A/N. This chapter is quite long and it gets quite heated in the end (TPP is M rated). It felt good writing something like it after DH.
Chapter 28 - Exam Room 13
"You can swallow or choke, your choice," Floyd taunted, "Either way, I'm a happy man."
Harry's life was hanging on the balance for the second time in less than a week and the first thing that popped up in his head as he heard that line was how much it sounded like it came straight from a poorly done porn flick. Somebody should really give Floyd a tutorial on good quips for bad guys. Perhaps he should move on to more important things, like saving his life. Where the hell was back-up?
Accio wand! Accio wand!
"Did you read my notes?"
For Merlin's sake…Accio wand!
"Were you thinking of me as you read them?"
Was he supposed to? Really?
"I have something special in mind just for you."
Fine!
He could have held on a bit longer but decided not to delay the inevitable to get Floyd to shut up sooner. Floyd got off him as he took a big gasp of air, and then watched him intently, no doubt waiting for something to happen. Feeling the pill make its way down his throat with difficulty, he prepared himself for the unpleasant, disorienting sensation that came with transforming back to oneself using the anti-Polyjuice and the likely more unpleasant welcome he would get from his captors once he did change appearance. Their hulking figures had come closer and were now gathered around him
Then it came, the discombobulating feeling, and it was quite odd because he remembered it to be worse and more temporal. The room and its contents were spinning counter clockwise steadily. That was different. He could only hope that the effects wouldn't linger and definitely not get worse.
Accio wand!
Harry never imagined he would ever need a cigarette so badly in his life. The goons towering over his immobile body drew out their wands.
Accio cigarette!
Still no response. He summoned it once last time, injecting a few choice profane words into the spell. With that last thought, he felt the soft sticklike item creep its way under his fingers, unnoticed by the others in the room. He'll have to check some time if it was the swearing that made the summoning work.
"Interesting. How sure are you that this is Potter?" one of Floyd's mates asked.
Harry paused. He expected them to say something different and waited. A sharp, deep pain cut across his left forearm and he felt something being removed from within it.
"He has the tracking device. The guy who put it in confessed not a minute into the torture curse that Potter transformed into Hunt right before his very eyes," came Floyd's defensive remark.
"'Take one as needed for chest pain'," another man read the dosing instructions on his prescription bottle, and he heard it clatter on the floor, "Maybe the pill he had on him was not what we were told it was. He sure looks the same to me."
So, he was still Roy; that was wonderful news right now but he was unlikely going to be so for long. And the fact that they knew about the tracking device and weren't concerned about it could only mean one thing. Help wasn't coming.
He could have silently broken the binding curse but decided to wait, pushing the envelope a bit for more information. They were obviously expecting to see Roy transform into him. Revenge aside, what did they want with him? A statement to the Ministry? Make him an example so they could make a mark in the highly competitive post Voldemort illegal activity scene? Floyd's notes, Quid pro quo, did not really make any sense, but maybe that was just Floyd saying the wrong things again!
And who was this woman who bankrolled the Toronto operation?
At the moment, it was five against one. With this continued and seemingly worsening room spinning, it felt like he was on a broken carousel. He couldn't focus, and he didn't feel so lucky that if a duel ensued he could subdue the entire lot. The current plan was to hear as much as he could about who they were, hopefully put a face or a name to the rich woman's voice, break the bind, Disapparate back to the Ministry, get in touch with Kingsley and find this place again if they could. With the bus careening down the road he was going to have to step back onto the curb for that incentive to stay alive. Well, maybe when the bus got a bit closer.
"That or he is the real Roy Hunt in which case we might still be able to use him," a toothless, stocky older man suggested, making Harry think of the endless possibilities of them believing that to be the case.
"He's unarmed. Unbind him and let him speak," the woman commanded, Harry silently grateful to her for giving him one less thing to do.
The man who just spoke motioned to him with his wand.
"Relashio!"
"Get up!" Floyd commanded, prodding him.
Harry obeyed, fighting off the urge to avenge that sucker punch he received earlier. His lip was swollen and throbbing nastily. Unexpectedly, he found himself so unsteady from the visual problems he was having he staggered back and thankfully found a solid wall to lean against. This wasn't a new experience. His remote history of constant drunkenness helped him stay upright and mask his difficulty. Just a few more minutes, he thought as he put his wand away in his pocket. It was time to be Roy and see what these clowns were up to.
"Who the hell are you and what the hell was that for?!" he bellowed at Floyd who, he had to remember, the real Roy never met, "I need a mirror. If you messed up my face, hope and pray that it can be fixed because if it's not put back to the way it was I'm going to sue you for every miserable Knut that you have! And look at what you did to my arm. I need a Healer!"
"Are you Mr. Hunt?" the woman asked as she stepped slightly out of the shadows, giving him the impression that she was as tall as Floyd and gaunt, but he couldn't be sure because everything in the room now appeared like that.
"Of course I am! Do you think that after what happened to their Auror in Toronto they'd mess around and put some impersonator in my place again? They figured you'd have spies so that black bloke who runs the show did a double switch! What a bunch of fucking amateurs!"
With the exception of Floyd who looked sceptical, the rest of the crew bought it. Harry muttered to himself as Roy would have, examining his cut lip off a reflective surface to his side as he kept an eye on and both ears open to the hushed discussion that was taking place.
"I don't trust him," Floyd said with conviction. "How sure are we that he is Roy Hunt?"
"You shouldn't trust him because he is a con man. But if he was Potter or a plant he would have fought us or done something to escape by now. That and I think his face would be the least of his worries," answered the same toothless goon to Floyd's right.
"Good point, Mr. Quincy," the woman replied, "But Tom is right. We need proof. Mr. Hughes, if you please."
Out from somewhere behind him, he was dragged off the wall he was leaning against and a pair of humongous arms curled under and wrapped around his, locking them in a death grip to the back of his neck, pulling them and his entire body up, his feet catching air. He protested verbally and physically but couldn't turn his head as he struggled. Hughes, who was probably half giant, was strong, to say the least. Harry could only think of one thing he wouldn't be able to handle. Maybe two.
"Just relax, Mr. Hunt. This won't hurt," she said to him as cool blue eyes shot from under her hood and captured his gaze.
Clearing his mind that very instant, Harry felt her probing his thoughts and served up a few choice Roy Hunt memories from his and Dean's surveillance of the git a few days ago. They weren't entirely useless after all. He had enough reel to last them the entire night.
Satisfied and repulsed, she stopped, Hughes letting go of him almost at the same time. He dropped ungainly and disturbed yet again a dusty portion of the floor, taking his time to pick himself up, leaning against a weight bearing post. Thank goodness nobody had a phial of Veritaserum handy.
She confirmed his identity, "The question now is do we use him or lose him."
"Whoa!" he had to interrupt, "I don't have anything to do with this! I didn't get paid for this! And I certainly didn't want to get involved with this! Lady, I don't know any of you. Just send me back to prison."
"Tex did believe that he could pull it off," Floyd ignored his comments and seemed to have lost his doubts about Harry's identity, "Let's send him in again and see what happens."
Hunt's original assignment; not good.
She cautioned, "I'm on to you, Tom. I know how you feel about your brother, but Tex is dead. Even he would agree that in business, there is no place for revenge."
So, Floyd and Waxball were brothers. He was certain the Toronto MLE would find that as interesting as he did. And Floyd wanted to retaliate, hoping he could do it through Hermione.
"If it works out you'll get what you want, too," Floyd pointed out unbothered by the woman's lack of support.
"I might or I might not. You asked me one favour and I did it for your brother. I should have realized that for you this wasn't entirely about giving Potter to Bella to get back on her good side. I cannot afford to irritate and challenge her further. Not yet. She's quite sore about our showing the potion to the public without her approval."
"But it's worth it," Floyd continued to pitch his idea as Harry was feeling nauseous from being on the merry-go-round for so long. He had already heard so much but if they were talking about what he believed they were talking about, he wanted to hear every detail of what their plan was, if there was going to be one. Floyd added, "What have we got to lose? She can be annoyed all she wants, kill off everyone else in the Ghoul that day to keep the potion underground but she can't touch us."
So, Lestrange was upset about the potion being exposed at the Ghoul, ordered Death Eaters to kill off Waxball's recruits and he was going to be some sort of human sacrifice for Lestrange, fodder to appease lava spewing volcano. Being the control freak that Lestrange was, she was definitely one who would not want the magic enabling potion in general circulation and the cover-up was likely her doing.
"The answer is 'no', Tom. I am inclined to let this go and I urge you to do the same," she said with finality. "This is over and I want you out of London. You can't be here. Do you understand?"
"Yes, perfectly," came a begrudging remark.
The woman continued, "Forget Potter and move on."
She was gone; Quincy and the half-giant Hughes Disapparated with her. Her last words left Harry with the impression that she was not in the typical mould of a Dark Witch and wondered if there was something about how she addressed Floyd by his first name that should be looked into.
He wasn't sure. His mind was not as sharp as he wanted it to be and he was getting quite tired he seriously doubted he could Disapparate safely. It must have something to do with the potions that were in him, vaguely remembering both Hermione and Delilah saying something about unwanted effects from polypotion use. He forgot all about it and didn't think twice when he volunteered. It was also probably why the reverse pill did not work when it was supposed to.
His visual and balance problems were worsening and he had no choice. He eyed the empty pill container on the floor, decided where he would go and discretely aimed his wand at it.
Portus.
"She didn't even…even introduce herself. Who…who was that?"
Maybe just a bit more.
"You don't need to know," Floyd replied harshly, "The question now is what do we do with you?"
Go…now…concentrate…
Harry hugged the post, bent over and threw up. Voices all around him were echoing, reverberating, like a broken record…
"Are you…you…okay…okay…okay…?"
"He doesn't loo…look so go...go…good…"
"He nee…nee…needs a Healer…Take…hi…him to St. Mu…Mung…Mungo's…"
Hermione was working tonight. All he could think was that Hermione seeing Roy Hunt again would not be a good thing.
"Bu…but she said…"
He felt a spell hit him and noticed he was no longer wearing prison clothes.
"Do it. She doesn't have to…to know…"
Accio Portkey!
xxxxxxxxxx
It was close to nine in the evening and Hermione was in her St. Mungo's Office having just finished rounding the non critical ward patients. Just when she needed herself most pre-occupied with vital matters like saving lives, things would be relatively slower compared to attending in Emerg. Maybe she could finish writing up her alternative potion paper and submit it to magical ethics for trial approval.
After staring blankly at a late draft of her study proposal for half an hour, she put it away knowing that the maybe was not going to happen. She was too distracted and conflicted that the relative unimportance of the task she had before her was constantly being overcome by thoughts of the events of that afternoon. That afternoon, she and Ron talked about her affair in Toronto.
It was never her intention to tell him. She firmly believed that it would only bring him unnecessary grief. He guessed and she could not deny it when he mentioned it.
Ron had been uncomfortably honest with Harry about the fact that she had not let him near her since she came back from Toronto and the most intimate with him that she could get herself to be was a nanosecond peck on his mouth. She must have been dreaming about something pleasant when he joined her in bed because he said he got the impression that she was inviting him.
In her defence, she did wake up feeling rather tired and worn out from the hellish night she had at Emerg and her desire for sex was so way down it was at par with getting a root canal. And while waking up suddenly to his smooching and caresses was not something that had not happened before, it still was a bit of a surprise her first (and only) reaction may have been somewhat on the negative side. The thing was she couldn't, not even when she told herself that this would be the last time they would, for old times' sake.
Ron was red in the face, from a few various emotions, she guessed. This time, he did not walk out but instead stayed to confront her about her obvious lack of yearning for what had never been a problem between them before.
"I'm sorry," she said to him; she was so very sorry for everything that had happened and was about to.
"I'm sorry, too," he answered, making her curious what about. He had this frown on his face that could only mean he had a very serious matter to discuss with her. "I wanted to talk to you after the Playoffs, thinking I'd rather not know for sure than know and have to deal with it now. But I don't think I can wait anymore."
They were both seated in bed beside each other, staring blankly at some fixed point on the sheet, rather sombre. She was miffed at herself for her inability to ensure not to distract Ron until after the games. Her heart was racing and her head was pounding, the anxiety and nervousness having a lot to do with the impending closure of a long relationship with such a good man and a good friend, and all that was going to be uncertain between them after. She was prepared for this conversation but having it a few days earlier and on his initiation made her uncomfortable.
Hermione waited for his lead.
"I want you to know that I love you, I always have and always will," he paused, she guessed he was looking for the right words, "I wasn't at first, but I've thought about it and I'm okay with it."
It? No.
"I know you had an affair in Toronto."
'It' was unfortunately about what she thought it was about. It did not happen often but she was at a loss for words. How did he find out?
"I presume it was a meaningless night with a stranger and…" Ron took a big breath in and exhaled, finally saying, "I'm okay with it."
How could he be fine with something like that; total betrayal of trust, infidelity, and disloyalty? She had to straighten him out on this one.
"Ron…"
"No, hear me out first," Ron interrupted her, "I know you know it was not right and I know that if I ever did something like that to you, you'd break up with me instantly. I'm not saying that you'd be wrong if you did, but don't try to convince me that I'm wrong by choosing to be okay with it."
"I cheated on you," despite being true that was an odd thing to say and the conversation was not the one she was prepared for.
"Yes, you did. It wasn't right but you had your reasons. I know them and I know this was something you had to do for yourself. And I can understand why you wouldn't ask for my permission to do it."
What he just said tore her heart she could not hold back the tears. It hurt her that he loved her so as to delude himself that the end justified the means. The enormity of her transgression just magnified a hundred fold, her guilt a thousand. Why can't he just be angry, call her names, and at least make her feel better that she was being punished, make her think twice about not being unfaithful again? It shouldn't be fine; it shouldn't be that easy to forgive. And he didn't even ask if she was sorry she did it.
She couldn't look at him and instead stared at the hand that took hers.
"And I know you think that you shouldn't go ahead and marry me, that because you went ahead and did the deed with someone else that was proof that you don't care about me as much as you think you should. You've probably decided?"
She nodded, still sobbing.
"Were you waiting until after the Finals to tell me?"
She nodded again and explained to him, "It would be unfair and it'll just make both of us miserable. I don't love you the same way you love me."
"Maybe so, but you loved me more at some point in the past. I haven't been the best boyfriend for years. Mum always said I've been so lucky with you but warned it wouldn't all be smooth sailing. This is our first real test and I just want to give us a chance to come out of it okay."
"What's kind of unfair is that you've decided without talking to me. I admit, I wish it didn't happen at all or it were happening five years ago and not in the middle of playoffs a week before our wedding but you always had awful timing."
He was teasing but she couldn't smile to acknowledge. That was how he was trying to cope.
"What say you? Give us another chance."
Ron was making this so hard. It was not what she expected to hear. This was definitely not what she wanted him to say.
"I don't know, Ron," she was unsure if she deserved this even if she could think it might work, "Our wedding is next week."
"We can postpone it, indefinitely or until you decide."
"Why are you doing this?"
"You're it for me and I want me to be it for you. All I ask is a chance to woo you back."
What Ron said made sense except Ron did not take into consideration the possibility that she loved someone else. Was she willing to do the same thing she did years ago, be pragmatic, settle for the safe and secure relationship that she knew she would have with Ron, then have her emotions of wanting to be with someone else build up once again to this boiling point? Hermione could see this happening again, and the next time, the affair she would not seek from a stranger. Ron could only get hurt more. As tempting and as generous an offer it was, instinctively she would still have to decline.
"Don't decide now," it was as if he could read her mind, "Think about it and let me know after the game. We can fix this. Promise me you'll at least seriously consider to reconsider."
She looked at him and realized how hard he had been trying since she came back from Toronto. After almost ten years with him, how could she say 'no' to that?
"The answer is likely going to be the same, Ron," she had to be honest.
"I know, but at least there is that possibility that it won't be," he replied, "And that thought I can live with until the Finals. Promise me you'll think about it."
She leaned over and they embraced as she said to him, "I promise."
He hugged her tight and she sensed his relief as he quipped, "A last fling? After ten years you hit me with a last fling? That certainly woke me up."
They pulled apart grinning somewhat. Ron had that knack of making even serious situations lighter.
"How did you find out?"
"It's not important," he dismissed her inquiry, "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me anyway."
"I really want to know."
It took a while for Ron to say it, somewhat embarrassed about how he found out.
"You've been acting more strange since coming back from Toronto. I thought about what we talked about before you left and how what your Mum did really upset you. I thought about not being able to reach you at all that Valentine's night and Ginny threatening to jinx me if I went over to talk with you. You were crying the following morning when we spoke on the phone but said you were fine. I just knew."
"Since you've come back you've been trying to avoid me and you haven't been fussing over wedding details as I imagined you would. There was your reaction to my joining the London team. When I woke up this morning it just came to me that you were checking out and assumed you were waiting for the playoffs to be over before you would tell me."
Hermione could not believe Ron put himself through that to try and figure her out. Already she was thinking about what would have to change that would make her relationship with Ron work the second time around.
"You should be angrier," she said to him.
"I was at first. Once I believed it was meaningless and understood why you did what you did, it didn't hurt as much."
"How can you still want to be with me after all this?"
"Easy. The alternative is unimaginable," Ron answered plainly.
Tears welled up in her eyes again. Sadly enough, Hermione understood exactly how he felt. She thought guiltily about how she felt for someone else.
"I had to convince myself it would not have been with Harry," he continued, Hermione's heart froze, skipping a couple of beats and recovering with a faster one, "I was going insane thinking that possibility knowing that both of you were over there but you guys wouldn't do that to me. It was with a stranger, right? It wasn't with Harry, was it?"
"Ron, it was meaningless, with a stranger," she said to him firmly, "It wasn't with Harry."
Hermione convinced herself that it was the truth. That night, she didn't know it was Harry and it was meaningless sex with a stranger. Ron was very sensitive about matters concerning her relationship with Harry and the last thing she wanted was to fan his insecurities about that, particularly when it was over. It was over and it didn't even really start.
As she thought about Ron's proposal for reconsideration, her answer was the same and she chastised herself for being so heartless, lacking compassion.
Healer Granger, to Emergency Room STAT. Healer Granger, to Emergency Room STAT.
An announcement came overhead and Hermione instinctively grabbed the intra-hospital Portkey to get to Emerg, thankful of the opportunity to do something productive. She immediately found herself just outside Exam Room 13.
Patient alarms were ringing all over as she swung the doors into the room. At least seven Healers and assistants were in there resuscitating a sandy haired man on the table. She summoned the patient chart and started going over it.
"What do you have, Delilah?" Hermione asked the Emerg attending that night, who was doing internal cardiac compressions by the looks of the flicking movements of her wand.
"Male, 25-30, transfer from St. Gregory's, unconscious and unresponsive, suspected drunk and involved in a brawl. He was moved in here stable, labs drawn, he's got a bruise on the face, a cut on his left arm and what I'm guessing is a bevy of faint magical potion ingredients in him that the tox screen came up with. Then he suddenly went into convulsions and his heart stopped beating. Pressures are down, giving him fluids for now to prevent more organ failure."
"Head injury?"
"Nothing significant. I'm thinking possible recreational potion abuse."
"Or some adverse reaction," Hermione added as she went over the tox screen results and it indeed looked like a grocery list for a potion factory.
"Sorry to put you on the spot but we have to ID what he took that's causing this."
Another patient alarm went off. She knew this and felt no pressure. It was a game of name that potion; child's play. Her eyes flitted down the list and as she got near the end she had a mental image of which ingredients went with what and which potions they were for. She held her breath for a second as she leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the patient's face. Her heart jumped up her throat and stayed there, beating very fast. She couldn't believe who she saw.
Not again…
"Stop fluids," she suggested to, actually told, the team as she set the chart down and found a spot to do a quick assessment of the once again Polyjuiced Harry, "You're just going to flood him."
"What is it?" Delilah asked, as the team did as Hermione asked.
"Muscle strengthening potion and a couple of other uncommon ones," she replied.
It was not necessary to tell the room full of people what the other ones were as they were, at least in theory, not clinically important. Did she not tell him not to work and that polypotion use with the muscle strengthening solution he was taking was not a good idea? And he sure waited for the last minute before he sought medical attention! And at St. Gregory's?! She flung open the emergency potion cupboards with so much force portions of it became unhinged and she instantly found what she was looking for.
Jimmy Jingle, a first year intern, asked as he recognized what Hermione was about to give the patient.
"Isn't another potion the last thing you'd want to give for a case of severe multi-potion reaction?"
Delilah answered her student, "Yes, but it's also the last resort past a certain point."
Placing the bag of the corresponding antidote, a suppressing draught, on top of his chest wall adjacent to his heart, Hermione watched it empty as she cast a spell to administer it as fast as Harry could take it.
"But you can kill the patient," whispered the intern, distressed.
"If you don't do something he'll be dead anyway," Hermione heard Delilah say back, thinking just how many more times she could take watching him die. "Some Healers won't ever do it because more often than not the patient just dies faster."
They waited; each passing second feeling more like an hour. The resuscitating team had this look that they were going to give up any time now and according to St. Mungo's guidelines they would have to stop soon. She summoned a second dose and gave it to him. The room was silent save for the bells on the monitors.
Come on, Harry!
Then, finally, a break. Each patient alarm quieted down one by one, as Harry regained full function of his heart and his other organs. He stirred.
"But sometimes, you get really lucky, and your patient survives," Delilah added, relief washing over everyone in that room, then said to Hermione, "Thanks for the help."
"Don't mention it," Hermione replied, shaking, grateful that Harry responded favourably to the risky intervention, then said to her loud enough so only Delilah and Jimmy could hear, "Tell your intern that next time, he should ask questions after."
She stormed out of Exam Room 13 leaving Delilah and her intern blushing slightly, embarrassed, and found a nearby empty office. She locked herself in and as the adrenaline rush wore off, there was no stopping the gush of emotions she had to hold back to do what she did. He almost died again and she could have pushed him quicker to his death had they not been fortunate.
Hermione cried.
XXXXXXXXX
Not long after, Harry regained consciousness and found himself face up on a hospital stretcher, uncertain of how he got there. As he swept his eyes around the room a reflection of Roy stared back at him from one of the patient monitors. He quickly extinguished a disturbing thought that this face would be his permanently. That was just unimaginable.
The crossed wand with bone emblem was on many objects inside the exam room and unless another hospital decided to outfit theirs with the trademark merchandise, it was highly unlikely that he wasn't in St. Mungo's. There was nobody in the windowless room save for a young, pimple faced man who was reading a book beside him, mouthing the words as he seemed to be in need of guidance on how to fix the deep gash that was on Harry's forearm. He glanced upon the nameplate on the man's chest.
A green intern. He'd rather take his chances with the Ministry mediwizard. He ripped off all the contraptions and devices attached to him and quickly got up from bed at a speed that should not have been possible for a man who just moments ago was on the brink of dying.
"Mr. Hunt, wh-where do you think you're go-going?" the intern left to attend to him stammered, as he too got up, wand in hand, pointed at Harry in defence.
Harry did not answer, quickly snatched the intern's weapon and silently summoned his own. The disguised piece of holly zoomed to him in an instant from the rubbish bin right beside the closed door. He called him Mr. Hunt.
"There is no smo-smoking allowed within…"
"How did I get here?" Harry asked as he put the cigarette in his pocket but held on to the intern's wand.
"Pa…pa…patient t…transfer," Jimmy replied, face ashen from fear.
"From St. Gregory's?"
The intern nodded. So he did get out by Portkey, which meant his cover was blown. St. Gregory's Hospital was a less reputable and smaller version of St. Mungo's just on the outskirts of London with a high tolerance for dodgy characters. He had hoped to be conscious when he got there to contact the Ministry. It did not occur to him that he would be too ill. They likely lifted Roy's name from the pill container he had used as a Portkey. He had to know.
"Who saw me?"
He got a puzzled look for an answer.
"Who's my attending Healer?"
"Do…do-gooder."
Hearing that gave some relief but he had to get out of there quickly. He found Muggle street clothes hanging on the back support of the visitor's chair and changed into them as the intern protested.
"You can't le-leave," Jimmy said forcefully. "I was told to fix you up."
"Not gonna happen, sorry," he instantly replied.
He had to leave, get to Kingsley to tell him what happened and hopefully find a way to regain his image. There was heightened uneasiness about remaining a Roy Hunt copy for a few different reasons.
"But you can't…"
A force blasted him back onto the gurney as he stepped out into the hallway.
What was going on?
"I told you, you can't. Not until a staff Healer signs you out."
For a while he thought he was being held because he was Roy. He got up and charged the intern, borrowed wand pointed at its owner.
"You can't keep me here against my will!"
"Well, it's not me, really," Jimmy replied, trying to explain, "You were quite ill and a Healer has to see you before you go. St. Mungo legal department rules."
Damn bureaucrats.
"Get me Dogooder then, right now!"
"But… the Minister's wife…"
Harry pointed his wand at Jimmy who hastily got out. Harry paced for a bit, now aware of the painful throbbing on his arm and face, thinking about how to repay Greasy for the cowardly shiner the git gave him. Merlin only knew how much longer they would keep him here. He had to get word to Kingsley that he was fine, well, at least alive. If only his Patronus was less conspicuous.
He scanned the room again and spotted a Muggle phone tucked away at the corner. Immediately recalling the MLE number which undercover Hit Wizards frequently used whilst on Muggle assignments, he was able to patch through Kingsley and told him most of what happened. Kingsley was understandably quite upset that they had lost him. They put the real Hunt back in maximum security and Kingsley would work on the information he just got. Harry would meet up with him once he was discharged.
He just put the phone down when Jimmy returned. Jimmy now was positively more nervous than before he left.
"Well, where is she?"
Before Jimmy could answer, the door swung wide open and the last person he wanted to see in his current state came rushing in. Their eyes met and she instantly recognized him, the worry on her face quickly replaced by one of annoyance.
"Mr. Jingle," Hermione said to the intern sternly, eyes narrowed, words barely escaping through gritted teeth. "You paged me STAT and your patient looks more well than you do. This better be good."
Jeez. He'd seen her this angry many times in past, mostly at Ron, but he never thought Hermione had it in her to say something like that to a student. That was so Snape-like.
"Healer Do…Dogooder is still bu…busy with the Minister's w..wife and Mr. Hu…Hunt wants to go home."
Poor kid was ready to wet himself.
"He does? But his arm isn't fixed yet!"
"I refused treatment," Harry thought he should come to the intern's rescue.
"So that's why you went to St. Gregory's. You didn't really want medical attention. We should have sent you back because the Healers there would have had no problems letting you die," she said, pleasantly, with a contrived smile.
The intern sniggered in the background. Big mistake.
"Mr. Jingle, name the five reasons a lowly know-nothing intern, that's you, is justified to page a St. Mungo staff to come to their aid emergently."
"Ah…um…uh…"
"I thought so," she cut him off brusquely. "This is definitely not one of them. I don't want to see your face in here again until you find out what they are."
Harry could see more pimples on Jimmy's face beginning to break out.
"Well? What are you waiting for?"
Jimmy walked meekly towards Harry.
"My wand," he said meekly, showing it to Hermione after he snatched it back from Harry's grasp.
Their eyes followed the intern until his back disappeared behind the closed doors. Left alone, they had no choice but to face each other.
"That was rather harsh," Harry said the obvious, thinking he'd start.
His heart was pounding hard against his chest he was certain it was visible over his shirt. Hermione's expression as she looked at his was unreadable. Did she know it was him?
"Yes, it was. Don't worry about him, he'll live," she replied, summoning his chart, "Seeing you here is quite unexpected."
He couldn't agree more. To her he was Roy. A part of him wished she would figure it out. He hated the continuing lies and deception but it had gone on for too long now he couldn't confess anymore. He wouldn't know how to begin and it would definitely end horribly.
"Mr. Hunt…"
"Roy."
"Mr. Hunt," she repeated, "We'd prefer to keep you until sunrise for observation."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I have to go."
"Let me fix your arm and your face, at least," she insisted, "It'll only take a few minutes."
He relented. She sat him down beside the gurney, resting his arm on it and summoned a chair for herself. It was uncomfortable being this close to her and not touching her. She meticulously put together each layer of broken muscle with a warm healing spell as he watched her. She was tired, eyes red tinged and lids puffy, jaws tense he was not sure if it was because she needed that much concentration to do what she was doing. A brown lock escaped from the rest of her neatly tied back hair, obstructing his view and he fought the impulse to brush it off to one side.
"You're distracting me," she said to him without looking up.
"No," he replied to her softly, "You're distracting me."
For a moment he thought he saw the corner of her mouth curve up in a smile. He could not help it. Memories of their night exploded in his private thoughts and lingered, fanning the hunger of not only his physical need to be with her but, once again, a despair that that was likely as close to her as he could get. For the longer he thought about her breaking up with Ron the more farfetched it seemed that she would even consider going into a serious relationship with him after. He thought about how Ron would take that and he was sure she would, too.
Seated across from him, Hermione was definitely not having a good day. She was unusually unkind to Jimmy Jingle, livid at the intern for frightening her with another emergent page. And while it bothered her that Harry was not prepared to divulge his identity, a part of her didn't want him to, especially not after what Ron said today. The more she thought about it, the more she realized nothing good could ever come out of having that truth out in the open.
Hermione could not risk using another potion so the healing had to be done this painstaking way. She finished with the arm, satisfied that it was without scar. Standing in front of him, she turned his head slightly to his right and pointed her wand on his face, aiming for the nasty ping pong ball size lump on his cheek.
His right leg was brushing against her left one and just the contact was causing it to go wobbly. And Hermione didn't know what to make of the piercing scrutiny she was being subjected to. It was uncomfortable, this being the first time she had been acutely aware that Harry actually looked at her like that. And that he was admitting that he found her closeness distracting.
From Roy she would think nothing more of it. But this was Harry and making the Roy-Harry connection made her remember how Harry looked at her the same way in Toronto. It was a physical attraction at least, that much she was certain of, and she wondered how long Harry felt that way, if having another person's identity finally liberated him from the encumbrance of their supposed purely platonic relationship.
A gnawing needy sensation awoke from deep inside her. There was something about being desired by the man that she loved that was difficult to ignore. Opportunity was knocking at the door and for Ron, for decency, she knew she shouldn't answer. She should tell it to go away. Taking a deep breath, she could feel the air heavy with an intense anticipation.
"Please stop staring."
"I can't."
She was nervous, knowing the dangers of their exchange, for to her they were not just words anymore. Her hand shook somewhat as she reduced the swelling.
Harry stood and moved closer, "In fact, I'm having a hard time preventing myself from doing more than that."
"Like what?"
His nearness was stifling, and she kept staring at the spot on his face which was injured and now wasn't, wanting to find out just how different it would feel kissing him or doing everything else she and Roy did in Toronto.
"Like this."
He brushed a stray lock off her face, tucked it behind her ear and left his hand there, gently cupping her face. It broke her resolve not to look up and meet his gaze. His eyes were his, bright green and she knew once she looked deeply into them she would succumb and not resist losing herself in its vastness.
It was inevitable, she thought, as they both inched closer, his physical features blurring away, quite unnecessary for she had imagined herself this close to Harry a lot more times than she would ever admit. Twice this past week she watched him almost die, and both times she was overcome with dread and regret. A lifetime of wondering what it would be really like with him seemed too great a price to pay and while she thought that opportunity was lost forever in Toronto, how could she turn away this rare second chance?
They kissed, deep, long and sweet, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering uncontrollably as he pulled her as close to him as possible, his touch searing into the small of her back. She wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight embrace, and swam in the heady sensation of Harry's passionate kiss, committing to memory everything about the moment, the touch, the sound, the taste, the smell, but most all, the feeling she felt as she was kissing the man she loved and he was kissing her back.
Breathing fast and shallow, she stopped for a moment, looked into his eyes and said, almost whispering against his irresistible lips, "I thought you said this was a one time thing."
And just before he answered, she saw past the obvious, his longing for that same connection she sought, of mutual admiration, of respect, of love, beyond anything physical they could ever share. The bond was always there between them, unspoken but understood, and this deed, as impure as it was, was the expression of an overflowing yearning to make the feeling tangible and real.
"I thought it was, but I was wrong."
His reply was her undoing. She magically secured the door and the blinds, pulling the room overhead covers over them before her vine wood wand clanked on the floor. She was swept away by his strong arms, their mouths locked in a needy, desperate act, both knowing what they were stealing, both aware of the dire consequences, unable to see hope beyond what they were about to do.
For now, at least for her, it was like she was living in a dream, conscious of it being so and knowing that at one point, she would wake up and it would all end.
Harry set her down on the gurney, kissing the length of her neck roughly as she fumbled down his front, unbuttoned and unzipped what was before her, his pants falling down his ankles. Her fingers found the in seam of his boxers and slipped them off from behind, her hand caressing the tight muscles that it once covered, drawing him even closer.
Taking her cue, his hands crept up her legs beneath the lime green robes she was wearing, his touch grazing her skin, sending unimaginable pleasurable sensations towards their destination. When they got there, he wildly tugged her knickers off, his impatience matching hers.
Like thieves they rushed to take with urgency. He lifted her robes up as she parted her legs to welcome him unconditionally, and he found her without difficulty, the force of his initial hard thrust expected yet not, causing an involuntary sharp whimper to escape from within her. Their breathing was ragged and uneven in contrast to the rhythm he immediately found for them and dictated. With his every excursion all she thought about was her need to feel him come inside her, burning as ferocious as anything she had wished before.
She aimed to please and when she did, she too was pleased, as much as he was.
"Hermione…" Harry whispered in her hair as she felt his warm pulsations empty within, sensing that was not the first he had said her name that way before.
A single tear escaped down her cheek as she whispered back, the words spilling out as uncontrollable and as instinctive as what just transpired between them…
"I love you."
A/N. It was an inside-the-park homerun :)
I'd be interested to hear views about Ron's offer.