together in order to hold the money there. Maureen would kill him
if she could see this, Harry thought to himself. Of course, Ron wasn’t
doing anything wrong... he hadn’t asked to pull one of the beauties into
one of the back rooms for a private lap dance. At least, not yet.
Zach’s eyes were wide open, as if he never knew such things
existed. Poor innocent kid. The girls seemed to be drawn to his
innocence, and one had sat on his lap for fifteen minutes until he was
extremely red-faced and flustered. She wanted to dance for him, and he
looked at Harry and Ron, embarrassed.
Ron nodded. “Go on,” he said when the girl scampered up, “but
leave the rest of your wallet with me.”
Harry’s lack of interest seemed to be a challenge for one of the girls,
and she’d tried just about everything to get his attention. In the end, it
didn’t work.
Now he was growing restless. While they cooled their heels here,
Hermione could be anywhere. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that she
was nearby... here?
When he looked across the table, his eyes met Ron’s. For the first
time in an hour, Ron seemed to be back on the task at hand.
“I feel it too,” Ron said, leaning forward. “Weird, isn’t it? Why
would she be here? She would never work at a place like this. Never.”
“Yeah, I know, but we ought to go with our gut instinct,” Harry
said. “We could search.”
“With all these people here? We can come back first thing in the
morning. You said yourself that you got the feeling earlier that she was
safe.”
“Safe but still trapped... perhaps even scared. Every second that we
wait is a second more that she’s...”
He never got a chance to finish his statement. The music blared
once more, the lights went back up to the stage, signaling another round
of stripping.
“Gentlemen, you are familiar with the seven wonders of the world,”
said the announcer in Portuguese, English, and Spanish. “You are about
to witness the eighth. Only here at Panteras, we present to you... Birds of
Paradise!”
- 52 -
A group of seven dancers came strutting out with the most elaborate
costumes yet. Their faces were covered in masks, their hair was done up
in the same headdresses as the waitresses’, and their bodies were
covered by layers upon layers of diaphanous veils dyed in tropical
colors.
The men began to cheer. Some of them stood up and shouted. For in
the middle of this display strutted a gorgeous brown-haired, brown eyed
girl with what was perhaps the most glorious costume of all.
A brisk samba began to play over the speakers. The girls marched
around at the beginning of the song, arms extended as if were one of the
spectacular summer parades for Carnaval, showing off the bright and
colorful costumes.
Then the music changed, breaking into the distinctive and elaborate
heavy percussion beat of the samba, and the girls began to dance in time
with the music. The dance was designed to arouse the watching audience
to a fever pitch, and soon currency of all denominations was flying
onstage. In return, the girls began to remove the veils, scented with their
perfume, sending them flying offstage. The men reached to catch one...
Ron laughed as one landed on his head.
He tied it around his neck. “This maroon will suit my wife, won’t
it? ‘Lo, gypsy girl, look at what I brought you home from Rio!’”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. But he closed it quickly as the most
elaborately dressed dancer came to center stage and twirling, began to
drop veils.
Her eyes and body were still covered. She was about Hermione’s
height, though, and although Hermione had never been quite that well-
endowed... although she’d never been that tanned...
Ron noticed it too. He stopped laughing and simply stared.
They watched as the central dancer spun, and several veils fell
away. Instead of merely tossing them as the other dancers did, she
caught them as they dropped and let them trail along her body before
flinging them away.
Harry was rooted to the spot.
No... it couldn’t be!
For the first time that evening, he felt himself reacting to what he
saw. An irrational urge to grab the dancer offstage, pull her into one of
the back rooms, and finish the stripping for her overtook him. He
controlled himself and for the first time that night, leaned forward to
take everything in.
The lead dancer took her time. Long after the other six girls were
- 53 -
Paradise Lost 2
down to glittery g-strings and headdresses, her face and body were still
obscured. She took her time with the last few veils, doing unspeakable
things as she twirled and stripped them off...
Harry’s mouth was dry.
And then the last veil was stripped away.
His blood instantly cooled, and so did the rest of him. On the other
side of the table, he heard a loud sigh, and he glanced over at Ron.
Obviously Ron had thought the same thing that he had.
It wasn’t Hermione.
Now that the spell was broken, he didn’t see why he’d thought it
might have been in the first place. The woman’s eyes were hazel, not
coffee brown. Her hair was dark honey blonde, not somewhere between
the shade of toffee and milk chocolate. She was extremely voluptuous,
more of a figure eight than an hourglass. Yet the full-figured dancer was
very beautiful, and obviously a great favorite here at Panteras.
Harry looked back at Ron.
“Shall we have another drink, or shall we go?”
Ron pointed at Zach, who had just emerged from the back room
with a beatific smile on his face.
“I think our work here is done. He’ll want a cold shower, and the
earlier we get back the earlier we can return in the morning to have a
look around.”
Harry felt extremely out of sorts as they stood up and others eagerly
took their seats. Everything within him was shouting at him to stay... to
wait... that she was there.
After one last furtive look around, he forced himself to listen to
reason... and left.
~~~
As the three Wizards disappeared through the double doors,
Hermione, dressed in her barmaid costume, walked out of the dressing
room to resume work behind the bar. João couldn’t pour or mix drinks to
save his life, and after the fifth cliente had shouted and tossed a watered-
down gin and tonic at him, he came back into the dressing room just as
Juliana had finished instructing her on the fine art of lap dancing. She
was giving a demonstrating, gyrating on a chair as she talked.
“You can do that in front,” snapped João. Juliana replied with a
string of rapid Portuguese that Hermione interpreted only as her telling
- 54 -
him where he could go and what he could do with his mother once he
got there.
He then turned to Hermione, who glared at him.
“Come to finish the job?”
“No. Just wanted to tell you that if you don’t feel like stripping
tonight, I could use some help behind the bar.”
Hermione was outraged. Since she couldn’t blast his brains to bits,
she wished she had a carving knife. She’d take it to him without
hesitation.
I ought to walk out of here. Right now.
No. If she walked midweek, she wouldn’t get paid... today was only
Tuesday. And it wasn’t as if she could just walk into a police station and
press charges... if she could do that, she wouldn’t be working in a place
like Panteras in the first place. There would be time enough to settle
wrongs.
She nodded.
As she walked out of the dressing room, she caught sight of the
back of a magnificent platinum head, flanked by a brunette and an Asian.
They must have been the three men Eva liked so much... Hermione
hoped that they returned so she could see them for herself.
She did, however, have to fight the urge to run after the blond for
some strange reason. Just like her, wasn’t it, after the evening she’d just
had to conjure up Malfoy, who always said he didn’t care for South
America. Yet there was something about the way he walked...
A customer asked for some of the house rum, and she had to duck
underneath the bar to get it.
When she came back up with the bottle, the three strangers were
gone.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012.
Rio de Janeiro – Copacabana, again.
It was nearly seven in the morning when Harry, Ron, and Zach
returned to Panteras. They’d gotten a few hours’ rest, but planned to get
to the club after the night crowd had dispersed and before the morning
work and tourist crowd flooded the streets.
When they rounded the corner, the street was nearly empty. They
could see a young woman and a balding man with a bandaged head walk
out, the man locking the door behind him. The taller of the two women
had honey blonde hair, and she shook her finger in the face of the shorter
man. They spoke too rapidly and too far away to make out anything, but
- 55 -
Paradise Lost 2
when they stormed off in opposite directions, Harry and Ron looked at
each other.
“You and Zach follow him,” Harry said. “I’ll follow the girl.”
“We could break into the club,” said Zach. “Easily.”
“We can do that within the hour,” Ron replied. “It’s seven now...
let’s agree to meet back here by eight-thirty. And Harry? Be careful.”
“You too,” he replied. “Keep your eyes peeled and your wands at
the ready.”
When the man passed by, Ron and Zach waited for a few beats
before they walked about thirty feet behind. Harry then had to trot up the
block and around the corner so that there was only a half block between
him and the girl.
She was dressed in conservative street clothes – a crisp white shirt
with sleeves to the elbows, a knee-length beige-and-orange patterned
skirt, and casual high-heeled tan leather sandals – just as any
professional carioca woman might. None of the flirtatious demeanor
from the night before was evident, of course. She could have been a
model or a teacher or a lawyer... anything but an exotic dancer.
Looks could be deceiving, couldn’t they?
They walked several blocks before coming to a car park. Thinking
quickly, Harry made his decision. He didn’t have time to hail a taxi and
he didn’t want to lose her.
Once she was in her car, one leg out, emptying her ashtray, Harry
ambled in what he hoped was a haphazard fashion toward the space
where she was parked. Pretending to be looking for his own car.
Then he Apparated quickly to within two feet of her car door.
“Excuse me, miss, but I have a few questions for you...”
He had absolutely no time to react before he saw her wand.
“Stupefy!”
Harry had only been Stunned three times before. It was a spell that
he could fight off with some effort, but he absolutely hated the way it
felt. It was like fighting off a poisonous sting from head to toe.
When he was nearly recovered a couple of moments later, he still
wasn’t out of danger... for the woman’s wand poked at his throat.
“I don’t want to ever see you at Panteras again. Understand?”
Harry drew out his own wand and had it at her throat before she
could react.
“Unless you want to be reported to the Confederation for violating
the International Compact on Wizarding Secrecy,” he said, flashing the
ID card Gareth had made up for him, “I think I’ll be issuing the orders
- 56 -
from now on. Let’s go.”
Wednesday, October 31, 2012.
Rio de Janeiro – Rocinha.
Noon.
Another patient had died the day before. Only three more were left
in the makeshift hospital.
There was little that Paulo, Cristina, and Hermione could now do
save to make them as comfortable as possible. Nothing that they tried...
not Paulo’s candomblé, not Cristina’s practical army nursing skills, not
all of Hermione’s mediWizarding and medical expertise... seemed to do
anything at all.
Hermione had studied the disease in her own body as much as she
dared. She knew a bit about its superficial properties, but once she was
fully mimicking the illness she was far too sick to close her eyes,
meditate, and perform any sort of Pattern Analysis. Perhaps Dot
Lightfoot, Maureen Ludlam’s talented godmother could... and Hermione
was certain that Nephthys could as well. Not her, however. She’d always
resented her hyperempathic gift, Shielding unless it was absolutely
necessary to do otherwise.
After she’d finished giving the last patient, a teenage boy, a sponge
bath, there was little else to do but basic cleaning and to repeat tests of
the tissue samples from the latest sad victim of this illness. Paulo and
Cristina had stepped out for a roll and a cup of cafezinho, and she sat by
the boy’s bedside, attempting to read one of Cristina’s nursing journals.
It was in Portuguese, but she understood the diagrams and many of the
words.
She didn’t know that she’d dozed off before she felt the tap on her
shoulder. Paulo was shaking her a little.
“Ana, você tem visita lá fora.”
So she had visitors outside. Glancing out through the window, she
saw Juliana and Eva, waving. Likely they were wanting to check on her
after the excitement last night at work. She’d been fine... she and Eva
left work at three, and Hermione had foregone her morning on the beach
to sleep in before she headed uphill to the hospital.
She also planned to quit Panteras once the week was out. If these
last three patients died, then barring another outbreak the little hospital
would be slow. She could find something around Rocinha to do. The
mercadinho that she frequented was looking for a worker... she’d make
much less money, but who knew...
- 57 -
Paradise Lost 2
She’d figure out something.
When she stepped out of the hospital’s dimness and heat and into
the bright sunshine, Hermione had to shield her eyes. It took a moment
before she realized that Juliana and Eva were not alone... they had three
men with them... the Asian, the brunette, and the blond from the night
before.
For some reason, her mind felt cloudy all of a sudden. Were they
Cabalistica? Likely so. Well, her instincts about Juliana and Eva had
been wrong. They knew who she was and they were working for the
other side. All of her efforts of the past month to blend in and to learn the
culture had failed...
She staggered forward, then rubbed her eyes...
And rubbed them.
And rubbed them again.
Before she could rub them once more, she heard a familiar voice
say, “Keep doing that and you’ll rub them all the way out...”
“Ron?” she said, taking another step forward as her eyes still
attempted to adjust to the sunlight.
“You mean to tell me that I don’t look anything like your long-lost
twin? Darn, spells must have worn off... I liked that disguise.” He
sobered up. “Yeah, ‘Mione. It’s me and you know it.”
She cried out her relief. He picked her up and swung her around the
waist before he set her down, laughing.
“Ron! How did you find... when did you get... oh, Ron!”
Overjoyed, she hugged him one more time.
Then she looked over his shoulder and sprang back, startled.
“You!” she said. “You... why, you’ve been following me, haven’t
you? In Atlanta... and Oxford, too... and...”
Zach nodded. “I’d tell you why, but I think it’s a moot point now.
We’ll talk more later.” He stepped forward to shake her hand. “Zach
Raupp, DSG intern. It’s a pleasure to formally meet at last, Dr. Granger.”
“And Heath... you know him?”
“Unfortunately, yes... that’s my idiot brother. Can we talk about
something else for the moment?”
“Certainly,” she said, looking around, heart sinking a bit when she
didn’t see anyone else. “I could have sworn there were three of you...
perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me... surely Malfoy’s not here, is
he, Ron?”
“No, not Malfoy,” Ron replied, smirking.
Juliana was smiling and nudging Eva. “Look behind you, garota.”
- 58 -
Before she could do so, strong arms enfolded her waist, then turned
her around. And she was lost, lost at once, lost forever... and knew that
from that moment on all her world would always be evergreen.
“You rang?”
A choked, strangled sob issued forth from Hermione’s lips, and then
she was in Harry’s arms, being crushed so tightly to him that she
couldn’t breathe yet didn’t care a whit about that because he was her
breath and everything else that had ever mattered anything to her. She
wanted to cry and scream and shout and laugh all at the same time.
But they couldn’t hold each other that closely for long. They
couldn’t do that and look into each other’s eyes. So they drew back a bit,
still holding each other, eyes locked, hands coming up to touch the
other’s face. Not only were they completely oblivious to the fact that
there were other people in the world at the moment, they were in a place
far beyond speech.
Then, silently yet mutually they decided that they weren’t close
enough. So after a few precious moments of gazing, Hermione pulled
him tight to her and began to cry in earnest as he stroked her hair,
murmuring words so low that no one but her could hear.
“Is that the alma gêmea?” Eva asked.
Juliana looked at her old friend, then poked her severely in the ribs.
“Sometimes I wonder about you, Evinha. Sometimes I wonder.”
Same day.
Afternoon.
Rio de Janeiro – Ipanema.
“It’s too bad we checked out of the hotel,” Ron said. “Would have
been a nice, air-conditioned place for a chat.”
They were all piled into Juliana’s car. Ron was riding in front,
looking out of the window. In the back, Zach sat directly behind Juliana,
Eva was in the middle, and Hermione sat with Harry. She’d been
squeezed in the middle with Eva until he’d pulled her up on his lap, and
that was that.
Now that Hermione had been found, Harry wanted to be alone with
her. She looked healthy enough, but he could tell something wasn’t right.
Something about her was very different. It wasn’t the darker hair or the
tan or the circles beneath her eyes. No. She was strangely quiet, and
what was even more strange, she was clinging. Hermione Granger was
not the clingy type and never had been... she hadn’t been like this even
in Avalon.
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Paradise Lost 2
There was only one plausible explanation for it. Something had
frightened her very badly. So he hadn’t imagined her after all. She’d
really been in some kind of trouble, and from what he could tell had
barely escaped.
Harry’s arms tightened around her. He would never let her out of his
sight again... or at least not until she got her confidence back. He wanted
the sparkle to return to his beloved’s eyes. He wanted her fire, her zest
for living, and her passion for other people to surface again. She’d had to
become something that she was not in order to survive. Now that he’d
found her, he’d bring her home... back where she belonged.
“We could find a restaurant,” suggested Harry, fingers playing along
Hermione’s cheek. “Are you hungry?” he whispered to her, and she
shook her head no.
“This time of day they’re all full,” Juliana said. “We eat lunch here
much later than you do in England. We’ll get something once we get to
Ipanema... Hermione didn’t have her beach time today, which is why
she’s so glum.”
“I am not,” protested Hermione. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s
all.”
“That’s why we’re going to the beach. Best place in Rio for a
business meeting if you ask me.”
They had to park quite a distance away from the beach proper, as
the calçada was crowded with shops and vendors and cariocas and
tourists. Juliana took the lead with Eva right behind her. Zach followed.
Harry and Hermione were next, at first merely side by side, then holding
hands. Ron brought up the rear, hands shoved in pockets.
Juliana caused a traffic jam when she stopped in her tracks within
sight of the sand.
“What’s the hold up?” asked Ron.
“Ah, Meu Deus... we can’t go on the sand dressed like this,” was
Juliana’s reply. “I can’t believe I forgot.”
“Who cares what we look like?” asked Zach.
“You ought to if you don’t wish to attract undue attention. Here,
Harry,” she tossed the striped blanket she’d been carrying, “take that and
Hermione, you go with him and find a good spot. The rest of you, come
with me.”
Juliana and Eva scampered off, followed by Zach. After a pointed
look at his best friends, Ron shuffled off as well.
Hermione looked up at Harry. Her face seemed a great deal brighter
than it had in either Rocinha or the car.
- 60 -
“Jules is bossy, but really, she’s got a good heart,” Hermione
explained.
Harry smiled at her. “Sounds like a Witch that I know,” he
murmured.
Hermione’s smile faded a little. “Remind me that I’ve got
something to tell you later on.” Then she cheered up again. “Shall we
find the perfect spot, then?”
Hermione stepped off the calçada and into the sand. Harry followed
her with the blanket, which really was huge. The beach was crowded,
but not half bad for a spring weekday. They found a spot about thirty feet
away from the ocean, and a comfortable distance out of earshot of their
nearest neighbors in the sand.
“What are they laughing at?” Harry asked as they sat down,
indicating two young couples that were laughing and pointing at them as
if they’d never seen anything so hilarious in their lives.
“Us,” Hermione said.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Why?”
“Because we look rather foolish right now. I’ve got on a blouse and
skirt. You’re wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and trainers. We look like we
belong on Juliana’s university campus, not on a beach. We also stand out
as foreigners... no carioca would ever look so stupid.”
“Well, I suppose there’s no help for it until they get back and we go
change.”
“At least for you. I’m fine as I am.”
“Are you? They’re getting quite the laugh out of you too, you
know.”
Hermione shrugged. “Oh, I’m wearing my suit. I was planning to
come after I left the hospital today anyway. I’ll get rid of the blouse and
skirt when they come back.”
Harry was surprised, thinking of her usual leotard-like wetsuits.
“You’re wearing it? You must really want to die of heatstroke, then.”
“No, not really. It’s cool enough underneath clothes...” Then she
pulled her eyes away from the ocean to look at him. “Oh! Harry, this
isn’t one of my usual nylon suits. This isn’t Europe. It’s far too warm for
that here.”
She then proceeded to unbutton her blouse, and slid it off her
shoulders.
Harry’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. He removed his
glasses, wiped them off on his t-shirt, and then replaced them.
“That’s your suit?”
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Paradise Lost 2
Hermione nodded. “Well, half of it at least.” Then a knowing smile
spread across her features. “Shall I show you the other half?”
Before he could say “yes, please” she was slipping off her sandals,
then the long, light and flowery skirt.
“So, at least now one of us blends in,” said Hermione. Sure enough,
the couples’ chortles had subsided as the men headed off to the
volleyball nets and the women stretched out to sun. “Of course, I’ve got
on more clothing than most of the women here, so it’s really very nice to
get some sun without getting ogled.”
Harry was still staring. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. She was
wearing nothing but a yellow bikini that showed off her light golden tan
to perfection. It also showed off her body to perfection... no one would
be able to guess that she was thirty-two, as she was a Witch and aged
half as quickly as Muggle women did. And because she was a
hyperempath, save for a pencil-shaped burn mark on her hip from
childhood, her skin from head to toe was blemish free. There were no
stretch marks. No handles. Only sunkissed skin everywhere... well-
shaped hands and feet... lithe limbs... perfectly rounded, succulent...
Oh, dear Merlin.
He watched as she lifted her arms to twist her brown hair up into a
ponytail holder that had been around her wrist, forming a loose French
knot. Reaching into her bag, she extracted a pair of amber tinted
sunglasses and perched them upon her nose. Then she placed her hand in
her chin and Thinker-style, stared at the ocean.
“Isn’t it lovely, Harry?”
Despite his struggle, there was no help for it. Despite all the
beautiful bikini-clad women visible everywhere on the beach, his
reaction to her was instantaneous and demanding, and also quite
obvious.
Harry sucked a few deep breaths before replying. “Yeah, it is.” Then
he turned back to Hermione, willing himself not to look below her neck
again. Women appreciated it when a bloke looked them right in the eyes,
instead of staring at their...
His eyes traveled downward again, and he had to wrench them back
towards her face. Which to be quite honest was just as lovely a sight to
him.
Right.
She turned over on her stomach, grinning a little, elbows propping
her up on the blanket. A little sand clung to her upper arm and the side of
her cheek. And there were even a couple of grains at the cleft of her
- 62 -
upper lip... and the cleft of her...
“Great, isn’t it?” she asked finally, grin melting into another
knowing smile.
He wasn’t sure if it was the sweltering heat, her, or a combination of
both, but Harry felt as if his brain had turned to mush. “Er... uh... yeah,
great.”
“Nothing like these beaches. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Uh-huh...” he said, trying to keep focused on her eyes, trying to
tell himself he was imagining the fire he fancied he saw there. And not
focusing on the ties of her string bikini, one of which hovered very near
his face.
Her smile was radiant. “I’m so thrilled to see you again. You can’t
know how much it means to me. You’re going to love Rio... there’s so
much to tell you that I hardly know where to begin.”
“Sure. But what were you going to tell me earlier? I gathered it was
something you didn’t want the others to hear.”
Hermione’s eyes were upon his mouth as she sat up fully. Harry
wished she wouldn’t look at him like that... not when he was a hair away
from spreading her back on the blanket and shagging her in the middle
of a public beach. He hadn’t the slightest idea of how he’d be able to get
his trousers off when the others returned, let alone put on a pair of swim
trunks.
She wasn’t helping matters. Not when her hands were dipping to his
waistline. There she tugged at his t-shirt, and pulled it up and off, letting
her fingers and hands trail the cloth.
“There. You looked so hot... thought you were going to pass out on
me. Surely that’s better...” Hands still trailing over his chest.
He stopped her teasing with his hands and his eyes.
“Hermione... if you have something to say, say it.”
She looked deep into his eyes.
“I remember, Harry.”
His heart began to pound. “Remember what, beautiful?”
“Remember everything I forgot,” she said softly.
Harry took her hands in his. “Hermione, you can’t mean that you
remember... no, you do remember... but how?”
“It’s simple, really. When I was kidnapped, my captors... of course
it was the Cabalistica... put me through a series of treatments.”
“Treatments? What kind of treatments?”
“I’m not certain,” said Hermione. “Not the Sponge, I think. I was
drugged, but I do remember lots of injections... but when I came to,
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Paradise Lost 2
I remembered everything.” She sighed. “While I don’t know how, I do
recall what happened. You know how when a spell is cast upon your
person, there’s a bit of lingering residual magic?”
Harry cocked his head, then frowned. “Yes.”
“Well, whatever this was either removed or reversed it. So it stands
to reason that it reversed the... the Memory Charm that Sirius and Remus
performed.”
“What about your teeth?” Harry asked with a frown. She knew what
he was referring to... her teeth had been magically straightened and
shortened at age fourteen. If any magic performed upon her person had
been reversed, she should have had incisors down to her collar.
“Yes, I’ve thought of that. And do you know what I think?”
“What?”
Hermione laughed. “That was over half a lifetime ago. I think the
rest of my face just caught up with them!” She smiled. “I suppose I’ll
always have slightly large front teeth. I get it honestly... my mother had
the same.” Then she remembered something else and her smile faded.
“Harry, what about Diana?”
“Huh? Diana?”
“Your fiancée.”
He’d honestly forgotten all about the fact that two weeks before
he’d still been engaged.
“I don’t have a fiancée anymore.” He told her about Diana’s leaving
him, skirting around the reason why the young DSG professor walked
out. He didn’t want Hermione to feel guilty over a mistake he’d made.
“So that’s that I suppose.”
She sighed. “Harry, I’m sorry... sorry for everything...”
“I’m not.” He changed the subject again. “Was that the reason why
you couldn’t go anywhere? The loss of your magical ability, I mean?
And couldn’t send word?”
“Yes. Can’t do magic at the moment, and Eva and I triggered alarms
as we escaped. We were almost recaptured in Belem... we got lucky.”
She caressed his cheek again. “Thank Merlin for Danae, right? The
second we return home I can pop right into the MMRI, take a Danae
shower, and I’ll be good as new.” She leaned forward to kiss the spot
she’d just touched. “I will be fine, Harry. Now that you’re here, I’m not
afraid any longer.”
She sighed and sobered up.
“We can wait until the others come so that Eva can help me tell the
rest. They took her baby, you know.”
- 64 -
“She had a baby while you were there? But she couldn’t have
recovered from a child so soon!”
“Yes, I know. We’ve talked about it, and it seems that after I left the
birthing room, Eva was given a quadruple dosage of Pepper-Up Potion.
She’d been exempted from the injections because of the baby, but we
were their laboratory rats after all... and they had their tests to run.” She
reached her fingers out to lightly touch the side of his face. “So tell me.
How did you find me?”
Harry told her about going to Panteras the night before, then instead
of catching their scheduled flight to Manaus, following their hunch and
heading to the club again. It was there that they saw Juliana and João.
Harry had followed Juliana and forced her to return to the club. Ron and
Zach soon came back, as they’d followed João and watched him go
home and go to sleep.
At first, Juliana was defiant and uncooperative... Harry had to
admire her loyalty to her new friend. When she saw they wouldn’t go
away, she told them that after a stop at home she’d take them to
university with her... and from there, they were on their own.
Once at Juliana’s apartment, they went in and saw Eva, who had
breakfast waiting for her friend. When she saw them, she dropped the
fork, thinking they wanted their money back. Once that was cleared up,
Eva fed them while Juliana interrogated the three of them for the better
part of an hour. Finally, she was satisfied enough to drive them to
Rocinha and lead them to the favela hospital.
“But what could have made you figure out I was here?” Hermione
said, shaking her head. “In Brazil... in Rio... at Panteras?”
Harry was still holding her hands in his. He could hardly believe
that his beloved was reclining there with him... that in spite of all the
Black and Potter agents Sirius had sent, he’d found her.
That he’d found her before the Cabalistica had.
And yet finding her was the most believable and inevitable thing in
the world. He recalled watching the birds fly over Ayr and out to the
ocean a mere ten days before... and identifying with the one who’d
lingered behind in search of his mate.
“You told me where you were, Hermione.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s impossible.”
And yet her face told him that she believed there was nothing more
possible in the world.
They were both speechless, not wanting to talk much about the
experiences that they’d had over the years... the experiences that had
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Paradise Lost 2
become more and more frequent until they’d ended up having a
conversation across time and space the day before. How could they
speak of something that was so compelling yet frightening to
comprehend?
Hermione stood up, pulling him to stand as well. “Here, shall we
splash a bit before the others come back?”
He slipped off his socks and trainers and left them on the blanket.
As he followed her to the water’s edge, he tucked his glasses into his
jeans pocket so they wouldn’t get lost in the Atlantic. The tepid ocean
water was soothingly cool to his bare soles after the too-warm sand. It
also soothed another part of him that raged through trousers and boxers.
Perhaps there was hope for those swim trunks after all.
They were up to their waists in the ocean, Hermione still leading
him. Harry was going to ask if they ought to be careful of the shelf, but
when half of her torso was covered, she stopped, dropped his hand, and
as she turned around splashed him.
“Hey!” he exclaimed.
Her laughter rang out for only a short time before she was coughing
and sputtering. That’s because he dunked her in retaliation.
This was the prelude of a full-fledged water fight. Hermione gave as
good as she got, but in the end she had to concede defeat.
“No, stop!” she laughed, throwing her arms around his neck in a
gesture of mercy. “It’s not fair, you’re stronger than I.”
“Yes, it is! You’re the better swimmer by far.”
“So I am.” Her arms tightened around his neck. “Although I think at
times that I could drown in your eyes...”
Their mouths met in a tentative kiss. Soft as a butterfly’s wing.
Harry tasted the saltwater on her upper lip, then savored a lingering trace
of cafezinho on her tongue as it met his own. He couldn’t believe he was
kissing her... that she was kissing him back and not pulling away or
jumping like a scared rabbit... that she was just as eager to be with him
as he was to be with her.
Both Harry and Hermione shuddered, then in unison began to laugh
against one another’s lips. Grateful to have found each other alive,
thankful to be in each other’s arms one more time. That the great crisis
was over... because now that they were together, surely they could face
anything.
Now their kisses grew more urgent, and their hands were no longer
content just to cling idly. Hers trailed wet circles all over his chest above
and below the water line. His did the same up and down her back,
- 66 -
fingers intentionally catching on the straps of her halter bikini... the one
tie at the base of her neck, the other nestled in the small of her back.
As her hands disappeared underneath the water and down the back
of his trousers, his reached forward to cup her breasts through the bikini
top. When he heard her low squeak in response, he reached around the
back and made short work of the lower tie.
The top string of the bikini top was still in place, but the bottom tie
of it was loose, twin strings trailing atop the water. Harry then resumed
his earlier activity, bare palms against bare skin.
He could no more have stopped himself touching her intimately
than he could have stopped breathing, regardless of the fact that they
were at a public beach with the world in full view and the rest of the
team was due back momentarily.
However, he didn’t want to rush Hermione. He wanted to be sure of
her, sure that her need for him was as desperate as his desire for her.
He slowly moved a finger over the bare curve of her breast, and the
moan she let out against his mouth encouraged him to continue. He
pulled her tightly against him, taking her mouth in all the fierce passion
that had been brewing for a very long time. She immediately yielded,
allowing his tongue the entry it sought, and she did nothing to stop Harry
as his hands wandered under her loosened top to cup her breasts, thumbs
gently stroking the tips just underneath the waterline.
A shiver of pleasure ran down Hermione’s spine as the feel of
Harry’s hands set her skin ablaze. She was always amazed at how deeply
she responded to his touch; no other man had ever made her feel this
way.
Spurred on by her reaction, Harry squeezed a little harder, which
elicited a soft whimper from Hermione’s throat. She decided to repay
him in kind by bringing her hands around to the front of his shorts and
doing a little squeezing of her own...
Harry gasped and pulled back slightly, his hands falling away and
circling her waist instead to bring her closer against him so she could
feel exactly what her actions were doing to him. She swiftly moved her
hands up to entrap his face in them as she sealed her mouth over his,
kissing him fiercely. He matched her kiss for kiss, their bodies yearning
for the release which they’d sought for many years. The rest of the world
became invisible as Hermione slid her arms around Harry’s neck again,
pulling him as close as she could...
“Oh, don’t worry, everyone,” called a loud voice from the shoreline.
“I’m sure the garota just has something on her chest, and that one’s
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Paradise Lost 2
helping her... ah, shall we say, get it off?”
They looked up.
The voice belonged to Juliana. She was flanked by Zach and Eva.
All three wore swimsuits and grins. Ron stood a bit off to the side, clad
in surf trunks, face indecipherable.
“If you two are quite done,” he said quietly, holding up another pair
of surf trunks, “we’d like to begin the briefing.”
Later that evening.
Rio de Janeiro – on the streets of Copacabana.
After the evening meal at Ribeira’s, the group walked to Panteras.
The evening was balmy yet breezy, as spring in Rio ought to be.
Hermione was wearing her blouse and skirt again, having traded her
soaked bikini for the white one she usually wore underneath her work
clothes.
Harry’s arm was around her waist, and she sighed her content.
Twenty-four hours ago she’d been lost and alone. Now she was found
and happy. She felt invigorated from their earlier splashing and water
play, and her mind was still racing from the summit they’d all had on the
hot sand.
After the men recounted their travels from Argentina to Brazil,
Hermione and Eva had told their story. They described the ordeal in
detail, and Eva scratched out a rough diagram of the facility for them in
the sand. After all, she’d lost nearly a year of her life to the Cabalistica.
The two women had escaped on foot through the rain forest. They’d
survived through sheer luck and Eva’s grandmother’s stories of growing
up in a Yanomami village near the Venezuelan border. It had taken
several days for them to reach Santarem... they’d been too afraid to stop
in Manaus, where Hermione had been captured in the first place. Once
there, they’d taken a gaiola – one of the famous riverboats of Amazonia
– to Belem.
It was in Belem that Hermione had purchased her clothing and hair
dye. Eva had gotten a boy’s outfit and a pair of scissors. Thankfully, they
hadn’t disguised themselves when they were first spotted by Cabalistica
agents. They’d disappeared at the freight airport... boarding a cargo
plane to Rio after Eva promised the pilot a rich reward for transporting
them.
Then Hermione finished by telling Harry, Ron, and Zach what she’d
done during the four weeks she’d spent in Rio. Investigating yet another
flare-up of a disease she’d studied while in the States. Learning the
- 68 -
language and the culture. And...
“Working at a strip club?” had been Ron’s incredulous remark just
before glancing at Eva and Juliana. “No offense, ladies.”
Juliana had shrugged. “None taken.”
“Ron, it isn’t like I could have applied for a job the normal way.
I knew that we were being searched for. Eva belongs here, but I don’t.
I had to blend in and become as invisible as possible, and that meant any
work I did had to be under the table.” She grinned. “Besides, I didn’t get
a chance to strip yet...”
“That can be corrected tonight,” Juliana had said, a wicked twinkle
in her eye.
It had taken Hermione a moment to realize why everyone save Ron
laughed at that. Even then, she didn’t quite get it until she turned around
and looked up into Harry’s face.
When he winked at her, she blushed.
The decision was made to travel to Manaus the next day to
investigate the facility. Eva flung her arms around each of the men in
turn, obviously grateful that they weren’t all going to Disapparate back
to England now that Hermione had been located.
“As if we’d ever do that,” Hermione had said. “If it wasn’t for you,
there’s no way I would have survived long enough to be found.”
Harry leaned over, reached for Eva’s hand, and brought it to his lips.
“Obrigado, senhorita... and I’d say more, but that’s all the Portuguese
I know. Sorry.”
Eva was all dimples and smiles. “Tudo bem... that’s all right.
Hermione said you were slow to learn anything new. Thick in the head.”
“Hermione said that, did she?” Harry said, grabbing Hermione
around the waist and pinning her to the sand alongside the blanket before
tickling her sides. She yelped and dumped a handful of sand on his back
before pulling his head down for another kiss.
Ron had groaned. “All right, you two, knock it off. I think we all get
the point, don’t you?”
Even now as they walked together through nighttime Copacabana,
Hermione could feel Ron’s eyes on her back as they walked along the
crowded street. She’d never thought much about Ron’s reaction to the
idea of her and Harry together, post-divorce. This was because
somewhere in the back on her mind she’d always believed that she and
Harry being together anywhere in this world was a futile fantasy, Avalon
memories notwithstanding.
Hermione couldn’t have predicted her reaction upon their reunion,
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Paradise Lost 2
or his either. Just like on her birthday, they hadn’t been long out of each
other’s sight all day... only to shower and change back at Juliana’s
earlier. And they couldn’t help but be close. Hermione knew that her
skin craved his touch and her mouth was hungry for more of his kisses.
Both of them were private people, not given to public displays of
affection... but today was proving to be the exception to the rule.
After dinner, Juliana and Eva had dragged Hermione to the ladies’
room to share their diabolical plan. Once Hermione finished talking to
João, Juliana would give her the apartment and car keys. This way, as
long as they came back in the wee hours of the morning, she and Harry
could be alone to talk... or do more than talk, as they wished.
“Don’t be shy,” Juliana said, hushing Hermione’s initial protests.
“You two want some time alone, querida, that much is obvious. Just
don’t get so caught up that you forget to come get us!”
When they got to Panteras, Juliana introduced Ron and Zach to the
bouncers as “amigos” and Harry as “namorado da Ana”. Then Eva
settled Ron and Zach at a table near the front with drinks while Harry
and Hermione sought out João along with Juliana.
He was nowhere to be found. They looked everywhere... in the
office, in storage, in the dressing rooms, behind the bar, in the alley
behind the club. Even after the club opened a few moments later, and
Hermione changed into her costume to get the drinks started, there was
no sign of him.
“That’s strange. I wonder where he is? Oh, well...” she reached into
the dressing room and handed Hermione her blouse and skirt, “go on and
I’ll talk to him. I need to tell him that Eva and I need to take a leave of
absence anyway... and that won’t be pretty.”
Harry frowned. “Are you sure you’ll be all right here?”
“Mas é claro!” Juliana laughed. “Meu Deus, I’ll never know why
men think women can do nothing without them. Have fun, you two!”
When they went to leave, Ron stood up from the table and followed
them outside.
“And just where do you think you’re going?”
“To Juliana’s... she’s forgotten something that she needs,” said
Hermione quickly. “We’ll be back before you know it, Ron.”
Ron shook his head. “First rule of a quest... never split up,” he said
harshly. “Or don’t you remember? Or don’t you even care?”
“That’s why you’re going back inside with Zach,” Harry said firmly.
“Like she said, we’ll be back.”
After glaring at both of them, Ron stormed back inside.
- 70 -
The drive to Juliana’s apartment took ten minutes. Harry drove.
Hermione’s hand rested easily upon his thigh as she gave directions.
They found it without a hitch. Over the past two weeks, Hermione
had been there enough to recognize it. Juliana’s space in front of the
building was vacant. They parked, and after Harry came around to open
Hermione’s door, she hopped out of the car and into his arms.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed, and she flinched too.
“What a nasty sunburn,” she frowned. “How did that happen?”
“Well,” he said, caressing her lower lip, “someone decided they
wanted to strip me on Ipanema beach and didn’t have any sunblock
handy.”
“Don’t blame me! You knew you were coming to Brazil... don’t tell
me you didn’t bring along a travel-sized vial of Higginbotham’s Best
Solare Potion to slip into your morning’s coffee?” At the look he gave
her, she sighed. “Harry, you always forget the simplest things!”
He leaned forward and kissed her. “That’s what I have you for,
beautiful. My human timetable.”
Chuckling, breathless, they stumbled into the building and up the
stairs. Neither could wait to be together... neither could wait to get inside
of the apartment.
Once inside, Hermione was still laughing. “Here, let me get the
lights...”
Harry caught her hand in mid-air. “No, wait... something’s wrong.”
His voice was low. His eyes darted around, and he whipped out his
wand.
“Lumos.”
Around the living room, there stood half a dozen figures. Even in
the dim light given off by his wand their red hooded cloaks were clearly
visible.
“Hermione, move!” he shouted, pushing her behind him.
“Protesiare!”
It was not a moment too soon. Six wands pointed at him at once and
cast an assortment of Dark spells in his direction, including one that he’d
never seen before... it sliced into the wall when Harry’s Shielding Charm
formed a glittering umbrella around them.
He slammed the door and clasped her hand. Together they raced
down the single flight of stairs. Above, they heard the Cabalistica agents
blast Juliana’s door to bits... the debris cloud reached them just as they
opened the front door.
Hermione’s first instinct was to run to the car park, but Harry pulled
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her behind a hedge instead.
“The car...” Hermione moaned.
“No, they can just Apparate in there,” he said, pointing his wand at
the car. “Or maybe not even that... Effigiei!”
Two wax figures appeared in the car just as the six Cabalistica
agents swooped from the house. Three seconds later, Juliana’s vehicle
was no more, having exploded in a fireball. Screeches of glee filled the
night just before the agents Disapparated.
“I don’t know why they were so pleased,” Hermione whispered
grumpily. “This may sound arrogant, but I’m certain their orders were to
bring me back alive. And I’m sure that they’d want to capture, not kill
you, as well.”
“Well, that’s exactly what they did. That sort of spell is used when
capturing Witches and Wizards in Muggle areas... this way, the Muggles
will think they were blown to bits and not investigate further. Likely
they Apparated the mannequins I conjured up to wherever they came
from... I figure we’ve got about five minutes before they figure out that
they don’t have us. Ten minutes, tops.”
“Oh, no! Harry, if they knew to find us at Juliana’s, then that means
they’ll know all about Panteras!” Her eyes were wide. “We’ve got to get
there.”
“You’re right... we’ll Apparate back, since they’re on to us
anyway.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Yeah, but I can.”
“No one can Apparate themselves along with another person,
Harry...”
“Yeah, but I can.” He pulled her tightly to him. “Hold on.”
“All right, Harry Potter,” Hermione murmured against his chest.
“Just know that if you splinch me, I’ll...”
But two blinks later, they were around the corner from Panteras.
Completely unsplinched.
“See? Just like an overcoat, you are... if one can Apparate and
Disapparate with clothes intact, I figure one can Apparate and
Disapparate with their Witch.”
“An overcoat, am I? If the situation weren’t so dire, I’d throttle
you.”
He winked at her. “Come on, let’s go tell Juliana she no longer has a
car.”
When they rounded the corner, they sobered up quickly. The
- 72 -
bouncers were mysteriously gone, and men were running out of Panteras
at breakneck speed. Even so, neither Harry or Hermione were fully
prepared for the chaos inside the club when they stepped in.
The Cabalistica agents were throwing spells all over the place.
There was blood. There were patrons who were obviously Stunned, and
others appeared more than that. Mirrors shattered, glass was flying
everywhere, and here and there a light exploded.
Their efforts were focused on the bar, which Juliana, Ron, and Zach
were using for cover. But when they saw Harry and Hermione, three of
them immediately shifted focus, sending three Slicing Spells in their
direction.
Harry pushed Hermione sharply out of the way, covering her... but
not before the last spell grazed his arm, sending copious amounts of
blood flying everywhere. He deflected another round of spells, this time
casting a Flaming Spell (“Ignem Inferno!”) that quickly engulfed the
agents whose spell had hit him. They went up in flames immediately,
thrashing and flailing. One spell did catch him, a Throwing Charm... and
it sent him crashing into a table. When Hermione saw this happen and
heard his moan, she instinctively started to get up and go to him.
“Hermione, damn it, stay down!” he shouted at her.
She did. Then quick as a flash, she was crawling towards something
she’d spotted from the corner of her eye, stuck in the belt of one of the
Stunned patrons. Weapons were not allowed in Panteras, but this one
must have gotten past the bouncers. She scurried towards the mini
Glock, not noticing the red-robed figure that was striding towards her.
“Ei!” shouted Juliana as the agent pointed his wand at Hermione.
“Petrificus Totalus!”
And the agent fell three feet from where Hermione was crouched.
Hermione now had the gun in her hand. She aimed low at one of the
agents on the stage... and fired strategically so that he fell but was not
killed. She waited for the excruciating pain to come, the sharing... but it
never did.
Another blasted the table she’d found the gun underneath to bits...
but Hermione had scurried several tables away. Hermione aimed again
and fired again... and hit the second agent.
Thank you, Jack, she thought.
That’s when she felt the wand upon her neck.
“Drop your weapon, Dr. Granger,” a hateful voice ordered her.
Hermione’s mouth went dry.
“No, you drop yours, bastard,” said Harry, jabbing his wand into the
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back of the agent’s hood.
The agent looked up. He was surrounded on all sides by wands and
trembling, watching patrons. Ron, Zach, and Juliana formed a circle
around him.
Eva, who had been behind the bar, approached quickly with a blade
in hand.
“Nossa Senhora! O Rato!”
“Yes, indeed it’s me,” said the Rat, throwing off his hood proudly.
“Or... is it?”
He then began to laugh uproariously. Laughed until he dissolved
into a pile of red dust. As the dust disappeared, so did the agents.
“We shall meet again, Dr. Granger,” the Rat said, voice everywhere
and nowhere. “And when we do, I wager you won’t be so protected.”
Then even the ominous voice was gone.
Thursday, November 1, 2012.
1 a.m. – Barra da Tijuca.
Hermione lifted her head up from Harry’s chest, blinking.
Apparition was instantaneous, but as she hadn’t bothered with it herself
for three years and couldn’t do it now, she felt a little dizzy and clung to
him for a moment after they’d arrived in the front of a gated estate.
“All right?” he’d asked her softly, lines of concern apparent on his
face even in the moonlight.
She took a deep, steadying breath. It was the middle of the night
and yet it was still sweltering. “Yes, fine... I suppose the rest should be
here any moment.” Her eyes darted to the Slicing Spell graze on his
shoulder. Although she’d been able to staunch the bleeding a bit, she
hadn’t yet been able to do anything about his swelling ankle.
Shortly after the Rat and his goons had disappeared, the police had
shown up. The remaining clientes had immediately pointed them out...
they’d had to Disapparate quickly via the back of the club. Hermione
was certain that the magical activity would be reported to the local
magical authority as well... they’d left the task of cleaning up their mess
to the Brazilian Obliviators.
Hermione looked up at Harry again. His jaw was clenched tight.
When her fingertips brushed the muscle there ever so slightly, she drew
back and sucked in a breath. “Harry, we’ve got to get you inside.”
“We’ll wait until Juliana gets here,” he replied. “Her mother is
likely sleeping. I don’t fancy going up to one of those sentries and
asking for accommodation without her...”
- 74 -
It didn’t take long for the others to show up. Ron, with little Eva
clinging to him for dear life. Next Zach, seeming to tremble a little for
the first time. Finally, Juliana, who Apparated in quickly, darted her head
in every direction, raced ahead of them a few feet, then hissed, “This
way!”
They scurried through the neighborhood. First, Juliana. Harry was
limping now, and Hermione did her best to brace him. Ron, impatient
with Eva’s short legs, hoisted her underneath his arm and virtually
carried her. Zach brought up the rear, running backwards with his wand
drawn.
Fortunately, they made it to Juliana’s house without incident. Their
approach was from the back, and there was a small gate with handprint
entry. With deft fingers, Juliana quickly keyed in the override code, then
slapped her open palm over the metal plate.
The gate creaked open. Juliana stepped inside, whispering, “Wait
here,” and then raced out of sight.
She didn’t take long. Beyond the gate, they heard a man’s voice,
and Juliana speaking rapid Portuguese back. Then all of a sudden, she
was opening the gate wide.
“Vem,” said Juliana. As they followed her, she explained. “We’re in
luck. My father is away... he goes to São Paulo for business one week a
month, and this is when I come to see my mother.”
Hermione, who loved green growing things because of her mother
and her vocation, took in the back garden by moonlight as she helped
Harry along. There were palm, coconut, and guava trees... beds filled
with tropical flowers that perfumed the night air... and gracing one entire
corner was a magnificent fountain with a statue of Nossa Senhora
keeping watch over it and the entire garden.
She also noticed a patch of herbs in one corner... herbs that only
Witches grew. Hermione hoped that Juliana’s mother would be generous
enough to let her pick what she needed to heal Harry’s wounds. The last
thing she wanted was for infection to set in.
They were greeted at the back door by a burly, stocky man whose
pupils glittered in the moonlight.
“This is Marcos, my parents’... how do you say... ah, chief of staff,”
said Juliana. Then she introduced everyone around.
Marcos raised an eyebrow and looked at the dirty, bruised group.
Then he saw Harry’s wound.
“Moça,” he spat, turning back to Juliana. “Your mother is a great
lady. She does not deserve a daughter like you. Why do you constantly
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bring your filth here to grieve her?”
“They are not filth,” Juliana said. “Save for Rosãngela’s daughter,
they are not even from here. They are foreigners who got caught at a bad
time... I wanted to help. Surely my mother, who is kind to all, would not
dare to turn her back to these?”
“You are not your mother’s daughter. If your father knew you were
here...”
“But he will not know,” said a lady, whose Junoesque form now
filled the doorway. “Will he, Marcão?”
The woman who now stepped into the garden was an exact portrait
of what Juliana might have looked like in a quarter of a century. Yet this
woman seemed to have none of Juliana’s worldly wise airs. She seemed
not to be of this world at all.
Her hair was snow-white. Her dark eyes regarded each one of the
ragtag bunch in turn. Her expression was kind.
“This is my mother, Senhora Maria Helena Medeiros de Carvalho,”
said Juliana softly, smiling at the woman. “Mother, you know Eva, and
the rest of these are friends. Not from Panteras, but foreigners.”
“Bem-vindos,” she said warmly. “You must be hungry and tired and
shaken, perhaps not necessarily in that order?” She stepped closer to
regard Harry and frowned. “You are in much pain.”
His eyes flashed over Hermione, then back in the direction of the
lady of the house. “Not much pain at all, thanks.”
“Senhora, I am a doctor,” Hermione spoke up. “I would like to
know if I could...”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Rosãngela has told me much about the
kind girl Ana Chevalier who has brought her daughter home to her...
who speaks English like no woman of France or Spain has ever spoken
it.”
Hermione blushed. How much did Juliana’s mother really know?
She turned without another word. “Venham,” she said. “Come, we
shall have a bite to eat. Then you can wash and sleep, and you will eat in
the morning.”
Marcos walked next to his employer. “But senhora, if your husband
learns of this he will...”
“He will say and do nothing. That is because he will not know of
this. You are the eyes and the ears and the heart of my household,
Marcão... please remember that the only way that my husband will know
of this is if he is told of this. Do you understand?”
Marcos fell silent. Then suddenly his entire demeanor changed.
- 76 -
“I will have your rooms ready in a half hour,” he announced to the
small group. “In the meantime, enjoy our hospitality.”
Ron, Zach, and Eva did. They sat in Maria Helena Medeiros de
Carvalho’s private dining room and had a dinner of cold cuts, cheese,
bread, fruit and coffee. At first, they ate tentatively, then Ron’s voice was
heard, making sport of the goons they’d barely escaped, and Eva’s
laughter rang out. If anyone had been watching them, they would have
seen Zach smile.
However, no one was available to watch them. As soon as he
crossed the threshold of the dining room, Harry slumped in Hermione’s
arms, largely from exhaustion. He sucked in his breath sharply between
clenched teeth, the pain of his ankle fracture getting to him. Fortunately,
she was determined not to let him stumble, and Marcos was right there.
In a sharp voice, he called for two other servants, and they carefully
hoisted Harry up the stairs.
Juliana and her mother spoke together for a moment in rapid
Portuguese. Then Juliana, impulsive soul that she was, threw her arms
about her mother’s neck, kissed her cheek and dashed off in the direction
of the parlor.
Helena Medeiros then turned to Hermione.
“Shall we go to my storeroom, then, and see what we can brew up?”
Helena Medeiros’ stores of herbs were located in a closet inside her
study. It was a well-appointed room, one that any Witch could be proud
of. Three of the four walls were all in bookshelves, and Hermione
recognized quite a few familiar titles... along with some that were not so
familiar. Some were in English, others in Latin, many in Portuguese.
“You go on and look in the library,” called Helena Medeiros. “I’ll
get what he needs for that sunburn... what did you use to stop the
bleeding?”
“Regular antiseptic,” Hermione lied quickly, as she wasn’t sure if
she wanted this Witch to know that she was hyperempathic. “Trouxas.”
“Ah, I see. What kind?”
Hermione fell silent. She took a deep breath and said, “You already
know what trouble Eva and I fell into while in Manaus.”
“Rosãngela has told me. You know of our recent troubles here in
Brazil, yes?”
“I know that your prime minister was assassinated this spring.
I know that the Priesthood of the Flowery Death – foreign Wizards from
Mexico – have infiltrated the highest levels of your government. I know
that the oppression of those not of ‘pure’ blood has created a caste
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system in a country once considered one of the most progressive for
magic in the world. And I know that I’m not safe here, and neither is
Eva.”
Helena Medeiros had come out of the back room while Hermione
was talking, arms full of bunches and packets of herbs. Now she dropped
these on the desk, and came to face the younger woman.
“You are Hermione Granger.”
Hermione nodded. She also knew that Eva hadn’t betrayed her
confidence. The Witch standing before her was extremely wise. Helena
Medeiros wouldn’t have had to be told.
She looked about in all directions, even as her daughter had only a
few minutes before.
“You must leave the country as soon as possible,” she said. “You
are in great danger in Brazil now. You are safe enough under my roof,
but there are few here powerful enough to challenge the new
government.” Her eyes locked with Hermione’s. “And the one upstairs
is... he’s... is he?”
“Yes, he is.”
Helena Medeiros smiled. “I was a young wife when news of the
Dark Lord’s first defeat came. 1981. That seems like such a long time
ago.”
“Over thirty years,” replied Hermione.
Her hands rested on Hermione’s shoulders for a moment. The
expression on her face was one of kindness and motherly love.
“I know much about your life, but you do not know anything about
me.”
“You have my beloved grandmother’s name. You have eyes and
hands like hers, too,” said Hermione softly. “I know that you will do
nothing to hurt us.”
She nodded. “Help me with the potion... yes, I know that it will not
respond to your hands any more, but you know the recipe as well as I do.
Then I will stir, and you can go ahead of me. I will bring the cream up
once it is ready.”
“Oh, no, really I can stir... I know how tiring it can be on the arms
when you’ve got to whip...”
Helena Medeiros laughed. “I know you are hungry to be with him
again... I can see it in your eyes. This will only take a few minutes.”
Hermione blushed, but helped to break up the aloe, dry-roasted
tomato seeds, and billywig stings without comment. She tossed them
into Helena Medeiros’ pewter cauldron quickly as the older woman
- 78 -
added other ingredients.
“Could you add something so that he’ll sleep soundly, if you don’t
mind?” asked Hermione. “Any number of additives could do it... but
I suppose you know very well which to use.”
She nodded and smiled to herself. “This cream is widely used here.
It not only soothes sunburn, but reverses the damage to the skin.”
“I’ve heard of it... oh, good. While it’s healing, it numbs...”
“Not the way I cook it,” laughed Helena Medeiros. “A numb
husband isn’t the most fun in bed. Take it from someone who knows.”
Now Hermione was red. What had been in the Wizarding papers
since she’d left England?
“No, senhora, you’re mistaken,” Hermione began to stammer in
explanation. “Harry and I, we’re just fr...”
“I shall also prepare a potion for your husband’s ankle,” Helena
continued as if Hermione hadn’t spoken. “It will not help your plight if
he cannot walk properly.”
Hermione once again tried to explain that Harry was not her
husband, but this time was interrupted by Marcos. “Is the young senhora
ready? I’ve got the young senhor in the large guest room and lying
down. Eva and Senhorita Juliana shall share her old room... os dois
homens in Senhor Marcelo’s.”
“Obrigada, Marcão,” she said, flashing him a warm smile. “Go on,
dear... I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
As she followed Marcos down the corridor, Hermione appreciated
the opulence of the Carvalho home.
At the end of the corridor, Marcos made a sharp right and opened
the door to his left.
“He was sleeping when I left,” said Marcos. “Senhora Helena says
she will be up shortly, and I have already provided you with bath items
and towels. Do you require anything else?”
“Um,” here Hermione swallowed, “you wouldn’t happen to have a
nightgown, would you?”
Marcos looked at her, eyes twinkling. “I’ll see what can be done,
senhora.”
Satisfied for the moment, Hermione stepped into the large bedroom.
The only light was coming from underneath another door (she assumed
that it was the bathroom) and through the gossamer-thin curtains. A
keypad near the door revealed that the air conditioner could be
controlled from here, too... Hermione felt a pang that she couldn’t just
use a simple Cooling Charm to keep them both comfortable.
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Nevertheless, she was thankful that while Helena Medeiros was a Witch
down to her fingertips, Senhor Carvalho was a MagiCarded Muggle.
There was only one bed, but it was large, definitely king sized. The
blanket was pulled back, and Harry rested there atop both sheets, dozing,
his glasses having slid down his nose. His breathing was shallow, and
even in sleep there was a slight frown on his face. She wondered what he
was dreaming of.
Marcos had left him dressed, which annoyed Hermione a little.
Stepping out of the role of the tentative beloved and putting back on the
cloak of neutrality – after all, she was the doctor and he was her patient –
she tapped him on the shoulder.
“Harry? Harry, I’m going to undress you so that I can dress your
wound. Then Juliana’s mother has something to take care of your
sunburn and your ankle, okay?”
His eyes cracked open. Then when he saw her sitting there, they
opened all the way and he smiled.
“I’m not helpless,” he said, sitting up and pulling his shirt over his
head. Then he winced from the pain that caused. “Ouch. I must be the
color of Ron’s hair all over right now.”
Hermione blushed and chided herself for her thoughts. Now was not
the time to think about Harry in terms of all over. He was wounded and
sunburnt... that needed to be her first priority, didn’t it?
“Let me help you with your trousers, “ she said, reaching for the
button due south of his navel and tugging it free of the hole. Then she
slid the zipper down and...
The door opened without a knock. In stepped Ron, talking, holding
a dinner tray in his hand, setting it on the stand closest to the door.
“Harry, I know you’re not in the best shape, but still...” He trailed
off when he glanced toward the bed. The friendly smile dissolved from
his face, and his mouth was set in a firm line. “I thought you might be
hungry.”
“I am. Much appreciated,” Harry replied, bringing his hand up to
stroke Hermione’s hair. “You can leave it there, Ron... and tell Juliana’s
mother thanks.”
Ron stared at them both for moments longer, making no effort to
leave. Hermione didn’t look at him at all, but Harry’s uncompromising
stare spoke for both of them.
“Tell Juliana’s mother I said thanks, Ron,” repeated Harry firmly.
“I will,” said Ron, still not smiling. “Hermione, they’re saving you
a plate downstairs. It’s late... surely you ought to be thinking of bed
- 80 -
yourself.”
“Oh, I’ll be all right,” said Hermione in a small voice. “You can tell
them I’m not hungry or sleepy quite yet...”
“And while you’re at it,” Harry said, the slightest hint of a challenge
in his eyes, “tell them that when she is, she’ll be sharing both my plate
and my bed.”
Neither man broke his stare for long moments. Finally Ron said,
“Any other messages either of you care to pass along?”
“Yeah, one more. Good night, Ron.”
“Yes, have a good night, Ron,” Hermione echoed, glancing quickly
at Ron, then back down at her hands, still frozen in place. “We’ll see you
in the morning.”
Two seconds later, the door slammed loudly.
“Harry!” she hissed. “What did you say that for?”
“Serves him right for walking in on us without knocking,” Harry
murmured, sinking back into the pillows. “Bet he won’t ever do that
again.”
Hermione sighed, frowning. “Oh, dear. I suppose he’s furious now.”
“He’d better get over it. Now...” here he grinned, “where were we?”
“Oh...” Her smile returned. “You’ll have to lift up a bit so I can pull
your trousers off.”
“Really? And what do I get in return?”
She laughed a little. “You get healed, that’s what.”
“Not good enough. Unless there’s something in the bargain for me,
I’m not budging.”
“Merlin,” Hermione said, eyes rolling ceilingward. “You’ve always
been such a difficult patient, Harry, you know that? What sort of bargain
are you talking about?”
He then made several suggestions. Each one made her eyes wider
and wider until at the end, she gasped.
“About the only one of those that sounds halfway feasible in your
condition is the sponge bath.”
“Not just a sponge bath, Miss Selective Hearing.”
“I fail to see why I have to...”
“Because you’ll get that magnificent outfit splashed otherwise,
that’s why,” he said, indicating the beaded bustier and silk capri trousers.
“Who cares? Unless you want me to go back to Panteras tomorrow
night...”
He sat up then, face inches away from hers.
“No, you’ve got plans tomorrow night,” he said, voice stretched
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thin. “And every night after that, if I have any say in the matter.” He
brushed his lips with hers. “And believe me, I plan to have every say,
Hermione.”
Drawing back abruptly, she laughed again to lighten the tension,
then disappeared into the bathroom. He heard water running, and then
she returned, setting a basin full of cool water on the bedside table. In it
floated a clean white washcloth and a bar of soap.
She drew back again, reached around her back, and unzipped the
bustier. Underneath she was obviously wearing something, and she
could see the disappointment in his eyes...
... until he saw what it was.
“Since when do you wear bikinis? I’ve been meaning to ask you
that since this afternoon.”
Hermione draped the bustier over a chair and grinned. “I’ve become
quite the exhibitionist lately. Had you not come for me when you did,
I’m almost positive I would have joined the other girls on stage.” She
walked over to the basin, reaching for the washcloth. “Who knows?
I may join them still. It looked like fun.”
“You had bloody well better not!” said Harry, obviously horrified.
“What’s wrong? Don’t think I’m sexy enough to be an exotic
dancer?”
“It’s not that. The only one I want you doing that kind of dancing
for is me.”
Hermione squeezed out the cool cloth. “Well, that can possibly be
arranged. How much?” When he told her how he’d pay her, her mouth
dropped open in mock surprise. “Really, I ought to be insulted. That
wouldn’t even get you a glass of water at Panteras... what do you take
me for?”
She threw the cool cloth over his face, giggling a bit at his yelp.
Then she reached down to his ankles to begin pulling his trousers off.
The swollen ankle gave her a bit of trouble at first, but she managed.
“Lift up,” she ordered. “Juliana’s mother will be in with the Potions
soon, and I’d like to have you bathed before then.”
Harry took the cloth from his face and threw it back into the basin.
“Help me.”
“Help you? Ridiculous. Do you know how heavy you are?”
Nevertheless, she pulled his trousers down as far as they could go, and
then signaled with her lifting hands when and what she wanted him to
raise so she could finish removing them.
“Good thing my legs aren’t sunburnt, you would have stripped them
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raw,” Harry remarked. “Now, what about your own trousers?”
“I’ll leave these on for now, as they’re quite comfortable.” The capri
silk pants flattered her legs, and she knew she looked great in them.
“Besides, if you keep those on,” she said, indicating his boxers with a
pop at the elastic waistband, “then I get to keep these on.”
“One item of clothing to your three? How is that fair?”
Hermione smiled to herself.
“Who says I’ve got on three items of clothing, Harry?”
His reaction was instantaneous.
She noted it. Her smile widened.
“Just get on with the bathing,” he growled, and was rewarded with
splashed droplets from the cloth that she didn’t bother to squeeze out this
time.
The sponge bath was very thorough. Hermione tried to remain as
detached and clinical as possible, although all sorts of tempting and
naughty images flew to her head. Yet she’d bathed too many male
patients to find anything sexy about this particular clinical exercise...
Yeah, right.
When even the soft cloth became too much for his badly sunburnt
skin, she used her hands instead. If anyone else had tried it, it would
have been too painful to bear. But not with her. Underneath her cool,
soapy hands his stretched and swollen skin felt almost normal again. She
smoothed the thin layer of lather across the skin of his chest and back,
up and down his legs from hip to ankle, and around his neck. She even
removed his glasses and washed his face and behind his ears. Then she
got another basin of water and this time sponged him clean.
“There. All done.”
“No, you’re not. You missed a spot.”
Her eyelashes lowered to the spot in question, then lifted back up to
his face.
“Oh, I certainly did, didn’t I? Poor thing! Well, then... let’s see what
can be done about that.”
A knock sounded on the door. Hermione recognized Helena
Medeiros’ voice just outside the door as she chattered with Marcos in
rapid Portuguese. Before Harry could sit up and stop her with his mouth,
she called “Come in!” just before her senses were completely assaulted.
Helena Medeiros did so, talking as rapidly as Ron had ten minutes
before.
“The Potions came out nicely... the cucumber pulp was such a nice
touch, I’ll have to add it to the recipe from now...”
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She trailed off when she saw the pair’s state of undress and the rate
at which they were kissing. Helena Medeiros turned to leave without
another word, but Hermione broke the kiss.
“Wait a minute, Senhora Helena...” she said, trying to get her breath
back. “I meant to ask you about something.”
“Let it wait until morning, my dear,” said Helena Medeiros, smiling
as she handed the alabaster jar of cream, bandages, and two small bottles
to Hermione. She also placed two books in the chair by the door. “Café
da manhã – our morning meal – will be served at eleven. Although
I certainly think all will understand if the two of you are late.”
Harry laughed. “Have a good night, Senhora Carvalho, and thanks
again.”
“Sim, senhora... muito obrigada e boa noite,” echoed Hermione.
“Boa noite yourselves,” said the older woman, a barely concealed
cackle in her voice as she closed the door behind her.
The second Helena Medeiros had gone, Harry fastened his mouth
back upon Hermione’s, kissing her until her head spun afresh. He
explored the velvety insides of her mouth, flicked tongue over teeth,
made her see stars behind her eyelids. Like a man who had been starving
for a long, long time he was... and she responded in kind.
His hands came up to cup her breasts over the bikini top, and she
whimpered. But when she felt his fingers travelling to the tie that
fastened it all together in front, she drew back.
“Harry,” she said finally, pulling free. “Please... I need to take care
of your skin and your ankle.”
“Later,” he rasped. “You feel so good, beautiful... it doesn’t hurt me
at all when we’re touching like this.”
“Yes, but it will hurt in the morning if I don’t put the cream on and
give you the potion... and that slicer wound isn’t bleeding any longer, but
it needs to be cleaned.” She had to force herself to remain practical and
bossy... otherwise, they’d both be pushed past the point of no return.
Someone had to keep the situation in check and make sure they didn’t
spiral out of control.
“Here,” she said, handing the vial to Harry. “Bottoms up!”
Harry took the vial from her and studied its contents with a frown.
“What is this for again?”
Hermione smiled slightly. “It’s to help heal your ankle. At the very
least, you’ve probably sprained it, perhaps fractured one of the bones.”
Her smiled vanished and she paused, biting her bottom lip. “If you like,
I can take a look...”
- 84 -
She held her hands up to show what she meant by looking. Since
losing her magical abilities, she could still use her hyperempathy, but
was unable to shield herself from the pain. This meant that, if she laid
hands on him, she would be able to see the extent of the damage on his
ankle, but would not be able to shield herself from feeling his pain. She
knew it would hurt like hell, but was willing to do it for Harry. She’d do
anything for Harry.
“You know I won’t let you do that, Hermione,” Harry responded
firmly. “You can’t shield yourself.”
“I know,” Hermione said quietly. “But I will be able to see the
extent of the damage... you might not need to take that nasty stuff at all.”
Harry eyed her briefly, then lifted the vial to his lips and threw the
potion down in response. He’d be damned if he’d let the woman he
loved more than life willingly subject herself to his pain just so he
wouldn’t have to taste a vile potion. He drained the last of the potion,
then handed the vial back to Hermione, a grimace on his face.
“Tasty,” he commented drily, earning a chuckle from Hermione. She
then turned back to the matter at hand... getting him patched up and
comfortable.
She used the bottle of antiseptic on the slicer wound. The Slicing
Charm was nasty Dark magic... although she no longer had any of her
powers herself, she could tell from the way the cut had been made that it
had been sinister indeed. She rubbed in the antiseptic with her bare
fingers, and after several minutes the skin was smooth and normal again,
save for the slightest pale line.
Sighing, she uncapped the jar of cream. Scooping up a bit of it on
her fingertips, she lifted up one silk-covered knee, swung it over his
body, and perched herself on his upper thighs.
Then her fingers begun to spread the cream over the skin of his
chest and face and arms. The fired-up look on his face instantly
transformed into peaceful calm as she leaned forward and low to
massage it all in.
“Nice, very nice. Cool... aah!” he moaned. “Almost cold.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” she said, her voice trembling a bit. “Next time
don’t forget to wear sunblock. If I could, I’d cast a Screening Spell over
you so that you’d tan just a little. You’re so pale, Harry... there’s no way
you’ll be able to survive long in Brazil like this.”
“I will if you’ll give me cold cream massages every night.”
“Definitely not at the rates you’re quoting,” she winked. “I am a
professional, senhor.”
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Paradise Lost 2
Her teasing gave way to lip-biting when his hand found its way to
the inside of her thigh. When he began stroking her leg through the silk,
she pried it away before resuming her massage again. But soon his hand
returned. After another two rounds of remove-return, Hermione gave up
and let him caress her. At least she still had her trousers on... that was
something, at least.
“Turn over,” said Hermione, balls of her fingers slipping up and
down his chest, trailing over every contour, every ridge, every muscle.
“I’m going to do your back.”
“Only if you take off those trousers.”
She grinned. “I do have on three items of clothing, Harry. I was
only joking earlier.”
“Does the one I can’t see match that?” he asked, indicating the
white strapless bikini top. At her nod, he said huskily, “Then what are
you waiting for?”
Giggling, Hermione came up on her knees and reached for her own
button, tugging it free with some effort. The zipper came down easily...
and as she wiggled her hips free of the trousers...
... Marcos knocked for the second time, then tried the door. Since it
was unlocked, he walked in without waiting for a response. And was
greeted with quite a sight.
“Your nightgown, senhora,” he said politely. “Do you wish to take
it, or shall I put it on the chair?”
“Oh, um, well... really, I...”
“I see. I’ll put it on the chair. Will you be needing anything else,
senhor, senhora?”
Hermione was still frozen in place, and Harry laughed at her
consternation. “No, I think that will be all, Marcos.”
“Very well. Are you feeling any better, senhor?”
He winked up at Hermione, who underneath her golden tan was the
color of a beet, then stroked her thigh and hip. “Worlds better. We’ll see
you tomorrow morning... have a good night.”
“Boa noite, senhor e senhora.”
The second Marcos was out of sight, Hermione sprang up and
locked the door, hair bouncing around her bare shoulders. “At this rate,
we’ll have the whole bloody household barging in on us before the night
is through!”
“Anxious to be alone behind closed doors with me, then?
Uninterrupted?”
She folded her arms, silk trousers unzipped and hanging from her
- 86 -
hips, revealing the hip strings and triangular front of her white bikini
bottoms. “I’d like to finish my job, if you don’t mind.”
“No, don’t mind at all,” Harry replied, eyes drinking in the sight of
her. “I don’t mind if you finish... and finish... and then finish again...”
“Harry!”
“Don’t ‘Harry’ me, love. You have no idea what you look like right
now, do you?”
Her lips curved into a smile as she raked her eyes over his supine
frame. With his glasses off, hair tousled wildly against the pillows, and
skin swiftly returning to its usual porcelain cast from the swollen
reddish-pink burn, he was delectable.
“Obviously, neither do you.” Slowly, she licked her lips.
He made a strangled sort of noise, low in his throat. “You’re too far
away. Come here.”
She did so, but pulled the silk trousers back up around her hips as
she went. Instead of resuming her earlier position, she planted a kiss on
his forehead, then went into the adjoining bathroom and ran the cold
water, wetting the washcloth and, after wringing the excess water from
it, came back out, stopping only to pick up a bandage from the bedside
table where she’d left the items Helena had given her earlier. Sitting at
the foot of the bed, she pulled Harry’s foot onto her lap.
With gentle, skilled hands, she carefully laid the wet cloth over his
ankle, soothing the hot skin underneath in an attempt to stop the
swelling. After wiping the damaged joint delicately, she bandaged it,
knowing that by the time the sun dawned again, the potion would have
kicked in and healed his ankle, thus allowing Harry to walk unaided.
When the bandage was secured, she dipped her head down to kiss it
gently.
When she raised her head, she looked up. Thanks to the extra
ingredients in the cream, he’d fallen fast asleep. Her heart instantly
melted.
And he calls me beautiful...
He was turned over on his side, right hand and arm tucked beneath
his head. It was a simple matter to smooth the rest of the cream on his
back quickly... and she didn’t even have to remove her trousers to get
him to cooperate this time. He stirred twice, but her motions were
calculated not to disturb him. No one can do this as skillfully as a
hyperempath can. Nephthys had taught her long ago that it wasn’t just a
touch that healed, but a knowing touch. Knowing the Pattern, knowing
your patient’s body... knowing yourself.
- 87 -
Paradise Lost 2
Once done, she recapped the alabaster jar and wiped her hands on
the washcloth.
Hermione wouldn’t have disturbed him then for all the world.
Instead she leaned over and pressed her lips to his temple.
“I don’t know what I would do without you, Harry Potter,” she
murmured under her breath.
Then she straightened up, and took basin, bottle, jar and cloth back
to the bathroom before washing up herself... so she could join him in
repose.
Same place.
Later that night.
When Harry awoke with a start, the sound of the shower shutting
off helped him orient himself. He’d found Hermione. He was in Rio, in a
secured home. It was still night. No one would find them here. They
could rest until morning... and then they would figure out their next step.
But where was Hermione now?
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and was going to reach for his
glasses. Then the shower shut off and the bathroom door opened with a
click. Hermione, towel wrapped around her, stepped out of it, hair
dripping. Even without his glasses, Harry could see the water droplets
that clung to her arms and legs as he narrowed his eyes into focus.
Her hands went to the towel.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world...
Then she seemed to decide to let the terry rectangle remain in place
for the time being. Instead she reached into the small basket that was on
the dresser and extracted lotion, deodorant, and some other unknown
feminine implements. Then all of a sudden, she stopped in mid-reach...
and looked over her shoulder in the direction of the bed.
Harry feigned sleep.
A smile played about her lips.
He opened his eyes. Her back was to the bed again. Hermione’s
hands went to the towel and pulled it down to rest securely around her
hips. Powder fine as silk dust billowed up in clouds as she applied it to
every nook and cranny between neck and waist. Light, sweet scent
assaulted his nostrils. He could see the curve of her back... and the side
curves of her...
Then she pulled the towel back in place and began to detangle her
hair in the dresser mirror. Twice, as she raised her arms, the towel
slipped beneath her breasts, but because of the angle he couldn’t see
- 88 -
what he very much wanted to. He wondered what she would do if he
came over and removed the towel that obviously wished to get away
from her body.
Before he could act, she went back into the bathroom... and shut the
door.
Maybe the world wasn’t so wonderful after all. Between beach
bikini Hermione, sexy gentleman’s club-barmaid-in-silk Hermione, and
towel tease Hermione, he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could
take. In addition to the vestiges of his sunburn, now another part of him
ached.
Yeah. And his heart, too.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to move a muscle. Just when he
thought all hope was gone, she came back out of the bathroom, still
towel-clad. Muttering under her breath, “I suppose they only gave us
two towels... and Harry’s is full of that potion... let’s see here...”
Turning back towards the mirror, she whipped off the towel and
used it to pat her hair dry. Due to the humidity, she was still damp all
over, so she took both ends in hand and rubbed it over her back. He
couldn’t take his eyes from her as he followed the towel’s motion. Back
and forth... back and forth.
Hmph. Lucky towel.
She then bent over to dry freshly shaved legs. Now he could see her
profile... and it nearly took his breath away. He’d dreamed of her like
this for well over three years. Nothing in the world could take that image
out of his mind.
Hermione turned slowly and swirled the towel around with her so
that it covered her front in a diagonal. Her grip loosened upon it... she
was going to let it drop... he held his breath...
Then she froze again.
“Harry? Harry, are you awake?”
He wasn’t. At least, that’s the impression he wanted to make. He
made sure to close his eyes for a moment and slow his breathing... he
felt her lean over him to check... could detect her warm breath hovering
very close to his potion-sensitized skin...
He opened his eyes... and looked up at her. Trying to conceal his
disappointment... when had she slipped on her nightgown?
“Hey there, sleepyhead,” she said, sitting down on the bed next to
him. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No, it’s all right,” he said, stretching and yawning as she swung
her legs up to the bed.
- 89 -
Paradise Lost 2
“I suppose I’d feel worse about it if you really had been sleeping.
So tell me, did you enjoy the show?” There was a mischievous gleam in
her eyes. “Better yet, don’t tell me... show me.”
Before he knew it, her lips were upon his again. Tantalizing,
teasing. She kissed him tenderly, sliding her hands from neck to navel
and then back upwards. If anyone else had done this, it would have been
quite painful. But her hands were cool and gentle... and where she
touched him, he felt no pain...
“Hermione,” he groaned. Perhaps she couldn’t use magic at the
moment, but she’d certainly cast a different kind of spell on him. “Do
you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”
“I know exactly what I’m doing to you. That’s what makes it so
much fun. And I plan to do much more. Much more, Harry.” Her lips
mouthed the words upon his ear, then she propped her elbow up to stare
at him. Suddenly, her expression changed. He couldn’t tell what the
amazed look in her eyes meant for certain... although he hoped his guess
was correct. He wrapped his arms around her, thinking that there was
nothing in the world quite like holding Hermione.
The seductive smile faded from her face. “Haven’t thanked you for
rescuing me yet.”
“Haven’t thanked you for staying alive until I got here yet.”
She leaned in for another kiss, this time tender, crescendoing in
intensity. “I knew you’d come,” she whispered softly against his lips,
sighing as if her heart might break. “Harry, however did you find me?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just think I was supposed to.”
“I know... I never doubted that you would. It was what held me
together and gave me peace over the past month. Because I just knew
one day I’d look up and you would be there.”
“Such faith,” chided Harry. “I’ve got a lot to live up to.”
“No, not really. It’s not like this is anything new, you know. Your
love always finds me,” she murmured.
His skin still was a little raw, but all the burning was gone. He could
feel the potion seep into his pores, cool and tingly, as he shifted beneath
the sheets. Before he could request his wand to do a Cooling Charm,
Hermione padded across the room and sWitched on the window air-
conditioning unit.
Once done, she slid between the sheets, head resting on the pillow
next to his. Facing him with a small smile...
“Feeling any better?” she asked.
He leaned over and planted a kiss on her forehead. “How could
- 90 -
I not, with such a doctor?” And such entertainment in the recovery ward,
he couldn’t help but think.
She leaned back into him and pressed her lips to his cheek. “Well,
you were a most cooperative patient. It was my pleasure.” Then,
remembering everything, she sighed. “What are we going to do in the
morning, Harry? Head straight to Manaus or do some investigating
here?”
“We’ll worry about it in the morning, okay? Let’s try to sleep while
we can.”
Despite the state his skin was in, recovering from boiling in the
humidity and baking under the Ipanema sun, Harry couldn’t help but
remember the way she’d looked in her bikini that afternoon, and the
generous glimpses of bare skin he’d just had moments before. The
borrowed linen nightgown was several sizes too large, but provided a
modest covering.
Hermione’s fingertips came up to stroke his cheek gently, almost
not making contact at all, the motion was so feather-light.
He brought his own hand up to play in her hair, tracing hairline and
scalp, letting the strands curl about his fingers. It was slightly damp to
the touch... he imagined her standing beneath the shower spray, working
the scented lather in with her own fingers. As she shuddered her content,
he promised himself that he would do it for her next time.
She yawned, and her hand fell away from his face, almost lazily.
“Nunca mais vou te deixar,” came her soft whisper as she closed
her eyes. “Eu prometo.”
He laughed, a low rumble in the damp, cooling night air. “And
exactly what does that mean?”
Hermione opened her eyes again halfway. Between heavy lids her
brown eyes shone. Joyous yet anxious... perhaps even a little sad.
“Never again will I leave you,” she murmured drowsily.
“I promise.”
Despite his still-healing skin, he pulled her close so that she
snuggled in his arms. As she drifted off to sleep, the last sound she heard
was his whispered words in her hair right before he joined her in well-
earned slumber.
“You are with me always.”
Você estará sempre comigo.
- 91 -
A/N: Whew... that was fun!
SOURCES: Two indispensable sources for the favela
settings were two great books: Conrad Kramer’s Assault on
Paradise and Ute Craemer’s Favela Children. My private
consultants group was also indispensable this time around...
special thanks go to “dizzy” Liz Sager, Aurora Hyperion (I’ll get
your names in soon – don’t worry!), my fandom daughter Katy,
writer-friend and fellow Samuel Taylor Coleridge adorer Darice,
and last but certainly not least Rafe, who keeps me on my
toes. ;-)
After much consideration, I decided to forego a glossary of
foreign words and phrases. If you find that you need a translator
for the Portuguese, a good site is http://www. freetranslation.com
– I’ve also attempted to provide adequate contextualization for
the foreign language quotes. My intent is not to show off or be
obscure, but to give an aura of authenticity to the tale.
An incredible trio of ladies continue to bring their home to
life for me through many, many IM conversations, e-mails, and
warm regards sent over the miles. Without the help of Mariana
Herrera, Roberta Solis, and Ana Luiza de Castro Coelho, none of
this would have come to pass. They were simply indispensable,
and I hope someday to be able to purchase a cafezinho for them
while retracing the Trio’s fictional footsteps in their beloved
“Brasil”.
Another new indispensable consultant is Lissanne, listmum
at the Seven of Quills group and author of Love is a Battlefield,
who continues to be invaluable in tweaking, twirling, and
twisting all the many romance subplots into knots. Liss, you are
so much fun to chat and scheme with! I enjoy having you as a
friend... and I am sure that several of my characters shall be
thanking you shortly. ;-)
Also thanks to the growing list of Brazilian, Mexican,
Puerto Rican, and Cuban artists for their songs as I wrote my
way through this. I also listened to my new Trouble in Paradise
– Author’s Cut and Paradise Lost, Vol. I sound-tracks, based
upon suggestions from e-mails, the Paradise list, and my own
personal tastes.
Continued thanks to my beta team, who put this baby
through the wash and let it drip dry: Pippin who I love, Ashwise
Gamgee who I adore, Jana who is now seventeen, Mari who I am
sending mad schnoogles to across the miles, and Beta who is an
awesome beta. ;-)
And thanks to all of you for your support, whether via e-
mail, IM, FictionAlley Schnoogle review, or HP_Paradise
Yahoogroup post. Special thanks to Schnoogle reviewers of
Chapter 4, “What the Body Remembers”: Ashley, Sabs, Godric’s
Gal, AVK, miuccia, Lily Celesta Potter, Rhianna, Micaela,
Cygnus, Jen Beckett, Athena, Elia, Zeph, Danielle, Deity XVI,
Pam, Amrita, Isana, Gwyn, Kristen, QuidditchQueen8, Lady
Aeryn, Catlady, METMA Mandy, Rox, Lissanne, Rosepixie,
Nicola Six, Ennia, Melodylemming, Kristen/SamMulder78,
Pilar, RangerEvil Princess, Livia Liana, Kate, Quill AKA
Charlie, and SarahG.
Beijos!
- 93 -
Chapter Summary: The road from Rio to Manaus is
perilous. Actually, it would be perilous if there were actually a
road there... instead of the largest rainforest on the planet. And
underneath the leaves lurk adventure, danger, and romance for
the Trio and their friends...
All poetry and verse in this chapter by the inimitable poet
and philosopher Audre Geraldine Lorde, save for two verses
from “The Raven” (with a slight gender change) by the
incomparable poet and author Edgar Allan Poe.
For my shipmate Jade, because she made a stranger laugh
when she wanted to cry. And for my friends Lissanne and
Andrew, because they are never afraid of my pain.
6. If You Come Softly
If you come softly

as the wind within the trees
You may hear what I hear
See what sorrow sees.
– Audre Lorde
All events in the following chapter take place in November 2012.
W hen Harry awoke that morning, he realized with a start that she
had gone. Squinting a bit, he glanced about the room... and then
relaxed. In the armchair nearest the door sat Hermione,
thumbing through a huge book and frowning. Next to the chair, there was a
stack of books nearly as high as her head.
He reached for his glasses and she looked up with a smile.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“Good morning to you too, sunshine. Why aren’t you still in bed with
me?”
“Because,” grinned Hermione, “you were snoring in my ear.”
“You never complained about that before.”
“I was always far too exhausted to complain before.” Still smiling, she
winked at him, making his heart skip a beat. Then she sobered quickly.
“Not that I’m not exhausted now, what with the schedule I’ve been
keeping.”
“Then why up so early?”
“Because I wanted to look through all these. I woke up and decided a
trip to Dona Helena’s library was in order. Makes no sense to head off to
Manaus until we know what we’re up against.”
He sat up then, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and
allowing the sheet to fall to his waist. “Find anything useful?”
“No. This disease is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Ever.”
“How can it differ so much? There are only a certain number of ways
a bug or sick-spell can invade the human body, right?”
“Yes, but this one is causing no visible effects on the cellular level.
Which is odd – even magiparticular infective agents show some effects in
tissue samples. But it seems that absolutely nothing has been killing off my
Paradise Lost 2
patients.”
Harry cocked his head to one side, lost in thought. “Think it could be
related to whatever they did to you and Eva?”
“In a way. What I think is that the Cabalistica is trying to test a
vaccine – I remember feeling feverish and having strange dreams after my
first routine injections. Whatever it was didn’t kill me, but now I’m not so
sure that it was supposed to. It did, however, either block or strip all of my
Witch abilities. And Eva’s as well.
“The most interesting thing that I’ve learned since our escape is that
everyone there was a Wizard or a Witch. Eva says they were mostly
Muggleborns from poor areas of Brazil, Colombia, Peru, Venezuela... areas
where they would not be missed, since the local governments are in the
Cabalistica’s pocket and are restricting spell use amongst non-purebloods.”
Hermione frowned. “I have no idea how this could have happened in so
many places, so fast.”
“If you’d been around about a year ago, when Hogwarts was stormed,
it wouldn’t seem so farfetched. People do desperate things when they’re
afraid. Fear is the worst sort of evil there is, I think.” Harry yawned, then
removed his glasses to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Right, then. That
brings us to the twenty-four thousand Galleon question. What is the
method behind this latest madness?”
Sigh. “That is exactly what I don’t know, Harry. The only other lead
I’ve been able to stumble upon is that those “test subjects” upon whom the
vaccine fails are returned to the favelas and poor country villages they’re
kidnapped from. To die, presumably.”
Glasses back on, he shook his head. “No idea where this disease came
from?”
“Only guesses. Whatever it is, it’s being manufactured, and those eerie
green orbs I saw in Texas have got something to do with it all. One of the
side effects seems to be loss of magical ability, if Eva and I are any
indication... but thanks to Danae, I’m certain that the condition isn’t
irreversible. I also figure that Heath and his friends have got something to
do with it, and the Cabalistica is dying to find out what.”
“Mmm,” Harry said, stretching as he thought. “Think Heath’s a Death
Eater, then?”
“Somehow, I don’t think so. He’s acting out of his own self-interest.
But whether those interests coincide with the Cabalistica’s or ours is the
ultimate mystery... which makes me wonder why on earth you are trusting
Zach.”
“Because he hasn’t done anything as of yet to prove himself
- 96 -
untrustworthy, Hermione. That’s why.”
“‘Yet’ is the operative word.”
“It isn’t like you to automatically believe the worst of everyone,
beautiful. That’s Malfoy’s job.”
“Easy to believe the worst of anyone who’s got that infuriating Heath
character as their brother...”
Something about her tone caused Harry’s smile to fade. “If I didn’t
know any better, I’d be seething with jealousy.”
“As well you should be,” Hermione nodded. “Heath is simply
gorgeous.”
Harry’s jaw clenched. “Gorgeous, you say?”
“Yes. He’s every girl’s dream. Tall, dark-haired, and devilishly
handsome...”
“Is he? So what am I, then?”
“Same as you’ve always been. Just Harry.” She ducked and missed the
first thrown pillow, but the second one lopped her on the ear. “All right, all
right! Allow me to clarify, please. You’re just my Harry. And you’re all of
the above except devilish.”
“Ouch!” He placed his hand against his heart. “Nice guys always
finish last.”
“Which in this case is a good thing,” remarked Hermione casually.
Yet he caught her hidden meaning. “Hermione.”
“Slow and steady wins the race every time if you ask me...”
And she licked her lips.
Harry leaned forward.
“Remind me again why you’re not still in bed?”
“Because it is nearly eleven o’clock. They’ll be calling us down for
café da manhã at any minute now.”
“But in the meantime...”
“Yes, Harry?”
He proceeded his request with a pitiful sort of mock groan. “I’m in a
fair amount of pain still... got any more of that potion?”
Hermione smiled. She took her time standing up from that chair, and
slowly made her way to the dresser, knowing that in the austral morning
light, the white linen of the borrowed nightgown was translucent.
She lifted the alabaster vial which had held the creamed potion and
opened it so that Harry could see.
“Sorry, all gone.” She took a couple of steps towards the side of the
bed to show him, holding the jar out so she could see. “Perhaps you ought
to get up and walk around.”
- 97 -
Paradise Lost 2
“Perhaps you ought to help me, Hermione.”
“Mmm. Perhaps.”
That was enough for Harry. He almost lunged for her, all but standing
up so that his arms encircled her waist... just before pinning her to the bed
and capturing her lips with his own.
This was home, he thought. There was nothing in the Thousand
Worlds that was better than having her here in his arms, soft and warm.
Instead of her usual vanilla-spiced rosewater scent, her London scent, there
was a tropical tang about her skin, citrus blossom sweet. Instead of her
usual sugared milk-and-honey taste, that morning she tasted of orange and
papaya and guava and passionfruit...
“Let me know,” she whispered into his hair as he stroked her brown
tresses, “exactly when I’m supposed to close my eyes and think of
England.”
He was lost, lost in the silken curve where her neck met her shoulder.
“I’ll do no such thing,” he murmured hotly against her skin. “I don’t want
you thinking of England. Every time you close your eyes from now on,
I want you thinking of only me. Only me, Hermione. I want you to dream
of me. I want you to whisper my name in your sleep. I want you to... think
of me.”
But here were her hands now, gently, softly caressing the side of his
face and drawing it above her own to gaze down upon her as his words
slowed, then stopped.
“Think of you? Harry, honestly.” Her eyes sparkled with affection and
smouldered with the gathering heat she was feeling. “Whatever else in this
world is there to think about?”
Soon, kisses were not enough. Neither were their hands. And in the
meantime, she was far too dressed for his liking – he wanted to feel her
skin next to his. All over his.
Melting into his.
This was not only home, it was heaven. And she, she was his darling
angel. In her arms he found the only healing potion that he’d ever need...
They stayed like that for quite some time.
~~~
Daily, there was something new to add to his shrine.
Hermione Granger’s sudden appearance in Diagon Alley after three
years, then subsequent vanishing, fueled Wizarding gossip.
- 98 -
Opinion generally fell into three camps. When pressed, the British
Wizarding elite would only say that Hermione was back on sabbatical
again... and safe.
“After everything she’s done for magic, I think we’d all agree that
Dr. Granger deserves a holiday. I hope she’s somewhere enjoying a
magical mudbath,” Mrs. Virginia Malfoy, chairWitch of the Malfosoft
Foundation, was quoted as saying.
However, the general populace’s faith in the veracity of anything the
upper classes had to say regarding one of their own was virtually nil. The
events of the past few years – and the coverups in high places – had seen to
that.
So the bulk of magical sentiment was that Hermione Granger’s one-
day appearance had to mean something. Something sinister.
First, there was the report that she’d been spotted in two different
Muggle airports – London Heathrow and Miami International. In
Heathrow, she was with her Muggle father.
And in Miami, she’d been with a Muggle.
At first, the public was split. Either Hermione was in the gravest of
danger... or she was herself dangerous to the Wizarding world.
The former camp consisted of Sponge survivors, ambitious young
career Witches, and admiring Wizards of all ages who valued brains over
beauty... and were of the personal opinion that the famous mediWitch
wasn’t completely lacking in the second category. All believed that
something was badly wrong with their sweetheart. And that the
government as well as the elite were covering up a kidnapping.
Or a murder.
The latter group was filled with Hermione’s enemies, mostly members
of the now-openly registered Cabalistica satellite orgs and their
sympathizers. Their “private sources” did a bit of digging. What they
turned up shocked everyone.
Hermione had not been on sabbatical, as the Muggle-loving elite had
asserted.
She’d disappeared to work in the Muggle world.
More pictures were produced. Of Hermione in a lab coat, investigating
Muggle diseases. Of Hermione at a party, whirling around in the arms of
the Muggle man she’d been spotted with. Of Hermione interacting in that
world as if she were part and parcel of it.
Suddenly, her brief appearance in Diagon Alley at Harry Potter’s side
made sense. What better source of information was there than an old friend
who had unrestricted security clearance everywhere?
- 99 -
Paradise Lost 2
And the Muggle doctor – the Wizarding press quickly uncovered his
name via a series of charms – was not only romantically involved with
Hermione, but he also had Muggle political ambitions. Jack Calhoun was
friend and financier to Georgia’s Republican senator and Congressional
representatives.
Members of the very same voting bloc who’d pushed Congress into
supporting the United Nations’ 2010 storming of Hogwarts.
The Wizarding world was incensed.
- 100 -
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- 102 -

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5. The Girl from Ipanema (continued).............................7

Sunday, October 28, 2012. Evening.

If you come softly

All events in the following chapter take place in November 2012.

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