"Wizards use owls to stay in contact," she responded whilst removing the envelope from the owl's spindly leg. Her eyes scanned its contents and she noiselessly scribbled a reply on the other side of the parchment retying it to the owl. It flapped around before soaring out through the doorway.
"Who was that from?" There was a pool of dread forming in his stomach.
"The Order." She replied slowly. "They believe they have all the information concerning the memory inducing programme."
"How long do I have left?"
********************************************************************
"Two days at the most?" he responded with the voice of a lost desolate boy.
She pursed her lips trying to come up with something encouraging or comforting to reply with. He was about to face a situation he could never have dreamt of. A situation, which a group of strangers whom he knew nothing of, were to blame for.
"I thought I would have more time…" he whispered to himself. His confusion and vulnerability pierced her heart and finally she could barely afford to look at him without risking an emotional breakdown. She flicked her wrist and the plates before them vanished. Standing, she finally resolved to say something. "The Order is used to working under intense pressure and understands the meaning of haste. It can be surprising especially when you don't fully comprehend them."
Her words had little impact on him. "Are you alright?" she continued.
He smiled benignly yet she had the distinct feeling he was hiding something. "I'm fine." He paused for a few moments. "Actually I want to go somewhere. I can't stay in the one place...I'm too restless." He stood to his feet in an agitated manner throwing his eyes in the direction of the doorway suggestively.
"We can't. There are Death Eaters looking everywhere for you...I already presume they know exactly where you are. There is also a chance that a wizard or witch could recognise you..."
"You're a witch you could use magic to hide us," he interrupted. He wasn't angry; his voice was devoid of ferocity however there was a distinct eagerness to escape from the confines of the house. Perhaps realising he only had mere days left as Jonathon meant he had a new zest for life.
"You're still a murder suspect in the eyes of the London Metropolitan Police," she replied sternly as if that would end the matter.
He sighed frustrated putting a hand to his mouth pensively. After a moments thought he exclaimed ecstatically. "You could just disguise us! Surely there's some sort of spell that would make us unrecognizable."
"The Order would never allow it. You must realise just how important you are to them. To all of us." She eyed him as if daring him to counter. He did.
"There is one person I have to bid farewell and then you can bring me back here and lock me up for as long you like. I don't care anymore. Just…let me say goodbye to this one person," he pleaded. His eyes bore into hers with a hope she could not deter.
"Who is she?" She was startled to hear a trace of vehemence in her voice or indeed that she had immediately jumped to the conclusion it was a woman.
One of his eyebrows arched showing he was amused. "Good guess," he commented. "Though I don't think you entirely comprehend but anyway…" He climbed out his chair with a stiffness that indicated muscle pain. From what she heard he had accomplished yesterday it was only expected.
"So are you agreeing with me?" he asked. His eyes danced as they looked at her, probably because of her idiotic slip up moments ago.
"I'll have to get in contact with the Order first…"
"Just leave a note saying we've dropped out for awhile," he said as if taking a wizarding hero out into a world where he wasn't supposed to exist while being chased by raving lunatics who wanted him dead was the easiest thing in the world.
"I might have to be a bit more formal than that," she rebuked calmly but was inwardly beginning to tire of his lackadaisical turn.
"Please," he made his way over to her, placed a hand on her elbow and carefully but forcefully steered her towards the door. "The sooner we leave the sooner we get back."
She braced herself against the doorway stopping all movement. He stared at her imploringly until she answered "We forgot to disguise you."
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"Blond?" he exclaimed seeing himself in the cracked mirror over the sink. He examined his hair closer seeing the tips of his hair were blond while the rest was brown.
"There's barely any blond in it. I just put it in as an afterthought," she added playfully. His scar had also been clearly visible on his forehead so she hid that thoroughly too. She rolled her eyes as he continued to scrutinize his appearance in the mirror.
"What do you think? Devilishly handsome or highlighted womaniser?" he smirked as he finished off his question earning a disparaging shake of her head.
"Both I suppose," she answered after a few seconds of silence. He laughed heartily growing more confident with each passing minute.
After leaving a note she hoped nobody would be forced to read they made their way down a small muddy pathway towards a wiry rusted gate. "There could be someone waiting as soon as I open the wards," she admonished. "The gate is the trigger for the wards," she explained to his bewildered expression. She couldn't believe she was about to do this. For anyone else she would have hexed them until they shut up but she found herself wanting to apologize in some way for her dreadful mistakes. "Hold my arm." His hand snaked around her forearm. She found herself holding her breath from the mere touch, partially relieved by the confused look that also plastered his face. No, this could not happen. She could not allow herself to fall into this whirlwind of emotion again. It wasn't even Harry anymore.
The gate creaked forward slowly and she twisted. They zoomed through space and time until they landed in the street where Harry had directed her. It was on the outskirts of the main city centre, long lines of identical houses towering into the air fighting for air to breath in the cramped space offered.
Jonathon appeared to be breathing in the street as he trekked silently towards one end of the road. "It feels so different now that I know what lies just beyond our eyes." She followed after him hurrying to keep up. She finally managed to ask who they were going to meet.
"Just someone very special," he replied nonchalantly.
"She better be worth it," Hermione cautioned clutching her wand tighter.
They paused at a house so indistinguishable amongst the other houses she wondered how he could tell it apart. It loomed over them as they cleared the miniscule garden with four steps. Taking a deep breath steeling himself he rapped on the door loudly with his knuckles. After he did this four times she grew impatient. "Are you sure she's in? She might have gone out."
"She's always in…" The door crawled forward on its hinges and an old wizened face appeared in the gap between door and doorway. "Jonathon?" a woman's voice croaked before the gap was widened.
"Natasha," he answered in a loud voice, presumably the woman was slightly deaf. He embraced the frail creature before letting go and introducing Hermione. White unseeing pupils gazed out at Hermione, this woman was blind. Hermione stepped forward and shook the woman's mottled wrinkled hand.
"Jonathon has never brought anyone around with him. I assume he is courting you," she smiled kindly moving further into the depths of the house. Stepping into the dark hallway she heard Jonathon closing the door behind her. She was now totally perplexed and would no longer play along to his tune.
"What is going on?" she hissed harshly. "Who is this woman?"
"She took care of me after I woke up from the coma. Her house is huge and she often takes in the homeless considering she can barely walk up the stairs anymore. Her husband died a few months ago and she's been left alone. Obviously she can no longer take in the homeless cause she's as blind as a bat. She barely gets by but I often drop into her. See if she's doing okay." He stopped and she could see he was inwardly battling with himself to keep his cool.
"I'm…sorry," she answered. "You can still take care of her. You might not remember her when you wake up but I will." She smiled soothingly.
"That was sort of the point of me bringing you here," he clarified with a grin. He made in the direction which Natasha had been and it led into a small dingy kitchen with a tiny circular table covered with a flowery table cloth. A kettle boiled in the corner and Natasha busied herself with preparing the mugs.
"Is she totally blind?" Hermione whispered amazed at the woman's co-ordination.
"She can make out shapes I think," he replied shrugging his shoulders. They took their seats at the miniscule table which reminded Hermione of the ones her cousins used to use years ago when playing with fake tea sets.
"Why have you not been around to see me in so long, Jonathon?" The table was set and Natasha lowered herself into her seat with careful practice.
"A lot has happened to me in the last few weeks, Nat. I'm sorry…you know me. I thought you'd be getting used to it by now," he attempted to joke. He looked genuinely guilty.
"Nobody should ever have to grow used to other people's mistakes," she answered with the wise haughtiness Hermione associated with her own grandmother. Jonathon accepted this scolding with a nod of his head and they continued to chit chat about the normal casual things people who barely know each other usually talk about.
Natasha's silver hair was pulled into a tidy chignon but white wisps still clambered out over her forehead. Her hands were heavily veined and shook slightly as they held her mug of tea. Signs of rheumatism were already evident in her countenance. Hermione felt a rush of gratitude to this woman instantly for taking care of those who could not care for themselves.
"You should have seen the state we found him in," her tinny voice echoed into her mug as she took a long swig of tea. "Couldn't tell day from night that boy." She reached across and covered Jonathon's hand with hers. "But he never caused us any trouble, did you?"
"How could I with the amount of rules you and Mr. Jocawski had? In by nine, lights out by eleven! There was no time to do any mischief," he chuckled. "Never bite the hand that feeds you, Nat. That's what you kept warning us with. I know the others were absolutely terrified of you."
"Good," Natasha smiled proudly. There was a lengthy silence broken only by the perfunctory sounds of muggle appliances. "This certainly feels like the end of a conversation," Natasha said with the direct openness only age affords.
Standing nervously on the doorstep Hermione gave the street a quick scan for any sign of the unusual while they said their goodbyes. A definite sadness had descended on Jonathon as he gave Natasha a brief hug before following Hermione down through the overgrown garden and onto the street.
"We have to go straight back to the Burrow," she implored but not too forcefully. He remained silent before giving the house one last glance and continuing down the street. She hollered after him but he didn't stop.
"Where do you think you're going?" she yelled running, reaching and finally falling into step beside him.
"There's a nice restaurant just around the corner. I reckon we can have a bite to eat before we go back." He was grinning again and she knew it was to cover up the loss and guilt he felt at leaving Natasha alone. However it did nothing to alleviate the surge of anger that coursed through her.
"Listen to me! We are doing everything to try and put you at your ease but...you're just throwing it back at us. You can't just waltz around doing what you want to do anymore. You're a marked man..." she was falling into a rant before he came to a halt and glared at her.
"I KNOW!" he roared. "I've just been told I have two fucking days left before I give up this freedom you supposedly wanted me to have. The life I had must've been goddamn awful if you had to go to such extreme measures to keep me away from it. At least let's just have dinner before we go back..."
"Molly will cook dinner later," she interrupted sternly.
"Then lets have lunch," he responded deftly.
"Oh you just have an answer to everything, don't you?!" she spat. He was really beginning to grind her nerves. One minute he's a charitable kind man the next he's an irritating sarcastic little...
"More or less, yes I do." He smirked satisfied and she felt an urge to slap him. The fury must have shown on her face as the smirk faltered. "Why are you so intent on getting me back? They could never know where we are. The chances of them even recognising us are miniscule."
"I've been placed in charge of your safety. And...personally I don't want anything dreadful to happen to you...to us," she corrected praying she had not blushed at her mistake.
The grin was etching its way onto his face before he stopped it. "So we were friends?" he asked, his eyebrows reaching up to his hairline in amusement.
"Friends." She replied in a monotone voice.
*****************************************************************************************
Hermione discovered Jonathon's real intentions when they sat in the booth of the oriental restaurant he had brought her to. Aromatic smells emanated from the steaming noisy kitchen and she could hear shouts in foreign languages she couldn't understand. Thankfully the entire restaurant was quite small and dimly lit. She could barely even make out his face sitting across the table from her.
"Double scotch..." he looked expectedly at her while the waiter stood poised over them, notebook in hand.
"It's five o'clock in the day," she answered glancing at her watch. Her eyes widened when he knocked back the scotch effortlessly and then opened the menu momentarily before shutting it.
"Do you always drink this much?" The waiter had just brought Jonathon his second scotch before disappearing with their orders.
"I'm celebrating the end of my life," he responded simply. "Could you just please...for my sake before I go completely mental, just loosen up? I mean I feel like you're my conscious following me around picking out all my mistakes." He gestured to the air around him as if his mistakes were looming like shadows behind him. "Have some wine?"
"Don't think I'm going to carry you back to the Burrow," she warned with narrowed eyes.
He raised the glass of amber liquid to his lips before saying "Of course you will. You care about...us." The corner of his lips twitched slightly. She gave him the mother of all eyerolls.
"So what did you do before we interrupted your life?" She placed her two elbows on the table and leaned forward interested.
"Security mostly. Paid most of the bills," he replied. "Wasn't the most fascinating job. You think it'd be like some sort of action movie but it's really a whole load of waiting around for somebody to relieve you from your shift."
"What about the drugs they found?" She dropped the question candidly.
He didn't flinch or refuse the question. Instead he moved forward in his seat, his knee brushed hers and she hoped it wouldn't reflex back but it stayed in place. She wasn't sure whether this was the most comfortable or the most painful situation she had ever found herself in. "They paid the rest of the bills." He paused considering if he should tell the entire truth and decided perhaps it was best. "Yes...I have taken them. But they're nothing hardcore. It's not an addiction."
"It could be for the people you're selling them to," she countered.
"I try not to think about things like that." There was a heavy silence broken only by the clanging of cutlery and plates. When they had finished eating she decided to stop grilling him about his errors. He was right. She was acting like his conscious and she had no right to. Taking into consideration her own blunders in life, she was a hypocrite to criticise him for his.
She felt his knee brush against her own momentarily as he adjusted himself in his seat. She fought the urge to close her eyes helping her to keep her resolve. Instead she raised her eyes to his and was startled to see him staring intently at her. "Are you finished your twenty questions? Is it my turn now?" he smiled seductively across the table.
"Don't worry I won't interrogate you anymore. I just wanted to know whether you genuinely regretted ever selling…"
"Yes I do," he interjected instantly. "I would never have done it if I wasn't' desperate but I was. So I did. Now please can we just talk about something different? What's your favourite kind of cake?" he asked sarcastically.
"Coffee slice," she replied.
"Favourite colour?"
"Blue."
"Favourite drink?"
"Wine."
"What colour?"
"Red."
"Favourite dinner?"
"Lasagne."
"Favourite sexual position?"
"Let's go."
"Never heard of that one," he laughed. "How about we..."
"No thank you," she climbed out of her seat while he took his wallet from his back pocket. Throwing the notes on the table he followed her out of the restaurant. The sky had darkened to a rich velvet blue streaked with pink. A plane zoomed through the wisps of cloud, its engines screaming echoingly across the sky. The supermarket on the street held a few lingering shoppers while a group of hooded teenagers loitered outside the parking lot.
"Thank you for dinner," she said as they rounded a corner into an empty street.
"No problem. Thank you for the wonderful, nerve-wrecking and frankly terrifying company," he replied earning a genuine laugh from her. "I'm not joking I was really beginning to get worried back there. I actually thought you might be an undercover cop who had just made this entire rollercoaster up as a ploy to arrest me."
"Okay okay," she chuckled. "I'm sorry. I am known to come on a bit...strong."
"Some men find that extremely alluring in a woman," he grinned mischievously. He took a step closer to her; the attraction which he had been experiencing throughout the day finally seemed to have a reason. He knew it was mutual, that she would want this as much as he did. His hand reached her shoulder and she felt as if someone had sucked all the air from her lungs. The hand trailed up from her shoulder until it cupped her face and he bent lower to capture her lips but at the last moment she pulled away.
"We can't."
"Why not? Surely we've done this before..."
"No! Never," she cut him off.
"Not even..."
"No," she deadpanned. He appeared to be confused as if his emotions had led him this far and then finally just left him standing on the edge.
"Let's just get back to the Burrow," she implored. He scrutinized her for a moment before agreeing and finally grasping her forearm. Within seconds they were trekking up the path into the round garden that preceded the Burrow.
"Oh there you are!" Mrs. Weasley yelled as they reached the open door. "We were beginning to worry but Arthur told me not to alert the Order until it was absolutely necessary."
"I just wanted to clear up something before..." Jonathon started to explain. He stopped mid-sentence unable to contemplate what would happen to him in two days.
"Ron said he would drop in later," Arthur said covering the open silence Jonathon had left. "Will you be staying again tonight, Hermione?"
She gave Jonathon a fleeting look before refusing the offer. "I think I'll return to Hogwarts tonight. I have a lot of work to get through," she lied.
When she reached the solace and safety of her own dorm she collapsed into her couch. "Oh shit Hermione what have you done?"