Open Your Eyes

He heard the muttering diminish as he stared into the wide hallway. Gringott's officials shot surreptitious glances at him before continuing their investigations into the new case. He had only been informed of the situation a few hours ago and was now dreading every moment that would pass between now and tomorrow.

The investigation was into one of the richest wizards in Britain, Ronald Weasley. It was reported that he had gained his money through property investment and also one of the largest shopping malls, for wizards only, ever built on English soil. The mall consisted of an enormous and wealthy joke shop run by Fredrick and George Weasley. Their creativeness, originality and vision inspired many and now young witches and wizards had a chance, the ultimate opportunity to undertake vengeance on adults.

As for Ronald Weasley, the latest Harry had heard of him, was that he was now a changed man from the boy he had once known. His wealth had affected his once amiable character. He was at times charitable, every now and again Harry would open the Daily Prophet to see the red-haired burly man handing over a sizeable check to new hospitals or schools. Other reports said that Ron had become conceited. Power-hungry and at the worst of times, arrogant and greedy if he did not get his own way. He was constantly trying to expand his empire, creating more money to feed his craving. It was ironic that he should be so after his underprivileged upbringing.

Harry tried to remember the exact point when everything had changed and after little consideration he put it down to the months after his distressing sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry, realizing he was losing two important people in his life, found himself in a painful predicament. He saw where their relationship was leading, he saw they had a future if he bowed out. He became an introvert, a recluse. Withdrawn to the point where he would reject conversation. And so one day, they had awoken to find Harry had mysteriously disappeared.

He had sought out and single-handedly destroyed the Horcruxes and discovered Lord Voldemort's whereabouts. Alone and friendless, he had murdered Voldemort, ridding the world of his evil. When Order members and Aurors had reached the scene, they found only Voldemort's desecrated remains.

Harry had departed long before they had arrived. There were rumors he had died tragically, that at some point in the vicious struggle Voldemort had killed him. Then, five years later, Harry had turned up at the Ministry to apply for Auror training. The news shocked the world. Journalists had a field day. Potter had returned, alive and alone.

Funny to think that another five years later and the world had forgotten him. He remained isolated from society, enjoying the peace. After three years of Auror training, he left and found a reasonable job in the wizarding world's most renowned bank, Gringotts. His occupation entailed investigating members of the bank who had unknown sources of mass income. He had taken down some of the wealthiest men in the world. They had been imprisoned and their assets had been ceased by the Ministry.

His heart had stopped when he read the name on the case file. He had seen Ron rarely since he left, almost ten years ago. He had been incensed at Harry's decision but Harry blatantly ignored him. It was all he could do. He did not wish to feel guilty about consequences of actions long past. He had done what he had been born to do, now he was just living a life he never could have imagined.

*************************************************************

Ron glared angrily at him from the doorway of the stainless steel kitchen. “So…this is how you say hello, is it?! Investigating sources of income! I found this empire truthfully, Harry! I worked hard! For years I worked my ass off and now you think you have the right to just come in here and destroy everything.” Ron's screaming did not seem to have any effect on Harry. He did not flinch, move or even blink. Ron was ushered into what Harry assumed to be the sitting room, leaving the hallway in relative calm again.

A wide sweeping staircase led up onto the second floor of the mansion. Elevated windows allowed orange, yellow beams to illuminate the main hall. The mansion appeared to be essentially ordinary. If Harry had randomly entered the house he would have believed it to be a muggle residence. But when taking into deliberation who the woman of the house was, it made perfect sense that there was so many muggle objects. Broad doorways lined the left wall while a corridor running adjacent to the stairway lined the right.

Running a long scrawny hand through his already tousled black hair, he entered the house and immediately started doing his job. An assembly of goblins, whom Harry had ordered, filed out the front door, each carrying a pile of documents, invoices or anything else that had either Ron's signature or the eminent Weasley crest.

He ambled, both hands thrust into the pockets of his suit, into what appeared to be an office. The room was nearly devoid of all furniture. A single black cabinet stood in the corner and a desk sat opposite the door. After inspecting the cabinet and unearthing only alcohol, he resolved to examine the desk, which was usually a hot spot for detectives. Sitting behind the large mahogany desk, he picked up some papers, leaned back into the leather revolving chair and glanced briefly at the records of money transactions. They all seemed fairly clean, but Harry would take them for further scrutiny anyway.

He searched the remainder of the house, which was a flurry of activity. He would occasionally come across moving promotional photographs of Ron introducing new plans and ideas for his company to crowds of executives. He continued to open door after door, at times amazed at what he found. There was definitely magic occupying the house, lengthening corridors and expanding rooms.

Even though he gave the impression of idle boredom, in his gait and his facial expressions, his tedious mind was always operating. After rifling through vast forests of paper, he felt a tough, arduous headache threatening to interrupt his work.

He reached a door at the end of the long wooden corridor. Turning the brass doorknob, he lazily pushed it open and found himself in a library. Shelves of well kept books lined three of the walls while a desk occupied the space under the large bay window that looked out over the lush green fields of Weasley property. He idly examined his watch and resolved to leave soon. He had avoided conflict as he had wished to do. They had gathered enough evidence to return to the banks' headquarters. Harry would conclude his work there.

He plopped indolently into the chair behind the desk, closing his eyes against the suns raw rays. He would wait until the goblins had completed their work before leaving. Leaning forward, he fumbled with one of the desks' drawers but it would not budge. After fumbling around some more he gave up and reclined again.

It was then that he noticed the ornately framed photograph on the desk before him. It was something he had been dreading seeing while in the mansion. The photograph was that of a magnificent wedding. The stylish groom, Ron, beamed joyously into the lens, his arm wrapped tightly around his new wife. Every feeling that Harry had ever experienced seemed to rip through him as he looked into the enchanted eyes of Hermione Granger.

All the wasted nights he had spent thinking about her, the meals he missed so he would not have to be with her or the copious amounts of homework he did so he would not have to leave her. From what he had completed of his seventh year, he spent most of his time captivated by her. Analyzed her every move, remembered her routines. Her favourite drink, her preferred food, everything he had naively missed out on in the first six years of his friendship with her.

She was the solitary reason he had not left immediately after sixth year. He could not bear the thought of living without her. Waking up in anguish at the thought of not laying eyes on her ever again.

When the time came, he did leave. He left to save the wizarding world, knowing that if and when he ever returned, the world would have changed dramatically. He taught himself to live without her love. The compassion and the constant companionship she always held for him. He knew she would never love him the way he had once loved her, that the past had been forgotten. Her present was now as was his.

He never thoroughly understood her reasons for loving Ron. They appeared to be at constant loggerheads with each other. Bickering, fighting, screaming at each other. But she would always hold back when roaring at Ron while he just went all out.

Harry saw the sorrow Ron caused her, the tears she cried because of him. And yet now they were married. Happily, he had heard. She had her future before her, and if this investigation crumbled and Ron was innocent, then he wished her the very best and would say goodbye accordingly.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” a voice interrupted his dismal musings.

He replaced the photograph deftly back on the desk, regaining the indifferent, casual manner he had built for himself over the last decade. He reclined leisurely into the seat to attain a better view of her. His breath would have hitched if he had allowed it. She looked even more beautiful then the last time he had laid eyes on her, too long ago. Her hair was straightened perfectly, tied back but still hanging lightly in front of her face.

She had the most simplest of make-up on, consequently giving her a natural overwhelming beauty. Even though she was wearing grey sweatpants and a grey vest, she had evidently been exercising, Harry still found her enthralling. But he would never let her know this, not visibly. He had become a master of hiding his truth.

“Working,” he answered plainly. “I'm sure you have been notified of the situation Mrs. Weasley. My colleagues and I will be on our way as soon as all potential evidence is collected.” He felt a fragment of his stone heart fall away and shatter as he addressed her by that name.

“How could you do this, Harry? Ron is a good man. He is not a dishonest criminal,” she yelled, the pain and frustration obvious in her tone.

“I did not order this search. Gringott's did. I work for them so I do their work. You know how employment works, Mrs. Weasley?” he asked unconcernedly.

“Don't do that, Harry. Don't act the stranger. Just because we haven't spoken in over nine years, does not mean you can forget about everything. Six years…I stood by you, faced life with you. Dangerous situations, near death experiences.”

Harry averted his eyes, gazing now at the locked drawer. “What's in here?” he interrupted.

Hermione seemed stunned into silence. Her thin lips were slightly opened in shock. “It doesn't matter. Nothing matters to you anymore.”

“It would be much appreciated if you could open the drawer,” he responded sharply, shaking the drawer fruitlessly.

“Ginny was absolutely correct. You have changed. You're almost unrecognisable,” she whispered disbelievingly. He paused, unable to take the forlorn look in her eyes or the downhearted tone of her voice. He lapsed back into the chair again, which was not as comfortable as before and massaged his now aching forehead.

“So you still get on well with Ginny. That's good. I mean you are technically related,” he said with a quiet chuckle. Hermione gave him an infuriated glare.

“Yes, we are still on friendly terms. Or do you actually remember what the word 'friendly' means," she snarled, putting great emphasis on the word. "Staying in contact, being there at your best friends wedding, the great times, the horrible times. But no...you had to disappear. You may have come back to the wizarding world but you didn't come back to us."

Harry leaped up from his chair in frustration, leaving the chair to rotate desolately. He had no intention of hearing any more of this today. All the bad things and the mistakes he had made being thrown in his face. But Hermione continued, aware that her words were having an impact. "I understood why you left, ten years ago. But I could not comprehend why you did not come back. I worried, I fretted and I looked everywhere for you. But you had vanished..."

"That was the point!" he roared at her, causing her to flinch. His emerald green eyes flashed with anger and once she regained herself, she returned his steely stare. "I didn't want to live in this ignorant world anymore. Wizards," he spat "they are so caught up in their magic that they can't see what good they can do with it. The majority of them can't even see past their own wands. Blinkered by parents, schoolteachers and then the Ministry. But the muggle world...it's just as bad if not worse. So I came back but I couldn't regain the life I had once had..."

"Did you even try?!" Hermione yelled desperately. "I saw you twice in the past decade. We were so close once. I could tell you anything. You knew me completely!! You were my...my rock." She snorted at how unoriginal and tacky it sounded, but it was true. She felt her throat clench and felt the usual feeling of being overwhelmed with emotion.

"You had a brilliant life," he said quietly. "When I came back...you had moved on. You had a husband, a job as a successful Healer, both of you were doing well in the world. I was so...fucked up. I couldn't tell up from down, black from white. You didn't need that. You didn't need another hindrance."

Tears formed in the corner of her already red eyes. His words soothed her and tore her apart. Her hands were trembling. She wiped at the salty tears and turned her head so he would not notice. That action was a blunt sign of how much things had changed. When she was younger, she went to him for comfort, for solace. Now she feared to let him see her vulnerability.

"I didn't want to hurt you anymore," Harry muttered, before slowly grabbing the sheets of paper and walking out the door. It clicked ominously behind him, making her sniff as she released more tears. If only he knew the truth.

******************************************************

He stormed heatedly down the stone gravelled driveway, ripped open the door to his Mazda MX-5 and threw himself into the low leather seat. Because of the overpoweringly heavy heat that the summer had conjured up, he had the roof packed away and let the wind swipe and unsettle his hair.

The cool breeze calmed him down slightly but his mind was still racing. He was still transfixed by her. Riveted by her every movement. He braked abruptly at a set of red traffic lights sending him forward against his seatbelt. An infuriated driver behind him pounded his horn annoyingly. Noticing this, he raised a hand in an attempt at a brave apology. The driver behind him thankfully ceased the horn blowing and retreated into silence.

Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror. Hermione was right…he had changed. Drastically he thought. He removed his stylish pair of dark Ray-Bans to gain a better view of himself. He had been gratefully relieved of his rounded geekafied spectacles just after he finished sixth year. He now sported a pair of chic metal specs which were only used for reading. Stubble adorned his chin and integrated happily with his side burns. Yep, he had changed.

The sound of a blasting horn startled him from his musings and he quickly realised that the lights were green. He slammed his foot down and the wonderful acceleration of his Mazda brought a cheeky grin to his face. He turned onto the motorway after rounding a roundabout and started weaving in and out of the slower cars trundling down the road.

But still he could not keep his thoughts off Hermione. He rammed the radio on aggressively and soon he was listening to a song entitled Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol. Pulling sharply off the crammed motorway he followed a ribbon of newly tarred road until he found himself outside an enormous apartment complex. He waited for the towering gates to open then drove in and parked his car. Getting out and slamming his car door, he strode into the building and stepped into the empty elevator. Jamming the lighted buttons he waited patiently until the doors parted again and he reached the fourth floor.

As he entered his dark apartment, he switched on a green desk lamp. His apartment was not very furnished. A leather brown couch sat opposite the wide screen television he had bought himself over a year ago. A computer desk held his sleek laptop and also his unused telephone. He kept a mobile phone for no apparent reason; Gringotts goblins were a race who denounced any sort of muggle technology. He had few muggle friends of which none knew he was a powerful wizard. He was lonely, there was no denying it.

He had had four weak relationships since returning to the wizarding world, each resulting in the female partner leaving him happily. From what he could gather he was too quiet and never told anybody how he was feeling nor did he show his feelings. This was apparently important in a lasting relationship and well outside of Harry's abilities. If he could be proud of one thing though, Harry had sufficient evidence to say that he was fantastic in bed. That was probably the reason his relationships lasted as long as they did, his longest being three months.

He threw his long trench coat over the back of his couch, it was too warm to have worn it at all today but he was used to it. After placing his suit jacket on the back of his computer chair and turning on the television, he heard a sharp knock on his door. Loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt he opened the door, expecting to see either his decrepit neighbour or his stern landlady, who forcibly reminded him of Professor McGonagall.

“You're a dangerous driver,” she admonished, folding her arms. His mouth dropped open and he let the surprise flood him for all of three seconds before closing it.

“What are you doing here, Hermione?” he asked heatedly.

“I do not know where you got your information but…it's wrong,” she said, before turning to leave. He feverishly grabbed her elbow and turned her around to face him. It had been almost ten years since he had touched her or had any physical contact with her. “What do you mean?”

She glanced at his strong hand on her elbow and then moved her gaze to his tired but alert face. “You…you're just wrong about…about my marriage,” she stammered, closing her eyes and dropping her head.

Harry could not say that he was joyful at the news nor was he entirely surprised. He could not be happy if she was suffering. He had absolutely no idea what to say to someone whose marriage had seemingly hit the rocks. He then decided to do something which he knew would change his life. He would not be her judge or a member of her past. He would be her friend because when it came to it he had always been her friend, even when he loved her more than that, even when he saved the world for her.

He increased the pressure on her elbow and pulled her into a tight embrace. She did not hesitate if anything she welcomed it. Her tearstained face was buried into his shirt, her arms wrapped firmly around him. He ran a comforting hand up and down her back consolingly and closed his eyes at the scent from her hair.

-->

“Here,” he said, handing her a blue mug of tea.

“You've gone all muggle on us,” she joked glancing around the room. She was perched on the edge of his couch, bent over the steaming mug. She tasted it wearily, checking the temperature before taking a more lasting mouthful.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked bravely. He had settled on refusing meaningless conversation. She needed to talk to someone about this but he could see she had trouble starting.

“It's nothing big. Ron…is just so preoccupied with work. The only time I see him is at night, after work, after our lives are over for the day. It used to be different, we used to work together. When the business was first established, it was the whole family…together. But now…it's like it has taken over Ron. He can't seem to leave work, at work. He brings it home and it just devours all his time. I wanted children, I wanted a family…but it wouldn't be right to bring a child into a family that barely has a father.”

Harry sat on the pine coffee table opposite her, watching her every move and listening to her every word. Her hands trembled every now and again causing her to put down her mug. She continued to divulge her secret marriage problems to him until almost an hour had past. She seemed to be more settled into her new surroundings as she leaned back into the couch. She had not cried but now Harry saw her eyes redden and fresh tears trickle down her cheek.

“I think he's been unfaithful,” she whispered quietly as if there were press officials waiting outside on the balcony. “He'd come home later than he usually does and he'll be totally evasive and would not talk to me at all. And I can't talk to anybody because there will always be someone who blabs fucking everything to the papers!” she finished furiously.

A long silence followed her speech until Harry finally found enough courage to ask the question plaguing him. “Why don't you leave?”

She gave him disappointed look. “Is that your answer to everything Harry? Leave, call it quits, and just go.”

Fighting past an angry retort he kept his thoughts on her. “Ron obviously doesn't want to remain with you. Start a new life, Hermione. You're only twenty eight years old…it's not like your life is over.”

“You don't understand…I still love him,” she replied meekly.

“Do you?” he prompted, not believing her. He had seen this situation many times with other cases he had been involved in. Wives clinging to marriages long gone. Fires that had burned and extinguished long ago. He waited for her answer knowing what she would do.

“Yes,” she lied, not looking at him. “I better go. It's getting late.” It was half past six.

***************************************************************

Three gruelling days had passed and still the case had not turned up anything. For some reason Harry knew that in some way Ron was guilty, even if it was just tax fraud. He spent most of his time in his small cramped office, spectacled and searching.

Revolving in his chair, he opened a metal drawer in his filing cabinet and pulled out an expenditure report and an income report. He flipped open the file and examined it until he finally saw something that caused his headache to lighten slightly. He leaped out of his seat, grabbed his suit jacket and entered the long corridor outside his office. His shoes clipped the floor as he strode down to the research department and knocked soundly on their door.

“I need a full report on all credit card expenses between January last year and last March, as soon as possible,” he requested quickly before returning to his office. He regained his seat and let his mind wander while he waited. He had not heard from Hermione since the day at his apartment. He deliberated whether she thought about him at all since their last encounter.

He contemplated the possibility that she would leave Ron and he could finally tell her how much he loved her. Was it too far-fetched an idea? Was he just messing around with old plans…lost plans? Was this the reason he was so driven to have Ron shamed and poor? If so, he knew he was playing with the devil. Taunting him into view. If Ron Weasley had one thing, it was a pack of flesh-eating lawyers.

He had seen Ron twice, each time he held his silence and ignorant languid exterior as Ron threw insults at him. A knock on the door interrupted his ruminations. “Come in,” he called.

A small wrinkled goblin entered and placed a heap of papers onto Harry's desk. “The papers you demanded, sir,” he croaked before leaving with Harry's thanks. Harry rounded his desk and quickly flipped through the papers. There was a lot of activity on Ron's credit card in mid-October of last year. He removed the file marked `October' and retook his seat. Tossing it open he immediately sat up straight. It seemed that Ron had been buying stock for his brothers joke shop. Suspicious was an understatement. His finger traced a line to the name of the seller and a smirk found its way to his face.

Morealon's Industries was an immense corporation founded almost twenty years ago by a young egotistical wizard by the name of Ion Morealon. The business had gone from strength to strength, expanding and going places McDonalds could only dream of. Then one day about eighteen months ago, Harry had been asked to investigate him. It had been one of Harry's toughest cases and still rose above all others. What Harry found forever changed his views of the wealthy and the prosperity of the world.

Drugs. Lots of drugs. Mr. Morealon smuggled them into the country from the one and only Colombia, not difficult when you're a wizard, then sold the drugs on. But that wasn't the excellent, brilliant part. The excellence entered when Harry discovered who they were sold on to. Muggles.

Over one million muggles got their daily dose from Mr. Morealon. And Harry had him on his knees. Except one minor detail. You see, when opposing drug barons, you may be able to bring them to their knees but they can break yours. And so Harry was paid off and nothing was ever told. Gringotts, being conservative, released Mr. Morealon and it was told he had opened up one of his largest accounts in Switzerland.

With the money Harry had purchased his modern MX-5 and then anonymously given the remainder of it to St. Mungo's. A reprehensible and discreditable act one which he rarely liked to think about.

Now seeing his name mentioned on the same document as Ron's, well it made and ruined Harry's days. This case had officially become dangerous. He had to approach it warily and as clandestinely as he could. First he had to ask the inevitable question. What was Ron buying that cost over two thousand Galleons? Flicking through the rest of the reports he learned that Ron spent about that amount every two months, without fail for the past year and a half.

Sighing, he fell back into his chair, scratching his rapidly forming beard. It was time he had to face Ron or have at least a lengthy conversation with him. It was time for answers.

He packed some paperwork into his leather case, filed the rest of it away and picked up an apple he was keeping on his desk. After locking the door securely with his wand, he made a swift visit to his secretary, an elderly woman with hair as white as snow. “Good evening, Mr. Potter.”

“Evening, Imelda. Listen…I need you to set up an interview with Ronald Weasley for tomorrow afternoon. Here in the office,” he specified. It was unusual for a client to have to appear in Gringotts, it was usually Harry who did the travelling.

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” she responded with her feeble voice. She scribbled it down then nodded a goodbye to Harry, who acknowledged it with a wave. As he walked down Diagon Alley amidst the remaining stragglers of the day, he munched on his apple which he soon realised was horrendously rotten. Throwing it into an overflowing dustbin he decided to make a brief stop at a small café off the main street. He sat outside under a canopy and ordered a coffee.

The blonde waitress who carried out his coffee placed a Daily Prophet on his table. “Keep up with the news,” she said vivaciously with a slight wink. Unfolding the paper he immediately froze when he read the headline. `Weasley's Weekly Wanders.' Under the bold alliterative headline was a photograph of Ron enthusiastically kissing a blonde haired, leather covered, what appeared to be dominatrix, woman. The photograph then turned into an image of Ron chasing after the photographer, fury written all over his face.

Harry ran a hand across his own face miserably, throwing down the paper aggressively. He did not have to read it; he already knew what it would say. Ron had been caught in the act and now not only would he suffer the embarrassment so would Hermione. There was nothing he could do to help. This was her battle.

**************************************************************

The interview area was a bare walled square room. An empty table was surrounded by four chairs and that was the only furniture of the room unless you counted the sour faced men sitting across from Harry. Ron sat on the left of slick haired, condescending spokesperson. Harry eyed him briefly before beginning his interrogation. He started slowly, asking about company details and getting his answers from the spokesperson or whoever he was.

He let a deafening silence encompass the room before continuing. “Mr. Weasley, what dealings do you have with Ion Morealon?”

Harry saw the doubting fear flash across Ron's eyes. Ron blinked stupidly before chuckling harshly. “Mr. Weasley? Come on, Harry. You know my name.”

“What dealings do you have with Ion Morealon?” Harry repeated sharply.

“What happened to your friendliness, Harry?” Ron asked, cocking his head to the side as if calculating him. “We're having a supervised conversation,” he laughed indicating the spokesperson.

Harry desperately wanted answers and so reacted hastily. “Fine,” he yelled. Jumping to his feet, he reached across the table and yanked the spokesperson by the collar. He dragged him across the room, wrenched the door open and forcibly flung him outside, locking the door to prevent him from re-entering.

“So…Ron…what connection do you have with Morealon Industries? Cause let me tell you, it is not the sort of association you would like on a business record! You know what I'm talking about,” he said tensely.

Ron seemed outraged and yet fearfully stunned. He stammered something incomprehensible and his ears flushed red, always a warning sign.

“I cannot hear you!” Harry yelled.

“We had dealings. Last year, I bought some stock off him,” Ron answered speedily.

“Your business creates its own product. The ingredients you import from Eastern Europe,” Harry read from a manila file he held in his hands. “So I'll ask the question once more. What business do you have with Morealon Industries?”

Ron shut his mouth and averted his eyes. Harry seeing the dead end ran a hand through his tousled hair. He let the silence dwindle before progressing. “Do you know how dangerous he is? Or are you already aware of that? Am I talking to myself?”

“I know he's dodgy but I'm not. I can't tell you anything Harry,” he replied soberly.

“Could I even believe you?” Harry asked derisively.

“What's that supposed to mean? Oh…,” he sighed, cottoning on. “This is about that woman in the papers. Is this about Hermione?” he asked and Harry was infuriated to hear him laugh her name.

“I never would have chosen unfaithful as word to describe you,” Harry responded harshly.

“Do you still fancy her?” asked Ron, a sly smirk on his face. He was obviously trying to postpone the interview but he also seemed to be enjoying the twist.

“She didn't deserve what you did to her.”

“Who the hell are you to decide?! We haven't seen you in almost a decade. You don't know us anymore…we barely know you. Look at you,” he exclaimed waving at Harry. “You look completely different. You remind me of Sirius, ragged…broken. Completely alone. Haven't found a wife yet, Harry. Played around with Ginny for awhile before she dumped you like yesterday's trash. You have nothing but this job and that's why you're so intent on unearthing something on me.”

Harry glared at him menacingly. “Ron…I just want this case to be over. So you can either tell me what's going on, or I'll continue to investigate you. Either way I'm going to get the truth.”

“Did you ever get over her?” Ron enquired, totally ignoring Harry's threat. “God I remember the way you were around her,” he continued, his gaze wandering as he remembered. “You were either avoiding her or couldn't keep your eyes off her. But you never said anything. Not once in over three years. I could see you contemplating telling her but you were never brave enough,” he snorted callously. “Harry Potter…Not. Brave. Enough,” he said, relishing the words. “Hermione Weasley…sounds good, doesn't it?”

Without much hesitation he seized Ron, heaved him from his seat and pinned him against the wall. “If you don't start explaining, Gringotts and the Ministry will find out everything about you,” he said through gritted teeth. “And if I find out anything risky, dodgy, crooked or bent going on within your business…it will be over. I will finish you.”

Snatching the door open he pushed Ron's spokesperson aside, made a brief stop at his office and then strode out of the bank angrily. When he had reached muggle London he made his way to the car-park, climbed into is Mx-5 and finally paused to breathe. He placed his head in his hands, gripping his hair irately. Nearly an hour had passed before he started the engine and left for his apartment.

**************************************************************

He was not quite sure at what time the torrential rain had started. The unexpected downpour had caused the wizarding world to retreat to their homes and now Harry was left snoozing on his couch in his lonely apartment. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, every few minutes the beating of the rain making him glance at the streams of water running down the glass screen door that lead onto the flooded balcony.

He refused to think of his interview with Ron. The endless questions still harassed his mind. “Did you ever get over her?” He didn't even trust himself to answer that question. He had opened the door to the past and now he had lost the key.

Suddenly a hammering on his door startled him from his thoughts. He rushed to the door as the knocking did not cease and then snatched it open, irritated by the sound. Hermione stood rigidly on the other side of the door and wore an expression that told Harry he had done something terribly wrong. She was wholly drenched from the heavy shower raging outside, her hair matted around her face. She wore an army green anorak, the hood hung around her shoulders.

“Was it you?!” she demanded fiercely. “Did you tell them about Ron?!”

Harry knew immediately she was talking about the Daily Prophet article and photos. “Of course it wasn't me. They had photos of him with her; it wasn't just a tip off. They did their homework.”

“Who tipped them off, Harry?!” she yelled. “Do you know how many people read that newspaper? It was bad enough having to live with a doubt like that everyday but now…now the entire population knows. My parents…Harry. They get it everyday. At least my father can take pleasure in saying `I told you so'. He told me not to marry Ron, said I was too young. I just want to find out who did this,” she finished despairingly.

For Harry's part he did not know how to reply. In the past few days he had found himself in more uncomfortable situations than he had in the past few years. “Hermione…” he started warily. “This was one day going to come out. It was never a matter of `if'; the question was `when'. You could not have prevented this. The media pounces on chances like this; it exists because of other people problems.”

“Was it you? Please tell me Harry, I need to know!” she pleaded.

“Why do you keep thinking it was me?!” he retorted heatedly. He was annoyed at her complete belief that he had betrayed her confidence.

“Ron…,” she swallowed nervously and looked down at her shoes. “He came home drunk and he was shouting, mouthing off.” She paused as if bracing herself. Then just as Harry was about to speak she raised her head and her eyes met Harry's in a sustaining gaze that made Harry's stomach churn. “Ron told me that you were jealous,” she whispered disbelievingly. “That before you left…you…you were in love with me. He said that the only reason you're doing this case is to get close to me.”

“This is my job,” he interrupted her. “I didn't ask to have to this case. It was given to me.” He suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable under her intense gaze. The only secret that he held, that ever meant anything to him, was suddenly revealed. And he was doubtful that he could deny it any longer. “You should go. You'll freeze to death…in summer,” he joked lamely. He moved to shut the door but she thrust her hand out to hinder its progress.

“Is it true?” she asked unbelievingly. There was something that resembled wonder in her eyes. He bit his lip, stalling for time. Did he have an answer? One that would not cause the ground to crumble beneath his feet. And then he felt completely overwhelmed with emotions he had struggled to stamp out of his heart since he was eighteen years old. He sighed in surrender, letting go of the doorknob so that the door swung back on its brass hinges. He slumped backwards against the wall, Hermione eye's following him.

“He doesn't deserve you,” he muttered. “He never did. You should have had someone who…who woke up every morning and thanked the gods that you were lying beside them. You should have had someone who rushed home from work to see you or missed their lunches so they could just have one glimpse of you before returning to work. But as life quickly taught us…what you should have and what you do have are quite different things.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” she asked quietly.

“I thought that what I was doing was right. I took the easier choice and found out that it had the hardest consequences. You were the reason I didn't leave immediately after Dumbledore died. It was only because of you that this world exists without Lord Voldemort. All I could think about when I was struggling with Him was that if I died you died, and that's all that kept me going. You ultimately made the decision of who would live and who would die. You, Hermione, are the saviour of the wizarding world.”

“Harry…please don't,” Hermione moaned, holding her head in her hands and shutting her eyes. “I CAN'T HEAR THIS!” she screamed distraughtly at him. “If you really had loved me, you would have stayed. You would have told me and I wouldn't have married Ron. And none of this would be happening.”

“You wouldn't have married Ron?” Harry asked incredulously. “Hermione, what do you mean?” She was still clutching her head in her hands and so he grabbed her forearms, trying to see her face.

She shoved his hands away from her and sprinted away from the door leaving Harry standing motionless behind. He seriously considered chasing her but decided against the idea. Even after so many years the fear was evident in what remained of his heart. He leaned languidly against the doorframe and with a sorrowful sigh rested his head against it as well. He could not keep his thoughts off what she had revealed to him. Was this the chance or was this just the closure of his dreams?

Locking the door behind him he returned to his couch. He had adapted a new way of forgetting things and it consisted of pretending to be alright, even when he was on his own. He switched on the television with a flick of his hand and spent the remainder of the night informing himself that he was not thinking about her. The frustration was continuing to unfurl in his chest and at about midnight he opened a bottle of Firewhiskey, deciding to drown his sorrows, forget about everything. At least for one night.

As the fiery liquid burned a line down his throat he shut his eyes and relished the bitterness of the taste. Soon after, the empty bottle was held flaccidly in his limp hand as he passed out of consciousness into a deep alcoholic stupor.

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“Argh,” he groaned touching his head sensitively. He felt as if he had spent the last few hours with his head securely fixed in a vice. Stumbling into his white sterile bathroom, which was unfortunately radiant in the dazzling sunlight streaming through a small triangular window, he collapsed beside the toilet and spent the next five minutes vomiting, ridding his stomach of all solidness and substance.

After taking a substantial amount of pills to clear his head, he made his lonesome way to work. Traffic was an absolute nightmare and after falling asleep at the wheel while waiting for any movement and being rudely awakened by an infuriated driver, he decided to make a brief stop for some stimulating black coffee.

“Mr. Potter,” Imelda greeted him, she paused slightly seeing his dishevelled appearance. He kept his face impassive as he nodded formally towards her and entered his office mutely. Instantly the light automatically switched on causing him to wince. He turned it off encasing the room in darkness. Lighting his wand he left it on his desk so that he could his make his way around.

Four hours later and he reclined in his seat, sighing heavily at the new task this problematical day was throwing his way. He had to pay another visit to the Weasley residence in order to attain more information concerning his `new' stock, purchased from Mr. Morealon. Picking up his jacket he left the office squinting at the raw beams of light that pierced his eyes agonizingly.

************************************************************

The door was ripped open, his hand still in the action of knocking. “Hello,” he said cheerfully briefly wondering whether the alcohol was still abundant in his system. A short plump Mediterranean maid bowed with theatrical servility and opened the door wider for him to enter. He enlightened her of his doings and showed her a warrant to search the house, before continuing into Ron's office.

The first thing Harry noticed was that there was a considerable amount of newly moved paperwork stacked in a corner. Clapping his hands in mock delight he got on his knees and began to flip through them. Ten minutes into his search and he was midway through a glass of wine from Ron's cabinet.

“What are you doing Harry?” Hermione said disappointedly as she entered the room to see his bent form, glass in hand.

“I am looking for stock-lists and I can't find them fucking anywhere!” he exclaimed, slurring his words slightly.

“You're drunk,” she said stridently, bending down beside him and removing the wine glass from his hand.

“No I'm not,” he replied vaguely. Without prior warning she placed both hands on either side of his face and examined his emerald eyes with the Healer wisdom she had been immersed in for the past decade. He momentarily froze under her touch but once he regained all senses he stumbled onto his feet and staggered backwards into the desk. “What are you doing?”

“Are you taking any medication, Harry?” she asked earnestly.

“Yeah…why does it matter?” He knew precisely why it mattered.

“Because prescribed medication and alcohol do not combine well,” she huffed, striding out of the room briefly before returning with a long needle. “It's a potion. It isn't conventional to use magical brews in muggle medical equipment but they use different systems of the body,” she explained. Harry had no idea what she was describing but guessed this might alleviate the drowsiness he was experiencing.

Pulling up his shirt sleeve she gave him a quick jab which he barely felt. She was acting like last night never happened, he thought morosely. If this was her choice then what would his be? Or was that choice made years ago when he had first seen her. Was all this just fate? If it was…then why had it led him here?

His sweaty hand slipped from the desk and he ended up sitting slumped against the desk. “You'll feel a bit lethargic for the next few hours. Harry…” she said tentatively. “What medication were you taking?” He was aware that she knew the answer.

His head drooped slightly as he felt his arms go limp. He felt so vulnerable sitting like a rag doll in front of her. “Will these effects be over soon? I need to be going.”

“I'll drive you home. What medication were you taking?” she repeated sternly.

He kept his silence increasing Hermione's frustration. When he spotted her firm but worried expression he sighed. “Er…I've been taking anti-depressants. Doctor advised them.”

“Why…why have you…you been taking them?” she asked concerned.

“Just…just take me back!” he shouted.

“Harry…tell me the truth. Please!” she pleaded.

“I was alone. I wasn't sleeping or eating properly. Went to the doctor and voila…anti-depressants.”

It took all her strength to lift him from the floor. Helping him out to his car he fell against the driver door. “I'm fine…I can take it from here.”

“You can barely walk let alone drive a vehicle. I learned how to drive after I left Hogwarts.”

They remained in silence as she drove until Harry fell into a slumber in the passenger seat. Minutes later he was shaken away by a delicate hand on his shoulder. The first thing he noted when he awoke was the fierce salty tang of the sea filling his nostrils. He opened his eyes, gasped and sat forward. The car was parked on a roadside lined with tall narrow houses facing the immense view of vast sea.

After noticing he had complete control of his body again he sat up straighter in his leather seat. Rain pounded the windscreen and a gusty wind howled around the car. It did not resemble summer at all. A clap of thunder rang out across the sky. He did not ask why she had not taken him home. He did not want to know.

“It's beautiful…” she started then stopped instantly afraid to continue.

“And it's strange,” he finished, earning a confused expression from her.

“What's so strange about…”

“The everlasting struggle between the earth and the sky. The way the sea wishes to remain stationary looking on at the land it protects. But you can feel it. The sea's fear that the raging war in the sky will finally make its way down here again. That storm is blocking us out from the rest of the universe and there isn't anything the sea can possibly do about it. Right now…under the shelter of the clouds…time doesn't exist…the universal clock has been concealed from our eyes.”

“We can ignore it if we want to,” Hermione muttered in a reverie. Harry slowly shifted his head to look into her eyes, sensing that something was changing between them.

“I am trying to use everything that I have learned in the past decade to numb myself against feeling anything. But for the first time…for the first time I can't do it. I don't think I want to,” Harry's voice was just above a whisper. “What did you mean? Last night…you said…”

“Is that why you took those pills and then drank them down with a bottle of Firewhiskey?” she asked incredulously. “Because of what I said.”

“I've been on the medication for a couple of months. You're not the reason I was…wait…how did you know about the Firewhiskey?”

“I am good at what I do. I can smell and see Firewhiskey from a mile away,” she retorted irritably. “My best friend addicted to anti-depressants and alcohol!” she shrieked at him. Through her anger he recognised the empathy she had always shown towards him in Hogwarts. It was never convulsive fury it was just worry. And it hit him quite poignantly that she still cared for him.

“I'm not sorry,” he said, his voice choking in his throat slightly. “I'm not sorry for leaving, because I had to. So much depended on that decision and I was glad that I made it. But…I am sorry for not coming back sooner.”

“I don't know whether I want to hear this or not,” she cried. “I had feelings for you since fifth year that I still don't have for Ron. But I'm married to him.”

“You don't want to be though,” Harry asserted somewhat defensively. “Divorce him.”

“How on earth can you say that? Fine, I'll admit, there are feelings between us but we cannot just drop everything to be together,” she exclaimed.

“Why not?” he replied childishly looking out at the raging waves beating vehemently at the pier. He turned to look at the outraged look on her face.

“Alright, it is selfish,” he admitted. “But I have been through all the lonely crap that life has thrown at me. And I can't help but feel infuriated that that was the consequence of doing something right for the world. And now I have a chance and I'm terrified that I'll let that slip away or even more anxious that you will. Please don't lie to me and tell me you're happy when you're not, Hermione…Ron made his choice about your marriage, now make yours.”

Hermione let a lone tear run the length of her face and felt an obstruction in her throat which she fought through. “I…I love you,” she whispered. His agitated hand which had been drumming on his knee stopped immediately. He did not know how to react and saw the pained impatient expression on her face.

He opened his mouth but could not find words in his vocabulary to reciprocate his feelings. He knew what he wanted to say but he found it exceedingly difficult to say anything. With a stifled sob she thrust the door open, the sound of the rain pummelling the defenceless ground exploded into the car. She rapidly scrambled out of the seat and sped across the road, the downpour saturating her clothes and skin. Harry followed instantly; he did not need to think about it anymore. He chased her through the sightless shower that danced on the pavement and streamed in flows down the road. He could barely make out what lay in front of him and continually wiped the water running into his eyes.

“Hermione!” he roared desperately. He recognised the dangers of her slipping and falling into the ferocious sea and so increased his pace until he leaped forward and trapped her arm in his grip. “Stop,” he pleaded. He clutched her close to him and somehow through the torrents of rain cascading down upon them he felt her breath on his neck. He slid his coarse hand up from her shoulder and tangled it into her hair. Tilting her chin upwards he touched her lips with his. They moved closer, their sensual kiss deepening with each moment. One of her hands grabbed a fistful of his drenched hair as the other draped around his neck.

They broke apart slightly, both breathing heavily. She choked out a laugh, a smile that illuminated the features of her face. It was the first time he had really seen her let out an honest laugh and she wrapped both her arms around his neck tightly, almost fearing to release him. “Let's go back to your place,” she whispered into his ear.

Hours later she lay sprawled on her back, the weight of his head just above her abdomen. Sweat still clung to her skin, and was trickling down from his saturated hair. Flashes of last night rushed through her mind, the tangled white sheets, their bodies completely pressed against each other, waves of ravenous pleasure crashing through her. Sex with Ron had become a routine that had dwindled and died a few weeks ago. Being with Harry had rejuvenated her passion and it felt like the first time all over again. Her entire body now felt numb except she felt his ruffled hair touching her clammy skin.

He knew from her breathing pattern that she was awake but he still refused to move, afraid that the image and the feelings would melt away from him. He could not remember the last time that he had felt this content or sure about anything in his life. He glimpsed the remnants of their clothes hanging over the edge of his bed and a glowing light cascading through the open window illuminating the bed itself.

Finally after another hour of satisfied comfortable silence he shifted his head and then pulled himself up so they were lying side by side. “Do you regret it?” he asked, failing to control the fear in his voice.

She turned her head so she was looking directly at him and her lips broke into a wide smile. “No…never.” He leaned over and captured her lips, bringing his hand to her naked waist. When he pulled away from her he planted a kiss on her forehead, before climbing out of the bed, wrapping a towel around his waist and started making breakfast.

“What time is it?” Hermione inquired as she entered his kitchen fully clothed.

“Half-six,” he replied with a glance at his contemporary microwave which had a flashing LCD screen.

“I better go, Harry,” she said regretfully. “I have to be in work in about an hour and my uniform is at home.”

Harry nodded mutely before escorting her to the door. “Take care of yourself, Hermione. If anything happens…then you know where do find me.”

“What do you think is going to happen?” she asked forebodingly.

“I don't know,” he replied throatily. She placed a kiss on his cheek before exiting his apartment. He watched her until she entered the elevator before returning to his apartment. He changed speedily before returning to cooking breakfast. Her last question played on his mind though. What was going to happen?

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Part 2 coming very soon.

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The world looked different that morning as Harry made his way out to his Mazda. Not just because of the effects of the previous day's weather. Water had pooled out in the road and gathered on the thick leaves of the gnarled trees or shimmered with diverse colours as it mixed with the petrol from parked cars. The grass which had finished absorbing was now waterlogged and squelched beneath his feet.

Just as he opened the car door and glimpsed the leather interior, a hand holding a cloth covered his mouth and nose. He struggled fruitlessly against the overwhelming drowsiness but soon drifted out of consciousness.

He awoke later and instantly was on alert. His ankles had been tied firmly to the legs of the wooden chair he was seated uncomfortably on while his wrists were bound to the arm rests. The fastenings cut into his skin and he winced inwardly when he attempted to move.

“Ah…good morning, Mr. Potter,” a voice snarled from the darkness. His head shot up but he could not make out anything in the lack of light. But he recognised the voice and decided to reciprocate the greeting.

“Same to you, Mr. Morealon. This is a tad bit inhospitable,” he kept a polite tone to his voice. “Chloroform, tying, what's next…torture.”

“Maybe, Mr. Potter. But only if you fail to agree to my conditions.”

“Conditions? For what, may I ask?” Again the mock civility.

“This…case…you're building against Mr. Weasley. You see…it reminds me of our trivial affairs of a few months back and personally I do not wish to repeat those.” Anybody listening would have believed it to be a courteous conversation between two respected people. After a long silence Morealon spoke again, this time an icy warning evident in his words. “You will stop this investigation immediately. What you find just might lead to more fatal events…So what do you say, Mr. Potter?”

“I'll think about it,” he responded evenly. A hand wrenched back his hair along with his head and he felt cold steel pressed against throat. He looked into grey eyes of a tall hefty man, definitely not Morealon. “There will be no consideration, Mr. Potter. You will make your decision.”

“I said I'll think about it,” he repeated. The knife edged deeper and he consequently moved his head slightly back. The effects were that he began coughing and spluttering.

A light switched on and he discovered he was in a long blank room with four men standing watching him. Harry saw the polished, efficient, superficial Morealon smirking cunningly at him. Ron stood adjacent to the wall and Harry recognised the young sixteen year old scared boy that used to be his greatest friend. He was paler than when Harry had interviewed him and fearful doubt danced in his eyes. Harry deduced then what had gone on with Morealon Industries and Ron.

His hair was drawn back further and his eyes met the cracked ceiling. He spluttered as he tried to speak. “You…you were…using him.” He laughed sadistically at the ceiling. If he could have seen Morealon's face, he would have noted how the smile had dropped completely. “When I shut down your drug empire…you opened up a new one. S…secretly though,” the knife pierced his neck ever so slightly and blood trickled down onto his collar. “You…used Mr. Weasley…to get drugs on to the streets. I…I have no idea…where Ron sent the drugs though…my honest guess is he had no idea you were…were pushing drugs in the first place.” He coughed painfully, his neck pulsing into the knife.

“It will not be you who will suffer death. I will kill her…it will be your fault,” Morealon sneered in his direction.

“Why can't you stop him, Ron?!” Harry shouted, shutting his eyes against the increasing pain. “Did he threaten you too? With Luna's life?” Ron straightened up at this. Nobody knew about Luna except himself. “You've had a few flings, Ron, but with Luna…it's been nearly five months.” Ron stammered to deny it but Harry immediately interrupted. “I've seen the credit statements! The hotels, restaurants…all the jewellery stores! You cannot deny love, am I right?”

“STOP IT!” Morealon screamed over Harry's ranting. The fist let go of Harry's tangled hair and his head dropped forward onto his chest. He was panting heavily and blood continued to ooze from his slightly grazed throat. Morealon was red-faced with unbridled fury. He strode over to Harry; his face mere centimetres from his and whispered menacingly. “Your decision has been made for you, unless you wish to watch her be tortured and killed.”

He swivelled on his heel and left the room followed by another man. Harry felt something heavy connect with his head before falling unceremoniously unconscious.

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It had been three day since Harry had been carted off to face Morealon. He had been thinking furiously of what his next move was to be. In the end he resolved to do what he must in order to keep people safe. He had barely left his apartment but had met Hermione twice since that day both times, briefly in his car on the pier. He had told her minor details about the ongoing case, the less people hwo knew the better their chances would be. She notified him that Ron was equally preoccupied with work. It was just after making the final decision that he advised her that she should gather divorce papers.

“Will he sign them?” she asked sceptically as she handed them to a stressed Harry. He took the papers, flipped through them and put them under his long coat. “Yes, he will,” he assured her. She was seated leisurely on the arm of the couch, watching him collecting papers and put them in his briefcase.

“Is this going to end everything?” she enquired. When he had finished and was completely prepared to leave he turned to her. Placing both hands either side of her face, he gazed deeply into her eyes. “Yes…but it will also be the beginning of everything else.” He kissed her deeply and then wordlessly left the apartment, ready to end the frantic insanity of the past few days.

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The grainy beach was devoid of any souls except Harry when he arrived. He climbed gingerly out of his seat and leaned unperturbed against the bonnet of the car waiting tolerantly for his arrival. Vast clouds scudded across the bruised sky as a light wisp of wind ruffled his hair. The indolent waves lapped the shore unconvincingly defining the tranquil soothing setting.

Soon he heard sliding footsteps in the sand and swivelled around to see Ron descending the steep slope from the dunes. There was a hard expression on his face. Something was definitely troubling him and his eyes flared with ferocity. He opened his mouth to say something, most probably rude, but Harry interjected.

“So did you know about the ambush?” he asked callously.

Ron's defensive stance faltered slightly. “N..no,” he stammered. “I didn't think he would take it that far.”

“You should have known your business partner was a vile tyrant,” Harry admonished harshly. “God knows everybody else who's done business with him knows. Ever hear of background checks, Ron?” he asked sarcastically. “You might be talented at selling product and making money but you're still naïve and ignorant when you have to reconsider its means. Stupidity is a difficult habit to shake off…”

“You slept with my wife!” Ron screamed hysterically. His face was flushed with rage and his hands were balled into fists. One of them collided with Harry's nose but fortunately it did not break. He staggered slightly but quickly regained his feet to prevent Ron punching him again. He shoved him away causing Ron to fall to the ground.

“You slept with Luna Lovegood. You cheated on your wife, sometimes with people you didn't even know. You didn't even have the decency to use cash instead of your traceable credit card,” he cried back. “I know I have done wrong in my life,” he breathed quietly. “But you know as well as I do that your marriage ended a long time ago.”

He wiped at a droplet of blood that made its way to his top lip. His intense stare found Ron lying mournfully in the clinging sand. The dejected appearance told Harry that he would not attack him again. “Whatever you have done or whatever you have failed to do, it does not matter. What matters now is what you do to end this situation?”

“The Morealon situation?” Ron responded, getting to his feet. “What can we do against him? He has too much power in the wizarding world. He manipulates every source of money that the world has to offer.”

“Did you know…when you first met him, were you aware of the drug smuggling?”

“Not at first. He informed me of a business opportunity. I foolishly decided to take him up on it. Then things got a bit strange…” He halted, briefly considering whether to continue. Then with a defeated sigh he went on. “Weasley Industries bought two thousand Galleons of stock from Morealon Industries, after that the stock was sent to one of my warehouses in Brighton. At the beginning that was all Ion told be about it. The deal was to get that stock to Brighton and put it into storage.” He stopped as if remembering something then continued, this time with a more a pained expression on his face.

“I got reports from Mr. Newry, my manager over in Brighton, about groups of Morealon's men handling the goods. Then the stock vanished and I got paid by Morealon. It happened every two months. I didn't really think about it at the time. Then last month I got suspicious and I searched the goods and found…cannabis. I confronted Morealon but he had gone past the point of deliberation. He was using me and he would continue to do so.” Ron shook his head with disbelief as he told his own story.

“I tried to stop but…he was persuasive to say the least. Told me he was making too much of a profit to stop. And now…with the investigation and everything else…what are we going to do?” he sighed distraughtly, rubbing his face with both his hands.

“Nothing for the moment,” Harry said, composed as usual. Seeing the puzzled appearance of Ron he removed a folder from his car and handed it to him. Ron glanced at it, perplexed. “It's the case file from the investigation,” Harry explained, leaning back against the car and folding his arms. “Everything is in it. From Morealon's first case to this one. In order to get Morealon out of Weasley Industries…you have to use this file against him. It has been replicated, three times, each one stored in different Gringotts vaults in three different countries. He will never find the others.”

“But how do you know he won't just murder us while we sleep?!” Ron asked, slightly outraged. He noticeably recognised the risks involved but Harry knew Morealon would not attack.

“There are two others who know of the files. Morealon does not know their identities. If you show him the case file you'll have him stuck in a vice. He won't be able to move and he'll have to withdraw from your business. This is the only way you'll be able to move on,” Harry clarified. “You, Ron, can decide the future of your business, not him.”

“Why are you doing this?” Ron enquired doubtfully. “Why solve my problems? You could easily just forget everything. Morealon told me that you have done it before.”

Harry extracted the other papers from inside his coat and held them out to Ron, along with an ornate quill. “Let her go Ron. Your marriage ended a long time ago and you know it. Keeping her in invisible binds will not resolve anything.” At first Ron seemed enraged but the fire dwindled as he thought rationally of the excuse of the marriage he was in. “Ion told me about you two,” he muttered quietly.

Harry remained silent, keeping his face impassive. Ron's tenacity died and he stepped forward and signed the papers. A purplish glow enveloped the paper which already had Hermione's signature on it. It burned for little over thirty seconds before the corner of the paper spontaneously caught fire. The purplish glow changed into neon blue, emerald green, ruby red and then finally a burning sapphire. The paper shriveled up tightly causing Harry to drop it to the ground where it still continued to diminish. Wizards divorce papers were considerably more fanciful than muggle ones.

As Ron watched it he gave off the impression of sadness but when he looked up at Harry there was a slim smile on his face. “She refused to marry me at first,” he muttered. “I kept asking her and she just kept rejecting the offer. I always got the feeling that she was waiting for something. Or someone,” he finished, staring at Harry keenly as if delaying to allow Harry time to say something. When Harry remained mute he continued. “I took advantage of the fact that she was afraid to remain alone. She gave up on you and married me.”

“But she looked so happy in the wedding photographs,” Harry interrupted in bewilderment as he remembered the beaming smile burned in his memory.

“Alcohol. She barely touches it since that day. She should never have agreed to it. She worked so hard in the hospital and then after a few years she sort of….accepted it. She recognized her life for what it was. She tried to build a family but I think I was afraid to start one and so spent my time at work. Luna was hired as an assistant about two years ago. I…”

“Stop,” Harry interrupted. “I don't want to know anything more about your affairs. It's over between you and Hermione. So tell whoever you have to and move on. And maybe…when the time is right, she'll let you back into her life.”

A slightly cold silence fell over them until Harry broke it. “Goodbye Ron.”

When he had turned the key in the ignition and the engine had roared to life, Ron had disapparated.

***********************************************************************

By the time he had reached home it was already growing dark outside. He found Hermione asleep in his sun-chair on the balcony. Folding out another chair he reclined wordlessly beside her slumbering form for near on an hour. His past was still there but it did not seem to be haunting him anymore. Of course everything was not sorted, not yet anyway. It would take time and willpower but he was absolutely convinced that one day he would live in relative peace of mind.

Hermione stirred faintly in her sleep and he moved his face closer to hers. “Hey,” he whispered softly into her ear. “Hmm,” she moaned shifting nearer to him, she was evidently still dozing.

“Open your eyes,” he said, needing to tell her something.

“I already have. We both did,” she said hoarsely with a bleary glance at him. Seeing her tired brown eyes he grinned and kissed her forehead. “I love you.” She smiled groggily and soon fell into a deeper slumber than before. She must not have slept since they had slept together and the case had taken a grave turn.

With relative ease he carried her into his bedroom and laid her on her side. She quickly resumed her effortless sleep, sliding a hand under her pillow for more comfort. Harry gazed at her through the darkness appreciating every line on her immaculate skin and the way a strand of her hair lay across her face and stopped at her faintly pouted lips.

Removing her shoes and then his, he climbed up beside her and wrapped his arms protectively around her.

Whatever it was he had been experiencing for the past decade, it did not compare to this. Years of selfish torment had ended in the space of a week and still he considered it wholly unbelievable. Her tickling breath on his arm as she exhaled slowly could be deemed unreal. But the feelings he was experiencing could never be feigned. Truth was by his side and in a world that produced phony inauthentic excuses of human beings, he needed that truth, he needed that source of hope. That was what she was, he thought. His hope and his future.

Smiling to himself, he buried his head deeper into his pillow where he could still catch her intoxicating scent. Just as he drifted off to sleep, the earth breathed a sigh and the gleaming stars finally broke through the veiling clouds.

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