Oublier

It seemed like an eternity before Remus Lupin returned to the waiting area. There wasn't a sound when he appeared in the doorway; his melancholy expression was enough to silence them all. Mrs. Weasley took a great shuddering breath before burying her head in Arthur's shoulder. Ron collapsed into his father's other shoulder, the tears flowing freely onto his overcoat.

“No,” said Hermione defiantly “He can't be dead. We don't even know what curse he was hit with.”

Another excruciating moment passed before Remus finally spoke. “He isn't dead.” Every face in the room shot in his direction, he could barely endure the hopeful expressions on their faces so he continued instantly, his voice catching in his throat through unshed tears. “He was hit with a memory charm. It is most likely that his entire life's memory has been wiped out. He has not awoken yet but when he does, he'll undoubtedly know nothing of his former life.”

There was a stunned silence in which nobody made a move. A shadow seemed to have been thrown across the room encompassing all of them in astonishment and fear. Hermione instantly felt breathless and light-headed. Tiny fragments of the past seven years shot through her mind. Chatting together in dusty classrooms, watching Harry fly over lush green fields, speaking to him at a magnificent fire in the common room, eating in the Great Hall, celebrating in the Great Hall. All those memories had been wiped out of his head, moments of happiness and sadness.

“But we can help him regain his memory,” argued Ginny standing to her feet. “We'll teach him about his past. Tell him about all the things that he's done. He has just bloody defeated You-Know-Who! His life isn't over. This is just the beginning of what he's been fighting for.”

Fred, George and Ron Weasley immediately began agreeing with her, their voices blending excitedly as they came up with methods of helping Harry regain his lost memory. Hermione stared at Lupin's tall shabby frame isolated in the centre of the room. She knew exactly what he and the other Order members had decided to do. He grew more agitated at the Weasleys growing chatter. “Would you all just be quiet?! The Order has come to a decision which has been accepted unanimously by all its members.”

“You're not bringing him back into this world. You're taking him away from it,” added Hermione quietly. Her eyes flickered to Arthur and Molly and she could see that they already accepted the idea. She felt an instant wave of emptiness as if she had just lost a part of her soul.

“Are you nuts?!” roared Fred. “What do you plan to do? Leave him out in the streets. Why don't you just finish You-Know-Who's plan and kill him now!” As before the other Weasley children were of the same opinion. However their claims had no effect on Lupin. He closed his eyes as if trying to get rid of their voices. The week's stubble on his cheeks gave him the appearance of a vagrant. He had not stopped fighting for the past two years, now his war was over and he had lost what he had been fighting for.

“Don't you see!” he shrieked uncharacteristically. “He has buried almost his entire family! Could you bear to tell him all the people he has lost. To retell his ruthless story. James, Lily, Sirius, Dumbledore and Hagrid. All dead in a fight that was only meant to include him. I may not have known Harry as you do but he wanted a normal life and he could never have that after the life he has led. This is a chance to give him all that he has ever wanted.”

A pensive hush enveloped the entire room. Not one person disagreed with Lupin. Hermione's thoughts ricocheted around her head, thoughts she could not begin to process. Disbelief and guilt gnawed at her heart. She found it difficult to breathe and yet what could breathing do. It would not help her in the slightest. Not in this horrendous situation. She didn't need to breathe, to cry, to scream she just needed him. She wished she could talk to him; ask him what he wanted.

“He's only eighteen,” continued Lupin. “That's still a young age. He can make a life for himself in the muggle world, go to college and find a job. Not one person can say that he will have an easy life if he stays in the wizarding world. We have a chance to take away all his suffering from the past eighteen years, all the death and pain.”

Hermione leaped out of her chair and bounded out of the room. She knew that the decision had already been made. There was no returning to Hogwarts, no Diagon Alley, no late nights at the Burrow or days spent in the fields surrounding Ottery St. Catchpole.

She found herself outside in the streets of London preceding the clandestine entrance to St. Mungo's. A sob erupted from her throat, a choke that wanted to be a scream. Only a few late shoppers treaded the cobblestones, every now and again glancing at her fearfully. She could still hear his voice, disbelief clouded her rational thought. How could everything be so screwed up? The war had ended; they were supposed to be rejoicing.

After ten solitary minutes of standing alone in the darkened street she heard her own voice. A memory she had shared with Harry a year ago that now only belonged to her. “You'll stop being the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One. You'll find a wife and have a family.” Realisation slowly seeped through her wall of incredulity. This was the only way she could ever offer him this.

“You have to see this from his point of view, Hermione.” Remus ambled towards her, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. “If it was you, he'd let you go, for your own happiness.”

“I just can't seem to see how all of this happened. My mind won't register the fact that he won't know me. He won't be my best friend anymore, he won't miss me like I would miss him,” she sighed. “How can you just accept this?”

“I've known for almost ten hours. The healers didn't recognise the symptoms at first, everything added to a cruel Stunner. It isn't often that you see a Memory Charm in the midst of battle. Lestrange knew what she was doing; I am so very happy I managed to kill her.”

“But still,” she yelled frustrated “you're acting like you knew from the moment you met Harry that this is what would happen.”

“Of course I didn't. Nobody could have foreseen this. I want to congratulate him, not make plans to forget him. But what life awaits him if he wakes up in the wizarding world,” he roared flinging his arm back pointing towards the ghostly building that now held an unconscious Harry. “There is so much that he would have to come to terms with. Could you honestly tell me you are prepared to tell him that his parents were murdered for his sake? That Sirius was killed trying to protect him as was Hagrid. That Dumbledore,” he paused as if speaking the old headmasters name was painful, “that Dumbledore spent the last twenty years of his life trying to make sure, not that Harry was alive but that he was happy.”

“You're right,” she said dejectedly. “There isn't any point in making the next years of his life another battle. I once promised him that he would have a normal life once he had defeated Voldemort but I never really believed he could have an ordinary life until now.” Finally she let free her tears. Her body wracking with sobs, she placed a hand over her face. From instinct, trying to stay strong. Lupin watched a moment before enveloping her in a hug trying to comfort but barely managing to comfort himself.

Several hours later and after numerous cups of coffee the Weasleys, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, Alastor Moody and some other members of the Order assembled in the circular waiting room. The mood was sombre, the expressions gloomy. Lupin inhaled deeply before speaking as he knew his words would put a sense of finality on all their lives.

“The press will be told later today of Harry's death. This is to ensure that no one from the wizarding world suspects anything or tries to find Harry in the future, especially Death Eaters. Harry will be transported to a muggle hospital, we will take anything that identifies him from him. We'll organise surveillance but only till he finds his feet.”

“This is all happening so fast,” muttered Ron. Hermione reached out and held his hand, gently resting her head against his shoulder.

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

The wizarding world mourned the loss of their hero. The Boy-Who-Lived lived no more. Thousands attended the funeral that took place at Hogwarts.

It was a long time before the shadow cast because of Harry's apparent death lifted. But one day people woke and continued on with their lives. For those who knew the truth, news about Harry rarely came. Occasionally they were assured about his well being until one day, many years after his exit, news stopped coming.

The boy who had earned respect because all he had overcome, the boy who had always been destined to be a hero, the boy who had triumphed when everyone else had lost hope, was truly gone. Harry Potter ceased to be.

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Sunlight beamed through every window of the castle creating a stifling heat which drove almost every student from the castle. Hermione Granger remained indoors though, continuing to correct the end of term papers that were piled on her desk.

She usually preferred to be indoors but on days as alive and brilliant as these she would have fancied going down to visit her friend Neville who was attending to the many greenhouses on the grounds. It was not his duty as Professor of Herbology to tend and maintain the gardens but his love of nature and magical plants always won over his work.

Three years after the war Hermione had accepted the position as Professor of Arithmancy after Professor Vector's untimely death. She would be eternally grateful to Headmistress McGonagall for the offer. Hermione had always felt a connection to the castle where she had grown up and learnt magic to her utmost capabilities and now she felt that she was paying her debt back to the castle.

She once believed teaching would be difficult and too stressful for her to handle but as soon as she began she knew it was the right profession. She enjoyed expanding the minds of students and showing them the extent with which magic could be used. When she discovered Neville Longbottom had also started working at Hogwarts she had been delighted to have someone around with whom she could speak.

Three more years later and she was completely settled into life at Hogwarts. She was no longer nervous about working with her old professors and had become good friends with Minerva McGonagall.

An owl swooped through the window which had been thrust open in vain of catching a non-existent breeze. She recognised him as Pigwidgeon and immediately began fumbling with the attached scroll hoping he would refrain from upending the waiting papers. After untying it and thanking Pig she unfurled the scroll and read the letter.

Dear Hermione

Having a get together at the Burrow tonight to celebrate Lara's birthday. Would love for you to come, Luna is crazy with excitement…well crazier than usual. Mum is cooking and I think almost everyone is coming so if possible please come. Forget work for one night…the summer holidays are starting in a few days so the students don't really need you on your top form!

See you there

Ron

Scribbling a small note she fastened it to Pig and launched him out the window where he instantly began beating his wings desperately. She continued to correct the remainder of the papers, then tidied her desk and made her way down to see Neville, who would obviously be attending any Weasley bash to see his wife Ginny.

“Hey Neville,” she said as she approached, shielding her eyes from the sun with the palm of her hand.

“Morning Hermione. Are you finished correcting assignments?” he asked and she knew from his tone he had not even began.

“Most of them. I was just wondering what time you're going tonight. I thought we might as well Floo together as it saves powder.” She seated herself on one of the work benches that ran down the centre of the greenhouse and watched as he turned compost with his gloved hands.

“Good idea. I'm going at about seven, Ginny warned that most people weren't turning up till about eight but Molly asked me to help her with some Writhing Weeds that have started to strangle some of her gnomes.”

Though still awkward, clumsy and easily panicked Neville had matured most since the end of the war. He was reaching six foot four in height and his hair was nearly shoulder length. His greatest attribute had not changed and that was his good heart. He never had any inhibitions when it came to helping others. Picking himself up off his knees, he dusted his trousers off before standing fully revealing his lean wiry frame.

“Fancy getting some Pumpkin Juice, I'm absolutely parched,” he commented as he ripped off his gloves and flung them onto the table.

Together they walked up through the grounds taking in the messing playful students as they created a scene of chaos around the lake. The sun's dazzling light bounced off its surface and the Giant Squid's tentacles could be seen just beneath it as it emerged from the murky depths.

“So how is Ron? I heard about that Death Eater attack on North London. I suppose they've been working the Aurors hard since then. It's been awhile since an attack.” Neville's eyes seemed to drift over the grounds as he said these words, his mind thinking back to the last fierce battle the Ministry had had. It had claimed the lives of twelve noble wizards, two of whom were governors at Hogwarts.

“North London wasn't a major incident. Apparently nobody was injured seriously and it was more of a robbery than anything. Ron told me the Aurors have been pulled off the case. Good news I suppose. The retribution of the Death Eaters seems to be over now.” They climbed the steps into the Entrance Hall whist discussing some of the worst attacks they had suffered.

For two years after the war nearly every witch and wizard was involved in tracking down the remainder of the Death Eaters. It kept the world preoccupied and everyone knew that the world would be safer if every alley was explored and no wizard went unchecked. Both Hermione and Neville had their fair share of fighting.

“I can't believe Lara is already two years old. I can remember the day she was born like it was yesterday. And you know what my memory is like,” remarked Neville with a smile.

“Yeah. Ron was going absolutely spare for the whole day. I think he thought Luna was going to give birth to a mandrake or something otherworldly,” she laughed, pushing the door to the staff room open.

“I'll never forget his face when he saw her for the first time…brings a lump to my throat even now,” he said shaking his head disbelievingly.

The large rectangular staff room was devoid of people except for Severus Snape who sat rigidly in an armchair reading the Daily Prophet. His black eyes darted in their direction but then returned to the pages that were hovering in front of him. His attitude towards them had barely changed but the loss of his left arm, the one which had held the Dark Mark, had made him slightly more reliant on others. He accepted their authority as professors and showed them respect in the presence of students which was all Hermione could ask for.

Neville seemed to clamp up around Snape, something which Hermione doubted he would ever recover from. Hermione on the other hand respected Snape as an equal and valued what he had been subjected to during the war.

“Professor,” she acknowledged earning her a listless nod from him. Some things never change, she thought resignedly.

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

A sharp tap on her door tore her attention away from the mirror. Even though she hated the mirror she was still forced to rely on it especially on occasions such as her best friends daughter's birthday. Tonight she had donned a black linen sundress that she believed suited the occasion perfectly. To top it off she sported strap sandals, very summer. More than likely the gathering would be outdoors and it was still stiflingly warm out. Her hair fell softly just below her shoulders, no longer unmanageable and bushy. Now it fell in elegant curls.

“Nice,” complimented Neville with an appreciative smile when she opened the door.

“Watch it,” she warned lightly. She opened the door wider for him to enter and motioned towards the fireplace. After another quick last glance at her reflection she stood shoulder to shoulder with Neville who now held a handful of Floo Powder.

“Perhaps I should do that. Remember last time, we nearly ended up in Timbuktu,” she reminded him with a painful expression. He nodded in agreement and nearly thrust the powder into her hand.

“The Burrow,” she commanded and flung the powder into the grate. Together they strode into the engulfing green flames and in seconds stepped out at the right destination.

“Neville!” Ginny squeaked and leaped into his arms causing him to stagger slightly. Hermione instantly took in the scene of mayhem before her. The whole kitchen was preparing itself for the feast, all the food being prepared by magic which was being orchestrated by a harried Mrs. Weasley.

On entering Hermione was grabbed into a hug by Luna who was wearing a very flowery sundress and an enormous sunhat which accentuated her quirkiness. “It's been such a long time. Nearly four months!” she said astounded.

“Hogwarts just doesn't seem to stop,” replied Hermione, trying not to appear defensive.

“Oh Hermione, it is good to see you dear,” Mrs. Weasley managed through a tight embrace.

“You too,” Hermione responded enthusiastically. When all the bother of welcoming had worn off and Neville and Mrs. Weasley had gone to investigate the extent of her Writhing Weeds problem Hermione went in search of the source of all the commotion.

Ron's daughter Lara was seated contentedly in the sitting room surrounded by magical building blocks(which made a thunderous crashing sound every time they came apart). She was being observed closely by Ron who jumped up when Hermione entered the room.

“How is Hogwarts?” he asked as she collapsed into the moulding couch.

“Same as always. Still some problems with students being taken out during the year due to attacks but other than that everything is fine. Anymore news on that attack in London?” She had always relied on Ron for information concerning attacks due to the fact that he was a fully qualified Auror.

“Not really. The victim of the attack was a wizard but the property was a muggle address, which caused some problems because, the muggle…er…”

“Police?” Hermione offered.

“Yeah, them, they were all over the scene. Once our guys had a good look though we realised it was theft rather than a hate crime.”

“But you do think that it was a Death Eater?” Hermione asked confused.

“The victim claims it was a Death Eater. He alleged that it was because the attacker was wearing a black cloak and a Death Eater mask but…well, we still get a lot of copycat attackers. You know…people who want to be Death Eaters. Complete lunatics. I mean You-Know-Who is gone now so why continue?” he asked rhetorically rolling his eyes.

“Again the retribution aspect. They want revenge for Voldemort's downfall. Does it ever look as if it is going to end?” she asked forlornly, watching Lara innocently giggle as the blocks went tumbling to the floor. Even though her fighting days were over, many Aurors still fought against those who survived the war. A number of infamous murderers still remained at large in Britain and across the continent.

“We'll just keep hunting them. As Lupin always says `one Death Eater will eventually lead to another'. One day the search will be over. That's all we can hope for. Anyway the world is a lot better than it used to be,” he commented with a grin.

Ron could not have been more right. Unlike during the days of the second war Diagon Alley was filled with wizards and witches who were no longer paranoid and hurrying through their shopping expecting to be killed on the spot. It was a lively vibrant place and a centre for wizarding Britain. The Leaky Cauldron was again a place of booming business and was never empty. There seemed to be a strengthened bond between the wizarding communities as they were survivors of a terrible war with many fatalities.

“Hello everyone,” came a familiar voice from behind them. Ron, Hermione and Lara all turned to see the new arrival.

“Professor Lupin,” Hermione said instantly but winced once she realised the stupidity of referring to him as a professor when he hadn't taught her in a good many years. “Sorry,” she said shaking her head meekly. “Old habits die hard.”

“No need to apologize,” he chuckled. “Professor Granger,” he added playfully. She laughed and stood to greet him properly. She had not spoken to him since Christmas almost three years ago, where he had given her a few useful tips on becoming a professor at Hogwarts. He looked healthy something which she could rarely say about him.

“Wotcher little girl,” said a pink haired Tonks as she scooped Lara off the floor into her arms. Lara immediately broke into a fit of giggles while Tonks altered her nose into various shapes and sizes. Meanwhile, Ron shook Lupin's hand in a very manly way earning a surreptitious laugh from Hermione.

In a matter of minutes Hermione was reintroduced to Fred, George, Bill and Charlie Weasley along with old members from the Order of The Phoenix and a few people from she attended Hogwarts with. After registering the fact that the house was overflowing with bodies the party moved outdoors where fairy lights had been stationed in the surrounding gnarled trees and a trestle table which had been elongated by magic seated many of the wizards who attended.

“I didn't realise you were going to invite the entire wizarding world,” observed Hermione with a smile.

“Well it was supposed to be just family occasion but once word leaked out.” Ron answered with a pointed nod at the mass of people. “I couldn't just say no.”

Hermione could not comprehend how Mrs. Weasley managed to create so much food but she did nonetheless and it was superb. Sitting in between Lupin and Charlie Weasley she enjoyed herself immensely and was shocked when she glanced at her watch to find it was already nearing ten o'clock. Luna decided to put Lara to bed as she was falling into a slumber at the table and Ron followed her into the Burrow.

“Students are tricky but once you follow the basics it's pretty simple. It's important to remember your own school days and draw experience from that,” Lupin was saying beside her. She zoned out momentarily watching a few couples dancing to music emanating from the kitchen. The repetition of her name brought her back from the recesses of her mind.

Swivelling in her chair she locked eyes with an impatient Terry Boot. “Well, Hermione,” he said pompously. “How have you been?”

“I'm just going over to speak to Arthur for a moment. Feel free to take my seat,” Lupin offered as he stood to his feet, ignoring Hermione's imploring glare to stay with her. He scurried off with an apologetic smile.

“Er…I'm fine. How about you? Ron was telling me you started working at the Ministry. What department do you work for?” She kept the conversation as light as possible hoping he would get bored and leave. After Hogwarts she had had a brief relationship with him but ultimately she realised she had been wasting his time. He had his hopes on marriage and children while she barely had enough time to think of those things.

“The Department of Mysteries,” he answered proudly. Seeing the distant expression that settled on her face he asked whether she was alright.

“Yes, I'm fine. Just thinking about…oh, it doesn't matter,” she laughed waving it off. “What are your duties there?”

“Hermione, you know as well as I do that I can't divulge that information,” he said pretentiously, sitting up higher in his chair. A sudden explosion of light in the sky drew their attention and they gazed up at the firework display that riddled the night sky. Fred and George Weasley were still revered for their mastery of firework displays. Everybody applauded and shouted before Ron came storming out of the Burrow yelling about how they had woken up Lara.

Terry started to speak again, more loudly than before in a fruitless attempt to catch her wavering attention. Perhaps she had had too much wine or else it was just the many memories the Burrow often caused her to relive but physically she appeared a million miles away. Her intense brown eyes took in the garden again. Many people were now occupying lawn chairs; others milled about or stood in twos and threes, balancing paper plates and cans of beer.

A group of children played horseshoes; others chased each other, or tossed balls and Fanged Frisbees back and forth. She felt Terry's form shift beside her and turned to see him standing to his feet. “Well I better return to my date,” he explained gesturing towards a woman Hermione recognised as Susan Bones.

“I wasn't aware you two had come together,” Hermione smiled feeling at ease now that she knew he had not come to rekindle anything as he usually did. Her hopes didn't last long though.

“If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me,” he said as if she was some sort of recovering alcoholic. He then placed his hand uncomfortably on her knee causing her to immediately draw back from him. Terry could be as unrelenting as a bad rash caused by a Weasley product. She narrowed her eyes in dislike and he obviously caught her meaning, striding off towards Susan.

Over the next hour she met another parade of people from all over Britain. Some she had never been introduced to as they were colleagues of Ron or worked for the Quibbler with Luna. They were all friendly but she noticed they became quite reserved around her, knowing her reputation in the wizarding world for her part in the final battle and as a leading member in the first stages of rounding up the Death Eaters.

Just after midnight the party began to dwindle as many people left for their homes. With a flick of her wand Mrs. Weasley vanished the heavy laden trestle table and gave a contented sigh. “I just don't know how muggles manage.”

“With difficulty,” Mr. Weasley responded with a grin.

Hermione laughed and exited the kitchen into the now empty garden. Ron was standing with a bottle of beer gazing upwards at the velvety sky. “I'm going to head back now.”

“You're welcome to stay,” Ron offered.

“I'd rather go back. I still have a lot of end-of-term papers to correct,” she explained. After thanking her for coming with a hug she made her way towards the boundaries of the property so she could Apparate. A lot of people had decided to Floo and she wasn't in the mood to queue. Neville would be undoubtedly staying with Ginny.

As she reached a little county gate with peeling green paint, a harried looking Kingsley Shacklebolt rushed past her and sprinted up to Ron. She paused momentarily sensing something was wrong and turned to see him speaking in hushed tones with Ron, whose relaxed expression suddenly became one of concern. Her years of fighting implored her to return to him.

“What is it? What's happened?” She inquired as she approached them.

“Nothing,” replied Ron, too quickly and evasively.

“Ron,” she admonished dangerously.

“There were two attacks in London,” admitted Ron finally.

Dread began to pool in the pit of Hermione's stomach.

“The incidents occurred about two hours ago. The addresses were both muggle owned property. One was an office block, the other a muggle residence,” Kingsley Shaklebolt clarified in a very formal tone. He refused to elaborate any more considering Hermione was not an Auror.

Ron stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, steering her back towards the gate. “Everything is under control Hermione. The Aurors are all over the scene. The Police haven't picked up on it yet. Go back to Hogwarts. I'll update you tomorrow,” he said quietly, out of earshot.

She gazed at him attentively while he spoke and by the time she apparated, she was absolutely sure he was not telling her something important.

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“You cannot do this!” he roared at the pompous looking man who sat rigidly behind his desk.

“I am the Head of Security in these offices. Last night there was a break in and nobody was here to stop it. You were supposed to be on duty and you failed to stop the break in?” he asked with an air of amusement but the accused knew that underneath the calm exterior his boss was absolutely fuming.

“I need this job,” he pleaded suddenly feeling very desperate.

“Mr. Smith, you were a risk when I hired you having no previous experience in this field,” the Head of Security said dangerously. “You are now a risk that has failed. Clear out your things and get out of the building.”

“But I need this money…” he begged.

“Remove yourself from these offices or I will have you escorted by your former colleagues and thrown out on your ass.” His boss' moustache seemed to bristle with fury and his beady little eyes dilated with anger. Even then he could not just give in. He did not want to think of what would happen if he lost this job. How would he fund his rent?

“Listen., I'm really sorry about what happened last night. But as far as I know nobody was hurt and nothing was stolen. They were just a group of thugs. And anyway I wasn't' the only one here at the time,” he argued defensively.

“Your colleague at the time, Mr. Enfield,” he said reading it off a file placed on his desk, “was on his break. You were to patrol the east corridor and you were nowhere to be found. So tell me Mr. Smith, where were you?” The question was blatantly rhetorical. His boss knew perfectly well that he had a tendency to just sleep through his night shifts.

Clearing his throat he tried once again to defend himself but found that it was a lost cause. He doubted the Head of Security had any sense of mercy or forgiveness, his mother obviously forgot to take him to church as a child. As if things could not get worse his boss extracted two clear Ziploc bags from the inside pocket of his pristine suit jacket.

“I believe these are yours as well. We ransacked your locker when we decided to remove you from the company,” he said with a languid smirk. “Drugs have no place in my security team.”

“It's just for extra money. I swear I don't take them…” he said hastily.

His boss flung the Ziploc bags into a brown box which held the remainder of his possessions, then he stood to his feet, picked up the box and walked around to face his ex-employee. “Have a nice day, Mr. Smith,” he smiled treacherously; pushing the box into the young man's hands. He returned to his desk and proceeded to ignore the younger man.

Dejectedly the young dishevelled man obeyed and removed himself from the office. The office building was already beginning to fill up with important looking men and women wearing top of the range suits and carrying leather briefcases.

“Hey John,” said a voice from behind. He hurriedly shoved the Ziploc bags into the end of the box so they would go unnoticed. “I'm sorry to hear what happened.” It was his co-worker, Enfield. He wore a sympathetic smile and gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “You'll be fine. Don't worry about getting another job. There are plenty of desperate people out there who need security.”

“Yeah, but they won't want someone who got sacked from his last two jobs,” he responded forlornly. “Just my luck that we'd actually see any action the night I fall asleep. What happened anyway?”

“Follow me, I'll show you,” Enfield said leading him away from the exit and down another corridor. “I have no idea how they gained entrance into the building, there seems to be no access point or means of exit.” He brought John down another corridor stacked with crates and cardboard boxes, old computer screens, and metal equipment trunks. Finally they ended up in one of the larger conference rooms, adorned with chic furniture for only the richest of people.

“So they only entered the building in order to put graffiti on the wall,” John said disbelievingly. His eyes took in the message written in green on the north wall of the room. “What does it even mean?”

“No idea,” replied Enfield. “Summers called in the old bill about an hour ago. Still waiting. Typical of the police though, isn't it?”

“He called the police?” asked John, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “I better go and get some sleep before I start looking for a new job.”

“Didn't get enough last night?” laughed Enfield but stopped seeing John's stern expression.

As John Smith exited the office building his thoughts returned to his bleak future. He was forced now to ask his flat mate for a postponement on his due rent. He had no idea where he would find a new job, or even where to start searching. A man with no past could rarely be a part of a company's future. That was the strange thing concerning John Smith, he had woken up only six years ago and could not remember anything of his life before that.

Throughout the last six years he had tried to piece together his life but he had nothing to go on. From research he concluded he had suffered brain trauma and subsequently had amnesia. He still had some scars from whatever trauma he had experienced, a lighting bolt shaped scar on his forehead and a long white scar adorned his left forearm. He had given up on ever discovering the truth of his past, all the times he believed he was close to finding something and then being disappointed.

He wanted to find his family but then he wondered why they had not tried to find him. The same situation occurred with his friends but then he pondered whether he had had any friends. Maybe he had been a homeless person, or a criminal or perhaps an alcoholic. The government had helped him for two years after his revival but once he found a job and accommodation they did not seem bothered. Whoever he was before the trauma was dead, that was the way he lived his life now. But his life just seemed to get tougher by the minute.

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

Frantic knocking on her door stirred her from her sleep. Her eyes sought the clock on her bedside table, nine fifteen. She had only found sleep at about two o'clock the night before. The persistent knocking brought her attention back. Scurrying out of bed she threw a robe around her before ripping the door handle back to find the source of the annoying noise. Severus Snape.

“The Headmistress would like to see you,” he said lethargically, his voice contrasted his frenzied attack on her door.

“What for?” she inquired, purposefully trying to sound respectful.

“It is a matter of importance concerning the Order. I advise you meet her as soon as possible,” he responded before striding off in the opposite direction.

She dressed rapidly and hurried to the Headmistress' office. When she entered the circular room her heart immediately began to beat faster. Minerva McGonagall was a woman of expressions, anger was shown through her tight lipped silence or her flaring nostrils and happiness was usually apparent in her eyes, not needing a smile. Worry was also a matter of the eyes and it had been quite a long time since Hermione had witnessed her in such an anxious mood.

“The Order required our presence at the Burrow,” she said gesturing towards the fire.

“Minerva, what is this about?” Fear had already crept into her voice.

“You'll know soon enough. You heard about the attacks last night from Mr. Weasley but there is more you should know about. All will be explained once we reach the Weasley residence.” Without another word they arrived at the Burrow which looked the same as ever except for the tense atmosphere which she met on entering. She felt a chill even though the sun was dazzling outside.

Her heart repeated its painful pounding against her chest when she made her way into the kitchen. Mr and Mrs. Weasley, Remus Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley Shaklebolt and Ron were seated at the table. Lupin stood when she entered. Unlike last night he looked drained and worn out.

Before he could attempt to say anything Hermione decided to pull off the band-aid. “Who's dead?”

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

He veered off into a side street, anger still coursing through him from his dismissal. He threw another infuriated glare at the building behind him, thinking of the conceited man who had just knocked his life off balance. Just as his anger was receding he heard the piercing noise of a siren, too close to be near his old employers. There was a screech of brakes and a police car came to sudden stop beside him.

A heavy set police man climbed out of the car. “Are you John Smith?”

He didn't dare to move as fear flooded him. The bastard told the police, he thought heatedly. The police man facing him repeated the question, raising his eyebrow in a knowing way. The police man's eyes flickered to the box John was holding in his arms.

“Sir, can you please put down the box?”

Again John remained in silence, his mind running through his options like a deck of cards. His best move would be to put down the box and run, but he wouldn't be able to survive without the drugs in it. As much as he detested the idea, the only source of money he had now were those two Ziploc bags.

The police man edged further towards him, his hand on his holstered truncheon. Passers-by were beginning to halt their progression down the street, shooting terrified glances in the direction of the action. Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed another police man guiding people to the other safer side of the street.

“I'll need to take that box from you,” the police man continued and John was terrified to see him take another step closer. “We have reason to believe that…”

With a powerful thrust from John the box crashed into the policeman's face, sending him tumbling to the ground with a roar. Instantly John began rifling through the contents of the box looking for the bags. Just as he was getting desperate he discovered them and stuffed them into the inside pocket of his coat. Two arms grabbed him from behind, encircling his chest and putting a horrible amount of pressure on his lungs. The police man was attempting to wrestle him to the ground.

With all his might John jumped backwards, smashing the police man into the wall. The arms encircling him snaked away. John's relief was short-lived as an enraged police man came barrelling towards him, his truncheon high in the air ready to strike. On instinct John shot off in the opposite direction.

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

The faces staring at her grew even more sombre. She could feel unwanted tears behind her eyes but held them back nevertheless. Frustration began to develop in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes landed on Ron who was sitting slumped in his chair, his darkened eyes never leaving the scrubbed kitchen table.

“Tell me Ron,” she hissed angrily again fighting the tears. After her troubling school years and her more disturbing experiences in life, tears did not come easy. She was a strong character deep down, she knew it and so did the world.

Ron lifted his startling blue eyes to meet hers. “It's Harry.”

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

Barrelling into a nearby wider street he battled his way through the consuming throngs of people. Their faces were a mere blur in his panic. Every nerve in his body was tingling with suspense. He had no idea how far back the police-man was from him.

He dashed down another side street and sustained his rapid pace. Surely the police-man would have given up by now and called in support. A siren wailed out against the cacophony of the busy street noises. His heart leaped into his throat. He took a chance and twisted his head around to see whether the police man had followed him into another empty side street. Though the street was unoccupied he could almost feel an impending presence and the tingling sensation of fear that each howl of the sirens caused.

He could not continue running, his breath was coming in agonizing gasps. He stumbled breathlessly over to a narrow steel door that led into a looming red-brick building. He pushed the door and sighed in anguish when it failed to budge. He tried again this time putting his whole strength behind his body as he crashed his shoulder into the awaiting door. Nothing.

A sanctioning shout caused him to twist around and he saw the angry police-man from before, now absolutely livid. A police car swerved into the street behind him and came to an imminent halt, pending his next movements. He slammed his fists into the door in despair, praying he would escape a long sentence but hoping even more that the door would just open.

There was a resounding click and the door swung forward slightly on its hinges. He heard swift steps being taken behind him and before he could even think clearly, he was racing into the building.

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

She had tried to forget and in typical Hermione way, she had succeeded with full marks. Fine, every now and again a familiar looking person would remind her forcibly of him but then she would drive it back down, blank it out and move on. She had even begun to lose some of her memories; small details which she believed she would have forever.

And now surrounded by a few Order members and part of the Weasley family, she was hit with memories she thought were long forgotten. Long lost amid the chaos that was her life.

She wheezed slightly, her breathing seemed to have stopped.

“He is alive,” Lupin stated hurriedly reading her expression correctly. “But we have information that implies that these attacks have something to do with him.”

“What?!” Hermione's voice returned with her fury. She felt like she had missed a very important piece of the puzzle. He was supposed to be safe, living a life that none of them could have given him otherwise.

“I told you yesterday that an office block was attacked by Death Eaters. It was a break-in. They wrote this on the wall,” Ron's hollow voice said as he handed Lupin a small square photo which Lupin handed to Hermione. She took it in trembling hands.

The picture displayed an enormous room, a wide expansive table running its length surrounded by chairs. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the message on the wall. The writing was a vivid bold green and stretched the length of the wall.

“We've found him,” she read aloud. “But that means nothing, how can you assume they mean him?”

“Harry worked in the building as a security guard,” Ron answered instantly.

“We don't however know what they want to do with him,” boomed Kingsley Shaklebolt as he took a seat at the fading wood table.

“Isn't it perfectly obvious,” wept Mrs. Weasley, her eyes swollen and red from the news. Mr. Weasley had an arm around her shaking shoulders trying to console her.

“We don't yet know that, Molly,” Arthur said softly. His eyes trailed to Kingsley again. “Have the Death Eaters left any other messages?”

“Not directly but there have been four attacks in the last twelve hours, right across Britain,” announced Kingsley solemnly. His news was met with more gasps. The colour in Lupin's face drained away. “Even though there is no connection between the attacks, we've ensured they are random, a night of this magnitude shows that the remaining Death Eaters are up to something. They haven't been this excited since Voldemort.”

“How can this be? They wouldn't try to…to resurrect him, would they?” All eyes darted to Tonks' terrified face. “They did it before, didn't they?”

“No,” stated Hermione, whose whole body was still reeling from shock but she sounded slightly forceful. “He didn't die the last time. He was never killed. But we saw Harry kill him, we all did.” It was the first time in years she had said his name aloud and it almost seemed to pierce her heart. She had to regain control of her emotions. The atmosphere in the room reminded her of being in the thick of war. She must be calm, Harry's new life was in danger and they needed to fix it.

“So what do we do about Harry? Is he safe now or have the Death Eaters actually taken or attacked him?” Her voice sounded far more reassured then she felt.

“That's the thing that we don't know,” responded Lupin. “We'll have to confirm his well-being but because of the secrecy of the situation, one of us will have to go.”

“When did you discontinue the surveillance on him?” McGonagall addressed Kingsley in a tone which suggested she thought it scandalous that it was ever stopped.

“Three years ago he seemed relatively fine. Settled in almost, a job and a flat. We sent in Tonks though every few months to make sure he was getting by,” at this point Kingsley stopped talking, giving Tonks a pointed look.

“My last visit was about five months ago. He was living comfortably and was already a few months into that job which he just lost.” She ended the sentence feebly and drifted into silence.

“What was he like?” Ron's question took them all by surprise and something in Hermione seemed to reignite. After Harry had left she had an overwhelming curiosity to know every move he was making but she knew she could never know. She had learnt to quash this curiosity though by continuing with her own life. Now it was flaring again.

“I never got close enough for him to even notice me,” Tonks replied honestly. “He's not as tall as you,” she continued aware the whole room was listening intently on her every word. It had been so long since many of them had even spoke of Harry considering he had been such an important factor in their lives. “He keeps his hair slightly neater than before, it still covers his scar. And he obviously doesn't shave a lot,” she finished earning a half-hearted laugh from the rest of the kitchen.

When the laughter died down a silence descended on them that opened a void of choices. Could they protect Harry without him knowing anything? Was that remotely possible? Would somebody have to go `undercover' to try and guard Harry until the remainder of the Death Eaters were captured? How long with that be? From Kingsley's account they were apparently regrouping rapidly and wreaking havoc. How long would it be until they began a wave of new attacks?

Everybody in the sunlit kitchen seemed to have receded into their own thoughts. Hermione peered up at Remus Lupin's lined face and he returned her stare. She could see him calculating something up in his head and was obviously including her in his thoughts. Then he broke the silence as he had done six years ago on the night that was supposed to be the greatest of their lives.

“We're going to have to bring him back.”

“No,” Hermione retorted at once. “You promised he would have a better life and from what Tonks said he is barely `getting by'. But he still has a chance if we leave him alone…”

“But there is also a chance that the Death Eaters have captured him!” Ron shouted angrily at her.

“We'd know if they did. They'd flaunt it everywhere,” she stated calmly. “The only people in the wizarding world, who are aware that he is alive, are your family and four members of the Order…”

“And now about thirty Death Eaters!” interjected Ron. “We don't know how long it will be until they are all caught either. Not to mention all the monstrous creatures out there. Dean Thomas nearly had his head ripped off last week by a giant. It's going to be a long time until the repercussions of this war are over. Harry…” he paused and she noticed his ears redden slightly. “Harry will be able to end this war. People will want to fight again…”

“Harry is gone!” Hermione screamed hysterically at him. The others around the table recoiled at her ferocity. “He has absolutely no idea who any of us are. He has no idea who Harry Potter is,” she finished exasperatedly.

“And you!” she said turning accusingly to Lupin. “How could you even propose that he could come back. You said that you would never be able to tell him the truth about his life. All his tragedy, his parents, Sirius and Dumbledore. You were the one that convinced us all to…”

“You accepted it,” responded Lupin defensively. “My feelings were the exact same as yours on the situation and we both agreed. We took the easy way out, Hermione. And if having to sit him down and telling him about James and Lily is what needs to be done then…”

Hermione immediately began disagreeing. Ron also started to shout until they were joined by almost the entire kitchen ranting and raving. The conversation had built up into a full war of words and now everybody was screaming and roaring at each other. Then a blast and shower of sparks brought everyone back down to earth. Everyone turned to see Professor McGonagall, appearing quite calm against the pandemonium.

“There may be a way for Harry to regain his memory without having to go through the entire story with him directly. But before I proceed I want to make sure that we have the consent of every one in the room.” Hermione noticed that McGonagall's eyes drifted to her. Turning she saw that almost everyone at the table was also staring at her. Her eyes met Ron's who said softly. “We need him. If this is to end, we need him.”

Slowly she faced Professor McGonagall. “How?”

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

This may be a bit rushed so there might be a lot of mistakes; I just wanted to put something out there to cheer people up after Deathly Hallows

Also I'd like to just thank anyone who had read my stories. I'm feeling very reflective over the past few days after the end of the Potter series and writing on this website has been the highlight of my Potter experience. So thank you.

Please review and also tell me what you thought of DH. I thought the action sequences were great but the romance was too false. I hope to integrate some places and moments from DH into this fic as well.

Thanks again

Radagast

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PC Newman chased the frantic suspect into the red-brick building, trying desperately to keep him in sight. A dimly lit hallway led into a zigzagging stairwell that seemed to reach up to the roof of the building. He gave a brief look behind him ensuring his partner was following in his wake, albeit a lot further back. He started his ascent, the pounding of his own footsteps and the suspects resounding in his ears.

Every nerve ending in his body was pulsing from adrenaline. Every now and again, following protocol he hollered commandingly up the dizzying staircase. The pressure began to build in legs forcing his brain to think of stopping but he needed to apprehend the young man they were tracking. He found himself slinging around each corner that followed another set of steps. All his concentration seemed to be centred on the pain riddling his legs until finally he saw a sliver of light high above him.

With a groan he reached the end of the arduous stairwell, stopping momentarily to catch his breath and to verify that his partner was not far behind. He gave a sigh of frustration when he realised his so-called `capable' colleague was nearly two floors below him. “Come on,” he growled down the stairwell.

Sweat drenched his hair and ran down his forehead. His guessed the colour of his face was something in the violet family. He burst through the door out onto the roof leaving the door bouncing on its heavy hinges. A cool swift breeze blew across London's rooftops, easing the stifling warmth that threatened to overcome him. A smirk crossed his face; he knew the suspect must be cornered.

The smirk disappeared as he watched in astonishment whilst his target sprinted and leaped off the ledge of the building.

Heart pounding agonizingly against his ribcage, he scurried over to the edge to see the targets fate. A stunned silence captured the atmosphere as he realised just what his suspect had successfully managed. He had hurdled himself across a wide gap between the two buildings and was now dangling off the fire escape that ran down the length of the building.

Surely he could match the little junkies trick. Returning his truncheon to its holster he stepped back from the ledge, giving himself enough runway from which to dive. He sized himself up; he would be the one to arrest this useless perp and put him behind bars. A potential sense of worth caught control of his senses and he dashed towards the ledge, preparing to leap, images of glory and praise still imprinted in his mind.

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

The chilling crashing noise caused John to let his eyes trail to the alley he had effectively soared across. Peering down between his dangling feet he suddenly felt ill at the sight that met him. The sound had been bone crushing against metal. The police-man's lifeless body was imbedded into a shimmering car that sat unmoving in the damp lane. The windscreen had fragmented into millions of glass shards that were now glittering on the ground.

It is not my fault, he thought convincingly as he clamoured with all his strength onto the metal landing he had landed beside. He was surprised that the rusty fire escape hadn't just collapsed when he had clutched to the bars by his fingertips. He gave the corpse a fleeting look before his eyes returned to the roof-top he had jumped from. The other police-man gave him a deathly glare before radioing in the precise co-ordinates of where he stood and calling for an ambulance.

It was his decision to jump…not mine, he repeated to himself as he trailed down the rest of the fire escape. His hands were quivering as they held the corroded banister and he suppressed a shudder when he reached the scene of the policeman's death. Averting his eyes he strode out of the damp lane into a vacated side street. His walk turned into a run as he approached another busier street at which point he slowed down again in attempting to blend in with the bustling masses of people.

It took all of his self-control not to break out into a desperate sprint. Suddenly everyone seemed like a threat but he didn't dare look either side of the street in fear of being spotted by another police-man. It wasn't his fault that the idiot had jumped but he failed to see how the police would see it that way. He would now be a murder suspect.

He decided to return to his flat, he had nowhere else to go. The police would try to search him but his name, John Smith, was virtually untraceable. The only drawback was John was hardly an angel in the eyes of the law.

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

“Memory Charms are often misunderstood,” started Professor McGonagall. Everyone had now taken a seat at the table and was listening with rapt attention. A fleeting glance at her watch surprised Hermione, it was nearing afternoon.

“Many people believe that a person who is caught by a charm of this variety has their entire storage of memories wiped out. But it is not so. They simply have them hidden from them.” Hermione, who already had a good idea of where McGonagall was going with this, gave an audible gasp.

McGonagall continued as though she hadn't noticed. “As most of you are aware, a person can willingly pass on their memories to others. Therefore, I believe that it is possible for us to draw these hidden memories from Mr. Potters mind…”

“And show them his memories rather than retell them,” finished Hermione in an unnecessary whisper.

Ron snorted slightly. “How are we going to show him the memories?” he asked incredulously.

“A Pensieve,” stated Hermione simply. She still was not wholly comfortable with the idea of bringing Harry back. Ron seemed to have the idea that he would help catch the remaining Death Eaters but what condition would Harry be in after such traumatic experiences.

“Where will we find a Pensieve?” asked Mr. Weasley unconvinced.

“Dumbledore owned one. He kept it in his office. I assume it is still there,” Hermione responded, glancing at McGonagall.

“Of course it is,” she answered with a stern expression as if Hermione had accused her.

“But won't it take ages for him to relive every memory?” All eyes turned to Tonks as she said this. Hermione's features suddenly became clouded, she hadn't contemplated that.

“No,” replied Lupin quietly. “The Department of Mysteries have explored a method of running through people's lives in order to attain information for further use. The Auror program had instigated the research as it would help Aurors who were required to go undercover play their character accurately, knowing their characters life thoroughly.”

“What? That's preposterous! The Auror program would never instigate anything like that. I would know about it as I am among the highest ranked Aurors for the past ten years,” Kingsley bellowed at the empty kitchen. “Why wasn't I informed?”

“Alastor Moody confessed to me that he was involved in the commencement of the research,” Lupin continued sadly. “The research was abruptly stopped and all files were erased when one of their…experiments…was driven insane from the effect of having the memories induced into his system.”

“Induced into his system?” Hermione's voice seemed to catch in her throat.

“It is dangerous and there is a significant risk but perhaps leaving Mr. Potter without his memories, indeed without his magic, is possibly far more treacherous.” McGonagall stopped speaking and the room fell silent once more.

Hermione was aware of the oppressive hot air filled with many scents she associated with the Burrow. Even though the small door that led to the garden was thrown open she could feel no breeze coming into the overcrowded room. A glimpse outside showed that the suns rays were still beating off the ground. She caught sight of a few relaxed gnomes, stretched out on the dry earth soaking up the sun onto their leathery faces.

“So Harry, or whatever he is called now, could become mental from the effects of this?” Ron inquired with raised eyebrows suggesting he thought that anybody who would even consider this was mental.

“There is a chance of course,” said Mr. Weasley optimistically “that Harry will return with no side effects.”

“You can't put his mind through any more traumas,” asserted Hermione. “You're dealing with such a fragile part of his brain, if something went wrong you could leave him in a comatose state. The risk is too high.”

“And what do you propose?” There was no hint of sarcasm or disdain in Lupin's voice but it was clear he himself had come to a decision. Mrs. Weasley eyes welled up with tears and she nodded as if in agreement with herself.

“Harry would've wanted us to take the risk Hermione. I don't doubt that. Anybody who knew Harry…”Ron paused temporarily before contemplating his choice of words “Anybody who knows Harry knows that he takes risks.”

There was a disturbance at the door causing everyone to swivel around in their seats. “Sorry to interrupt your meeting but I think we've got a problem,” growled Alastor Moody, his grizzled features appearing in the doorway before limping heavily into the kitchen.

Lupin promptly filled Moody in on everything that had been discussed. Moody wore his usual expression of uneasiness before revealing to them that Harry was currently being chased through London as a murder suspect.

“Murder?! No, not our Harry,” said Molly disbelievingly. Her hands were trembling again and Arthur gave her another comforting embrace.

“Remember, Potter isn't your Harry anymore. We've pulled up anything we can on him in the last four hours. He hasn't exactly lived the life of a saint. The upside of it is that the Muggle authorities are having a difficult time tracking him.” Moody seemed agitated and refused to take a seat when offered.

“Wait…” Ron asked trying to grasp what Moody had just said. “Murder? What happened?”

“The murder was reported approximately an hour ago. The Police are instigating a wide manhunt. It gets worse,” Moody continued seeing the looks of incredulity and horror on their faces. “The Death Eaters are pursuing him as we speak. They are aware that we know that they know.”

“Could you repeat that last bit?” Tonks asked sheepishly.

“The Death Eaters are hounding Potter RIGHT NOW….AT THIS MOMENT,” Moody bellowed. “There's no time to waste. The Order needs come to a definite decision.”

“We have to do this now,” Ron declared standing to his feet.

Lupin shared a cursory nod with Kingsley as they both strode from the airless muggy kitchen. Ron followed in their wake and Tonks scurried out after him. Hermione rose slowly from her chair but remained rooted to the spot. Her eyes were scanning the kitchen while her mind was running through everything she had just heard. The Order was going to reintroduce Harry Potter to the wizarding world but she didn't care.

What mattered to her was what condition would he be in if they successfully gave him back his memories. Would Harry ever be able to accept what they had done? Surely he would understand? Would he desert them on hearing of their abominable deeds?

“Ms. Granger I think it is time you make a decision.” Professor McGonagall's voice was softer than usual but enough to startle her from her train of thought.

“You stay here and mind Molly,” Hermione acknowledged Mr. Weasley before bolting after the group of Aurors, fear and panic coursing through her but mixed with the unmistakable feeling of excitement.

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

He lay in a deep slumber on the misshapen couch of his grimy flat. The wallpaper that adorned the walls was flaking as time passed, the windows were perpetually stained and the carpets were worn and frayed. As he stirred from his sleep the first thing he noticed was that his flat was unnervingly quiet and darker than it had been before he drifted off to sleep.

He peeked down at his watch; it was only three o'clock in the afternoon. Usually he would be subjected to Oriental music blaring from the many apartments above and below his own, or the roaring and hollering of overbearing mothers calling their children in from the grubby street that led into his complex. Even the usual aroma of a diverse range of international food was missing.

He clambered to his feet in the darkness, making out the silhouettes of the furniture in the room. Outside the blotted and tarnished windows he could just make out billowing black clouds above the street. How could the weather have changed so rapidly? What was going on?

In his mind he had an image of dark shadows approaching from all around his flat. He heard footsteps stop on the threshold of his empty apartment. His breathing became shallower, each breath causing him pain. A sudden chill overtook him, his lungs felt as if they were filling with freezing water. His head throbbed as if he had a headache and his mind began spinning. His hands were shivering uselessly by his sides.

His olive green eyes were fixed on the door. He knew that someone was waiting on the other side. Yet all he could do was remain unmoving beside the blank window. Just then he heard scraping noises coming from the hallway, slivers of blazing light shone through the cracks between the door and its frame. With a horrible noise of splintering wood the door was blown forward off its hinges. A group of cloaked figures stood facing him.

He noticed some seemed to be hovering just above the ground, appearing deathly tall and immeasurably intimidating. All sound had been driven from the small area by the blast. A few members of the group were holding long pieces of wood which all simultaneously trailed from the threadbare carpet up to meet his torso. The silence was abruptly broken by a series of rattling breaths being drawn from the taller hovering figures. John felt as if they were drawing all life from his tiny apartment, including his own.

“Avada Ked….”

Unexpectedly there was a chain of red flashes behind the hooded figures. John watched in astonishment as they were driven further down the hallway away from his obliterated doorway. Light seemed to return to his vision. Dust from the explosion was spiralling around his flat clinging to the discoloured walls and frayed carpet. It seemed as if the throng of people who had invaded his flat were being driven away by whoever was approaching his doorway.

He discerned shouting coming from down the hallway. “Drive them away. Tonks, Hermione go to him and make sure he's alive!” Again his instinct jumped in. They definitely were not the police but they could still be hostile. He knew too many unfavourable characters to simply remain rooted to the spot. Forgetting his jacket or any of his belongings he dashed over to the window ledge, shoved the window open and climbed out so he was standing on the roof.

He did his best to avoid the pipes which crisscrossed across the roofs of the terraced buildings. He blessed the architect who designed the apartment complex for giving them flat rooftops. He paused briefly at the sight of the unusual weather. There were storm clouds circling the building where he was situated but further away the sky was a dazzling blue. His mind also wandered to the attackers and the strange pieces of wood they had brandished his way. One of them was about to say something, like a spell. For some nagging reason, far in the back of his mind it had felt and sounded familiar.

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

“This place is filthy,” exclaimed a breathless Hermione after a rapid glance at the grimy flat.

“Those Death Eaters just removed the door, of course it's going to be messy in here,” stated Tonks peering around.

“Even so,” responded Hermione as she moved further into the apartment, taking in the remainders of microwave dinners and dirty unwashed clothes hanging in the corner. “Where is he? Did they take him with them?”

“No! Hermione look, the window.”

At once they tore across the apartment to gaze out. “Look…there he is.” Hermione said pointing to a slight figure trailing swiftly across the rooftops. Immediately she began climbing out onto the rooftop. Tonks was beginning to follow when Hermione held out an impeding hand. “No, you go help the others. Tell Remus I have gone after Harry.”

Tonks began to argue but Hermione cut her off. “It'll be easier to make his stop running if he isn't being chased by a crowd of people,” she reasoned.

“Okay,” Tonks accepted though still unsure. Hermione turned to leave but paused and twisted around. “What name does he go by now?”

“John Smith,” she replied before giving her an encouraging wink and hastening to help the others in their struggle.

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He came to an abrupt stop as the rooftop fell away to a sheer plunge into the darkening street. The shadowy figure was still chasing hurriedly after him, slipping and staggering in all the places he had. He knew there was nowhere he could go. He had reached the summit of his life and it was quite similar to the bottom. He took a hesitant step towards the edge of the building, the tip of his shoes protuding out over the drop. Could he chance a jump? No way, at the very least he would snap his neck.

He peered nervously over his shoulder at the now apparent woman following him. She had come to a halt a few feet away and was watching him anxiously. As she took another tentative step in his direction his voice, unusally calm for the situation, broke out over the wailing wind. "Who are you? What do you want?"

She contemplated him silently before answering vaguely. "I'm just someone who wants to help. Please, just step down from the ledge."

"You don't look like a copper," he remarked after another quick glance over his shoulder. His arms were hanging resignedly by his sides. He took a great deep breath as the wind gave a particularly loud howl. He seemed to be relishing the fresh air. The billowing clouds overhead were scarpering in the other direction, away from them. The sun was beginning to reappear.

"I'm not with the police. John, please I can explain. But you have to come away from the edge." He could sense by her tone that she was frightened. He could hear the pleading cadence. He wondered who she worked for, was it Mickey Devins, the corrupted villain he had bought the drugs from. Perhaps he wanted them back. He reached into his trouser pocket with his right hand, outstetching his left to keep his precarious balance, and grabbed the two Ziploc baggies, filled halfway with white powder.

"Here," he smirked, tossing the bags over his shoulder without a backward glance. "Tell him I don't work for him anymore. Pushing coke and occasional E-bombs was never really my thing."

She threw the bags a wary look before returning her gaze to his back. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Could you please just come away from the ledge John?" she repeated. He noticed the frustration and impatience in her voice and it caused him to chuckle lightly to himself.

"So who are you? Why are chasing me? Who were the others?" Countless questions were zooming through his brain making his head spin. He had never been so utterly confused.

"I told you that I can explain but not now. We have to go somewhere safe," she urged.

"Safe from what? Safe from who?" he inquired tersely. He was exhausted, standing carelessly on a rooftop dangerously close to the edge. He desperately wanted answers but began to wonder whether they would help him.

When she recommenced speaking he knew she was wrestling with how much she should tell him. "Those people who broke into your apartment, they want you dead."

"Why?" He turned his face sideways in bewilderment.

"John..." she began but he cut her off immediately.

"It's Jonathon and don't tell me that I have to step off the edge. For all I know there could be swarms of police waiting to ambush this rooftop. I probably deserve it too," he spat, the self-reproach evident in his voice. "What's your name? At least give me that."

There was a pensive silence as she battled inwardly with herself. "Jane."

Coward said a familiar voice in her head. She needed more time, time that she did not have while there were throngs of Death Eaters and police hunting down this extremely confused yet riled character facing her with his back. Lupin had forgotten to mention where she should take him when she caught up with him. The Burrow was surely too exposed. She stopped her train of thought. She may not even be able to apprehend him, not in this troubled state, in this dire situation.

"Why do they want me dead, Jane?" His voice was firm, and she knew he would not budge until he knew.

"Because you are very important to them. Your death will be very significant for their people," she responded quickly.

"You're speaking in riddles Jane," he accused indignantly.

She huffed in frustration. "The longer we stay here the more dangerous it will be. I will tell you everything but you have to come with me."

He stepped backwards away from the ledge and turned. She felt as if the Earth had slowed its movements so that she could analyze his face, far older and wiser in expression than she could ever remember. His raven black hair was roughly cut and his strong jaw and pallid cheeks were covered with forgotten stubble. His startling green eyes flared with intensity as he took in her appearance.

He opened his mouth to say something but suddenly his throat felt constricted as he glimpsed the flash of recognition in her hazel eyes. Hermione silently berated herself on her unconscious flicker of weakness.

"Who are you?!" he yelled lunging at her. He grabbed her arms in a fierce grip that caused her to wince slightly. His eyes were exploring hers, their noses nearly making contact. She felt like he was searching, examining and scrutinizing her. She could feel the flickering of his breath warm on her face and she implored herself to look away but knew that that which she had feared was unfolding in front of her. The truth was becoming clearer, struggling for freedom. Some secrets cannot be kept.

"Please just come with me! I'll tell you but..."

"No, you're gonna tell me now," he shot back at her and pulling her still closer to him, fearing she would simply disappear or evaporate in the gusting winds.

She shut her eyes, resigned, before grasping his forearm. She twisted her own arm and they were enclosed in an impenetrable darkness being pressed very hard from all directions. Jonathon began fighting for air, feeling as if there were iron bands tightening around his chest, his eyeballs were being forced deeper into his skull before it all came to a startling stop. He took a great lungful of the muggy air before retching slightly after one of the strangest and uncomfortable experiences of his life.

Hermione sighed sympathetically as she watched him flex his fingers; stretch his arms out repeating the same with his legs as if he had only recently became conscious of his body. The expression on his face was of utmost bewilderment. Then his eyes took in the scene around them, very different to the one they had just left.

"What the f..." They were no longer standing amongst the rooftops of London being whipped viciously by the wind. Instead they were standing in an open glade surrounded by a high unassailable wall of gnarled ancient trees. The sky was a magnificent azure blue in the small opening in the trees above them, untouched or tarnished by a single cloud. Jonathon peered down at the ground, his feet almost totally covered by knee-length grass. His nostrils instantly picked up the odour of fresh trees and newly blooming vegetation.

"Where are we?" he asked, his gruff exterior betrayed by his voice laced with amazement.

"I'm not really sure. I assume it's a forest," she replied nonchalantly. Her decision to apparate out of London had been spur of the moment, at least out here they were a great distance from Death Eaters and the police.

"How? How are we here when just moments ago we were..." his voice trailed off as he continued revolving on the spot, his eyes darting between branches, the blue sky and the grass underfoot.

She took a deep breath before changing his entire life, just as Hagrid had done all those years ago. "Because I'm a witch."

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

"Magic," he repeated for what felt like the thousandth time.

It had been hours since her revelation, the sky was now a deeper blue streaked with pink and gold, clear signs that the sun was setting. He was sitting among freshly cut grass which Hermione had trimmed in order to display her magical capabilities, his arms wrapped around his knees which were drawn up to his chest. Hermione sat next to him in the same position watching his face closely.

Astonishment was still apparent in his expression but she knew that he accepted what she had told him. She had revealed as much as she could, of the war, Voldemort, The Order of the Phoenix and of what had happened to him during the Battle of Hogwarts. Thankfully he had not yet asked why they had returned him to muggle society but knew the question was inevitable.

"And I was important, I had my role in the wizarding world," his voice broke her from her reverie. She had not had the courage to tell him who exactly he was, just that he had been a leading member against Lord Voldemort and eventually his downfall.

"Yes, you were very significant in the war. That is why the Death Eaters want you killed." If anyone had happened to come across them on a nights stroll they would have passed them off as young adults just enjoying a carefree chat to themselves in the privacy of the woods. Nothing in their countenance displayed how dark their conversation was or how changed a life had just become.

"What was my name?" Jonathon inquired, his green eyes meeting the grass as he spoke. His low voice was steeped in expectation.

"Potter...Harry Potter." He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and shifted to see brown eyes peering at him. Again he felt a sudden familiarity stir in the pit of his stomach and his brow furrowed.

"Who are you?"

She gave a guilty smile before confessing, the hand dropped instantaneously from his shoulder. "Hermione Granger. We attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry together for six years and I helped you track down the Horcruxes. I was there when you destroyed Lord Voldemort...and when your memory was erased."

He nodded as if trying to understand what she had just revealed. He coughed before muttering "What about my family?"

"Your parents died when you were just a year old. Lord Voldemort murdered them because they were part of the resistance," she replied quickly hoping he would not inquire further. She had no intention telling him about the prophecy that had ultimately wreaked havoc on his entire life. For now, Jonathon Smith did not need that information. For a moment she glimpsed tears drift blurrily in his eyes before they disappeared.

"I wondered why they didn't try to find me," he mumbled thickly. His brow furrowed and he lifted his eyes to her anxious face. He knew that she was dreading the question he was about to ask but it didn't stop him. "Why didn't you?"

As fast as possible she revealed the reason they left him in muggle society, to give him a better life. She gazed expectantly at his brooding face through the impending darkness.

"It didn't work because from where I have been standing for the past six years...I've been living in hell," he spat, jumping to his feet.

She followed him so they were once again facing each other ready to make a useful retort but he cut her off. "Don't get me wrong, I know you wanted to give me a greater chance at a nice life, but it just...didn't work. And from the way you spoke of this...Harry Potter, people respected him, they fought with him and he seemed to be living without many problems except for the war. I mean I've lived under financial difficulties since I woke up. I've been attacked by the police, drug dealers, pimps and anyone else as desperate as I was, this guy Harry was heading into a fantastic life and...If I had woken up in your world, would I have been doing all of this shit?"

Hermione bit her lower lip pleading her mind to think faster. "I...No you probably wouldn't. But from what you just heard do you think that after everything Harry endured he would have lived a normal life?" She felt as if she was having an argument over this topic with a stranger, which she reasoned that she was.

"The war does sound awful, don't get me wrong but my whole life since I woke up, alone in a hospital in a city I didn't know, has been a battle. I would have easily been able to deal with life if those who loved me were with me when I recovered..." he broke off, his face screwing up in concentration. He looked as if he was thinking something through. "Wait...why are you telling me this now? I mean I get that the Death Eaters are keen on murdering me and I'm now a murder suspect but why are telling me everything now?"

"What...you think we're just going to sit back and watch you die? Or get arrested by the police?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I don't know...After all this time does it make a difference what happens to me?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes...it does. It always has and always will. We couldn't just let you..."

"BUT YOU WERE PREPARED TO JUST LEAVE ME IN THE NORMAL 'MUGGLE' WORLD!" he roared in angst. His bestubbled face flushed red from fury. "There's another reason you wanted to help me, I'm sure of it. I don't trust you enough to just believe you wanted to help me. You want something from me...don't you?"

It was now utterly dark in the enclosed glade. Stars sparkled brightly in the overnight velvety sky but were not bright enough to ease the darkness. She silently lit the tip of her wand and held it out, sending shadows across his fierce features. Again his eyes startled her, boring deeply into hers without any sympathy. It alarmed her but this only increased her need to tell him the truth.

"The war is still raging amongst Voldemort's supporters. They attack ordinary people, men, women and children yet we are no closer to discovering from where they head all of these attacks. Most of the wizarding world is moving on, they are capable of seeing the future now that Lord Voldemort has been vanquished but it isn't possible for those who fought right at the centre. Because we witnessed every action and suffered every consequence. Certain members of the Order are under the belief that you could end this war, once and for all." There were tears brimming in her eyes but none fell to her cheek.

"Me?" He barked a disbelieving laugh. "I don't know any magic...you just told me..." he stopped, his features freezing on his face, mouth agape, eyes wide in dawning horror. "What? Are you just gonna kill me? Bring back your precious Harry. God, you people are really rubbish at cleaning up your own messes."

"There's a way we can give you back your memories..." she began, a single tear trailing down her cheek.

"NO! I won't consent to it," he bellowed maniacally. "You got rid of Potter, you ain't gonna get rid of Jonathon Smith that easily."

"We can give you back your memories but you will retain the memories of the last six years of your life," she screamed at him, balling her fists. She was intent on getting through to him.

He was gesturing wildly at her but paused at her last sentence. "So...will I be Harry Potter with Jonathon Smith's memories or Jonathon Smith with Harry Potter's memories?"

"I'm not sure," she responded honestly. "But either way you will be accepted into the wizarding world with open arms."

He pondered over the situation again, traipsing wordlessly to the wall of trees in deep thought. She watched him fixedly for a few moments before collapsing into a sitting position on the grass. She drew her knees up to her chest, leaning her forehead against them. It waited nearly twenty minutes before she felt his presence looming over her. She peered up at him. His question, she knew, was the beginning of many problems but also could be the solution to her own life.

"So where do we go now?"

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

Please tell me what you think so far of this wild story. Things might seem a tad rushed but I didn’t want to get bogged down going through everything we already know.

Thanks again for reading. Review if you can

Take care

Radagast

Their gazes were making him feel increasingly uncomfortable at he sat in the cramped cluttered kitchen. He swallowed nervously as the thought that they probably expected something of him entered his head.

"Your house is really spectacular," he commented to the plump, rosy-cheeked woman who sat opposite him. She smiled kindly in return before her husband began to give him a detailed account of how it was constructed, including the magical properties it held. He guessed that the conversation was mostly to cover the awkwardness.

His eyes kept drifting to the man, who was roughly his own age, standing forlornly beside the shimmering kitchen sink. He had flaring red hair, fading freckles and eyes that told him that he was being surveyed suspiciously. From the introductions he had received earlier he remembered the man's name being Ron.

It seemed that even after four hours in this strange crooked house people were still undoubtedly unsure of him. He could not judge them for it as the feeling was mutual. Why he had agreed to come with Hermione to The Burrow, he still did not know. He had basically just given up his life as he had lived it, but then he reasoned that he technically was not sacrificing much. Nothing was tying him to that world anymore yet it seemed that he had many ties with this world.

"Would you like some tea dear?" the woman he had complimented asked with a pleasant warming smile.

"Actually I would really like to know exactly who you people are. I mean...do you all belong to the Order?" His question was met with a series of head nods. "And is that the extent of my relationship with you?"

"We were best mates in school," said the red-haired man instantly. "You, me and Hermione hung around at school. I also helped with the Horcruxes. As you know...this is my parent's house," he said indicating the man and woman he had already talked to. "You dated my sister for a year...luckily she isn't here now," he added when he saw Jonathon's eyes widen in horror. "I have five brothers but I think I was always closer to you," he admitted before retreating into silence.

"I was a friend of your parents and taught you for a year at Hogwarts. This is my wife Tonks," a tired looking man called Lupin said gesturing to a blue-haired woman with a heart shaped face. "I have a six year old son, Teddy. You're his godfather."

Jonathon didn't know what he felt at these words, shame or guilt for not being around but it was hardly his fault. In fact the idea was ridiculous; these were the people who had made the decision that would take him away from them. Anger once again seeped into his heart but he ignored it, knowing that it would get him nowhere. He was also astounded at the information that he was a godfather; no one in their right mind would allow him to take custody of a child in his current life.

The others introduced themselves as Aurors, whose occupation entailed hunting and catching Dark Wizards. Jonathon was interested to learn from Ron that he had at one point in his life wanted nothing more than to be an Auror.

He also noted how there was a stark contrast in the way these people treated him than Hermione Granger had. It was the fact that they referred to him as if he was Harry Potter, even without his memories, he was still a best mate, a friend's son, a godfather, and a surrogate son. Hermione had treated him as if he was Jonathon Smith, no longer her best friend; this made him feel as if she wasn't expecting anything from him which eased his anxiety slightly.

His eyes drifted across the many faces in front of him to lock with hers. She gave him tight smile which he couldn't read before helping Mrs. Weasley make tea. They conversed further into the night until it had reached nearly three o'clock in the morning and Jonathon glimpsed light outside the minuscule windows.

They talked about Hogwarts, where he learned Hermione Granger worked as a Professor and an imposing person he had met earlier, Minerva McGonagall worked as Headmistress. Ron seemed to warm to him and he retold many of the trials and tribulations they faced whilst attending Hogwarts.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion but Jonathon just accepted it all. Last week if someone had even mentioned monstrous trolls, giant spiders, enormous snakes, dragons or giants he would have just laughed them off but now he found it easy to hear of these mythical creatures and believe it. He had witnessed many counts of magic since it had been revealed he was once a wizard and the familiarity it conjured within him also eased the astonishment.

The atmosphere in the small kitchen became friendly and comforting as the discomfort drifted away. Jonathon found himself almost instantly liking all the characters he had met. Their peculiar clothing may have indicated that they were a bit strange, odd even, but he found warmth between these people he had never encountered himself before.

Where he had lived and where he had worked was always among dodgy crooks, criminals, and hostile people but now he found himself faced with a supportive group of people. He knew he needed more time to get his head around the whole ordeal but knew time would sort itself out as usual.

"When will we able to do this...er...memory thing?" he asked apprehensively. McGonagall had gone through the entire procedure with him but had not yet told him when it would be.

"Maybe a week or it could be tomorrow. Nobody can be sure. We’ll have to do some digging to find more knowledge on the subject," growled Moody, his electric blue eye zooming frenetically around the room. "There is a lot of preparation involved and we have to ensure your safety."

After Jonathon gave a particularly loud yawn Molly encouraged the idea that they should go to bed. "You'll sleep in Ron's old room H...er...Jonathon," she corrected. There was an awkward silence which was broken by Ron who decided to show him up to his old room considering he had no idea where to go.

"Goodnight," he commented clearly following Ron to the zigzagging staircase. They all bade him goodnight in return as he climbed the staircase passing by three floors before he found himself in a compact room, with a sloping ceiling and misshapen double bed that took up much of the space offered.

"This bedroom used to be bright orange, believe me you'll prefer it this way," Ron grinned while perching himself at the end of the bed. "Used to be a single bed, we had to keep taking out a camp bed when you came to stay but after awhile it was basically out all the time," he mused to himself. Another impenetrable silence descended between them, Jonathon remained in the tight doorway surveying the room further. Several times Ron attempted to break the silence until finally he got the courage to ask what he had been thinking all night.

"You seem to be very accepting of all this," he posed gesturing with an arm wave.

Jonathon took a few moments before answering. "I'm not leaving much behind. Don't misunderstand me, I am really pissed about what you guys did, but I don't know you guys. I feel like," he paused, trying to express himself correctly "life for the past six years has just been a stop-gap between Harry Potter losing his memory and then getting it back. It annoys me, infuriates me to be honest but...I still have to get my head around it."

"But you're technically just committing suicide..." Ron mused aloud, an expression of amazement on his features.

"I suppose being a murder suspect does funny things to you," Jonathon replied grinning. His grin faltered. "I don't have any other choice than to accept what is happening. If I lose it...If I rant and shout and hurt you people, where would I go? I don't know anyone willing to take me into their home, yet your parents don't know me and they're just letting me stay. Either you are all just nuts or Harry Potter is the kind of guy who you are willing to put up with Jonathon Smith, a wanted murderer, for."

"It’s a bit of both," chuckled Ron before returning to his sober expression. "Did you really murder that police-man?"

"No, not directly anyway." Jonathon relayed exactly what had happened with the police-man. When he had finished he found Ron smiling at him.

"There are similarities between you and Harry. You're brave, you even being here is enough to indicate that."

"If I'm sleeping here, where will you be sleeping?" Jonathon asked looking for a shift in subject matter.

"Oh, I don't live here anymore. I live on the other side of the village with my girlfriend and daughter," Ron said, standing to his feet.

"Your daughter?" Jonathon asked before he could stop himself. He thought that it was a pretty young age to have a child; he could never picture himself with a family at only twenty three years of age.

"Yeah," Ron smiled wistfully. "Her name is Lara, she's only two. Her birthday was just the other night. Actually I better make way, Luna, my girlfriend, will be extremely worried...I hope," he added as an afterthought. He held out his hand and Jonathon shook it awkwardly but was grateful for the gesture.

"Night," he mumbled while Ron climbed down the staircase. When Ron's measured footsteps could no longer be heard, Jonathon moved into the centre of the room, his movements still unsure. His body was aching from tiredness and his mind, though running continually, was grinding to a halt. With the bed in eyesight sleep was beginning to overcome him.

He had no change of clothes so he just stripped down to his boxers and turned off the light. Sitting idly on the side of the bed, he let sleep enter every morsel of his body until he could no longer stay awake and clamoured under the sheet falling instantly asleep.

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

"Do you want to stay the night Hermione?" asked Mrs. Weasley as she watched Shaklebolt's enormous figure disappear down the garden.

Hermione wandered over to the sink, wondering whether or not she should accept Molly's invitation. On one hand she could not wait to escape from the tense atmosphere but on the other she knew that Molly was filled with a maternal anxiety for Harry's well-being, something which Hermione knew her presence could alleviate.

"You can take Ginny's room, she's staying the night at Hogwarts with Neville," Arthur added with a pointed eyebrow lift. The cluttered kitchen was empty except for them. Lupin had been taken home by Tonks, Shaklebolt and Moody had apparated to the Ministry in an attempt to pull up anything they could find on the memory inducing programme accompanied by McGonagall.

"I suppose I better be heading as well," Ron interjected entering the room.

"What are you going to tell Luna?" Hermione inquired apprehensively. The next few weeks, perhaps months would be filled with painful confessions as secrets were revealed to loved ones. She knew how difficult it had been for Ron not to tell Luna the whole truth about Harry Potter, to keep such a huge secret from such an honest genuine person.

"Hmm...I really have no idea," Ron said pensively. "I suppose the truth would be the best option. She'd never tell anybody, not until we need her to anyway."

He hugged Hermione and his father, before giving his mother a kiss on the cheek and disappearing out the door, vanishing into the consuming darkness. With a quick flick of her wand the numerous coloured mugs surrounding the sink began to dry themselves. She leaned back against the scrubbed counter and gave an exhausted sigh. "So will you please accept our invitation to stay the night?"

"Yes...I think I should. I'm too tired to even try to Apparate or Floo," she yawned before adopting a serious expression. "What do we do tomorrow?"

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not sure. I have to go to work, I'm afraid it will be just you and Molly here in the morning. The others will also have to show up to work, we don't want to create suspicion in the Ministry. Especially since Penwell's succeeded in becoming Minister of Magic. He's already introduced extremely strict measures into Ministry employment safety. You need to pass about four security checks to gain access to the elevators," he shook his head disappointedly.

Since Lord Voldemort's defeat the Ministry had been fragile and weak, with nearly three successive Ministers in six years. That was until six months ago when Ivan Penwell appeared on the scene. His conservative view of wizardry and hatred of Dark Wizards made him enormously popular with the majority of wizarding families but with others they were reminded of earlier failures, such as Bartimeus Crouch. Ron always said that Penwell reminded him of Percy during the war.

"I'm going up to grab a few hours." Molly followed suit soon later. By the time Hermione climbed up the stairs there was a faint light on the horizon. Ginny's room had not altered much since Hogwarts, the colours mainly pink and purple, the floorboards still creaked underfoot, the mirrored desk in one corner and stand alone wardrobe in the other. She removed her robes before crawling under the covers. It took her another few minutes before she finally drifted into her disturbing dreams.

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

He stirred slightly before shooting up from the bed. It took a minute before he remembered everything that had occurred the day before. It felt like an age ago, as if everything that had happened had happened in another lifetime. He rubbed his face with both hands, cradling his head as it gave a dull throb, classic signs of a headache.

He felt apprehensive about going downstairs; entering a world he knew little of. Pulling on his clothes from the day before, he wished he had a change of underwear.

He felt relatively rested after sleeping just five hours. Taking a shuddering breath he opened the door and made his way down the zigzagging stairwell.

On entering the small kitchen he found it deserted. The sun was streaming through the tiny windows giving the tiny room a heavenly glow. His thoughts were broken by a loud scuffling and squawking emanating through from the garden.

“Devilish chickens,” grumbled Molly as she entered through the open doorway, pausing momentarily when she laid eyes on Jonathon.

“Oh, good morning dear. Did you sleep okay?” She seemed genuinely interested.

“Yeah, it was fine,” he answered looking around nervously.

“I’ll whip up some breakfast. Oh,” she stopped in thought. “There are some clothes of Ron’s upstairs in a closet on the second floor. He’s much taller than you but I’m sure they’ll fit you fine.” She smiled expectantly and he gave her a nervous grin.

“Er…thanks.” He wondered whether he should just go get changed now but wanted to talk to her first. “Mrs. Weasley…I…”

“Please call me Molly,” she asked as she sent a frying pan zooming through the air to land on the stove which immediately heated up. Sausages and bacon followed the frying pan’s course and the room was filled with the sound of sizzling.

“Molly…I just wanted to thank you for letting me stay here,” he said quickly. She turned her back on the stove to give him a sincere look.

“I have no idea what this must be like for you,” she replied her voice warm and comforting. “But…don’t ever doubt that you won’t be welcome in my home…”

“You might not get Harry back, I could be Jonathon with Harry’s memories,” he felt a need to make her understand while his eyesight continually shifted towards the magical frying pan.

She gave a watery smile, strode over to stand in front him, placed both her hands on his and said. “Jonathon is welcome in my heart just as Harry always was.” She wrapped her arms around him for a few moments before moving back over to the crackling stove. “I’m afraid you can’t go anywhere for the next few days. Even though you look quite different…” she examined him over her shoulder for an instant “you still might be recognised.”

They talked whilst she cooked, she told him some more minor details about Harry, and soon enough Jonathon was beginning to have a good idea of the kind of character Harry Potter was. It was Mrs. Weasley who informed him of the first time she met him, which led to Jonathon learning of the Dursleys.

“So I actually grew up in the ‘muggle’ world,” he said, tentatively using the term hoping it was the correct context.

“Yes, I suppose so. Though you didn’t really grow up until you were about fifteen,” she responded playfully. “This is nearly done,” she continued indicating the breakfast. “Why don’t you go freshen up? We won’t eat until Hermione comes down, I’m sure she won’t be long.”

“She stayed the night?” he questioned with raised eyebrows, surprised. “I thought she lived at Hogwarts.”

“Yes but I was uneasy about being alone in the house with you,” she confessed with a smile. Jonathon chuckled before heading up the stairs in search of the clothes Molly had directed him to. After finding them he went in search of the bathroom discovering it on the first floor. The jeans were worn and slightly too long while the shirt was far too big, but they were much better than the clammy grimy clothes he had worn through the chaos of yesterday. On his way out of the bathroom he bumped into Hermione Granger.

She looked at him startled and he guessed she had only dragged herself out of bed.

"Sorry," she said, becoming aware that she was clothed only in a shirt, thankfully one of her longer ones.

He battled with himself but failed in trying to stop his eyes drifting to her bare legs. After a pointed cough his eyes returned to her bemused ones. "No, it was my mistake...erm...I...Molly," he gestured towards the staircase "she...er...breakfast is ready," he finally managed to choke out. He nodded his head fiercely as if convincing himself that he had covered the situation.

"It's alright," she responded not making eye contact. She brushed past him on her hurried way into the bathroom and he again sensed familiarity stir in the pit of his stomach.

The door crashing shut behind him brought him back to reality.

Breakfast passed by uneventfully but still Jonathon learned more about Harry Potter.

"Harry saved you from a troll," he repeated astonished. "When he was eleven years old."

"Yeah, pretty much. He had help from Ron of course," Hermione grinned. "That was more or less when we actually became friends."

They were clearing the table away for Mrs. Weasley, who had been called to a meeting of The Order of The Phoenix which Hermione had declined for obvious reasons. "I'll just tell them that I had Hogwarts business. Anyway the recent attacks across Britain will be the main agenda. Ron will fill me in when he gets here later."

"Well that's pretty much the whole story, isn't it?"

Hermione twisted around to see him. "What do you mean?"

"The tale of Harry Potter. The Dursleys, Hogwarts, the War and the End." His voice was low almost indistinct against the chirping birds outside.

"Harry was always much more than what the press and the history books said about him." The firmness in her voice was assuring.

"You're the only one who truly understands that I'm not Harry Potter," he said. A vacuum of silence descended between them. They stared wordlessly across the kitchen table until Jonathon's gaze turned to the open window. A tawny owl swooped down and perched itself on the chipped windowsill.

Jonathon looked at Hermione expectantly.

"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?"

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

"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.”

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

“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?"

She stood rooted to the spot as she clutched the newspaper in her hand, its bold headline screaming out at her. Four wizards had been murdered in Dorchester, another three in Southampton. The Daily Prophet was deeming it a new reprisal from the Death Eaters. A new wave of panic had swept over the wizarding world and families were beginning to place fresh wards on their houses, some even preparing to emigrate.

It had been two days since she had last been at the Burrow, since Jonathon had attempted to kiss her but the feelings of guilt and unease were still plaguing her. She had woken this morning to an owl fluttering around her kitchen carrying a letter from Remus Lupin informing her they had located the instrument with which to return Harry’s memories and that plans were being made for it to be safely removed from the Ministry and brought to a safe house.

A sharp agitated knock on the door interrupted her musings. She threw the paper onto a kitchen cabinet and rushed to see who wanted to see her this early in the morning. Snape excused himself half-heartedly, obviously uncaring of how early it was, and strode defiantly into the small hallway. “Is it true? They’ve located Potter?”

His eyes followed her as she slammed the door behind him annoyed he would say it aloud in a castle still full of some of the most inquisitive ghosts imaginable. “How did you find out?”

“The Headmistress wants me to perform the memory inducement tonight. I could hardly believe it, after so long why now?” He seemed to think she was the only person who could answer. When she remained silent he pressed on, his dark eyes piercing hers. “You could do serious psychological damage to tell him now...”

“Oh as if you care about him! All you did when he was here was criticise him and make him feel unworthy!” she yelled childishly. She spun on her heel, storming into the kitchen and returned with the crumpled newspaper and shoved it roughly into his hands. His eyes scanned the front page.

“If he doesn’t get his memory back, if he loses his ability to perform magic, he won’t survive this second attack,” she finished, her chest heaving after her outburst.

“Has it been confirmed that these attacks have anything to with Potter?” Snape shot back snidely.

“The Death Eaters have made it clear they know who Jonathon really is and what they were going to do with him. It’s like a new breath of life for them, their numbers were dwindling, people were forsaking the Mark, now this...” she stopped indicating the paper.

“He will be absolutely livid when he realises what has happened,” Snape said, his eyes taking in the sepia images of victims of the war printed on the inside cover of the newspaper. “And so he should be. The plan was utterly ridiculous to begin with. It was not thought through rationally and there was no impartial judgement of the situation.”

It was the first time she had ever heard Snape actually empathize with Harry and even though she would have liked to admonish him, tell him he was out of order or even just to tell him to keep his opinions to himself, she was silenced by the fact that part of her agreed with him. The logical side of her was always aware of how risky it was but perhaps over time her heart had drowned the usually rational voice out and she had given in for the first time in a long time.

She sighed and rubbed the palms of her hands together nervously. “The past does not matter anymore. All that matters now is that Harry gets his memories back and if he struggles with that we’ll be here to help him...”

“You’ve already abandoned him once,” he cut across her “what makes you think that he’ll trust any of you again?”

Hermione scowled at him and could tell from his expression that he revelled in hitting a nerve. “I have quite enough to get on with at the moment Severus, so please if you don’t have anything constructive to say, leave!”

There was a frosty silence before Snape walked languidly to the door “The Headmistress wished to speak to you,” he droned and strode off away from her dormitory leaving her fuming behind.

He could hear whispering and the occasional hushing sounds travelling up from downstairs. Knowing that they were probably tending to something of considerable importance, and that it most likely concerned him he remained sprawled across the narrow single bed in an almost unconscious state. If anyone had peeked their head into the room they would have presumed him asleep and left him be, regardless of the fact that it was nearing twelve o’clock in the afternoon.

His stomach growled uncomfortably, a result of not having consumed food in the last eighteen hours and anxiety of the impending operation he was about to undergo. He could hear the odd popping sounds in the garden and realised there must now be a good few wizards down in the cramped kitchen and gathered that today was his last day.

In a few hours he would most likely be devoured by rage, sadness and betrayal but for now he just felt a numbness that for the moment, while lying stretched across the bed, was enough. He could picture their troubled and apprehensive faces if he were to get up and traipse down the stairs without a care in the world. It was ironic, that they believed they were in uneasy times, that they agonized over everything when they could have no idea what agony felt like. For the past forty eight hours he felt like he had been torn asunder, a path to choose but no inclination for either of them.

Perhaps after all the confusion, the revelations and the uncertainty all there was left to feel was calm. And so he continued to submit to the peaceful feeling. What was there to fight back against anyway? These people, although they had made his life a hell, were now trying their best to make him feel at home. And they acted with the utmost respect to him and made every effort to comfort him.

Ron dropped by the house as often as he could but his face revealed that he was deeply preoccupied by his work. Last night he had confided that for the first time in a long time he noticed the Aurors were not able to keep control of the situation. He told Jonathon the department was falling apart under the increasing pressure from the Death Eaters and the public and he had not seen such shoddy work in years.

Ron had also brought around his youngest and only sister, Ginny, with whom Harry had had a relationship. To say it was awkward would be an understatement; there was a lot of astonished staring and silences however after two hours of strained conversation and more stories of Hogwarts he found Ginny to be quite amusing and a relief from the anxiety that surrounded the house. Ron and Ginny had even taken it upon themselves to teach Jonathon some basic magic and within minutes he had mastered a levitating charm.

He had not seen Hermione since the day he had attempted to kiss her. Although she had been the one to practically drag him from London’s bleak streets into the promising wizarding world she had seemed to disappear, almost frightened by him or Harry, he wasn’t sure. One thing was for sure, she was the strangest woman he had ever met, frustrating and yet endearing and although she appeared to be stern he could tell she was compassionate and kind. And even though there were a million thoughts clogging up his mind, drowning him in uncertainty and confusion, he knew one thing to be true, he wanted to see her again.

*****************************************************************************
“Remus has set up a team to infiltrate the Department of Mysteries. Moody, Kingsley, Arthur and Remus himself are going to retrieve the inducer and we’ll have another team to move Jonathon from the Burrow to Grimmauld Place...” McGonagall was reciting the plan and Hermione deduced she had the whole thing orchestrated to perfection.

“Why Grimmauld Place? Would it not be safer to just use the Burrow and not have to transport him at all?”

McGonagall gave her an intense stare as if contemplating how much she should reveal. “It will be...easier to...contain him,” she paused momentarily letting the words sink in “if he isn’t at the Burrow, if he’s somewhere where he can spend time alone.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t understand,” Hermione replied shaking her head in confusion. Again she was met with a hesitant silence from the headmistress that made her feel uncomfortable; Minerva McGonagall was not one to hesitate.

“Harry may not wish to remain at the Burrow, he may want to be alone, away from...from the people he feels betrayed him,” she finished quickly looking away from Hermione. “There is a substantial risk that given his state he will try to escape the Burrow in order to be alone. However if we move the operation to Grimmauld Place, which Harry still has ownership over, he can remain there, gather his thoughts as well as clear his mind. You don’t have to be a psychiatrist to understand he may be slightly unbalanced after the inducement.”

Hermione nodded almost grudgingly. She was beginning to feel even more nervous at the prospect of Harry’s condition but before she could dwell on it McGonagall was speaking again.

“We wanted to keep Jonathon as calm as possible today so we do not run the risk of him fleeing the Burrow. It is a huge burden that he is undertaking and we were hoping if you could go to the Burrow today and keep him company; ensure he isn’t completely alone...”

“I’m sorry I have a lot of correcting to do...”

“You have at least six weeks to see to your correcting Professor Granger...”

“You don’t know he might want to be alone, as you said he’s probably feeling...”

“Ms. Granger I am asking you as your superior to ensure the subject remains calm and doesn’t run from what we are asking of him.”

Hermione knew it was pointless to argue against a clearly steadfast witch. Her tactic of referring to Jonathon in an impersonal manner illustrated the need to be, as Snape had said earlier, impartial. This really was no time to allow emotions rule her actions.

“I’ll make my way over to the Burrow as soon as I can,” she agreed after a lengthy silence. McGonagall nodded in approval and Hermione strode back to her dorm, a million thoughts in her head.

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

It was just another task she had to carry out for the Order, nothing more. Perhaps if she kept repeating it she could convince herself it was true. However she was fooling no one, let alone herself. It wasn’t just a task. It wasn’t just another guy she couldn’t stop thinking about. It wasn’t just guilt. Refraining from becoming too sentimental was just impossible at this point.

Her hand was quivering slightly as she threw a handful of floo powder into the grate and disappeared into the sparkling emerald flames. It was the right thing to do, putting her feelings to one side to ensure Jonathon’s and Harry’s safety as well as the wizarding world’s safety.

A rush of resentment flooded her when she reached the Burrow and spotted at least four people in the kitchen. So much for him being completely alone, she thought maddeningly. Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, Ginny and Lupin were having a whispered conversation in the chaotic kitchen while Alastor Moody stood silhouetted in the doorway, his eyes roving the unkempt garden suspiciously.

“Oh hello Hermione,” Lupin greeted her in a low voice. “Minerva did say you were going to come over, “he gestured for her to take a seat.

“She gave me the impression that Jonathon was alone, “Hermione replied not attempting to hide the exasperation in her voice.

“Well Lupin, Tonks and I are about to head to the Ministry for our final inspection of the area before the retrieval is carried out tonight,” Moody growled from the doorway not bothering to turn around.

“And I’m going to visit Neville. He doesn’t know about Harry but I think he suspects something is going on, “Ginny said going slightly red. “He keeps asking me if everything is okay, I’ve received two owls from him today alone,” she continued with an eye-roll.

There was a harsh scraping noise as they stood up from their chairs and headed towards the garden. “We’ll meet up here again at seven tonight to make sure everyone knows what they have to do,” confirmed Lupin as the others filtered out of the kitchen into the sweltering sun.

Hermione watched as Molly hugged Ginny tightly and bade her goodbye and felt a flicker of longing for her own mother’s embrace. A voice interrupted her thoughts “You look tired Hermione.” Lupin gave her an earnest look and placed a hand over her own. “Take care,” he said before following the others out into the brilliant sunlight.

She knew Lupin would understand her more than the others. He was one of the very few people who comprehended how close Hermione had been to Harry. He also knew how difficult it had been to persuade her to let him go. He knew just how much she had given up that night, how much she had sacrificed.

She was brought out of her reverie by Molly’s voice, excusing herself as she wanted to do some work down the garden.

“Where is he?”

Molly paused and smiled sadly. “He’s upstairs lying down. I don’t think he’s sleeping. I think he knows what today is...” There was a brief silence, and then Molly trudged out the door leaving Hermione standing alone in the cramped kitchen. There was a peaceful stillness encompassing the house, as if it were just another glorious summer afternoon in the countryside and no one had a care in the world. She was almost afraid to move in case the tranquillity would shatter like glass.

Creaking wood caused her to spin around and she came face to face with Jonathon, standing nonchalantly at the bottom of the old staircase in nothing but a white t-shirt and black boxers. “Good morning Professor Granger,” emphasising the word as if it amused him.

She would have liked to retort with something witty but her voice failed her. After everything that had happened to him in the past week, it still amazed her he could be this casual, particularly after their last ‘conversation’.

After eliciting no response he shrugged his shoulders and made his way over to the kettle, his bare feet slapping against the stone as he went. Part of him wanted to push her, not physically, but he wanted to find out exactly what had happened last time they had spoken. In fact, if he was honest with himself he wanted to know everything about her.

He could feel her eyes follow him as he went about his business, filling the rusty kettle and setting it down on the old hob.

“Is it not rude to stare in the wizarding world?” he grinned coyly and she snapped back to reality.

“Er...sorry, I’m just not used to half-dressed men wandering around the Burrow,” she tried to make her smile genuine but failed.

“Like you haven’t thought about it,” he muttered leaning with his back against the counter to get a better look at her face.

“Pardon?” she demanded raising her eyebrows.

“Please, I saw it the moment I got here. You want Arthur Weasley,” he said earning a hearty laugh from her. “He’s a married man Granger, you don’t want to get messed up with that,” he continued feigning sincerity.

“You’ve figured me out!” she responded with mock astonishment. They remained like that for awhile chuckling to themselves before he offered her tea. “I’ve never known a family to drink so much tea,” he commented peering out at Molly who was carrying a bucket of seed down to a group of chickens. “So what brings you here? Let me guess...you’re here to ensure I don’t do a runner?”

“Something like that,” she replied taking a seat. “They’ll be back here at six and we’ll head over to, your house, where the inducement will be carried out.”

“Can’t wait,” he mumbled sarcastically placing a mug of tea in front of her and took a seat opposite.

She would have like to reassure him and tell him nothing would go wrong, but she couldn’t lie to him. The inducement was just as unknown to her as it was to him. The sudden lack of noise began to grow uncomfortable and she realised she didn’t know what to say to him.

“You fancied him didn’t you?”

“Arthur Weasley?” she asked trying to hide the rush of emotions that flooded her body.

He snorted and shook his head. “I think we both know who I’m talking about.”

“A lot of people fancied Harry Potter. He was the saviour of the wizarding world and his face was splashed across every paper nearly every day. Guys wished they could be him, girls wished they could be with him,” she explained in a steady voice.

“You’re very good at what you do,” he said, his piercing eyes never leaving her tense face.

She frowned puzzled “What do you mean?”

“Avoiding answering questions,” he replied instantly with a smirk.

It was her turn to shake her head, in disbelief. “Well your questions are personal and you have no right to ask them.” She took a sip of her tea, huffed and then stood to her feet. She suddenly felt as if she was trapped and wanted to get out of the kitchen. “I’m going for some air,” she said, snatching the mug of tea and making a beeline for the door. His voice stopped her in her tracks.

“I’m only asking because I think he liked you too.”

“Of course he liked me, he was my best friend,” she stated simply. She twisted around to look at him and found him staring intently at the mug he was grasping with both hands.

“I...er, there’s something so familiar being around you, and it’s not this house, it’s not these people, it’s just...you,” he expressed unhurriedly not raising his head to look up at her.

She shut her eyes in frustration “We were very close...we grew up together, we trekked around England together, fought together, we were bound to be familiar with each other,” using his words in the hope of getting through to him. When she opened her eyes his eyes remained fixed on her face.

“No, it’s more than that. I can feel it...”

“How could you? You’re not him!”

“I don’t know! It must just be something he buried deep down and you couldn’t erase,” he yelled irritated by her evasiveness.

She scowled at him and the let out a howl of frustration. His continued mood-swings, happy to curious, to sad to angry, were equally as irksome as her need not to engage in a conversation about her feelings for Harry. “I can’t do this, not now,” she ran a shaky hand through her hair.

“You loved him, didn’t you?!” There was a slight awe to his voice, the thought that there was someone out there that had loved him all this time and had never done anything about it. He couldn’t even explain how he felt anymore.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said in a constrained manner as if it hurt her to admit it. “Why does it matter what I felt when I was a teenager?” In an effort to compose herself, she decided to head upstairs towards the bathroom, unable to look at Jonathon or Harry or whoever he was now.

As she made her way up the stairs she heard footsteps behind her, ignoring them she continued until she reached the top and spun around and again came face to face with him. Their faces were mere inches away from each other and she felt the tension emanating from him. His calculating eyes explored her silently and were drawn to her lips for a mere instant.

She couldn’t tear her gaze from his face, taking in his unfathomable eyes, his enticing lips, the unruly stubble that just graced his jaw.

He leaned forward and their lips met. Her immediate reaction was to take a slight step back however one hand automatically went to his chest and grabbed a handful of his t-shirt pulling him closer. His tongue traced her bottom lip and she opened up to him instantly, meeting his tongue with her own.

The jolt of electricity that shot through her body seemed to reawaken her senses. She simultaneously let go of a fistful of his t-shirt, put pressure against his chest and moved her face downwards away from his.

She was breathing heavily as was he, her face flushed from embarrassment and disappointment in herself. This was exactly what she was hoping to avoid.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered placing a slender hand over her own forehead as if checking for a non-existent fever, some illness she could blame. She still refused to look up at him.

“I’m not...it doesn’t mean anything. I mean I’m going to cease to exist in a couple of hours,” he replied bitterly. He gave up trying to get her to look up at him and leaned back against the wall, exhaling as if defeated. “Look don’t upset yourself about it,” he attempted to calm her down “I’m more to blame than you are.”

“No you’re not...What do you mean “cease to exist”? Of course you’ll exist,” she exclaimed. “You’ll just have memories from another life.”

“Oh is that all?” he replied sarcastically and made to return to the kitchen. She trailed him down the stairs and into the kitchen her mind still reeling, her legs still shaking but intent on explaining what little she knew about the procedure.

“Jonathon you’ll still have the memory of the past six years. That won’t just disappear...it most probably will be slightly harder to recall though...”

“But who will I actually be? He questioned throwing his arms up forcefully and she could tell instantly that he had been plagued by this question since he got here.

“I would presume, and keep in mind I’m usually right, that the past six years would leave an impression on Harry’s character so you would be somewhat of a fusion of two characters, not in a bi-polar institutionalised sense,” she added seeing the fearful expression on his face.

“You are still him,” she said softly after a lengthy silence. “You’re brave and you’re kind. I mean look at Natasha, she absolutely adored you. Visiting her and checking that she is comfortable and has not come to any harm is exactly what Harry would have done. And that need to help her...that came from Harry, from you,” she finished placing a hand over his heart.

His eyes traced her hand to her face. “I’m afraid,” he confessed quietly.

“You’d be a fool not to be,” she responded dropping her hand from his chest to her side. “But for now there’s really only one thing we can do.”

“I’ll put the kettle on,” he concluded with a bashful grin.

It was mainly due to the Headmistress’ excellent organisation that the entire plan ran smoothly. Hermione watched Jonathon furtively for any sign of recognition as he stepped into the hallway of number twelve Grimmauld Place. However if he did identify anything he didn’t show it but continued to study the grim hallway with something bordering on disgust. The wallpaper was still peeling, the threadbare carpet still adorned the gloomy hallway and the chandelier overhead was still riddled with cobwebs.

Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him to the far end of the hallway where a sliver of light escaped from a closed door. Taking a deep breath he opened the door confidently and they were bathed in a green-bluish light that only served to enhance the mysterious and eerie atmosphere. The only source of light in the whole kitchen was a pensieve situated in the middle of a long wooden table. Hermione thought that Lupin’s, McGonagall’s, Ron’s and Snape’s faces looked ghoulish and gaunt basked in the peculiar light. She spotted more people standing upright like soldiers around the perimeter of the cavernous room but the remained there, like defeated pieces of a chessboard.

Snape was eyeing Jonathon suspiciously as if he was convinced he was about to be told the whole ordeal was a joke. Ron tried to give an encouraging smile but failed and stepped back from the table into the shadows of the room. McGonagall asked Jonathon to sit upon the table next to the pensieve. Extracting her wand she held it to Jonathon’s head and Hermione saw the familiar silver thread of memories flow from Jonathon into the wand until the wand was repositioned and they streamed into the pensieve itself. She studied Jonathon’s movements and saw him clench his fists once or twice and he kept his eyes shut for the whole procedure.

“The extraction is complete.” McGonagall’s voice sent a shudder through Hermione, it was so completely devoid of emotion and Hermione was reminded just how important this was. She moved slightly so that she was standing right behind McGonagall and when Jonathon opened his eyes he was staring straight at her. He appeared to be exhausted, there were dark circles under his eyes and his bottom lip was reddened from where he had bit it.

Fear , apprehension and concern tore at her heart and she could barely muster the strength to watch as Snape moved him so that he was sat on a chair adjacent to the table. Snape continued to fuss around Jonathon but she couldn’t see what he was doing as his back blocked her view. He never made any attempt to put a stop to it, he never even spoke.

When Snape took a step back Hermione saw that he had placed what appeared to be a rectangular plaster on Jonathon’s forehead. He then withdrew a small vial of luminescent potion from inside his robes and poured it in a tortuously slow manner into the pensieve. Jonathon took a great shuddering breath of trepidation and then gawped in amazement as the contents of the pensieve began to swirl ferociously around nearly brimming over the edge.

As if attached to an imaginary line the silvery fluid reared up and shot to Jonathon’s forehead and Hermione realised the plaster was to concentrate the magic in a specific location. Jonathon squeezed his eyes shut and she wondered whether it was due to pain or fear however almost instantly after she thought this he let out a roar of agony and nearly bolted forward out of the chair. Snape caught him just in time and held him in place as his body convulsed horribly in front of their eyes.

Hermione knew from gazing at him that he was in excruciating pain and was unaware who or what was around him. McGonagall was frowning and examining the pensieve as well as Jonathon’s forehead. Ron had rushed to his side to try and hold him in place so that the procedure would not be in vain. After another minute or so Remus also hurried out of the shadows and grasped both of Jonathon’s arms while Ron held his head in place. It was Hermione’s turn to leap to his side next when she noticed a trickle of blood make its way from his nose and drip onto his shirt.

“Stop!” she screamed but just as the words left her mouth his form became motionless and he slumped forwards into Lupin’s arms.

The chaos that had overtaken the room moments ago was brought to an abrupt halt and there was a deathly silence encompassing them all.

“Somebody turn on the bloody light,” she implored angrily and immediately the gas lamps lining the walls burst into life. Grabbing both sides of his face she scrutinized him. Crimson blood still seeped from his nose and his eyes remained closed, he was definitely unconscious. She leant his head backwards so that he was sat in the chair like a rag doll, his head lolling over the back of the chair.

“Is he breathing?” Ron asked petrified. She placed two fingers against his throat and felt a pulse, it was weak but it was there.

“Yes,” she breathed. “He’s still alive.”

With help from Ron and Snape, Lupin manoeuvred him so that he was lying on the table. Someone pushed swiftly past Hermione and she caught side of a harassed Madam Pomfrey skilfully analyzing Harry’s condition.

“We must move him to a bed,” she demanded. “He’s dreadfully weak. He may not even...” She was interrupted by a groan of anguish and everyone’s eyes shot to Harry’s body.

Although he kept his eyes shut his face was distorted with pain and he suddenly rolled onto his side and retched insufferably. Vomit splattered onto the stone flagged floor and drifting in between the myriad of stones reached their unmoving feet as each stood frozen in fear.

His arms flailed about hopelessly like a child in desperate need of help. He tried to shield his eyes from the stark brightness of the overhead lights by covering his head with his hands and shuffled to the side of the table. When he attempted roll off the table and land on his feet he misinterpreted his strength and his knees buckled underneath his weight.

He heaved again, now on all fours and his eyes darted around perplexed and terrified. She leapt over to him, as did Ron and they both hauled him to his feet. He was leaning heavily on them unable to stay upright alone, his eyes still trying to blink away what seemed to be six years of sleep. He began to mumble incoherently and Hermione and Ron looked at each other frantically.

“Don’t try to speak Harry,” Madam Pomfrey ordered springing to life. “Please Headmistress, we must...”

“What...What’s going on? Where is He? V...Voldemort?” He made to escape from his friends clutches but failed. They wrestled him back to the table so that he could prop himself up. “Where am I? Arrgh!!” he screamed and clasped his head in his hands in pain. “Please...I don’t understand,” he cried hysterically.

“What can you remember Harry?” McGonagall asked plainly.

“Please Headmistress, he is in no condition to...” Madam Pomfrey pleaded but faltered under McGonagall’s glare.

“No...I can’t...Bellatrix she...” he shook his head and stumbled slightly into the table, one hand still firmly clutching his head. The memories were flooding his mind, each piece of his past clouding his vision and continually integrating into the tale of his life. “I don’t understand...it couldn’t be! I don’t...this couldn’t, please no god no,” he moaned into the palm of his hand.

“Harry I need you to take a deep breath, you’re being frantic and inarticulate,” said the calm Headmistress.

“Well of course he bloody is!” Hermione yelled sending everyone into silence. However it was only brief.

“Would somebody please explain...”Harry entreated while trying to get his breathing under control, taking great gasps in his effort to do so. Blood has stopped streaming from his nose, but his shirt was covered in vomit, his face entirely drained of colour and he was shivering uncontrollably.

Lupin moved forwards and placed one hand on his shoulder and another at his cheek, looking directly into Harry’s face beseechingly. “I want you to remember that night Harry, with Bellatrix...”

“I do...but it can’t...I’m not...”Harry bellowed and none of them could understand the confusion he was experiencing.

“She hit you with a memory charm, Harry. You lost your memory,” Lupin explained slowly. Harry tried to say something but his mouth merely opened and closed producing no sound. Astonishment crept across his features and realisation flashed across his eyes. He snatched fistfuls of Lupin coat angrily.

“No, you didn’t,” he whispered disbelievingly. “You didn’t help me...you just left me. No...no,” he repeated as realisation of what had happened dawned on him. Using his firm grasp on Lupin’s coat he drew him closer, searching Lupin’s eyes for any sign that this was all a sick joke. “No, it can’t...you never would...how could you?!” he howled pleadingly.

Lupin frowned and tears clouded his vision “We thought we were saving you.”

Harry shook his head violently. “You actually did it didn’t you?! You actually left me out there, without my...my memories,” he spluttered overwhelmed with realization. He let his grasp on Lupin go and shoved him away fiercely. “How could you?!” he demanded sadistically, his head still swimming but his spinning world was beginning to grind to a halt.

After being so forcefully pushed away Lupin could do nothing but shake his head in both guilt and shame. James had asked him to protect his son, Sirius had handed him the burden and gift of being a godfather and he had failed them both. He blinked away the few tears that clung to his eyes and watched as the young man in front of him broke down.

Harry’s bloodshot eyes sought out Ron who just remained speechless. “Please tell me you had nothing to do with this!” he begged of his red-haired friend.

“I...we thought what we were doing was right,” Ron replied quietly. His grimaced at how futile and pathetic it sounded but knew it was nevertheless the truth.

“YOU WERE MY BEST FRIEND!” Harry roared in response. “BEYOND WHAT WAS RIGHT, BEYOND ANYTHING! YOU STICK BY THAT REGARDLESS.” His hands were balled into fists, his face red with the effort of screaming and they wondered at his ability to remain standing. “DIDN’T THE LAST SIX YEARS MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU? ALL THOSE ADVENTURES, ALL THE TROUBLES WE WENT THROUGH, AFTER EVERYTHING WE SURVIVED AND THEN YOU JUST LET ALL THAT GO!”

Ron blushed crimson and was just about to retort fiercely when McGonagall interrupted, ever the voice of reason. “Mr. Weasley please do not exacerbate the situation. We must give Mr. Potter some time to digest everything and perhaps then we’ll make some progress.” Hermione marvelled at her ability to remain impartial, reasonable and detached. She noticed Harry edge back towards the table for stability, shaking his head in disbelief of McGonagall’s aloofness.

His eyes however drifted past her face as he turned to place his two hands flat down on the table surface. He froze momentarily in that position, leaning over his spread out hands, his back to them and breathing heavily. Gradually his back straightened and he revolved around slowly to stare at her sceptically. “Please, Hermione, not you too,” he sighed, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand.

She wanted to scream and shriek every single excuse and reason she had for making that decision six years ago, she wanted to fight him every step of the way and force him to understand. But she couldn’t. She must remain impartial when he was in this fragile state of mind. McGonagall was right, it would do no good to impact on his thought processes now, not when they were warped as they were now. So she bit her lower lip to keep from saying anything but had the nerve to look him straight in the eye so he had his answer.

He clenched his teeth and shook his head angrily. “No,” he growled. “No, no, no,” he cried turning his back to them again and slamming the palms of his hands onto the table repeatedly. “Wake up! Wake up, Harry!” he yelled to himself and began slamming his head with hands.

“It’s not a nightmare, Harry,” Hermione informed him. “This is happening now, and you have to deal with it. We will...,” she faltered remembering Snape’s words from earlier that day. Would he ever trust them again? “We’ll be there. If you need us, then we will be there.”

“YOU HERMIONE! YOU OF ALL PEOPLE, WHY YOU?!” he bellowed. He wavered slightly on his feet as he staggered away from the table. He managed to glance at her fleetingly before insisting that they leave immediately. Most of the occupants in the room fled as soon as they got that chance. Madame Pomfrey wished to check him over again and he allowed her to grudgingly declare him able to stay on his own but not before marvelling over his recovery.

All that remained now was Hermione and McGonagall. Hermione found it difficult to keep her eyes off of the sight of her best friend falling apart. He now sat on a chair, his slender hands holding his head, rubbing his temples every now and then, trying to get rid of his throbbing headache. Part of him was still just waiting to wake up.

“If you ne...” she started to say.

“Just get out. I don’t want you here so leave now,” he commanded but quietly, seemingly unable to roar now due to sheer exhaustion.

He lifted his head, wiping tears from his cheeks as he went and decided he needed something strong to calm his nerves. He bellowed out Dobby’s name but stopped half-way through the second shout realising his mistake. “He’s dead...I forgot that....he’s dead,” he laughed bitterly to himself.

“Your brain is still trying to piece together everything that has happened. Give it time, Harry,” McGonagall advised.

“We’re going to leave you in peace,” she finished seeing him attempt to speak again. She gave Hermione a pointed look and with one last glance at the man sobbing softly in the deserted kitchen they flooed back to Hogwarts.

He ripped the rectangular plaster off of his forehead and flung it into the crackling fire where it shrivelled up and disappeared. It had been three hours since the others had departed but the burning rage within him had not died down. He was shattered barely able to move but unable to sit still. He stumbled up and down the kitchen his mind reeling over everything that had happened.

His disbelief had now dissipated but he still could not entirely process how they could make such cold decisions about his life. Where was the compassion, the honesty and the loyalty he had associated with these people since he had first met them? They threw him out into the darkness, an unknown world of which they knew nothing. They didn’t have the decency to leave him with a shred of information about his former life.

Questions zoomed through his mind and all he wanted to do was escape or maybe shout more. But he was so tired; he could feel the drowsiness descend on him every time he halted his pacing. There was also something else bothering him, if his friend’s betrayal wasn’t enough. Flashes of memories continued to play themselves back in front of his eyes and all the mistakes he had made on that final night. It was this more than anything that caused him to go in search of Sirius’ secret stash of whiskey.

Rummaging through the dank and dust-filled pantry he finally upended a floorboard and was rewarded with a dozen or so bottles of whiskey. As he fell back into his chair, the glass of whiskey warming his right hand, his mind wandered back to his memories again and he sighed resignedly.

“It’s been a week Hermione...we need to get over there now. I don’t have a clue what McGonagall is playing at ,what strategy she’s using but if she thinks she can sit it out, give him all the time in the world, she’s wrong. We don’t really have the time as I’m sure you’ve read,” Ron finished bitterly. He was referring to the recent attacks that had been made public due to a leak within the Ministry itself.

“I know, I want to go over and see how he’s doing too but...” she tried to say but was interrupted instantly.

“He could be dead already. You said he’d be in a state, and we just left him to his own devices! God knows what he’s doing over there, that kitchen is packed with knives,” Ron pleaded with her.

“He won’t commit suicide,” she declared and gave him a pitying gaze. She was seated comfortably at her desk while Ron was frantically pacing the carpet that preceded it. “And Lupin has people checking in on him every six hours. He’s drinking himself into stupor...”

“Lucky him,” muttered Ron earning a glare from Hermione. “I felt like such a prat last week when...you know,” he continued shaking his head. “I mean we really didn’t...”

“We made a decision, Ron. We justified it and we carried it through,” she said slowly and clearly with a tone of finality. “We know Harry more than anyone else; we’ve been with him through it all so we know how strong and determined he is. He will not be beaten by this.”

Ron stopped pacing and gave her a look of incredulity. “But what if he doesn’t want to have anything got to do with us. He absolutely hates us, were you not there last week?!”

Hermione attempted to respond but honestly didn’t know how. She shrugged her shoulders and lifted her hands palms up. “We’ll just have to wait.”

“NO!” Ron persisted. “You said it yourself, we know him more than anyone else in the Order. He’ll listen to us; we’ll make him listen to us.”

Hermione gave him a calculating look and chewed her bottom lip pensively. “Okay, we’ll do it.”

“Good,” Ron grinned and rubbed his hands together excitedly. “We should notify someone of the Order in case we’re breaking proto...”

“Screw the Order,” she exclaimed standing up and flinging her coat around her shoulders. “They’ve already made enough mistakes.” She strode past him to the door and held it open for him.

“I didn’t want to do it. Give him up like that...so cruelly. I just thought that, if the Order believed it could work then it would. Everyone was so willing and I didn’t want to...to be the one standing in the way of his happiness,” Ron confessed quietly standing alone in the middle of the room. His eyes which were drawn to his feet moved to her face. “And I knew, I could see it...that it killed you too.”

“During the hunt for the Horcruxes Harry kept saying Dumbledore had once spoken to him about making the choice between what is easy and what is right. Letting him go was the hardest thing I have ever done, Ron, so I believed it was right,” she whispered unable to say it aloud.

After sharing a fleeting hug they both made their way through the desolate castle and out into the sunlit grounds.

“Would it not be easier to floo?” Ron asked perplexed.

“Access to Grimmauld Place is probably being monitored. We’ll apparate to the park across the road and give Harry a chance to open the door,” she explained.

“I could never understand why you didn’t join Law Enforcement. We could use someone of your intelligence,” he said wistfully as he thought about the idiot he’s sacked yesterday for blabbing to the Prophet.

“You could never have afforded me,” she pronounced with a smile as they reached the gate and disappeared on the other side.

“At this point he could die of alcohol poisoning,” Lupin whispered harshly to Alastor Moody leaning over the spacious desk filled with detecting paraphernalia he was currently seated behind. They were in the Auror Department located deep in the Ministry and he did not wish to be overheard but he also wanted to emphasise his point.

“He’s a wizard Remus, he will not die of alcohol poisoning,” laughed Alastor callously.

“This isn’t funny,” Lupin retorted furiously. “Somebody should slip into the house and remove the alcohol from the pantry...”

He was interrupted when a pink-faced and harassed looking Tonks burst into the office. She tried to speak but was too breathless and attempted to sign to them the problem.

“Oh for goodness sake just spit it out!” roared Moody after minutes of pointless signalling.

“Ron and Hermione have gone to see him. I was on watch outside like you asked,” she burst out turning to Lupin “and they just showed up. They knocked on the door a few times but there was no answer so Hermione used an Unlocking Charm. It was quite brilliant actually, must ask her...”

“We have to get over there now,” Lupin interjected frowning at Moody.

“No, maybe it’s time we leave it up to Granger and Weasley. They are after all his closest friends.”

“Not after everything that’s happened. Harry is changed...you didn’t see him that night,” stated Lupin.

“Exactly,” answered Moody with a wild grin. “He’s spent the last week reliving every mistake of his life and especially all the ones he was advised against. He may despise anyone he’s ever come into contact with but he’s seen firsthand what happens when you don’t listen to the people around you.”

Lupin and Tonks wore mystified expressions.

“And now he’s seen it twice,” Moody clarified with a smirk.

“Lumos,” Ron mumbled and a beam of light shone down the length of the bleak unwelcoming hallway. “God I hate this place,” he said more to himself than to the tense witch creeping down towards the door of the kitchen.

“I don’t know why we’re sneaking around. He’s probably in a coma,” she deadpanned pushing the door in to the shadowy kitchen. The pungent smell of alcohol hit them immediately and they momentarily glanced at each other before moving deeper into the confines of the kitchen.

Harry was sitting slumped over the kitchen table and appeared to be unconscious. A decanter of whiskey was located beside his fingers and a glass appeared to have fallen off the table and smashed into shattered pieces around his feet.

“Get a glass of water and I’ll wake him up,” she sighed steeling herself for a fight.

Placing her hands on his wiry shoulders she gave him a slight shake and persisted until he groaned sleepily. His sluggish eyes sought her out and he heaved a sigh as she came into focus. An instant rage seemed to consume him but disappeared when he thought of the final battle against Voldemort. Memories he had spent the last week reliving and regretting.

He owed her so much, she had saved his life countless times and he had put her life at risk that night and many other nights.

He rubbed his face with his hands trying to escape the drowsiness and lethargy of the alcohol. When he reached out for the decanter Ron thrust a glass of water into his hands pointedly earning him another sigh.

“I know you hate us. I know you don’t want us to be here but we’re your friends, Harry,” Hermione stated simply. She waited fleetingly for a reply and continued when she received none. “You may think what we did was unforgivable and inexcusable but you have no idea. Everything happened so fast, you won and were struck down moments afterwards and then we were being told about this plan to give you all that you ever desired. And it didn’t seem ridiculous at the time, not after everything that had happened. In fact it seemed perfectly plausible.”

Ron drew out a chair from the table and seated himself in it after acknowledging that Harry was far more composed than he was last week. “Everything Hermione’s saying is true, Harry. It was so sudden; we were given the chance to give you a proper life, that’s what it felt like. And if we refused we were refusing you the right to a normal life. By the time I began to doubt it...it was way too late.”

“If we had known anything of what you actually went through then we would have marched straight back into your life...but there were no reports given to us, nothing to indicate the truth,” Hermione resumed seeing that Harry was not making any effort to interrupt. He just sat in utter silence occasionally taking a gulp of water and staring directly at the jagged table-top.

“Harry,” Ron spoke loudly hoping to get his attention but it had no effect. Hermione tried again.

“We’re not here to force you to understand or to make your life more difficult than it is. We just want you to know that you are not alone. Sitting...wasting away in this kitchen will not help you. There are bigger things going on out there Harry and...Oh are you even listening to anything we’re saying?!” she cried finally giving in to her frustration. His eyes flicked to her and then back to the table answering her question.

“Say something,” Ron implored. “Anything.”

“Please,” Hermione begged gently placing a hand on his shoulder and she was thankful when he didn’t pull away.

Harry sighed resignedly and rubbed his face with his hands, which she noticed were quivering. “We weren’t prepared enough,” he barely whispered.

Ron gave her a bewildered glance before asking him what he was talking about.

“We didn’t have a clue what we were doing. Find the Horcruxes and then what? Just prance up to Lord Voldemort and kill him like it was the easiest thing in the world. I didn’t prepare, I had no idea what I was doing...”

“We were kids Harry,” Ron interrupted. “Course we didn’t have a clue. It’s hardly something you teach children, how to defeat Dark Lords.”

“I knew what would happen! I knew I would have to face him, would have to fight him and I did fuck all to prepare. I didn’t train enough, I had no strategy , no plan. I made it up as I went along and now people are dead, people who should have survived, who were depended on by their families, they didn’t deserve to die, they were trying to protect them from someone I should have been able to deal with!” He was shouting hysterically and choked down sobs as they erupted from his throat.

“How on earth were you supposed to fight Voldemort at the age of seventeen?!” Hermione asked as if it was the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard.

“I was fifteen when I found out I would have to murder him! I was eleven when I found out he had killed my parents, attempted to kill me, was destroyed but still alive. I knew, I knew it was going to be me. But I ignored it. I was lazy and procrastinated all through school...”

“You were a kid; you had every right to your life, your happiness...” Ron argued.

“And all those victims had a right to theirs! But it was jeopardised because I was an idiot! Sure we trained for the Triwizard Tournament,” his eyes swivelled to Hermione now “but only because I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself and die in some competition. Faced with a dark lord all I had was the defensive magic I had learnt from others, that was all. I should’ve been spending every waking moment practising ensuring I was ready. But I didn’t and now...now Hagrid...”

The horrific images flashed before his eyes again, burning flesh and bone, the acrid smell filling his lungs, the pleading and shrieking of a man as he was consumed by smouldering flames. Hermione shared a worried look with Ron, neither of them had been there when Hagrid had died but it was straight afterwards that Harry had confronted Voldemort for the very last time.

Responsibility had been one of those things that either brought out the worst or the best in Harry. His most brilliant moments usually involved him grabbing it and living up to his name. However he did have a knack of shunning it, in the immature manner teenagers usually do. And although a shameful part of her agreed with his unsympathetic self-judgement she could not forget that he was a boy, a teenager and had done nothing to deserve the dreadful life and horrendous burden that had been inflicted upon him from a very early age.

When she hesitated to counter his declarations Ron gave her an angered look. “That’s complete rubbish, Harry,” he said earnestly leaning forward in his chair.

“It’s not Ron, it’s the truth. Hermione was the only one who actually understood what we had to do. That’s why she studied, and pushed us, and all we did was moan about it in return,” Harry snapped.

“Tell him he’s talking bollocks Hermione,” Ron entreated.

Again words failed her and further riled Ron.

“You see she knows,” Harry said triumphantly waggling his finger in her direction. “She still stuck by us even though she knew we were going to fail.”

“No!” she countered instantly. “I always had hope. I always knew you had it in you to defeat anybody who stood against you. But I did wish you...you had worked harder when it came to defensive magic,” she admitted with a frown. She bit her lower lip nervously expecting an explosion but nothing happened. Harry just nodded and his gaze returned to the table.

There was a lengthy silence during which Hermione avoided Ron’s infuriated glaring and fidgeted with a hole in her skirt.

“So the way I’m reading it, there must be a reason why you brought me back,” Harry said his voice laced with resent, bringing their silence to an abrupt end. Ron’s gaze shot back to Harry now and he swallowed fearfully.

“Well, er...the Death Eaters are still out there. We fought them, we rounded up as many as we could and we’ve more or less imprisoned all the main leaders,” he explained.

“But as you’ve guessed they just keep reappearing,” Hermione carried on. “And they somehow got wind of your prolonged existence and were going to take you hostage and expose what we had done.”

Harry chuckled almost inaudibly as if something Hermione had said highly amused him. “Well they certainly hit a nerve didn’t they? One word from them and you guys come storming back into my life and just when it seemed entirely implausible, you manage to further screw it up.” He looked at them accusingly taking another sip of water as if to curb his rage. “Did you just tell everybody I was dead or something?”

When neither Ron nor Hermione replied he gave another embittered snort. “Where’s my grave?”

“Beside your parents in Godrics’ Hollow. It was the only way people wouldn’t keep asking questions,” Ron explained quietly seeing Harry’s face twist with anger.

“We thought that what...” Hermione tried again.

“Save it,” Harry growled tired of their excuses. “Just leave, don’t you guys have work do to or something?” He tried to remember which one was an Auror but his latest memories were still muddled when compared new memories forced onto his mind.

“How much do you remember from the last six years?” Hermione enquired wondering if he would remember anything from last week.

“Most of it,” he responded instantly giving her a look with so much intensity it took all her strength not to flee from the room.

“Please go,” he pleaded after another prolonged silence. “I can’t even bear to look at you,” he admitted with a whine that illustrated all his frustration.

Ron’s eyes sought out Hermione and she could tell he wished to leave immediately. There was no doubt that they had made some progress but it would take a lot more time for Harry to sort himself out.

“We’ll be back soon, maybe tomorrow,” Hermione told him with an air of authority so he knew he had no choice in the matter.

Once they had made it outside into the cool night air Ron rounded on Hermione fuming at her words earlier. “You always had “hope” but you never really believed that he could win! We were out there fighting for the wizarding world and you had no faith in him at all!”

“I didn’t say that,” she snapped angrily. “He could have done a lot more preparation, we all could have. I left my family, and stood by you and Harry in the fight and you’re now questioning my faith?!” She strode away frostily so he knew their conversation was not over but he chased after her.

“We were only kids though, all we wanted to do was live our life as normally as possible as long as we could,” he raged walking briskly to stay at the same pace as her.

“No Ron! Harry was right back there, we knew how this was going to end up. We knew at some point we’d have to face Him and we were all terrified but ignored it with our bravado after being named the bloody Golden-Trio of Hogwarts,” she came to a swift halt and gave Ron a withering glare. “Do you honestly think you were prepared?”

“No but...” Ron attempted to counter.

“And did you never have the inkling that you would end up fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters?” she asked rhetorically knowing the answer. The question sent him into a reflective silence and she sighed almost apologetically.

“You always said I was the ‘know it all’ and it was the one thing in my life I would have loved not to know,” she declared before taking off down the street again.

Ron trailed her a few feet behind letting his mind absorb everything. They were now walking through a cobble-stoned street where a few passers-by glanced furtively at the storming pair whose dispositions seemed to rupture the calmness of the night scene.

“Must of been horrible living with that knowledge,” he disclosed quietly when he caught up with her. She smiled inwardly and was reminded forcibly of his maturation over the last few years, of the fact that he was a father, that he was a grown man now no longer arguing and bickering with her over the most ludicrous things. Their fights mattered now.

“I always hoped I was mistaken, that I was just as everybody said ‘a bossy little know it all’ and too proud to admit I was wrong but I was afraid, terrified. It’s over now, Ron,” she cried frustrated “there’s no point rowing over it.”

There was a dull throbbing in his lower spine from bending over his desk for long hours at a time and he massaged it with his free hand while his other remained scribbling on reports. Lupin was undoubtedly having a tough month, his worry about Harry increased tenfold by the numerous acts of violence the Death Eaters were undertaking. He yearned to go to Grimmauld Place and reason with Harry until he had rid himself of all guilt but with Penwell’s new security measures and tighter working hours every Auror had to be seen putting in all the hours possible. Ivan Penwell, Minister for Magic, was no fool and had members of his own party in every Ministry department, feeding information back to him about the work effort of each employee.

Lupin gave a nod of acknowledgement when Kingsley Shacklebolt strode by his office with a box of files resting precariously in his shovel like hands. Rumours of the reasons for the Death Eaters revival were spreading like wild fire throughout the Ministry and some even feared the rebirth of Voldemort. Lupin wondered how on earth they would ever break the news of Harry’s return. How do you give a world back its hero? How do you expect somebody to cope with such pressure?

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the harried footsteps of Alastor Moody approaching his door. Moody’s face was paler than the usual anaemic colour he sported. What was left of his hair was matted to his hair with perspiration and his gash of a mouth and his remaining eye were unmistakeably frowning. “There’s been another attack. This one’s been a bad one.”

“Where?” Lupin responded instantly getting to his feet.

“Leicester Square. Early casualty reports are numbering around twenty,” Moody growled moving aside as Lupin stepped out of his office. He paused at this new information and turned slowly to Moody.

“Twenty injuries?” Lupin asked forlornly. Moody shook his head despondently and the two men made their way out of the Auror department gathering eight Aurors along the way. When the doors of the elevator slid open onto the Atrium there was pandemonium amongst the wizards and witches desperately looking for news of loved ones and others demanding explanations of how this could have happened so soon and what the Ministry were doing to put an end to this violence.

“I’ve been asking around, can’t get any information out of that lot,” yelled Ron pulling the golden grill from the elevator so that they could vacate it. He had only been told of an attack in London a few moments ago.

“Leicester Square...twenty presumed dead.”

Lupin barked the words before making his way to the nearest exit preparing to Apparate outside the wards. Ron stopped dead in his tracks momentarily before speeding after him and the other Aurors.

“Leicester Square, are you sure?!” Ron groaned causing Lupin to pause. “Hermione said she was heading that way today to meet one of her muggle friends.”

“Move faster then,” Moody snarled, limping off rapidly.

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

She felt a hand on her shoulder and as she became more aware of her surroundings she realised that the hand was all she could feel. Her vision was still blurred by sleep, she attempted to move but her hands seemed unbearably heavy and seemed to shiver slightly.

“Hermione, wake up,” she heard a voice hovering above her. The tone seemed anxious and she knew the owner of the voice was concerned.

“I am awake Harry,” she replied, wanting to turn around but continuing to tremble.

“You’re shaking really badly, I think you’ve caught something, like a fever or something,” he said his voice now laced with worry.

Finally she managed to turn around and pulled her legs closer to her torso hoping to retain all the heat. “I’m pretty freezing,” she conceded finally making eye contact. The fear and worry plagued his usually bright green eyes.

He disappeared from view for a moment and returned with a tartan blanket, tucking it around her snugly. He then sat gingerly beside her on the ground and put his arm around her bulky sleeping bag wanting to create some more heat.

“I should have woken you earlier but...I just thought you were crying because of Ron, I didn’t think you were actually shivering from the cold,” he confessed with a frown.

“Sure he’s gone nearly two weeks now, no point crying over the prat anymore,” she whispered groggily attemping to lighten the mood. He spotted the slightest of grins and broke out into a wide smile. A smile seemed quite foreign to them these days, like a lost friend who is only remembered when their memory is most needed. He noticed she wasn’t shaking as intensely and began to move his hand up and down the sleeping bag, producing more heat.

“Haven’t you slept?” She asked closing her eyes and rolling back onto her side so she was facing him. The fierce wind roared against the canvas tent and she was reminded of all those breezy mornings when she would help her mother hang out the sheets to dry and they would laugh at how difficult it was to control the sheet. However this was no breeze, the wind seemed to want to wipe them off the face of the earth.

“I think it’s too cold to sleep,” he joked with a grin. The wind gave a particularly vicious howl and her eyes sprung open.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s the Death Eaters controlling the wind, like He is commanding the weather,” she muttered looking up at him fearfully. He didn’t reply but just shook his head and she knew he was telling her not to worry about such things. “Come to bed,” she murmured staring at his tired crouched figure.

She watched quietly as he removed his shoes and one of his jumpers. Turning off the small gas lamp he then opened his sleeping bag and slipped inside where he removed his jeans and threw them at his feet.”I was right, it is freezing.”

She let out laugh despite the horrendous situation they had found themselves in after months of camping. They had always suspected the winter would be difficult but the harsh conditions made daily living a nightmare. Everything became a chore and their hope of suppressing their use of magic was dwindling. They remained in their positions for another few minutes, in comfortable silence neither sensing any inclination to talk but neither being comfortable or warm enough to drift off to sleep.

“You’re shaking again,” he told her after watching her outline momentarily.

“It’ll pass...”

“No, it won’t,” he responded.

“What are you doing?” she inquired bemusedly as he opened the zip of his sleeping back and climbed out.

“They’re big enough to hold two people, the heat from my body should stop you from shivering,” he replied and before she knew it he had unzipped her sleeping back, crawled in beside her and zipped it back up again. He made sure the tartan blanket still covered both of them. She felt the extra heat instantly and was so glad of it that she ignored the embarrassment and the fact that she could feel Harry’s arm brushing her knee every few seconds as he tried to settle into a cosy position.

After another few minutes they both realised they could not sleep together in the same sleeping bag without contact and finally found a position which suited both. Harry lay flat on his back with Hermione on her side, her legs almost intertwined with his and her hands rested near his abdomen. Their faces were mere centimetres from each other and when he started laughing she could feel the stubble against her face.

“What’s so hilarious?” she enquired.

“I left my glasses on and I can barely move my hands to take them off,” he chuckled.

She reached up and removed the glasses carefully from his face, placing them on the ground on his side of the sleeping bag. He smiled his gratitude and she resumed her position.

“What would I do without you?” she wondered aloud realising she was now quite comfortable.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” he muttered turning his head so they were looking directly into each other’s eyes.

The darkness seemed to drift away and she found herself lying on a debris covered floor of what once had been a cafe. Far off in the distance sirens sounded and she thought she made out red light alternating with blue swirling in the ashes floating eerily throughout the room. She remained prostrate on the ground her eyes roving the harrowing scene in front of her. Bodies lay scattered amongst the remnants of tables and chairs that were now no more than splinters. Blood congealed in pools seeping from the lifeless bodies, bringing these strangers closer than they ever hoped for. She had counted eight corpses before gingerly getting to her feet. There was a steady ringing in her ears and she struggled to hear anything.

Her clothes were caked in ash and debris littered her hair. Her legs quivered slightly as the devastation fully hit her. Her friend’s blank unseeing eyes stared up at her and despite herself she let out a shaky moan, covering her mouth with her scarred hands and blinking through the salty tears that escaped from her.

Suddenly she heard muffled voices coming from the other end of the cafe, whispering harshly and filled with anger. “Those bloody aurors have put up wards; we’ll have to go out the back to meet up with the others.”

Immediately she crawled through the rubble and hid behind a coffee dock. She heard muted footsteps and then a hearty laugh. “Merlin, what device did you use to wipe out this place?”

“I made it myself,” another voice answered proudly. “Although it does appear to have been too strong considering it knocked us both of our feet.”

She shut her eyes, trying to remember the last few moments before the explosion but all she could recall was her memories of that night in the tent with Harry. She let out a shuddering breath, her chest was heaving from the dust she had inhaled and she pressed her hand firmly over her mouth in case the Death Eaters should hear her. The footsteps drew closer to her hiding place and she removed her wand deftly from her coat clinging to it tightly.

“Expelliarmus!” a voice roared from the direction of the entrance to the cafe. She instantly recognised the voice as Lupin’s and shooting up from her position behind the coffee dock aimed a stunner at the Death Eater standing closest to her. He was lifted momentarily off his feet before slamming into the register and disappearing over the counter.

The Death Eater whom Lupin had disarmed attempted to flee from the scene but an incensed Hermione summoned a chair towards her, which crashed into the Death Eaters legs with such force that his tibia snapped and he landed flat on the floor. Lupin rushed over to him with his wand held aloft “Incarcerous”.

Within fifteen minutes more Magical Law Enforcement had arrived and taken the two Death Eaters to an interrogation room located in the Ministry. News of a gas explosion in the heart of London was being reported across the globe and many victims were having their memories wiped. St. Mungo’s emergency department had been flooded with patients while the dead lay spread out in a coroner’s office, thirty two body bags in all.

“Are you feeling any better?” Ron asked as he came up behind Hermione, placing both hands on her shoulders. He noticed she trembled slightly. They were peering out over Leicester Square; wizards bustled around gathering evidence and piecing together everything that had occurred. She refused to be seen by a Healer on site, convinced that she only had minor scratches and bruising.

“It’s been a while,” she finally replied quietly. “Since I’ve been in this situation...surrounded by death and...fear.”

Ron rubbed her shoulder consolingly. “I never stop fearing what’s out there. I know how difficult it is not to be afraid; sure I nearly gave up being an Auror because of it. You have to remember why you do it sometimes though. One day we won’t have to be afraid, I’ll make sure my daughter won’t have to grow up fearing the world.”

Lupin and Moody ambled over to the pair, both looking exhausted and spent. “I want to offer my services to the Ministry...until we put an end to these attacks.”

Raised eyebrows met her words. Hermione had almost fled from the fighting after the war, disappearing into the muggle world for months. She had returned to take up her post at Hogwarts and rarely spoke about the battles she had taken part in during her time in the Ministry.

“You are one the cleverest witches of this century Ms. Granger,” said Moody beaming. “Your services will be accepted gladly.”

“Are you sure about this?” Ron inquired sceptically. She looked intently at him and nodded.

“I’m not about to begin accepting death again. Not like this,” she waved her arm indicating the destruction behind her. There was a squeal as Tonks appeared and bounded towards Lupin, securing him into a vice-like hug. “Thank Merlin you are okay,” she whispered.

“I just heard...I’m so sorry Hermione,” she said consolingly hugging the witch with as much vigour.

“We need to regroup as soon as we can, draw up a list of available people and start prowling these streets to search out these bastards,” Moody growled, his electric blue eye dancing around his head zooming in and out of focus.

“We have no clues as to where they’ll strike next,” Tonks whined discouragingly.

“We know who they are looking for though,” Moody replied with raised eyebrows, his eyes fixed on Hermione.

“You think they attacked here to kill me, to draw him out?” she asked astonished.

“I think it is perfectly plausible.” His answer infuriated her.

“So now we are all being targeted, and if we so much as leave our homes we risk other people’s lives? This is ridiculous,” she spat storming off.

Ron chased after her. “He’s not blaming you Hermione...he’s just saying we all have to be more watchful. It isn’t your fault...”

“Of course it isn’t my fault!” she yelled rounding on him. “I was meeting a friend for coffee and thirty two people end up dead...of course it isn’t my fault. But this is serious, we have no idea how many Death Eaters are out there. I didn’t recognise either of those two in there, they were new...recent recruits,” she finished quietly.

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

The Ministry was still in chaos when they returned. Wizards ran back and forth looking distraught while reporters lurked in the Atrium firing off questions to random officials who sprinted by. Lupin, Tonks, Moody, Ron and Hermione filed into one of the empty elevators all looking distressed. Just as the grill closed over a hand appeared blocking it and Shacklebolt followed them onto the elevator, ripping the grill across the entrance and turning to them.

“Penwell is getting suspicious,” he stated simply.

“Of?” Ron asked confused.

“We’ve been watching Grimmauld Place, not all the time but whenever we can spare someone. Death Eaters are lurking around the area no doubt but they can’t get past the wards. It’s only a matter of time before the Minister orders Law Enforcement to search the place.” Shacklebolt spoke in hushed tones, wary that someone would overhear even though they were alone in the elevator.

“But doesn’t he act through the Aurors?” Hermione enquired perplexed.

“He doesn’t trust the Aurors,” Lupin answered, concern etched on his face. “Since coming to power he has had his...associates...report everything back to him, from all departments but on our floor his people seem to report back daily. He also doesn’t like the fact that a werewolf is one of its senior members. He wants to know every single assignment, every single file and every single act that we carry out.” Lupin let out a shuddering breath and ran his hand through his hair. “Hell, he’s probably already issued the warrant for the search.”

“What?” Hermione panicked. “So we have to take on Death Eaters and the Ministry?”

“We don’t have to take on the Ministry per say but they will make it a lot more difficult. Has anyone even thought of how we are going to break His return to the Ministry and the public?” Moody also kept his voice low so it sounded guttural and almost incomprehensible.

“Not until he can trust us at least,” Ron pleaded.

“I doubt that’s going to happen very soon, if at all,” Hermione replied sorrowfully.

“We wait,” Lupin resolved. “We deal with whatever we have to do to stop this revival of attacks. When he is ready we’ll offer him the choice to fight.”

“But Ha...” Ron started irritated.

“Ssshh,” Moody cut him off as the elevator ground to a halt. “You do not mention his name within these walls. No doubt Penwell is using more than just spies.”

When they departed the elevator numerous Aurors were waiting impatiently in the vaulted room. There was a constant murmur of bickering which ceased when the party walked into the centre of the room. As all eyes drew to the newcomers Hermione became acutely aware of her clothes which were covered with ash and debris.

Moody began the lecture with gusto, rounding up the day’s events and foretelling what the consequences would be. Lupin finished by giving them a list of the dead, not only mentioning the five wizards murdered in the incident but the muggles who had fallen too.

“Surely there isn’t enough of us to carry out the task of hunting all of them down,” complained a scrawny blonde man from the front of the crowd.

“As much as this is about quality than quantity,” Shacklebolt started “we urge you to use your contacts to help the Ministry and join forces with us to defeat the Death Eaters. We do need all the wands we can get, and the more wizards we have on our side the harder it will be for the Death Eaters to recruit.”

“They’re recruiting?!” a voice exclaimed from the back. Anxious fretful talk filled the room before Moody roared for silence.

“There will always be supporters out there. This Ministry will always have enemies and it is up to us to ensure the safety of the wizarding world against said enemies.” He swivelled on his one good leg and limped off towards his office. “Let us just pray that the enemies stay out of the Ministry,” he muttered to the others on his way out.

The Aurors seemed to have received an electric shock at Moody’s words and immediately sprung into action, delegating tasks and organising raids already.

“So is it safe to return to Grimmauld?” Hermione asked of Lupin after a moment of watching the hustle and bustle.

He bit his lip momentarily, weighing up the two sides before settling on an answer. “I think its best we check on him as often as we can.”

She nodded in agreement before turning to leave. As she reached the elevator she spotted a tall thin perfectly groomed man pull back the iron grill. Ivan Penwell stepped out flanked by three wizards in black and purple robes. The suit under his robe was impeccable, his shoes shined flawlessly. He stood ramrod straight his face expressionless. His wiry spidery hands were clasped together at his front until one deftly fixed his tie so that it was so close to his adams apple it had the possibility of strangling him. His grey eyes were cold and when they landed on her she fought the urge to look away. His thin lips broke into a calculating smile before he opened his mouth.

“Ms. Hermione Granger. How pleased to finally meet you?” His voice was as false as his hair.

She halted her progression next to him. “And you too Minister.”

“I hope you are well after today’s incident,” his eyes took in her dishevelled appearance before he plastered yet another smile on his face. The smile faltered somewhat when he spoke again. “Such an unfortunate happening. Rest assured the culprits will be brought to justice. I’m currently preparing to pass a new bill you see. It will take away any second chances which Death Eaters might have.”

“What do you mean Minister?” she posed innocently however she felt a pool of dread form in the pit of her stomach.

“Reintroduction of the death penalty,” he answered, his tone vacant of any emotion.

“Minister, you...” she began but at that moment one of his minions came over and whispered something evidently important to him. He turned and left before she could attempt to finish.

The house lay desolate before her, empty and seemingly devoid of all life. As she crept to the end of the long narrow staircase placing a wary hand on the ornate balustrade she winced at the creak of the ancient floorboards. The wallpaper still peeled as if someone had tried to viciously rip it from the walls. Dust swirled and spun in the darkness before her. Here it was, the entry hallway to 12 Grimmauld Place, as it had been when she first laid eyes on it as a fifteen year old girl.

Her eyes darted to the imposing door which led to the dining room but it remained shut. After a brief glimpse into the underground kitchen she guessed he must have moved upstairs into the remainder of the house. She again cursed the old timber as the staircase screeched and groaned every time her foot found the next step. She wanted to call out his name although her voice seemed lost against the thousands of memories that this house held.

She passed by the room she had once occupied with Ginny on first coming to the house and continued onto the second landing. It was then she heard the unmistakeable noise of someone shuffling papers, the sound coming from the floor above her and she began the ascent to the next level of the house, calmly and quietly but deep down not knowing why she was there. Part of her felt like this battle was already lost; he had been shunning everyone who had come to the house in the past two weeks since his minor breakdown when she had last been here. Ron had even mentioned an incident where he had flung the umbrella stand from the entry hallway at Tonks who had accompanied him to the house.

This was perhaps the first time someone had visited him alone she thought reaching the third landing of the house. The gas lamps were so dimly lit that they seemed to cast more shadow than light and she couldn’t make out the words on the door closing off the room the noise was emanating from. But she already knew what room it was having spent so many days tucked away in the house’s library. Placing a hand on the door she gently nudged it forward and listened intently as the door sighed on its hinges.

Harry was sitting on the floor, hunched over a large tome that he seemed to be speed-reading through, with his back against the shelves behind him. His fingers flicked the pages past one-by-one, it was clear he wasn’t actually reading but searching for something. More books lay around him, three even hovered at his feet like pups vying for the attention of their mother.

Although he seemed weary and somewhat drained he appeared healthy in every other aspect. He had evidently washed and no longer wore a scraggly beard. She felt she could see life in him again, his eyes burning as they constantly zoomed across the pages. He shifted and slowly his eyes found hers causing her brain to shut down and her mind to throw her back into her memories.

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

She wrenched open the first door she came across and disappeared into the classroom beyond. She held onto one of the desks for support, closing her eyes against the emotions rushing through her body. She didn’t want to face it anymore, all the looks he gave her, all the subtlety he kept just for her and those stupid idiotic encouragements she received from the Weasleys every time she visited the Burrow.

He was being kind and supportive one minute and then a total jerk the next, insulting her and being purposefully reckless. And this was what she told herself she had to look forward to, Ron Weasley, Gryffindor’s bloody Quidditch saviour. It was a joke, the whole game was a joke. One minute your team is having a great game absolutely massacring the opponent but if the Seeker catches the snitch it’s all over in a matter of seconds.

And there he was, basking like the glory-hound he was acting as if he was the sole winner of that game. What about everyone else, Ron? Did he ever think about the other people in his life? All he ever wants is for the right people to look at him she thought morosely. She did not care if she was being unfair, she knew him long enough to allow herself to think bad thoughts about him.

The silence of the castle was deafening to her ears and she summoned a flock of birds that filled the room with their twittering and song. Their happiness shrouded the room’s despair. She was so worried; the year had been far too quiet so far compared to other years in Hogwarts. Harry had been on constant alert since returning; repeatedly doubting Malfoy, and what had she done? Just moped about acting like the rest of the dunderheads in her dorm, crying and whining over boys? But she couldn’t help it if their actions had inspired hope in her heart, if for the first time she felt someone had noticed her for who she really was but then to have all her hopes dashed by some swooning brunette and hot-headed red head.

There were footsteps outside the door and she snapped her head up to see Harry tentatively step into the room. For a boy who had grown up in a cupboard with an emotionally stunted family the dispirited yet concerned look on his face told her he understood everything. Wordlessly he crossed the room and joined her on the desk eyeing the birds on his way. He stayed silent peering into every shadow of the room as if waiting for someone to leap out at them.

“Ron’s enjoying the celebrations,” she spat derisively. Her voice sounded brittle though and she couldn’t hide the fact that it was laced in tears.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking him Hermione. So he’s a bit...immature,” he said fishing around for the right word, “but he’s a good guy...he’s loyal.”

“How can you say that after fourth year? He basically abandoned you when you needed him most,” she pointed out, wiping away the fresh tears the memory sparked.

“It was just down to...him being younger,” he replied but she could tell he was trying to come up with excuses, he himself didn’t know why Ron acted the way he did last year but guessed it was mainly driven by his constant envy and jealousy. “But he’d never do it again...I know he wouldn’t.”

She refused to argue with him now, she could have sat in that classroom all night and fought with him when she realised how long it had been since she had sat anywhere alone with Harry. He seemed to have taken to avoiding them this year and she now understood his reasons for doing so. Who would want to hang around two people who constantly bickered? Who would want to hang around with a girl who constantly cried after bickering?

“Are you okay?” he asked after the lengthy silence had nearly engulfed the room except for the joyful sound of the birds.

“Yeah,” she answered quietly. “Sorry for the whole...” she indicated her flushed cheeks and red puffy eyes. She knew he thought it a ludicrous idea that Hermione Granger would sob over a boy yet here she was trying to regain her composure after just doing so. In spite of this he never once mentioned that he thought her actions were pathetic or taunted her in anyway. Instead one of his hands moved to her back and massaged it gently in a consoling manner.

“I just thought I could have one year...just one year where I could be happy...really happy,” she started and her eyes began to brim with tears again. “Ginny kept telling me Ron really liked me, I wouldn’t have believed it until I saw his reaction to the Slug Club and then I remembered the Yule Ball and...and,” she took a deep breath and calmed slightly “and then I began to believe it.” At this point astonishment crept into her tone as if she never felt anyone would like her ‘that’ way. “The twins and Mrs. Weasley kept giving me these looks when we were at the Burrow like they knew what was going on and...oh I don’t know,” she finished lamely. “I shouldn’t have become so invested in it. I’m not even sure I really like him, I mean its...”

She was babbling incessantly and there was no way he could understand a word she was saying. Part of her hoped that if she kept asking herself questions, if the thoughts kept ricocheting around her head then her brain may offer some sort of answer, some sort of reprieve. She just wanted to be wanted, to be loved by someone other than her parents. After she had finally talked until her voice had become hoarse she placed both her hands over her face and sobs wracked her frame. He continued to massage her back soothingly and at some point he lifted his other arm around her and pulled her in so her head was buried in his shoulder.

After a few minutes she pulled herself out of his embrace, wiping the last tears from her eyes.

“Feeling better?” he inquired with the ghost of a grin on his face.

“Yeah, think I needed that,” she returned with a short laugh. “Sorry again, I know you have enough problems, what with Ginny and all.” Her words instantly had an effect and he became uncomfortable removing his arm from her shoulder. “I’m not stupid Harry. I mean...I may not be very adept in the relationship department but I see how you look at her.”

“Yeah..,” he started awkwardly “but I have bigger problems than watching Ginny snog Dean every time I leave the common room.” There was a hint of resentment in his voice as he finished his sentence.

She felt it would be too selfish to tell him that he was too good for Ginny, not after he had been so gentle and caring to her. She loved Ginny as a close friend and confidant but she bounced around guys until she got bored of them. And although Ginny worshipped the ground Harry walked on and spent most of her days wondering whether Harry was gazing at her and giving him reasons to do so, she would never be able to deal with Harry’s problems or even offer him advice as to how to deal with them. His troubles exceeded any other Hogwarts student and few people were capable of helping Harry in that area.

“I wonder what it is that propels people into searching for a soulmate,” she said, her eyes drawn to the moonlight dancing on the floor of the classroom, her voice taking on a dream like quality not unlike Luna Lovegood’s. He murmured as if to acknowledge that he was just as flummoxed as she was. “I think it’s the fear of ending up...alone,” her words were almost entirely drowned out by a garish and high-pitched giggle.

The door burst open and Ron sped in pulling Lavender by the hand. His lips were nearly on hers before Lavender registered they weren’t alone. “Oop’s. Looks like we’re not the only ones looking for an empty room”. A horrible swelling and billowing silence encompassed the room. Hermione’s hand instantly shot out and gripped Harry’s as if she was trying to brace herself against an assault. Ron refused to look at her and told Harry they had been looking for him, this was an obvious lie as Ron’s ears turned a deep shade of red, noticeable even in the moonlight.

“I think you should go elsewhere Ron,” Harry said evenly but Hermione was surprised to see anger flare in his emerald eyes and his jaw was clenched as if he wished to say more to the red-head.

The delighted smile dropped from Ron’s face and he shot them a suspicious glare, his eyes settling at their joined hands between them. “Why can’t we...?”

Hermione, driven by the blame she saw in Ron’s eyes, shrieked “Oppugno!” and the chirping birds overhead sped towards Ron and Lavender who both stood there stunned. Ron just managed to haul Lavender out of the room before the birds crashed one-by-one into the wooden door. Hermione felt rage and disappointment course through her but could not deny that she felt slightly better after the attack.

“Five points to Gryffindor for wonderful execution of wandless magic,” cheered Harry with a grin holding up a fake glass for a false toast.

She laughed despite the tears that again clouded her vision and she could tell he revelled in the fact he could stop her crying. He tightened his grip on her hand and draped his other around her shoulders. “You’ll never be alone Hermione. I won’t leave you.” She couldn’t even summon a reply and so rested her head on his shoulder again.

“HERMIONE!”

The incessant shouting of her name appeared to rip the memory in half and she found herself staring at Harry who was now standing in the centre of the room, cheeks glowing from the effort of yelling her name.

He ceased to bellow her name when she lost the distant look in her eyes and focused on him.

“What happened to you? You look terrible,” he exclaimed waving his hand at her pointedly. She didn’t need to look down to realise she must have looked alarming, her clothes were ripped, her face had been scraped by shrapnel and her hands were scored from the blast, droplets of blood finding their way on to the floor.

“There was another attack,” she stated quietly causing him to drop his waving arm and mutter a slight “Oh”.

“Thirty-two people were killed. It was in Leicester Square, I was a meeting a friend for lunch and then...” She didn’t feel the need to continue.

Awkwardness settled itself comfortably in the room, causing Harry to feel a tad guilty for shrieking his head off at someone who had just suffered a tragic incident and Hermione to feel out of place and time, not knowing where to stand or what to say.

For the first time since leaving Leicester Square she felt a wash of exhaustion settle over her, as if the day’s events had crawled until they caught up with her and were now devouring all the energy she had left.

“I came here to...convince you to forgive,” she didn’t know where her sentences were leading but it was more or less the same tripe they had been saying to him for the past month.

“I said no Hermione...I won’t forgive you, not anytime soon anyway. Or the others for that matter...”

“I know,” she interjected silencing him. “I know. And the truth is...I wouldn’t forgive you easily if you did it to me. But remember all those times when you would try and do something dangerous and you would tell me and Ron it was too risky and that we should stay while you went? In fifth year when you were set on going to the Ministry of Magic or after Dumbledore was murdered...you wanted to search for the Horcruxes on your own...”

“It’s not the bloody same Hermione!” His voice nearly cracked with rage.

“Then why Harry? Why did you want to go on your own?” She didn’t yell or scream, but kept a level tone and he knew she was leading him to some answer.

“Because I didn’t want you to get hurt for my sake...”

“But you knew we wanted to go too, to fight for ourselves and our families.” She was now battling to keep her voice flat and not scream. She knew she had to make him see the circumstances from her point of view.

He turned so his back was facing her, he couldn’t bare the sight of her and all those memories she instilled in him.

“There was more than just one person in that war Harry. We fought for everyone, not just you. There was the whole Order against Voldemort and his Death Eaters; you knew we’d want to fight. But you refused to let us go? Why?”

He rounded on her instantly. “Because I didn’t want you to hurt anymore! Not because of me!” He was standing directly in front of her, faces mere inches apart yet yelling so loudly his face was flushed. Every time he said the word ‘me’ he beat his chest with his fist as if it would dull the guilt that was eating away at him. “You and Ron had suffered so much because of me! Following me into all those stupid situations I managed to get into. The amount of times you nearly died because of me. I couldn’t shy away from what I had to do, but you had the choice and I didn’t want you to endure any more pain because of a prophecy that didn’t involve you.”

“So why did you not want us to go?!” She asked again, this time she wanted him to say the exact words he needed to say.

“Enough Hermione! Just go...”

“WHY? TELL ME, HARRY! I WANT TO KNOW EXACTLY WHY! BECAUSE DEEP DOWN YOU KNEW YOU COULDN’T DO IT ON YOUR OWN, I KNEW THAT AND SO DID YOU. SO WHY DID YOU TRY AND GET RID OF ME AND RON?”

“BECAUSE I THOUGHT I WAS DOING THE RIGHT THING!” He roared grabbing her shoulders aggressively and for an instant she was afraid he would hit her.

An absolute stillness filled the house, as quiet as a blank piece of parchment. She could no longer feel the regret, the suffering or the terror. All that mattered was his hands clutching her, as if that had instantly become the focus of her life. Something in his eyes changed, she could sense he was calming down but he refused to step away from her. She didn’t expect sudden realisation and forgiveness. She didn’t get it either.

When the silence seemed to take its toll he took a great shuddering breath and dropped his gaze to her torn clothing. One of his hands left her shoulder and tentatively touched her scorched palm.

She felt breathless watching him inspect her injury, her mouth was directly beside his ear and she finally whispered “You once yearned for a normal life. We weren’t trying to forget you...I could never forget you but...you had so much pain,” her voice trembled and tears fell softly onto his hand which held hers “...I didn’t want to see you suffer anymore. I didn’t want to put you through all that grief again.” She wanted to continue but all she could muster was a sob before she openly started weeping in front of another human being for the first time in almost a decade.

She felt selfish for crying through his pain. He was the one who should be howling, tearing the place apart and demanding answers. But they had left him emotionless, surely after everything they had lost him.

This was why she had come here, for confirmation of the consequences. He had once sat in a classroom with her for four hours over what she had believed to be a broken heart. That was the type of boy he had been but what kind of man was he now?

He didn’t wrap his arms around her. He didn’t embrace her like that night so long ago. He didn’t move. Just stood in the same position but she felt the pressure tighten on her hand.

“Okay,” he muttered hoarsely. “I don’t see how you can see leaving someone alone with nothing in the muggle world as right.” He paused peering at her for a response but she had none. “But if you were just trying to give me another chance...a clean slate then I think we can try...”

“I’d never forgive you if you forgave us,” she interrupted moving her fingers so she was now clutching his hand. “It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to let everything go and move on with your life. I just can’t bare you hating me.”

He shook his head disbelievingly “ I don’t think I could ever hate you. Sure I could dislike you; you can really be bossy sometimes…”

She swatted his arm playfully but stopped abruptly hoping she hadn’t moved too soon, that he didn’t think she had switched back to the past too hastily. She knew he needed more time and she wanted him to know she understood...even though time was not on their side.

His lips curved into a grin and she could not help exhaling a sigh of relief and a nervous chuckle. The tension which had gripped the room earlier was replaced by something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Although she felt comfortable in his presence again there was still something unresolved between them.

The kiss she had shared with Jonathon weeks before seemed so mistaken and inappropriate. However standing in a room being delicately held by Harry the kiss now took its place amongst a wealth of history that only they shared.

Disclaimer: Thought I’d put one on this chapter due the fact that I used scenes from HBP. So Harry Potter’s epic tale belongs to Mrs JK Rowling and I own nothing, I just tweaked it slightly.

He manoeuvred her so she was sitting somewhat precariously on the edge of the bath. Placing a towel in the sink he waited for it to soak up the water before brushing her hair back with one hand and applying the towel to her face with the other. After clearing the dried blood and dirt from her cheeks he focused on her hands, gingerly wiping the scorch marks on her palms. He couldn’t help noticing she never winced or reacted from the pain.

Although she kept her eyes open and fixed on a spot on the floor, she was drifting back into the hours that preceded her arrival at the house. He could see the exhaustion on her features, her slouched shoulders and the fact that walking was an effort.

“You should rest,” he eventually said, his voice echoing slightly around the tiled room.

Her eyes left the cracked black and white tiles. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll floo back, the wards and counter-measures we installed means the Ministry can’t survey who enters and leaves through the Floo network.” She struggled to her feet, using the sink as a crutch before making her way across to the door.

He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t been seen by a Healer but refrained from doing so. She was in no condition for questioning and he wondered briefly which of her friends had been killed earlier. After a few moments he followed her down into the kitchen.

The adrenaline was now entirely gone from her system. The energy to move one foot in front of the next left her drained and there was an instant reprieve when she felt Harry put an arm around her waist. He aided her across the flagged stone floor of the kitchen until they had reached the embers of the fire which seemed so inviting she felt like drifting off into them.

“I’ll bring you home,” he said firmly knowing she would protest even in her weary state.

“No really I’m fine. It wouldn’t be safe for you,” she objected.

“You’ll only hurt yourself in the network,” he responded and threw a handful of the grain-like powder into the embers before she could argue any further. The feeling of her hip pushed against his was stirring memories of all the times they had protected each other in the past. He felt another stab of pain thinking of what she had done but still he drew her closer to him before stepping into the flames. She spoke clearly their destination and next thing he knew he was faced with a familiar circular room, decorated spectacularly and lit by candlelight.

His eyes were lured to the window behind the enormous claw-footed desk and his breath hitched slightly as he took in the view of Hogwarts grounds. He could see the mountains soaring in the distance, the great protectors of the place that was once his home. The last tinges of pink in the sky glistened off the surface of the lake.

“McGonagall must not be back yet, she may have been called to a meeting of the Order,” Hermione said quietly.

“I didn’t think the Order would still be together,” he mused as they made their way down the spiralling staircase.

“Penwell distrusts the Order, sees it as separate from the Ministry,” she mourned. “I really hope no one sees you here. At least its summer, imagine all the students were here.”

As they traipsed down the corridor, his hand still gripping her waist, he listened out for any unusual noises or more importantly footsteps. His mind was flooded by memories, nothing of importance just times spent waiting around for class, chatting to his friends and watching good-looking girls hoping they would turn their head his way. All the wizards in the portraits lining the corridors were slumped into the side of their frames, their intermittent snores the only sound filling the corridor besides their awkward footfalls.

With one last glance down the darkened corridor he helped her over the threshold into her dormitory. His eyes scanned the lavish snug living room they had entered. Decked out in Gryffindor’s red and gold the room was inviting and warm. An aging Crookshanks ambled over to them leaving the shag carpet in front of the spluttering fire.

Realising Hermione was leaning more heavily against him and bowed over slightly he hauled her delicately into her bedroom. The room was furnished simply, an enormous four-poster bed and a tall opulent mahogany wardrobe at the adjacent wall.

Wordlessly he pulled back the duvet before turning back to her. He lingered momentarily observing how vulnerable she was in this moment. Her clothes were still frayed and singed; her coat was slashed across her collarbone and there was a tear at the shoulder. He slid her coat off her shoulders; instantly her heart began to beat violently against her chest. She searched his eyes for some emotion but for the first time she could remember, she couldn’t read him. There were too many chapters in his life now in which she had played no part.

When he fingered a button of her shirt she hesitantly wrapped her fingers around his forearm. He halted his actions. He was standing so close to her that even in the darkness she could distinguish the contours of his face. His finger, still positioned on the button of her shirt brushed slightly against a tiny section of exposed skin and every nerve ending in her body seemed to ignite. Finally her fingers loosened around his forearm and he continued to rid her of the torn and damaged clothing, the brutal memories of that day pooling at her feet. When she was in nothing but her underwear he stepped back and turned his head away shyly as she climbed into her bed.

Her eyes fluttered closed but she opened them again almost immediately. She reached an arm under the bed and motioned for him to sit on the bed. Pulling a wooden box from underneath the bed she sat up and after rummaging through the box for a few seconds she took out another long slender box and gave it to him.

He touched it almost fearfully before lifting the lid off. “You kept it,” he whispered almost regretfully.

“I could never get rid of it,” she replied watching his outline in the darkness examining the object.

He traced the wand with one of his fingers before gripping it tightly. The sound of rushing wind swept through the room and the whole room was momentarily basked in an emerald glow. Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feature core. He chuckled to himself, lost in memories of Mr. Ollivander, his thoughtful expressions and deeply disturbing voice.

“I think it remembers you,” Hermione smiled watching the walls of her room radiate green before shadows overpowered it.

He chuckled again, the sound of which seemed to soothe her. A few hours ago she had thought he would never laugh with her again.

“You should stay here tonight. It’ll be safer if you do.” She winced as she lay back down, her hand touching her ribs gingerly.

“You should go see Madame Pomfrey tomorrow,” he advised. Another silence enveloped them in which he shifted uncomfortably on the bed. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his silhouette. Finally he put the wand back in the box, stood up and moved to the doorway of her bedroom. “I’ll take the couch, and then go back in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” she called after him. “And Harry...” he paused, one hand on the brass doorknob, “...thank you.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly before shutting the door behind him. His fingers clutched the doorknob fleetingly, thoughts ricocheting around his tired brain. He wanted to hate that woman on the other side of the door, lying in the comfort she could afford because of a life he couldn’t be a part of. A life he had been separated from. Ron had a child, Lupin had a child, and most of his classmates now had families. He was left with a life in tatters for a second time.

He seized the blanket from the back of the plush leather couch and after removing his shoes and trousers collapsed into the couch’s cushions which instantly sagged under his weight. He heaved a frustrated sigh and his eyes were drawn to her door again.

He could never hate that woman. If there was one person he could never hate it was her. And through the rage, the betrayal, the disillusionment and the suffering he could feel his soul was lighter, his mind was clearer and his body strengthened now he had returned to the wizarding world.

Unlike Grimmauld Place the door did not creak as he gently pushed his way into her bedroom hours later. Without uttering a word, he lit his wand producing a soft glow that didn’t fully penetrate the room. He stepped further into the room, the light travelling gradually up her sleeping form, before extinguishing it with a flick of his wrist. His eyes eventually landed on her face and he smiled when he saw the peaceful and serene expression that had settled on her features. She was lying on her side in an unmistakeable foetal position, one hand tucked under her pillow while the other lay limply over the edge of the mattress.

He crouched down so his face was close to hers, reaching out but abstaining from making contact. He was scarcely breathing so fixated on the sight before him. The gentle sound of her breathing seemed to make everything around him fall away, her chest rising and falling methodically.

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

The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson, and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent. The room was crowded and stuffy and bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the centre of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering, each a brilliant speck of light.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Luna beamed serenely up at the lamp and he briefly wondered what magical creature she felt was behind it.

“Eh…yeah,” Harry remarked scrutinizing the crowd for Hermione. He had been annoyed she had agreed to go with McLaggen to Professor Slughorn’s Christmas Party but she had confessed the arrangement was made three weeks prior to the date. She deemed it was a pathetic way to infuriate Ron but all she achieved was to incense Harry.

“Well now I’m going to have to talk to him, if he’s hanging around you,” he had argued.

“Oh it will be so awful for YOU! Don’t worry about me being pursued by that arrogant, selfish and over-confident twat!”

“Did it not occur to you to cancel your date?” he asked; briefly wondering how she sometimes forgot the simplest of things.

“And show up alone?!”

“I only asked Luna to go with me a few minutes ago. I wanted to ask you but you kept saying you were going with someone else…I figured it might have been Neville or someone cool like that.”

He ran his hand through his hair thoughtfully before backtracking. “I guess we don’t know too much about McLaggen,” he continued, seeing Hermione dejected and somewhat lost disposition. “Maybe he’s actually an alright guy,” he had ventured with an encouraging smile.

“HARRY!” a voice boomed and an arm clasped his firmly. Before he knew it he was being hauled through the crowd of milling students. Slughorn was wearing a tasseled velvet hat to match his smoking jacket and his firm grasp on Harry’s arm only alleviated when they were in the heart o f the party. Harry was introduced to numerous people whose names he could not fathom to this day.

Luna, whom Harry had grabbed by the hand before being snatched by Slughorn, began questioning Sanguini, a vampire who was tall and emaciated with dark shadows under his eyes. She seemed entirely unperturbed by the fact that he was surveying her closely like a fresh piece of meat.

Slughorn resumed his conversation with Eldred Worple, an eminent biographer, and seemed to think Harry was listening when he suddenly asked him a question. “Isn’t that right Harry?”

“Hmm…sorry?” Harry asked halting his search of the room momentarily to look into the expectant faces of Slughorn and the bespectacled Worple.

“Eldred here,” said Slughorn indicating a keen Worple “thinks it’s about time you publish your own biography. He said he’d offer any assistance he could and I said you would appreciate it.”

“Eh…no…I’m more into fiction myself,” returned Harry before excusing himself rapidly and taking off when he recognized a familiar face on the other side of the room. He nudged Luna to inform her where he was going; she took one look to where he was pointing before shaking her head with a knowing smile before asking Sanguini about his thoughts on Crumple- Horned Snorkacks.

Loud singing accompanied by what sounded like mandolins issued from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they looked like roving tables.

When he reached the last place he had seen Hermione he revolved on the spot, eyes scanning the crowd, she seemed to have disappeared again. Then before he could distinguish what was happening he had been dragged to a corner and flung under one of the hangings that acted as a partition of the room. The music was instantly dulled and he felt he could breathe a bit easier not being suffocated by the crowd.

“Hermione is everything okay? Considering you just rugby-tackled me into hiding.”

“No, everything is not okay. McLaggen is an arrogant, conceited and boorish prat,” she said breathlessly at him placing both hands on her head in an attempt to control herself. Harry had to admit she almost took his own breath away she looked so beautiful. She wore a simple evening gown, silver but beaded so that it shimmered under the lights giving it an almost heavenly quality.

“You look really well Harry,” she stated indicating his black robes, black tie and crimson shirt.

“You look stunning,” he commented bashfully turning to the hanging and lifting it slightly so his eyes wouldn’t linger on her enough to unnerve her. “…although it’s probably not very helpful when you have McLaggen chasing you around.”

“Don’t even start…he’s worse than that vampire, Sangria or whatever his name is!”

Harry let out a roar of laughter. “It’s Sanguini actually.” She blushed and joined in his laughter, the two of them almost unable to stand until she shushed him in case someone should hear them.

“Where’s Luna?” Hermione asked.

“Talking to Trelawney,” Harry replied peering out under the hanging. He spotted McLaggen loitering around a group of Gryffindor students and occasionally looking around the room for his date.

Hermione stuck out her head just under Harry’s so that her hair tickled his chin. “Merlin, Trelawney looks…”

“Plastered,” Harry finished seeing she was stood in front of a table laden with majestic bottles of alcohol. “She’s very fond of the cooking sherry.”

“Is that Neville?” Hermione asked astonished pointing to a waiter in white robes who was circulating with cups of mead.

Harry caught Neville’s attention with a frantic arm wave and he hurried towards them, ducking under the hanging which Harry let drop down once Neville had joined their little party. Hermione snatched a cup of mead off Neville’s tray and downed it in one go.

“McLaggen,” Harry responded to an unasked question.

“Yeah I saw you two earlier, he did seem a bit…handsy,” Neville said giving Hermione a pitying look.

Harry joined Hermione in drinking a cup of mead before asking Neville why he was here.

“I thought Ginny would be here. I’m not in the Slug Club but was offered the post of waiter. Guess she didn’t come.”

Hermione gave Harry a pointed look; do not fly off the handle. “She’s going out with Dean Thomas Neville,” she informed him with a sympathetic look.

“Really? I thought I spotted her with Michael Corner last week though?” Neville frowned. He shrugged his shoulders before leaving their hiding spot, both Harry and Hermione seizing two cups of mead each as he stooped to get out under the hanging.

“There’s a turn of events I didn’t see,” Harry stated sardonically after a lengthy silence. “Now I have to prove myself against Thomas, Corner, and Neville. Not to mention I have to convince Ron.”

“Oh Harry…you’re far more appealing than all those boys put together. You shouldn’t even measure yourself against them.” Hermione conjured up a table for them to put their mead on before rubbing his arm in a reassuring manner. “You’ve got a lot going for you…oh Chosen One,” she whispered dramatically earning a smirk and an eye roll from him.

He liked Ginny, he could not deny that, but he was being increasingly put off by the fact that she had been with more guys than most girls in Hogwarts. Of course they were average girls whilst Ginny was different, she was cute but feisty not to mention extremely pretty. Harry wondered momentarily whether physical attraction was enough to sustain a relationship.

They both sat on the edge of Hermione’s conjured table and chugged down their mead. Although they remained silent Harry could tell Hermione was more relaxed than she had been in months.

“You know what, I could happily spend the rest of the evening here with you,” he said grinning at her.

“The feeling is mutual,” she replied, knocking their cups of mead together in a toast. “Better than getting an insight into the filthy lives of reserve Quidditch keepers,” she said darkly seeing McLaggen’s tall frame walking throughout the room again in search of her.

“He is persistent,” commented Harry raising an eyebrow. He could already feel the mead going to his head, a slight tingling in the ends of his finger and a slight smile on his lips.

“So is syphilis,” she hissed in return. “He nearly mauled me under the mistletoe.”

“Slimy git,” spat Harry irate at the clear ignorance of his friend’s dignity. He shot to his feet but was instantly yanked back onto the edge of the table.

“We should probably stop drinking the mead, it’s obviously having an effect on you,” Hermione said; still holding a fistful of his robes in case he attempted to confront McLaggen.

“I’m trying to protect you! Nobody should put a hand on my Herm…”

“I’m not YOURS! “She emitted in a high-pitched voice. Harry noted however that she was still smiling.

“Well why are you smiling then?” he shot back with another raised eyebrow. He was beginning to agree with Hermione about the mead. He only noticed now that the two of them had ventured out of their hiding place and neither had any mead left.

“I’m not smiling. It’s an upside-down frown,” she said with a very forced glare that sent both of them into hysterics. They bumped into Luna and Neville who were chatting merrily beside Trelawney. Neville had discarded his white robes so that he was just wearing a school shirt and trousers underneath, no longer looking like a waiter.

“That’s the spirit Neville,” said Harry beaming. “You should have just gate-crashed…”

Hermione shushed him, giving him a poke in the ribs to ensure he got the point. “It’s nice to see you Luna. Are you going away again this Christmas to research Crumple-Horned Nargles?,” she finished joyfully; glaring at Harry who bit his lip to stop a snort of laughter. For some reason he was finding everything highly amusing tonight.

“They’re actually Snorkacks Hermione. We’re not going this year no; they’re more common in the spring. I was just asking Neville about a Herbology assignment, he really has an extensive knowledge of the subject,” Luna remarked causing Neville to blush but also beam with pride.

“He’s best in our Herbology class,” Hermione replied causing Neville’s cheeks to burn even more.

“I just really like it, I’m not the best in the…”

“Nonsense,” Hermione shrieked giving him a jab on the shoulder. “You get the highest scores in all our practical work. You are the best in the year because you put so much effort into it.” Neville eyed her almost fearfully before nodding which caused Harry to laugh raucously which set Hermione off laughing too.

“You have a natural talent Neville,” Luna complimented him; gazing on the tipsy pair as they held onto each other through fits of laughter as if she was asked to research the effects of mead.

“Natural ability!” shouted Slughorn from behind them, causing everyone in the vicinity to jump. “Severus, you should have seen what Harry Potter gave me, first lesson of the year, the Draught of Living Death-never had a student produce finer on a first attempt, I don’t think even you could surpass Potter. Yes indeed it is undeniable that Harry Potter’s gift is Potions.”

From behind Slughorn out stepped Snape, his black eyes narrowed in dislike. Instantly the effects of the mead seemed to ebb away and the smiles vanished from Harry and Hermione’s faces. The last thing Harry wanted was for Snape to start investigating the source of his new-found brilliance at Potions.

“Quite a turnaround Potter. You came so close to losing your place in the Auror training program,” Snape uttered quietly.

“I don’t think you should be an Auror, Harry,” said Luna. Everybody turned to her. “The Aurors are part of the Rotfang Conspiracy, I thought everyone knew that. They’re working from within to bring down the Ministry of Magic, using a combination of Dark magic and gum disease.”

Harry heard Hermione make a noise, the unmistakable attempt to stifle laughter, and looked down at his shoes momentarily to contain himself. Luna continued to explain the intricacies of the Rotfang Conspiracy to a slightly baffled audience.

Harry noticed Hermione biting her lower lip fighting the urge to laugh and again he could not help but notice how wonderful she looked. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from laughing and tendrils of her hair, which had been wrapped up in a bun, had fallen out. She still carried herself elegantly with the countenance of someone who attended wizarding parties on a daily basis. He temporarily could not hate McLaggen for asking her to be his date and for wanting to impress her. Who wouldn’t?

The mirth in her eyes was replaced by terror and turning he found the source; McLaggen was walking towards their group. The two of them bolted, wrestling their way through the throngs of people dawdling around drinking and chatting merrily. They had put some distance between them and McLaggen and slowed down. She led the way swiveling around every now and then to peer over the crowd or just to grin elatedly at him. However he was becoming increasingly bothered by his thoughts.

Why did she have to wear that dress? Why did she have to do her hair up like that, exposing the flawless skin of her neck? How did she still talk to him normally after she nearly lost her life following him in fifth year? Why was she always there for him? He had let her down countless times but he could not think of one time when she had disappointed him.

She stopped abruptly and he nearly walked into her. The crowd had become suffocating again and he was sure he saw students who hadn’t been here previously. She dragged him once again over to a corner and they both stooped down and emerged in a hiding place exactly like their last but smaller. He was pressed up against her and his heart began to race painfully fast.

“There he is!” she whispered into his ear and he couldn’t help his eyes closing at her proximity.

He could not let his mind wander this far off course. Not after five years of friendship, he would lose too much and she would hex too devastatingly. He blamed the mead even though he had never felt so sober and focused in his life. He could feel every movement she made against him; he could almost predict what her next movement would be. Her back was facing him now and she stepped back nearly treading on his foot.

“Oh no, he’s coming this way!” she moaned turning to him, her eyes beseeching him to find a way out of the room even though it was crammed with Slughorn’s guests. He could see McLaggen’s silhouette become larger as he approached the hanging. It was such a trivial problem to her, she’d probably laugh at it when she was older, ‘the night Cormac McLaggen spent hunting for me in a room full of people, remember Harry?’ but it would be an unforgettable night for Harry as he felt something change, tweak slightly from friendship to something more.

Before he could register what was happening he felt her hands on either side of his face, pulling him down to meet her lips into a kiss he would never forget. He vaguely heard the hanging being ripped back, an angry groan and then footsteps leading away. One of Hermione’s hands had slithered to the back of his neck while both his hands had landed on her waist. He didn’t know how long it lasted or who pulled away first before both of them were facing each other, breathless with glowing cheeks.

“Sorry,” she gasped. “He was getting really close and I thought if he saw us…together, well he might just give up.” She was fidgeting with her hair nervously and avoiding eye contact, a sure sign that this had affected her as much as it affected him even though she had initiated it.

He stepped a fraction closer to her, his hands still shaking and his knees slightly weak. He didn’t know what force was compelling him but decided not to fight against it as he knew it was a losing battle. He placed both his hands on either side of her face, mimicking her actions moments ago and simultaneously shifted closer to her. She was as still as a statue, her eyes fixed on his, her lips as inviting as ever.

As his lips brushed against hers for a second time it struck him how odd it was that he had never considered her as a girl until two years ago and yet now he found every single feature of her body intoxicating. Her hands caressed his chest until she grasped a fistful of his robes, wanting to extinguish any space that existed between them. He tugged at her lower lip with his teeth and her lips finally parted. As his tongue danced with hers one of his hands dropped dangerously to softly touch the ivory skin of her neck.

He knew very little about sex other than what he heard in his dorm and if he was honest the idea always terrified him almost as much as Voldemort. The fear had always put him off it, he never dreamt of actually having sex; just what happens before and the satisfaction afterwards. But now his mind was conjuring up images of Hermione, her fingers with their nervously bitten nails raking his shoulders, her head tilting back exposing her white throat and the quiver of pulse below her jaw; her heavy eyelids would open wide, pupils constricting in the brown of her eyes until they were so miniscule they were almost indiscernible.

His lips had travelled south and found her neck when there was a collective angry roar behind them. They broke apart both of them gasping for air, something to control their senses and make sense of what had just happened. Outside their hiding place the crowd had parted slightly as Filch heaved a sulking Draco Malfoy in behind him. They both watched the exchange of words between the caretaker and the professors silently, straightening their clothes at the same time.

They finally looked at each other, confusion etched on both their faces but the absence of regret was clear. It felt like it had to happen, as if every moment they had shared had led them to it.

She smiled fleetingly before ducking out under the hanging, when he followed he couldn’t find her but managed to walk straight into the confrontation between Snape, Slughorn and Malfoy. His thoughts were still flooded with her, his mind was drowning in her and his conscience had just left the party.