1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. This fanfiction is not written to make money. No profit is being generated and no copyright infringement is intended. All events in this story are based on the Harry Potter series.

A/N: This story is set about 3 years after Harry/Hermione & Co. graduated from Hogwarts. Both Harry and Hermione are employed as Aurors, and Ron is captain of the Chudley Cannons. This is my very first fic, so please be kind when you review. Chapters 4 onwards are coming up.

Chapter One

"Harry?"

Harry jumped at the sound of Hermione’s voice. He had been tiptoeing across the flat so as not to wake her or Ron. Harry squinted in the dark and saw her form silhouetted against her bedroom door by the light coming from her table lamp.

"Yeah, it’s me," he said, and he made his way to her. "Why are you still up?"

"I was waiting for you. Kingsley’s got us a new assignment and he wants us to work on it immediately," she said, and beckoned him inside her bedroom, turning on the light as he entered.

"I’m sorry I didn’t come home sooner," Harry apologized, and he felt a twinge of guilt for keeping her waiting while he was enjoying a date with his (current) girlfriend.

"But why didn’t you just contact me with the Summoner?" he asked.

Hermione laughed and handed him a sheaf of parchment.

"Oh come on, Harry. I don’t want to ruin your night."

"Yeah, but you ruined yours," he said, poring over the parchment. "You could’ve waited until tomorrow morning."

"No, I couldn’t. Kingsley says it’s really important that we act on it immediately. We’ll get to work on it starting tomorrow."

Harry scanned the several pages of information about their new assignment. It was about the serial killer he’d heard about on a Muggle television earlier that day. The reports stated that the killer’s method of killing was mysterious, leaving his victims unmarked and unblemished. It was a mystery to the Muggle police, but to the wizarding world, it was a perfectly ordinary way of killing people. Unforgivable, yes (who says killing is forgivable?), but ordinary.

"So he really is a wizard, then?" Harry said, handing the sheaf of parchment back to Hermione, who took it and put it on top of her bedside table. "Wonder what’s he got against the Muggles?"

"Well, that’s a question we will be answering soon, won’t we?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, and sat down on Hermione’s bed. "Do we have any clues on him?"

"Apart from the fact that he is a wizard —which of course we deduced from his killing method— we also found out that all of his victims were all Muggle doctors."

"Doctors? But aren’t your parents—?"

"Dentists, yeah. But there are no dentists who were killed yet. All were surgeons and general practitioners."

Harry thought for a while. If this mad murderer was killing surgeons, then that would mean that he’s exacting revenge. It will be possible that he lost a loved one who was being treated by a surgeon and a general practitioner. But if he’s a wizard, why would his loved one go to a doctor for treatment? Maybe he’s a half-blood, or a—

"Muggle-born," Hermione said, echoing his thoughts. Harry rolled his eyes. Hermione always seemed to read his mind. Then he reminded himself that she was an accomplished Legilimens. But then, he was also a superb Occlumens, wasn’t he? What with those lessons with Snape, and later with Dumbledore, he was able to learn how to close his mind to those trying to delve into it. But with Hermione, it seems that he’d never be able to lie or hide his thoughts from her.

"And his whereabouts?" he asked her.

"We have no clue. It seems that he’d made himself Unplottable, and none of the usual methods of tracking worked. I guess we’ll have to exert all efforts to nail down this murderer. It’ll be a tough job."

"But certainly not tougher than facing Voldemort or hunting down Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, is it?" Harry said, smirking at her.

Hermione scowled at him.

"Don’t underestimate this man, Harry."

"Well, nothing’s impossible for the best Auror team, is there?" Harry said in mock pompousness.

Hermione’s scowl was even more pronounced now.

"Harry Potter, you are honestly the most boastful jerk who’d ever walked this earth!"

Harry laughed at her expression.

"Yeah, and I’m the luckiest Auror who had ever existed, aren’t I?" Harry said, determined to tease her further.

"And why’s that?" Hermione said defiantly.

"Because my partner is the most intelligent witch in the world."

Hermione glowered at him, but Harry was sure she almost smiled.

"Well, are you also planning to sleep in my bedroom?" she said, crossing her arms.

"Well, if you don’t mind my doing so, I’ll be delighted to," Harry said, grinning at her.

Hermione seized one of her pillows and made to throw it at Harry but he quickly crossed the room to the door and poked his head from behind it.

"Oh, and by the way, my partner also happens to be the prettiest witch I ever laid eyes on," he said, winking at her, and closed the door just in time to prevent her pillow from hitting his face. He didn't see Hermione smile to herself as she lay down to sleep.

2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Harry woke up the next morning to find Ron and Hermione already seated at the breakfast table, munching toasts, and each reading a copy of the Morning Prophet. Hermione, for her part, even had several Muggle newspapers beside her.

“’Morning!” Harry said, settling down on a chair next to Hermione, helping himself to some toast, and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“’Morning, bro’,” Ron muttered, not taking his eyes off the sports section of his Prophet. He was the team captain of the Chudley Cannons, and he was keeping a close watch on the other teams’ performance in the league.

“’Morning, Harry,” Hermione said, putting down her paper, and taking a sip from her mug of tea.

“So is there anything about him in there?” Harry asked.

“No,” said Hermione. “I think the Ministry’s keeping it secret that we’re interested so the killer will not be alarmed.”

She opened the Daily Mail and disappeared behind it. Harry reached for the Times and scanned its pages. They sat in silence for a few minutes, occasionally munching their toasts or sipping coffee and (in Hermione’s case) tea. Then Hermione put down her last paper with a sigh.

“Nothing in the Muggle news, either,” she said, as she finished the last of her toast and gulping down the remaining tea in her mug.

“Well, it really won’t be that easy,” said Harry. But we’ll find him, Hermione. We’ll stop him before he kills his next victim.”

Hermione stood up.

“You’d better hurry up, Harry. The sooner we get into this, the better,” she said, and headed to her room to take a shower.

Harry put down his newspaper and returned to his toast. He sat there munching it quietly, and thinking about the steps they’re going to take to find the murderer.

Ron put down his paper with a sigh and sipped his coffee.

“What’s up?” asked Harry.

“The Ballycastle Bats are getting really stronger this season,” Ron said. “They just murdered the Tornados yesterday.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “But you beat them during your previous match, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but that was before Zacharias Smith joined them. That git’s getting really good.”

“Well, he’s already good when he was playing for Hufflepuff at Hogwarts, wasn’t he? I thought Ginny would be joining the team this year. She’s also good, and she’ll be a match for Smith.”

“It’s not only Smith,” said Ron, with a worried look on his face. “They’ve also got a new Seeker, Desmond Williams.”

“Isn’t that the bloke who—?”

“Replaced you as Seeker when we graduated from Hogwarts, yeah,” Ron said dully. “And he’s pretty good. Not up to your standard, of course, but still pretty good.”

“Well, your Seeker’s not that bad, either. We’ve seen him make awesome captures when he’s on form,” said Harry, trying to comfort him.

“Yeah, when he’s on form,” Ron said. “But that jerk’s always having problems with injuries.”

“Oh come on, Ron. I’m sure you can retain the title this year. Just focus on it and keep training hard,” Harry advised.

Harry had opted not to pursue a professional Quidditch career because of his work as an Auror, but he plays Quidditch for recreation and exercise, and he is also a reserve Seeker in the national team. He also plays in exhibition matches in the league, at Hogwarts, and even abroad.

“Yeah,” said Ron, as he finished his coffee. “I think I’ll increase team practices to four times a week. Puddlemere United’s even doing five times a week!”

“Well, you know what Wood’s like,” said Harry, grinning as he remembered his former captain in the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. “He’s probably the most grueling Quidditch captain who’d ever existed.”

Hermione emerged from her bedroom, dressed ready for field work.

“Harry, you’d better hurry up,” she said as she went to the shoe rack to put on her sneakers.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Harry said. He drained the last of his coffee and went to his room to take a shower.

By the time he has finished and dressed, Hermione had cleared the remnants of their breakfast, and Ron was talking to his team manager at the fireplace. Harry put on his shoes as Hermione came out from the kitchen.

“—okay? Tell them I want to push the team to its limits if I have to. I’ll see you later, Bert,” Ron said, finishing the conversation. Gilbert Brown, Ron’s team manager, nodded at Harry and Hermione, and disappeared with a faint pop. Ron turned to his two best friends.

“So what are you two up to today?”

Hermione grabbed her cloak and pulled it on. “We’ll be out for today, Ron. Maybe for a couple of days, ‘till we find the murderer. You’ll be okay here, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Ron said. “Maybe I’ll ask Becky to come over.”

“Oh, by the way, Ron,” said Harry as he pulled on his jacket, “if Margaret calls, tell her for me, will you? I haven’t got time to send her an owl. Tell her it’s really urgent.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Ron nodded. “What about you, Hermione, have you told Charles yet?”

Charles Davies was Hermione’s boyfriend for a couple of months, Margaret Hunter was Harry’s girlfriend for barely a week, and Becky Johnson was Ron’s fiancée. They are to be married in three months.

“Yes.I flooed him yesterday but he’s not even home. So I just told his roommate to pass on the message.” Hermione frowned. “He couldn’t even tell me where Charles went. I guess I’ll confront him when I get back from this.”

“Don’t you think that he might be cheating on you, Hermione?” said Ron cautiously. “I always thought that he couldn’t be trusted.”

“Yeah,” Harry added. “I never trusted him, either.”

“Oh, stop acting like overprotective brothers,” Hermione said impatiently. “I’m not that stupid, you know, and I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“We’re just concerned, Hermione. Just look at your previous boyfriend,” Ron said. “It was lucky that Becky was the one who saw him with that slut. If it had been me or Harry, he would never have reached St. Mungo’s alive.”

“Yeah, right. Thanks for your concern,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Harry.”

She and Harry moved to the Apparition point just inside their front door, bade Ron goodbye, and disappeared with a soft pop, only to reappear seconds later at the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

3. Chapter Three

A/N: Thanks to all who very kindly reviewed my fic. Also thanks to RLupin1003 for the heads-up on the typo. I originally meant MI6 and not M16, but my cousin, who was the one who typed the text of Chapter Three, confused "I" for "1". Anyway, the mistake's been rectified. Watch out for Chapters Four and Five, they're coming soon!

Chapter Three

Harry and Hermione made their way through the crowd of Ministry workers and people with transactions with the different departments at the Ministry. They waved at the security wizard at the desk next to the golden gates, and he waved back, not bothering to stop them and check their identity. They boarded a lift to the second level and their headquarters. There they met Kingsley Shacklebolt, the head of the Auror Department. He beckoned them inside his cubicle-office, and handed them a piece of parchment.

“We have a new clue on him. A Muggle witness surfaced just last night to report that he caught a glimpse of a man dressed in funny clothes who went in to call on the doctor's residence the night before the dead doctor was found,” he told them. “He’s now at Scotland Yard. Here—“

He handed them a pair of identification cards.

“Your cover will be MI6 special agents, so you can ask for interrogation time with the witness. The Muggle police will not think twice about granting you that.”

Harry examined his MI6 ID. Agent Harry Potter, it said. He remembered the Muggle movie he saw with Ron and Hermione, which was about an MI6 special agent, code named 007, and whose real name was James Bond. He extended his hand to Hermione.

“The name’s Potter, Harry James Potter.”

Hermione laughed, and shook his hand. “I’m Galore, Pussy Galore, Mr. Potter.”

Kingsley looked incredulously from one to the other, his eyebrows raised. Harry and Hermione laughed at his expression.

“What was that all about?” Kingsley asked.

“Oh nothing,” Hermione said, still chortling. “It was just a movie we saw about a Muggle MI6 agent.”

“Oh,” he said, looking relieved. “I thought for a moment that my best Aurors were losing their marbles. ”They all laughed at this.

“So, how do we proceed with this one?” Harry asked.

“You have carte blanche, Harry. Just do what you think is best,” Kingsley told him.

“That’s okay, then,” said Hermione, discarding her cloak, and threw it to hers and Harry’s cubicle next door. “But what about our clothes?”

“Go straight to the Auror outfitter. They'll have Muggle agents’ clothing and accessories there,” said Kingsley. “So, any more questions?”

“I have,” said Hermione. “What do we do with the suspect when we find him?”

“If you can take him alive, do it. If he resists, and endangers your lives, you can eliminate him. It’s only a matter of time before the Muggle police places a shoot-to-kill order for him anyway.”

They thanked Kingsley, shook hands with him, and went to Mr. Weasley’s office at the end of the floor.

“Hi Dad!” Hermione said brightly as they entered. Both she and Harry were considered adopted children of the Weasleys, though Hermione's parents were still alive and well.

“Hermione! Harry!”

Mr. Weasley rose from his table, went around it, and shook their hands. He made to conjure chairs for them but Harry stopped him.

“We can’t stay long, Dad. We just came over to say hi and tell you about our new assignment.”

“Oh, yeah. I've already heard about it. Just be careful, you two, okay? This is a dangerous murderer, and you must not take chances.”

“Sure, Dad,” said Hermione. “Say hi to Mum and the others for us, will you? And kindly tell Mum that Ron will be alone in our flat for a few days, so maybe she can go and help him.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “You know what Ron’s like. He loves eating but he can never cook his own food properly.”

Mr. Weasley laughed at this and told them not to worry. After kissing him good-bye, Harry and Hermione went to the outfitter’s and got their cover clothes. Each of them donned suits and a tie (Hermione’s had a feminine cut and style). They also carried Beretta handguns as additional props.

They went up to the Ministry parking lot, where a Ministry driver pointed them to an MI6 car. They got into it, and with Harry in the driver's seat, headed for Scotland Yard. They arrived at the London Metropolitan Police Force's headquarters at a quarter past ten. Harry flashed his fake MI6 ID at the sentry at the gate, and they were waved through. Harry parked the car, and he and Hermione proceeded to the information desk.

“’Morning,” Harry said to the officer on duty. “I am Agent Potter of the MI6 and this is my partner, Agent Granger.”

“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?” the office said after checking their IDs.

“We believe that a certain Mr. Howard Travers had been taken into custody by one of your inspectors for interrogation?” said Hermione.

“Yes, ma’am. On the account of the series of murders that had been happening over the last two months. He says he saw the murderer approach the house of the latest victim.”

“Well, the head of the MI6 was given the order to participate in the investigation by the Queen herself, and we are here upon his orders. May we talk with the witness, please?” Harry asked the officer.

“By all means, sir. I’ll refer you to the officer in-charge of the case, Inspector Bradsheet.”

He called for a constable to escort Harry and Hermione to the inspector's office. Bradsheet offered no objection to their request.

“Lucky you turned up so early,” he told them, as they trudged down the corridor to the interrogation room. “We’re supposed to let him go just about now, after we'd finished the interrogation.”

“Lucky indeed,” Harry said, looking sideways at Hermione. She nodded. Then Harry noticed her hand slip inside her coat pocket, and he knew she was holding her wand.

“Well, here we are,” Inspector Bradsheet opened the interrogation room. It was a small, dingy, but fairly comfortable room, the one designed for witnesses, not suspects (Harry could just imagine what would that room look like). Mr. Travers was seated behind a small table in the middle of the room. He was a big, beefy man, and Harry was horribly reminded of his Uncle Vernon, except that Mr. Travers had no mustache. He had dark hair with no trace of gray, though Harry estimated him to be about fifty years old, and his expression was good-natured. He greeted them warmly and agreed to answer their questions.

Hermione asked the inspector if he could leave them to interrogate Mr. Travers, and he obliged. Harry took out his wand, put an Imperturbable Charm on the door, and Silencing Charms on the walls. Hermione, upon entering the room had already taken care of the hidden cameras and microphones by bewitching them so that they show a normal interrogation process to the observers in the monitoring and security center with her wand hidden inside her pocket.

Mr. Travers looked astonished with their actions, but kept silent. As Hermione conjured an additional chair for them (there were only two chairs in the room, Mr. Travers sitting on one of them), Mr. Travers let out a cry of surprise.

“How’d you do that?” he asked, his face a picture of surprise, and, to some extent, fear.

“No need to fear us, Mr. Travers. We’re wizards, and we came here to question you because the murderer appears to us to be a wizard, too, and a Dark wizard at that,” Hermione said, and she sat down. Harry conjured a piece of parchment and a quill. He placed them on the table in front of Mr. Travers (who recoiled slightly), waved his wand, and muttered, “Escribio Automatum!” The quill stood up and balanced itself on the parchment, ready to sketch.

Mr. Travers's eyes were now as large and round as ping pong balls, and his mouth was hanging open. He closed it, and, taking a deep breath, muttered, “I-I d-don’t believe it!”

“Calm down, Mr. Travers,” Harry said, sitting down beside Hermione, facing the dumbstruck witness. “We just wanted to ask your help so that we can catch the killer. Your policemen and even your secret service agents will stand no chance against this man. If you help us, then we can end the terror that is spreading throughout the country right now.”

“If you can just describe to us this man you saw approaching Dr. Holmes’s house,” Hermione continued, “perhaps we can identify him. This quill will automatically sketch the portrait of the man as you describe him.”

Mr. Travers cast a terrified look at the quill and parchment in front of him, then at Harry and Hermione.

“W-who exactly are you? And why are you so interested in this case?”

Harry let out an exasperated sigh, but Hermione shot him a warning look and said, “We’re Aurors, Mr. Travers, Dark wizard catchers. And like I said earlier, this murderer seems to be a wizard, because of his killing method. You have nothing to fear from us. We’re law enforcers too, and we’re the counterpart of the police and the Secret Service in the wizarding world.”

Mr. Travers calmed down a little at her words, but he is still looking at them as though he expected them to jump at him and stab him with their wands. Nevertheless, he started to relive the events of that night, and he described the man's appearance in stark accuracy that Harry was impressed with his memory. When Mr. Travers finished with his recounting, Hermione deactivated the Auto Sketch Charm, and showed him the quill’s rendition of the suspect’s appearance.

“That’s him! That’s him!” Mr. Travers shouted excitedly. “That’s exactly how he looked like!”

“Well, thank you very much, Mr. Travers,” said Harry, as he and Hermione stood up. With a wave of his wand, the chair and the quill vanished. “Your assistance has greatly helped in our investigation.” He held out his hand to the witness.

“I'm delighted to hear you say so,” Mr. Travers replied, shaking Harry’s hand, then Hermione’s.

They bade him good-bye, and got out of the room. Before closing the door, Harry disabled the Silencing, Imperturbable, and Alternate Illusion Charms that he and Hermione had performed on the room. Then he pointed his wand at Mr. Travers and said, “Obliviate!”

Inspector Bradsheet was waiting for them.

4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"Well, what did you learn from him?"

"Nothing. He couldn’t describe the man accurately, and we find that insufficient to incriminate anyone," Harry said.

"What? But he described the suspect to us quite clearly!" Bradsheet said, looking surprised.

"Did he?" said Hermione, feigning a look of surprise. "Well, maybe he’s lying to us. Anyway, we’ll come back to question him again. We have something important to deal with for the meantime. Thank you for your assistance, Inspector," she added, offering her hand to the officer. Bradsheet shook hands with Hermione, then with Harry. As the inspector turned his back on them, Hermione put a Memory Charm on him.

"There. They wouldn’t remember us being here."

As they passed the officer at the information desk, Harry waved at him, and he waved back, but Harry muttered the incantation as he did so. Wand-less magic was no difficult task for him or Hermione. She, in the same manner, took charge of the constable who escorted them to Bradsheet’s office. As they exited the front doors, Harry performed an immensely complex but feeble Memory Charm for the lobby at large. It was complex because he had to do it without his wand, and he had to direct it to a large area; feeble because he just had to make them forget having seen him and Hermione. As they passed the gate on the way out, Hermione performed the charm on the sentry and his partner.

"Whew! That was brilliant!" she exclaimed as Harry drove them back to the Ministry building.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, grinning at her. "Now we’ll only have to check the wizard’s registry to see if he has a match."

Upon arrival at the Ministry, Harry and Hermione headed straight to the wizard registry and checked to see if the suspect’s sketch matched any wizard’s profile. After about five minutes (thanks to the Picture Identifier and Matching Device at the registry office), the witch at the registry informed them that a certain Mr. Aloysius Turner matched the suspect’s sketched portrait. They saw that the two pictures were indeed identical. They took note of the man’s profile and thanked the registry witch.

"The only problem now is finding out where he is, since he will never be in this address" Harry told Hermione, indicating Turner’s address, as they headed to the Ministry café for lunch.

"Well, Kingsley said we have carte blanche on this case, didn’t he?" Hermione said, as they sat down on their favorite table with their orders.

"Yeah, so?" Harry said, ladling beef casserole onto his and Hermione’s plates.

"I have an idea on how to trap him, Harry! It’s so simple, and if we manage it, we can even take him alive!"

"Yeah, what’s that?" asked Harry in between mouthfuls.

"Do you still have your Invisibility Cloak, Harry?"

"Yeah, it’s upstairs — in our cubicle, remember?" said Harry, now loading up his plate with lamb chops. Hermione took a swig of pumpkin juice, then wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

"Oh — right! Well, we can use it — we know the last victim’s address, right? We’ll just go down to the Department of Mysteries and —"

"Hang on," said Harry, cottoning on, "I know what your idea is! We’ll go back in time, using a Time-Turner!" Hermione nodded, beaming.

"We’ll enter the house of the doctor on the night of the murder, then we will catch the killer! That’s it, isn’t it?" Harry said excitedly, brandishing his fork at Hermione.

Hermione shook her head. "Not exactly. We’ll bide our time, Harry. We cannot change time so drastically; it might cause catastrophes. We’ll just wait inside the doctor’s house, witness his murder, put a Homing Charm on the culprit, so that we can find him wherever he Disapparates into."

"Then, when the timelines merge, we’ll arrest him?"

"That’s right, Harry," she said, smiling triumphantly.

Harry couldn’t help but be impressed. He always knew that Hermione was brilliant, but she still surprises him sometimes. Harry knew that without her, he would never have solved their cases so easily. He could’ve solved them, true, but it would have taken all his time.

"Brilliant!" he breathed, looking at her in admiration, as Hermione started on their favorite dessert, pumpkin pie. "I always knew you’re dead smart, Hermione — but you always amaze me!"

"Oh, cut the flowery words, Harry," she said, a little pink in the face, and resumed eating.

They finished their dessert while still discussing their plans, and afterwards went upstairs to change their clothes. Harry got his Invisibility Cloak from their cubicle, and Hermione retrieved her cloak. Then they went down to the Department of Mysteries to get a Time-Turner.

Harry was saddened with the memory of their fifth year when Sirius had died in the Death Chamber because Harry was stupid enough to fall for Voldemort’s trick. Even Hermione’s expression sombered as they remembered their battle in the Time Room, and the office off it, where Hermione had received a curse that nearly killed her.

They stood for a moment, trying to comfort each other from the bitter memories of that year. Harry held Hermione’s hand and remembered how he had nearly lost her during that battle. He gave her hand a light squeeze, and she squeezed back, correctly interpreting his thoughts. And as they looked into each other’s eyes, Harry felt a sudden, inexplicable, intense emotion. He had fully recovered from Sirius’s death (though that took some time) with the help of Hermione, Ron and the other Weasleys (except Percy), Lupin, Hagrid, and Dumbledore, but somehow Harry thought that if it had been Hermione who was taken from him that night, he would never have recovered. Harry closed his eyes and tried to push from his mind the image of Hermione dying. He’ll never bear it, because she meant everything to him; his life, his strength, his happiness, his wisdom, his reason, his conscience, and his love.

Harry’s eyes flew open. Love? Whoa, where did that idea come from? Harry shook himself mentally and as he did so, he felt a sudden surge of fear. Did he love Hermione more than just as a friend? Is that the reason why he always finds her beautiful, whatever her outfit is? Is that the reason why he feels a twinge of jealousy whenever she talks about her boyfriend, or whenever he sees her with him? Is that the reason why he had nearly killed Hermione’s previous boyfriend when he cheated on her and made her cry? Is that the reason why he was so distressed when Hermione was injured during their last assignment, even if it was just a minor injury? Is that the reason why he never lasted more than a couple of weeks in his relationships? Is that the reason why he always sees Hermione’s face everywhere he looked and why he always smiles whenever he thinks of her? Harry was scared to admit it, but somehow he thought that the reason for all this is because he loved Hermione. Not the sort of love that a brother feels for his sister, or the love of a friend for his best friend, but the love of a man for a woman — a love that is pure, intense, and unconditional. Had Harry been stupid enough not to realize this? Had Ron been right in saying that Harry feels something "more than friendship" for Hermione? Harry vaguely remembered that he’d only laughed when Ron had suggested it, but now, he thought, Ron would be the one to laugh. "I told you, Harry!" Ron would probably say.

"Harry?"

Harry was jerked out of his reverie by the sound of Hermione’s voice and he looked down to see her staring at him, her hand still in his, and with a puzzled expression on her face. For a fleeting moment, he felt like expressing his feelings to her but stopped himself just in time. She doesn’t love me like that, he told himself firmly. She loves me as a friend, nothing more.

With a sigh, he let go of Hermione’s hand, muttered "Let’s go," and led the way out. He didn’t see Hermione look at him sadly, and her face showed not pity, but disappointment.

5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

"Okay," said Hermione, and she pulled out the Time-Turner from inside her blouse. She and Harry are hidden under the Invisibility cloak, and they were standing in front of Dr. Holmes's house.

She put the chain around Harry's neck, too.

"It's been—" she consulted her watch, "—one day and twenty-two hours since the killing."

"So you'll have to turn that Time-Turner over forty-six times?"

"No. This Time-Turner is different from the one we've used back in our third year. That one was just for turning back hours, but this one is for turning back days and hours. Do you see the two hourglasses? The big one's for turning back days, and the small one for hours. I just have to turn the big one once, and the small one twenty-three times."

"But I thought the murder was committed one day and twenty-two hours ago!" Harry said.

"Yes, Harry, but we need to be on the scene at least an hour before the time of the murder, since it was just an estimate — the time of the murder, I mean." said Hermione.

"Oh — right," Harry said, feeling quite ashamed of himself for being stupid. "Okay, do it."

Hermione turned the big hourglass over once, and the small one twenty-three times.

"...twenty-one...twenty-two...twenty-three —"

Harry felt the same sensation he had felt before, like he was flying backwards very fast. A rushing blur of colors and shapes was around him. It was a bit longer than the last time he had gone back in time with Hermione, since this time they were going back one day and twenty-three hours.

Harry was just going slightly dizzy when he felt his feet slam to the ground. Hermione bumped into him and keeled over slightly, but Harry caught her just as everything came back into focus.

"S-sorry, Harry," Hermione muttered, as he let go of her (somewhat reluctantly). "I just felt kind of dizzy."

"Yeah, me too," Harry assured her. "That was quite long, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," she agreed, pulling the chain off Harry's neck.

Harry looked around and saw that they were now standing two blocks away from the doctor's house.

"Come on, Hermione," he said, making sure that the Invisibility Cloak was still covering the both of them completely. "Let's Apparate straight inside, okay?"

"All right."

"Ready? One...two...three!"

With a conscious and deliberate mental command, they transported themselves, Invisibility Cloak and all, to the doctor's house. Seconds later, they found themselves standing in the lounge.

"Quick! Let's find the doctor!" Hermione whispered.

"Hermione, why don't we just save him?"

"No, Harry! Everyone knows the doctor was killed! What would it be like if he just came back to life?"

"But we did it with Buckbeak, right? Everybody thought he was killed but he was alive!"

"The only people who thought he died were us, Harry!" Hermione snapped, while doing her best to keep her voice to a minimal level. "And the circumstances back then were completely different! This time, nearly half the country knows that the doctor was killed. How on earth are we supposed to change that?"

"All right, all right!" Harry said. "It was just an idea, okay?"

They moved quietly around the house, peering around open doors and listening keenly for any sound, until they heard voices coming from the den.

"— I'll get down to it tomorrow, okay? Yes, first thing in the morning —" a woman was saying, apparently talking to someone on the phone.

Harry and Hermione peered around the open door, and saw the doctor seated at an armchair beside the fire, reading what looked like a patient profile, while his wife was seated on a chair opposite him, talking to someone over the phone. Harry and Hermione slipped quietly through the doorway and headed to a corner.

Mrs. Holmes put down the telephone and turned to talk to her husband.

"That was the second time in two days," she said, shaking her head. "I can't blame her for being so worried."

Dr. Holmes took off his glasses and cleaned them with the tip of his nightshirt. "Yeah, and you're the only one who can help her, dear. So don't worry about us, just do what you can for her. I really hope I could come too, but I have a procedure tomorrow."

"Are you sure you'll be okay taking the kids to school tomorrow, dear?" Mrs. Holmes asked him.

"Yes, of course. Anyway, I'll just have to drop them off at the school on my way to the hospital." Dr. Holmes said as he put his glasses back on.

Mrs. Holmes yawned. "Well, I guess I'd better turn in, then. It will be an early start for me tomorrow." She stood up, kissed her husband goodnight, and got out of the room. Dr. Holmes went back to poring over his patients' profiles.

"I guess we'll have to wait here," Harry whispered in Hermione's ear.

Hermione nodded, and they settled themselves quietly on the floor, huddled together so that the Invisibility Cloak can still cover them completely.

Despite the situation they were in, Harry couldn't help but notice the subtle scent of Hermione's hair, the soft touch of her skin, and the warmth of her body pressed to his.

Whoa, cut it out, Harry! He reprimanded himself. She's your best friend, for Merlin's sake!

Harry tried to shove away those thoughts and concentrate on the task at hand. Anytime now, the killer could come bursting in. Hermione had already taken out her wand so that she'll be ready to perform the charm upon the killer's arrival.

They waited for what seemed like ages. Then, as Dr. Holmes put down his last patient profile, Harry heard a soft pop, a swishing of a cloak, and put his hand over Hermione's mouth to prevent her from screaming out loud. He gave her an incredulous look, and he received an apologetic one in return. He nodded and removed his hand.

Meanwhile, the doctor was still oblivious to the fact that a cloaked man, tall and dark-haired, has just materialized out of thin air in his den.

"Hello, doctor," said the man in a cold, deadly voice.

Dr. Holmes jumped and looked around. The killer took out his wand, and waving it, muttered, "Silencio Totalus!"

"W-who are you? How did you get in here?" Dr. Holmes asked, looking utterly surprised.

The killer moved forward a few paces into the light. Hermione gave Harry a painful nudge in the ribs as he let out an audible gasp. The man's face was exactly as Mr. Travers described him, and as his file photograph at the wizard registry looked like. Harry cast an apologetic look at Hermione, and she nodded.

The killer hadn't heard, for he was speaking at the exact moment that Harry gasped.

"You don't know me, and you never will, doctor."

"Do it now, Hermione," Harry whispered as quietly as he could while being just audible. He knew that the killer might not linger, and he may just kill the doctor and Disapparate. Hermione nodded and pointed her wand at the killer.

"Insignio Indicium!"

The killer showed no indication that he felt the effect of the Homing Charm, Hermione having done it carefully and in such a manner that the target will not feel anything. It had no visible effects, either, and the only indication that the charm had worked was the tiny, pale blue, ball of light that had remained on the tip of Hermione's wand. She conjured a map before the ball of light disappeared, and on the map appeared a red, blinking dot exactly at the place where the killer stood.

"W-what do you want?" the doctor was saying.

"Your life, doctor, to avenge the death of my dear Alice. She placed complete trust on a scum like you, but he failed to cure her, and sent her to her death. Now, I must do the same to you, so that no one else will end up like her."

"W-what are you talking about? It's not my fault that she died," said the doctor, now shaking with fear.

"It's also not her fault that she put her life in his hands, hoping she'll get well!" snarled the killer. "It's all his fault, and now it's yours, too. Say goodbye to life, Dr. Holmes."

The killer raised his wand.

"HELP!" the doctor screamed, as though he knew exactly what will happen (was that instinct?). "SOMEONE HELP ME!" He bolted for the door, but before he could reach it, the killer pointed his wand at the fleeing man and roared, "Avada Kedavra!!"

Hermione buried her face on Harry's chest as a rushing sound was heard, and a jet of green light flew from the killer's wand and engulfed the doctor. Harry saw him freeze in midair before crumpling down to the floor in a heap. That was the tragic end of the late Dr. James Holmes, a competent neurosurgeon and a loving husband and father.

Then, before Harry or Hermione could react, the killer disappeared with a pop.

A/N: Sorry for the late update. Been busy with schoolwork and our Intramurals. This chapter is not that long, but I promise that the next one will be longer (and better). Thanks to all those who reviewed my work, and thanks to the comments and suggestions. But please bear with me — I'm not a native English speaker, and though I am very particular with my grammar, errors still appear sometimes. I'm only human, okay? I commit mistakes, and so do all human beings who lived, are living, and are yet to live on this earth. I'll see to it that I polish the previous (and the upcoming) chapters on my next update. Please continue reading and reviewing. Another story will be uploaded soon.

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

"Oh, Harry, it's horrible!" Hermione sobbed, still clutching Harry. He put his arms around her to comfort her. "It's cruel, terrible—"

"I know, Hermione. It sucks. It really sucks."

Neither of them is a stranger to seeing deaths, for both had fought in the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Harry himself killed Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange, Avery, Augustus Rookwood, and Wormtail, and Hermione had her own share of Death Eaters (Lucius Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, and Macnair), and the two of them had killed more Dark wizards in line with their jobs as Aurors, but seeing deaths is still a horrible experience for them, let alone witnessing a cold-blooded murder.

Harry helped Hermione to her feet, for she was still shaking. Then he wrapped his arms around her and Apparated the both of them to a nearby shack, which they had checked earlier, and decided to use as temporary shelter right after witnessing the murder.

When they arrived at the shack, Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, helped Hermione to a small bed in a corner, and conjured candles, which he magicked into the air. Then, since the shack had no table, Harry conjured one, and upon it he also conjured a plate of sandwiches, a jug of pumpkin juice, and a mug of tea.

"Here," he said, handing the mug to Hermione. "Drink this, and you'll feel better."

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said, accepting the mug from him and taking a sip.

"And we'll eat and rest before we follow him. We haven't had any supper," he said, took one one sandwich, and pushed the plate toward Hermione.

She was still looking shaken. She took another sip of tea and helped herself to a sandwich just as Harry started on his second one. They sat for a moment, eating their sandwiches, and trying to pull themselves together after the terrible event of the night.

"Harry, I'm really sorry for going to pieces like that. I know I should've readied myself for what's going to happen but —" Hermione apologized but Harry interrupted her.

"I know, and I understand, Hermione. You don't have to apologize."

"Yes, but — I shouldn't have reacted like that, I mean — I've seen people getting killed before but —"

"Yeah, I know. Killing Dark wizards or watching them die is far better off than watching a helpless and unarmed man being murdered in cold blood. It's not only you, Hermione, okay? Like you, I have been affected by that murder. Maybe even more so because that was also the way my parents —"

Harry couldn't finish the sentence: Hermione had thrown herself onto him, sobbing.

"I'm s-sorry, Harry! And I know how you feel. I'm sorry for making you remember that sad past." Hermione said in between sobs.

"Hermione —" Harry prized her off him, "Hermione, there's nothing to apologize for!"

"No, Harry. I'm sorry for being stupid —"

"Hermione, 'stupid' and 'you' are the two words I am never going to put in a single sentence when I'm speaking to you, okay? You are not being stupid, you're just being human! And there's nothing wrong with that."

He wiped away the traces of tears in her face, his bright green eyes twinkling as they peered into her chocolate orbs, now shining with tears, and smiled.

"Though if you don't stop apologizing and crying for nothing, I'm going to put 'you', 'being', and 'silly' in one sentence."

Hermione laughed at his words, and wiped away the remaining flecks of tears from her eyes.

"There. You know, you look prettier when you're smiling, so don't cry, Hermione. You'll look like Umbridge."

Hermione slapped him in the arm.

"You always enjoy teasing me!" she said. "And do I look like Umbridge when I cry?"

"Yeah, you're as twisted, old, blanched, and toadlike, like that mad old hag!" Harry replied flatly, and she pinched him hard in his side.

"Ouch! I was only joking, okay?" he said, laughing. "Actually, you still look pretty even when you cry, but I prefer you smiling — ouch!"

Hermione was now tickling him, and Harry twisted and flailed, avoiding her fingers, but she kept on tickling him, until he can't take it anymore.

"Stop!" Harry gasped, still trying to evade Hermione's fingers, but she never relented, laughing at his expression. "P-p-please, Her— ouch! —mione!"

Harry summoned his remaining strength to stop himself laughing, and gasped, "Impedimenta!"

Hermione shrieked as the force of the spell hit her, and she stumbled backward onto the bed. Before she could react, Harry was on top of her, pinning her down, and tickling her in turn.

"Harry — ouch — please stop!" she gasped, but he kept on tickling her.

"It's payback time!" said Harry, with a mischievous grin on his face. "Prepare to die laughing, Hermione Granger!"

Hermione flailed and twisted, but the Impediment Jinx was still operating on her and she couldn't move that much. "Harry please...stop — ouch! stop it, Harry —"

Harry thought she'd had enough, so before he did her any harm, he stopped, grabbed her hands and pinned them on the bed over her head.

"So you surrender now, Granger?"

"Y-yes, Harry," she breathed, still panting. "You win."

Harry smiled triumphantly. "All right, but promise me you'll never do it again, okay? You know I can't stand being tickled!"

"Yes, but only if you promise never to do it again, too. You also know I can't stand it either."

"Okay, I promise." He let go of her hands, and lay down beside her. "And I'm sorry for tickling you."

"Yes, I'm sorry too." she said, and fell silent. Then—

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"What you said earlier?"

"Which bit?"

"The bit about me being — oh never mind!"

Harry looked sideways at her. From what he could see of her face, she was blushing. Wait, blushing? Hermione was blushing? What's going on here?

"About you being what? Come on, tell me."

"About...about — oh, crap! — about me being pretty." she finished, now blushing worse than ever.

Harry laughed, and propped himself up by his elbows, the better to look at her.

"Of course I did. I meant it because it was true, Hermione. You are beautiful, inside and out. What makes you think otherwise?"

"I don't know, its just...well, look at my previous boyfriends. They've all cheated on me, and I think it's because they didn't find me pretty."

"Then they're nothing but a bunch of doddery old fools, Hermione. They didn't know what they were missing when they gave you up for some useless whores out in the streets. For me they were the stupidest people on earth!"

Hermione turned to look at him, skepticism etched all over her face.

"You think so?"

"I think so, I feel so, and I know so. You just lack confidence in yourself, Hermione."

"I am confident of myself when it comes to knowledge, logic, dueling, and investigation, Harry but when it comes to my looks, I really don't think I'm that pretty."

"Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror, Hermione?"

"Why, of course I have!"

"Then you're not looking properly. Because if you do, you'll find out that you have no reason to be insecure. It's the other women out there who should be insecure of your personality."

"Why should they be?"

"Hmm, let's think," Harry said in a mock thoughtful tone, "you're smart and intelligent, you're kind, respectful, hardworking, thoughtful, caring, and loving, you're an excellent cook, you're the best female Auror who had ever lived, you're the best student Hogwarts has produced since Rowena Ravenclaw herself, and, of course, you're Harry Potter's best friend and partner."

"Yeah...yeah, I know that —"

"And," said Harry, interrupting her, "you're beautiful, and sexy, and the dream girl of nearly all of the wizarding world's most eligible bachelors. Now tell me, can any other woman beat that?"

Hermione now blushed crimson. "I think that's already far-fetched, Harry. I'm just a simple woman, I'm just Hermione, and not your so-called 'dream girl of the wizarding world'.

"Exactly, and that's what makes you special, Hermione. In your simplicity you bring out the best qualities of a woman, and your simple beauty beats that of the most beautiful woman on earth, even Helen of Troy!"

She is now blushing harder than ever, that Harry could almost feel the heat coming from her. And that's why I love you, Hermione, and because you were always there for me, always by my side, when I thought I was alone.

"So do you believe me now, Hermione?"

She smiled weakly, and took his hand.

"Thanks, Harry. You always know how to cheer me up."

"No! No, no. I wasn't saying all that because I want to cheer you up, Hermione. I said all those things because they were true, every single one of them."

"Yes, but all the same, thanks for being my friend, Harry. You're the best!" with that she hugged him, and he hugged her back, his heart sinking. Yeah, thanks for being a friend, Harry. But she'll never want you to be more than that. She just wants your opinion so that she can be sure that her boyfriend will still like her.

"Okay," he said, as they separated. "We'd better get some sleep. We have a long wait ahead of us tomorrow and the next day."

"Yes, I think so, too." Hermione agreed, and she settled down on the bed next to him. Harry hesitated, but took off his glasses, put them on the table, and lay down next to her. She wrapped her arm around his waist and he conjured a blanket for them. Hermione snuggled closer to him, settling her head between his bicep and chest, and he put his arm around her as well, marveling at how perfectly their bodies seem to fit into each other. Harry tried to calm the frantic beating of his heart, afraid that Hermione might hear it. It felt good to have her snuggled close to him, her soft and warm body pressed against his, and the sweet scent of her hair so close to his nostrils.

"Good night, Harry," said Hermione, taking his hand in hers.

"Good night, Hermione," he said, kissing the top of her head, and wishing for that moment to last forever. With a smile, he fell asleep with the love of his life next to him.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, looked up at him for a moment, then, snuggling even closer, smiled peacefully as she joined him in the world of dreams.

A light breeze made the candles above Harry and Hermione flicker, but their flames never failed to illuminate the two figures sleeping closely together, whose faces are alight with identical, peaceful smiles, while their souls danced together in sweet embrace.

A/N: There you have it. It's not really that good but I wanted to show them sleeping together while still not realizing that the other reciprocates one's feelings. They try to act as best of friends but deep inside them, they feel a lot more than friendly love. I like to show Hermione as the insecure type, because that's also how J.K. Rowling described her, and that's how I see her character. As for Harry, he's still as ignorant as ever, but he'll know in the end, and when he does, he'll —oh wait! — what am I doing? Just read the next chapters, okay? Anyway, this story is not that long, maybe just a couple of chapters left, depending on my mood and inspiration. Keep the reviews and comments coming!

7. Chapter Seven

A/N: Finally! I was able to upload the chapter. I'm very very very very very very sorry for the very very very very very very late update, but please understand that I had many things to do over the Christmas break, and I had to go back to my hometown, and there's no internet connection there. So I have to wait until I got back here in the city, but then my exams are coming up ad I had to study, so the next chapter might not be uploaded for another week. Please bear with me and don't forget to read and review! Also thanks to those who've read and reviewed the story. So here we go, chapter seven ....

Chapter Seven

Harry Potter awoke the next morning feeling uncharacteristically relaxed and content (which was saying something, since he normally wakes up in the mornings feeling as if he were beaten black and blue the previous night). He was just wondering what would make him feel that way when he felt something stir. This something, he realized, was snuggled close to him, with his arms around its shoulders, and its arm wrapped around his waist. This something has very bushy brown hair, which was nestled in the crook of his neck. It was only then he realized that he’d spent the night with Hermione Granger in his arms.

She was still fast asleep, her left arm wrapped around Harry’s waist, and her head buried in his chest. She looked extremely comfortable lying there next to him, and a peaceful smile was still on her face. Harry suddenly understood why he felt relaxed and content; he had everything he needed right there in his arms. He sincerely wished that they would stay together this way but he knew they had to start the day. Still, he didn’t dare move, let alone shift his position, lest he disturb Hermione’s sleep. He was just wondering how to extricate himself from her without waking her up when Hermione stirred again.

“Hmmm….” She opened her eyes, and looked up to his face. Harry couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she is, even with her eyes looking sleepy and puffy.

“Harry?”

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said with a smile. “Did you sleep well?”

Hermione smiled and snuggled closer to him. “Never better.”

“Good. But don’t you think it’s time for us to start the day?

“Oh — right,” she said, but didn’t move.

“Yeah, and the Ministry’s not paying me to be your comforter, you know.”

Hermione pinched him hard on his side.

“Ouch! I was just kidding, okay?” Harry laughed, but didn’t even remove his arm from around her shoulders. “Actually, I don’t mind being your comforter.”

Hermione just snuggled closer to him, so close that he was feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“Er…Hermione? When I said I don’t mind being your comforter, I didn’t mean you may crush me to death, okay?”

Hermione laughed and loosened her hold on him.

“Sorry, but I kind of enjoyed sleeping in your arms.”

“Yeah, to tell you the truth, I did too. I don’t think I’d ever slept as soundly and peacefully as I did last night.” Harry said, pulling her closer to him. Hermione looked up at him.

“Me too,” she said, absentmindedly playing with his days-old mustache. “Wonder why that was?”

“I dunno,” said Harry, looking down at her. “Maybe it’s just the fact that we’ve grown accustomed to each other, that we’re comfortable with each other. And it’s not as if we’ve never slept together before, is it?”

“I suppose,” said Hermione, and unless Harry imagined it, she sounded a bit disappointed. But he had no time to dwell on it for he’d just caught sight of his watch.

“Well, I think it’s about time we get our backsides off the bed, Hermione. We have a long day ahead.”

“Nearly two days,” she corrected him, as they untangled themselves from each other.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and got up. Harry conjured a teapot, two mugs, and a plate of toasts, which he then placed on top of the table, clearing it of last night’s leftovers as he did so. He then took the kettle, and with a tap of his wand, brought the water to a boil.

As Hermione made tea for them, Harry studied the map she had conjured back in the den of the late Dr. Holmes. The red dot was still blinking, indicating where the suspect, Mr. Aloysius Turner, is.

“I can’t believe it — he’s staying at his address, Hermione,” said Harry, completely astonished as he recognized the neighborhood where the red dot was blinking.

“What?” said Hermione, looking surprised, and she hastened over to examine the map herself.

“Yeah,” said Harry, pointing, “there, somewhere in Lincolnshire, just northeast of Lincoln.”

Hermione studied the map carefully, then took out the piece of parchment, upon which she had scribbled Turner’s address, from her hip pocket.

“But it says here that he lives in Lincoln!”

“Yeah, but remember what I said back at the Ministry? ‘He’ll never be in his address.’ He wasn’t technically residing in that particular address, but he’s still in the vicinity, just within twenty or thirty miles, I think,” Harry said, consulting the map again. “The Homing Charm just simplified matters.”

Hermione shook her head.

“It’s not really that simple, Harry. This man is quite clever. An ordinary criminal would’ve hidden as far away from his known address as possible, but this one didn’t. He knew that we’re going to locate him anywhere but nowhere near his address.”

“Yeah, he may be clever,” said Harry, grinning, “but my partner is much, much cleverer than he is.”

Hermione laughed.

“Oh, stop it, Harry,” she said, passing him his mug of tea and a piece of toast. “Why don’t you eat first, maybe you’re just hungry.”

Harry laughed but accepted the mug and the toast. He tore off a portion of the latter with his teeth.

“So, where do we go from here?” he asked after taking a sip of tea.

Hermione swallowed the bit of toast she was eating and took a sip of her tea before answering.

“Well, it’s really very straightforward — what we’re going to do, I mean. But the thing is, we can’t do anything for another thirty-six hours or so. Maybe we can go and check the neighborhood where the killer stays; take a look at his house and the immediate vicinity, but I’m afraid we’ll have to leave that until later when the timelines merge, lest he notice us. For all we know, he might have put Sensoring Spells around his house to alert him whenever someone magical was around.”

“But why don’t we just arrest him now? Or maybe tonight, while he’s asleep?” Harry asked, sipping his tea. “Of course, we could’ve arrested him last night right after he killed Dr. Holmes, if only we weren’t so upset about the murder.”

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. “You know we can’t do that, Harry. It’s not that simple. What if he’s not alone in this? What if something happens that is beyond our control when we arrest him before the timelines merge? The consequences are too ghastly to discuss, Harry. Besides, the Auror Department will be in jeopardy if something bad happens while we’re time-traveling. All we can do is wait for the timelines to merge, and then arrest him straightaway. That way, even if something that’s not intended happens, we’ll not create confusion and chaos by turning out to have doubles!”

“All right, all right, I know. But what are we going to do between now and when the timelines merge? Don’t tell me we’ll just sit tight and wait?”

“No, I agree, we must do something to pass the time, lest we become too relaxed and ruin our readiness when we arrest him. Any ideas?”

The both of them fell silent for a while, thinking of ways to pass the time for the rest of the day and the day after. They munched their toasts and finished their tea, still thinking, and then something clicked in Harry’s mind. He gulped down the last of his tea and turned excitedly to Hermione.

“Hermione, I think I know what we should do today; we can go and check out the new pub in Hogsmeade Aurelius told me about.”

“What? You want to go to a pub?” Hermione said, as though she couldn’t believe her ears. “We’re on a mission! — And since when did you become a connoisseur of pubs and bars?”

“Wait! Wait — let me finish first. This is not just about having a good time or hanging out, okay? That pub is the suspected hideout of Willy Widdershins, and we can investigate whether or not the intel about that is true! The pub I’m talking about is the Closed Doors.”

Hermione looked blank for a moment, but then comprehension dawned on her face.

“Oh — you mean the one Neville mentioned?”

“Yes. Neville mentioned about handling the case, but it was Aurelius Yates who actually filled me in about the details. Who would have believed it? Willy Widdershins becoming a full-fledged heist organizer and leader of his own Thieves’ Guild! Do you remember back in our fifth and sixth year when he was just a measly toilet prankster and an informer to Dolores Umbridge?”

“Yes. He was the one who told Umbridge about our meeting in the Hog’s Head, right?”

“Yeah, but now, you wouldn’t even recognize him as the one who kept troubling Mr. Weasley with those regurgitating toilets. Why, he has grown more powerful and cunning! Not to mention keener to break the law.”

“Well, I suppose Fudge’s being lenient to him back then did wonders to old Willy,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “Is it true that he’s starting to be quite a headache for the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Especially for Aurelius and Neville. They’re the ones handling the case. Oh, I just hope Willy does something big next time — big enough to be handled by Aurors, anyway. I can’t wait to get my hands on him, after what he did to us back in fifth year.”

Hermione laughed. “I didn’t know you’ve still got your grudge about that. It was nearly five years ago!”

“Yeah, but still, I want to get back at him. And it’s not just my personal grudge, okay? He’s still a criminal, isn’t he? He deserves to be locked up in Azkaban.”

“Oh, all right. That’s settled then. We’ll go up to Hogsmeade, check out that pub, and maybe we can also have our lunch at the Three Broomsticks afterward. After that, we can visit Minerva and the others at Hogwarts.”

Harry looked at her, looking confused.

“What?” Hermione demanded.

“I thought you said we must not be seen? So why are we going to visit them?”

“Oh, come on, Harry. It’s all right; we can trust them. Besides, even if the whole of Hogsmeade saw us there, it wouldn’t matter, because they’ll think we’re just visiting, in real time, and not back in time. I mean, what do they know, anyway? It’s quite all right. Unless of course we run into Kingsley or Marcus,” she added.

“Yeah, and that’s quite possible, you know. We might even run into Aurelius and Neville. For all we know, they might be investigating the pub right now!”

Again Hermione laughed, somewhat to Harry’s irritation. She noticed his annoyance, and stopped laughing.

“Look — I’m sorry Harry, but your short-term memory needs fixing. Don’t you remember that right at this time, your alter ego and mine are engaging Aurelius and Neville in a conversation?”

“What — oh yeah!” Harry said as he remembered that he and Hermione have gone back in time.

“Which means that they wouldn’t come bursting into Closed Doors any time today, because nearly all Aurors and Law Enforcers were swamped with desk work all day today.”

“You mean last Wednesday, right?”

“No, today is Wednesday, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“All right,” said Hermione, in a businesslike tone. “We’ll do the investigation in the Auror way, nice and discreet. But I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until five o’clock to visit Minerva and the others at Hogwarts. We don’t want the students to see us, as some of them might write to their parents, who might have seen us in London. That would lead to awkward questions.”

“I’ll bet Madam Hoskins will be pleased, as will Kingsley and Benny Jones, when we dig up something in this case,” said Harry.

“Not to mention Neville and Aurelius.”

“Right.”

Madam Judith Hoskins is the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Kingsley is, of course, the chief of the Auror Division, and Benny Jones is the Chief Enforcer of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, of which Neville Longbottom and Aurelius Yates are the top Enforcers.

Harry and Hermione talked for a few more minutes, and Harry filled Hermione on what Aurelius had told him about the Widdershins case. They also discussed about whether or not Minerva McGonagall, the new Headmistress of Hogwarts after Dumbledore retired, would let them stay at Hogwarts for the night, and if not, about where they might find a place to stay for the remaining time until the ‘merge.’

“Of course, we could return here, I suppose,” Harry said.

“Yes, but I think it might be good if we find someplace much nicer than this one.”

“Yeah. Besides, the owner might come here anytime soon.”

“Well, shall we get cracking then?” Hermione said.

“We’d better.”

With that, they promptly cleared the shack of everything they’ve conjured, put the things to their original places, and made sure that they left no trace of their stay there. This is lucky, because a few minutes later, they heard someone approaching the shack, which turned out to be the owner. Harry grabbed the Invisibility Cloak, and Hermione stuffed the Homing Map into her pocket. Then, as they heard the owner open the lock, they shared a quick, meaningful look at each other, and disappeared with a faint pop.

A few moments later, they found themselves looking upon a familiar sight: The village of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts Castle in the distance, overlooking the mirror-like surface of Hogwarts Lake.

8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

“Welcome home,” Harry breathed, as he and Hermione just stood there, taking in the breathtaking view of Hogsmeade and the Hogwarts grounds. They were standing on a patch of elevated ground at the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. This is the same mountain where Sirius had hidden while on the run from the Ministry of Magic.

“Yes, home indeed,” Hermione muttered, smiling as they both reminisced the memories of their schooldays at Hogwarts, and their weekend trips to Hogsmeade.

“Well, I believe we didn't come here just to look around, did we?” said Harry, offering a hand to her. She took it, and Harry helped her down the stony path. They climbed over the stile at the end of the High Street, went past Dervish and Banges, Madam Puddifoot's Coffee Shop, the Post Office, Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, and even caught a glimpse of the Hog's Head Inn in its side street.

“Well, shall we go directly to the Closed Doors?” Hermione said as they walked past Zonko's Joke Shop.

“It's still early, but yeah, I think we ought to do that first,” Harry agreed, checking his watch, and the two of them continued down the High Street past more shops, houses, and pubs, until they caught sight of the Closed Doors pub, which was situated right beside the Hogsmeade train station, directly across the street from Gladrags' Wizardwear.

It was a rather nice-looking pub, much larger than the Hog's Head, but considerably smaller than the Three Broomsticks.

Harry led the way inside. The bar of the Closed Doors is quite roomy, though as the pub's name suggests, the customers are somewhat ensured of privacy, because there are many private parlors with doors leading from the main room. Even the tables are placed next to the walls or columns, and the main door is designed to announce the arrival of new customers as soon as they touch the doorknob outside. The atmosphere is serene (though this is perhaps due to the scarcity of diners), and the room is quite dark, because the windows are draped with thick maroon curtains. The lights are coming instead from candles standing on elaborately designed candle brackets attached to the walls and the pillars.

“Looks like a perfect place for a hideout,” Harry muttered to Hermione as the two of them made their way across the room to the bar.

They each asked for a bottle of butterbeer, and after Harry handed over the silver to the old and bald barman, they proceeded to a table in the left corner, which was placed between the wall and one of the column, and which gave them a good view of the door.

“What do you reckon?” Harry asked Hermione after taking a swig of butterbeer. “Do you think the barman is also the owner of the pub?”

“Seems to be. We won't know for sure unless we ask him,” Hermione replied. “Want to do the honors?”

Harry smiled and took a swig of butterbeer.

“Wait here,” he said. “I'll be right back.”

“Okay, take your time.”

Harry took his bottle and went to sit at the bar. The barman went inside a back room and came back moments later, carrying a box of butterbeers.

“How's business?” Harry asked conversationally, as the barman began to arrange the bottles in the shelf.

“Thriving. Not too crowded these days, but we never run out of customers, either.”

“Not bad, considering you just opened up a month ago, right?”

“Right. Nice opening day, too. Coincided with a Hogsmeade weekend for Hogwarts students.” The barman chuckled. “I nearly lost me marbles when `bout a hundred of `em came bursting in and demanded butterbeers!”

“What's with the name, anyway?”

“Oh, it was my son's idea,” said the barman, now cleaning out glasses and arranging them on the rack. “He built and financed this business for me, ya know. Said he wanted me to stay busy and active after I retired from me job as a Ministry Magical Maintenance Crewman. He works at the ministry, too.”

“Really? In what department? I'm a Ministry employee, too!”

They carried on with this conversation for at least fifteen minutes, with Harry asking questions, which sounded as simple and innocent to ordinary people, but which generated answers very useful to an experienced Auror like Harry and Hermione. By the time he decided to finish the chat, Harry was convinced that the Closed Doors isn't harboring Willy Widdershins, or any other criminal for that matter. His being a Legilimens helped, of course, and Harry was quite sure that the barman was telling the truth, and that the old man was no Occlumens.

Harry bought two more bottles of butterbeer, and carried them over to the table where Hermione was waiting.

“Hi,” he said as he took his seat, and placed one of the bottles in front of Hermione. “I hope I didn't keep you waiting that lo — what's wrong?” Harry stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of her face; she looked as though someone had died.

“N - nothing,” she said, trying and failing to look as though she was just thinking about something. “So — how'd it go?”

“Fine,” said Harry, still worried about her. “I'm sure Willy Widdershins isn't hiding here. The information was not true.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, sounding as though there was something stuck in her throat, and reinforced the impression by snatching up the second butterbeer Harry had bought for her and taking a long swig.

“Hermione, are you sure you're all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine,” she said, setting down the bottle on the table. She looked up at him, fussed for a moment with his hair, and said, “There's something in your hair, Harry — there, it's gone now.”

Harry couldn't explain it, but he felt something peculiar when Hermione touched his hair, and he was sure it had nothing to do with his newly realized feelings for her. He pushed that thought out of his mind and thanked her.

“No problem,” she said. “Well, shall we get going then?”

“Are you sure you don't want to eat here?”

“No, I'd prefer to eat at the Three Broomsticks.”

“Okay,” said Harry, helping her up, “you're the boss.

As they made their way across the room, Harry tried to look at the other customers, just to make sure Willy Widdershins wasn't lurking around, but Hermione asked him to tell her everything he'd found out while talking to the pub owner - barman. By the time he finished telling her, they were already outside the door of the Tree Broomsticks.

They went inside. They greeted Madam Rosmerta, the pretty and never-aging proprietress. As Hermione made her way towards an empty table, Madam Rosmerta beckoned Harry closer to her.

“There's something wrong with her; she's not at all like her usual self,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, I think so, too,” said Harry thoughtfully, looking over at Hermione, who had sat down at a table, still looking upset. “Maybe she's not feeling well, but I think it's something else.” Harry turned to Madam Rosmerta.

“Is there a private parlor available?”

“Yes. Yes — in fact, all my private parlors are unoccupied. It's because of that new pub, with all their `ensured privacy and security' rubbish!” she said furiously.

Harry laughed, told Madam Rosmerta he'd like a private parlor, and then went over to Hermione.

“Hermione, I'd asked for a private parlor for us,” he informed her, and she looked surprised, but rather grateful all the same. She nodded, and went with him. Madam Rosmerta was waiting for them outside one of the parlors. She took their orders, made sure they were comfortable, and took her leave.

Harry watched Hermione intently; she was still looking upset, but seems to be trying her best to look like nothing's wrong.

“Hermione, I know you're trying to conceal it, but there's something wrong.”

“I've told you, nothing's wrong, Harry,” she said, but not quite meeting his eye. “I'm just hungry.”

“Oh come on, Hermione. I'm hungry too, but I know I don't look as though someone had died.”

“I'm fine, okay? Nothing's wrong, you're just imagining it,” she snapped.

“Hey — whoa! There's no need to get angry, okay? I'm just concerned about you, that's all. I know something's wrong. Tell me.”

“For the last time,” said Hermione through gritted teeth, “nothing is wrong.” She took a deep breath and continued, “So where do you think Willy Widdershins is if he's not hiding out in the Closed — ”

“Don't change the topic, okay?” Harry interrupted her, now starting to feel irritated himself. “What we're talking about here is — ”

He was interrupted by Madam Rosmerta, who bustled in carrying their lunch. Harry stood up to help to help her set the food on the table.

“Well, just call me if you need anything, okay?” said Madam Rosmerta as she finished setting up the table.

“Yeah, thanks very much, Rosmerta,” said Harry. Madam Rosmerta smiled at them and left.

“Okay, let's eat,” said Harry, putting liberal amounts of food onto Hermione's plate. They ate in silence — or rather, Harry ate, while Hermione barely touched her food. After about five minutes, Harry couldn't contain himself anymore. He put his fork down and wiped his mouth.

“Hermione, I'm tired of this guessing game, all right?” Harry said sternly. “You said you were hungry, but you're not even touching your food! I know something's wrong, and don't give me that `I'm fine, nothing's wrong' rubbish because I'm not buying it. Now, tell me what's wrong!”

Hermione sighed heavily, put down her fork, and, with tears in her eyes, looked up at Harry, who looked taken aback.

“Hermione, I'm — I'm sorry, I - I didn't mean to —”

“Harry,” choked Hermione, tears now streaming down her cheeks, “w - what — what is w - wrong with me?”

“I — what?” said Harry, startled. “No — nothing's wrong with you, why —”

“Am I — am I ugly?” she asked, looking and sounding thoroughly miserable.

“No! No, no, no — you're not ugly, Hermione. You're anything but ugly. In fact, you're very beautif —”

“Then why are they doing this to me?” she yelled, her voice full of anguish. “All of them! They're always hurting me!”

Harry almost jumped out of his seat in surprise. He went around the table to the other side where Hermione was sitting and tried to calm her.

“Hermione, calm down!” he said, putting his arms around her to comfort her. “What are you talking about? Who's — who's hurting you?”

“All of them!” she said shrilly, clinging to him. “Seamus, Robert, Brent, and now Charles, too!”

“Charles? Why, what did he do?”

“He — he's cheating on me!” she sobbed into his chest.

“Shh — it's all right, it's all right. He's not going to hurt you anymore. I — okay, just let it out … you'll feel better afterwards. It's okay…you can hit me if you want, just so you can let your emotions go….”

Hermione cried, and cried, holding on to him, and Harry had had difficulty controlling his emotions as well. That bastard! he thought, how could he do this to Hermione? He wanted to run, and find Charles Davies wherever he is, and pound him to a useless pulp, or better yet, to curse him into oblivion. But he knew he has to be here for Hermione; he knew his priority was to support her in this moment of distress. Charles will have to wait, he thought, and when I get my hands on him, he'll rue the day he dumped Hermione for some slut out in the streets!

After a few minutes (and after a few words of comfort from Harry), Hermione calmed down. She wiped her face with her handkerchief, and disengaged herself from Harry (somewhat to the latter's disappointment).

“Thank you, Harry,” she said softly, managing to smile. “And I'm sorry for going to pieces like —”

“Here we go again,” Harry interrupted her. “I thought I've already told you not to apologize for being human?”

She smiled weakly, and blew her nose in her hanky.

“Are you all right now?” said Harry, taking her hand in his.

“Yes, I'm fine now, thanks to you,” she said, squeezing his hand gently.

Harry squeezed back, peered into her eyes, and said, “Are you sure?”

“Dead sure, Harry,” she answered, and he let go of her hand.

“Okay. Now, can you tell me what happened?”

Hermione took a deep breath, then told him everything: About ten minutes after Harry left their table to talk to the pub owner back at the Closed Doors pub, she saw her boyfriend, Charles Davies, enter the pub, hand in hand with none other than Cho Chang.

“Cho Chang?” said Harry. “Well, maybe he's just accompanying her. She's Roger Davies's girlfriend, remember? And Charles and Roger are cousins.”

“I thought that too, at first, but then I also remembered that Cho and Roger broke up last week. Ginny told me last Monday.”

“What?” said Harry, surprised. “I — okay, so what happened next?”

“Well, they asked the assistant if there was a private parlor available, but she said there wasn't any, so they occupied a table for two in the right corner.”

“So that'd explain why there were so few customers in the main parlor…. Okay, so then what did they do?”

“Well, they ordered drinks, and chatted in whispers, all the time holding each other's hands. And then, he kissed her on the lips!”

“What?” said Harry, anger building up inside him. “And you saw all that”

“Yes.”

“But they didn't see you?”

“No. For one thing, they were so occupied with each other that they didn't seem to notice much of their surroundings. For another, I modified my appearance so they will not recognize me. After all, Charles knows that I'm supposed to be in London.”

“Hang on,” Harry said, as he remembered the peculiar feeling he felt when Hermione touched his hair. “And you modified mine as well, didn't you?”

Hermione nodded. “And I kept talking to you until we're out of there. So you won't see them.”

“That bastard! I'll make him pay for this!”

Hermione looked alarmed, and she grabbed Harry's arm to restrain him as he actually made to get up.

“Harry, no! You'll only get into trouble. Besides, he's not worth it.”

“But he hurt you, Hermione. I'm not going to let him get away with that.”

“Yes, but I don't want you to get into trouble!”

“So how are you going to tell him about this? That you know?”

“I don't know…. Maybe I'll just break up with him.”

“That's all? No — he'd deserve something more, and I'll teach him a lesson, whether you like it or not!”

“No, Harry! Please, don't get yourself into troub —”

Hermione slumped, unconscious, against him, as Harry bewitched her to lose consciousness. He laid her down gently on the bench, and then, with a whispered apology, went out of the parlor to find Madam Rosmerta.

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9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

“What is it, Harry?”

“Madam Rosmerta,” said Harry, “Hermione had — er, well — she'd fallen asleep. I have to go somewhere, so would you please keep an eye on her?”

“Of course,” Madam Rosmerta agreed, though she looked puzzled.

“I won't be long,” said Harry. “Please see to it that she will not be disturbed, and let no one see her.”

“No problem,” said Madam Rosmerta, nodding.

“Thanks,” said Harry, shaking her hand. “I owe you one.”

Harry made his way back towards the Closed Doors pub. As he reached for the doorknob, however, the door opened, and out came Charles Davies and Cho Chang, holding hands, and chatting animatedly.

“Hi there, lovebirds,” Harry said coldly.

Charles and Cho both stopped dead in their tracks; Cho looking merely surprised, Charles looking as though he were seeing a ghost.

“Harry! What are you doing here?” Cho asked. “Who're you with?”

Harry ignored her, his eyes still fixed on Charles, whose face was now as pale as Nearly Headless Nick's.

“Come with me, both of you,” said Harry quietly, turning his back on them, and led the way to a deserted side street. Charles and Cho looked at each other, then followed.

Harry stopped in the middle of the side street, which was completely deserted, and which was quite dark and gloomy because of big trees in one side and a large house with a relatively high wall in the other. A few moments later, Charles and Cho caught up with him, no longer holding hands.

Without preamble or any form of warning, Harry drew back his right fist and sank it as hard as he could into Charles' stomach.

“Charles!” Cho screamed, as her boyfriend recoiled at the impact of Harry's punch. “What did you do that for?” she asked Harry, her expression a mixture of surprise and anger.

“Stay out of this, Cho,” said Harry firmly, and landed another punch in to Charles' solar plexus. Cho screamed again as Charles doubled over and groaned in pain. Harry grabbed Charles's collar, pulled him upright, and ignoring Cho's pleadings, landed a right hook across Charles's face, followed by a left straight, then a right uppercut, which sent Charles to the ground, his nose bleeding.

Cho was crying now, pleading with Harry to leave Charles alone, but again Harry told her sharply to keep out of the way. He grabbed Charles by the collar, pulled him upright, and slammed him to the wall.

“HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO HERMIONE!” Harry shouted, pushing Charles up the wall, so that the latter's feet were dangling in midair. “How dare you hurt her! Cheating on her like she were nothing but a useless whore, you jackass!” With that, Harry let go of Charles's collar; Charles slid down the wall, but before his feet even made contact with the ground, Harry punched him again in the stomach, a little to the side, and Charles doubled over in midair, and collapsed to the ground. Harry pulled him upright again and pinned him against the wall. Harry was breathing hard; hot, fiery anger licking his insides.

“H - Harry,” Charles panted, blood still streaming from his nose, “Ha - Harry, I — I'm s - sorry —”

“SORRY?” Harry yelled, “Yes, you'd better be sorry! What's she done to you? What's she done to merit this treatment from you? ANSWER ME, PRICK!”

“N - nothing,” Charles said thickly. “Nothing —”

“Then why did you do this?” Harry shouted, pinning him harder against the wall so that Charles was in danger of suffocation. “Why did you hurt her? Who gave you the right to play with her feelings? To treat her like she was your personal plaything? HA?” Harry gave him yet another punch in the gut. Charles crumpled to the ground on Harry's feet, moaning and whimpering. Harry wanted to kick him, but restrained himself. He really wanted to kill Charles in anger, but his Hermione - voiced reason reminded him to keep his composure. Harry took a couple of deep breaths; he was still shaking with fury, but his rational mind has now taken control of his emotions.

He again took hold of Charles's collar, and pulled his face closer to Harry's.

“Now, you listen here, Davies,” Harry said in a low, clear voice, venomous enough to make Voldemort pee in his robes. His bright green eyes were burning with suppressed anger and hate. Harry was pleased to note that Charles's dark green — wait, green? — eyes were full of terror. “I want you to talk to Hermione the first opportunity you got, tell her everything, and apologize for what you'd done. I think you'll be lucky enough to leave her presence in one piece after she finds out you'd cheated on her,” he added, and Charles looked more terrified than ever.

“After that, I want you to stay out of her life forever, you hear? You will not see her again, and you will not let her see you. I'll be watching you, Davies, and if you even dare look at her, you'll regret it. Do you understand me?”

Charles nodded almost mechanically, his eyes wide, his body shaking with fright.

“Good — because I won't tolerate people hurting the one person who's always been there for me, who cared for me more than anyone else did. And just so you know,” Harry added, letting go of Charles, who propped himself up with one hand, the other clutching his abdomen, “you're such a fool to give her up for someone else. She is a wonderful woman, and you're so lucky to have her, even if you didn't deserve her. But you chose to abandon her for a lesser woman.”

Harry snorted, and straightened up.

“I don't think much of your taste, Davies,” he finished derisively, completely unmindful of the sobbing Cho Chang, whose feelings Harry might've hurt by what he'd just said.

With a last look of disgust at the pitiful figure of Hermione's ex-boyfriend, Harry turned his back on the two of them, leaving Cho to tend to Charles, and Charles to explain everything to his girlfriend.

Harry walked back to the Three Broomsticks, now quite calm and composed. He felt a kind of fierce satisfaction for what he'd done to Charles. Serves him right, he thought savagely, the stupid git!

Harry couldn't think how Charles could hurt a woman as wonderful as Hermione. Can Charles not see how thoughtful and loving she is? Can't he see how beautiful Hermione is, no matter what her clothes are? Or how her smile seems to wipe all problems and worries in the world?

At this point Harry stopped dead in his tracks; his chest had just tightened with emotion — his ever-present-but-newly-realized love for Hermione. Again he asked himself why he'd never realized it before. It's always been there — dormant, but strong and powerful. He just hadn't understood it back then, but now that he'd come to think of it, his love for Hermione had been instrumental in his defeat of Voldemort.

He can still vividly recall that night: All of Voldemort's Death Eaters were either dead or captured; all of Harry's friends were seriously injured, some of them dead (Hagrid, Bill, Tonks, Seamus Finnigan, Terry Boot, and the Creevey brothers), along with many members of the Order of the Phoenix and Aurors, not to mention numerous witches and wizards who had volunteered to join the war, and those who fell victims to Voldemort and his minions.

Harry and Dumbledore were the only ones left standing, Voldemort and Dumbledore having ended their duel in a stalemate. Try as he might, Voldemort couldn't kill Dumbledore, what with Fawkes saving the latter's life many times, and the inclusion of Harry in the battle against the Dark Lord. Dumbledore, powerful a wizard as he is, couldn't subdue Voldemort, and he decided, upon Harry's insistence, to leave Harry and Voldemort to face each other one-on-one, so either of them could fulfill the prophecy. So as Dumbledore went off to save and revive the others, Harry came face-to-face with Voldemort, all on his own. They fought long and hard, all the time creating the Priori Incantatem effect whenever their spells hit each other.

Harry remembered how he'd begun to feel fatigue and weakness, and he was hit with the Cruciatus Curse. He'd almost given up, but then, out of nowhere, the faces of his friends and loved ones (both alive and dead) flashed one by one before his eyes: the D.A. members; Dean, Seamus, Neville, Lavender, and Parvati; Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Ginny; Tonks, Kingsley, and Moody; Hagrid, Lupin, Arthur and Molly Weasley; Dumbledore, Sirius, and Lily and James Potter; and Ron and Hermione, in that order. All of their faces smiled encouragingly at him, giving him hope, but Hermione's spoke to him, “You can do it, Harry — just believe in yourself…. You can beat him — trust me…” she smiled, and — instinctively and automatically it seemed — Harry stood up, and concentrating on all of them but mostly on Hermione, he leveled his wand on Voldemort.

Harry felt a surge of power build up slowly inside him, and as Voldemort yelled, “Avada Kedavra!”, it burst forth from his chest, through his outstretched arm and eventually out of his wand, swallowed Voldemort's Killing Curse, and engulfed the Dark Lord in a blindingly white light.

Voldemort screamed, and Harry screwed up his eyes as his scar hurt so badly. After a few moments of agony, his scar throbbed almost unbearably painfully that Harry clapped his hands to it, yelling, and fell to the ground. Then, in an instant, Voldemort's yells stopped, and the pain in Harry's scar was gone. Harry opened his eyes, and he saw that all that was left of Voldemort was a bundle of black robes lying exactly on the spot where the Dark Lord had been standing moments before. Even Voldemort's wand was gone, and a single phoenix tail feather floated gently through the air before landing on the bundle of robes.

Yes, Hermione had been instrumental — that was what Harry thought back then, but now he understood: His love for her (and for all his friends and loved ones) destroyed Lord Voldemort. The “power the Dark Lord knows not” was love, fueled by the love of his friends, and triggered by his love for them, and it was his love for Hermione that'd given the final, necessary boost to eradicate the most evil wizard who had ever existed.

Harry blinked back the tears that'd threatened to fall. He was so overcome with emotion that he felt like running all the way back to the Three Broomsticks and confess to Hermione, to hug her, kiss her, and show her just how much he loves her. But then he kept himself in check when he remembered that Hermione had just suffered an emotional devastation, and it would be imprudent to talk to her about his feelings for her. No, he thought, not now. But eventually, I will tell her.

What about Margaret? a small voice in his head, not unlike Hermione's, asked.

Harry's heart sank. He'd completely forgotten his girlfriend for the past one-and-a-half days. Harry doesn't really love her like the way he loves Hermione, but he likes her all the same. Margaret is by far the best girlfriend he's ever had. She's beautiful, with her wavy brown hair, light brown eyes, and heart-shaped face, not to mention her perfectly proportioned body. She's also smart, and like Hermione, she'd been Head Girl at Hogwarts (Margaret was five years younger than Harry and Hermione). She's also a Muggle-born witch, and her attitude is very much like Hermione's. Add to that the fact that Margaret is also a proponent of the rights of magical creatures, but of trolls in her case.

And now that Harry had come to think of it, nearly all of his previous girlfriends were somewhat like Hermione. They had brown hair, brown eyes, and were smart and powerful witches. Most of them were Muggle-borns, too. In fact, Harry became known as the “Muggle-born Magnet.” Ron had even joked once that the only Muggle-borns Harry had never dated were Hermione and Harry's own mother, Lily.

Harry shook his head. I can't believe I'd been that stupid. He was constantly searching for, dating, and replacing girls nearly all his adult life, only to note every time that they were never good enough. He didn't realize until now that he had been subconsciously searching for a woman who is exactly like Hermione, but he was disappointed every time, because none of them had come up to her level. She was simply extraordinary — simple in her ways, but so uniquely Hermione. To Harry she's the only one, and no woman is her equal.

Well, Margaret is somewhat close, but she's not Hermione. Harry really likes Margaret, but it's not her who'd been with him through everything: friendship, victory, happiness, adventures, dangers, sacrifices, losses, failures, war, and near-death. It was Hermione. And now, Harry has reached a decision: Much as he likes Margaret, and much as he hates to hurt her like Charles had hurt Hermione, it's only fair that he'd end his relationship with her, and he will not be unfair to her by continuing the relationship when he doesn't love her.

Harry knew what he had to do. He will break up with Margaret, making sure he will not hurt her that much (though it will be inevitable), and then, once Hermione has recovered from her heartache over Charles, he'll tell her.

Then, Harry, who had resumed walking without his realizing it, stopped cold in his tracks yet again. He hadn't considered the consequences that are bound to come with his confession. He wasn't sure whether Hermione would love him back, or whether she even thinks about him that way. For all he knows, Hermione had always been a close, intimate friend to him, but she's never showed any indication that she liked him more than as a friend. They'd slept together, sure, and even kissed by accident once, but they'd never crossed the line. Even Ron didn't confess about his feelings for her back in sixth year because he was afraid to ruin their friendship.

That's exactly what's scaring Harry right now. He was afraid that their friendship might be jeopardized, and with it their partnership as the best Aurors of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, should he confess his love for her, and she didn't love him back. Many people — like Ron, for instance, Lupin, and all the Weasleys — had told him that Hermione loves him like he loves her, but he'd always laughed about it. Is it possible? he asked himself now. Could she possibly love me? No, he answered himself. No, she couldn't. She loves me as a friend, but never more than that.

But what if she does? said that little voice.

Harry paused again to think. What if she does, indeed? No, Harry contradicted himself again. She was so hurt by what Charles did to her, and that must mean she really loves him. At this thought, the anger he felt for Charles flared up again inside him and Harry actually made to return to the side street and give Charles yet another beating, but he also remembered that Charles and Cho must've left by now.

And then, as Harry continued to walk back towards the Three Broomsticks, he made his decision: Even if Hermione doesn't love him, he'll tell her about his feelings for her. Surely, she would never abandon him just for that? If he was lucky, she might even love him back.

Harry entered the Three Broomsticks moments later. He found Madam Rosmerta, who told him Hermione was okay, and that she was still sleeping. Harry thanked her for looking after Hermione, and he went to the private parlor. Sure enough, Hermione was still lying on the bench, unconscious. Harry felt a twinge of guilt for bewitching her, but he knew full well that if he hadn't bewitched her, she would never allow him to go and punish Charles.

Harry sighed, went to kneel beside her, and muttered the counterspell.

Hermione stirred, and slowly opened her eyes.

“Harry? Harry, where —?”

“Shh… Hermione, calm down,” he said quickly, as Hermione bolted upright, frantically looking for him. Harry went to sit beside her. “I'm here.”

“Oh Harry!” she said, throwing her arms around him. “What happened? What did you do? Why —?”

“Shh — it's okay, let me explain.”

Hermione released him, and Harry took her hands in his.

“Look, I'm sorry but I had to bewitch you,” he said apologetically.

“What? You made me fall asleep?”

“Lose consciousness, actually,” he said, nodding. “But look, I had to do it, because otherwise you'd have stopped me.”

Comprehension dawned on Hermione's face, and she went pale.

“What did you do? Did you tell Charles?”

“That you know? No, I didn't.”

Hermione relaxed.

“But I made him realize how stupid he is to give you up for Cho Chang.”

“You used to fancy Cho Chang,” Hermione pointed out.

“I did, but that was a long time ago. I couldn't even understand why I was so stupid back then,” said Harry. “Not to notice that what I really needed was right beside me all the time,” he didn't add.

“So what did you do to him? Oh Harry, please tell me you didn't —”

“Oh, it's not much, though he'd deserve more. Just a broken nose, a sore abdomen and maybe a couple of broken ribs — oh, and broken ego, I might add, considering I beat him up right in front of Cho Chang.”

Hermione look horrified, but Harry was sure she almost smiled at what he said last.

“Oh Harry, you could get into trouble for that! What if he files a case against you at the Wizengamot? You could lose your job!”

“Not if I can help it. Anyway, I think poor Charles is far too scared to do anything. Don't worry, Hermione, I kept myself under control. Though if I'd had my way I would have hexed him into the next century. And he's lucky I wasn't the one who saw them in the Closed Doors! Otherwise, I could've killed him on the spot. How dare he hurt you like this, the stupid, great prat!”

Hermione chuckled, and Harry stared at her.

“What?” she said, still chuckling.

“Aren't — aren't you worried about him?”

“No,” Hermione said. “Actually, I was more worried about you, because you could've killed him. And after what he did to me, I wouldn't care if he stepped right into hell. I just don't want you to get into trouble just because of me.” Hermione smiled. “Anyway, thank you for defending my honor and avenging me, Harry. You're really the best!” and with that, she flung herself onto him. Harry hugged her back, emotion filling him up again.

“Hang on,” Harry said, prizing her off him, “I don't understand you. Just about half an hour ago you were crying your eyes out because Charles cheated on you; but now, you're saying that he can go to hell and you don't care?”

“Yes, because to tell you the truth, I never really loved him anyway. I liked him, yes — because he was rather attractive, but I never really loved him like I loved y — I mean, never loved him that much,” she finished, though Harry was sure that was not what she intended to say. “I guess I liked more the idea of him than I actually liked him. So it's not a matter of broken heart, Harry. More of a broken ego,” she added with a rather nervous chuckle (or did he just imagine it?).

“Talk about sour grapes,” Harry said, earning himself a punch in the arm from her. “Ouch! I was just kidding, all right?” he said, laughing at her furious expression.

Hermione also laughed as Harry pinched her nose playfully.

“So, are you all right now?” asked Harry after a while.

“Yes, thanks to you, Harry. I don't know what I would do if you're not with me. You're a great friend,” she said, her eyes misting over.

“Don't let Ron hear you say that,” Harry said.

Hermione laughed, wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, and hugged him. Harry hugged her back, assuring her that he couldn't bear living without her, either, and not until a voice spoke from behind them did they pull apart.

“Would you like me to ask Madam Rosmerta to get a room for you, Harry, Hermione?”

A/N: There. It's up finally, and I'm sorry for the delay, but I hope you'll like this chapter, `cause I really enjoyed writing this one. By the way, can you guess who the speaker in the end is? Two Galleons for those who guess right! Keep the reviews coming!

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Two Dumb Aurors

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine