Isabene rolled her eyes, watching Snape pace the tiny room like a caged animal. Sirius Black sat upon a large crate turned on its side, glaring at Snape. “Severus, for god’s sake, would you please sit DOWN?!”

Snape flinched, then glared at her. “This little powwow is getting us nowhere,” he spat.

“Because all you’ve done is pace!” Sirius growled. He had changed to his human form upon arriving in the back room of Ollivanders. “How do you expect us to get any thinking done if you’re walking back and forth, distracting us?”

“I have been listening to each of you making plans,” Snape snapped. “And none of them will work.”

“Well, why don’t you give us some suggestions?” Sirius asked. “Instead of wearing ruts in Ollivanders’ floor, do something useful for a change.”

“Sirius,” Isabene cautioned quietly as Snape shot the other man a menacing glare.

“Would you both get over this grudge you have against each other?” Mackenzie asked, sounding irritated. “If we do not come up with a plan, my father will find Fyril. And we know what that would mean.”

“Voldemort’s reign of terror would start all over again,” Sirius muttered, the very thought leaving a nasty taste in his mouth.

“Exactly why we have to work together,” Isabene pointed out. “The four of us have a common goal: prevent Voldemort from finding Fyril.”

“But how could he?” Mackenzie asked. “Fyril doesn’t know he’s a wizard. My God, his name isn’t even Fyril anymore!”

“Voldemort will find him,” Isabene insisted. “Fyril is a Parselmouth, just like his grandfather.”

Mackenzie groaned, closing her eyes. “Of course that would a generational trait.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Generational?”

“Meaning that it skips generations,” Isabene explained. “Voldemort can talk to snakes, while the trait jumped over Mackenzie and went to Fyril.”

“Ah,” Sirius said, nodding.

“This isn’t helping us figure out how to prevent Voldemort from finding Fyril,” Snape growled.

“We could bring him to Hogwarts,” Isabene suggested. “Dumbledore would help protect him. Voldemort won’t risk anything if Dumbledore is watching over him.”

“And how are we supposed to convince Fyril to come with us?” Snape asked. “He knows nothing of the wizard world.”

“We disguise ourselves as Muggles,” Isabene said.

“Kidnap him, if necessary,” Sirius suggested.

“Kidnap him?!” Snape repeated, astonished. “I refuse to kidnap my own child!”

“Unless you can think of another way to convince him to come with us, total strangers?” Sirius said challengingly.

Snape glared at him. “No,” he said quietly.

“Didn’t you say that three Aurors were looking for him?” Mackenzie said, glancing at Isabene.

“Yes, Sirius’ godson, Harry, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger,” Isabene answered.

“Perhaps they can somehow persuade Fyril to come with them,” Mackenzie. “After all, they are closer to his age.”

“Fine,” Snape said. “I just hope they can get there before Voldemort does.”

“Wormtail,” Voldemort rasped. “Have you located my heir yet?”

“A-almost, milord,” Wormtail said, trying to control his quivering. To be honest, the Death Eaters had yet to find any trace of the heir. He had been hidden well. “There are reports. I have sent some of the Death Eaters to check them out.”

“Good,” Voldemort said. A wicked smile played across his face. “Very soon now, I shall have my revenge on all those disloyal to me. And young Potter. Oh yes, young Potter.”

“Save your strength, milord,” Wormtail said softly. “You’ll need it for the ceremony.”

“Yes, I know that,” Voldemort snapped. “Leave me, Wormtail. Report to me as soon as the Death Eaters have found my heir.”

“Yes, milord,” Wormtail said. He bowed, then slunk out of the room.

“Very soon,” Voldemort rasped. Evil laughter filled the room.

Ron licked his lips nervously. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. He stood on the doorstep of the modest little apartment Hermione had bought herself in London. He was about to do something he’d never thought himself capable of--ask her on a date. He wasn’t even too sure she’d accept.

But he wasn’t standing on her doorstep just to ask her out. Harry had sent him to collect her. Why he hadn’t just sent Hermione a message via Hedwig, Ron wasn’t sure. But he had a sneaky suspicion that Harry was attempting to play matchmaker.

“Why don’t you just send a message with Hedwig?” Ron had asked him.

Harry had just smiled. “No, it’s better if you go,” he’d replied. “Maybe it’ll give you a boost of confidence if you’ve got a legitimate reason for being there.”

Ron licked his lips, nervously knocking on Hermione’s door. He only hoped she’d say yes.

“Ron,” Hermione said, sounding surprised, as she opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, Harry wants us to meet him at the Leaky Cauldron,” Ron said, trying to be cool and calm.

“Whatever for?” Hermione asked.

“I dunno,” Ron said. “He just said it was important.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Maybe he’s found something else out about Fyril!”

“Um, Hermione, would you like to go out with me?” Ron said quickly.

She stopped, staring at him. “Would I like to go out with you?” she repeated, her face turning red.

“Well, I mean, ya know. . .um. . .” Ron stammered, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I just thought we could maybe have dinner. . .or. . .something.” He glanced down at his shoes.

Hermione looked at him, smiling shyly. “I’d. . .I’d love to, Ron.”

“I mean, if you don’t want to, I’ll-” He stopped in mid-sentence, raising his head and staring at her. “Wha-what did you say?”

Her smile widened. “I said I’d love to.”

His face lit up. “Hey, that’s great!” he said. “Um, how about tonight?”

“Well, let’s see what Harry has to tell us first,” she said. “We might just be busy tonight.”

“Right,” Ron said, trying not to look disappointed at the prospect of being busy. “Harry’s waiting at the Leaky Cauldron.”

Harry drummed his fingertips against the table he sat at, scanning the Leaky Cauldron for any sign of Ron or Hermione. He wondered what was taking so long.

“He’s probably still trying to work up the nerve to ask her out,” he muttered under his breath, raising his glass of butterbeer to his lips.

Suddenly a breathless Hermione and Ron appeared beside the table, causing Harry to almost choke on his butterbeer.

“Sorry we’re late,” Hermione wheezed, her face red as she and Ron sat down side by side.

Harry raised an eyebrow, noting their seating choices. “What happened?”

“Um, I, uh, knocked over Hermione’s pot of Floo powder,” Ron mumbled embarrassingly, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

Harry smirked, wondering just how the pot had come to be turned over. Well, he’d have plenty of time to question his old friend later.

Hermione cleared her throat, folding her hands neatly over one another on the table. “So, Harry, what did you want to tell us?”

Harry glanced at her, then Ron, then down at his mug of butterbeer. “I’ve been contacted by someone who says they’ve information on Fyril Snape.”

Hermione’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “Who is this person?” she asked.

“She calls herself Isabene Dumbledore,” Harry responded. “She’ll be here any moment.”

“Oh Harry!” Hermione protested. “You didn’t invite her to meet with us!”

“Of course I did,” Harry said. “How else are we to learn what she knows of Fyril?”

“But what is she’s not trustworthy?” Hermione asked. Beside her, Ron nodded his agreement.

“Guys, it’s fine,” Harry insisted. “Isabene claimed that she knew Sirius. I checked her out with him, and he said she’s perfectly honest.”

Hermione still didn’t looked convinced.

“Hermione, you. . .” Harry said. He started to say more, but let his voice trail off as a shadow fell across the table.

“You are Harry Potter?” asked the tall lady standing beside their table.

“Yes,” Harry answered. “Are you Isabene?”

She smiled. “One and the same.”

Harry scooted over, making room for her in the booth. “Please, sit down.”

“Thank you kindly,” she said, sitting. She smiled again, glancing at him. “You resemble your father, but you have your mother’s eyes.”

Harry was jolted to his core. “You-you knew my parents?” he whispered.

She laughed, a cheerful sound. “How could I be friends with Sirius Black and not know James and Lily Potter?” she responded. “Yes, young Potter, I knew your parents.” A smile of fondness played across her lips, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was caused by memories of James and Lily or Sirius.

Harry fought down the many questions bubbling to the surface of his mind, biting his tongue. Isabene had come there on a mission--to inform him and his friends of Fyril Snape. There would be time for stories of James and Lily Potter later.

“What can you tell us of Fyril Snape?” Hermione asked.

“I can tell you that he is not dead,” Isabene answered. She glanced around, her eyes taking in the patrons around them. “But we should not discuss this in such openness. Come, I know of a more private location, where we can talk amongst ourselves without being overheard.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, then looked at Harry, their eyebrows raised. Isabene chuckled.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Hermione Granger, nor you, Ronald Weasley,” she said.

They both looked surprised. “How do you know our names?” Hermione demanded.

Isabene smiled. “As a protector of Fyril’s, I make it a point to know the names of all who seek him.”

“A protector?” Ron repeated, frowning.

“Please, everything will be explained in due time,” she said. “But you must come with me.”

Harry nodded. “We’ll come,” he said.

“Harry!” Hermione hissed, her eyes widening.

“Hermione, we can trust her,” Harry insisted, glancing at his friend.

“I promise, I won’t hurt you,” Isabene said. “I just want to help you in your search for Fyril.”

“Why?” Ron questioned. “Professor Snape wasn’t very forthcoming with answers.”

“Snape is a prude,” Isabene said. “He wants to keep Fyril safe, at any cost.”

“Safe from Voldemort?” Harry responded.

“Shh,” Isabene cautioned. “As I’ve said, we must not speak of this here.”

“All right,” Hermione said. “We’ll go with you.”

Isabene smiled. “Thank you,” she said, rising to her feet. “Your trust in me is not for naught, Hermione.”

“We’ll see,” Hermione said, standing up as well. Ron quickly scrambled to his feet.

“Come, Harry,” Isabene said.

“Right,” Harry responded, taking one last swig of his butterbeer before rising to his feet and following Isabene out of the Leaky Cauldron.

“I hope you’re right about trusting her, Harry,” Hermione muttered so only he could hear as they followed Isabene through Diagon Alley.

“I am,” Harry replied.

Eric sighed, staring out the little window in front of his kitchen sink as he washed up the few dishes from his and Krista’s dinner. He could hear her in the background, humming to herself as she flitted around the bedroom, setting up some kind of surprise for him.

He smiled. That was one thing about his wife. For all her flaws, she knew how to bring a smile to his face, to make him feel relaxed.

Suddenly, he was startled by the feel of arms wrapping around his waist and then relaxed as he realized it was his wife.

“Hey you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

“Hey yourself,” she replied, grinning. “You finished with those dishes yet?”

“Almost,” he said, his lips curling upward in a smile as he felt her hands slide down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans, tugging his zipper downward.

“Good,” she purred, standing on her tiptoes to tease his earlobe with her tongue. “‘Cause our bath awaits.”

He grinned, rinsing off the last plate and tucking it away in the dish drainer. “Lead on, my love.”

She smiled as he turned to face her and she kissed him, pressing close. He clung to her, desperately willing himself to forget all the bad dreams that had been plaguing him for the last few weeks.

“Eric?” she mumbled against his lips, her hands pressed flat against his back.

“Mmm?” he responded, unwilling to let her go.

“What’s wrong?” she said between soft kisses trailed across his lips.

He blew his breath out through his teeth, leaning his forehead against hers. “Everything,” he whispered. “And nothing at all.”

“Those dreams again?” she asked, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead.

He smiled. “When’d you get to be so perceptive?”

“I just know when something’s bothering you,” she corrected. “Eric, honey, they’re just dreams.”

“I wish I could believe you, Big Mouth,” he muttered. Then he gathered her up into his arms, kissing her, which caused her to give a girlish squeal. “Enough about dreams. You said something about a bath?”

“So I did,” she giggled, kissing along his jaw line. “To the bathroom, my handsome husband.”

“As you wish,” he whispered.

Isabene swept her hands over the row of crates she, Mackenzie, Snape and Sirius had vacated hours ago. “Please,” she said. “Have a seat.”

Hermione glanced around the sparsely decorated room as she sat down on one of the crates. “So, about Fyril,” she said.

Isabene chuckled. “Straight to business, that one,” she commented to Harry as she settled on a crate opposite Hermione. Harry sat down next to her while Ron chose to remain standing behind Hermione. “Yes, Fyril. I’m sure you three have many questions about him.”

“You claim that he’s alive,” Hermione said. “Why is it that the Ministry of Magic has his death certificate on record?”

“An elaborate ruse,” Isabene responded, waving her hand dismissively in the air. “To prevent Voldemort from finding his grandson.”

“So Fyril is Voldemort’s grandson,” Harry said.

“Yes,” Isabene said.

“Then you’re too late,” Harry said. “Voldemort already knows about him.”

“Damn,” Isabene cursed under her breath. “We were afraid of that. . .which is why I have come to you three.”

“Us three?” Ron repeated. “Why?”

“Because you are the three best Aurors,” Isabene said. “We believe you can track down Fyril and bring him here, so that Dumbledore may protect him.”

“Who is this we?” Hermione asked impatiently.

“Myself, Severus and Mackenzie Snape and Sirius Black,” Isabene responded. “We would go after Fyril ourselves, but we don’t think he’d listen to us.”

“And you think he’d listen to us why?” Ron asked.

“Because you’re closer to his age,” Isabene answered.

“I still don’t understand,” Harry said.

“What?” Isabene asked.

“How can we possibly convince this Fyril to trust us?” Ron said.

“I have faith in you,” Isabene said. “He will be a bit reluctant to believe you at first. After all, he has been raised away from the wizard world.”

“Oh, well, that makes convincing him a little more difficult,” Hermione snapped.

“Sirius has faith in you,” Isabene insisted. “And I trust Sirius.”

“What about Snape?” Harry asked.

Isabene hesitated. “He was never very fond of your father nor Sirius, but he does think highly of you, Harry.”

Harry looked shocked. “O-of me?”

“Oh yes,” Isabene said, nodding. “He’ll never admit it, of course. Severus Snape, showing respect for James Potter’s only son? Nay, not in this lifetime.”

“All right, so where do we start looking for Fyril?” Hermione asked.

“In America,” Isabene responded. “On the western coast, there is a state called California. He is living there, in a suburb named Silver Hills.”

“And his name?” Harry said. “I doubt he’s going by Fyril Snape.”

Isabene smiled. “You are perceptive, Harry,” she said. “The family that took him in, their surname was Myers. I don’t know what name they gave him from there.”

Hermione snorted. “Do you have any idea how many Myers there could be in that city?”

“Only one that can speak to snakes,” Isabene responded.

“A Parselmouth,” Harry whispered.

Isabene nodded. “Harry, you can talk to the snakes,” she said. “Perhaps they can give you some clue as to Fyril’s whereabouts.”

Harry nodded. “It’s worth a try.”

“So you’ll go after him, then?” Isabene said.

“Yes,” Harry replied, nodding. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Isabene said. “Once you’ve located Fyril, bring him back here, to Hogwarts. Dumbledore will be expecting him.”

Harry rose to his feet, glancing at Hermione and Ron. “Come on, guys,” he said. “We’ve got to get ready for our trip.”

Hermione reluctantly stood up, nodding at Isabene as she followed Harry out of the little room. Ron followed along behind them.

“Harry,” she said, once they’d left the tiny inn Isabene had led them to. “Are you sure this is such a good idea?”

“Hermione, it’s the only lead on Fyril we’ve got,” Harry said. “And we can’t let Voldemort find him first.”

“I just don’t trust her, Harry,” Hermione said.

Harry sighed, glancing at Ron. “What about you?”

Ron shrugged. “She seems anxious to find Fyril. But then, with You-Know-Who looking for him too, who wouldn’t?”

Hermione shot Ron a scowl, which seemed to read ‘You’re supposed to back me up!”

“Hermione, I spoke to Sirius about Isabene,” Harry said. “He trusts her completely.”

“Well, I don’t,” Hermione said. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about her I just don’t like.”