The Purple Potion

BB Ruth

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 08/04/2008
Last Updated: 05/05/2008
Status: completed

A year after her best friend betrays her, Hermione has to face Harry and work with him to uncover the truth about the past, as Harry struggles to convince her that they can have a future.

Chapters

1. Murder In the Kitchens

2. An Unexpected Message

3. The Tale of the Fruit Smoothie

4. The Hypothetical Answer

5. Roy Hunt and the Head Hunter

6. The Gryffindor Ghost

7. Ron’s Problem

8. Dinner with Draco

9. Who Is Tom Floyd?

10. The Missing Goblin

11. Tilden Toots and His Three Green Thumbs

12. The Confession

13. Eponine

14. The Bookstore Owner and the Window Cleaner

15. The Squeeze Play

16. The Purple Concoction

17. The Calm Before the Storm

18. Of Sin and Consequence

19. The Healer's Notes

20. A Squib or Not a Squib

21. Wanting the Impossible

22. A Life Sentence

23. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

24. The Petulant Patient and the Healer In Training

25. What Curiosity Killed

26. A Moment of Sobriety

27. The Long Wait

28. Exam Room 13

29. The Journal

30. Quidtch Talk

31. The Debt Collector

32. The Death of a Keeper

33. Incasabil

34. The Elixir of Magic

35. Sophie Bruin and the Family Secret

36. The Alley

37. The Gringotts Robbery Suspect and Elder Obliviator

38. Healer versus Auror

39. The Story of the Magic Pill

40. On Eggshells

41. Conflicted

42. Traitors Within

43. The Execution of the Blood Rat

44. The Night Ahead

45. The Third Suspect

46. Just a Job

47. A Different Perspective

48. Snakes

49. The Underground Greenhouse

50. The Thing About Elevators

51. The Janus Prophecy

52. Black Connection

53. The House of Order and Disorder

54. One Line, Two Sides

55. A Knight’s Final Act

56. An Affirmation of Guilt

57. Slaughter at the Ministry

58. Clear Objections and Noble Intentions

59. The Invitation

60. The Mystery Witch

61. A Logical Proposal

62. Peace and Violence

63. Double Cross

64. The Nutty Professor

65. Master and Slave

66. The Potion

67. In the Garden of Death Part 1

68. In the Garden of Death Part 2

1. Murder In the Kitchens

Disclaimer : Harry Potter and the world he lives in is not mine.

A/N: The Purple Potion is my second HP fanfic. Like the Cardinal Curses it is a Pre DH Post Hogwarts Mystery loaded with angst. I wasn’t sure about posting this on PortKey until I could see how I was going to end it. Some who have read it would probably disagree that I have posted it but here it is anyway!

Much of it will be unchanged from the original, particularly the plot, although I am planning to ‘fix’ some scenes that I know I definitely botched!

For those who have read it and would like to leave a note I only ask that you put spoiler warnings if you intend to comment on future chapters to not ruin it for those who like figuring things out on their own.

Warnings :

Harry and Hermione are OOC but had to be for the theme of sin, consequence and all the rest that follows that.

There will be some Heron and some Dramione – a full plate! But Portkey Rule compliant of course.

If you hate angst don’t even start reading it.

It’s long, really long - 65 chapters and counting. I admit that the story got away from me. There are parts of if that I never intended to write but can’t go back to cut out because a lot of them are HHr. So if you need help getting some sleep… LOL!

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Prologue.

February 14, 2006, 11:03P.M., The Alpha Chelsea Hotel, Gerrard Street, Toronto

It was supposed to be an act; a pretence.

He was working a case; traveling from London as Roy Hunt, the slippery, clever crook he had trailed for two weeks and arrested not forty eight hours ago. His entire being was loaded with Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself so he could do the job he was supposed to do.

But what he was doing with her at the moment was not part of the assignment.

Their lips had been on each other, hot, steamy, even before they got off the lift. There was the groping and fondling, as his hands caressed parts of her he would have never dared touch before.

He should stop; he was her best friend.

She should stop; she was getting married in two weeks.

She was getting married in two weeks to his other best friend.

His treacherous act would definitely earn him a good beating and then some, unless he could convince both friends that he was trying to keep her safe from harm.

A tall, greasy dark haired man scowled as he walked past them kissing passionately just outside her tenth floor room. Just as he suspected, 'Greasy' would try again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man disappear into a lift.

Good. He was going to leave her alone, at least for now. Once he got her inside he could tell her the truth. Maybe.

He battled with his conscience. Lying was not right but the truth would be so hard to explain. He received specific orders not to blow his cover, particularly not to her. And besides, not only was it out of character for him to pass on an attractive woman wanting to have sex with him, he didn’t really want to stop even at the expense of continuing to lie.

His senses swirled around as he got a whiff of her soft flowery scent while he left a trail of languid kisses along the length of her neck. Greatly encouraged by her involuntary positive vocal responses, there was now no denying him of the need she had stirred within; his need to hold her in his arms and do more.

Fumbling to unlock the door with her card key, they stumbled into her hotel room and she shut the door behind them, leaning on it. There was the thud of her purse as it found the floor. The momentum of their uninhibited intimacy spilled over inside the confines of the dimly lit space. His mouth quickly sought and crushed hers with a longing he never knew he had, surprised by her equally lustful response. Her arms were around his neck, clearly not wanting them to cease what they were doing. Her lips parted under his request and their tongues found each other, engaging each other, caressing each other, giving and taking, and neither seemingly getting enough. His lean muscular frame was pressed up against hers eliminating what was but a sliver of air between them. His pounding heart was going fast and he could feel the thumping of her chest against his. He reminded himself to breathe, but to do so would be to risk having that moment of sanity that was sure to put an end to what they were doing. Not only did he not want to stop, he really couldn’t.

She broke it off by necessity. He could feel her laboured breathing, as short and as shallow as his. Her shoulder length brown hair was quite dishevelled from his handling. Her brown eyes were glazed with the same raw desire he saw a few minutes ago. She was searching him, like he was her, for some sort of direction on how to proceed.

Are you sure this is what you want?

They had talked about this, earlier that night. It was a suggestion of a last fling, so she could at least experience being with someone else other than the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with. Preferably someone she did not know and someone who she would never have to know. No attachments. Just sex. Far away from where her real life was. Maybe he should remind her.

“You’re getting married in two weeks,” he finally said as he traced the outline of her face lightly with his fingers, looking deeply into her eyes. He wanted her so much but was saddened by what she doing.

She replied as she continued to look at him, “I know.”

He could hear her think and wondered what was going through her mind. Before he could ask, she slid her fingers down from his neck and began loosening his tie, determined yet trembling. It came off and disappeared from view.

She had made her decision. It was so confusing, feeling disappointed that she had compromised her ideal for something so fleeting as the casual contact she was about to engage in, but ecstatic that it was with him. Only, he knew he could have been anyone else.

“You’re getting married in two weeks,” he repeated softly into her ear, closing his eyes, shutting out the yelling voice in him that was commanding him to stop.

“Twelve days actually,” she corrected him almost whispering, slowly sliding his jacket off his shoulders and arms onto the floor. Her touch seemed to easily make it through the material of his shirt, driving him crazy.

She continued, “I don’t know you…”

Not true…you actually do…

“You don’t know me…” she said as her hands began working on the buttons of his shirt, helping him get out of it.

But I do know you…

She nibbled on his lower lip. He nibbled back; who wouldn’t? He slowly caressed her shapely body. She was as nervous as he was. Shoes were unnecessary as they made their way closer to her bed.

“No one else can know…” she reminded him as he watched and assisted her out of her black dress, revealing a most provocative lingerie that left not much to imagination, a magnet that made him want to touch her even more.

“Of course not,” he replied as they deepened their kiss, his hand, finding its way up her thigh and over her soft lacy underwear. She shivered and moaned against his lips as he slipped his fingers in and touched her. Words were not necessary beyond that.

If only she knew that since announcing their engagement six months ago, he had wanted her like this, with unimaginable lust. Not really understanding or knowing why, he couldn’t confess or do anything about it. He didn’t know what it meant; he didn’t know where this was going; he didn’t want to say anything he would regret.

He lifted her with his strong arms and took her into bed. In no time at all, she had unfastened his trousers, allowing it to come off, and saw to the loss of the remaining piece of garment he had on. She threw away all inhibition and allowed herself the pleasure of another man’s body, a stranger.

For a fleeting moment, as he pulled her lingerie off to reveal her striking nakedness save for the small black covering between her legs, a question in his mind begged to be acknowledged. How could she do this?

But it seemed that at that point, what mattered only was that she was doing it. He could lie to himself and say that this was for her, so she could get what she wanted. Or that his best friend did not deserve to marry her. But truthfully, this was now all about him; his want, his need. She was getting married in twelve days. This could be his one chance to be with her, the one time she would let her guard down and allow it. He had to quench his thirst or risk feeling this way about her for the rest of their lives.

And besides, they promised each other. Whatever happened in Toronto would stay in Toronto. She would never see Roy Hunt after tonight and there would be no need for her to know that the man she was making love with was someone else.

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Chapter 1. Murder in the Kitchens

February 7, 2007 – somewhere in the United Kingdom

It was three in the morning.

Within the hallowed walls of Hogwarts, undeniably the most prestigious school of witchcraft and wizardry in Europe, a figure in a grey cloak and hood walked in the shadows through a long corridor, coming to a halt in front of a painting of a bowl of fruit. Looking both ways and convinced that the coast was clear, a gloved hand emerged from the cloak and tickled the pear. It giggled and transformed into a door handle. He was in.

Stepping into the vast Hogwarts kitchens, he found the house-elf beside the massive brick fireplace where she usually slept in her soiled tea-cozy surrounded by bottles of butterbeer. Without hesitation, he stood right beside her and pointed his wand at the diminutive drunken figure.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The lazy orange light from the fire was briefly overpowered by an intense green flash that illuminated every crevice in the huge room of high ceilings. The figure on the floor was dead. Very dead. Working feverishly and frantically, the task was done in no time at all and he got what he came for.

It would be two hours before the death would be discovered and if he was lucky, nobody would think that it was murder.

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Ring…ring…ring…

An arm reached out onto the bedside table from within the heap of blankets and covers, trying to locate the source of the obnoxious ringing sound. She hit the snooze button on her alarm clock.

Ring…ring…ring…

Wrong one.

Reluctantly, her brown eyes peered from beneath the pillow, her bushy brown hair partially obstructing her line of sight in every direction. After several more annoying rings she finally found the wireless telephone beneath a stack of research articles.

Hermione Granger did not get much sleep.

“Hello,” her still sleepy voice said into the mouthpiece.

“Where are you!” a female voice screamed into her ear so loudly she had little doubt it had punctured her eardrum, even as she instinctively held it as far away from her as she could.

“Obviously at home where you called me,” she answered. “Did you take a dumb pill today?”

She was joking and Ginny Weasley, the person who just caused her temporary deafness, was her best friend. At the moment, Ginny had no sense of humor.

“You’re going to be late!”

Hermione looked at the clock. It was just before nine.

“I’m on holidays. How can I be…oh Merlin!” she exclaimed as she realized what she was late for.

“I’ll get him to stall but get your butt here right away!” Ginny barked like an army sergeant and hung up.

Scrambling out of bed, she went into the bathroom of her two-bedroom Downtown London flat and did the best she could to make her appear more appropriate for the occasion she was about to attend. She slipped out of her pajamas, grabbed the first clean business ensemble she could get her hands on, and took her green dress robe from the closet, donning it. She ran to her office desk and grabbed the stack of papers she had worked on last night just before Disapparating to an alley very close to the dingy street where the Ministry Visitor’s Entrance was located.

Getting into the red broken down phone box, she quickly dialed 62442. A sweet welcoming voice from within the booth said, “State your business.”

“Hermione Granger, witness for the Centaur trial.”

She took the silver badge with her name on it, disgusted as she read the purpose of her visit that was printed on it. Some things were just difficult to change.

Half-breed Trial Witness.

As she got to the 8th Level Atrium, she registered her wand with security and got on one of the lifts to take her to Level Nine. She passed through the Department of Mysteries, waved back briefly to a seemingly daydreaming witch she knew from Hogwarts and hurriedly went down the flight of stairs to Level 10 through the dark corridor. At the very end, she finally reached Courtroom Ten and saw her red-headed friend pacing nervously.

“It’s about time,” Ginny quickly ushered her through the packed courtroom and sat her right behind a familiar tall, blonde man. He turned around briefly and she met his warm gray eyes. He smiled at her. She smiled back. Hermione felt Ginny roll her eyes up towards the ceiling. They will have to talk about this later.

“Magorian, it doesn’t matter that you do not recognize the authority of this court,” Draco Malfoy explained. He was the Wizengamot appointed counsel, which was now required in any proceedings involving non-magical or non-wizard beings. “They will decide your fate.”

“No. My fate has been decided long before any of us in this room was born,” the fair haired centaur said calmly, looking at the ensemble of wizards and witches that made up the Wizengamot. “It is foolish for humans to think that what they do actually affects destiny.”

One of the members, an old witch who looked like she had not slept in ages, spoke up, “Mr. Malfoy, if you have no further witnesses…”

“I do have one more,” Draco looked at Hermione with a look of desperation in his eyes. She guessed that things weren’t going their way. “Healer Hermione Granger.”

“The Wizengamot acknowledges the presence of Healer Hermione Granger,” announced the witch who was taking notes on the proceedings.

Hermione stood up and walked to the podium right beside Magorian, who merely shook his head. Magorian, leader of the centaur herd in the Forbidden Forest, was accused of murdering fellow centaur Firenze a week ago. The trial before the Wizengamot was to decide whether or not he was guilty and if so, whether or not he should be sent to Azkaban or receive a Dementor’s kiss.

“Miss Granger, in what capacity are you involved in this case,” one of the younger wizards asked.

“I was approached by Society for the Protection of Magical Beings to review the forensic evidence surrounding the death of the centaur Firenze,” she replied, leaving out the part that she was allowed access to Firenze’s remains only for an hour late last night and the trial had been moved up two days. “My findings are clear. Magorian is innocent.”

A neckless, squat witch with a high pitched voice spoke, “Our own forensic wizards have gone over the evidence. What qualifications do you possess over and above them that make you better?”

Her temper flared as she saw Dolores Umbridge emerge from the shadows. In ten years, Umbridge had managed to climb her way back up the Ministry ranks and into the Wizengamot. With Magorian there, throwing in some trees would probably bring back some scary memories. Hermione did tell Draco she could be discredited as a witness because forensics wasn’t her field.

“Common sense,” she retorted, civilly, hoping Umbridge’s objections wouldn’t gain support from the rest of the Wizengamot. She signaled Ginny to give the report she had written up early that morning to the courtroom recorder, who distributed it to the members. “The details are all on the report but there are three main points that proves Magorian did not murder Firenze.”

Hermione came up with the points at three in the morning and it took a couple of hours to put a report together. She looked around the packed courtroom. No, not in public, not yet. Draco had just read her report and agreed.

He spoke to the Wizengamot, “Before Miss Granger goes through this report, I most humbly suggest that in the interest of protecting the integrity of future investigations, the remaining proceedings should be sealed from public access.”

There was considerable malcontent within the courtroom as a lion like figure, the Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour, pounded a gavel briskly until some order was restored. After hushed discussions among the elders, it was decided to clear the courtroom.

“Proceed, Miss Granger,” Scrimgeour said to her after the front doors were closed behind the last spectator.

She took out her wand and conjured a white screen to illustrate her points better, projecting a picture of Firenze’s dead body zooming onto the bruising on his torso.

“Point one. The hoof marks found on the victim do not belong to Magorian or any centaur for that matter. Notice that patterns on the victim are much bigger than the hoof print taken off Magorian. They were not caused by centaur hoofs but are consistent with that made by the hind legs of a Thestral, maybe two.”

As drawings were superimposed onto the picture of the mark on Firenze’s chest, there were murmurs of agreement amongst the body of elders.

“Point two. The arrow that pierced his chest was not centaur in origin. There was an attempt to conceal it with magic but it took no time at all to make it reappear. Notice the markings on the wooden shaft. Definitely Muggle.”

In fine print, the arrow had on it Made in China.

“And point three. Your expert identified cause of death as internal bleeding due to the arrow head puncturing the heart. That’s impossible,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

“And why is that?” it was Umbridge who was now red in the face.

“Because when I examined the victim, he did not have a heart. As a matter of fact, he did not have lungs, or liver, or kidneys, or intestines. Even his brain matter was missing.”

There was uproar in the courtroom. The Minister pounded the gavel repeatedly. Hermione looked over to Ginny and Draco. Both had puzzled and surprised looks on their faces. Even Magorian looked at her with keen interest.

“What happened to them?” an unidentified witch asked from the back.

“That’s what the Ministry needs to find out,” she replied, or at least someone else with more intelligence. “There were no other scars or injuries on the victim which would only mean that someone used magic to take his organs out. I suspect a killing curse was used on him. A wizard or a witch should be the one on trial here. Magorian should be released.”

The buzzing amongst the Wizengamot made it necessary for the Minister to bang his gavel again.

“Order!” he finally calmed them down. “Let’s put this to a vote.”

The show of hands that followed was overwhelmingly in Magorian’s favor with the notable abstention of one really malicious witch. The elders started filing out of the courtroom.

“Young lady,” Magorian addressed her just before he left, “I would thank you if not for our belief that I would have been set free regardless of what you and your friends have done for me.”

Hermione nodded, understanding that it was as close to an appreciation as they would get.

Magorian paused briefly and continued, “We do not get involved. Despite our differences, Firenze was one of us and he was a dear friend. I trust that you will do what you can to find his heart, even if just a piece of it, and put it back where it belongs. He would want that.”

“Of course,” she replied as the centaur trotted out.

“What did he mean by that,” Ginny asked her.

“A few centuries back, centaurs were subject to a lot of human scrutiny. Healers were tasked to document their anatomy for study,” Hermione explained, “We did it the only way we knew how, take them apart. Anyway, to make a long story short, it is their belief that the centaurs who were used for those experiments never made it to their rightful final resting place in the heavens because they were without hearts when they were laid to rest. The dimwit who examined Firenze’s body, knew not to cut him up, but he should have looked more closely. This could have been easily missed.”

“Why would someone want his organs in the first place, and try to cover it up?” Draco asked.

“That is the question, isn’t it,” Ginny said sarcastically. Hermione knew that Ginny, despite needing to work with Draco on this case, had only utmost distrust for him.

Of course, Hermione could understand why Ginny couldn’t trust the person who, at Hogwarts years ago, stood for a lot of the things they fought and continued to fight against. If not for Draco being the only volunteer counsel available for appointment by the Wizengamot, Ginny would have refused to work with him. Actually, never in Hermione’s wildest imagination had she thought she would ever exchange sincere smiles with the individual who had a lot to do with the murder of Professor Albus Dumbledore.

But Draco Malfoy had changed a lot since Hogwarts. At six feet tall, he had filled out quite well and had an imposing presence in any room he walked into. His pale blonde hair was cut short in a way that made him look almost ordinary and his grey eyes were no longer cold or clouded, but unguarded and inviting. Hermione had been able to see his each and every genuine emotion through them in the days that they spent working on the case.

The change was not just physical. It was as if he was a different person altogether. After Voldemort’s defeat, he lost his father to the Dementors and his mother took him to the United States for a couple of years. Hermione guessed the transformation started then. Since working with him more closely on the Magorian trial a week ago, she was surprised at how he was able to turn his whole life around, no longer living and breathing hatred but showing compassion and understanding. As a testament to this, Ginny’s caustic comment was met, not with anger, but with self restrain and, she could sense, frustration at him.

She was about to attempt to deflect the tension by pointing out that their team had just freed an ungrateful centaur when they were interrupted by a distinct recognizable sound.

“Ehem,” she knew it was Umbridge even before they turned to the voice. What could she possibly want from them.

“Miss Umbridge,” Ginny started in a mocking tone, “I see you’re still on your campaign against the inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest.”

Since getting her position back at the Ministry, Umbridge had taken every opportunity to rid Hogwarts of its non-human residents; a personal crusade.

“And I see you and Miss Granger are still wasting your time trying to protect them,” she replied back and turned to Draco, “As for you, Mr. Malfoy, I am sorely disappointed that you have fraternized with such poor company. I was reading the Skeeter article about you and Miss Granger yesterday. I must say, your poor mother must be rolling in her grave. It’s truly tragic.”

Ginny interjected so only Hermione would hear, “Yeah, tragic indeed. She’s not the only one rolling in her grave.”

Draco replied, “I apologize for disappointing you. But I am surprised. I certainly didn’t think someone as busy as you had time to engage in gossip.”

Hermione swore steam was blowing out of Umbridge’s ears as she walked away. They laughed and as it died down, Draco turned to her and said, “I have to go, Muggle hearing in an hour. I’ll pick you up tonight to celebrate. Dinner. Is seven okay?”

“I’ll see you then,” she answered him, ignoring Ginny’s glare.

“What are you doing?” Ginny finally asked to release some of the tension from her obvious disapproval of what was happening.

“It’s only dinner,” Hermione replied. It was, really.

“And the other night was only a kiss.”

“Yes. I would have preferred our first one not being displayed on the Daily Prophet but unfortunately I can’t control everything.”

The other night after their third date, she thought it considerate of him to ask her if he could, before leaning over and kissing her. She could tell he was nervous; she was too. And the three second or so kiss they had, having no expectations whatsoever, was enjoyable.

“Knowing Malfoy, he probably had something to do with that,” her friend, a skeptic forever.

“Now, stop that,” she chastised Ginny. That was really a low blow.

“How do you do it, anyway? How can you look at him and not remember his past?”

That was a really good question. It was not easy but she had to do it to be able to work with him on the case. First, she had to get rid of the images of him calling her ‘Mudblood’. Then the memories of him leading up to Professor Dumbledore’s death had to be set aside. Finally, she decided not to think about him as the Draco they knew at Hogwarts. It was like trying to get to know someone new.

“He has changed. He’s not the same person. That’s how.”

“I just don't buy it. This isn’t another one of your lost causes, is it?”

Ginny was referring to the fact that the Malfoy name had lost considerable influence in the Wizarding community and that no wise witch would choose to be with a nobody like Draco.

“No. But if it is, so what? It isn’t that I have anything else to do.”

“You’re going to get hurt,” that was Ginny’s warning ever since she told her about going out with him.

“There is always that possibility if you put yourself out there, right? You shouldn’t worry,” Hermione tried to play it down. “If I do get hurt, it can’t hurt as badly as it did the last time.”

With that last thought, a sudden deep sharp pain came from within her chest, like an old scar being forcibly ripped apart, lemon juice poured all over the fresh jagged edges.

Well, she certainly hoped not.

2. An Unexpected Message

February 7, 2007 – Somewhere in Toronto, Ontario, Canada

He saw him. It was definitely him. There was no mistaking the back of his slimy black hair as the tall, lanky man turned the corner into a blind alley just east of Dundas and Spadina.

Weaving in and out the sidewalk, he tried to avoid bumping into the mostly Asian crowd of pedestrians going about their usual Chinatown shopping and the vending carts that overflowed from within the stores. He was determined not to lose Greasy this time.

As he got to the alley he broke into a sprint; his heart pounding and his wand ready in his hand. He had waited months to do this. Not ten feet from where he stopped was his adversary with his back turned, facing high walls all around him. Finally, he had him cornered and he could give this lowlife what he deserved. There was no way out except through him.

“Turn around, slowly,” he commanded, prepared for anything that might come his way.

Then he heard laughter; mocking, uncontrollable laughter. It soaked the air and filled his head. And as Greasy turned around he transformed; black to flaming red hair, grey to blue eyes, freckles cropping up on his face.

He heard him say in a chilling voice, “Quid pro quo, Potter. Consider us even.”

Beep…beep…beep…

It was just the usual nightmare. A hand reached down on the floor and grabbed a pager from amongst the pile of clothes, shutting off the alarm. It was 4:00a.m.

Harry Potter was in a strange place, with a naked woman whose name escaped him at that moment. He wished he could explain the memory loss to the blinding pain coming from the faded lightning shaped scar on his forehead. But it wasn’t that; he remembered now. Last night, they dispensed with the formality of introducing themselves to each other.

As he was dressing himself she woke briefly and asked him, “Am I going to see you again?”

He was clear about this last night but sometimes, they still asked. He looked at her, and answered truthfully, “No.”

She nodded, understanding, not upset by his answer, “Please lock the front door on your way out.”

A cursory okay later, he stepped out of her bedroom and Dissaparated to his leased Downtown townhome, knowing the Muggle locked the door herself the night before.

Inside his bedroom, he undressed again, stepped into the shower and turned it on, but not before glancing over at the now dated Daily Prophet laid out on the marble kitchen counter just as he had left it last night, on the Socials Section.

It was accidental, his stumbling onto the article by Rita Skeeter. He normally did not read the Socials but as he was turning pages the image of her caught his eye. Seeing the rest of the picture made him see blood red.

So, she was going out with Malfoy. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around that idea. The beautifully written piece by Skeeter about her and their changed former Hogwarts classmate in the Daily Prophet was, well, surprising. Actually so shocking it blew his mind out and ripped his already tattered heart into smaller pieces.

Why Malfoy?

Dean had been cryptic when he called on him by Floo, quite unhappy that it was midnight his time. Dean Thomas was a Hit Wizard, his ex-partner and was the only person he had regular contact with from his previous life.

While Harry and Dean spoke or owled each other as needed and talked about almost everything and everyone, they almost always never talked about Hermione. That was Dean’s conscious choice, telling him that he should Floo or owl her himself.

“Harry? Do you have a clue what time it is?”

He was whispering, no, hissing, at him.

“Sorry. Do you have company?”

“Don’t even ask me as if you really care if I do! This better be good!”

“I read the Prophet Socials.”

“Why? Did somebody tear off the Sports Page?”

He was often funny; caustic but funny.

“You never told me she was seeing Malfoy.”

“I never thought you’d be interested.”

He is so funny.

“Is this for real?”

“No, it’s one big prank and that’s why they featured it in the Prophet.”

“Dean!”

“Look, I’m tired, I’m sleepy, and I have a woman in my bed who still wants to cuddle. Let me be quick. I know this must seem like an urgent matter to you but you should have seen it coming. How long has it been since you last spoke to her? When you left for Toronto,right? She did not take a vow of celibacy.”

“But Malfoy?”

“They’ve only been out three times! And he’s changed man.”

Harry took a breath. Once was one too many. Sure, it was now ten years after Hogwarts but he would be the last person to believe Malfoy was a changed man. His entire being was revolted at the thought of Malfoy touching her, much less seeing that picture of them kissing just outside her flat.

“Can I give you some advice?”

No need to answer. He was getting it anyway.

“Write her, talk to her, and ask her how she is.”

He had one problem.

“She won’t talk to me or read any of my letters.”

“When was the last time you tried? Months ago?” he was getting impatient with him.

“Last week, actually. Muggle Post.”

He did not share with Dean that it came back unopened with ‘return to sender’ in her handwriting.

“Oh,” Dean replied, surprised, “Well, you’ll just have to try harder. I don’t know what exactly happened there in Toronto and I know not to ask anymore but whatever it was, it can’t be that bad.”

Harry didn’t think it was that bad either but it was a matter of opinion. And besides, it wasn’t so much about what happened in Toronto but more about what happened after.

He sent her that letter last week. It was a long winded apology, something he had said to her before, but hoping that she would be more receptive to it after all this time. No such luck. He could not believe that it was almost a year now since it happened. He could not believe she was seeing Malfoy of all people. And he couldn’t understand how she could allow that to happen. After all the evil things Malfoy had done, he was baffled that she could even consider talking to him, much less allow a picture of him kissing her in the Daily Prophet.

Incensed and hurt, he somehow found his way to a nearby Muggle bar and picked up the first brunette just interested in a one night stand. It was either that or smash in some poor blonde man’s face.

Harry was too late. With her, he was always too late. She was moving on and he really should let her go. And as the warm shower continued to roll down from his jet black hair onto his face, it masked and washed away the tears that erupted from deep within him, fuelled by an overwhelming despair that there were things he could not fix and events he could not change. It was excruciatingly painful knowing that he was about to lose her, and lose her to such a scumbag; a scumbag that in her eyes was more deserving of her company than he was. That spoke a lot about how she still felt about him.

It took him a long time but he finally realized that he loved her. He never really knew how much he needed her everyday of his life until she wasn’t there for him anymore. It was simple, really. He loved her. She hated him. Rephrase that; she didn’t actually use the word ‘hate’. It was more like she would rather not have him around and not talk to him. And she had good reason. It was a hard lesson to learn that in life, sometimes, you don’t get an opportunity to redeem yourself.

He was delusional. There was no chance in hell he could be with her. His ‘act of chivalry’ made that a certainty. He had no right to be jealous. Revolted maybe, because it was Malfoy, but not jealous. Right now, he could settle for her forgiveness and her friendship. Indirectly, he hoped that if he succeeded in what he was in Toronto for, it would bring about the prospect of redemption and make it conceivable for her to be able to stay in the same room with him. He missed talking to her and he missed talking to Ron.

After some time, he finally got out of the shower, emotionally spent and feeling a tad better than before he went in. His pager went off. Good. Work, to get his mind off it. He was on-call for Muggle related emergencies.

Normally not part of an Auror’s job description, reality was the Toronto Magical Law Enforcement Agency was perennially short staffed due to migration south of the border, where pay and weather were generally better. There was also the fact that the resurgence of Dark Arts in the recent months resulted in early retirements. The Ministry needed more staff urgently. The Ministry knew this and unfortunately, so did the witches and wizards who embraced the Dark Arts. Toronto was fast becoming the magical crime capital of the world.

Harry’s official status in the Toronto was visiting Auror. In actuality, it was more like overstaying foreign Auror. The staff shortage allowed for an oversight of the fact that he should have left after six weeks. His work permit, initially renewed every ten days, was now extended indefinitely. It was approved on his insistence by the Head Aurors of Toronto and London, the latter signing with significant resistance.

Harry read the information on his pager.

A Muggle loony bin, he thought to himself as he read the address. The last time he got called to one he and his partner ended up having to Obliviate half the night staff. Hopefully this was a false alarm.

He dressed quickly and Disapparated to the Toronto Centre for Mental Health at Queen and Ossington. He was met at the sidewalk by a woman in her early thirties, with long blonde hair under a red toque and blue eyes peering through the top of a flowing red scarf.

Andrea Marsh was the person who had the misfortune of having to put up with him for the past year. At five feet ten, Andy was almost as tall as Harry, and had a most disarming smile many have been fooled by their disbelief that she was an Auror. There was a rumour in the office that a younger version of her had won the Miss Canadian Witch title years ago. Anyone caught repeating said rumour was definitely a dead wizard or witch if she found them out.

An expletive greeted him. Did he mention the foul mouth that she had under stress or with sleep deprivation? She was not a morning person. It did take some time before he got used to hearing such colourful language from someone with her good looks. Like him, she was bundled up in layers of winter clothing. It was minus twenty degrees Celsius outdoors and he felt every bit of the biting cold as they walked toward the entrance.

“A good morning to you, too,” he replied.

“No. A good morning at fucking four o’clock is only appropriate if you’ve had sex with the person you’re saying it to and it was good.”

“Okay,” Harry actually enjoyed her company; he found her amusing, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Did you memorize the article by heart?” she jibed seeing that he still had the same expression she left him with at the Auror Office hours ago. She knew he was that pathetic.

“Muggle Lawyer-Solicitor and Magical Being Rights Activist Draco Malfoy has finally cured celebrated Healer Hermione Granger of her year old heartache,” he recited the first line to her from memory.

Not by choice, Harry had to tell Andy about Hermione a few months ago. Sick and tired of his constant foul mood, his partner had taken matters into her own hands and started forcing him to go on dates. It was funny really, that after all his five dates reported back to Andy that Harry was a perfect gentleman, the sixth one she had him date was a man. He definitely had to put an end to that. She was the only person in Toronto he ever discussed his past with and did not approve of what she termed as his ‘laid back’ approach. Harry did not tell her the entire story.

“Take some time off and see her,” Andy suggested a common theme with his former partner. “She can’t not talk to you if you’re there.”

She could if she chose not to. Andy did not know Hermione well. In his six trips to London since he started working in Toronto, she made sure their paths did not cross once.

“I’ll talk to Jack,” he answered, referring to their boss, Jack Muller. Harry did decide after his conversation with Dean that he had to try something else and it would mean going against her wishes. At their last conversation she was clear when she asked him to leave her alone. Yup. Give her something else to be pissed about. And, of course, it had to be done soon, hopefully to get some sense into her head about why she should stop dating Draco Malfoy. How he was going to convince her of that he had not figured out yet.

They walked the remainder of the path to the hospital entrance in silence. Having been there before, they knew exactly where to go on the 5th floor where the page came from. Harry and Andy had an understanding that he was lead on any call before ten in the morning and after ten at night.

“Hi,” he said to the night nurse at the station as both he and Andy unzipped their coats. “I’m Dr. James, this is my associate Dr. Lillian. We were paged.”

The night nurse, Doris, surveyed them with suspicion for a good couple of minutes before buzzing them into the high security area.

“Room 538.”

“Geez, somebody should get Doris some medication,” Andy said to him from the corner of her mouth as soon as the nurse was out of earshot, causing him to smile.

The long hallway was dimly lit by a few fluorescent bulbs. The rooms they passed were mostly occupied by sleeping patients, and on occasion, sleeping hospital staff. Room 538 was at the very end of the corridor.

A stocky elderly man with thinning grey hair in a white lab coat greeted them in a hushed voice.

“Dr. James?” the man inquired. Doris must have informed him of their arrival.

He nodded, extending a handshake. He introduced his partner.

“Dr. Smitherman,” he shook their hands, “I’m so glad you could come.”

Without wasting time, he led them into the room and at the bedside of the lone patient occupying it. Sitting on the bed in a somewhat reclined position was a young woman, probably no more than eighteen years old, with pale skin and curly brown hair, brown eyes wide open and seemingly in a trance. Her arms were on her side, her fists were clenched tight and she did not blink or turn to them when they entered. Brown hair and brown eyes and aptly named.

“She’s our resident Jane Doe, been with us for almost a month. No one has come to pick her up or ask about her. She was found in a somewhat similar state just a couple of blocks from here and was brought in by a Good Samaritan because we’re the closest hospital. To make a long story short, she’s been turfed around the city, nothing seems physically wrong with her, but she does meet criteria for catatonia so she ended up here.”

Andy had been fidgeting throughout this monologue. Harry nodded to her so she could ask her question, “If she’s been here for weeks, what’s the emergency?”

“I was doing some tests on her, trying to measure electrical activity in her brain as familiar objects are placed in her hand,” Smitherman explained, “When she suddenly responded for the first time to one of the objects amongst her personal effects.”

“Next time, best test her when the rest of the normal world is awake,” Andy muttered under her breath, still quite unhappy being dragged to what seemingly was an unimportant call.

Harry, on the other hand, was eyeing a polished piece of reddish brown wood, about ten inches long, sitting on top of her bedside table. A wand.

“Is that the object she responded to?” he motioned.

The doctor nodded, “It looks like a drum stick but missing its pair. She must be a musician or knows one. A lot of struggling artists from across the country sometimes find their way in Toronto seeking fame and fortune and end up with nothing. I’m not surprised if she’s one of them.”

Andy caught on and asked, “What exactly happens when she touches it?”

“This.”

Smitherman placed the wand in Jane Doe’s right hand and a sudden gust of cool wind filled the walls of the windowless room. There was also unmistakably a faint light at its tip. Andy looked at him. They were in agreement. Jane Doe was a witch.

There was a definite need to alter a memory and persuade the good doctor to part with his patient. Harry slowly reached into his jacket pocket and took his wand out.

“Dr. Smitherman,” Harry spoke, after muttering an incantation, “You’re going to release Jane Doe to us tonight and will have no recollection whatsoever of us ever meeting.”

“Of course,” the Muggle doctor signed the release papers which magically appeared on his clipboard and left them with Jane Doe.

Harry quickly gathered her personal belongings as Andy magically dressed her in warmer apparel, in preparation for Apparition to the Downtown Toronto Hospital for Magical Illnesses and Injuries. With Harry being the more magically endowed between the two of them, Andy knew Side-along Disapparition would be safer for Jane Doe if she travelled with him.

“What about Doris?” he asked Andy.

“Let’s leave her. She seems batty enough to not be believable,” she replied.

As Harry took a hold of the young woman’s right arm which still held her wand, Jane Doe suddenly grabbed his hand, her entire body shaking, her eyes rolled up with just its whites visible. And a deep, earthy voice came from within her sending shivers up his spine.

“Help…Ron…waiting…forest…hill…four… five…five…hurry…no time…must haste…set him free…save her…”

And her grip loosened as the words stopped. Harry and Andy stared at each other in silence, trying to think about what just happened. Further attempts to get her to talk failed. This was bizarre.

“A seer?” he asked his partner, right in front of their expressionless and immobile company, thinking about his similar experience with a former Divination teacher. But what she said was not a prediction. It was more an instruction. It was confusing.

“Maybe. Or maybe, momentarily possessed,” Andy suggested and continued. “Four five five and she said to hurry. It is 4:40 now, if she means this God forsaken hour. But what forest is she talking about? Maybe High Park, that’s the biggest one close by. Do you know any Ron who could be in trouble?”

Harry was deep in thought, still trying to dissect Jane Doe’s message. He was hoping that after all this time, he finally had a break. Maybe the gibberish meant nothing but he was at a point when he was willing to go after any lead, no matter how crazy it was.

“I only know one Ron so I don’t think she means right now.”

His partner fell silent, now as perplexed as he was. She knew the one Ron that he meant. And because she did, she knew that Ronald Weasley was not in any imminent danger because he had been dead for close to a year.

3. The Tale of the Fruit Smoothie

Chapter 3. The Tale of the Fruit Smoothie

Officially, she was on holidays but Hermione spent the rest of the day working away in her office at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. There was tedious paperwork to complete, research papers to write, grants to submit, proposals to review and going ‘away’ on vacation was about the only way she could get most of it done.

After Voldemort’s demise it was quite clear to her what it was she wanted to do for the rest of her life. It was peacetime; life for wizards and witches was back to the ‘good’ kind of normal. After graduating from Hogwarts, Hermione chose to attend the Dilys Derwent Academy of Healing and in three years time, she was staff Healer at St. Mungo’s.

While healing was her duty and she was adept at it, research was her passion. Early in her tenure, she quickly established herself as a forward thinking Healer who recognized opportunities to improve curative practice. Her most recent work of redesigning common potions in use was known through out the world and garnered her accolades from the International Healers Association (IHA).

She was invited to the Annual Symposium of Magical Researchers in Toronto, to speak about her work but had to decline for personal reasons. The Chief Healer of IHA, Lana Hama, sent her a personal note mentioning that the Healing Mission she had signed up for that was booked months ago and to take place at the same time as the conference was indeed more important than any speaking engagement. The invitation to speak was extended to the following year.

Actually, several fellow Healers had volunteered to go to the Mission instead of her. She wondered what lame excuse she could come up with for next year’s meeting. Hopefully by then, the organizers would have gained the common sense to move the conference somewhere else. In her opinion, the crazy person who came up with the idea to hold the meetings every year in Toronto during winter ought to be sent to Azkaban for cruelty to fellow researchers.

The absolute truth was Hermione would rather not go to Toronto ever again.

A knock on her door interrupted her. A short, mousy haired man appeared from behind the door. It was her research assistant, a Hogwarts schoolmate and fellow Gryffindor.

Dennis Creevey looked younger for his young age. He looked not a day over twenty and while elsewhere this may have been a good thing, this was a bane because a lot of witches and wizards in research thought him too young to take his ideas seriously. Unemployed and desperate, he came to her begging for work. She hired him a couple of months ago for his bubbly exuberance and unlimited energy, to replace her former assistant who had gotten married and decided the hustle and bustle that was the pace Hermione worked at was not going to work for her.

“Strawberry and banana,” Dennis said as he came in with a tall glass filled with a pinkish concoction and gave it to Hermione.

“Thanks, I was about to get one,” she said to him, taking and sipping from it. Fruit smoothies, she found out, was their shared vice. In her lab, they had set up a blender in their mini-kitchen and their fridge was stocked with fresh fruit all the time. Dennis made sure of that. They would sometimes joke that that was the real reason she hired him. She figured she could work and get along with anyone who had a passion for fruit smoothies.

“Are you sure you’re not going to Toronto?” he was one of those who thought her insane to decline.

“Toronto or Mexico, should I really take time to think it over? I’m packed for warm weather and I leave in three days.”

Aside from the three afternoons she was to spend in clinics for the underprivileged, she was actually looking forward to some mornings on the beach, under the sun, reviewing research proposals…

“If you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” she interrupted. Definitely not.

“Mexico does sound like more fun,” Dennis replied. He was going to Toronto. “I have to meet Colin at the theatre. He found us dates. You don’t mind if I leave early today, do you?”

Colin Creevey was his brother, also a Hogwarts alumnus.

She shrugged, “Not if I’m not really here.”

“Thanks!”

A blur later Hermione was certain he had left. His interruption had forced her mind to go into a break, no compulsion to continue until she had savoured the last bit of the smoothie in her hand. Strawberry and banana smoothies used to be her favourite and it had been a while since she made one.

She remembered exactly when and where she made it last. It was about a year ago, in his kitchen.

xxxxxxxxxxx

February 11, 2006 – The Phoenix Towers in Downtown London

In pink pyjamas and bunny slippers, she walked without a sound down the corridor and settled in front of Suite 1808, a grocery bag in one hand and a wand in the other.

“Alohomora!”

Hermione let herself into Harry’s apartment knowing he was working the night shift and quickly disabled his home magical security devices. It was six in the morning and she needed to borrow his blender, emergently. The one she and Ron had in their place three doors down had processed its last smoothie and had gone to blender heaven.

She started emptying the ingredients into his blender, going through the recipe in her mind.

Vanilla yoghurt…

Skim milk…

Ten pieces fresh strawberries…

She paused, thinking she heard something. After a moment of silence she continued.

Two bananas chopped in small portions…

As she was about the peel the second one, she heard a noise again and it was coming from within his bedroom. This time it persisted.

Her pulse quickened. A burglar? But it sounded like someone was in agony. She grasped her wand tightly in one hand as she approached his bedroom cautiously, praying that she could still remember how to duel. She had not been in one since the day Voldemort was killed millenniums ago. Hoping to find out more about what she was going to be up against, she leaned and lightly pressed her ear against his door and heard something she really didn’t expect.

“Harry, oh, yes…yes, right there…”

He was in there, with a woman. A moaning and groaning woman. There was more panic within her than earlier. This could be very embarrassing, for all of them. At least it would be for her.

“Ahhhh…Harry!”

She hastily pushed herself away from the bedroom door, already thinking about a quick exit, only to realize too late that what she was leaning against had been ajar all along. The door flung wide open, causing her to loose her balance and fall on her hands and knees onto the floor of his bedroom, startling Harry and his companion on his bed in a, um, compromising position.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” her face felt flushed as she quickly apologized, trying her best not to look at him as she got up. It was hard. No, she didn’t mean his…, though she kind of looked and it was. What she meant was it was difficult, considering it was simply bad manners to not look someone in the eye when apologizing, but where else does one look…

“Hermione, what are you doing here?” Harry sounded miffed and had grabbed one of the fluffy pillows to cover himself as the woman had taken all the sheets and pulled them up against her chest.

“So you’re Hermione,” the woman said, as if she discovered the answer to some mystery.

Hermione did not notice as she continued to talk to Harry, still unable to look him in the eye so she stared at the pillow in front of him instead, “I just wanted to borrow your…”

No, don’t look there either! He must think you’re a pervert trying to see through that! Try somewhere else, like your hands. Why are you holding a…

“Banana.”

Huh? In her haste to check out the noise she had forgotten to put down the banana that she had in her other hand.

What did you just say?

“You wanted to borrow my what?” she heard him ask, not noticing he was as red in the face as she was.

The woman, who she hoped did not know her at work or socially, was laughing hysterically.

“I meant your blender. To blend…the banana with some strawberries…Harry, pillow…lower please. But I’m going to leave now,” she was rambling on, backing up and just become acutely conscious that she was brandishing the banana, “Again, sorry for the interruption. Um…continue…I mean, if you’re not done yet… unless you are done but you want to do it again…in that case, you should, but…”

Harry kind of saved her but a bit too late, “Hermione, it’s okay. Don’t say anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she waved at the still laughing woman who waved back.

Stop waving the banana! She left his bedroom, shutting the door behind her, exhaled and tried to tidy up his counter top as quickly as she could so she could leave. Before she could finish and just as she was about to empty his blender, Harry came out from his bedroom and joined her.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” he stated the obvious.

He was barefoot, clad in worn out jeans and an orange shirt with a Chudley Cannon’s symbol on it. It was probably one of his team issue ones from when he was their Seeker some years back. An image of his nakedness just a few brief minutes ago replaced the real Harry and she wondered if that was going to be a recurrent problem.

“I think more so for me than anyone else in that room,” Hermione stopped cleaning up and replied sheepishly looking into his emerald eyes, which hopefully would not be as distracting. They were always warm and kind but lately guarded, especially when they talked. Even their talks since her engagement to Ron six months ago were few and far between.

Sometimes she wondered if there was something troubling him and was tempted to ask. She would eventually talk herself out of it. He did not need a mother. She wasn’t his mother. He made that clear years ago. He said he would ask for her help if he needed it. And she was probably imagining things. They were probably just too busy.

She continued, jokingly saying in a low voice thinking the woman might overhear, “My God, Harry, what were you doing with that poor woman?!”

“Actually, I was just asking myself the same thing,” he answered her rhetorical question and Hermione felt a sudden sorrow wash over him. Whatever it was it was painful. His eyes momentarily said it all.

Before she could ask him what he meant, footsteps made them both turn to his girlfriend who was now fully clothed.

“I’m going,” she said to them, more to him.

With the brighter lights in the living area, the woman did not look like what Hermione expected. She was about a head shorter than Harry, a decent but imperfect figure, with dark brown hair and black eyes, and from how she dressed, a career person. She was not the leggy beautiful model type he usually went for. Maybe, he was aiming for a bit of variety last night.

“It was nice meeting you, Hermione,” the woman said.

She couldn’t really say the feeling was mutual. It bugged Hermione that she knew her (Hermione’s) name and without knowing her name, there was only one thing to say.

“Bye.”

Meeting a Harry Potter girlfriend was among her least favourite experiences as it almost always brought about a mixture of contrasting emotions within her. There was hoping that he finally found the one that he was going to stick with; that was a long shot knowing Harry chose ones he knew would not last. Then, she always thought whoever it was they were not good enough for him; she was always right. There was also the frustration that Harry did not seem to want to change his ways and her feeling insecure each time she found out he had a different girl. The latter was an emotion carried over from years ago that she dared not introspect too much about, preferring to let sleeping dogs lie.

Hermione watched as Harry walked her to the door, feeling sad for him. Maybe it was pity. Maybe both. The fact that he had not introduced them confirmed she was a one-nighter.

She objected to Harry’s risky dating practice and that was not the only thing she disliked about the Harry that came back to London after a year with the Cannons. For if somebody asked her what went wrong with Harry Potter after Voldemort’s death, she would answer, ‘Quidditch’. Or more specifically, professional Quidditch.

With Voldemort no longer in the picture and Hogwarts a thing of the past, Harry and Ron had the same decision to make about the rest of their lives as she did. While it seemed that both were waiting for the other to decide what to do, it was a harder decision for Harry to make. The attention around his career choice was overwhelming and it worried her at that time that he would just get fed up with everything and not make a decision at all. If only everyone would leave him alone.

The choices available for a hero was boundless and he could have done anything that he wanted. Ron did too by extension. It came down to attending Auror Academy, which was thought to be the natural choice for someone who defeated the Darkest Wizard of their time, or joining any one of the fifteen professional Quidditch teams interested in acquiring the biggest draw in history imaginable. They went after him and Ron. It was really pathetic what grown wizards and witches are capable of doing particularly if it had something to do with Quidditch.

Ron and Harry had asked for her opinion and her answer was always to follow their hearts. Sure, she could have listed for them the pros and cons of all the choices, but ultimately, they had to trust how they felt.

Finally, they chose Quidditch. She did not feel they made the wrong decision. There were not a lot of Dark Wizards to catch anymore and Harry pointed out that after seven years of Voldemort, he needed a break at least. She totally understood what he was saying. Despite that, Hermione had a feeling that Harry was swayed towards Quidditch because of Ron; they were being offered unimaginable salaries and Harry was very sensitive of Ron’s family not having enough all the time.

And of course, it was a no-brainer that they would sign up on the same team. Their choice was Ron’s favourite, the Chudley Cannons, the worst team in all of Europe for a number of years with naturally the worst spectator attendance. They had a new owner and their revamped motto was to ‘win a cup at all cost or if not, get rich trying’. Having Harry Potter on the team was a guarantee the latter would happen. And to make the offer difficult to refuse, both Harry and Ron were going to be starters for the new look Cannons.

The downside was she would not get to see much of them as they trained, travelled and competed all over Europe. After years of tension and seemingly pushed by their impending separation, Ron finally confessed his love for her. Why he would pick such a time to do this was beyond her but she had been expecting it for quite a while. Harry’s seemingly annoyed reaction to it was a bit unexpected but then she figured that what they crammed into the one week they had together before Ron was to leave would have robbed anyone of their sensibility. They were probably less shy about the physical aspect of their relationship around Harry.

After three months at training camp, their rookie season finally started and was fraught with challenges, to say the least. First of all, with six teenagers on the starting team, they were really no good. They were overpowered and outwitted by the more experienced teams. It took five games for Harry to catch the Snitch and he was just so happy he found it, he did not realize that they were so far behind, they actually lost the game. They lost their first ten games by huge margins.

Hermione tried to be at their games as much as her schedule would permit to be supportive and Ron had always said having her there made a lot of difference. Of course it would to him because that was the time when they started sleeping together. They lost their virginities after one particularly nasty game, which on hindsight she wished happened under a more pleasantly memorable circumstance. She was there for Ron, for comfort and to talk with, and between Ron and her studies, she did not notice that Harry was not doing well at all.

The team loses affected Harry more than anyone else, including the owner. As angry witches and wizards lambasted him with ugly comments about wasting their hard earned money and how terrible a Quidditch player he was, his confidence and self-esteem took a real beating. The Cannons management had hyped the team up; season tickets were sold out years in advance and they got what they wanted at his expense. He felt responsible for the robbery that was taking place each and every game they played. His conscience did not give him much respite.

If there was one thing in his life that he had never thought he would fail in it was Quidditch, and his belief of that all came crashing that first year with the Cannons. He felt he failed Quidditch when in truth Quidditch failed him. Harry discovered ways to cope with the frustration and to break the sinking feeling of always losing. With his other young immature team mates, he turned to women and alcohol, both being ubiquitously available in professional sports.

She was so incensed at Ron for not telling her about it until it was too late. Harry resigned. Actually, he was forced to retire from Quidditch two games before that first season ended. A major sporting accident left him in serious condition at St. Mungo’s for weeks. And more tragic was the fact that he had lost the ability to fly a broom despite wanting to.

While the truth was kept away from the public by the powerful wizards who wanted to protect Quidditch, his inner circle knew that the reason for the accident was because Harry was so drunk during the game he fell off his broom from a mile up, and if not for Ron seeing it happen, the fall would have been fatal. It was described in the Prophet as Ron Weasley’s best save of the season.

As Ron rejoined the team the year after, Harry was sent home from St. Mungo’s almost physically healed but emotionally a mess. He was no longer the Harry she knew at Hogwarts, not really.

Hermione had expressed her disapproval of his Quidditch off pitch lifestyle when she first found out about it as he started dating again. Never in her mind did she imagine he would be capable of having sex for the sake of sex. Because that was what it was really about, wasn’t it? She had to say something about what she considered was his moral decay. That was when he told her she was not his mother so she should stop acting like she was. Again, that was new.

Deeply offended, she let him be. And besides, at that time, there were other more pressing concerns about him than his preference to have meaningless sex with any consenting woman. He needed her as a friend, not a judge, to battle his ongoing depression and help him overcome alcoholism. Really, he could only fight so many battles at once and those were the two he chose to fight. Since being told off, she never said another reprimanding word about it to him again.

Yes. Quidditch was to blame for the significant change in her best friend.

As Harry walked back and sat in front of her, she asked him, curious, “How can she possibly remember my name just from hearing it once?”

He shrugged. Little did she know that across the counter Harry was answering her question in his mind.

You would too if the man you were having sex with whispered that name in your ear and it wasn’t yours.

Harry steered the conversation elsewhere, “I don’t know about you but I could really use a smoothie.”

He smiled at her and she smiled back, unashamed as she asked him, “Can you wash your hands?”

There was no point arguing with her that he already did. He had to laugh.

“I thought you were working nights this week?”

She was finishing what she had started and talking to him with their backs turned away from the other, as he washed his hands in the sink. Years ago, after a brief role as an overpaid Quidditch player, he joined the Ministry as a Hit Wizard.

“The guy we’ve been following turned in early last night so we figured at least one of us should go home,” he replied. “Dean was with him last night.”

He dried his hand on the hand towel hooked up to the fridge beside him and turned around. His kitchen was small, having no real need for it because he rarely cooked. He found himself standing about a foot behind her, checking her out.

It was Saturday, and if she wasn’t dressed at six that meant she was not scheduled to work. Her bushy brown hair was tied back casually and he liked it that he could imagine this was where she lived. His eyes followed the stray brown locks that fell on the back of her neck, finding the sight of her usually covered flesh stimulating. And she was in pyjamas this morning, which meant Ron was not home.

He wondered if she realized he could tell from how her breasts looked she wore nothing else under the pink printed top that she had on, and that her dark-color lace panties were visible through the thin pyjama bottoms. He felt his jeans get tighter and fought off the impulse to step closer, kiss the length of the back of her neck, feel her body against him and make love to her right there on his kitchen counter. He did ponder if she would allow him.

His mind answered him quickly enough. Of course she wouldn’t. She loves Ron. Not you. She’s marrying Ron. Buzz kill.

She had placed a glassful of the strawberry and banana mixture across from her where he was before. He walked around and immediately used a chilling charm. As he drank most of it, he felt some needed relief.

“I heard you’re going to Toronto,” he had to keep his mind off wanting to have sex with her.

“Research Conference starts today,” she replied, giving him a refill and without hesitation took some bagels and cream cheese from his fridge. She magically toasted the bagels lightly and spread a thin layer of cream cheese on them, handing him one, as she continued, “I’m hoping that Ron’s quarter final match tomorrow will be short. Win or lose we’re having friends over after the game. With the time difference, I figure I can stay until five a.m. Monday morning, Dissaparate to Toronto and get some sleep. I can catch the last three days of talks. You are coming tomorrow, right?”

“I’m working but I’ll try,” he wasn’t quite sure what the Squib’s plans were but hopefully he would be in prison by then. They ate and drank as they talked. “All set for the wedding?”

A lump formed on his throat and no amount of smoothie could get rid of it.

“I don’t think we’ll ever be ready,” she answered. He knew how stressed she had been lately. She wanted everything to be perfect. “When I get back from Toronto I’m taking time off before and after the wedding. Really, we should have just gone to a planner.”

He smiled, teasing, “Maybe next time.”

She smiled back, saying, “Ha, Ha. Very funny.”

I wasn’t trying to be funny.

Out of the blue, a frown formed on her face. He had to ask her.

“What?”

“Nah, never mind,” she wanted to say something but backed out. Intrigued, he pressed her.

“It’s me you’re talking to. Just go ahead.”

“I had a question and I need a man’s opinion.”

“Is Ron not man enough?” he chuckled.

“Harry! It’s one of those things I can’t ask Ron about,” she explained.

You’re marrying him. What question can’t you ask him?

“What is it?”

“It’s all hypothetical, of course.”

“Of course.”

It took a while, as Hermione seemed to search for a way to ask the question. After quite some time, he noisily snored feigning sleep.

She was laughing at his antics. He was going to miss this. They were moving to a house in Richmond after the wedding.

“Okay, I’m ready but don’t take this the wrong way,” she finally said, “Say, you’re about to get married. You know your fiancée has never been with any other man but you. She comes to you and asks if it’s okay for her to have one meaningless fling before your wedding. What would you say?”

Harry had to concentrate as the words came out from her mouth, not really expecting such a loaded question. Here he was thinking she was going to ask him his male perspective on whether she should wear black lingerie on their wedding night. The answer would have been a definite ‘yes’.

Somehow, that answer would not work for the hypothetical question she just asked.

4. The Hypothetical Answer

Chapter 4. The Hypothetical Answer

“I would say, sure, go ahead. Now, where do I sign up?”

Harry was so blindsided by her hypothetical question he let go of the first thought that came and it was somewhat unedited.

She burst out laughing almost immediately. Obviously, to her, the suggestion was that ridiculous. He ignored the slight twinge in his chest and tried his best to join her, forcing a smile.

“Forget it, Harry, it was really a bad idea”, she said, probably thinking, and rightfully so with the ‘fun’ he tried to poke into it, that it was a mistake to even ask him about this.

“No, no let me answer it,” he insisted as he wondered what would make her ask such a question.

The notion of one last fling was definitely not hers to begin with and he had one good guess who suggested it to her. Though, thankfully, they never talked about her sex life, Harry knew Ron was the only man she had ever slept with. She was not really asking a what-if question.

As a testament to how stressed out Hermione was about getting married, she was actually considering this but the good thing was she was not impulsive. He was part of research and he had to be very careful about his answer.

Their conversation took a more serious tone. He took a deep breath in and told her honestly what he thought.

“Hypothetically, if it was you and you asked me that question knowing I was the only man you’ve ever been with, I would say, ‘If you really want to, do what you have to do’.”

“Which really means what?”

“I’d rather you didn’t because it would hurt like hell if you did, but it seems important to you so I would let you decide,” he clarified and then asked her, “How would you feel if your fiancé asks you the same question?”

“I would call off the wedding,” Hermione replied quickly. She had a frown, realizing just how much more there was to her question than she originally thought and perhaps thinking that she should hold herself to her standard.

“It’s personal; Ron might think differently, if hypothetically, we were talking about you,” Harry added, hoping it would make her feel better.

“Harry…”

“Don’t worry, I won’t mention anything to him,” he interrupted, reassuring her that her secret was safe. “It’s a huge step getting married. I can understand why you’re a bit tense and thinking crazier than usual. But do you want some advice?”

“It seems I could definitely use some.”

“You have Ron. Don’t do it. It’s not worth it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Meaningless sex isn’t what it’s hyped up to be. Doing it with someone you care about is loads better.”

“And this coming from a guy who does this all the time?” the irony of his answer did not escape her.

He said to her once that he did it out of necessity, not choice. She did not see it that way.

“So you know I’m not lying.”

“Then tell me, and don’t lie. Have you actually made love with somebody you really care about to know this for a fact?”

“Geez, you and your loaded questions today! Of course I have!” Harry answered her truthfully.

I have, hypothetically.

And before she could even think of asking who with he quickly added, “Besides, face it Hermione. There are some things that you are not capable of and this is one of them.”

“You really think so? Why not?”

“You’re just not the type. You’d never be able to live with yourself,” he explained to her, believing this to be fact. Her conscience would gut her out from the inside, particularly because she was with Ron.

“You’re right,” she replied, and seemingly relieved, perhaps deciding to put the issue to rest. She then looked him in the eye and said something he knew she wanted to tell him for a long time, “But then, I thought that too about you and I was so wrong about that.”

“Please don’t hold back now,” he was joking, again. He had to, because she was about to turn this whole thing to be about him and he was stupid enough to walk right into it.

“Well, it’s true,” she had that look that she was about to go on a mission.

“I know. I have to repent and mend my errant ways. Somebody, get her some holy water, quick!”

She ignored his attempt to distract her, taking his hands in hers. Fighting reflexes to pull away, he looked at their hands, savouring the moment. Hers were so soft; the pressure just right. He missed this, the touch of someone who in his heart he knew truly cared about him. Yes, as a friend but still, truly cared about him. Hugs, kisses, soothing caresses. They were so few and far between now. He had taken all this for granted and it hurt so bad to realize it was all likely about to go away. For the first time in years he felt like he needed a drink.

“Harry, look at me,” she said to him quietly, and she waited, and she waited. Did he really have to? Taking a moment to wipe the last painful thought from his mind, he did as she asked and hoped she would not see the loneliness that was starting to plague him again.

“I wasn’t going to say anything but I know something’s wrong. You’re feeling the same heaviness you felt years ago after your accident.”

It wasn’t an accident. It was mere stupidity.

“It’s so hard to watch you like this.”

“Then look away. It will go away, like the last time,” he said calmly into her worried brown eyes.

“And then it will come back. You need someone to love who will love you back. And you can’t have that if you don’t allow anyone into your life. I told you this before; the risk of getting hurt is part of any worthwhile relationship. You can’t go on forever with these one-nighters, Harry.”

She was right but there wasn’t a witch out there who had not heard of Harry Potter and he was determined not to get used again. And he had yet to find a Muggle he could share his past and present with. He had difficulty trusting and that was part of the problem.

“I’m trying,” he lied, and she saw right through that.

“You’ve worked so hard to get out of that valley, Harry.”

Back then, I had you to help me get out.

“You can’t allow yourself to get on that slippery slope again.”

I know. It was such a long way down.

“Talk to me, or someone. Maybe your therapist.”

Who, Dr. A.J. Hyde? The fictional therapist I made up years ago so you would stop worrying about me? Not intentionally, Harry overheard Ron arguing with her about how he was sick and tired of her constantly giving Harry attention. After their row, Harry told her to quit acting like his mother. He still remembered how that deeply hurt her.

“Tell me how I can help.”

Hmmm…what would Dr. Hyde say?

“It’s the wedding,” he withdrew his hands from hers.

“The wedding?”

“Your wedding,” he said to her, candidly. It was true, her engagement brought about this emotional upheaval in him, “Dr. Hyde said friends’ weddings are tough because they change and threaten the continued existence of emotional supports. They also make one think about their own lives, and we both know that thinking about my life is not good for me.”

“Harry…” she chastised him for his self depreciating comment. After Hogwarts and Voldemort, his life had not exactly turned out the way he and everyone else hoped it would. “But Dr. Hyde does make sense.”

“Dr. Hyde is the best.”

“What did he say you should do?”

Any more brilliant ideas he was going to start charging himself for advice.

“He said there was really nothing I could do except accept that things change and we move on. Or hope that you don’t marry.”

“Harry…” Hermione thought he was joshing.

“Okay, the last part was mine,” but again, all true.

“Harry, seriously.”

“Okay, seriously,” he grinned, mostly at himself. He didn’t know which it was but either she really didn’t notice or she was deliberately dismissing his veiled comments.

Seriously he hoped they would not get married. He liked the status quo; them living a few feet away from each other. Her frequently bugging him about how he should eat better, asking him to be a guinea pig for her new fruit smoothie concoction or to come over to watch a video with her or go somewhere with her when Ron wasn’t around, which was quite a lot. Her marriage was going to disrupt that which he knew he needed but could not find elsewhere.

He turned it back around to her, “But seriously? A last fling? You should know better than to listen to her about how to be in a relationship.”

“Funny, she would probably say the same thing about you,” Hermione quipped.

Between Ginny and him, Hermione was getting the worst advice she possibly could. They were back in an easy conversation fuelled by Harry’s anecdotes of really bad and occasionally preposterous last fling outcomes. Some of them were true; a lot of them were made up. But that was how they spent the better part of that morning in his kitchen, over toasted bagels and fruit smoothies, before they had to leave to go to work.

That night, as Harry watched the Squib at his home, he sat in the dark in a nearby apartment where they had set up surveillance, thinking about Hermione and about her and Ron.

Since their engagement, he felt this tormenting physical desire for her he had never in his life felt for anyone else. It was like hunger that could not be appeased by anything or by anyone. For months he had struggled with it, avoided thinking it, hoping it would pass, but as their wedding day drew closer, his lust for her not only intensified but came with a feeling of urgency; that he had to do something about it. Worse, he did not think it was going to go away with the mere acceptance of the fact that she and Ron were to be married and he did not know what he was going to do about it.

Harry was always deeply fond of Hermione but until recently, he fully accepted that this affection should be mostly platonic. They had known each other more than half their lives, stood beside each other battling a most evil wizard, and supported each other during really trying times. There was intimacy, trust and a bond that could only be forged by what they went through. They had that.

And it was not that he found her unappealing. He always thought she was beautiful in her own way. In his eyes, Hermione was attractive not only physically, but intellectually and emotionally.

There were times, particularly as they searched for Horcruxes during their 7th year at Hogwarts, when his raging hormones would sometimes get the best of him, and he would look at her and imagine what it would be like to kiss her full mouth and feel her warm naked skin alongside his. And the one morning they woke up in each other’s arms by accident was so special, even though they were fully clothed, he pretended to be asleep for a good while before regrettably letting her go. (How this happened he never really had the time to investigate, but it didn’t seem to bother her).

In those days before she and Ron officially became a couple and after he found out Ginny was dating again, he would think about the possibility of crossing their friends-only-line, perhaps floating the idea over to her to see if that was something she would even consider. But there were too many reasons not to; there was his likely death in the hands of Voldemort, Ron’s interest in her, her interest in Ron, and not being able to afford possible loss of a friendship or two whilst they were in the midst of a war.

And after Voldemort, when everyone had a good feeling about everything, he thought about her that way again. It was around the time he was deciding what to do after Hogwarts. He didn’t have to but out of courtesy he asked for Ron’s blessing, knowing he had always fancied her. Unfortunately, Ron told him he was about to make his move, too. And true enough, they were a couple not one week later. He was too late.

So yes, while theirs had been a platonic relationship for years, it wasn’t entirely his initial preference. The attraction remained but he could will himself not to act on it and be content. She loved Ron and she stayed with him all these years. There was nothing to gain by dwelling on something he could not have. Her choice of what he and Ron would be in her life was clear and he could accept that.

Harry consoled himself that what they had was perfect the way it was. They had no demands and no unreasonable expectations from one another. There was little likelihood that what the other did or didn’t do would hurt the other’s feelings.

Theirs was an easy and rich friendship; she was someone he could talk to about almost anything he would want to talk about, someone who could tell him straight what the deal was. He would not forget how she spent days with him after his fall from Quidditch grace, taking verbal and mental abuse from a depressed drunk she was determined to help. Never did she waver in her resolve and he had her to thank for having this semblance of a life. And he was there for her when she felt so bad the first time she lost a patient and listen as she excitedly rambled about present and future studies she wanted to do.

Really, the only intimate aspect missing from their companionship was a physical connection, something she wanted from and shared with Ron, which he could easily get from someone else. Why risk perfection?

And now this; an overwhelming yearning to have that one thing that was missing from their relationship all these years; to act on the physical attraction that would certainly freak her out and shatter that perfection. He was low but he was fighting with every ounce of willpower he could muster to not betray his best friend and the man who saved his life.

Harry found her relationship with Ron quite strange at first. He was so used to them bickering and arguing all the time, it was disconcerting to him that this was not the case post-Hogwarts. They had very few fights, both seemingly more mature and willing to compromise the unimportant. It was weird but good.

Ron’s career as Keeper took off that sophomore year and he was now a seasoned veteran for the more competitive Cannons. Being a professional Quidditch player was hard work. They played between three to four games every week for eight months of the year, a month of pre-season play and a month of team training before that.

Hermione still tried to attend most of his games, watching him play at least once a week and staying with him at their flat closer to the Cannon facility. On occasion, when Ron had a few days off, he would join her in their London condo. She would take four weeks off after the season to spend time with him, either travelling or staying at a cottage, and he would stay with her until the craziness started again. He admired how his best friends were able to juggle busy careers and still be together.

His relationship with Ron was unchanged except for the fact that they saw each other less. Whenever Ron was in London, he would make it a point to have the old Gryffindor gang get together and would always pull him aside for a more private chat to catch up. Ron had grown up a lot since coming out from Harry’s huge shadow and Harry was really happy for him. At least there was something good about his not being in Quidditch anymore.

He asked Ron once a few years back when he would ask Hermione to marry him for it seemed like a foregone conclusion he would. His reply surprised him.

“I’ve asked her every year since we’ve been together.”

“And she’s been saying no?”

“Well, close. She’s been saying ‘not yet’. You should understand why.”

He didn’t, his perplexed expression telling Ron what he didn’t have to say.

“She works a lot; I work a lot. I’ll be a Cannon the rest of my professional life. She knows for marriage to work she would have to quit her job here, work more flexible hours and live with me closer to the facility.”

Ages ago, Hermione did tell him that she had seen too many failed marriages amongst colleagues who wanted to have it all; husband, children, and career. Ron still had at least seven or eight years to play professionally. And six months ago, when she finally accepted his offer, she decided. After their marriage, she would need a few months to tie up her research at St. Mungo’s. Then she could continue what she loved doing at her own convenience in her own lab at their new home and watch every Chudley game Ron would play. As hard as it was for Harry to imagine, Hermione was giving up her flourishing career at St. Mungo’s and was going to be a model Quidditch player wife. She would do that for Ron.

Harry thought back on the day he first became aware of wanting her. Ron and Hermione had invited him over for dinner and they told him about their engagement. As he heard it from Ron he was troubled by the initial emotion that he felt. Instead of being ecstatic for them, he was angry at him, envious, jealous of what they had and what they were going to have. He imagined this was how Ron felt back in the days when it seemed Harry had everything he wanted.

With both of them watching his reaction, he forced a smile and his mouth moved. "Congratulations," he said in a voice that seemed to be not his own.

They did not notice, too wrapped up in their happiness, his pathetic misery fading into the background. Ron asked him to be his best man while he kissed her possessively and disgustingly right in front of him. He accepted of course, as he pushed away thoughts of stabbing him with the steak knife right then and there and, if not then, at their wedding reception in six months time. It wasn’t a serious murderous intention, he would never act on it, but the morbid thought seemed to make him calmer.

Ron was taking her away, putting her in a house, on a vast property he bought from his Quidditch earnings, a job he got because of him, Queen’s cup MVP trophies on the mantle, raising as many red-headed rascals as he could convince her to have. There would be no coming down the hall for her to borrow something of his, or her ringing him to join her for tea. There would be no discussions about whether or not giving House-elves more rights was the proper thing to do or why was the Ministry so blind to the fact that sooner or later, more Aurors would be needed. There would be no more reassuring and comforting talks like the one they had earlier that day, no one to tell how bad his day went, no more Hermione in his life. That was the reality he was about to live with.

Why her engagement precipitated a sudden gush of longing for her physically he still was not certain. Maybe, this restlessness was a desperate attempt to make him do something to satisfy that which he suppressed for a long time while he still could. Maybe, if he had sex with her once, it would go away.

Now kicking himself for giving her sane advice, he wondered. Had he seriously offered to be her last fling, would she have accepted? But if he did that, whatever her answer was, for sure it would mess up their lives.

5. Roy Hunt and the Head Hunter

Chapter 5. Roy Hunt and the Head Hunter

Harry and Andy dropped off Jane Doe at the Toronto Hospital for Magical Illnesses and were patiently awaiting the Healer’s preliminary assessment.

She was pacing, and patience for her meant annoying any hospital employee unfortunate enough to happen to pass where they were waiting. He was staring at the almost empty cup of iced strawberry and banana smoothie in his hand, the cold sensation just about the only thing keeping him awake as they waited. The witch who sold it to him looked at him strangely, having not had any such sale for a long while. He was replaying Jane Doe’s bizarre message in his head and continued to come up with nothing.

A Muggle television set was just above him and at that moment, the morning wizard news was on. A word caught his attention, ‘Gringotts’. He looked up to watch the breaking news alert. There was chaos at the scene. An attack? A robbery? A missing Goblin? Not known at the time, Aurors were investigating. Definitely Bellatrix Lestrange.

Ten years after Voldemort, the old hag was still kicking around, and until recently, really just doing petty, irritating little things. She was a husband lighter. A few years ago, Rodolphus Lestange died, a complication from infidelity. Her band of followers were still called Death Eaters, maybe as a tribute to her mentor, probably because she was not creative enough to come up with a new name, and most likely because it was easier to recruit into an established organization. Dean had said there were rumblings everywhere that she was gaining support and that she had acquired some needed brains into her operation. Unlike Voldemort, Lestrange was not averse to working with others.

It was a cycle after all; calm and terror, peace and war, order and chaos. But as always, Ministries of Magic everywhere lacked the foresight to plan for this, London not being any different. The Ministry was once again dragging its feet, playing down the obvious, hoping for the best.

Just last week, he saw a former Hogwarts teacher who had made the trip to Toronto to convince him to come back to London. Harry agreed; the Order of the Phoenix was needed again. But no, he had to stay where he was.

It was six in the morning before Harry and Andy were able to leave the hospital. The staff party line was they would do the best they could but it could be days before there was anything to report. More tests had to be run. They weren’t even sure if they could wake Jane Doe up to a state where she would be able to answer questions.

He was so frustrated. It was beginning to look more like it was going to be another dead end. They Disapparated to the Atrium of the Headquarters of the Ministry of Magic on 199 Queen St. West to complete their paperwork and to attend the daily morning briefing at seven.

The Ministry Headquarters in Toronto, unlike the one in London, was mostly above ground. It was a more cheerful place and was actually registered in Ontario as a business called the ‘House of Magic’. The ground floor for any Muggle passer-by was a Magical Costume and Prop Store, all Muggle manufactured of course, and a business that in the past year had a net profit. The staff was a bit expensive to maintain considering a Legilimiens and at least a Hit Wizard had to be around during business hours.

As they entered the 7th floor Auror offices and found their desks, a brown folder was neatly stacked at the top of his overflowing in-tray. Andy glanced at the label on the front.

“I’ll fill out the report,” she said to him as she sat on her desk. With a flick of her wand the monitor in front of her came alive and she started putting the report into the keyboardless and mouseless magically modified Muggle computer.

Harry took the folder and set it in front of him, staring at it for some time, acutely aware that Andy was casting looks at him every now and then. A name was stamped across the face of the folder.

MALFOY, DRACO

His access to the file was not totally legal. Andy used some of her connections within the Magical Law Enforcement (MLE) to acquire information on Malfoy that any North American agency might have. All it would take for them to be in trouble was for someone to find out that the witness who swore Malfoy was sighted in Toronto with a gang of known miscreants did not exist. It was personal and Andy knew she could not convince him otherwise so she helped him instead.

He opened the file and started reading, looking for any evidence that Draco was into criminal activities or performing the Dark Arts illicitly. He firmly believed that all this good guy stuff was an act, a ruse to meet at least one vile or self-serving end. Why Hermione did not see this was still beyond his understanding.

The very light file was from the Detroit, Michigan MLE.

It began with Malfoy’s background, where he came from, who his parents were, known associates, known memberships. There were no surprises there. Malfoy and his mother, Narcissa, moved to the Detroit area a few days after his father received the Dementor’s kiss. They apparently stayed for a few months with one of Narcissa’s distant cousins who had children about Malfoy’s age; no names.

Then it started; entries, weeks after they arrived in the States. A series of non-magical violent scuffles, physical injuries, documented as he was seen at a Detroit Magical hospital several times over a period of weeks. Harry felt no sympathy. The git deserved every bit of it and more. Too bad he could not compliment the upstanding individual (or individuals) responsible for making a part of Malfoy’s life less cozy. It seemed that Malfoy did not know any of his attackers.

Next was a request for a valid Muggle school transcript so Malfoy could attend University. It was approved and he spent the next seven years preparing for and attending a Muggle Law Program at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor without notable incident. He couldn’t begin to imagine why he would do something like that. His mother, maybe, but still all very strange.

Shortly after graduating from law school, he joined the Public Defender’s office in Detroit and remained there until he moved back to London following Narcissa Malfoy’s untimely death from an illness about three months ago. He was now working as a pro bono solicitor for a Muggle charitable institution. There was something very wrong about this picture.

Then nothing. What?! No, that can’t be it! There had to be more! He vigorously flipped through the pages again turning each leaf front to back, making sure he did not miss anything. Nothing.

Harry slammed the folder shut against his desk, startling Andy and the few witches and wizards who were starting to file into the office. He closed his eyes forcibly, ran his fingers through his black hair and sighed heavily as he asked himself why he couldn’t catch a break. He just wanted one thing to go his way. Was that too much to ask?

“I know someone who works there and owes me big time. I’ll get him to poke around some more,” Andy’s calm voice filtered through the tension in him and broke it down. As he opened his eyes and acknowledged her offer, he saw that she had summoned the folder and had read the Malfoy file herself, shoving it into one of her drawers.

He felt something tug at his heart. Sometimes, Andy reminded him of her. Hermione always had a way of making things better and he desperately needed her to make things better just about now.

“Come on. Unless you want to take a shower,” Andy jogged him back to reality. She preferred to be in the Briefing Room early.

The Briefing Room was still almost empty when they got there and they settled in two chairs at the back. He watched as the room filled in, hearing Andy in the background as she joined a conversation with two other witches about which Toronto neighbourhood was a good area to buy a house.

He had been thinking a lot lately about how such mundane conversations were absent from his life. The loneliness was seeping in again big time. What he could use was a good talk with someone who would just listen. He looked at his partner and contemplated. Maybe. Or maybe he should just go find a real Dr. Hyde.

Finally, Jack Muller was at the podium. He was a tall, burly bald wizard with a booming voice who spit when he talked. Everyone avoided the front row seats during briefings. Harry had to speak with him now. It was Andy’s advice to ask him favours as early in the morning as possible.

“Jack, do you have a minute?”

“What’s going on?” Muller was snappy, must be having a bad day already.

“I need a few days off, a week tops. I have an urgent matter to take care of in London,” Harry asked, somehow knowing what Muller would say.

“Harry, you can’t, not this week. I’ve rescinded vacation because of this blasted event,” came the response Harry expected. “I need all hands on deck so unless it’s a matter of life or death, I can’t approve it.”

Muller turned away from him signalling that their conversation was over. He could go AWOL but that could mean he would not be able to come back as an Auror. His life was already littered with lots of burned bridges and this was one bridge he didn’t want to burn, not until Greasy was in Azkaban.

As he walked back to his seat he wondered. Would waiting one more week to see Hermione matter? One more week of thinking about Malfoy with her and not doing anything about it. One more week of Malfoy, dating her, touching her, holding her soft hands, kiss …

Yes, it definitely mattered a lot. So much that it could qualify as a ‘matter of life or death’. Somehow, Harry didn’t think Muller would see it that way. Maybe Andy would cover for him for a few hours.

Harry thought about the most efficient way to do this. Dean could help him track Hermione down. He would just have to ignore her furious expression as he took her wand away, silenced and bound her with a couple of curses to make her stay and listen. It may take hours but for sure, she would see the light. He’d be back in Toronto in time for tomorrow’s briefing.

He was definitely losing it.

“The Annual Symposium of Magical Researchers,” was all the Head of the MLE (and its Auror Office) said and that was enough to cause groaning among grown witches and wizards. Muller continued, as he magically handed out information packages, “It’s such a pleasure coming to work everyday with a bunch of whiners.”

“When is it again?” someone asked.

“The 10th through the 14th,” Muller replied and there was more groaning. Harry remembered that Muller had mentioned this a month back but everyone in the MLE seemed to think if they ignored it, the event would go away.

Muller added, “As you may or may not remember, the Conference is the biggest and best of its kind and we as a City are honoured to host the event annually, or what? Anyone?”

He looked across the room and found his equally frank Auror in the back.

Poker faced, Andy obliged with an answer, “Or make every appearance that we are, Sir.”

“Exactly! So suck it up everyone. I want happy faces for five days and I don’t care how you are for the rest of the year.”

Muller rattled on specifics about the assignments and expectations from the MLE as Harry remembered the events of last year. It was the same conference that brought him to Toronto a year ago, setting off the series of events that would change his life forever.

xxxxxxxxxx

February 13, 2006 - Ministry of Magic, Hit Wizard Office

“Potter, Thomas, in here!” bellowed Alastor Gumboil from his office door. Gumboil was the boss.

Harry gave Dean a quizzical look, “What did you do this time?”

Dean answered back, “I was about to ask you the same question.”

Dean had been his partner for five years and they were pretty good about backing each other up, particularly when it came to the boss. Last night, the Cannons won their Quidditch quarter-final match for the Queen’s Cup. They were meeting the Harpies in a few days in the semis and Ron hosted a party that ran through the morning. He and Ron had a difficult talk about Hermione after and Harry was a bit late coming in. Surely, that tardiness wasn’t what this was about. Unless…

“You don’t think good ole Roy squealed on us, do you?” Harry asked his partner.

“If he did then it’s his word against ours,” Dean replied.

Roy Hunt was a garden variety crook, a con man, who dabbled in everything and anything illegal. He was a Squib and his specialty was robbing witches of their hard earned Galleons using his natural charm. Too bad he did not put his good looks to better use.

He and Dean had been on his ass for two weeks, and they couldn’t pin a thing on him. Hunt seemed to know they were watching and knew what not to do to avoid arrest. The guy was smart or at least, very lucky. Sick and tired of seeing him date and seduce women (which initially was an interesting learning experience), they ‘modified’ usual protocol, arrested him without notifying dispatch and with less than the usual probable cause.

They had to be a bit creative, both swearing never to reveal which of them dressed as a woman to be the bait to spring the surprise on Hunt as he attempted to steal a valuable family heirloom. They found other stolen items on his person at the time of his arrest last night. Case closed.

As they got to Gumboil’s office, a stern expression met them. It was going to be a tongue lashing for sure and they had an audience in Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“You both know Mr. Shacklebolt,” Gumboil said to them.

Kingsley acknowledged them, dispensing of the formalities, “Harry, Dean.”

They nodded to him. They must have screwed up big time.

“Roy Hunt,” Gumboil started, causing them to look at each other. “He’s filing a complaint.”

“Of course he is,” Harry replied, “He’s got nothing better to do in jail.”

“He said he was physically abused and is suffering humiliation because of it.”

“Really?” Dean feigned surprise. “Did he say that during or in between the cold compresses that he has to put between his legs?”

Harry could not control himself and a snigger escaped from his mouth. He was amazed that Dean could keep a straight face.

Gumboil chose to ignore the amusement Harry was getting from this, “He said one of you shrunk his penis with magic.”

Again, a snort.

Dean turned to him and deadpanned, “I don’t know, Harry. For two weeks we’ve been watching him stick his worthless dick into women before robbing them. It always looked smallish to me. What do you think?”

“He’s teeny-weeny, minute,” he confirmed. “We have it in notes somewhere I’m sure. He must just be trying to get himself a free engorgement job. Which of us did he say performed magic on him, because Dean and I both know that’s wrong and we could lose our jobs for it.”

“He said a beautiful woman kicked him in the groin and used a wand.”

At that point Harry and Dean burst into uncontrollable laughter. Even Kingsley found it funny but the boss did not even break a smile. Poor schmuck. Must be tough going through his entire life not having a sense of humor. After some time, he yelled out.

“So who was it?!”

It was really pointless for him to get upset.

“Geez, Dean, your Mom is going to be pissed if she finds out you’ve been in her closet again.”

“And you can stop pretending you like women and just come out of yours.”

They did this for fun, get on Gumboil’s nerves. Looking over, Harry realized they probably overdid it this time if not for Kingsley saving them.

“Alastor, Hunt must be lying. I mean, really, can you imagine either of these two being described as ‘beautiful’, man or woman?”

Kingsley was dead on. The ‘woman’ was actually butt ugly, but there was nothing that a few drops of Amortentia and a Confundus Charm could not make beautiful. For Hit Wizards, both methods were Ministry unapproved. And while there were no rules against Aurors using magic to apprehend dark witches and wizards, the regulations that applied to Squibs and Muggles were as tight as Gumboil’s ass.

“Fine,” Gumboil let it go. Really, he couldn’t afford to suspend anyone, much less fire them. Still steaming, he said to them, “Mr. Shacklebolt would like a word with you.”

The moment Kingsley took over, the conversation took a more serious tone.

“Gentlemen, what I’m about to say is highly confidential and must not be repeated outside this office. Do I have your word?”

Kingsley looked at them both as they nodded.

“We know you’ve been following Hunt for quite sometime. The Auror Office has been, too, even before you and we’ve been tipping him off so he would elude arrest. Last night, we dropped the ball.”

“What?!” Dean and Harry exclaimed in unison.

“You were letting him rob all those witches?!” Harry asked. It just wasn’t right.

“Hear me out,” Kingsley interrupted, taking command of the room.

“A year ago, a German Healer, Helga Braun, was found dead in a Downtown Toronto Hotel, apparently a victim of a common Muggle robbery. She was sexually assaulted then beaten severely, her face unrecognizable, and suffocated in her own pool of blood. It was a gruesome murder. Money and jewelry went missing. No suspects or arrests have been made, the case remains unsolved.”

“Quite by chance, we arrested a Canadian tourist just last month trying to peddle intellectual property that has been proven to belong to Healer Braun.”

“Intellectual property?” Harry asked for clarification.

“Reports, documents, notes, magical healing studies. She was in Toronto attending a research conference and interviews with her colleagues since have confirmed that she had a briefcase full of her research work while she was there that was never accounted for,” Kingsley answered.

Hermione just left a few hours ago for some research meeting in Toronto.

“We found a few more attendees who lost or momentarily misplaced something similar, almost all of them trivial they didn’t even bother reporting to authorities.”

Harry said, “The ones that have gone missing are obviously unpublished.”

Kingsley confirmed, “Mostly drafts, works in progress.”

“I don’t understand,” Dean was a bit confused. “Why steal them during the meetings when you can steal them any other time?”

If not for his years of experience hearing Hermione talk about research, he would ask the question too.

Harry replied, “True but useful only if you broke in and knew exactly what you were looking for. There’s research and there’s research. Unless you’re one of them, it’s hard to tell the good from the bad, but when they get together, they always bring their best. The meetings are an opportunity to network and connect. Most magical researchers bring with them drafts and proposals just in case they find potential collaborators or colleagues working on something similar.”

Kingsley added, “Also, it appears that considerable effort was made so that the owners never suspected foul play.”

“So someone was desperate for ideas and a Healer was maybe murdered for hers,” Dean summarized, then asked, “What does this have to do with Hunt? Was he in Toronto last year?”

“No, he wasn’t. But this man was.”

He handed them a picture of a rather angelic, plump faced, dark haired individual who looked like he couldn’t hurt a fly. He looked to be in his thirties.

“Who’s ‘Chubby’?” Dean liked making nicknames.

“He goes mostly by the name of Tex Waxball; we think he’s American. There are a few aliases but like ‘Tex Waxball’ none of them have traceable remote history. He’s based in Toronto and is a known head hunter for some very nasty Dark Witches and Wizards. Our very own Bellatrix Lestrange uses him. Roy Hunt is going to Toronto on his invite and is booked for a flight tonight.”

Harry followed what Kingsley was implying, “So you think this Waxball-Hunt connection is related to the meetings this year. But what would a recruiter want with a two-bit lowlife like Hunt?”

“We don’t know,” Kingsley admitted, “Hence the plan to tag him all the way to Toronto. But you arrested him.”

Dean said acerbically, “I guess we should be sorry for doing our jobs. I could think of many other things Harry and I could have done with our two weeks.”

“We couldn’t tell you. It had to be business as usual.”

“What do you really want, Kingsley,” Harry asked pointedly. “Obviously, it’s not to slap our wrists for messing up your case.”

“Hunt is the only lead we have,” Kingsley replied, “We need him to go to Toronto and make contact with the head hunter. We need to find out what this is about, if it’s indeed related to last year’s murder and maybe even find out who’s behind it.”

“You want us to talk him into going?” Dean asked, but Harry’s guess was more accurate.

“No. He wants one of us to go to Toronto as Roy Hunt.”

“And the other to help with the prep,” Kingsley confirmed.

For the first time Gumboil spoke about this, likely hearing the proposal for the first time too, “Why don’t you send one of your Aurors?”

“Dean and Harry know him better than anyone on my team and can pass for a Squib easily because they have lived as Muggles,” Kingsley explained, “We’ve managed to keep a lid on Hunt’s arrest; no one knows except for a select few. As we speak, someone who looks exactly like him is going around town, preparing to go to Toronto.”

“It will be Thomas, then. Potter is still on probation,” the boss spoke.

Yeah, he forgot about that. He was on probation for a minor scuffle with a git of a co-worker who made a joke about him being on the bottle again. He was just trying to help the guy improve his sense of humour.

Kingsley interjected, “No offense, Dean, but probation or not, I would prefer if Harry went.”

The suggestion did not surprise Harry at all. For years, Kingsley had been trying to convince him to join the Auror team. He had the necessary skills and training but preferred the low profile of a Hit Wizard. Less daunting expectations, no significant let down with failure. It was better if no one had to depend on him for anything important.

“I won’t lie. This is dangerous. Harry knows more advanced magic and is better at it than you are, Dean.”

“No arguments there,” Dean shrugged. The truth never bothered him. In the five years they worked together, Dean was the one who always pointed that out. And, as a testament to how well Dean knew his partner, he made sure Harry had a way out, “That is unless Harry develops some sudden strange illness and can’t go.”

Kingsley looked Harry in the eye and talked as if he wasn’t there, “Even if he does, I think he’d want to go, anyway.”

He handed him a brown envelope and said as Harry took out its contents, “We were screening Hunt’s Muggle mail and this came in first thing this morning. It’s from Waxball. It’s a profile of one of our Healers. We can only think that whatever job Hunt has been recruited for in Toronto, it involves her.”

Harry didn’t have to read further than the name on the dossier in his hand to decide that if somebody had to go, it would be him. Hunt’s target in Toronto was Hermione.

“Pull her out, Kingsley. She’s not bait,” Harry could feel the heat rise to his face and head. He was getting miffed at how the Auror office made decisions on who to spare and who not to get out of harms way.

“Hermione’s already bait whether you like it or not. I’ve asked the Canadians to keep an eye on her until we get there but they’re swamped enough as it is I fear they have someone inexperienced doing that. And even if Hunt doesn’t make it, others may be after her.”

“Tell her, so she can choose to leave or at least be able to defend herself.”

“We know what her answer to that would be,” Dean interjected, with a warning.

Except for Gumboil, all of them knew she would want to help. In fact, his educated guess was she would insist against all reason to help. And the last time she helped with a case a few years ago she almost got herself killed. While the dangers they went through with Ron as teenagers should have made her risk taking acceptable to him, he realized more and more as they got older just how lucky they were to stay alive. She was a Healer now; death should not be an occupational hazard.

“We think this is big; it’s too organized not to be and we have to get to the bottom of this. We have the German and Canadian Auror Offices working with us. Whoever is stealing research ideas they can’t know that we know. So, she can’t know anything about it. She’ll be in more danger if she does.”

Harry thought about what happened to Helga Braun. He really didn’t have a choice.

“What do I have to do?”

Gumboil interrupted, smugly, “You’re not going anywhere Potter. You’re on probation.”

Surely, Gumboil wasn’t serious, pulling rank and being the petty pencil pushing idiot he always was. Gumboil always considered him a pain and the feeling was mutual, especially at that moment.

“Six more weeks according to...”

The large oak desk between Harry and Gumboil lost all its contents to the wind and started shaking.

“You really didn’t mean that. You might want to take it back,” Dean made a suggestion.

Gumboil, not having had the privilege of seeing Harry in any such state of wrath and not smart enough to realize what was happening, stammered, trying to save face, “I…I am the b-boss…I-I decide who g-goes.”

“Harry, don’t,” that was Kingsley, “If you hurt him you’re going to be locked up. You don’t want to be locked up right now.”

Kingsley had a point and his thought cleared enough for him to ask back, impulsively, “That offer to work with you, is that still any good?”

“I’m happy to sign a transfer immediately,” came Kingsley’s reply.

It was not a well thought-out decision.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Harry said to him then turned to address Gumboil, “Get him a good partner. I don’t work here anymore.”

Dean was smiling, as pleased as Kingsley, “After five years of being stuck with a moody, over-qualified ass like you, it’ll be such a relief working with someone else.”

6. The Gryffindor Ghost

A/N : Fair warning …D-Hr scene coming up

Chapter 6. The Gryffindor Ghost

Hermione was still immersed in paperwork in her office at five thirty that afternoon when two grey owls swooped into her window and landed on her now tidier desk. Attached between them was an envelop from a colleague in Michigan, information she had requested yesterday, rush.

Her possession of the information was not exactly kosher. As in Hogwarts, there were certain rules she would break, certain lines she would cross, if she had enough reason to do so. She now owed her Michigan counterpart a huge favour for violation of patient-Healer confidentiality, hospital privacy regulations and a few other international statutes against transport of patient information. They could lose their jobs over this and even their licenses to heal. Hermione took a long time to decide that the information was worth the risk.

As the owls were refreshing themselves in the mini owl post station in the far nook of her office, she emptied its contents onto her desk. It was a single piece of parchment.

CLAY ROOFDAM

They both agreed it would be best to not make it so obvious in case somebody happened upon the file. Hermione would have to praise the Detroit area Healer for her use of the anagram.

The one parchment purging and mailing method was quite useful in the clinical and research world because of the sheer amount of documents that needed to be stored or moved from one place to another. With the appropriate pass code, a simple spell would make the parchment reflect the original from which it was copied from, and according to the parchment details, it would expand to a two-inch stack. That explained the need for two owls.

Hermione just sat there for a few minutes, staring, waffling about whether she should go ahead and read Draco’s Detroit Hospital file. It was definitely personal and she could not justify it being otherwise. The hesitation was not so much because what she was about to do was illegal; she was past that the moment she called Michigan. It was more because she was taking a shortcut.

She was taking a shortcut because she did not have a clue what she was getting into and she was going into it a bit too fast. Ginny’s caution about dating Draco was both well meaning and sensible. Hermione agreed she was crazy to date him, and to date him this soon after just meeting the new version of him. Her request of the illicit information was borne out of panic and the last time she was in such a state of alarm was when they were searching for the Horcruxes.

Draco’s file contained the answers to the many questions swirling around in her head about him. The Draco Malfoy that was at Hogwarts was a far departure from the Draco Malfoy that came back from Michigan, and to her, the change appeared sincere. She needed the ‘why’ and the ‘how’ and she wanted all possible versions of it. As a researcher, she had no fear of the unfamiliar and she approached this unknown just like she would any mystery.

She remembered the first time she sat down with him and Ginny to discuss the Magorian trial a week ago. The tension in the air was palpable. Every time Ginny spoke, and Ginny spoke a lot that afternoon, she could literally see barbs and sparks in the air.

Hermione was not surprised at all by her animosity towards him either. Understandably so, this was the result of the six years of hostility at Hogwarts capped off by his significant role in the death of Albus Dumbledore. It was an interesting process, recognizing how a plain thought would form in her mind and come out of her mouth laced with hate and anger, all without having to think about it.

Draco was composed all throughout that one-hour meeting, taking it like a man from two vicious acerbic witches who didn’t want anything to do with him but had no choice. If there was one thing that Hermione could compliment Draco about that day it would have been his self-control; he did not lose his temper and he did not lose his focus on the case. On hindsight, they were quite abusive. Any other person, and remembering that Draco had volunteered, would have walked out two minutes into it.

At its conclusion, Draco did the unexpected. He apologized. He apologized to Ginny for his family’s actions towards the Weasleys all those years and for getting her mixed up with Riddle’s diary. He apologized to her for calling her Mudblood and to them both for everything malicious and despicable that he did while they were at Hogwarts, adding that if he had to name them all it would take all week (to which Ginny’s sidebar was ‘A week if he didn’t sleep’). And he apologized to them for killing Professor Dumbledore, though all three of them knew that he didn’t do it.

He was serious and honest (at least Hermione thought so). There was nothing melodramatic or excessive about the apology. In fact, he said he didn’t expect forgiveness. What he did expect from them from future meetings was at least some professionalism, to not let their personal dislike for him affect Magorian’s chances at the trial.

Hermione had to admit he was right. This wasn’t about them; it was about helping Magorian. Professional she could definitely do and she did. For the next couple of meetings, ‘civil’ was the key word.

The turning point, she remembered was that night Ginny left them at her flat to go over the finer details of the trial.

“What if they ask about Firenze’s banishment from the herd,” Draco asked.

“Tell them the truth. It was a long time ago. It’s totally unrelated,” she answered.

“Umbridge knows, she’ll point it out and it will be like we’re trying to hide the fact that Magorian and Firenze had differences.”

“You’re right,” Hermione replied, biting her lower lip as she thought, “What do you suggest?”

“I think it should come from us. So at least they know we’re not hiding it,” he was surprised that she asked for his opinion.

“I thought we were hiding it.”

“I thought we weren’t.”

“No, we were, but you’re right. We shouldn’t.”

“Seriously?”

He looked like he couldn’t believe that he just talked her into it.

“Yeah, seriously,” she replied, seriously.

And they hit an awkward spot when neither really had anything else to say. Draco balked first.

“Listen, Granger. It’s midnight.”

“And I need to know this because you become the evil bastard that you really are soon after?”

She kind of forgot about the civil part after hearing Draco call her by her last name. Again, it was something spontaneous, reflex-like, like she had this evil twin screaming to be heard. There was yet another pause, and she recognized from his reaction acceptance of the fact that there were just some things that wouldn’t change.

“No,” he replied, calmly, “You mentioned that you have to be at work at six for a meeting. I thought you might want to get some rest. We can pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

That was considerate of him and in return, she had been such a bitch.

“Listen,” Hermione felt foolish, “I’m sorry. It’s hard, you know, old habits.”

He nodded, “As I said, I don’t expect forgiveness.”

“I don’t get that. You don’t expect it, not even a bit?” she thought it was sad apologizing and feeling that there was very little chance he would be forgiven. Wasn’t forgiveness part of the reason, the ultimate pay-off, the quest for that full circle, why one apologized?

“Why set myself up for more disappointment? I kind of figure that most things I did are quite unforgivable.”

It must have been the time or an indication of how tired she was but as she looked at him that night in her living room, Draco Malfoy reminded her of a broken man, a particular one who had the same defeated look in a different living room years ago; the defeated look of not being able to forgive himself. The only difference being one of them was at least making an effort.

“Not unforgivable,” she said to him, trying to convince herself of her words. “Hard to forgive, maybe. But not unforgivable.”

Draco looked back at her, shaking his head.

“Fine. Very, very, very, very, very, very,” she took an exaggerated deep breath in and continued, “very, very, very hard to forgive.”

For the first time in their lives they exchanged smiles.

“I have to go,” he finally said to her, as he gathered the documents and started putting his coat and jacket on.

As Hermione walked him to the door, she suggested, hoping it would help with the civility part, “If we’re going to be working on this case together, you should really start calling me by my given name.”

Her wicked twin in the back of her head was commentating, ‘That would be Mudblood to him.’

Draco turned towards her at the entrance and said, “I’d like that, Hermione.”

This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

“Good night, Draco.”

“And by the way,” he said to her just before he left, “It’s during a full moon.”

“I’m sorry,” she didn’t understand.

“Not midnight. I become the evil bastard that I really am during full moons,” it looked to her that he was grinning a bit.

She chuckled. He was trying to be funny.

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll be sure to check before I meet with you, then.”

What happened during the days that followed was quite shocking even to her. Two nights later they were having dinner, and the night after, and the night after. He asked and she didn’t have it in her to say no. She kept on seeing the broken man in the living room, needing a chance. In fact, it never crossed her mind to refuse.

There were others who asked her out but Draco was the first man she dated since Ron’s death. Ginny attributed this to an obvious decline in good taste. Maybe Ginny was right to ask if this was one of her lost causes. It wasn’t that she really wanted to go out with him; she just didn’t mind it and she found their time together quite pleasant. Like their kiss. There was no urgent compulsion to kiss him but when they did, she enjoyed it. Concerned, she immediately called a friend in Michigan.

They chose Muggle restaurants; decent, reasonably priced ones. They talked, mostly about their work, about politics, about London life. It seemed to her that both of them were avoiding talking about Hogwarts all together. She wanted him to initiate, signal that it was something he was ready to talk with her about. She was thinking that maybe, he was waiting for her, too. She’d make a point to ask him tonight.

Hermione looked at her watch. She would not have time to read it prior to seeing him even if she decided to go ahead and do so. As she left her office with the Malfoy file in her briefcase that night she just thought how it was so unlike her to procrastinate.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was one in the afternoon in Toronto. Both he and Andy had just come back into the Auror Office from the blustery cold, his partner swearing more than her usual the three hours they spent outside a Toronto pub on McCaul and Elm. The Ghoul Waterhole was a known hotspot for not so upstanding witches and wizards and they were watching for any uncommon activity. There was definitely an increase in non-local patronage. The craziness was starting.

They were on-call for the next three nights and Andy had agreed to cover for him so he could spend a few hours in London. He planned to Dissaparate from the International Magical Travel Centre at 4pm, 9pm London time. Dean suggested looking for Hermione at St.Mungo’s or at her flat.

He lost Andy somewhere on the way to their desks as he picked up a copy of the wire flash from the London MLE. Among other things, on it was the official report of the incident at Gringott’s. It was a robbery, ten vaults, thousands of Galleons, one missing Goblin and found in one of the emptied vaults, an unconscious man. Someone he knew from Hogwarts, someone who was supposedly retired. Argus Filch was in St. Mungo’s, still unconscious.

Harry read that Magorian was free, thanks to Malfoy. There was no mention of Hermione or Ginny on the report. He was not fond of Magorian and really was not fussed about him going to Azkaban if it meant there would not be a need for his defence team to celebrate. Again, today was just a really bad day to hope for one break. There were no details about why Magorian was acquitted or if there was another suspect for the murder of Firenze.

Andy suddenly appeared beside him, tapping her feet with this nervousness that she always had when she was excited about something. It drove him crazy when she did that. He looked at her.

“Grab your coat,” she said to him as she walked away, indicating he should follow.

“Where are we going?” he asked her as he caught up.

“House hunting.”

One thing that he learned about Andy was if she wanted to give you more information, she would give it to you without you having to ask.

And if you asked, “House hunting?”

“House hunting.”

He followed her to their Ministry issue, magically enhanced, Ford Taurus and got on the passenger’s seat. He never drove in North America; at least not on the streets. For someone who bent a lot of rules, he had significant difficulty driving on the wrong side of the road.

Harry was getting antsy.

“I didn’t know you wanted to move,” he said to her, not mentioning that maybe they should do this after work.

“This morning, Kettlenip and Snow were talking about good neighbourhoods to live in, it got me thinking while we were freezing our butts off outside the Ghoul,” she said to him and he did remember overhearing their conversation.

“Kind of impulsive, even for you, don’t you think?”

He looked out the window and noticed large brick houses. They were driving through an established, old money neighbourhood.

“Oh, we’re not buying; just looking,” she was smiling at him impishly.

“We are?”

At that point, Andy had parked on the street in front of a huge dilapidated boarded-up structure of what he imagined would have been an opulent mansion in its heyday. On the snow covered front lawn a faded sign was posted, ‘FOR SALE or LEASE’. Stamped across the sign were the words ‘Reduced Price’.

As he looked at it, all he could think about was who was going to buy this dump. For the right money, any contractor might, to tear it down and build anew. He was sure there were lots of people who would want to live in Forest Hill.

Jane Doe's weird message. Forest Hill. Four Five Five. 455 Forest Hill Road. An address.

“Brilliant, Andy!” Harry said to her, not noticing her blush.

“I called the agent. She said to feel free to look at the property without her.” Andy told him.

“Did she say how long it’s been in the market?”

“She was kind of cryptic so I did some checking on my own. No one had lived in it for over twenty years. The Muggle owner died five months ago and it’s been on the market since. Many, many lookers, no offers.”

“Designated?”

She answered as she drew out her wand before entering the massive front entrance, “I guess we’ll find out.”

Andy held the door ajar wide enough for Harry to pass through, his wand now in his hand and ready for anything. He felt her behind him and the door creaked and closed noisily. The inside of the house was already gutted, the walls that used to separate rooms barely existent, thick dust on the floor newly disturbed by their footsteps. The enclosure was dimly lit by the sunlight filtering through the two remaining unboarded windows on their left and right.

About three years ago, Ministries all over the world signed an international law assigning specific houses and places for ‘designation’. A ‘designated house’ was just a fancy, legal term for…

“Watch out!” Andy exclaimed, a large block of wood came hurling towards them from the front.

Harry barely had time to duck safely out of the way, rolling to his right.

“Reducto!” Andy obliterated the careening object in the air a mere few feet above her.

There were fast moving swooping unformed figures about and taunting laughter filled the room.

“That answers our question,” Andy said under her breath as Harry positioned himself right beside her, keeping their eyes peeled.

The house was indeed designated. Haunted. He had hoped it wouldn’t be.

“How many do you think?” Harry asked.

“At least one…” two more objects came from their flanks.

“Repello!” Harry shielded them from what looked like parts of a large marble statue

“At least two poltergeists, and looks like a handful of entertainment hungry ghosts,” Andy corrected herself.

More insulting sniggering could be heard. The poltergeists were cowardly invisible but several pearly white transparent individuals were now floating around them as if gathered for a spectacle.

Harry shouted out, “We’re Aurors on official Ministry business!”

A voice echoed what he said in a high pitched mocking tone, “We’re Aurors on official Ministry business!”

“Let go of me!”

Harry turned and saw that Andy was now floating a couple of feet from the floor. He aimed his wand on her left and fired of a releasing spell. One swore loudly as he hit his mark. Andy fell to the floor after he did the same to her right. She looked extremely pissed but seemed physically fine.

“I’m Harry Potter! Ron asked me to come!”

There was hushed murmuring among their audience and the two large poltergeists who were causing them mischief showed themselves.

“It’s Harry Potter.”

“The Harry Potter?”

“I want my money back!”

“The Choking Seeker?”

“The Big D of Quidditch.”

“The Quitter.”

Harry felt like he was eight, being subjected to horrible name calling on the playground. And to think his Quidditch days were over a long time ago. He looked at Andy and met her eyes, apologizing that she had to hear this. It was embarrassing.

Andy was actually amused and asked, “The Big D?”

“Disgrace, disappointment, dejection, whatever you fancy,” he answered.

“I always preferred ‘The Big Dud’,” said a familiar voice in a frosty, somewhat hostile tone. “But on a more personal note, deceitful bastard is most appropriate.”

Harry had hoped not but when he first realized Jane Doe had directed them to a haunted house he could only think of one reason why anyone would be there. He turned towards the direction of the transparent figure. The ghost’s red hair and blue eyes were faint, but the tall freckle-faced imprint unmistakably belonged to Ronald Weasley.

7. Ron’s Problem

Chapter 7 – Ron’s Problem

Just past sunset, in an abandoned warehouse somewhere along the Thames, two wizards and a wizened witch were in congregation.

“Except for the old fool, I thought Gringotts went well,” the woman spoke, strong and authoritative. She asked her two underlings, “Are we ready?”

“Almost,” the older of the two men replied, “The first shipment is arriving tonight.”

“We need everything in Toronto by the thirteenth,” the witch countered, “It all better be there in time.”

“Have I ever let you down?” came his reply, then, he addressed the other wizard, “I am going to need more phials.”

In a somewhat nervous tone the other answered, “The phials won’t be a problem. Nobody at St. Mungo’s will even notice fifteen hundred missing. It’s her we should be worried about.”

“Why?” the woman asked.

“It doesn’t look like she’s going.”

“That will be a problem,” the other man responded, “We are going to need her expertise.”

“Let’s worry about Granger when we need her and she’s not there. We have her shadowed; that will be an easy fix. Just make sure we get all those phials to Toronto,” the woman retorted in an icy tone before breaking up the meeting.

XXXXXXXXX

Just inside the main entrance of the grimy designated house, Harry stood still in the haze of disturbed filth for quite some time, in shock, still trying to convince himself that he was not dreaming. His best friend, his dead best friend, had chosen to be a ghost.

While he felt elated that he could talk with Ron again, they seemed to have picked up from where they had left off the last time they talked to each other. Rightfully so, Ron still harboured a significant amount of ill feeling towards him.

“So, how are you, Harry?” Ron’s tone was filled with open hostility. “When I heard you were in Toronto, and staying here on your own volition, I had to scratch my head a few times. But wow!”

Ron was now circling and hovering around Andy, checking her out, and Merlin help him if Ron…

“Hats off, mate. You always went for the best. She’s a nice piece of ass…”

“Ron…no…”

“Excuse me!? Did he just say…” Andy was getting red in the face.

“I wouldn’t leave Toronto either if I got to spend all day with her and shag her every night.”

Harry wished he could just close his eyes and make it all go away as Ron was making unimaginable obscene gestures. And to think he always advertised him as a ‘great guy’ to Andy. He was trying to intervene but there was really nothing he could do. How does one stop a ghost?

“We’re not…”

“Fuck off, ghost!” she yelled at Ron then yelled at him, “Was he always this…”

Andy was so upset that she struggled mightily to find the right word.

“Insensitive?” he offered, hearing that about Ron countless times.

Ron was having a lot of fun.

“And feisty, too. Just like Hermione but with less appropriate language. I like that! She’s hot! Are your hooters for real?”

“Crass!”

“Yes,” Harry admitted, “Sorry, and I think it’s gotten a bit worse now that he’s a ghost.”

Then Ron exclaimed, “I get it Harry! You finally got what you wanted. A blonde and beautiful Hermione! She’ll be ecstatic about that!”

That was it!

“Stop right now or I swear I will walk out that door and never come back!”

Harry stared at Ron’s ghost, toe to toe, glaring at him, meaning every word he said.

Ron smirked and floated up all the way to the ceiling, staying there, taunting, singing a little ditty in a child’s small voice, repeating, “I guess I hit a sore spot, I guess I hit a sore spot, I guess I hit a sore spot…”

He turned to Andy who was still simmering, “I’m sorry about that. I think he’s aged about twenty years back, too.”

“I can’t believe you were friends with him,” she said, venting her ire at him as if it was his fault.

He could not admit to her that in the past there were times when he thought the very same thing.

“Listen, I need to talk to him. How about I meet you at the office?”

Andy nodded and left in quite a bad mood. He’ll have to disperse the effects of Ron’s tactlessness later as he had many times in the past. Harry had not told her everything about what happened with Hermione and Ron and him, and he was not sure what Ron was up to. If only to prevent Ron from being rude to her, he preferred the she was not in the house. The other occupants, Harry noticed, had left the scene on Ron’s request.

Harry looked up to where Ron was and said to him, “So, you got me here. What do you want?”

Ron came down, eye level, and replied, ranting, “What? No ‘hi’ or ‘hello’? No ‘nice to see you’? I know you shagged my fiancée but I am still your best friend, am I not? I never thought I’d feel this considering how you betrayed my trust but I miss you. Do you not miss me at all?”

He was not prepared to see Ron like this and as he listened to him speak and ask the questions he could barely stop tears from coming as he replied, “Of course I do! But seeing you like this?! I never imagined you would choose this! This is bad! This is worse than bad! How could you…”

“Whoa!Whoa! Harry, get a hold of yourself! Don’t channel Hermione, please, I don’t want to have to hear that twice,” Ron’s animosity towards him, for now, appeared to have mellowed. He whispered, “I know, a life that’s neither here nor there for all of eternity; not good, though let’s not incite the whole household with the thought.”

“What were you thinking?!” Harry was not done with his displeasure at Ron’s current state.

Ron shrugged, “Obviously I wasn’t. It seemed like a good idea at that time. And give me a break. I did die unexpectedly and the last thought I remember having while still alive was I was going to kill you with my bare hands. It was kind of hard to pass on with that in mind.”

There it was. Ron had said it plainly, and with a lot of sense. He would have felt the same way and probably ended up doing the same thing had he been in his shoes. But his difficulties with accepting Ron’s current state not only stemmed from the fact that he was saddened by what Ron had chosen to do, but also because he was responsible for everything that caused it to happen; from his untimely death to his unresolved inner turmoil.

There was one thing that he never had the chance to say to him.

“It was inexcusable, Ron,” Harry said sombrely as his eyes welled up and sprung a leak, tears streaming down his face quietly. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for being such a selfish asshole. You’re my best friend; my family. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I’m really sorry; for all of this and for a lot more.”

Ron listened and watched him apologize, his expression unreadable, until he finally said, “I suppose you’re going to have to live with it for the rest of your life.”

Harry could only nod and think how he had to deal with the consequences of his actions everyday.

“It was really dastardly,” Ron continued.

He agreed, again nodding.

“Low, mean, devious. And many more things that I never thought anyone could ever say about you.”

“It was unforgivable,” Harry volunteered what he thought about it.

The words hung in the air forever, before Ron finally said, “When I was asked why I wanted to stay and be a ghost, do you know what I said?”

It was a rhetorical question, needing no response.

“I wanted to torment you and Hermione for as long as I could and make the rest of your lives a living hell,” Ron admitted, calmly. “I should have known then that I didn’t have to stay to do that.”

True.

“I have to tell you, though. Seeing you choose to be a ghost because of it makes it all much worse for me,” Harry replied, hoping to make Ron feel that his decision was not for naught, then, asked, curious, “It took you a year to find me?”

Ron rolled up his eyes and got all upset again, “Don’t even get me started about that! I thought that as a ghost I could go anywhere I pleased and haunt anyone I wanted too. The laws ghosts are subjected to, blimey! They make Hermione’s rules quite livable. Of course, it was just my luck that with this designation thing, it was hard to get to where you were to even begin to haunt you. Seriously, designating a ghost to one haunting facility is like prison. It’s worse than prison. Let’s not even go there because we’ll be here all day.”

Then they realized just how it seemed like that exchange seemed almost normal and it made them chuckle.

Harry asked, “So, how are you?”

“Hanging in there, as you can see. What about you?”

He answered truthfully, “Could be better.”

“And Hermione?”

His chest tightened as he fought back tears. Seeing Ron seemed to have really touched a raw nerve about how it once was, with them, with her, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since your funeral.”

Ron said wistfully, “I miss her, terribly.”

I miss her, too.

“So, now that you’re haunting me in the true sense of the word, what happens next?”

“Really, haunting isn’t as fun as I thought it would be. It gets old doing it on Muggles, and witches and wizards don’t scare at all so what’s the point,” Ron countered, “Just between you and me, being a phantom is kind of boring.”

“Is this where you’ll be for the rest of, you know,” Harry couldn’t say it.

“Eternity? This dump? I certainly hope not,” Ron replied, “Actually, I need your help. I know you can help me with this. And you will because you owe me.”

“What?” Harry asked, not able to think of anything he could possibly do for him.

“I don’t want to be a ghost anymore,” Ron said to him in a hushed voice.

Okay…

“I want to leave this physical world, move on. And this designation thing is definitely not for me.”

Harry had heard that ghosts all over the world were in an uproar as they lost their case to abolish the law limiting the dwellings they could haunt. He was confused but he wanted to assist in any way possible, perhaps give his friend a smidgen of reality check.

“You made the choice when you died. Don’t you have to live with it?”

“Well, yes, but I do have one year to reconsider and I have,” this was the first time Harry had heard that ghosts had the option. He thought that was a good thing, as Ron continued, “But there appears to be something that’s holding me back.”

“What’s holding you back?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

“Could it be the fact that you want to haunt me and Hermione for the rest of our lives?” Harry suggested the obvious.

“I totally don’t feel that way anymore, haven’t for quite some time,” Ron confessed. “Honestly, can you just imagine me haunting Hermione? After she get’s over the initial shock of seeing me this way, you know I’m going to hear about this forever. She’ll end up tormenting me! I really need your help.”

Of course, Ron wouldn’t have asked for him to come just to visit, be haunted, play some wizard chess maybe, talk about the old times. No. Ron had a problem. And as in the past, Ron’s problem was his problem, too.

Harry had to find a ghost expert; Andy would probably know one and she would help if only to get rid of the obnoxious ghost she had the misfortune of meeting.

“I don’t know much about this, Ron,” he admitted, “We should get help.”

“I already talked with ghost elders and the Ministry ghost liaison. They all said the same crap. Something has to be done before I can move on and I have to figure out what that something is before my year is up,” Ron was trying his best to explain all the weirdness, “I feel I’m ready, I look ready, I think I’m ready. I can’t seem to get a portal to open for me.”

“A portal?”

“A door of light that pops up in the vicinity that leads to the other side,” Ron answered.

Harry would have to take his word that he knew what he was talking about. They had to at least start with something.

“What do you think it is that’s holding you back?”

“I have a few ideas,” Ron seemed pensive. “In fact, now that you’re here, let me try one out.”

He paused, floated to and fro, seemingly concentrating about something. Harry patiently waited hoping he would be quick about this. He wondered if this wasn’t it how many other ideas Ron had. They barely had two weeks to figure this out and he had his own urgent matter to deal with.

Anytime soon, Ron?

Finally, Ron came back to face him with a very serious expression.

“I was angry when I found out about you and Hermione. I was hurt; it still hurts,” Ron declared. “I knew you loved her, I think even before you realized it. And I understand how you must have felt about us getting married. I never thought I would ever but, I forgive you, Harry. I can’t stay pissed at you. You’re my best friend.”

Harry nodded back, feeling a bit lighter all of a sudden. One of three was a blessing, particularly because he didn’t expect it. Ron was looking around, he guessed, for the portal.

“Do you see anything?” he asked.

“No.”

“Just as I thought. It’s not that simple,” Ron’s brows furrowed in concentration. Then, he said to him, almost reluctantly, “Hermione. As much as I want to avoid it, I need to see Hermione. But I can’t go to her. By the time I’m able to cut through the red tape it will be too late. She has to come here. You have to tell her to come.”

Lucky me. His palms began to sweat just thinking about it. Harry tried to imagine what that talk might sound like.

Hermione, I know you’re not talking to me and I also have to likely force you to stop seeing that git Malfoy, but it gets worse. Not only is Ron dead because of me, he’s a ghost…and he would like for you to come to Toronto, to help him avoid being a ghost forever. I can see why that would make you more upset…yes…not seeing you for another year seems like a reasonable punishment…

His plan (and he could only still think of one) of hexing her with binding and silencing jinxes was beginning to really look good now. Just add abduction to that, right? He suggested tackling the problem from the least impossible.

“Is there not anything on your list of ideas that we can try without her?”

“Why?”

Harry put it mildly, “Getting her here is going to be a challenge.”

“Tell her whatever. Lie to her. That should be easy, you’ve done that before,” Ron was grinning, unsympathetic to his woes.

Very funny, Ron.

“She’s not talking to me.”

Ron didn’t understand the enormity of the problem of getting Hermione to Toronto and insisted, “I only have a few days left or I’ll be a ghost forever. Not good. Please, Harry. I don’t care if she Obliviated herself and she doesn’t know you anymore. Just get her here!”

He did have to admit that compared to Ron’s dilemma, his seemed to pale in comparison. After all, he did have to see her anyway. What was this to add to the list of things he had to talk with her about?

“Blimey! The time!” Ron suddenly exclaimed, then floated up away from him, “Got to go, Harry. Inter-House Quidditch, the only thing I still look forward to. We have a match against the designated house from Laird and they don’t know yet that we have poltergeists so we can use them as Chasers. It was nice seeing you, mate.”

He felt something cool on his shoulder as Ron tapped him. Then his figure quickly disappeared into the ceiling before Harry could think of anything to say.

Not a second later, his head popped back upside down and he said, “It’ll be pointless to come back without her. And next time, be considerate enough to knock. We’re ghosts and we have rights and all that shit, too, you know.”

“Wait!”

Harry called out but Ron had already gone for good. He would have to wait a bit longer. There was an important question that Harry wanted to ask Ron and if there was someone who knew the precise answer to it, it would be him.

After all, one would think that any dead man would know exactly how he died.

8. Dinner with Draco

A/N : The title of the chapter should be enough of a warning to those who absolutely abhor D/Hr. The contents of the Chapter is a necessary evil.

If you want to skip it but still want to be relatively in the 'mystery' loop, you may go to the very end of the chapter and read about Harry.

Chapter 8. Dinner with Draco

Hermione got to her flat and had about twenty-five minutes to get ready for dinner.

She sighed, muttering to herself, “This is painful.”

Having been with Ron for almost ten years, going out on a date was never a problem. She wore what she liked and if Ron disapproved, tough. And here she was, looking at the magical parade of dresses from her closet, irritated at herself for fussing too much about what to wear during what would be her fourth date with Draco in five days.

Too long.

Too colourful.

Too skimpy.

Too stuffy.

Too old.

She banished the last one to garbage bin, deciding she wasn’t wearing it again even if it went back in style. Hermione remembered why she did not have this conundrum the three other times they went out; they went straight from work.

Now feeling totally ridiculous, she grabbed the next one that came out, a green dress that she had not worn for quite some time but loved because it reminded her of…

Bollocks! And she sent it to the rubbish bin, too, shutting off that train of thought as quickly as it formed and before further related unpleasant emotions could surface.

Black. Going with black. When all else fails, black. She wore the first black outfit she saw, too immersed in thought to recognize that it was one that showed a lot more of her than she would have wanted and that wearing it could be misconstrued as highly suggestive to a more sensitive man.

She was staring herself down on the mirror.

Fourth date in five days. And yet you say you don’t really want to go out with him.

Right.

It’s just dinner.

Right.

But you care what he thinks.

Not really. It’s just that this is something I haven’t done for quite some time.

Go out for dinner?

Prepare for a date. Well, except for Ron and Har-

Too late. She drew a deep breath in and allowed the hurt to pass, wasting precious time that could have been put to better use.

And now, the hair. As she took the bottle of Sleekeazy and used some to tame her brown mane, another potion in the bathroom cupboard caught her attention.

If you’re stupid enough to really think that you’re going to need to drink that for tonight, then you’re so stupid you might as well get pregnant.

That was clear.

The rest of her preparations went by uneventfully as she tried not to make a big deal out of it. Ginny was certainly doing that enough for her. Her best friend’s parting shot after the Magorian trial earlier that morning said it all. Hermione had to promise Ginny that by the end of tonight, she should have an honest answer to a somewhat important question.

"Why, of all the dregs of humanity, do you choose to continue to go out with the worst of them?" was Ginny's exact question. And her answer better not be because she was falling in love with Draco Malfoy.

Ginny knew her only too well that after the debacle of her one and only casual physical encounter, any future relationship was unlikely going to be about that. And both of them were certain that even though the older Draco Malfoy admittedly did exhibit a significant amount of sexual magnetism, it would take more than physical attraction to overcome whatever repulsive history there was between them. That left her with very few plausible and acceptable answers to the question. What if the honest answer at the end of tonight was illogical, incomprehensible, so unlike her? What if the honest answer was she didn’t have a clue and for the moment, that was fine?

She was definitely losing it.

At promptly seven that evening, Draco appeared at her door looking very dapper in a dark blue suit. Hermione flinched as he brushed against her arm while assisting her into the passenger seat of his blue MINI convertible. Again, like the other times it happened, it was a mere reflex, a recurring thing that she still could not prevent. She met his gaze with an apology which he acknowledged. Like hearing him say her name, physical contact with him or by him was something that she still needed to get used to.

They decided to go to a rather well known Muggle restaurant in Downtown London, feeling there was a real cause for celebration. After all, they did free an uncooperative and resistant Centaur from possibly the gallows. It was strange to her and she just noticed. During their drive to their destination, she had to inquire.

“You prefer dining in Muggle restaurants?”

“You don’t like dining in Muggle restaurants?” Draco asked.

“I don’t mind,” she replied, wondering if he thought she preferred it. It was a dance, “Wizard restaurants are fine, too, if you prefer them.”

“Actually, I do prefer Muggle restaurants,” he admitted, intensifying her curiosity.

“You do?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“It’s just odd because you grew up with magic,” she did not say that this sweeping generalization came from the fact that Ron hated going to Muggle restaurants. “What about it do you prefer?”

“The service,” he said cautiously, turning to her briefly, “Particularly here in London, nowadays.”

She guessed what he was referring to.

“Is it that bad?”

“Since coming back three months ago I’ve felt either I haven’t lived up to the Malfoy name or not disowned the family enough, depending on present company,” he tried to explain matter-of-factly.

Hermione understood. She thought about Ginny not believing Draco had changed and Umbridge disappointed that he had.

“You must have expected that to happen.”

He stayed focused on the road, “Sadly enough, yes, and I still chose to return.”

“So, why did you come back?” she finally asked having wondered for quite some time.

“I keep asking myself the same question.”

Hermione noted that she didn’t get a straight answer. Maybe, he was not ready to share the reason he was back in London.

“Do I detect a tinge of regret?”

“I admit, sometimes I do regret coming back,” he answered, a bit too serious for comfort, “But at this exact moment, I have no regrets whatsoever.”

Thankfully, they arrived at the restaurant and she could pretend not ever hearing that last bit. She hated it when her questions brought about unforeseen answers. He seemed to have let go of it, too.

They were greeted at the door by the manager who apparently knew Draco from a recent case and they were quickly ushered to a quiet, private nook. Hermione had the fish, as he recommended, and it was truly excellent. He had the lobster, as she recommended, and he said he had not tasted anything like it before. They got to talking about food and where in the world they tasted best, and that set off a conversation about travelling.

She was surprised at how relaxed and light-hearted their chat was. Time flew and she didn’t know how but as they were having desert, she was asking him why he went into Muggle Law.

He smiled, as if remembering something funny, shaking his head, “You really don’t want to know.”

“I do,” she smiled back, amused at his reaction, insisting on an answer.

“Actually, the answer is pretty obvious.”

“What? Your mother suggested it?” Hermione half teased, deciding to hold back on the initial ‘obvious’ answer that came to mind. Most lawyers and solicitors bent and twisted truths to serve an end, something that the old Malfoy would have done well.

He shook his head, “I loved Mother dearly but I wouldn’t do something stupid like that for her.”

Did he just say he loved his mother ‘dearly’? Even she couldn’t say that about hers, much less keep a straight face while saying it.

Hermione, focus. This isn’t about you and your mother.

“So, why?”

“The money, of course,” Draco said to her, “Lawyers in the States make loads of money.”

That wasn’t it, though he was definitely a good fibber.

“Liar,” she accused him playfully, “The most senior public defender in the Detroit area makes less money than a full time truck driver anywhere in the States.”

“I know my limits. I can argue all day but I cannot drive a truck.”

She was not going to let him off the hook, not that easily, “Come on, tell me the truth.”

“The PD job was just temporary,” he reasoned, still trying to sell his lie, “I was waiting for an opportunity for private practice.”

She was prepared for this, “I guess that explains why you have turned down the top three North American law firms each time they tried to recruit you since your graduating year at Ann Arbor.”

Draco laughed, “What did you do? ‘Google’ me or something?”

She was busted. His laughter was infectious

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

And actually, more. Both she and Ginny did a meticulous search prior to meeting with him about the Magorian trial, looking for anything that would resemble the old Malfoy they knew. Ginny used her Prophet and political connections. They knew everything he did from the time he and his mother got to Detroit until he volunteered for the Magorian trial. Well, everything that was on record and available for public viewing, anyway. At the time, they were both frustrated that they did not find what they were looking for. For a split second, she thought about the file in her briefcase at home.

“I’m surprised I haven’t been fingerprinted yet, or illegally searched,” he joked, the ‘illegal’ part a bit more meaningful to her. “Do you always do back ground checks on your dates?”

“This is the first time I’ve ever had the need to do it,” the smile on their faces spontaneous and seemed to last longer now, taking less effort to produce, “But come to think of it, that’s not a bad idea at all.”

“To tell you frankly, I expected you to do this.”

“Is that right? Then you should also expect that I haven’t forgotten. You have yet to answer my question truthfully. Why Muggle Law?”

Draco paused, still beaming and looked as if he was debating with himself.

“Fine,” he finally said to her, “But you’ll just laugh.”

“No, I won’t,” came her instant denial.

“I bet you will,” he challenged her.

“I’m ready,” she said, preparing not to express any amusement if that was the last thing she would have to do to stay alive, wiping the grin that wanted to creep back on her face, “Give it to me, straight.”

“I met this girl, I should really say ‘woman’ and was absolutely smitten by her. She was signing up for law school so I signed up with her.”

The flippant way he said that last part was just so funny that she absolutely had lost control and started cracking up.

“See?” Draco was right, she did laugh.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” Draco was still smiling. He was not offended at all that she laughed about it.

“And this ‘woman’ dragged you all the way into the PD’s office?”

“I know, hard to believe.”

This woman, if she did exist, intrigued her.

“Tell me about her. What was her name?” she asked.

Surely, he wouldn’t stop now. And if it was a lie, she would know.

“Mia. I met her at a peer counselling session, she being a counsellor, of course, assigned to one of the other troubled youth. She was a volunteer, a do gooder, one who wanted to save the world.”

“You must have hated her,” she felt comfortable saying things like that to him now, trusting he knew her intentions were not to hurt.

“Actually, I did find her quite annoying, at first,” he admitted. “I didn’t and actually still don’t believe in counselling or in saving the world. But did I mention she was striking, physically beautiful? I could not not look at her, really. And when I said smitten, I was ‘eighteen year old’ smitten.”

“You wanted to get in her knickers. I understand,” Hermione said, knowingly.

He nodded, chuckling, “So I asked her out, she immediately said yes. And we went out a few times, and unfortunately for her she fell for my natural charm, too. Her saviour complex helped me out a bit. By then I had gotten into her knickers but found out I wanted something else from her. I liked the way she made me feel. I felt good about myself when I was around her. Hence the following her through Law School thing.”

“She didn’t know about your past,” Hermione suspected and she asked.

Draco shook his head, reminiscing, his grey eyes glazed over as he did, “No, she didn’t. And it bugged me that not once did she ask me why I was in peer counselling or where I came from or what horrible things I did, if any. Mia was quite content with what I was willing to share about my past, which was not much because I feared I would lose her.”

“So I asked her, why didn’t she, and her reply was that it didn’t matter. She didn’t want to know. She said I had to figure out who I was going to be not from who I was, which she knew was troubled, but from who I wanted to be, and whoever that person was, we would deal with. Basically, she gave me a clean slate. A real second chance. She was a bit crazy.”

“Obviously,” Hermione concurred and wanted to say something like that even earlier. A real second chance. And here she was, with an illicit confidential medical file about him; such contrast.

As she listened to Draco talk about her, his tender expression and soothing voice said it all. Hermione knew that this woman did exist just as he described her. And the way he talked about this ‘Mia’, she sensed that Draco was smitten for real. Who would have thunk that could happen?

“She also told me not to take myself too seriously and to use less hair products,” he said with a glint in his eye and grinned widely, making her laugh.

“A sensible woman. So where is she now?” she asked innocently, curious.

A momentary cloud flitted across Draco’s face and Hermione noticed him swallow hard before answering wistfully, “She died over a year ago. A tragic accident really. Totally unexpected.”

“I’m so sorry,” was all she could say as her left hand instinctively reached out towards his on the table but fell short of touching it. “I shouldn’t have…”

“No, it’s okay,” Draco quickly dismissed her awkwardness for prying into what obviously was still a sore wound, taking and holding her hand in his, for whose reassurance she couldn’t say for sure, giving it a light soothing squeeze, “We move on, right?”

By ‘we’, he was obviously talking about her and what she went through after Ron died. Not wanting to complicate things, she did not argue how it was different.

“Yes, we move on,” she answered him.

He lifted his wine glass with his free hand and toasted, “To lost loves.”

“To lost loves,” she chinked his glass with hers, and tried to drink down the aching lump in her throat as she remembered her lost love, cross at herself, feeling guilty that she wasn’t really thinking about Ron, barely noticing that Draco was still holding her left hand and that it gave her some comfort.

XXXXXXXXX

When Harry got back to the Auror office on Queen Street, chaos and mayhem welcomed him. He found Andy at their desk and her colourful greeting said it all.

“Fucking slavedriver,” Harry guessed she meant Muller and she had one of those don’t-talk-just-listen expressions.

“Something’s going down. Jack got an anonymous tip and whatever it is, it involves the friggin’ conference and it’s happening tonight. He’s having us check every microscopic lead and every informant’s crevice.”

He did not like the sound of this.

“Potter! Marsh! Get in here!” Muller was at the entrance to his office at least twenty-five feet away but Harry swore he felt a bit of a shower reach him.

He did not like the sound of this at all.

Harry and Andy exchanged concerned looks as they made their way to his office. Before they could even sit down, he said to them, “Tom Floyd’s name keeps popping up in this plot about the meeting.”

Tom Floyd. Harry wasn’t surprised. He made an effort to control his temper.

Andy sensed his struggle and spoke for them, “So what’s Greasy up to?”

“We don’t know yet. But you two have done a lot of work on him so I’m counting on you to find out,” Muller stated their assignment clearly. “I’m calling a briefing in three hours and meeting with a bunch of scientists and conference security personnel later tonight. No ifs or buts. I want both of you there.”

Harry rarely did, but he had to swear.

“Problem, Harry?” Muller glared at him.

“I had dinner plans.”

“I guess you’ll have to cancel,” Harry heard him say.

Andy gave him a sympathetic look. She knew what it meant. As much as he wanted to see and talk with Hermione, London would have to wait.

For a brief moment, Harry seriously considered burning another bridge and just leaving. And if not for Greasy being involved, he probably would have.

9. Who Is Tom Floyd?

Chapter 9 – Who Is Tom Floyd?

As fate’s theme of the day appeared to be ‘screw Harry Potter’, Harry expected that everything that could go wrong would go wrong. There was an imperative need to take out his mounting frustration on someone deserving because the next thing that went wrong would definitely make him snap.

If not for Muller’s burly figure blocking the exit to the Briefing Room, he would have stormed out of the Ministry and done just that. What placated him was the knowledge that he could do that later tonight. A crazed grin formed on his face that worried even the usually unflappable Andy. Harry looked mad, as in certifiably mad.

“What’s with the deranged look?” Andy asked as casually as she could.

“Well, you heard Jack,” he said, his voice a bit excitable, “He wants us to find out what Greasy’s up to.”

“And you were thinking…”

“To go visit Greasy and ask the man himself,” he replied, nonchalantly, then sarcastically, “After these highly informative briefings, of course.”

“And it’s too late to call my insurance broker,” she muttered under her breath, poker-faced. “Next time, warn me if you have harebrained suicidal plans like that so I can increase my life insurance coverage.”

Andy tried to distract him as they waited for the rest of the MLE to join them.

“So, what did he want?”

“Who?”

“The ghost.”

“Help, to not become a ghost anymore.”

“Really,” scoffed Andy, “Seemed to me like your rude ass of a friend loves being an imprint. Why? Is he bored out of his wits being a juvenile prick?”

Harry found himself defending Ron’s actions, “Forget that. That was all about me. He’s really a nice guy once you get to know him.”

“Easy for you to say. He wasn't feeling you up with cold clammy fingers," Andy retorted. "And if he’s nice then I’m sweet. He should be grateful I’m not reporting him to the Ghost Misconduct Bureau.”

“Do you know any ghost experts who can help him? He’s nearing his deadline to cross over and seems to be having trouble passing on. He seems to think he has to do something before a portal can open for him.”

“It should be pretty obvious to him that he has to apologize to every living soul he has offended for being such an insensitive pigheaded nincompoop,” she pointed out. Harry had always thought it very articulate of her to find so many ways to describe people she disliked. “I bet that will take forever. Do you really have to help him?”

Really, Harry could just ignore Ron and let him rot in the Forest Hill haunted house.

“He’s my best friend,” of course he had to, “And he also wants me to tell Hermione to come and see him.”

Andy burst into uncontrollable laughter that brought tears to her eyes. Harry joined in, recognizing the hilarity (or was it wretchedness?) of his situation. It took some time and a Muller death glare to make them stop as their boss took to the podium and started giving an update.

“Tom Floyd, early thirties, male, Caucasian, raised American but now a resident of Toronto. The name is an alias. We do not know who he really is or where he comes from. All we know is that his Muggle rap sheet is not for light reading and he’s starting to have an impressive one on our records. Robbery, assault, battery, rape, murder, all accusations, no convictions. We also suspect that over the past year he has acquired quite a following of Muggle and Squib criminals.”

A hand shot up in the back, “He’s not a wizard?”

“We don’t think so,” Muller shot a glance at Harry, expecting protest which did not come. “He has never been seen using a wand.”

As Muller went through the more salient points of Tom Floyd’s lengthy and notoriously storied resume which Harry knew by heart, he remembered the first time he met the murderer about a year ago.

XXXXXXXXXX

February 14, 2006 – The Ghoul Waterhole, Corner of Elm and McCaul, Toronto.

After an almost hour long ride through Toronto traffic with a lovesick cabbie listening in agony to love songs on the radio, a man that looked very much like Roy Hunt got off in front of a dingy edifice that was one loose nail away from being condemned. No wonder the driver raised an eyebrow when he told him his destination. It was one thing wanting to go to a Downtown pub at ten in the morning, but this one?

The real Roy Hunt was firmly ensconced in a London prison still nursing physical and emotional bruises when the fake one arrived in Toronto by plane very late the night before and checked into a Muggle hotel near Pearson airport as scheduled. Polyjuiced Harry had spent the entire time before the flight in a room in the Ministry of Magic, honing up on his knowledge of and being the con man, under Dean’s watchful eye.

While the Ministry could only surmise that Hermione would be safe until Hunt made contact with Waxball, Harry was not satisfied until he was informed that she had turned in for the night and that Kingsley had managed to persuade the Toronto MLE to assign twenty-four hour Auror protection on her. Still, sleep came with difficulty and the first thing he did when he awoke that morning was call her on his personal untraceable cell phone.

“You’re in Toronto? That’s wonderful!” she was as glad to hear from him as he was to know she was fine. “But what’s with the voice?”

“I must be coming down with something,” he lied, as he struggled to impersonate himself. The Ministry issued ‘longer acting’ Polyjuice potion not only caused him to look like Hunt, it also made him sound like Hunt.

“It could be that nasty bug that’s going around,” she informed him and the Healer in her sprang into action, “Let me come over and take a look.”

“No, no,” he cut her off, “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you certain?”

“Positive,” he could only think that if Waxball already had someone on her or him, having her come to meet a friend where Hunt was staying would raise red flags. Then without thinking, he said to her, “How about dinner? Tonight.”

“Dinner?” she asked as if she didn’t know what that meant.

“You know, dinner. Fancy restaurant, well-dressed waiter, clean cutlery, maybe some food. It is Valentine’s Day. It will be like a date.”

Was that a giggle? Odd.

“Fine. Dinner then, but you’re going to the theatre with me before that and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“The theatre?” he mimicked her earlier tone of momentary loss of understanding.

“Yeah, theatre. You know, made up stage, attentive audience, fine actors, maybe a performance,” he could hear her smile.

He groaned to tease her, “I just walked into that clueless, didn’t I?”

Hermione merely laughed as she told him where and when to meet. Not knowing what Waxball had planned for Hunt, he really wasn’t sure he could but he had to say something to detract her from fussing and coming over. He would try his best to be available for their date, hoping this thing would be over by then.

And even if it wasn’t, he could still take some Anti-Polyjuice Potion tonight. After all, protecting her was part of his assignment and what better way to do that than spend most of the night with her. As long as she didn’t know, he would have a rock-solid excuse should Kingsley think that inappropriate.

The meeting with Waxball was at ten and he had about five minutes to get settled. Still queasy from the cab ride from hell, he was also nervous despite having in his pocket his transfigured wand and a signalling device that would send at least one MLE immediately to his aide and alert more to come.

Being a place of ill-repute, it required that the Ghoul look the part to prevent good customers from coming in. It was a known hotspot for illegal activity and was owned by Waxball himself. As he opened the door, he immediately heard the sound of a roomful of people chatting in disorganized unison.

He quickly scanned the room. The Ghoul actually looked respectable once one got past the entrance. The bar occupied an entire side and across from it on the opposite wall were two pool tables. In between, lining each side were booths. It sat maybe thirty, forty at most. There were two other exits; one was marked ‘fire route’ farthest from him, leading to the washrooms, and the other was a staff access only door beside the bar.

“Roy Hunt, here to see Tex Waxball,” he said to the woman who seemed to have a list and checking guests in.

She pointed him over to the farthest booth from the entrance near the fire exit and turned her attention to more arrivals. There were about twenty people, mostly men, a handful were women. It was difficult to ascertain if there were any witches or wizards in the group though everyone there could pass as Muggles.

As he got to the booth he noticed three men already talking animatedly. One of them was Tex Waxball, whose plump and angelic face looked up and greeted him immediately. For a head hunter, he seemed too trusting.

“Mike Klys and Tom Floyd, Roy Hunt,” Waxball introduced them.

Klys, the blonde bespectacled bloke across Waxball, shook his hand firmly as they were introduced. Floyd, a serious looking man with steely grey eyes and slick black hair was expressionless, and did not even look at him.

“First time?” Klys asked him as he sat down.

“Yes and I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“I apologize for being cryptic. Muggle mail is easily intercepted,” Waxball explained.

“So what is this about?” Harry asked, all business, trying to get nerves out of the way.

It was Klys who answered, “There’s a big conference on magical research in Toronto. It draws world class wizards and witches, some only seen publicly at this time of the year. Our task is to gather unpublished, raw, research ideas; the more documented and well formed they are, the better.”

“By gather, you mean steal.”

Waxball made a point, “If I wanted something stolen I would have hired thieves. You are con men. Technically, you’re not stealing. If you’re good, and you won’t be here if you aren’t, you’ll only have to ask and they will share their best kept secrets with you. Or the worse that you can do is borrow and return.”

“A wizard can easily do what you want. Why use someone like me?”

“Magical folk underestimate Squibs all the time,” Waxball answered, “There are a few Muggles here too. Wizards and magic will raise an alarm with the MLE but they won’t expect this from us. It is very important that the victims don’t know what happened.”

Floyd interjected with a detached voice, “Or not be able to tell anyone if something did.”

“But as a rule, we cannot draw attention to what we’re doing,” Waxball snapped as a rebuttal to Floyd’s statement, who immediately reddened in embarrassment. “I expect that you studied your target.”

“I know her like the back of my hand,” Harry answered. He only did so he would know what they knew.

“Granger is one of the most promising prospects we have. She’s bright, energetic, full of ideas that could be worth a lot of Galleons. She’s getting married in a few days to the same guy she’s been with for ten years. See if you can interest her in a last fling.” Waxball certainly knew a lot more about Hermione than what was contained in the dosier, “Your reputation with witches precedes you. That’s why you were chosen for the job.”

“She should be a piece of cake. Most stuck up bookworms are. Consider it done,” he answered with the cockiness Roy Hunt had, hoping that Hermione would never find out he said something like that about her.

“You might have a problem,” Floyd spoke lazily.

“What problem?”

“We intercepted a call this morning,” Waxball explained. Harry immediately knew which one. “She’s meeting a male friend tonight after seven. We don’t know who exactly but definitely a wizard.”

“I’ll take care of it,” came Harry’s bold reply, concerned that if they had her phone tapped, what else was there. “You are having her shadowed, right?”

“Only up until you make your move, then you’re on your own,” Waxball turned to Floyd, “Tom here has volunteered to back you up if you run into any problems. His and my numbers are on the cell.”

Waxball handed him a phone and was about to leave.

He hurriedly asked, “I was wondering, for my resume, who is our generous employer?”

“If you have something useful, you’ll get to meet her tomorrow morning,” Waxball smiled and he walked to the adjacent booth followed closely by Floyd.

Harry turned to Klys who was eager to teach Hunt the ropes.

“He said that last year, too, but she was a no-show.”

“Who is she?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Klys said to him, “The word on the street is she’s a bitch of a witch from across the Atlantic. It seems pretty steep paying a bunch of con men fifty G’s up front each and another fifty on delivery for a job that she’d like done by six tomorrow morning. But whoever she is, she’s got very deep pockets. The witch obviously is getting a lot of good stuff from this, hence the monetary investment, and the need for it to happen swiftly and remain covert.”

Lestrange immediately came to mind though he did not repeat it. So, no wizards and witches; just Squibs and Muggles. He was breathing a bit easier now, though he eyed Floyd with a lot of concern.

“I know Waxball recruits but what does the greasy guy do?”

Klys looked around and dropped his voice before speaking, “Floyd is Waxball’s 2nd in command but exactly the opposite. Every sweet leader needs an enforcer. Really troubled and crazy. A maniac. He’s got a violent Muggle rap sheet the length of Tolstoy’s War and Peace.”

“He’s a Muggle?”

“He claims to be Pure-blood but no one knows for sure. Waxball can’t control Floyd and some even wonder if Floyd’s moving in on him, particularly since that incident a year ago.”

“What incident?”

“Floyd has a serious problem with witches, likely a bad previous experience. Which Squib has not been jilted by one, eh? He pines for them but hates them. Floyd almost blew the entire operation last year when he raped and murdered a German Healer who apparently wasn’t too impressed with his moves. Waxball flipped but covered up his mess.”

A cold shiver went up his spine as he remembered Kingsley’s description of how Helga Braun’s dead body was found. So that was Greasy’s handiwork.

Klys gave him some advice, “Just keep an eye out for Floyd. He might find your subject interesting, in which case, just let him do what he wants. Fifty G’s isn’t worth getting beat up for which was what happened to the guy Waxball assigned to that German witch. His face got so messed up, he won’t be able to con anyone, not even a hag, even if his life depended on it.”

Harry was obviously not taking it. His assignment seemed easy. The Ministry had given him some bogus potion research ideas that were interestingly dark enough but were definite dead ends. He could pass them off as Hermione’s the following morning. That sounded too easy.

It was evident to Harry what the next step would be; he would have to contact Kingsley and tell him about tomorrow, and Waxball, his recruits and possibly their generous employer could be arrested as soon as Harry was certain there was enough evidence to charge them. That meant he would have to be Roy Hunt until then. And unfortunately, it seemed that Roy Hunt would have to meet with his target after all. For a moment, he pondered what to do about tonight.

The room suddenly fell silent and he looked up to see Waxball and Floyd up front and centre.

“Thank you all for coming,” Waxball said to the group, “As I promised, merely showing up for this twenty hour job will earn each of you fifty-thousand dollars and the monies are being deposited to your accounts right this very minute. Another fifty will be given to each person who accomplishes their task.”

There was wild applause from the crowd. This crowd was definitely in it for the money.

Waxball continued, “As an added incentive for this year, each person who succeeds with his or her mission will get something else.”

“What is it?” someone asked.

“It’s a surprise. Let me just say, it’s something you’ve always wanted.”

“An autographed copy of the latest edition of Kwikspell!” Klys said, drawing laughter from the group.

“Not quite, but I will throw in a copy of Kwikspell,” Waxball smiled even as the man beside him remained stoic.

Floyd had taken out loose change from his pants pocket and started rolling each over the other, repeatedly, as if a ritual, within his left hand.

“An all out orgy?!” another man called out eliciting a boisterous reaction from his fellow recruits.

Waxball laughed, “No. I wouldn’t want one, not if it involves you! It won’t be a surprise if I tell you. To those who do well, we are to reconvene tomorrow morning at six. Good luck ladies and gentlemen. Happy conning!”

Harry was ready to leave when he saw Floyd walking over towards his general direction. The coins caught his attention. Floyd stopped right beside him and only then did he recognize that they were not Canadian Loonies as he originally thought they were but American Sacagawea dollar coins. Harry stood up to match his icy stare.

“Hunt, you’ll get another fifty grand right now. I’ll take care of Granger. There’s no need for you to be here.”

“No, it’s quite okay. I actually enjoy my work,” Harry replied civilly, thinking Roy Hunt really did like his job.

He was hoping Floyd would back off. While he would like to nail the man for the murder of Helga Braun right that very second, not only did he not have proof that Floyd did it, the bait of busting the entire ring with their leader was over and above that at the moment, unless Hermione got into more trouble.

The sound of metal against metal stopped as Floyd seemed surprised at the challenge.

“I won’t be nice the third time I ask. Go home.”

“Toronto seems like a nice city and I just got here,” Harry did not notice that a crowd had gathered around them. “Really, have you read her file? You’re not her type. She would never go out with a complete moron like you.”

As soon as he said the last word, he saw Floyd’s left shoulder flinch. Harry anticipated the fist that sped towards his face from the left side. Quick reflexes allowed him to step back and dodge the punch, using Floyd’s momentum to slam him down hard onto the wooden table, face first, with a loud bone crunching sound. Klys could not move further back as blood spurted onto his spectacles.

“Ugh!” Klys exclaimed, disgusted by the bright red fluid that came from Floyd’s broken nose.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was a bleeder,” Harry met Floyd’s furious expression with calm. One good thing about having been a Hit Wizard for so long was the necessity for proficiency in non-magical combat.

“You broke his nose!” Waxball had joined the fray and was now trying to aid Floyd.

“Actually, he broke it himself,” Harry answered and gave a feigned apology, “So sorry, mate. I was merely trying to get out of your way.”

Floyd remained silent, both his hands on his bloody muzzle, his eyes either red from wrath, or pain, or both. At that point, Harry knew for a fact they weren’t ever going to be best friends.

10. The Missing Goblin

A/N. Another DHr scene in this one. It has to be for the story retain realism and be believable.

Chapter 10. The Missing Goblin

It was close to eleven in the evening and the Downtown London office of the Daily Prophet was still bustling with activity. Among the many wizards and witches working frantically to meet the final deadline for the next print run was a pretty twenty-five year old red head trying to nail her editorial on the Gringotts attack.

If the Ministry, at this point, is still unable to provide the public with clear tangible solutions to the recent spate of violence we have been subjected to, then Minister Scrimgeour should step down and let someone else lead.

Ginny Weasley paused, tapping her right forefinger on her wand, thinking the words might be too harsh and could be considered seditious. She would have to clear it with the Legal Department; a pain. And even if it passed Legal, her pro-Scrimgeour Chief would not allow it anyway. She struck out the last few words.

…then Minister Scrimgeour should consider stepping down…

Maybe. More tapping. She looked at the clock. It was going to be close but she felt lucky and bold. They did hire her to write the weekly column a year ago for her ‘youthful fearless brazenness’. Another change later, she sent the column off to Legal and her Chief with the original parting remark. If the Chief didn’t like it, he could certainly discuss it with her. Then he can run it as is or not run it at all.

Not running it at all would not be a first for her column. Having worked for the Daily Prophet straight out of Hogwarts, first as girl Friday to an eminent political columnist then as a contributing writer, she knew that if not for the popularity of her weekly editorial among Yuppies of the Magical community they would have canned her a long time ago. After all, an opinionated young witch in the still wizard dominated newspaper business was only as good as the profit margin she could positively influence, particularly if her views digressed from that of the Chief’s. Sure, she could have worked elsewhere with less adversity but adversity was what drove her to do her best. And there was the satisfaction every time she got one over the fuddy-duddies that she worked with.

She spent a good part of the day at Gringotts trying to gather as much information on the robbery. As a journalist, she had to answer the W’s and H but as she looked at her notes, she was worried that it was riddled with too many question marks.

Who : Bellatrix Lestrange - too obvious?

What : Robbery ; Ragnok ?missing or abducted

When ? Discovered 9am at bank opening

Where : Gringotts

Why : Money; ?Ragnok

How ?

She was also pretty sure Argus Filch did not wander into a Gringotts vault intending to curl up there and sleep himself into a coma.

It was a feat that a burglary of that magnitude would escape detection from the tight wizard bank security and not necessitate a confrontation with the MLE. It concerned her not only because the stolen Galleons would now surely fund something reprehensible, but also because of the missing Goblin, Ragnok.

Ragnok was the Goblin-in-charge overnight and had worked for the wizarding back for close to fifty years. Ginny knew him well. Ragnok, like her and Hermione, did volunteer work for the Society for the Protection of Magical Beings. And because she knew him she could not believe that he opened the vaults and left the scene of the crime willingly, just as the other Goblins were accusing he had done.

First Firenze’s death and now, Ragnok’s disappearance. Maybe she was reading too much into it. She’d remember to mention this to Hermione.

Hermione. She probably wasn’t aware of what happened at Gringotts yet because if she was, she would have called for sure. Hermione had not been her usual self lately. It was so unlike her not to be on top of these things and Ginny was really concerned.

Over the years it was quite natural for them to each became the sister the other never had. When they were younger, Hermione was mostly the ‘older sis’, with the wise experienced advice and the voice of knowing clarity. It was a relief to have someone not red-haired to talk to about almost everything that went on in her life. And, contrary to appearances, Hermione did not know it all either, and through the years their friendship and closeness grew to a point where their roles easily switched as needed. At the moment, though her proud friend would probably be the last person to admit it, Hermione needed her help. And she was going to get help whether she wanted help or not.

Her insistence on continuing these dates with Malfoy despite all reason was quite disturbing. Granted that Hermione was as headstrong as she was, never had she been this obstinate particularly when even she herself admitted it didn’t make any sense to her.

What troubled Ginny was Hermione’s belief that Malfoy had changed. While Malfoy’s intentions were obvious, she refused to see that he was merely yanking her chain and using her to meet a selfish end. Once again, after Malfoy left them at the Ministry that morning, Ginny could not help but belabour the point.

“Why can’t you see it? He wants revenge for all those years in Hogwarts. Malfoy is sniggering each time you agree to go out with him. He’s laughing at you, at how you’re falling for all his lies, hook, line and sinker,” Ginny said to her, hoping that the graphic suggestion would remind her of the kind of person Malfoy was and is. “He’s just using you.”

“What if he’s not? What if he has changed?”

“This is Malfoy we’re talking about. He is not capable of change. He was conceived and born a hatred-filled bigot and he will die that way.”

“That’s just it. I don’t believe that,” Hermione pointed out. “He didn’t choose to be born a Malfoy. How do you think he would have grown up if he was raised at the Burrow? He was just a kid and he didn’t know any better than to live the life of hate and selfish supremacy that he saw everyday.”

“We were just kids, too,” Ginny replied, “And none of us ever thought of killing the School Headmaster.”

“Then we were lucky.”

“This is worse than I thought. You actually pity him.”

“The kid who wanted to kill the Professor, yes. Draco right now, no.”

“This is such a bad time for you to start being gullible,” Ginny scolded, “You shouldn’t trust the ferret! Do you really, deep down inside, think that he has changed?”

Hermione insisted, “I’d like to believe that someone like him can and that something good came out of Professor Dumbledore’s death. He has changed in a lot of ways.”

“Stop selling him because I’m not buying,” Ginny reiterated, “If you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, that’s fine. But must you go out with him, over and over again? I know what he wants out of this. What exactly is in it for you?”

“I’m no better than he was if I don’t even give him a chance to prove that he has changed.”

She was so obviously not answering the question.

“You could go out with other men more interesting, with less baggage and with a lot less bad history than Malfoy. Why him?”

Hermione frowned, thinking. Ginny wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t know or because she knew but just couldn’t admit it. Ginny pressed on.

“Do you have a good time with him?”

“I guess.”

“Do you like talking with him?”

“Surprisingly, yes. We actually have a few laughs.”

“Do you see yourself kissing him again?”

“He’s not a bad kisser but I’ve been kissed better before.”

“I’m sure you have and considering that you can count the number of men you’ve really snogged with one hand, I guess it wasn’t very good.”

“We were both nervous.”

“Good God! That’s a yes then.”

“I guess it is,” Hermione was becoming a bit annoyed at herself.

“Do you want to kiss him again?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want to have sex with him?”

“Not really.”

“Wait, stop,” Ginny didn’t like what she was hearing, “‘Not really’ is not really an answer.”

“Since when?”

“Since right now that it’s really important you be dead honest with yourself,” she repeated her last question, “Do you want to have sex with him?”

A pause, then an answer, “Not really.”

“Hermione Jane Granger!”

“Fine, I don’t! Of course not! I don’t want to have sex with Draco.”

“Let me conjure a chastity belt.”

“You’re not helping!”

“Why? Because you’re finding out truths you’re not prepared to accept? To me ‘not really’ means an eventual yes that you can imagine yourself having to deal with. ‘Not really’ means Roy Hunt.”

“Roy Hunt was meant to be a one time thing.”

“Which makes this thing with Malfoy even worse! You’re not capable of one timers!”

“You think I’m falling for him.”

“Yes. Though for the record I hope I’m wrong. It’s going to be ugly, during and after. I’ll tell you right now I won’t let up about him ever and you’ll end up not talking to me. And when he’s satisfied toying with you I dread to think how much of you will be left.”

Ginny made her promise to know by the end of their night why she continued to go out with Malfoy. It was eleven and it worried Ginny that Hermione had not called. It could only mean that Malfoy was still with her.

An intervention was definitely in order.

As she went through what she dubbed as Plan A of the anti-ferret operation, Ginny knew it could only work one time, if at all. She was hoping that after Plan A, Hermione would permanently regain some of the common sense she seemed to have lost, so Ginny wouldn’t have to go to Plan B. Plan B was the last resort and at the moment, Plan B did not exist.

Ginny wished she could blame Hermione’s current emotional and mental state all on Malfoy but she had seen it happening since Ron’s tragic death. She suspected that this difficulty with Malfoy was due to the fact that Hermione was as fragile now as she was when it happened. The old Hermione would have never allowed something like this to occur.

Demons continued to haunt Hermione. So far, she refused to face her past and Ginny had not really pushed her to do that, trying to give her space and time to do that on her own. But it was almost a year after; Hermione continued to avoid the one thing that she obviously had to do and she couldn’t think straight about Malfoy. The goal for Plan B was to nudge her towards facing her past and hopefully to get her old self back. The need to do that now appeared to be urgent and Ginny’s problem was she still didn’t know exactly how she was going to put Plan B in motion.

Focusing back on Plan A, she opened her bottom desk drawer and pulled out her personal phone book and a mirror. What she was about to do was admittedly underhanded and she was certain Hermione would be livid. But it had to be done.

xxxxxxxxxx

Hermione was on the passenger seat of Draco’s blue MINI convertible, staring out at the passing streetscape, mind racing. The night was almost over and she had no real answer to Ginny’s question yet. Not only that, she now had to make a decision about the rest of the night. Should she invite him into her flat?

A conversation with Ginny from earlier that day popped up in her head.

“Do you want to have sex with him?”

“Not really.”

Ginny was right. It was definitely a Roy Hunt type of ‘not really’. If she could think it, then it could happen. It probably would if she invited him in. Actually, it definitely would, seeing how Draco had been feasting on her cleavage without any real attempt to conceal it and his attention was making her flushed. It was late, the wine had her primed, she had not had sex in a while and the fact that the man whose company she had enjoyed for quite some time actually found her desirable was making her all warm and fuzzy inside. It was a feeling she had experienced before.

Hindsight was always twenty-twenty. She really should have chosen a less revealing attire and taken that potion. It was too late for that now.

Ginny’s voice of caution sprang into action, talking snippets of what she said to her in the past and adding a few that she would definitely say, as her conscience took a life of its own.

“He’s using you to meet a selfish end. He’s definitely laughing at you.”

Hermione glanced over to the driver’s side and met Draco’s authentic smile. He steered his gaze back on the road as they had turned into her street.

“If you allow this, it’s not going to be just once. He won’t stop until he gets revenge and then some.”

They were three blocks away from her flat.

“Malfoy will visit Ron’s grave just to gloat about his conquest.”

Not that she was blaming Ron but this wouldn’t have happened at all if he stayed alive. She could only imagine how Ron would react and it was a good thing Ron was dead.

Two blocks…

“He’ll find Harry and rub it in his face, too.”

And for the first time she thought about how Harry would feel about her going out with Draco. She wondered if he actually really cared that she was dating again apart from the fact that he hated the man she was going out with. There was no use dwelling on that.

One block…

“If you do sleep with him, just make sure you know where your knickers are all the time. He’ll want a souvenir for proof.”

Yeah, secure underwear in safe location immediately upon removal. She’d definitely remember that.

Draco disrupted her thoughts with a somewhat surprising statement.

“If it’s taking that long to decide then the answer should be 'no'.”

She replied, just now noticing that they were outside her place, “You think so?”

“You’re not ready if you think that by inviting me in you’re betraying him.”

Actually, considering what he did, betraying him was kind of an enticing idea if she was vindictive.

“No, it’s not that.”

Too bad she wasn’t feeling particularly vengeful. That would have been a great answer to Ginny’s question. Draco was about to say something when he was interrupted.

A phone was ringing. Her cell phone. It was her Mum. There must be something wrong. Her Mum and her, well, it was complicated. But she definitely wouldn’t call unless there was a compelling need to.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized to Draco, “I have to take this.”

“Go ahead.”

“Mum, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

She listened, feeling relieved that her Mum was fine but curious what brought about her unexpected call. Their talk was strained.

“I’m okay,” she replied to her question, “I was just surprised.”

She was on her way to France, with her boyfriend. Surely she didn’t call just to tell her that.

“Yeah, it is coming up,” Hermione confirmed, then tried to reassure her, “I’m fine, really.”

Her mention of Ron’s upcoming first death anniversary caught her off guard, particularly when she asked how she was coping.

“No, you don’t have to cut your trip short to be here for that,” she had to stop her before...too late, “I don’t know, Mum, we haven’t talked in a while… I will when I see him…Mum, I really have to go…yes, I’m with someone…no, you don’t know him…yes I will and take care of yourself, too.”

Hermione hung up breathing a sigh of relief. That was the longest civil conversation they had since they had a falling out when she and her father separated last year. If her father had accepted it, maybe it was time that she did, too.

“Your Mum?” Draco broke the silence. For a moment, she forgot he was there.

“Yes, she’s in Italy and wanted to say hello.”

He nodded. Where were they?

“You were about to say something?”

“Yes, I was just about to say…” her phone rang again, preventing him from finishing.

Molly? A phone?

“Hermione?!”

“Yes, Molly, I’m here,” she answered, holding her phone a couple of inches from her ear as she met Draco’s amused grin. She remembered how Ron used to do that. “When did you get a telephone?”

“Yesterday! Don’t know why but the children prefer it over the mirrors! They want me to be able to reach them anytime!”

No doubt. She should tell Ginny that a phone lesson was a definite must.

“Can I call you back, Molly?”

“Is this a bad time?! You’re not out with that awful Malfoy boy again are you?!”

She cast Draco an apologetic look. Considering that he had heard it, it was difficult to lie to the woman who had been the closest person to a mother she ever had and who had almost become her mother in law.

“Actually, yes. I am with Draco,” she said before realizing that she should have just fibbed.

“Hermione! I’ve known you almost all your life! You are like a daughter to me! My poor Ron! If he could come back from the dead he would have already! He would never forgive me if I don’t speak on his behalf!”

She knew she couldn’t interrupt even if she attempted to, and all she could do was wince in anticipation of what was about to come. A phone equivalent of a Howler.

“That boy is evil! Ron would have wished you all the happiness in the world but I’m sure he would rather you die alone if that wicked boy was the last man alive!”

There was a pause.

“Molly, are you okay?” she asked, hoping the older witch had not worked herself up too much to cause injury to herself.

“I’m fine! It’s you I’m worried about and you should be worried about yourself too!” Molly replied, her tone with caring and loving concern but still screaming over the top of her lungs. “The first year is the hardest! The first year after Arthur died I cooked all the time to stay sane and I made it through!”

Not sure what she was supposed to gleam from Molly’s experience, she said to her, “I appreciate your concern.”

“Don’t do anything foolish you will regret!”

“I won’t, Molly.”

“Now, let me talk to the Malfoy boy! I want to give him a piece of my mind!”

“I think he heard,” actually, more than a piece of it.

“Good! Now, you will come to the Burrow for Ron’s death anniversary, right?!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she answered, and talking about the family coming together to remember Ron and his life seemed to calm Molly down. She barely listened as Molly rattled off her plans and who was or wasn’t going to be there, thankful when she finally said goodbye. Harry was apparently coming.

“I couldn’t stop her,” she tried to explain to Draco though he really didn’t want an explanation.

“I understand,” he replied, unperturbed by what he just heard, “I wouldn’t have attempted either.”

There was a momentary silence as they looked at each other, still trying to recover from the bizarre phone call from Molly before he finally asked her.

“Is it worth it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Considering how your friends and family disapprove, is it worth it? Why do you go out with me?”

Great! Him, too. He should just get in line.

Deciding against admitting that she didn’t have a clue whatsoever, she countered, not lying, “Because you keep on asking. Why do you ask me out?”

“You mean, aside from wanting to get into your knickers?”

Draco had this boyish mischievous grin that she’d never seen from him before. She kind of liked it. She didn’t even notice that he had closed the gap between them.

“Yes, aside from the obvious,” she replied, amused at his candour, the earlier troubling conversations with her Mum and Molly now seemingly a distant memory.

Hermione saw his expression slowly change into one of genuine seriousness it was impossible to look away.

He said to her softly, “I’m not quite certain but it may have something to do with the fact that I like the way you make me feel about myself.”

She could certainly relate to that, wanting to be with someone who made you feel good about yourself. She had not felt good about herself for a long time.

As he began leaning closer into her ever so slowly, Hermione hoped and prayed that she would have an answer to Ginny’s question soon, one that was different from what she had in her mind.

Ginny asked ‘why him’, and at the moment, all Hermione could come up with was ‘why not’.

11. Tilden Toots and His Three Green Thumbs

A/N. Obviously not all that I write I come up with. Some of it is a reaction to reviews and a lot of reviewers do inject wonderful ideas. Thanks to those who reviewed on ffnet and made this fic what it is.

xxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 11 – Tilden Toots and His Three Green Thumbs

Hermione closed her eyes, anticipating and prepared to participate in what she knew would be a more ardent kiss than the last one they shared. The last one…the last passionate one…

An image of a raven-haired man and their last indulgent kiss infiltrated her thoughts.

Why not?

She heard the memory answer with a calm but wounded expression, ‘If you really have to, do what you have to do. But it will hurt like hell.’

Without her mind telling it to, her body shifted away from Draco; almost imperceptibly but not subtly enough. He noticed. Hermione was miffed at herself for foolishly wanting to believe that what the memory said was true. She lifted her lids and met his consoling gaze.

“You’re not ready,” Draco said to her steadily, as if trying to persuade her, “You want to be but you’re not.”

She did not need convincing. Draco was right, both about not being and wanting to be ready.

“It takes time,” he said to her, brushing a few strands of stray brown locks away from her face.

As he did that, she saw him cringe as if suddenly remembering some painful experience.

Pop!

A loud noise coming from behind startled them, causing Draco to instinctively shield Hermione from possible danger. It was the sound of a not so delicate Apparition.

XXXXXXXXXX

A few miles away in a secret hiding place, popping sounds filled a large brightly lit hall. Cloaked figures materialized out of thin air, gathered around her and waited as more Death Eaters answered the call of their leader.

Bellatrix Lestrange summoned twelve and was seeing ten. The absence of her most trusted was quite understandable, for her most trusted would know what the meeting was about and, at the moment, would be busy with preparations to ensure its success. As she looked at the younger wizards and witches surrounding her, she could not help but notice how much the face of terror had changed since the Dark Lord’s death.

No longer was it enough to sow hatred and reap fear. Nowadays, it was about Galleons and how much wealth mayhem could redirect into their personal coffers. It was about alliances with the unlikely and taking advantage of the unsuspecting, to use each other against common good. It was a young witch’s game that she was progressively growing tired of.

The meeting was to ensure everyone knew what to do. Bella wanted perfection because what was about to transpire in Toronto would be her final major contribution to Dark Wizardry. After Toronto she was stepping down to make way for someone with an infusion of fresh ideas, someone who understood that while money was important, it was not the ultimate purpose but merely incidental. Fear, dread, hate, discord, chaos, death and the power to easily cause them; doctrines only someone fascinated and enamoured with the Dark Arts would embrace and uphold over and above all else.

Speculation about her impending departure from the day to day Death Eater operation was increasing. Bella could feel the vultures circling over her not-even-retired-yet body. She had to ensure that her successor of choice would make it. Toronto should do that. And while she did not have children of her own to bequeath the honour to, it was a given that whoever took over as leader of the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters had to be one with untainted blood. A Pure-blood.

XXXXXXXXX

Back at the Toronto Ministry of Magic, Harry and Andy were still trapped in briefings about Tom Floyd. They were waiting for what he hoped was the last group of individuals they had to talk to. After almost three hours of the same hogwash, Harry’s attention had gone somewhere else. He looked at his Muggle wristwatch. Six twenty. Eleven-twenty London time.

Stop thinking about them.

There was nothing he could do about it right now except hope that the kiss that was plastered on the Prophet Socials page had not happened again; that it would not happen again. Or if it did happen again, he hoped it wouldn’t lead into something more intimate, like touching, caressing, and more.

More. Did he not just tell himself to stop thinking about them?

A sharp pain jolted him out of his rumination as Andy kicked him in the shin. He followed her look of admonition and saw that his diversion had caused the portraits of the past and future Canadian Ministers for Magic to levitate precariously above Muller and two other senior Aurors who were deep in discussion. The images within, sensing danger he guessed, had gone to their other portraits.

Andy helped him out with a swoosh of her wand, returning the portraits to their rightful places on the wall, just as the group from the symposium arrived. There were five of them, a witch and four wizards looking rather glum and serious.

Muller addressed them, “We know you are concerned about this most recent threat and would like assurance that your speakers and attendees will be safe.”

Assurance or a false sense of security? Harry knew that for the past two years participant safety had been suspect. Knowing what he knew about Floyd, he had suggested to Muller to encourage moving the event to a different venue or maybe changing the order of the speakers. Muller disagreed and he was the boss.

The distinguished elderly witch, a Healer with a rhyming name, spoke, “We have always had confidence in the Toronto MLE, Mr.Muller. This is why we hold the conference here every year.”

“Thank you, Healer Hama,” part of Muller’s job was to kiss ass and be nice.

A rather unpleasant large man spoke. Harry remembered him from last year. Hans Jeeber was head of security.

“My main concern is Mr. Toots,” Jeeber said in a confident but squeaky tone. For a large wizard, one would think he would have a larger voice. “You are all aware that the unique and sensitive nature of his work always makes his safety in public a challenge. It would be catastrophic if the specifics of his research fall into the wrong hands.”

Tilden Toots, gardener, radio celebrity, this year’s keynote speaker. While he typically was terrible with names and did not particularly enjoy Wizard gardening to know the celebrity, he remembered Toots because some time ago, Hermione referred to him as a genius. She said that other than being on radio, the wizard was a recluse and did a lot of groundbreaking plant research, to which Ron had retorted that if he had three green thumbs he’d think himself a freak too and choose to be a hermit. At that time, Hermione merely walked away and he thought nothing of it.

Andy had to ask, “What exactly is his research about?”

Jeeber replied, cryptic, condescending, “He grows plants.”

“My aunt listens to his wireless radio program ‘Toots, Shoots n Roots’. He’s a gardener. I know he grows plants,” Harry could sense that Andy was trying her best to behave and not jinx the prick.

Healer Hama answered, “His radio program does not do justice to his brilliance. He’s not your typical gardener. He grows magical plants that no one else can and he creates new ones. His altered mandrakes are less difficult and less time consuming to mature. The Toots gilliweed is safe and easy to use aquatic schools throughout the world have utilized it on students for years. The list goes on. With time, he can make and change any plant property, including the not so beneficial ones. It’s this expertise that will be quite dangerous if used inappropriately.”

Jeeber asked, “How exactly are you going to ensure that Mr. Toots will be unharmed?”

“Mr. Jeeber, with your cooperation Mr. Toots will be looked after better than the Canadian Minister for Magic.”

With that, Muller went on to specifics about how exactly he envisioned it would work, which basically was to surround Mr. Toots with Aurors.

“Do you think Floyd is really up to something?” Jeeber wanted to know how serious this threat was.

“Yes,” Muller replied.

“Your source, is it reliable?”

“Yes,” Muller deadpanned.

“It seems stupid that the Squib would try again. You arrested him last year, granting you did not have enough evidence you had to release him. But he’s only a Squib. How much harm can he do?”

Harry cautioned, “I wouldn’t do that.”

Jeeber asked, mocking, “What? Call him the Squib that he is?”

“Underestimate him. He’s not stupid either,” Harry ignored Jeeber’s snide tone. “Who do you think our reliable source is?”

“Floyd?” Jeeber shot the question at Muller, who did not deny it. They had found out that all the tips about Floyd being involved came from the man himself.

Harry added, “He’s confident and cocky. He wants us to know that he’s coming.”

“Then arrest him! Now!” Healer Hama demanded.

“We don’t have anything on Floyd and he’ll be out in no time at all,” Muller explained, “Then he’ll have us waste our limited resources explaining ourselves to the courts and to the press.”

“But why is he doing this?” Healer Hama obviously could not begin to understand the workings of a sick mind.

Andy answered, “Well, aside from the fact that he’s evil, he wants revenge.”

“For what?!”

Harry’s jaw tightened as he replied, “His brother’s death.”

Harry barely listened as Muller explained the events of last year and the circumstances surrounding Floyd’s brother’s death. Last year, Floyd’s brother died in prison while awaiting trial for the murder of the Healer, Helga Braun, and over a dozen robberies committed at the conference.

At the time of his suicide at the Toronto Squib Detention Facility not many knew that the head hunter who went by the name of Tex Waxball was Tom Floyd’s older brother.

XXXXXXXXX

“Nice of you to pop in, Weasley,” Draco said to the red-head, visibly annoyed at her appearing uninvited.

Ginny gave him a frosty look, “Cool car, Malfoy. A MINI; how appropriate, in so many different ways.”

“Thanks,” he replied sarcastically. It seemed that Ginny had finally succeeded and pushed Draco over the edge, “Back seat comfy enough? I heard you used to spend a lot of time on them.”

Hermione was surprised that Draco knew about that considering that it happened such a long time ago and it was with one particular boy whose memory always got her best friend upset. Ginny’s face was beet red.

“Gee, four hours into a date and you haven’t even made base yet. What’s taking so long? Was it the wait at the pharmacy for your Viagra?”

Hermione had heard enough. She was furious at Ginny for treating her like she was twelve.

“What are you doing?!”

“How did it go?” Ginny asked with a tone that feigned interest. Hermione knew she was asking about the date.

“It’s still going,” Hermione said through her teeth.

“Carry on then. I’ll wait. I don’t mind,” and with that Ginny leaned back and watched them.

This was ridiculous! What was she thinking?

Hermione turned to Draco and said, “Excuse us.”

She got out of the car, giving Ginny a scalding look that could only mean she had to follow. Her arms across her chest, she waited for Ginny to join her up the walkway close to her front porch. She was fuming, particularly after seeing that Ginny was really enjoying herself.

“I guess we went with the slutty look tonight. We didn’t want to leave much up to imagination, did we?” Ginny commented upon seeing what she was wearing,

Defensive, Hermione tried to explain, “It was unintentional!”

“Intentional or not, Malfoy got a clear message. The words ‘bed me’ are all over you.”

“I was distracted!”

“You definitely weren’t the only one. I could see him feasting on your cleavage from behind Mrs. Cooper’s hydrangea,” she motioned to the healthy bush on her neighbour's property that had a great view of the front seats of Draco’s car.

“You were watching?”

“Very briefly; I couldn’t stand it I just had to interrupt. Seeing you with him was making me seriously nauseous. That and Mrs. Cooper’s German shepherd was licking my neck.”

It suddenly dawned on her what else Ginny had done. She could strangle her right then and there!

“How low can you go? Your mother?”

“She wanted to practice using her cell phone.”

“Really, at eleven at night?”

“She’s pretty eager. And she wanted to help.”

Ugh! She had the nerve to be so nonchalant!

“And I can’t believe you called my Mum and dragged her into this!”

“How is Fiona? We didn’t get a chance to chat. Is she still with your Uncle Frank?”

“You’ve definitely crossed the line! How could you? I never got Molly involved when you were brainless enough to carry on with Mr. Right who turned out to be Mr. Very-Much Engaged and then Mr. Already-Married.”

And she should have; she really should have.

“Ah, yes, my stupid year. Such wonderful bitter memories. By the way, thanks for not telling my Mum. I agree that was worse than this but enough about me. This is about your idiocy. So, do you have an answer?”

“The night was young. I was still working on it, until you showed up,” she replied angrily, realizing that she couldn’t keep the promise she made earlier about finding out why she went out with Draco. She might as well blame Ginny for it.

“And you think you’d find the answer by having sex with him? You were going to sleep with him, weren’t you?”

“I guess we’ll never know the answer to that question.”

Hermione did not want to admit to anything that really may not have happened at all. She was so infuriated that she did not want Ginny to feel more pleased about herself than she already did, even if she likely did prevent her from inviting Draco into her flat.

“You’ll thank me for this when we’re old and grey. Come on. We’re going to be late.”

Hermione eyed her with suspicion, “Late for what?”

“I guess you don’t have yours on you,” Ginny showed her a bright silvery medallion than was changing hues, “The Order beckons. It went off in Malfoy’s car.”

“If this is another scheme to…”

Ginny did not let her finish, “Look, my Mum and your Mum, I admit. But this isn’t me. I can’t call a meeting, you know that.”

“What do you think it’s about?”

“It has to be about Ragnok. He’s missing.”

“What?!”

Hermione did overhear a couple of Healers talking about some commotion at Gringotts on her way out earlier that night.

“If you could take your head out of the clouds and smell the rubbish with the rest of us for a moment maybe you can help figure this one out. I’ll fill you in on our way to Neville’s.”

Neville Longbottom was a Hogwarts classmate and he had a house about a kilometre north from her. The meeting must be really important for Neville and Professor McGonagall to leave Hogwarts for the night.

Ginny paused and eyed her from top to bottom and continued, “Before we go, you should change into something that won’t give some of the more senior members of the Order a heart attack. It’s hard enough recruiting members as it is.”

“Will you shut up about the dress, already?” Hermione spat back. “You can wear it on your next date, though I seriously doubt it’ll stay on you for very long!”

“Definitely not as long as it stayed on you.”

Ginny chuckled and then began to laugh hysterically. Not long after that Hermione joined her.

“Viagra?” Hermione had tears in her eyes.

“I knew you’d like that,” Ginny replied, “After you got over being angry at me.”

“I am still angry at you.”

“No, you’re not.”

They were about to go into her flat when Ginny stopped her.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Ginny pointed out, watching Hermione struggle before saying, “Ditch the ferret.”

“Oh, right,” Hermione replied and walked towards Draco’s car, thinking about Ragnok, coming to the same conclusion about a Firenze connection as Ginny had, then making a mental note to tell Ginny that the dog that was licking her must have been a stray because none of her neighbours owned one.

XXXXXXXXXX

Not ten minutes later, a blue car sped into the underground parking garage of a modest downtown London condominium and haphazardly parked in one of the tenant spots. Its driver quickly got out, not caring that he left his vehicle unlocked as he ran into the elevator and hurriedly pressed “12”. It was a good thing she had to excuse herself because if she didn’t, he would have, and he would have had to lie to her. He didn’t want to lie to her, at least no more than he had to.

The elevator doors mercifully opened and he rushed into his apartment and into the study, tossing his jacket aside. His grey eyes could not mask the excruciating agony he was feeling on his left forearm, favouring it heavily as he lit a fire under his cauldron, found the ingredients he needed from his potion supply cupboard and poured everything in all at once.

The potion was easy enough to make but useless unless ingested within an hour. It was still scorching hot. He glanced at the picture on his desk with an image of a striking woman smiling at him, and that took the edge off a bit until the next wave of throbbing came on cue, bringing him close to tears. This was not a problem when he was in Michigan.

Unable to wait, he took his wand and muttered a spell. The potion cooled down to room temperature. He lifted his left arm onto the table, rolled up his sleeve and watched the red angry skull and snake figure fade away as he drank the entire concoction. There was immediate pain relief that he knew would last at least twenty four hours.

Aunt Bella sure was summoning the troops more frequently lately. If Aunt Bella kept this up, he would have to make and take the potion at least once a day or keep a cauldron on him at all times. Or maybe he should just tell her so he wouldn’t have to lie. She must know he had the Death Eater’s Dark Mark and if she didn’t know, she would find out soon enough.

Feeling much better, he picked up his phone and stared at it for quite some time. This thing with her was not what he expected at all. He turned away from the smiling woman’s picture, pressed the numbers on the phone keypad and waited. It was ringing.

“It’s me…about Mexico…”

12. The Confession

A/N. I know it all seems too DHr but it will be HHr. Writing the Confession was an interesting process indeed. It took three revisions.

Chapter 12 – The Confession

The Longbottom Residence was a sprawling estate in one of the plusher neighbourhoods in London. With his grandmother passing away three years ago, his parents permanent residents of St. Mungo’s, and him away for most of the year teaching Herbology at Hogwarts, Neville had volunteered the entire west wing for use by the Order of the Phoenix.

Hermione and Ginny Apparated a five-minute walk away from their destination and took advantage of the time to talk about Gringotts. Ginny gave Hermione details of the break-in at the wizard bank and both agreed that it was worthwhile looking into the possibility of a connection between Firenze’s murder and Ragnok’s disappearance.

It was a long shot but as good as any lead considering they had nothing at all to begin with to solve Firenze’s internally gruesome death. As Centaurs and Goblins were not known to desire human interference in their affairs and preferred to be left alone by wizards, Ragnok and Firenze were two of the handful who were not of the norm. Both were upstanding wizard law abiding individuals who supported the efforts of the Society for the Protection of Magical Beings to varying extents. Their mere involvement in something sinister over a span of a week set off alarm bells. Of concern was the fact that somebody tried to pin Firenze’s murder on Magorian and now Ragnok was seemingly being framed for the robbery. They just hoped that Ragnok was not dead.

And there was Filch at St. Mungo’s. Hermione would check on him first thing in the morning. She was sure that she would be able to do a consult and hopefully find out what was wrong with the former Hogwarts caretaker. He might know what happened at Gringotts. If the Healers could only wake him up.

Earlier, as she heeded Ginny’s subtle advice and changed into more suitable garb, Hermione contemplated the question that continued to unremittingly challenge her.

Why do you go out with him?

No longer furious at Ginny and less hormonally charged, she replayed her night with Draco to look for an answer. His revelation of having lost a significant other was surprising, to say the least, and Mia was not just any significant other. Hermione did not have to read his Detroit hospital file to know that Mia played a major role in the transformation she was a witness to.

She died over a year ago. A tragic accident really. Totally unexpected.

The resemblance was eerie. What were the odds?

We move on, right?

He obviously had. She really should.

Is it worth it?

She wondered if it was worth it for Mia.

I like the way you make me feel about myself.

It was an epiphany which was disconcerting at the same time liberating. Reluctantly she had to admit that, at least tonight, she felt the same way being with him.

The implications of accepting this fact were not as severe as the repercussions of allowing what was naturally going to follow. If it were any other man it wouldn’t be so complicated. There was too much bad history to overcome. They came from different worlds, with different friends and different beliefs. Clearly, the likelihood of a lasting relationship with him was infinitesimal.

Clearly. And yet she could already hear herself say ‘yes’ the next time he asked her out.

Hermione had to come clean and tell Ginny about it. What she was about to do was unusual, unexpected, and likely unacceptable.

Midway up the long deserted driveway, she slowed her pace just as Neville’s house came into view. Ginny immediately noticed she was starting to fall back and they stopped walking.

“About Draco,” Hermione said to her, “I have an answer.”

“That bad, huh?” Ginny sensed it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

Hermione confessed, “I was about to invite him up to my flat just before you came.”

Ginny looked at her seriously and pointed out, “You do know I won’t be around all the time to bail you out from these bouts of ferret-induced temporary sexual insanity.”

“That’s the thing,” she took a slow breath in and out, to try to prepare them both but mostly herself, “I don’t think it’s temporary or entirely sexual.”

Hermione anticipated Ginny to go off into a Molly-like protest. It didn’t come. It worried her a bit that Ginny seemed to be reacting to it too calmly.

“So much for hoping it was; that would have been easier to deal with,” Ginny did not look surprised by her confession and was contemplating her reply more carefully she usually did, “Focussing on the positive, at least you admit that it’s insanity. That’s a start.”

“I don’t know exactly where it’s going but I need you to be around and be my friend even if this becomes more than what it is right now.”

“You mean if you start seeing more of him both literally and figuratively,” she saw Ginny struggling.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I haven’t been sure about anything for a year,” she replied candidly. “I just know I need to find out what this is, if there’s anything more to it, and I can’t do that without seeing more of him.”

“I really liked it better when you were more conflicted,” the tone of their conversation was sombre. “Is it worth it?”

“Funny, he asked the same thing.”

“Because he knows what it’s like,” Ginny answered. “He has the Dark Mark. He will always have that stigma. But while he has to live with it you have a choice. You can loose friends and family just by hanging out with him.”

“I know.”

“And these are people who know you and care about know you. How do you think will your colleagues react once you start rubbing elbows with Death Eaters? Can you live with that?”

“He has turned his life around, Gin. That’s hard to do.”

“If it’s true.”

“What does the guy have to do to prove he has changed? We both looked,” Hermione reminded her, “There has been nothing to suggest otherwise.”

“It’s there, I know it,” Ginny insisted, “We just didn’t find it.”

“He’s putting himself out there, risking I will mock him and scoff at his efforts to change his life as most have. I don’t want to be responsible for him thinking in any way that all this change is not worth it.”

“If he has changed, you alone can’t prevent him from going back to the evil git he was if he so chooses.”

“Maybe not, but I won’t be part of the reason he chooses to. I can only be responsible for what I do.”

“That is undoubtedly the worse case of emotional blackmail I have ever heard and you’re doing it to yourself. I totally blame Malfoy for it. How can you fall for his ‘I’m sorry but I don’t expect your forgiveness’ line?” Ginny asked in a mocked imitation of what Draco said, “And you haven’t answered me.”

“It’s the decent thing to do.”

“Are you willing to gamble your entire life on ‘decent’?” then Ginny repeated, “Is it worth it?”

“It would be if I’m right about him, and I think I am.”

“And if you’re not?”

“I can only hope that some would be sorry for me and welcome me back, even if only to tell me how wrong I was.”

“I don’t know how you’ve managed to make this come out that way but you’ve gone over the deep end,” Ginny reiterated. “After Malfoy, you, your life will never be the same. And that’s just if you’re right about him. I really have a bad feeling about this.”

“If it makes you feel better, I intend to take it really slow.”

“It’s a very steep hill to the bottom,” her friend cautioned, “It’s not going to be slow.”

Ginny stopped talking for a while and just looked at her with concern.

“Draco said something tonight that made a lot of sense,” Hermione shared with her.

“Scary thought, him making sense.”

“He said I wasn’t ready but I wanted to be.”

“I agree. What I can’t understand is how ‘not being ready’ speaks to you as ‘have a relationship with him’? Or is this the insanity part?”

“If I do have a relationship with him then it won’t matter if I’m ready or not, I’ll just have to be.”

“Because you want to be?”

“Yes.”

“That desperately?”

“Desperately would be putting it kindly.”

“This is definitely the insanity part,” Ginny commented. “I don’t think it works that way.”

“I know how it works. How it works won’t work for me.”

Ginny was telling her anyway.

“You need to know why you’re not ready.”

“You and I know why I’m not ready.”

“You need to deal with why you’re not ready.”

“You and I know I can’t.”

“Then you won’t ever be ready.”

“See? It won’t work. If you were me, knowing that you won’t ever be ready because you can’t deal with why you’re not, what would you do?” Hermione threw her the question.

“If I were you I wouldn’t let Malfoy get within two feet of me. But that’s just me. You’re supposed to deal with your past or wait for a miracle that it will fix itself on its own. Why the rush?”

“Because I want to move on. I want to be in a loving and nurturing relationship with someone who wants the same thing.”

“You want a loving and nurturing relationship with Malfoy? There’s something seriously wrong with that thought.”

‘I want to get rid of the bitter taste of what I had the last time. I don’t want to end up like you, thinking that you won’t ever need any man that way; no offence meant.”

“None taken, but jeez, couldn’t you wait a bit for a different bloke to come along before deciding you want to move on? How lucky can he get?” there was a helplessness in Ginny’s tone, realizing that Hermione had made a decision. “You really have to see him before you do this.”

“I can’t.”

“You can but you don’t want to.”

“Same difference.”

“He’s made an effort. You can’t avoid him for the rest of your lives. Deal with it once and for all and then walk away knowing that you have,” in many ways, Ginny was right, but she just couldn’t.

“We’ve had this conversation before. I can’t. Not yet,” Hermione said. “So, can I count on you to be around if it does happen?”

“If I really am your friend, I don’t have a choice, do I? Let’s just hope I have the loyalty of a Hufflepuff,” Ginny answered, resigned. “But just to be perfectly clear, I’m not holding back about him. You may not want me around.”

“I want you around. I need you around. Why do you think I’m telling you?”

“I still think you should see Harry first before you sleep with the devil.”

“I thought you said Nick was the devil,” Hermione retorted, hoping for an opportunity to detract Ginny from going on and on about how she should see Harry.

Talking about Nick worked every time. They started walking again.

“They’re twins,” Ginny said bitterly, “Which reminds me, how do you think the ferret knew about Nicholas? You didn’t mention anything to Malfoy, did you?”

Nicholas was the boy Ginny fell in love with and lost her virginity to in the back seat of an emerald 1997 Bentley Azure. She spent three blissful years with him before being told (more like finding out by accident) that he was in fact engaged (had been since he was ten). The spineless wonder did not have the guts to fight for her. He strung her along for six months, promising to break off the wedding and then convinced her to carry on with him after. For five months, Ginny was the selfish bastard’s mistress. Her belief that he was doing it because he ‘loved’ her took some time undoing. No, Hermione would never tell anyone about what Ginny went through with him without checking with her first.

“Of course not,” Hermione replied, “I can find out, if you want.”

“It’s not important,” Ginny shrugged as they entered the Longbottom residence and found the meeting room with minutes to spare.

A few others were already there and were in small groups, chatting. Professor Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts Headmistress, was talking with a very pregnant Auror, Nymphadora Tonks, who was sporting teal coloured hair that night. Her husband, Remus Lupin, was having an animated conversation with a now wheelchair bound Mad Eye Moody, whose magical blue eye was doing somersaults and making an annoying whirring sound as it had obviously detected something evil close by. Or maybe it was just malfunctioning a bit because of his age. Luna Lovegood, Ministry Unspeakable, was with them, at least physically. There were a few other witches and wizards she barely knew.

Over the past year, the Ministry had been noticing an increase in heinous magical crimes. It was no longer a mere suspicion that the Death Eaters were gaining strength and intelligence. Not that she believed in fortunetelling, even seers were all in agreement that evil times were upon them and dark forces would again terrorize the earth.

While she was not a Ministry official, the war against Voldemort years ago was still vivid in her mind she could not help but feel emotionally involved. She was not happy with how the Ministry was handling the resurgence of the Death Eaters. In her opinion, they were not doing enough.

And there was really nothing else besides the Ministry. The Order of the Phoenix was as good as defunct until last month when they had their first meeting in close to a decade. At that gathering called by Kingsley, most of its former members were absent because of disinterest, distance or death. The handful of new members came from the Ministry.

In the two weeks before the meeting that they spent trying to recruit wizards and witches, it was obvious it was going to be a hard sell. The difficulty in attracting membership was due to several factors. Some were concerned about it being anti-Ministry. Some just did not care; apathetic witches and wizards who, for as long as they were unaffected, would choose to stay out of it. Some were afraid to be branded and targeted by the Death Eaters.

All of them pointed to one big void; a lack of leadership. The three exiting co-leaders, Professor McGonagall, Remus and Kingsley, were not enough of a draw to inspire imagination and hope that the Order would make a difference. There were a considerable number of witches and wizards who needed reassurance that the risk they were taking in affiliating with the group was worth it.

At that meeting, it was obvious that the Order needed an enigmatic and charismatic figure who could rally the common witch and wizard to care, to not be afraid to stand up for good, and even at the expense of death, to make the difficult but right choice; someone like the late Albus Dumbledore. Harry’s name was thrown around a few times.

She put in her two cents worth in the process, pointing out that the Harry that was in Toronto was not the same one who defeated Voldemort years ago. He would not want to be a leader in the new Order, most certainly not so his name could be used in recruitment. They can ask but she was certain he would decline.

“Hi,” Neville joined them as they made their way to the rectangular table in the centre of the room.

With Ginny beside her, she knew it wouldn’t be too long before Neville showed up. He had this crush on Ginny since Hogwarts from when he danced with her at the Yule Ball the year of the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione found it so sad that all this time, he never had the nerve to ask her out.

She did not encourage it either for she knew Ginny would just turn his heart into mush. Even though it had been years since Neville lost his rotund features and actually was not bad looking, he was too normal, too nice and talked a little too much about Herbology for Ginny’s taste.

“Who called the meeting?” Ginny asked him.

“Kingsley,” Neville replied, his puppy dog eyes were all for Ginny. “He owled to say he’ll be a couple of minutes late. How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at how uncomfortable Ginny was with the attention. It wasn’t that Neville was the only guy who looked lost around her; he was the one guy Ginny truly did not want to feel that way about her, knowing that she would end up hurting his feelings.

Ginny had already asked Hermione to talk to Neville about it, and she did, but Neville probably couldn’t help it. Hermione knew the feeling only too well and she could relate. As Ginny turned to her for help, she contemplated if she should start avenging Ginny’s earlier acts.

“Neville, I heard Tilden Toots is speaking in Toronto,” Hermione said, deciding against it. “You must be excited.”

“Very. He hasn’t talked in public for ages,” Neville turned to her and his face lit up as he spoke.

Ginny mouthed the words ‘thank you’ towards her.

“Is it six years?”

“Seven,” Neville probably knew everything about Tilden Toots. “Minerva has arranged for a substitute to start Friday so I can be in Toronto a day early.”

“I did see there were a couple of good pre-meeting topics on plants you may want to attend.”

“Are you going?” Neville asked her.

“No, I have this Healing Mission I have to be at.”

“I can’t imagine how you can pass this up.”

With that, Neville droned on about Tilden Toots; his life and his works. Neville could have written a Tilden Toots autobiography and Toots would have found out truths about himself he didn’t know about. She glanced over to Ginny and saw that her eyes were starting to glaze over with disinterest; the reason she couldn’t possibly go out with him if he asked.

Her phone rang. She excused herself to answer it.

“Hello.”

Neville gladly continued his Tilden Toots synopsis for Ginny, “He was the one who grew the obedient Devil’s snare on display at the Children’s Magical Plant Garden.”

“Hi…yes, what about Mexico?”

Ginny was a journalist with ears that were trained to hear everything. Her friend glared at her and started shaking her head from side to side, knowing who she was talking with and guessing right what the question about Mexico was. Going to Mexico with him would not be an indication that she was taking it slowly.

“And his rejuvenating and rejuicing potions are the best everybody in the world uses them, no?” he must have noticed what Ginny was doing.

Ginny recovered, “No. The French prefer a different one.”

“I’ll be working…”

A week in Mexico was probably going to be overwhelming.

“They do?” Neville asked Ginny.

Hermione laughed at his suggestion that if it would make her feel better, he would bring work, too. A lot of work.

“Oh, good! Kingsley is here,” Ginny said, loud enough for everybody in the room to hear.

“Listen, I have to go,” Hermione said over the phone. “Let me think about it.”

As she hung up and everybody was finding a place to sit, Ginny told her firmly, “Don’t think about it. Just say ‘no’.”

Kingsley started talking, thankfully.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he apologized, “In the past few months there has been a lot of talk that Lestrange is stepping down. I was just with a source and he just confirmed. It’s imminent. Maybe days, weeks at most.”

“That’s good. That’s bad,” Luna commented.

Hermione agreed. Any Dark witch retiring was good news but there would likely be a chaotic transition between leaders.

Professor McGonagall asked, “Do we know who’s next in line?”

“She has been grooming someone to take her place. The only information we have is that it is someone the Death Eaters refer to as the Potion Master,” Tonks answered.

“Potion Master,” Mad Eye Moody repeated, his magical eye doing a 360, probably remembering, like her, a previous bad potion experience.

“We are also being told that Lestrange wants a grand exit. We think Gringotts was part of it but there is likely more,” Kingsley added.

“Any news about Ragnok?” Ginny asked.

“We’re still looking for him,” Kingsley admitted. “And yes, Ginny, I got your owl about Firenze. We’ll look into it but we don’t have much to go on.”

Hermione spoke up, a bit frustrated, “It seems like we have a problem getting and not having enough information? Doesn’t the Ministry have spies? We definitely could use one right now.”

“I agree,” Remus concurred, “We need eyes and ears closer to Lestrange. I’m just wondering if it’s a bit too late. Dora, we have that list of potential Death Eaters. Is there anyone promising?”

Tonks replied, “All seem hardcore. It would be too risky because they might end up spying on us for her.”

Hermione knew that there was one name that wasn’t on that list. She contemplated on suggesting it but held back, realizing that most, if not all, would find it offensive to enlist into the Order the person who played a major role in the series of events that led to its Founder’s death.

“Is there anybody else, maybe a new recruit?” Kingsley asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Neville replied, “Most are hesitant because of what we talked about the last time.”

Here we go again.

“Remus, you went to see Harry, didn’t you?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“I’m afraid he declined, as he did with you and Kingsley.”

She did tell them so. They should just find someone else instead of wasting time on him. Hermione started tuning them out, her eyes drifting to the notes she was pretending to take.

Cancun. With him…

“Why is he staying in Toronto?” one of the new members asked.

Sun…

Somebody answered; some drivel about him wanting international experience.

Ocean…

“He’s there on a temporary transfer, isn’t he? Why don’t you just pull him out, Kingsley? Force him to come back to London.”

Sand…

“I told him that. He said he’ll quit if I do. We don’t want to piss him off.”

This is definitely not taking it slowly…

“We should try talking to him again,” Ginny joined in, “We should send someone else. Someone he will have difficulty saying ‘no’ to.”

It will be good to get away…wait…

Was Ginny suggesting what she thought she was suggesting?

There was a most uncomfortable silence. As Hermione looked up from her artistic interpretation of what was supposed to be a Mexican beach, all eyes, including Moody’s blue ‘mad’ one, were on her.

13. Eponine

Disclaimer : Harry Potter - definitely not mine - considering how I've written TPP so far! Eponine and Les Miserables - Victor Hugo's and the lyrics for On My Own from the musical of the same name.

A/N. A much needed break for all of us. It's quite long so take your time and I apologize for typos. A lot about Hermione, her first meeting with Roy Hunt. The first part I intended not to reveal until later in the story but succumbed to ‘pressure’ and it caused me so much grief writing around it.

Chapter 13 – Eponine

Bella had just adjourned the Death Eater meeting and had asked one of her cloaked disciples to stay. She needed an update.

“How is my nephew doing?” she asked.

“Very well,” the young man replied. “You were right; in her emotional state all she needed was slight nudge. She is falling for him and had Weasley not interfered tonight, things would have progressed even further. We can wean her down to once a week.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t suspect anything.”

“The amount of Amortentia that I used combined with a tad of Beffudlement Draught is untraceable. Even if she suspected something she can’t prove it. The effects are inconspicuous enough she won’t even think what she’s feeling is not real.”

“Good,” Bella answered, pleased, “Keep her on that enchanted potion of yours for two more days, at least until she leaves for Mexico. I have confidence that my nephew will do what he has to do.”

“As you wish,” came his reply as she Disapparated.

He scratched the back of his ear vigorously. He swore loudly. He hated phantom fleas.

And at least two more days of fruit smoothies. He should charge her hazard pay. After two months, Dennis Creevey was so looking forward to not having to make or take those bloody health drinks. If only Malfoy could hurry up and just have sex with her already to make the effects of his enchanted version of the love potion permanent.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ginny had slipped into bed and lay awake still thinking about Hermione’s impending implosion. It was serendipity that the Order’s needs came at the right time. Plan B was in motion and Ginny could only hope that she could put that part of her life back together. It was all up to Harry now.

The alternative continued to be unthinkable. She asked her to stay and be her friend if it happened; when it happened. Unthinkable. Unimaginable. It was a test of how true their friendship was.

I need you to be around and be my friend even if this becomes more than what it is right now.

What was she supposed to say?

If you do this, I won’t be your friend anymore.

Forget the fact that I’ve known you almost all my life and consider you family.

Forget about all those years against Voldemort.

Forget about the year you spent consoling me after I insisted and was stupid enough to be someone’s mistress.

Let me turn my back on you so you have no choice but to run to the one person you shouldn’t be with.

For a brief moment during the meeting she noticed her tense up at the mention of potential Death Eater spies. They had talked about it in theory. Malfoy wasn’t on Tonks’ list and it was a good thing Hermione did not suggest the crazy idea to the group. That would have seriously undermined whatever trust the Order elders had left in her knowing that she was dating the ferret. Hermione might have not recognized it yet but there was already speculation about her inadvertently revealing Order secrets to Malfoy and her involvement in high level discussions was in jeopardy.

Hermione did not have to tell her about her epiphany, and yet, she did. She could have just done it behind her back, and yet, she didn’t. It was a no-brainer. She knew it and Hermione knew it. Hermione needed someone to pull her back, to be her conscience, to remind her, because it didn’t make total sense to her either.

I want you around. I need you around.

Ginny just didn’t know for how long she could be there for her.

XXXXXXXX

After the initial disbelief and internal panic of what Ginny actually suggested, Hermione calmed down enough to tell everyone that despite her reservations about Harry coming back to London for the Order, she would do it. She would ask him, make a reasonable pitch and get an answer. Later, Ginny thanked her for ‘taking one for the team’. Witch. And they had just talked about how she couldn’t face him.

Now, staring blankly at her bedroom ceiling, she was trying to gather herself for the task. She did say she would do it and as Ginny aptly said in front of everyone, how fortuitous it was that she was on vacation so she had time to see him before her trip to Mexico. Hermione sat there thinking how fortuitous it was for Ginny she couldn’t jinx her in front of the Order elders.

She visualized herself, coming up to Harry, talking to him, and asking him to come back to London for the Order. Heart throbbing and mind racing. She loved him and she always would.

Since Ron’s death she had led him to believe that she was still angry about the Roy Hunt incident. It was better that way. The fact of the matter was, it was a relief when she found out that it was him that night in Toronto. That it was not some stranger.

That one night was somewhat perfect until they came back to face the reality of London; Ron, their upcoming wedding, conflicted about wanting more than that one night and hoping that he did too. What an awful thing to do to Ron.

Ron, her friend, her lover, her erstwhile fiancé. It was difficult to explain what Ron was to her without explaining what Harry was. If it wasn’t for her they would all be in the UK, all alive, all well, all still talking to each other.

And it all started with a silly idea bounced around during firewhiskey fuelled girl talk about three months before she was to wed Ron. Their topic was her cold feet, which started the day after she accepted Ron’s proposal and was progressively getting worse as their wedding day drew near.

Ginny did caution that the suggestion might not be for Hermione, considering she (Hermione) had not been with another man except for her fiancé. Ron and her had been together for about ten years and she had not passionately kissed anyone else since she was a teenager, if she could even remember what that was like.

The theory was that somewhere deep inside, Hermione was having second thoughts about marrying because she had never been with anyone else. Ginny opined that the curiosity of what else was out there had to be fed for the cold feet to go away. Hermione remembered that conversation they had over a year ago.

“I should do what?” Hermione was surprised.

They were swigging firewhiskey at a local bar.

“You heard me,” Ginny replied, a bit tipsy she figured.

“A last fling? Your advice is to have a last fling?”

“Uh-huh.”

Hermione could not believe it.

“Ginny, you do realize I am marrying your brother.”

Ginny had an answer for everything.

“I’m actually helping him out. Better now than after the wedding. That would be adultery,” in a way, what she said made some sense, or maybe that was the firewhiskey making her think so.

“Oh yeah, and if I do it before then at least it will only be infidelity. I’m sure Ron will recognize the subtle difference,” this conversation was not helping.

Ginny suggested further, having way too much fun with her Hermione couldn’t think she was really serious, “He doesn’t have to know. He travels a lot; you travel a lot. Surely, you could have a little romp with one of your serious colleagues at one of those boring conferences you attend all the time.”

“Let’s throw in a good dose of lies with betrayal and forget about trust all together. That would be such a good way to start a marriage,” Hermione answered back. “I have cold feet, I think that’s normal. When I asked for advice I was hoping for something your Mum might have told you.”

“Do you really think that if I listened to my Mum I’d still be unmarried right now?” Ginny quipped, causing them to laugh. “She thinks I’m still a virgin.”

Two other girl friends joined them.

“What are we laughing about?” Luna asked.

“Flings. Last flings,” Ginny replied. “Here’s a question. If you wanted to have a last fling and you didn’t know any of them, which of those guys would you rather have it with?”

Ginny directed their attention to the group of Gryffindor boys, Harry, Dean, Seamus, Colin, Dennis and Neville, who were playing wizard’s pool and watching Ron’s Quidditch game over the wireless magical network.

They fell silent, perusing their unsuspecting friends who were oblivious to their lustful imagination. One of them just made a difficult corner pocket shot and got the requisite applause from his mates. He turned to them and smiled. Her girl friends sighed.

“Definitely him.”

“No doubt about it.”

“Forget last. Make it many times over.”

She didn’t have to say anything as they chinked glasses and laughed.

Hermione thought nothing more of that and decided she would just ignore the impulse to back out. She was twenty-six and it was time to take the next step with Ron. She wanted what her Mum and Dad had, even discussed with Ron the possibility of leaving St. Mungo’s which Ron immediately misconstrued as being a done deal. Sometimes Ron jumped to conclusions and only heard what he wanted to hear. Amazing because he had the knack to tune out a lot of what she said.

When they first started seeing each other intimately that first year he was with the Cannons, she decided that she would make an effort to pick her battles with him. Women are from Venus, Men from Mars but sometimes, Ron came from a yet unnamed planet outside the Milky Way. Arguing about every little thing was counter-productive.

And Ron made an effort too. Over time, as their careers became busier and they spent so much time away from each other, it became easier to tolerate the little things when they were. It did take a bit more effort when they spent more time together during his yearly breaks from the Cannons.

A month before the Day she got a call from her Dad. After thirty years, he and her Mum had separated. Her Mum had shacked up with their long-time friend, her Uncle Frank. To say that it surprised her would be an understatement. She had no idea her parents were miserable and her belief of what she wanted with Ron was shaken to the core.

Her parents went through a nasty divorce and they sure picked a good time to do it. It was all her Mum’s fault. Her Mum tried to explain many times why, and she was so incensed at her for doing what she did, their relationship was never the same after.

I didn’t know at that time but I always loved your Uncle Frank.

Your Dad and I were too busy with our own lives. We had different interests and we were like passing ships in the night.

I never realized how unhappy I was until Frank and I spent more time together.

Before we married, I had cold feet, too. I shouldn’t have married your Dad.

That meant she felt they shouldn’t have had her either.

Her Mum’s sorry excuses for her betrayal brought to her attention a lot of similarities in her life that it troubled her. She was hearing this a few days before she was to marry Ron.

Yes, she had cold feet.

Yes, she only knew happy from what she had with Ron. She had nothing to compare it with.

Yes, they were too busy; Ron with Quidditch; her with St. Mungo’s. The two months they spent each year as a couple in recent years bordered on travel companions and roommates who occasionally had sex.

And there was Harry.

It started out as a crush, a school girl harmless crush. So, sue her. She did have a crush on him while they attended Hogwarts. Really, which girl didn’t? For her, it wasn’t so much because of his looks but more so because of the easy kind of feeling she had around him. Of course she tried not to show it. They were friends and she did not want him to freak out and feel awkward.

He was never interested in her that way. Back then his romantic pursuits also always led him to someone else. Cho, his first kiss. Ginny, his first love. And the nameless, countless others after the Cannons took him away. All the time she was around and it was never her. Anvil-sized clue right there.

She would always be his pal, solid, dependable, behind him through thick or thin. After helping him through that difficult patch following his fall from Quidditch grace, he had alternately referred to her as his ‘rock’, his ‘anchor’. She wasn’t even an animate object to him.

She remembered her one night of weakness during their search for the Horcruxes when she was trying to help him revise for their NEWTs. He fell asleep from exhaustion on her bed, doing so in the middle of answering a question about wandless magic. She decided not to wake him and instead slipped in beside him, falling asleep as he instinctively cuddled closer and embraced her, his soft breath falling on her neck. She pretended to be asleep long after she woke up, indulging herself in the euphoric sensation that she knew would not last and thankful that after Ron forced reality with a wake-up call that was hard to ignore, Harry never brought it up.

But Hermione had always been pragmatic. There was no point holding a torch for someone who would never care about her the same way. That was just foolish and a total waste of time. So she left it at that; a crush, an admiration that she suppressed as she allowed herself to accept the love of another man. It was only right for her to love Ron back.

Hermione always thought that if he ever survived Voldemort’s murderous intent, Harry and Ginny would get back together. The circumstances of their break up and the fact that they were such a blissful couple made it unthinkable that they wouldn’t.

Harry survived. Voldemort was dead. Harry was supposed to get his girl back, the girl he broke up with because it wasn’t safe for her to be around him, the girl who could make him happy. But the unthinkable did happen. Harry and Ginny didn’t get back together because Ginny fell in love with someone else.

Though Harry never talked to her about Ginny, it was obvious that he was hurt when Ginny started dating again during their search for the remaining Horcruxes. Technically there was nothing wrong with her doing that. It was just a surprise that she did.

By the time Hermione got around to asking her about it, Ginny was in a serious relationship with a 7th year Ravenclaw boy, a transfer from New York. Ginny confessed to Hermione that her Harry Potter infatuation was over and that she was in love with Nicholas. Not much good came out of that.

And years after, when she asked them separately how they felt about giving it another go, both said they had talked about it and that there was nothing there anymore. What they had was a long time ago, things were different, and it was best for them to stay friends.

Over the years, Hermione would watch other women come and go into his life and occasionally, during challenging times with Ron, allow herself to wonder what it would be like to be in their shoes. She sometimes allowed the fantasy of her ideal that she knew Ron never could be.

It made a bit more sense now, why she kept on telling Ron she wasn’t ready for years and why she wanted her acceptance back the second she gave it. It wasn’t because of their careers as she had allowed him to believe.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she was hoping to be swept away by the man of her dreams even if for just one tryst, to find out what it was like. And as her parents divorced, Hermione did not want to waste thirty years of their lives, end up having a bitter daughter, before admitting that she wanted to be with someone else all along.

She was in panic that Harry was to her as her Uncle Frank was to her Mum, and that over time the bottled up school girl crush had aged and matured into something else. Learning from her mother’s mistake, she wanted to know once and for all if Harry had any similar feelings for her. And if he did not, she wanted to at least have one intimate moment with the man she had loved all this time.

Looking back now, she really should have declined Ron’s proposal and really should have broken up with him five years ago when the fire was gone and she had no desire to fan the flame again. She should have just called the wedding off the moment she started thinking about asking Harry to be her last fling.

She should have called off the wedding then, and not after the third time she cheated on Ron with Roy Hunt.

The Roy Hunt affair should have ended in Toronto.

XXXXXXXXXX

14 February 2006 - Along King Street, a few blocks west of University Avenue, Toronto

The Graffiti was a strategically located Muggle only restaurant in the heart of Toronto’s Theatre District. Hermione was at the bar, lazily sipping her strawberry daiquiri, watching the place begin to empty as theatre goers finished dinner and made their way to one of the three theatres that were within a two block radius. She glanced at her watch; it was 7:20pm. He was five minutes late.

Hermione was anxious, not so much because he was tardy and they were going to be, but more so because of what she was about to ask him that night. It was absolutely ludicrous and as she waited for him it became clearer that this idea was a bad one.

She had been mulling over a plan to find out whether or not Harry had feelings for her since realizing that she loved him.

Option one was to ask him directly. That would lead to him asking her why she was asking and an admission to being in love with him. Freakish and embarrassing if he said ‘no’.

Option two was to use magic. Legilimency or Veritaserum. Harry would be livid and he would know if she used those.

Option three was asking him to be her last fling. Even more freakish and embarrassing but it had one enticing element to it that option one didn’t have.

The last option was not in serious contention until her conversation with Ron just before she left for Toronto. They were talking about the excuses her philandering mother had. The similarities were so glaring it did not escape Ron.

He asked her if she ever wondered what it would be like to have sex with someone else, too afraid to mention Harry at all. She answered truthfully and asked him the same thing. Ron confessed that all this time she was mistaken in believing that the first time they made love was his first time. She speculated out loud what else she was mistaken about. Then they had a row about her mother.

She was upset, possibly vindictive, armed with justification for something she knew was not right and she did not care what Ron would think if he found out. It was as if something in her snapped and she dared to dare fate.

Far from the pressures of family and friends, a few days before her wedding, after an unpleasant discussion with her fiancé, she was presented with an opportunity that she was considering seriously. The man she was in love with called her earlier that day to say that he was in Toronto.

She talked to herself, channelling Ginny to be the other voice.

Just ask him.

I asked him the hypothetical question. He thought it was a bad idea.

Yeah, if he was Ron it would be. You should have asked him the question directly. And maybe his first answer wasn't a joke.

He’ll say ‘no’.

It’s only sex to him. He has it all the time with different women; one more won’t make a difference to him.

I’m not his type. I never have been and never will be.

You don’t know that for sure.

True.

And you have to know for sure or wonder for the rest of your life.

True.

Now, not thirty years later.

True.

Just stick to your last fling story so he doesn’t freak out too much if he doesn’t feel the same way about you.

It’s only sex and only this once.

Right.

And we can’t talk about it after Toronto.

Right.

But if he says ‘no’ it would be too embarrassing.

Not if you do it properly. Business-like. You’re his best friend and he owes you. Call in favours if you have to.

Beg Harry for sex. Great image.

And don’t tell him you love him.

Got it.

Unless he says it first.

Okay.

And he means it.

You can stop now.

Hermione was supposed to meet him tonight for a ‘date’. A Valentine’s Day date. He had called it that. She had a pair of theatre tickets to see Les Miserables and after that, dinner. A date with Harry Potter; she dreamed of that once upon a time as a teenager.

Their friendship had withstood a lot but still she was nervous about what she was about to ask him. She was waffling; swaying decisions so frequently she was making herself sick. Just what she needed; something else to have cold feet about!

Her phone started ringing and she answered. It was Harry.

“It’s okay…really,” she was trying to mask her disappointment, trying so hard to convince herself it was relief, “Yes. I’ll go ahead…maybe when we get back home then. Call me…bye…and be careful.”

Something at work came up, he said. He couldn’t join her at all that night. She took it as a sign that it wasn’t meant to be. That will put that crazy thought to rest once and for all. Thirty years.

Hermione downed the remainder of her strawberry daiquiri, looked at her watch and decided she had time for another one before sitting by herself in the theatre, quite prepared to bawl her eyes out when her favourite part of the musical came up.

I love him
But every day I'm lonely
All my life I've only been pretending
Without me, his world will go on turning
The world is full of happiness that I have never known…

The bartender gave her another drink.

I love him
I love him
I love him...
But only on my own...

She took a sip and continued humming the tune in her head. Just then, a tall man with slicked back black hair dressed in a grey business suit stood beside her.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” she heard the man ask.

He had a strong, rich voice that was difficult to ignore. It had an almost hypnotic quality to it.

She looked up, smiled and shook her head, “No, it isn’t.”

Hermione did notice that there were a lot of empty barstools to choose from. She could feel his grey eyes on her and chuckled to herself, realizing what was happening. She had to thank Ginny for this awareness of the singles bar scene which she used to be able to tune out.

“Laughing by yourself like that, some people might think you’ve gone crazy,” the man said to her. He looked to be in his thirties.

“I think I have, actually,” she answered him, thinking about what she almost did, still laughing at herself.

“Statistically, it is said that psychiatrists and therapists double billable hours around this time of the year.”

“Is that right?” Hermione couldn’t fault him for trying but, no. “What do they do? Go to bars and hand out business cards to unaccompanied patrons?”

The man grew a bit red in the face, laughing somewhat forcibly. Just as she thought; it was a guy who took everything too seriously.

Before he could say any more, someone else started talking. There must be a big sign pointing at her saying ‘ask me’.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” came an apologetic voice.

As she turned to talk to the other man, her gaze met a most interesting set of deep blue eyes. Or were they green? He was probably about her age, medium built, with sandy hair, a chiselled face and a full mouth. And those blue green eyes. He was obviously a Brit too, the accent gave him away. He had said something to her but she wasn’t paying attention. She couldn’t while she was checking him out! The man oozed with a sensual Veela-like magnetism that was difficult to ignore. She asked him what he wanted to know.

“Did you see a woman, waiting around, about this tall, hair like yours, very pregnant, maybe a few minutes ago?” he was anxious, making huge motions with his arms, like playing charades. It was quite cute. He probably was late and was in a lot of trouble.

She shook her head, “Sorry.”

Hermione took a sip of her drink as the man took out a phone and made a call. The way he moved and talked, he reminded her of someone.

“Hi, where are you?”

There was a pause. Hermione found herself eavesdropping and, she couldn’t believe she was still checking him out. She was scanning her mental list of male friends to find a match. She was also intrigued what the story was; attractive panicky man looking for a pregnant woman in a bar…hmm…

“It’s okay…really… rain check then…”

He got stood up and by a pregnant woman.

“…kiss the kids for me…”

Likely his wife.

“…bye, I love you too.”

Definitely his wife.

He hung up and swore loudly, startling her. Well, nobody was perfect.

The man sat down a seat away from her and apologized, sheepishly explaining, “My sister. Her sitter called in sick and we were supposed to catch Les Mis. She loves the theatre and it was to be her first night off from the rascals in a month.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied as she politely smiled and carried on. He cares about his pregnant sister. Nice. She looked at her watch and started putting her coat and scarf on. “You’re going to be late.”

“I’m sorry,” he didn’t hear her.

“Les Mis, you’re going to be late. The show starts at 8.”

“Oh, I’m not going,” he answered.

She smiled; men were so predictable.

“I guess you don’t have to now that your sister’s not coming.”

He chuckled, an easy laugh, a real one, a familiar one, but who?

“No, it’s not that. I like watching Les Mis.”

Intrigued Hermione had to ask, “You do? Why?”

“What’s not to like? The music is powerful; the conflicts are as real now as it was when Hugo wrote the book and I love watching women cry when Eponine sings that song.”

He was teasing. It was obviously a joke, though she was quite impressed he knew Eponine. Knowing exactly which song he meant as he tried to sing part of the melody, she laughed with him and felt warm in the face. That was her favourite part of the musical, the one she was humming in her mind a moment ago. Something about the tragedy of unrequited love appealed to her.

He continued, “Anyway, my dear sister has the tickets, so unless I find an unofficial ticket sales person on the street and willingly allow myself to be robbed blind, I’ll have to go to a sad movie to get my crying woman fix.”

No. Don’t even think about it.

“Well, it was nice talking to you,” she said to him, with a lot more regret she was leaving than she was willing to admit.

“Have a good night.”

Why did he have to be so charming?

Just before she turned away from him, he said to her, “Oh, and go Cannons!”

She didn’t think she heard right, “You said something.”

“Cannons,” he pointed to her Chudley Cannon pin on her coat, something Harry gave her years ago when he first joined the team. Being in a Muggle public place, she had turned off the charm that usually made a cannon ball zoom around the wearer but he nonetheless recognized it. Was he a wizard?

“You really shouldn’t be wearing that around here if you value your life,” he continued. “I’m rooting for the underdog but Toronto will win the Cup this year. Of course Weasley’s much better and thank goodness Potter’s gone…”

“What’s wrong with Potter?” her defensive nature rose to the challenge without a second thought.

He laughed a bit, amused by her reaction, but did not back down, “What do you mean ‘what’s wrong with Potter’, your question should be what was right with him. Don’t even get me started…no…you’ll be late, you better go and here, take this. I was saving it for my sister but you might as well put it to good use.”

She grinned as she saw what he put in her hand; a pocket pack of Kleenex tissues. A shiver went up her arm as their fingers touched. Harry. The man reminded her of Harry.

You’re just worked up about going out with Harry.

No, don’t impose.

Maybe he wants you to impose.

“Um,” great way to start a conversation, “I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”

“Roy.”

“Roy, my fiancé couldn’t come and I do have another ticket,” she wanted him to know that she was getting married, “So if you need your crying woman fix, you’re welcome to it.”

Please say no.

“But what would your fiancé think?” he asked her.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean for you and me to go together,” she recovered, “Though we’ll be sitting beside each other, we’re not really together. It’s just such a shame to waste it.”

Maybe it was just her imagination or was Roy taking some time to answer back.

“Okay, but only if you allow me to buy you dinner after. I mean, we won’t really be together but if we happen to go into the same restaurant and share a table, maybe even engage in a conversation, what do you think?” he asked it so seriously her heart skipped a couple of beats.

“That sounds…okay.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jane.”

14. The Bookstore Owner and the Window Cleaner

Disclaimer : Harry Potter - JKRs not mine. My Deepest Regret - By Roy Hunt (Harry Potter)

A/N. This chapter is shorter than my usual. It was fun writing it. It's the continuation of Roy/Harry's and Hermione's night. I'm so sorry to those who had hoped it to be more serious.

Chapter 14 – The Bookstore Owner and the Window Cleaner

Hermione did not know what suddenly came over her. It was surreal, as she watched ‘Jane’ take over and was seemingly helpless to prevent whatever wanton and reckless acts she was about to engage in. Granted that she was attracted to Roy’s undeniable physical attributes and her imagination kept on seeing Harry in him, the moment she gave him her middle name, all systems were a go. And the anticipation of the end point was propagating the impetus towards it even more.

On their way, she found out that Roy was a Squib and hence could not Disapparate. By necessity, or so Jane convinced her, a side-along had to be done. His touch was electric and the tension in the air thick, as instead of holding on to her arm he deliberately, with audacity, faced her, stepped in closer, and with ownership placed his hands on her waist, a glint of mischief in his eyes as she tried to concentrate so they wouldn’t splinch.

Destination, Determination, Deliberation.

It definitely wasn’t the textbook illustrated Side-along and she doubted that their version would ever be Ministry approved. The Intra-apparition contact would have been very difficult to describe in appropriate language.

Delusion, Disillusion, Desperation

They got to the theatre just in the nick of time, finding their seats as the lights dimmed. Needless to say, the first Act passed before her eyes without her seeing most of it, unable to watch as she, from time to time, felt his smouldering look go over her like she wasn’t wearing anything. She had to keep on checking to make sure she was indeed still dressed for Merlin only knew what wandless unintentional magic she would perform in her present state.

And when her song was being sung, she looked over to him and met his playful gaze, and she could have sworn that for a split second, in the sparsely lit theatre, it was Harry who was seated beside her as she had been looking forward to all day. She wanted to tell him how she felt even if just through a song that someone else was singing, hoping that he would never find out just how meaningful the song was to her.

By intermission Hermione had enough of Les Mis. She had seen it many times before and at the moment, there were more pressing needs to fulfill than to see everyone singing at the Barricade.

Not wanting to initiate the suggestion to leave, she had to draw from Ginny’s bag of tricks and may have slightly overdid her version of the Incantus borborygmus non-verbal spell she cast on an unsuspecting Roy at the lounge as they waited for the second act.

The lounge was abuzz with white noise conversation when a loud gurgling noise emanated from somewhere within Roy’s vicinity, so loud it was difficult to ignore. Everybody in the room stopped talking, puzzled what it was.

Roy apologized to everyone, embarrassed, “Excuse me, so sorry. Haven’t had dinner yet. So sorry…”

“Hungry?”

Hermione could not look at Roy’s face, for she was certain the sight would have just made her go into uncontrollable laughter. She forgot that she should have aimed for half the strength of the stomach emptying spell, which also had healing applications.

“Suddenly famished I could eat a horse,” he admitted, perplexed, “You don’t mind if we go have dinner now, do you?

“Not at all,” she replied, finally with a straight face.

For a Brit, Roy seemed to know Toronto. He hailed a cab and in a few minutes they were at Yonge and Elm, getting a table at a Portuguese restaurant. They ordered, what, she couldn’t remember. She wasn’t really starving for food. Unfortunately, Roy, like any other man, needed basic sustenance that superseded all else. Her use of magic had caused a bit of a setback.

“What do you do for a living?” Roy asked as they waited.

Oh, bollocks! Never imagining needing to go out with a complete stranger, she never really had a solid alter-ego that Ginny sometimes said she had to use if she was uncomfortable with a date who she had no intention of seeing again.

Stall…

“I…work,” she answered, sipping slower and more wine than she usually did.

Roy smiled.

“What a coincidence. So do I. What type of work do you do?”

Just tell him the truth or that it’s not important. Oh look, a tattoo on that man’s arm.

“Dragons.”

Shoot.

“Dragons?”

“I’m a dragon keeper. I work on a dragon reservation.”

What?!

Roy was having difficulty controlling himself from laughing, he repeated, “You’re a dragon keeper and you work on a dragon reservation.”

“Yes,” she tried to say with confidence, trying to convince herself. “What’s so funny?

“You’re a… dragon keeper… and you work on a… dragon reservation,” Roy was now unable to finish a sentence without breaking into fits.

Quite red in the face, she could only laugh at herself, too, joining him. It was truly a very ridiculous answer.

“That obvious, huh?”

“Please, don’t be embarrassed. It’s very…” Roy paused, trying to find a good word, “Amusing.”

She rose to her defence.

“Well, can you blame me for not wanting to tell the truth? You could be some psychopath in disguise, charming unsuspecting gullible women like me for some ulterior motive.”

Really, he could be, though it would be a shame for someone so attractive to end up being a psychopath.

“True,” even Roy agreed. “And I am watching my drink around you because you might be an old hag who will drug me, poison me, confund me, or Imperiuse me, just to bed me.”

Thinking about her earlier plot for Harry and her use of magic on Roy, he was closer to the truth than he could have imagined. She wondered if that had indeed happened to him.

“And so you should, because that is certainly not beneath me,” she laughed as she said with honesty.

“Tell you what. There’s no pressure. We’re strangers and we won’t see each other after tonight,” Roy made a great point, “You can be anyone you want to be. Lie, tell the truth, whatever. Just have fun with it.”

Hermione was willing to try anything fun once.

“Okay. I own a bookstore,” she said, thinking about where she usually escaped to from the pressures of her work, her what-if-she-wasn’t-a-healer life, “A small cozy one with an eclectic collection of handpicked favourites and a coffee nook where regulars come to sit, read and discuss whatever they fancy.”

“Nice,” Roy nodded, “But are you sure you don’t want to be some bigshot Ministry official or a celebrated, I don’t know, Healer?”

“Quite overrated professions, if you ask me,” she wondered if Roy was just guessing or there was something about her that gave her away.

“Exotic pole dancer, no?” he teased.

“Men are so typical,” she bantered back, then feeling a bit flirtatious, added, “Bookstore owner, emotionally and carnally repressed, with a secret monthly subscription to Naughty Wizards and not for its literary content. You can imagine what I’m not wearing and what I’m doing when I unfold and regard the centrepage. Good enough?”

Roy smiled, enjoying himself, hanging on to what she just said, “Much better.”

It was his turn.

“What about you? What do you do?”

He frowned, and seriously, “Let me think. Something dangerous, with an adrenaline rush. You can help me out here.”

She went for the obvious, something she would like him to be.

“An Auror or Hit wizard?”

“Nah, something Muggle, so I can at least imagine myself doing it.”

“A gigolo,” she just had to try that. Roy certainly looked the part and she was already thinking how the rest of the evening could go if he assumed the job.

“Dangerous with an adrenaline rush?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Depending on your clientele,” she wasn’t sure if he had seen a certain movie by an American comedian and left it at that.

“No thanks.”

It was too bad he declined. Now on to the more mundane community helpers.

“A fireman…a medic…a policeman…”

Roy was shaking his head.

“Heights, I love heights.”

Like someone I know.

“A fighter plane pilot…an astronaut…” these were actually not bad.

“I know,” Roy found one.

“What?”

“A window cleaner.”

What?

“Seriously,” she said with mocked disappointment, “Since we’re pretending anyway, give me something to work with here. Not that I have anything against window washers but I’d really rather be out with someone with a more intellectual line of work.”

“But I’m not just any window cleaner. I travel the world and work only on national landmarks. I was just cleaning the south side observation windows of the CN tower the other day. It was freezing but the view to the lake was magnificent. Moving. Inspiring even.”

“I’m sure it was,” she said, thinking, as she pictured him on scaffolding holding a squeegee, how it was a definite turn-off.

“The experience unlocks my artistic juices and fuels my real passion, poetry. You might even have my work on your shelves,” he was really good, tying in his imaginary life with hers, “In fact, I’m currently working on a second collection.”

Roy was way too glib. She was out of her league but enjoying herself too much.

“A poet,” she smiled at him, imagining him on scaffolding, his well muscled legs dangling down from a considerable height, him looking out to Lake Ontario pensively, suddenly grabbing a pencil from his body shirt pocket and scribbling furiously on a small pad as a wave of inspired verses hits him. Hmm…

“Yes, a poet. A struggling one.”

He couldn’t have possibly guessed how much she loved reading poetry in her spare time, not that she had a lot lately.

“I can’t wait to hear something of yours.”

“Really?”

“Really,” it was a dare, but if he could come up with one, she would really be impressed.

“Okay, I have one in mind. It’s a work in progress.”

Really?

“And I’m sensitive to criticism, just to let you know to go easy on me. Are you ready?”

“Go ahead,” her initial flippant comment on not being able to wait to hear one, now true.

“My Deepest Regret by Roy Hunt,” he said, “Here goes.”

A sudden seriousness and truthfulness overcame them as he, in a gentle but subtly heartbroken tone, delivered a poem that warmed her heart and sent goose bumps through her entire being, leaving her wondering how, currently delusional as she was about Harry, Roy had unwittingly composed one that she wanted to hear from him.

Unexpected, unrelenting, this passion that I feel
I still cannot imagine, it still all seems unreal
All my life I’ve known you, all my life so blind
Now I can’t have you, I can’t hold you, and you can’t be mine
Too late, I know for sure that I will eventually lose my mind.

They looked at each other speechless for quite some time, as she continued to hear the verse in her thoughts, smiling at the stranger, thinking how their chance meeting had, so far, been a wonderful surprise.

He asked, returning her smile, “Now, is the window cleaner good enough?”

She was impressed.

“Definitely.”

15. The Squeeze Play

A/N. Just to let everyone know, the baseball theme of the conversation was not my idea. A reviewer from ffnet, eaglesnest, suggested it and I had a lot of fun writing it. If you find yourself scratching your head, and saying 'huh?', don't be too hard on yourself, or on me. My only excuse is I can't possible think like a man, at least not completely, and may have a really weird understanding of the game of baseball. LOL!

Go Blue Jays! We seem to have a good team this year.

The second part of the chapter brings us back to the future and sheds a bit more light on what happened to Ron, why Harry is in Toronto. By the way, for non-Torontonians, if you're ever in town and love to eat, you can get a taste of the world's dishes here.

Chapter 15 – The Squeeze Play

14 February 2006 – Yonge and Elm, Toronto – The Amor Ninho

Dragon keeper…repressed bookstore owner…and such a flirt…

Harry as Roy sat across the table from Hermione as Jane, laughing inwardly and enjoying himself immensely, as they smiled at each other and allowed the waitress to serve their entrées. Yes, he wasn’t being fair. He knew way too much about her to know what she liked and what lines would work. But he could not help teasing her and finding out how she would react.

Maybe years from now he could tell her and they could laugh about this together. Many, many years from now. Maybe.

As he was getting to know this other side to her, he felt an excitement. If he was out looking for some companionship, he would have definitely made a play for this mischievous and uninhibited Jane that he just met. Harry realized that what they were doing at the moment they would have done a long time ago if she was not with Ron. So this was how it felt to go out on a non-platonic date with her. It felt different in a wonderfully unexpected kind of way.

And if not for the necessity of appeasing his hunger pangs and his foresight that he needed to store up energy for the physical activities his florid imagination were suggesting for the rest of the night, he would have proposed to her to skip dinner altogether. Judging from her openness, the proposal would not have been met with resistance.

After he left a broken-nosed Floyd and a very anxious Waxball at the Ghoul earlier that day, he lost a tail by taking the anti-Polyjuice Potion and went to the Ministry for Magic. Harry had a conference meeting with Kingsley and Toronto MLE Head Jack Muller and they had a plan. Roy would have to meet with Hermione, ensure sufficient interaction to prevent untoward suspicion, and then attend the 6am meeting at the Ghoul. Toronto MLE would be on standby and would storm the restaurant once Roy/Harry gave the signal. Simple enough.

The need to meet with her as Roy definitely quashed a temptation that arose earlier that day. He thought it was a sure sign that it wasn’t meant to be. It was just so enticing; them being far from home, on their own, away from the pressures of family and friends, to offer his services to be her last fling if she was interested. Being in Toronto with her was a second opportunity to seriously ask what he thought he should have the other day.

He was quite cognizant of what the consequences of the offer would be. The suggestion itself would have made her ask why he was so eager to help and the truth was not something that Hermione would want to hear. He could only imagine the range of curses she would likely throw at him when he told her of his unimaginable lust and how he just wanted to have sex with her that one time to satisfy it. Even if she did not jinx him right then and there, that would definitely make things awkward between them for the rest of their lives.

With the suggestion of being her last fling seemingly behind him, he contemplated on what to do about the dinner with her that he as Harry agreed to. He could not meet her as Harry. They were watching her and if he was identified as a London MLE, information about his arrest of the real Roy Hunt might leak and blow his cover. Not good for his first case as an Auror and for justice for Helga Braun.

Regrettably he had to cancel, have the consideration to let her watch Les Mis in peace and then allow Roy to come in and do his thing; talk somewhere public and in plain view.

However, Floyd appeared unexpectedly and he had to think fast. Roy Hunt was up, way ahead of schedule. As he tried to convince Hermione to spend the night with Roy and was successful, the temptation to satisfy his longing reared its ugly head back into the picture. It was almost perfect. She obviously wanted a last fling and was prepared to live with the guilt, he could be her last fling and if it could quench his thirst for her he could live with the guilt, and she did not have to know it was him so there would be no reason for any future awkwardness. Perfect.

When she did not protest the very evident inappropriate intra-Apparition contact, it was all systems go. Harry decided that he was going to give Hermione a proper last fling. One that she would never forget. One that he would never forget. And when he decided this, the likelihood of him telling her and them laughing about this together became almost zero.

Harry reasoned to himself that it was better him than some other stranger, which would probably happen if Roy Hunt did not take advantage. She was so obviously vulnerable that any real ‘Roy’ would have had no problem whatsoever talking her into having sex.

At the theatre he could not help but look at her with unambiguous and unmasked desire as he never could before, eliciting the response he wanted her to have. He was surprised at her use of magic to get them to leave the theatre sooner but that only proved even further that this was what she wanted. And that poem, he didn’t know where that came from but the feeling as he said it was like he was on liquid luck.

“So, what do you think of my poem?” Harry asked her after the waitress left.

They started eating.

“What do I think? You want to know what I think.”

So, obviously stalling again. What are you up to?

“Being owner of a bookstore who handpicks what she sells, I’d like to know if you, at least, liked it enough you’ll consider carrying my second collection.”

“It wasn’t half bad,” she said, kindly.

“Ouch! I told you I was sensitive,” Harry feigned being crushed.

She chuckled as she replied, “It was more than half good, really.”

Now, she was trying to make him feel better. He really wanted to know what she thought about it.

“Is that a compliment? I can’t tell.”

“It was delivered well and personally, I found the content excellent.”

Huh? Really?

Then she added, taking the accolade back somewhat, “Though it’s very hard to judge just how good it is having just heard one verse.”

Pushing our luck, are we? Should he even dare attempting one more?

“Well, I may find more inspiration tonight. Maybe after I round first base?”

His eyes flitted over to her inviting lips, thinking about their first kiss, hoping for the perfect moment to come soon.

“I’m rooting for you to get a hit,” she answered with mischief. “That bunt earlier was good; it caught everyone off-guard but you wasted it by going straight to second. You were fortunate you weren’t benched for that.”

This was, yet again, a surprise. Baseball talk with her. As far as he knew Quidditch was the one sport she understood and only because she had to. And Ron never watched the Muggle game. Just how much does she know?

“You mean the intra-Apparition thing?” she nodded. “Sorry. Pinch hitter jitters.”

“You do strike me as an everyday player,” she continued to sport a poker-face.

“I do like to play.”

“I can tell,” she concurred. “What position?”

Oh, she’s good.

“Any guesses?”

“I was thinking 3rd baseman at the hot corner but your agility and skill suggests the flash of a shortstop, though I certainly hope you’re not one.”

So, you’re not interested in flashy but may go for someone hot. Hermione would never admit to something like that.

“Actually, I’m a designated hitter,” he was in real life.

“A DH, how could I miss that? You come to the plate to hit, get on base, and score runs without the more serious responsibilities to help the team win.”

He laughed. That was well put.

“Yes, I’m strictly an offensive player. Is that a problem?”

He thought he’d throw in a chance for her to back out. She didn’t take it.

“Actually, if I needed someone to pinch hit, a DH, if one was available, would be perfect.”

“Really?”

“A pinch hitter is called in because runs are needed, right? A DH is supposed to be good at that,” she said, making sense and seemingly knowing what she was talking about.

“True.”

“I’m curious. How big and how hard a bat do you swing?”

He was wondering when she would ask. Wording was everything in baseball talk. If only you could see how big and hard my bat is right now, and I'm not even on base yet. He hoped the cold wine he was sipping might help lower the tent he was pitching at such an inappropriate moment and venue.

“How my bat rises to the occasion depends on what’s at stake, on the prize, but as you probably already know, it’s not only the size of the bat that matters but how you swing it.”

“And do you swing yours well?”

“That’s what designated hitters are paid to do,” he replied, trying not to laugh at how innocently she was projecting it all out to be. “I can tell you’re not a big fan of the DH. Which position player do you root for the most? Pitcher?”

He was just curious what she would say.

“Merlin, no! Starters only play once in four or five days and only a few can complete games consistently. Middle relief gets even more sporadic playing time and closers are only in the game in save situations. Pitchers are also the worse base runners. No pitchers for me,” she explained. “I do love catchers, because they’re involved in each and every play and pitch.”

Ron was definitely not a catcher. He wondered if he just misjudged him and quickly pushed Ron away from his thoughts to go back to their very enlightening conversation. She was quite comfortable with this and so far he had not seen her blush. It was time to up the ante.

“So, what do you think is the most exciting play in baseball? The grand slam?”

She shook her head, grinning, “Definitely not grand slams, I’m not the type. Actually, in general, I find homeruns too quick, the play seems over too soon that after the runner comes home it leaves me hanging…you know…wanting for more.”

Really?

“I prefer players and teams who manufacture runs well. Though, I admit, a timely unexpected solo homer has its place in the game.”

That’s a relief.

“I agree about grand slams. I like scoring runs but not if I’m the fourth one on the same play. As a DH, I admit to loving solo homers though I can be asked to manufacture a run once in a while.”

“That’s good to hear. What about you? What do you think is the most exciting play in baseball?” she asked him back.

“The squeeze play.”

“The squeeze play?”

“The squeeze play.”

“I’m not quite familiar with that. How does it work?”

She was lying. He could tell. Okay.

“It involves one player trying to bring home a runner from third base.”

“It does?”

“Imagine me, a base runner just off third base, ready and eager to come home.”

“Imagining…” an impish smile curved around her lips. She sure was being naughty tonight.

“You’re the hitter. I absolutely need your help to score a run.”

“Absolutely. I like that notion, of doing things in…unison.”

“You really want me to come home and you’re at the plate waiting for that perfect pitch.”

“Uh-huh…I definitely want you to come home. What am I looking for?”

“A ball that you can handle; something you can control. See, you know I’m coming and I know you’re trying to get me there so it has to be precise. Our execution of the play is quite important. Are you still with me?”

“I’m ready. What do I do?”

“You’re going to have to lay down …,” that is such a nice thought to linger on, “…a bunt.”

“A bunt…laying down one.”

“But not just any bunt.”

“Of course not,” she was almost whispering.

He leaned in closer and looked deeply into her brown eyes. She let him as he explained the rest of the squeeze play in a quieter voice.

“You have to lay a trickling bunt down the third base line towards where I’m coming from. And it has to be one that leaves your bat fast and far enough from home plate such that the catcher won’t be able to field it, yet slow and near enough home such that the third baseman will not be able to get to it, at least not in time to throw either of us out as you accelerate as quickly as you can towards first and I bear down with all that I have towards home.”

He paused. She was blushing, finally. He was probably flushed too. He needed another drink. A stiffer one. Where’s that waitress?

“The squeeze play,” she took some wine and recovered quicker than he did, “You’re quite right. The anticipation of it coming, seeing it slowly unfold, rapidly approach and then come to a frenzied…um…climax is quite exciting. I do have a question.”

“Yes?”

“If it’s a close play at home plate would you slide?”

He swallowed hard.

“Home plate is the worse place to slide short and be called out. I would charge; ram, if I have to, to score.”

She was grinning from ear to ear.

“A pinch-hitting DH who’s a charger not a slider. Tonight, that’s definitely what I’m looking for.”

“Good. I do have to be honest.”

“Yes?”

“I know you don’t care much for homeruns but tonight, I am swinging for the fences.”

“As you should with minor league pitching, though my only wish is that when you hit one out of the ballpark, take as much time as you can rounding the bases,” Hermione replied. “It is more…satisfying that way.”

“I’ll try my best. What if I hit the cycle and score a run on each hit?”

“Ambitious, cocky even,” she laughed and was eyeing him with mischief, “That would make for one very special night I wouldn’t mind being witness to.”

He lifted his wine glass.

“To the art of manufacturing runs and a well executed squeeze play,” he said.

“To swinging for the fences, solo homeruns and hitting the cycle,” she countered.

They were chuckling as they toasted. He didn’t know how she acquired such a good understanding of the sport and was very curious. This was turning out to be one very interesting night.

XXXXXXXXXX

7 February 2007 – Just Outside the Toronto Ministry for Magic.

It was way past 9pm before Harry and Andy were able to leave the Briefing Room. He was crankier, more tired and, judging from the weird sounds emanating from his stomach, hungrier than a woman who had been in labour for more than 24 hours. At least that was how Andy described him as the left the Ministry. He had not forgotten what he had been so eagerly looking forward to all afternoon.

“Um, Harry, where are we off to?” Andy asked him.

With hesitation, Andy climbed into the passenger’s seat of the Taurus and hurriedly fastened her seatbelt, tightly. While Harry knew she preferred to drive, he also knew she wouldn’t go where he wanted to go, so he securely entrenched himself in the driver’s seat, magically started the engine and put the gear in motion.

“To get some dinner,” he said, his voice calm and incongruent with how he felt.

Harry floored the gas pedal, driving on the wrong side of the road, speeding head on towards incoming traffic. Andy quickly turned on the Arthur Weasley patented Invisibility booster and switched the gear so it would fly, just in time to prevent them from crashing into a Beamer. He always forgot to do that.

“Great idea. I’m starving,” Andy replied, too excited to be genuine. She was onto him, “I know this great Italian place just off College and Grace.”

“I really don’t feel like pasta tonight.”

“What about some souvlaki?”

Harry shook his head, thinking about what he was about to do, working himself up to the task…

“No? Sushi?”

Floyd was the reason why he was in Toronto and had to stay…

“I guess not. Jerk chicken?”

Others referred to it as a sad obsession; an unfortunate delusion. The reason he was not physically in London and, by extension, the reason Hermione was going out with Malfoy…

“I know. Beef and vegetable wonton noodle soup.”

For the past year, Floyd had been wise enough to lay low. Harry was meticulous but there was no evidence to pin anything on him, big or small. His involvement in the plot against the Research meeting was something he could not miss; this was a rare opportunity to catch him red handed and get him to tell everyone how Ron died. To confess and to gloat as Harry knew Floyd wanted to do.

Floyd blamed him for his brother’s death and he exacted vengeance through Ron. Quid pro quo, Floyd taunted once. His presence in Toronto was for justice but with time and frustration it was dangerously bordering on retribution. And proving the untold truth about Ron’s death would also hopefully take away some of Hermione’s guilt and make it possible for them to start talking to each other again.

Andy realized where they were headed.

“Jeez, Harry. Are you still thinking what I think you’re thinking? They don’t have real food there!”

It was Screw Harry Potter Day. It started out with waking up in some stranger’s bed, agonizing over the fact that Malfoy had hoodwinked the woman he loved for a kiss and Merlin only knows what else, finding out Ron was a ghost and needing to see Hermione but couldn’t. Really, Harry had to vent his frustration on someone more deserving.

“At least have the consideration to drop by a hotdog stand,” Andy pleaded, a bit melodramatic.

It was obviously to detract him. Not working.

“I’ll be quick,” he said as he parked down the Ford Taurus in an alley close to the Ghoul Waterhole.

“It’s common sense not to pick fights on an empty stomach. Must you do this now?” she asked again.

He said to her as he got off the car, “Wait here.”

“Um, no,” came Andy’s terse reply and followed him.

Harry tried to reason with her, “He’s not going to do anything to me. He prefers me alive.”

“So you tell me and that’s so nice of him, but I’m not concerned about you,” Andy retorted. “I’m worried about what you’ll do to him.”

Harry did not argue. She actually had a good point. The last time he was alone with Floyd, well, suffice it to say that he lost it and was warned that if he hexed the Squib again, a restraining order was going to be issued immediately. That would be most annoying if it were to happen.

They were going into the Ghoul outside of usual Squib surveillance protocol. He reassessed his plan. If he went in alone, he could do whatever he wanted but the last thing he wanted to happen was for him to get Andy in trouble, or worse, killed, for this impulsive act that was really personal.

“Fine,” he said to her, then remembered something, “But can you look less…like you? Let’s not get the regular crowd too worked up.”

Andy, gave him a scathing look and transformed to a hag with a few missing teeth, a hooked nose and a really bumpy face. The last time she was in the Ghoul as herself, they attracted too much unwanted attention.

“Appropriate enough for you, laddie?” Andy asked rhetorically, “And remember, we’re not dining here. I don’t want to spend the night bending over a crapper.”

The Ghoul was packed for a Wednesday night. They slipped into a nearby freshly vacated booth and Harry hailed a waiter, ignoring the hag’s glare. He heard her. They were not eating there.

“We’re really hungry,” Harry told the waiter, “Two specials please.”

The waiter left quickly, probably excited that somebody actually ordered something, but not before Andy grabbed the menu and found out what the special for the night was.

“Flobberworms sautéed in Niffler dung,” her face contorted into a most disgusted expression involuntarily, “There goes my fucking appetite.”

Yup. It was close to that time when it was best not to get on the hag’s bad side.

“Just be ready,” Harry warned her. “Remember, no wands.”

“Don’t you think I need sugar in my brain for that?” she scoffed, but was met by Harry’s crazed expression from earlier, “Fine! Just let me know when.”

“When it’s time for ‘dinner’,” Harry said to her, proud he came up with that.

“Cute,” she replied sarcastically, just as a group of men came from the door marked ‘Employees Only’ right beside the bar. Five, six. Not too bad.

“Well, this is a wonderful surprise,” the tallest man in the lot said coldly, “Potter, you’re as pathetic as ever. And nice look Marsh. Lovely.”

Andy blew him a kiss and answered back, “Floyd, just being in your divine presence makes me want to puke all over.”

“What can I do for you?” Floyd asked, Harry thought a bit more anxious that usual. It was apparent Floyd did not want them inside the Ghoul.

“If you can hurry up the kitchen for our specials that would be great,” he answered, “We’re really hungry. Busy day at work. Something about the Research conference, you and tonight.”

Floyd laughed aloud and was joined by his minions.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but if there’s anything else at all, you know where to find me,” came Floyd’s response.

“I’m sure your not dim enough to tell us what you’re up to so just do what you do best and I’ll make sure you get what you deserve,” Harry replied calmly.

They were interrupted by the waiter serving their specials. As Harry took a whiff of his cold wiggly grub he saw Andy shudder out of the corner of his eye.

“Hmmm. The scent itself is mind clearing, but I hear it’s delicious. By the way, congratulations are in order. Toronto is back in the Quidditch Cup finals,” Harry said to Floyd making conversation.

Floyd’s eyes danced with excitement at the mention of Quidditch, just as he anticipated. Harry knew it was going to come. Floyd would not be able to resist and he needed a reason to do something.

“Ah, Quidditch, yes, thanks. That makes me wonder if you’re going to go to the game. I hear your dead friend is being honoured. What a tragic accident, and very bizarre too. Falling off his broom during celebrations, not even able to savour his team victory. He was named MVP too, wasn’t he?”

“Greasy, so modest,” he replied in a condescending tone, “It’s just us, you can drop the act. You were there. I saw you and you wanted me to see you. We both know it was no accident.”

“You should really get on with your life and stop harassing poor innocent honest hard-working Squibs like me,” Floyd said mockingly, “I was here, in prison and it was an accident. What did the Ministry Healer say? That you’re delusional?”

Harry laughed derisively as he stepped out of the booth and stood in front of Floyd who was almost a full head taller than he was. He met his grey steely gaze, unflinching.

“I know you, you slimy, cocky son of a hag,” he was taunting, loud enough for most to hear, “You were there, and the only reason you’re not blabbing about it is that you’re someone’s bitch. She’s cut off your little wiener and got you by the balls so tight, you whimper when you move.”

“I am nobody’s bitch!”

Harry was glad that Floyd had as volatile a temper as he had and absolutely had no tolerance for public insults. That and he still fought like a girl. Harry saw his right arm swinging from the corner of his eye, caught it in time and twisted it hard behind his back. Floyd could only protest in pain. He would not be able to move without breaking it.

His cronies were shocked and were waiting for some direction on what to do. As he guessed, Floyd preferred the brainless brawny ones.

Andy was up from her seat and said to him nervously, antsy, “Harry, dinner looks to be ready. Overdone, if you ask me.”

Floyd’s eyes were watering in anger and pain. He called out to his men.

“What are you fools waiting for?!”

“Let’s have dinner, then.”

“Do something!” Floyd commanded.

As the mob closed in, Harry grabbed a handful of Floyd’s oily hair and dunked his face into the “special”, rubbing it in a bit for good measure, just as he planted a thunderous kick squarely at his first attacker’s chest, sending the huge man back and taking out two others in the process. And as he saw an Asian goon bearing hard on him, Harry instinctively pulled Floyd up by his tendrils and used his wet, dung-dripping face to shield an incoming punch.

“No!” Floyd objected, wide eyed, but it was too late.

Crunch!

That sound, music to Harry’s ears, remembering to not get in the way of any squirting blood.

“Ooops! I’m so sorry, boss,” his underling apologized.

He let go of a dazed Floyd, ensuring his face fell into the other full platter of the chef’s special, just in time to parry another fist coming straight at him, landing a good right uppercut, lifting his disoriented foe over his head, then throwing him down onto two others who were actually not that enthusiastic to join the fray.

Harry looked around. The Ghoul patrons were in shock but there were no more takers. Andy had easily disposed of the two that came at her.

“Feel better?” Andy asked him.

“Yes, much better, thanks,” he said to her, relieved, content for the moment. “And you?”

“I’m great. Quite happy, actually. You know how much I enjoy crushing marbles,” Andy replied, Harry feeling it for the two who were doubled up, hands on their groin areas, with tears in their eyes. Andy knew the essential pressure points, um point. “Now, can we leave and have real dinner?”

He took a twenty dollar bill from his pocket left it on their table. Just as they were about to leave, he turned to a livid Floyd, who was holding on to his bleeding broken nose, wiggly flobberworms seemingly liking his slimy greasy hair.

“By the way, the special was great. Send my compliments to the chef.”

“You’ll wegwet tis! You metter watch your mack, Motter!” Floyd screamed at him.

He laughed with Andy. Hearing Floyd say that made it all worth it.

16. The Purple Concoction

Chapter 16 – The Purple Concoction

14 February 2006 – Some restaurant, knew earlier but not sure where now, somewhere in Toronto.

Window cleaner…poet…designated hitter

Hermione felt very hot as she looked across the table over to Roy. The poem had softened up her insides and ignited a small flame within her but talking about baseball doused kerosene into the blaze. It was an out of body experience, hearing her flirt with such reckless abandon and now this feeling that she could only describe as being consumed by wildfire. Uncontrollable, rapidly spreading wildfire.

Wildfire. It felt so hot it reminded her of very warm, un-air conditioned summers in her childhood days when the only solution was that one had to undress almost completely. She looked around. It was a good thing she still had control of that part of her brain.

It definitely did not help that she continued to think and want to think that Roy was just like Harry. When she learned Baseball 101 years ago, her highly competent and well versed teacher had wisely provided the class with concrete examples of position players. Harry was the DH and was her personal mental representation for a lot of the plays she had to learn. Images of him in the well designed body hugging Yankee pinstripes, no doubt, helped her retain most of the information after all these years. She couldn’t use Ron because, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, even then he was definitely a starting pitcher.

Ron never watched the game so she never did get to apply her knowledge of baseball talk on a man until now. That version of the squeeze play was way better than how it was explained to her. Her thoughts lingered on Harry and the squeeze play when a sudden realization made her break out into a chuckle. The other day when she inadvertently walked in on him and his girlfriend, he was definitely on his way to home plate and got thrown out sliding! Her teacher would be so proud that she came up with the one on her own!

“What’s so funny?” Roy asked, curious.

She really should just enjoy his company tonight and let Harry go. There would be plenty of time to wallow about her unmatched emotions toward her friend after; like the rest of her life. Ouch. That’s new.

“Talking about baseball just brought back some memories,” she said honestly, her almost immediate response a bit troubling to her that she was now so open to this man she just met a couple of hours ago, feeling like she had known him all her life and that she could tell him everything about her, even with more honesty than what she could ever tell Ron, Ginny or Harry.

And yes, she was definitely going to let him score a run once he got on base. Perhaps even walk him intentionally so he couldn’t hit that homerun he seemed to want so badly. At least not at his first at bat. Then she would let him score as many runs as he wanted to…well, as many runs as he physically could! She was grinning. She should really stop thinking about baseball! Hermione now understood what Ginny went through.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you. How do you know so much about baseball? Your fiancé?”

She shook her head, “He has no interest in Muggle sports. I picked up most of what I know from girl talk.”

Roy furrowed his eyebrows, “Girl talk?”

“I have a friend who used to date a guy from New York and sat through one Yankee game too many. Let’s just say that to keep her entertained, she studied the game and gleaned from it more than she should have. I had to learn the sport to know what she was talking about,” she replied, smiling, remembering those days.

For a period of time, Ginny couldn’t help but talk about sex in baseball terms. It was literally like tuning in to a sports radio station and listening to a blow by blow account of the game clueless, not ever having seen one played. Ginny was driving her insane. She had to do something and asked Ginny to teach Baseball 101 to her and to anyone who wanted to understand what she (Ginny) meant about corked bats, throwing change-ups and why speed at the bases wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

“And you’ve watched games?”

“A few Yankee game highlights on video,” she replied, “Quite frankly, I find the actual game lacking in the excitement that Quidditch has.”

“I agree,” Roy answered back, with a glint in his eye, “We should talk Quidditch some time. But not just right now. Any more sports talk and we may have to stop and end the night due to an unexpected rain shower.”

His face reddened as they laughed. That would indeed have been most unfortunate. It felt good hearing that he too was having trouble with the intense heat that their flirtation was causing. It felt good knowing that he found her desirable. His eyes smouldered with want. It was imminent. They would leave soon, walk to her hotel room to undress and help each with their temperature issues. More kerosene…wildfire…hell…for what she was about to do …911…

She smiled and calmly excused herself. Ladies washroom or emergency fire exit?

Hermione found an alcove with a row of pay phones just off the women’s washroom and made a call from her cell. She needed the fire department.

“Hello…” answered a groggy woman’s voice on the other end.

It would be about half past three a.m. her time. She wouldn’t mind. This was an emergency.

“Hey, it’s me. I need a fireman.”

“Wait a sec,” Ginny whispered.

She waited and listened for her to come back on line. Crash!...Ow!... Meow…Blag!... Meowrr!... Sorry…Crash!

“Hi,” Ginny finally said in a normal voice.

“I guess you’re not at home tonight,” Hermione deduced from her apparent lack of familiarity with her surroundings.

“I thought I was until I realized I didn’t have a cat,” Ginny replied, Hermione not sure if she should ask what she meant by that, “What’s the fire?”

“I’m with a man.”

“Well, it’s about time,” Ginny answered back, “How was it?”

Before she could stop herself she said, “We haven’t done anything yet. Just warm-ups. It’s his first at bat.”

She decided to treat Roy's straight to second base bunt pre-game to simplify things.

Ginny became excited. What she just said and how she said it did not escape her.

“First at bat? I’m so glad you finally got to talk baseball. That’s wonderful!”

Hermione noticed she was talking unusually fast, like on a caffeine high, “That’s beside the point. I’m getting married. I’m not supposed to be doing this. I'm not supposed to be talking baseball.”

“Wait,” Ginny interrupted, “It’s his first at bat. You don’t call time out for that! The first pitch hasn’t been thrown yet. The game hasn’t even started. Who else is going to be in this huddle?”

Grrr! She shouldn’t have mentioned baseball.

“Are you listening to me? I want out of the game.”

“You didn’t have to call me for that,” Ginny replied, and that was just so true, “Why? Is he centerfield ugly?”

“No,” Hermione said with a bit more regret in her voice about what she had to do, “On the contrary. He’s hot corner stuff. He recites poems.”

“First base or third base hot?”

“Third, and he’s a DH.”

“You’re telling me that you’ve spent the night warming up with a baseball talking, pinch-hitting, third baseman-looking DH, who’s now in the batter’s box and you’re calling time because you want to be taken out of the game?!”

“Well, yes.”

“Are you crazy?!”

“Ginny, I’m getting married. I want to pitch; I want him all over my bases. All night I really thought I could, but now that it’s game time I can’t do this, not to your brother. I called because I need a reality check. Just be a good fireman and put out the fire.”

Ginny fell silent for a moment.

“Where are you?” she finally asked.

“A restaurant, a few blocks from my hotel.”

“Fine,” Ginny finally said, “Do me a favour. See if he’s still in the box.”

“What?”

“Just do as I say,” Ginny insisted and there was no time to argue.

Hermione peered from the alcove and saw that Roy was on his phone.

“Still there,” she reported.

“Wave to him and show him you’re on the phone just so he knows you haven’t left the ball park.”

“What?”

“Just wave,” Ginny was growing impatient.

She did. Roy acknowledged. He was still on the phone, too. Ginny was starting to annoy her.

“Now that you’ve managed to make me look like an idiot in front of my date, what else do you want me to do?”

“What do you care if you look like an idiot? You want yourself taken out of the game,” Ginny had a point. “Now, listen to me and listen closely. Are you sure you want a reality check?”

“Yes,” she needed someone to tell her that it was not a good idea.

“I will say this to you only once and all I ask is that you don’t tell anyone that I did,” this was unusual for Ginny, “Promise me, because I’ve already been told that this isn’t any of my business.”

Hermione had a foreboding feeling about what she was about to say, that it wouldn’t be what she wanted to hear.

“I promise.”

“Ron’s my bother and I love him. You’re as close to a sister as I’ll ever have and I would love for us to be officially related,” Ginny said, “But you shouldn’t marry Ron.”

“Just because you don’t…”

“This isn’t about me,” Ginny cut her off. “You shouldn’t marry him because you don’t love him, at least not that way anymore.”

Hermione was silent. She heard what she said, she understood what she said. She had to ask her.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because if you loved him that way you would have married him sooner. If you loved him that way you wouldn’t have the cold feet that has been bothering you since you got engaged. If you loved him that way you would have submitted your resignation from St. Mungo’s when you told him you would and it shouldn’t still be sitting in the bottom drawer of your office desk. And if you loved him that way you wouldn’t have had to call me tonight for a reality check.”

Ginny was right. She did not love Ron that way anymore. She knew the moment she realized she loved Harry after talking with her cheating mother. It wasn’t quite true until she heard it from someone else.

After a while, Hermione spoke.

“Since when have you known?”

“Just now,” Ginny said frankly, “I’ve wondered since you told me about your cold feet and that’s why I suggested the last fling, knowing you would not consider it seriously if you really did love him.”

“I failed the test.”

“It wasn’t a test to fail or pass. You found out the truth and that’s a good thing,” Ginny said to her, “Now, what you do with the truth is entirely up to you. Since when have you known?”

Hermione couldn’t tell her the truth about Harry, not yet.

“Since my Mum told me her sorry excuses for leaving my Dad,” she told the truth, not the entire one, but the truth, “Thanks. I have to go.”

“I want highlight reels and box scores if you decide to play, okay?” she could hear her friend smile.

“Just my luck. I called to talk to a fireman and I end up speaking with an arsonist.”

Ginny laughed as they said goodbye.

She took a moment to compose herself and just as she was about to rejoin Roy, she decided to call in another person into the huddle. This hesitation with Roy wasn’t totally about Ron.

His phone was ringing.

“Hi,” Harry answered knowing from caller ID that it was her.

His voice still sounded really bad. She really should check on him maybe tomorrow.

“Hi. Still at work?” she asked.

“Unfortunately,” he replied and then asked, “Where are you?”

Somewhere between despair and self destruction. “A restaurant.”

“Is the food any good?”

I’m not really here for the food. “It’s not bad.”

“What’s the matter?”

I love you and you don’t love me back. “I’m with someone. A man who wants to have sex with me.”

There was a pause pregnant with meaning. She looked over to their table. Good, Roy was still on the phone. He waved at her; she motioned back and slid into the alcove.

Finally, Harry said something.

“Is this about what we talked about the other day?”

Yes and no. “It’s no longer a hypothetical question, Harry.”

“I can’t tell you what to do but the hypothetical answer stands.”

“How would you feel if I went ahead and did this?”

“Ron would be crushed. It would hurt him like he has never felt before.”

“Not Ron, Harry. You. I want to know how you would feel.”

“What I feel doesn’t matter.”

It does. “Please. I just need to know.” I just need to know if you love me that way.

A gnawing pain had been building up in her chest and her eyes were already welling up with tears in anticipation of what she knew would come.

“I’d be disappointed.”

There it was. In black and white. As plain as it could ever be.

Not crushed. Not hurt. Not one pinch of pain. Just disappointed.

She thanked him and said goodbye as she could no longer contain the twisting and throbbing pain that erupted from within, sobbing almost uncontrollably as she found her way into the ladies’ room and into an empty stall, burying her face in her hands and just letting it all out.

Hermione was crushed like never before. She was hurting like hell and the pain was excruciating. It was as if her beating heart was put slowly through a meat grinder and that somehow it came out the other end, bruised and battered but mercilessly intact and still beating. And all she could think of to console herself was that finding out the truth now was a good thing.

Harry did not love her as her Uncle Frank loved her Mum and she wouldn’t have to wonder about it for thirty years.

XXXXXXXXXX

Just outside in the dining section, Harry was staring at his phone, trying to figure out exactly what that conversation he just had with Hermione was about.

Why would she tell me about Roy?

Did she want me to stop her?

Why would she ask what I felt?

He caught a glimpse of her as she went into the ladies room. He could only think that despite the openness and her uninhibited coquettish behaviour, Hermione was now having second thoughts about sleeping with Roy and needed someone to confirm that she shouldn’t. She probably did call him so he could dissuade her from going ahead. Telling him that it was no longer hypothetical would make him answer more truthfully. And asking him how he felt about it was to find out if she would lose his friendship.

What did he say? I’d be disappointed.

He had to call her back. Assure her that whatever her decision was he would remain her friend. Her phone was ringing. Then it stopped. He tried again and it was now not in service.

Harry pondered whether he should go and find out if she was okay. A panic suddenly washed over him. Floyd. He had a bad feeling that their earlier unpleasant interactions would make Floyd want to exact some form of revenge. He did try to lure Hermione before Roy could make a move. Floyd would likely try again. What if Floyd followed them to the restaurant and in desperation abducted her?

He was about to stand up to go to the ladies room when he saw her come out. There was relief that came as quickly as the dread did. She was smiling. Good. She was fine.

XXXXXXXXXX

A few moments earlier, in the ladies room, Hermione had just managed to finally get herself together and was using magic to remove the telltale signs of an emotional breakdown. She heard her phone ring. Just seeing his name on the caller ID was enough to set off tears again. No, she couldn’t talk to him. Not for a couple of days maybe. She turned her phone off.

She looked at herself in the mirror, magically retouching her make-up, having just decided what to do for the rest of the night.

You’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

She took a deep breath in, exhaled and practiced a few smiles. Good.

You’re fine.

XXXXXXXXXX

8 February 2007

Somewhere in the Britain, the Potion Master was busy. A light purple concoction was stewing in his large cauldron, and had been since he completed it yesterday morning when the final essential ingredient became available.

It was an age old relatively obscure underground potion recipe that he was diluting to a tenth of its usual strength. The ingredients were hard to come by, more so because for the first time, it was being mass produced. He tested it on a few human live subjects to ensure that it worked and that it was safe for use. It was.

Filling phials in his spare time since, he had already sent two shipments to Toronto and Floyd would get the first one within the next few hours. Creevey had better get him more phials quickly because he was running out.

An involuntary yawn escaped him. The clock read three a.m.

The Potion Master went to his stocks and from the cupboard took one of several bottled similar but darker coloured potions. He uncorked the phial and took his bedtime dose, deciding to turn in. Waving his wand, he cleaned up, making all the rubbish disappear, including the now empty carcass of Ragnok the Goblin.

17. The Calm Before the Storm

A/N. We pick up the story from where we left Roy and Jane. The end of this chapter ties into the Prologue. It's about motive, intent, and doing things we don't think we are capable of. It is quite different from the last two fun chapters.

Chapter 17 – The Calm Before the Storm

Despite her seemingly jovial disposition, Harry could sense that something was different about Hermione after she came back from the ladies room. He peered into her eyes as he helped her into her coat and saw something he had not seen before. An unsettling emotion, an unrest, but what about exactly he was unable to recognize. She was hiding it and hiding it well. And because she was hiding it, it was definitely not a good thing.

If she were just any stranger, he wouldn’t have thought about it too much. He had been on those dates which started out great and lost steam in the end. He would have just gone with the flow. The Roy part of him was definitely not concerned but the Harry one, her friend, was.

She told him where her hotel was.

It appears she is going through with this. Was it the impending guilt that she was anticipating?

She preferred to walk and she suggested they take a more scenic route.

It was about five, maybe ten minutes away. Did she need more time to sort things out?

She mentioned the weather.

Kiss of death. That conversation on the phone, his or the one previous, had definitely killed the fire. Or, at least, it turned it down by a significant amount. Who else did she talk with?

“They say Toronto is getting eleven inches at least, maybe up to twenty.”

“I heard,” he said, biting his tongue.

Who was she talking with? Ron?

“It’s so nice out right now but the storm is supposed to be here any minute,” she said, more weather conversation.

He agonized over how to get to the bottom of this change before getting to her hotel. If she didn’t want to do this, they really shouldn’t.

“It’s the calm before,” he answered, surprised by the chuckle that he got from it.

She saw that he was puzzled and tried to explain, “That’s just so true in many ways.”

Something was definitely up. If only he could ask her pointedly. Wait. He actually could. Roy could. As he hesitated for a second, a question popped up in his mind and quickly disappeared. Are you sure you want to know?

“It’s okay. It okay if you change your mind about us going back to your hotel room,” Harry said, offering her a way out.

Roy was protesting, No, it’s not! No, it’s not!

If she took it, he was thinking, he would make sure she was back safely in her room and then figure out a more appropriate way to protect her overnight. Maybe, he could use the Anti-Polyjuice and spend the night over as ‘Harry’.

Immediately after Hermione excused herself to go to the ladies room, Harry had called his Toronto MLE contact and waived off the Auror who was watching her, saying he would cover for them until five thirty the following morning. The Auror was quite thankful. Well, Harry was just being considerate. If the Auror stayed, he could only imagine the difficulties that would present while writing a report. Roy’s agenda for the night called for extensive and in-depth, um, contact with the Protectee, which would be considered highly inappropriate. That would raise eyebrows in Toronto, and other unimaginable skin appendages in London.

“I want to do this,” she said decisively, then realized something, turned to him and said, “Unless you’ve changed your mind, then that’s okay, too.”

“Merlin, no. I want to do this, too,” Harry as Roy said quickly for the obvious reason, “You’re certain?”

“Positive.”

The fact that she was ‘positive’ about sleeping with Roy didn’t mean that her phone call to him earlier was not about needing a friend to tell her not to do it. Just how badly do you want to do this?

“How long have you been engaged?” he asked her and she looked at him for a second before replying.

“About six months.”

“Are you ready for the big day?”

“Do you really want to know or are you just asking politely?”

“I really want to know,” he said truthfully.

“Right,” she said playfully, she did not believe him. “I’m excited about the big day. Ecstatic it’s finally just twelve days away.”

“Tell me more about it,” Harry decided it was time to stop beating around the bush.

“What? Right now?” she was amused.

“Yes,” he tried not to make a big deal of it.

“You want us to talk about my wedding to someone else right now before you and I have sex?”

“Why not?” he challenged, “You’re obviously thinking about it and about him. Don’t you think it’s better if we bring it out in the open? Was that your fiancé you were on the phone with?”

She laughed as she shook her head.

“What?” he grinned at her, not knowing why she was laughing. And was that a ‘no’?

“You’re strange, do you know that?” she said, obviously perplexed about his intentions. “I would think talking about him and my wedding would be the last thing you would want to do.”

“It’s just curious. Why would an engaged, attractive and smart woman like you choose to spend tonight with a stranger?”

“I hope you don’t need me to spell that out for you.”

“I know the obvious ‘why’,” he replied, “But, why?”

She was still smiling, “Talking like a four-year-old now. The surprises with you are never-ending.”

He wasn’t going to let it go, “Why are you doing this?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Why risk losing what you have for something so fleeting?”

“Why do you want to know?” she repeated.

They were non-judgmental questions just needing plain simple answers. Harry was on the defensive; should he tell her the truth or lie?

Because I’m your friend and I want to understand. Because I need to know that you are sure about this. Because I don’t want you to screw up your life for one physical moment with a lowlife like me and regret it.

Harry felt telling her the truth would make Roy more desirable. He could just imagine Hermione falling for Roy’s charm even more.

What would the scumbag Roy say?

“No offence, but I need some assurance that this is a one time thing.”

“It is. Absolutely, one time only, no repeats,” she held up a sign with her hand, “Girl scout’s honour.”

“Not good enough,” he stopped himself from pointing out to her that she wasn’t and had never been one.

“I’m just not sure if I want to tell a stranger my deepest and darkest secrets,” she said to him. “I hate thinking that I could be conversation fodder.”

That was either true or she was stalling again. She wasn’t going to get off that easily.

“There is nothing more liberating than telling a stranger things about yourself you can’t share with anyone else you know.”

“Really?” she was sceptical, not about what he said, but likely about his true intentions.

“I don’t know. I just made that up,” he replied, trying to lighten things up. He didn’t want her to withdraw into a shell. “Don’t people spend a lot of money to see therapists to do just that?”

“True.”

“I have an idea. Let’s make a pact.”

“A pact?”

“A promise.”

“We just met. Don’t you think making promises to each other is a bit premature at this stage?”

“Whatever we say or do tonight, we won’t tell anyone else and we won’t discuss outside of Toronto. So you can be sure I won’t tell a soul.”

She laughed, “Sounds like you just want us to have an excuse to really go to town.”

“We’re headed there anyway,” Harry replied. “Why? Are you planning on telling him? Was that him on the phone earlier tonight?”

“No, it wasn’t him and I definitely don’t want him to know. I’m may be a tad vindictive but I’m not cruel,” she admitted.

He had a good guess why she would feel vindictive. That morning after she left for Toronto, Ron told him about their argument. So, if it wasn’t Ron on the phone with her, it must have been Ginny. He wished he knew what they talked about.

“Do we have a deal, then?”

She stopped walking just as flurries started falling from the sky. They were in front of the main entrance to a Muggle Hospital which also housed the Downtown Toronto Hospital for Magical Illnesses and Injuries.

“We should have a witness, for this pact,” she was making this crazier than it already was.

Harry looked around, looking to please. It was close to 11pm, a streetcar had just whizzed by and a few private vehicles passed. Pedestrians had seemingly deserted the streets in anticipation of the storm that was almost upon them. No souls around to harass.

“What about them?” he motioned to the two bronze statues right standing near the doors to the hospital.

“Them? David and Esther Maple?”

He walked towards and stopped right in front of the sculptures, knowing Hermione would follow. She stood right beside him, her shoulder brushing against his arm as she did. Her close proximity stirred an impulse to touch her. He felt her eyes on him and resisted the urge to look back.

“Founders of the Toronto Muggle and Magical Hospitals,” Harry kept his eyes on the inanimate objects in front of them as he spoke.

“He was Pure-blood and she was Muggle-born. They fell in love, unlikely and odd at a time when Muggle-borns were still ostracized by most Magical communities,” she added, her eyes on the happy faces of the unmoving figures.

There was something nostalgic and very personal about how she spoke about them that her voice willed him to turn to her. Time stopped, seeing her at that moment with light snow falling on her, pure white starting to cling to her brown hair, and the spotlight illuminating a most bittersweet expression on her face. “Not many know this but he was actually a Squib. That was their little secret they took to their graves. She convinced him to take credit for magical healing she did and he paraded her and her amazing magical gift allowing for those barriers against Muggle-borns to break down. They were quite a team. They were lucky they had each other.”

Hermione’s last few words hung in the air. They were lucky they had each other. He felt a tug in his chest but wasn’t sure why he felt that way. Forcing himself to refocus, he turned to her, a bit surprised that she was so near he had to step back and diffuse the seriousness of the situation.

“Wait. Are you Muggle-born?”

It worked. Her eyes lost the pensive look.

“And you think that would just be perfect if I were, right?”

“Absolutely a positive omen. Come on. I’ll go first,” Harry saw her grin and that was enough to tell him to go ahead, setting his left hand on the tablet that bore historical footnotes and holding up his right hand as he would have in a Muggle court of law, “I swear, in the presence of these two outstanding Healers, not to tattle about our adventures tonight. Whatever happens in Toronto, stays in Toronto.”

“I promise the same, as the Maples of Toronto bear witness,” she replied doing as he did, thanking the Maples and laughing about how ridiculous they must have looked to a passer by.

The snowfall was beginning to come down hard and they decided to continue walking back to her hotel.

“Your answer?”

“What was it that you wanted to know?” she asked him.

“The why behind the why.”

“Yes, how can I forget your imitation of a 4-year old asking a question?” she said, “And your need for assurance that this is a one time thing.”

“I’m on to you. Quit stalling and just answer the question,” he half-joked.

“You’re so impatient,” she answered, taking a few more seconds before finally addressing his question, “I have cold feet. And no, it’s not because of the weather in Toronto.”

“Bugger,” Harry had no idea, “Do you know why?”

They had to chuckle at that third ‘why’ question.

“Pretty much,” she replied.

“Cold feet are common,” they were, weren’t they?

“It’s really bad cold feet. The worst.”

“It can’t be that bad. It’s not as if you’re in love with someone else.”

She laughed. She sure was finding a lot of things funny tonight.

“I’ve been with him for ten years. He’s the only man I’ve ever been intimate with and I’m curious what it’s like with someone else.”

“And you think one night with a stranger is going to satisfy that curiosity.”

“Not to put too much pressure on you but, I certainly hope so. It’s better I do this now than after I make that official vow to be faithful.”

“You want to know if you’re missing something,” Harry could only think of one other reason, “You want to know how good or bad he is in bed.”

“My future husband’s sexual prowess is not on trial here. That’s not the point.”

Somehow, hearing her refer to Ron as her husband and her reference to his sexual prowess was very troubling. He preferred ‘fiancé’. Actually, just ‘him’ would be better.

“What is the point?”

“You should understand if you meant every word of your poem.”

“My poem?” Harry wondered if this was why she found the poem content excellent.

“Your deepest regret. I’m guessing, that was a moment in your life when you didn’t act on something because it was inappropriate to do so, and now, you constantly think how different or wonderful it could have been had you dared. After I get married I fully intend to honour my vows. I’m just trying to prevent having that regret for the rest of my life.”

Great! Just what he needed; her making his verse a part of this.

Somehow, he could not believe that Hermione could think about this, intimacy with someone else, as her potential deepest regret. That seemed too shallow, selfish even. But he found out things tonight he never knew about her. It made him think he really didn’t know her that well, at least, not as a woman.

Throwing caution to the wind was just so unlike her. She was always the one who reminded them to do the right thing. This was so obviously wrong, cheating on Ron two weeks before their wedding.

“But you know you shouldn’t do this.”

“Because it’s wrong?”

“You don’t strike me as someone who deliberately does something wrong.”

“Making the right choices all the time is a tough act and I’m due for a really bad one,” she seemed to find that funny, too.

“I have a feeling you’ll regret this in the morning,” as Roy he was trying not to care too much but couldn’t help himself.

“Maybe I won’t.”

“If you get caught you will.”

“Maybe I won’t get caught and maybe, I won’t regret it even if I do,” the words he heard just seemed not to belong to her. “If I don’t do this I know I’ll definitely regret it. And I’ll take ‘maybe’ over ‘definitely’.”

“You really want this last fling.”

“No strings attached. Just sex.”

“Is this for sure going to help? Do you think I can cure your cold feet?”

They were in front of her hotel. She stopped walking and faced him, her mood seemingly back to the one she had at the restaurant before the phone calls. It was snowing really hard now, blizzard-like.

Her eyes danced and her voice was playful, as she leaned over and whispered the answer in his ear. “I don’t know about cure but if we do what I think we will, you will definitely make them, and the rest of me, a lot warmer. Now, will you stop showing sacrifice bunt and just swing away?”

He smiled, his thoughts flashing back to six months of thinking about her this way and his curiosity now piqued about what she was thinking they would do.

Harry replied in kind, “I was trying to manufacture a run.”

Their eyes met and for the first time since he thought up of the hare-brained idea of sleeping with her as Roy Hunt, Harry was hit by a reality that this wasn’t going to be the all fun casual sex that he had foolishly led himself to think it would be, not for him and definitely not for her, despite what she thought. She wasn’t an unattached stranger and he wasn’t a stranger to her.

Suddenly, he realized that while they were merely acting on what they wanted, he should have been the wiser one to not let Roy Hunt get this far. He should have been the saner one to know better than tempting Hermione to the point of making this terrible choice.

She was getting married and while he wanted her so much, the long term effects on her for the lies of one night of temporal satisfaction was a great price to pay. They were toying with her marriage and her life. And if she found out it was him, he would definitely lose her trust and her friendship.

All night they were like two trains on the same track, gathering speed, headed right at each other and they passed the last switch a while back. Sleeping together was going to be a potentially massive train wreck that would affect so many lives. The question was, how does one stop a train wreck from happening when only one train knew it was about to happen? And if by a miracle he could avert the disaster, was it possible to keep it all a secret and not let the other train or anyone else know?

He pondered the alternative as they entered and crossed the hotel lobby, shaking off the snow from their coats. It was a peculiar coincidence, how not going up to her room was going to be his deepest regret and her deepest regret at the same time.

I’ll take ‘maybe’ over ‘definitely’.

Harry stopped momentarily and watched her as she entered the lift. He was torn, all logical reason telling him to cease, but by recklessly stepping into the elevator with her, by irresistibly standing so close to her and by allowing her to lean lightly against him, he made his decision.

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Hermione could feel Roy’s body tense up and then welcome her as she leaned back against him. His lips grazed her neck briefly and his warm breath on her skin was causing an immeasurable longing deep within her. His hand was slowly stroking her arm and gently caressing her fingers. All her life she had always thought intimacy with a stranger was a paradox, and now here she was, moments away from doing something she never imagined she could do.

When he asked all those why questions and needed verification that this was a one time thing, she decided to lie and tell him the last fling story. The truth, her not wanting to marry her fiancé because she was in love with someone else, seemed too freakish and she did not want to spook him.

She was indeed overdue for a bad decision. Particularly tonight; especially tonight. All her life she always chose to do the right thing and this was where it got her. Heartbroken from a love she couldn’t have and about to marry someone she no longer wanted to be with.

She needed a break, a break from herself and from the misery her being her had caused. It was a rebellion, an uprising against the norm and what more could highlight such insurgence than having a purely physical, primal and instinctive night with a complete stranger. At least tonight, she would not deny herself the pleasure.

The calm before the storm was just about over.

And as the lift doors slid shut, alone with him in the tension filled enclosed space, she submitted to her fleshly yearning, facing him to meet his equally raw sensual desire. She recognized it for what it was. Unadulterated, primitive, intuitive, pure lust.

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A/N. We are all imperfect...I hope most will be forgiving...

18. Of Sin and Consequence

Disclaimer : Harry Potter - JKR's. A Plea to End Unrest by Roy Hunt/Harry Potter.

A/N. It's been such a journey so far. We begin this Chapter a couple of hours after we left them at the end of the Prologue. It's long, sweet and fun in some spots but mostly angsty internal dialogue. It deals with sin, consequence, regret, forgiveness, and second chances. I realize these are pretty heavy, boring concepts to deal with in a fic that is supposed to be fun, but I'm a bit loony that way. It was eye opening for me writing it.

Over the next few chapters I’ll be flipping back and forth between the past (2006) and the present (2007). Hopefully the dates will help. I thought about rearranging it more chronologically but could not totally do it without disrupting themes and without losing how the past relates to the present.

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Chapter 18 – Of Sin and Consequence

February 15, 2006 – Around 2 a.m., Toronto

A lazy yellow light near the entrance sparsely lit the hotel room, illuminating its two occupants on the king size bed, both unclothed, sheets draped haphazardly over them. The room was now quiet, almost perfectly still, in contrast to the earlier frenzy it was a part of and a witness to.

Harry lay awake propped up on his left side and watched Hermione’s face as she slept, resisting the urge to touch her and interrupt the restful state she was in. His senses were still abuzz from their lovemaking and a smile formed on his lips involuntarily as he briefly reminisced how wonderfully unexpected the entire night had been. In one wanton night of attraction and seduction, he and the woman he had known for most of his life as a best friend had become lovers. In one night; for one night.

When they got on the lift he lost control as she brushed up against him. It was the strike of a match and a spark was all that was needed to set them off. He unleashed six months of yearning and wanting her this way, risking everything of his and everything of hers for this thirst for her, for a night of passion that would satisfy his burning desire. He had this one night and this one night only.

Seeing her, touching her and feeling her bare and without cover, connecting and communicating in ways they never did before, he now regarded her in a different light. He sensed from the moment they made out in the lift how different it was from his past trysts with other women. Tonight he wanted to give more than take. Tonight her want had become part of his want. Tonight, for the first time in his life, he felt how it was to make love to someone he cared about and there was satisfaction in it that he never experienced before. There was fullness to his satiety that stood over and above the hollow fulfillment of his past temporal relationships.

That night, she filled more than a physical need, something that he did not think he was looking for. And now that he had felt it, he wanted more than one night. One night wasn’t going to be nearly enough.

Harry looked up. The euphoria went away as he saw that the reflection on the dresser mirror was not his. What had he done? Blinded with single-mindedness to a misdirected purpose, he had failed to see that this was a possibility. What was he going to do?

He pulled her closer and embraced her, not wanting to let go. She stirred and maybe, instinctively thinking he was Ron, embraced back. She looked up at him with her still sleepy brown eyes and smiled. He smiled back despite the twinge of pain in his chest. This was stolen time and he was missing it already.

“You’re not normal,” she said to him softly.

“What do you mean?”

“You should be asleep, have your back turned away from me and be snoring by now.”

He chuckled, “Sleep is overrated. I don’t want to waste this moment on it.”

“I bet you won’t be as glib in the morning,” she thought it was all talk, “Don’t you have work? Like washing the observation windows on north side of the CN Tower?”

“Still waiting for a second verse, are you?”

She grinned, “Maybe, but also concerned that you might fall and have an untimely death. I don’t want you on my conscience.”

“Is that right?” he moved over her and kissed her sweetly; she kissed him back, stirring a yearning once again. “I wouldn’t mind falling off the tall, stiff CN tower if I go through the slit of a slightly retracted roof into the soft and warm confines of the Skydome.”

“You have a most foul mind!” and they laughed.

They gave each other slower, pleasant kisses as he said in between, “Me? That would be the guy who saw it fit to build a phallic symbol and a baseball stadium with a retractable roof right beside each other.”

He didn’t want the night to end. His kisses became more wanting, more seeking, more desperate. He left her mouth and with her permission muzzled her chin, her throat, her collarbone, finally setting on the almost faded inch long jagged scar near the center of her chest.

“Tell me about this,” Harry requested, wondering if it was the souvenir she got from a Death Eater during their Ministry of Magic visit in their 5th year at Hogwarts; he never knew it existed until Ron mentioned it a few months back.

She confirmed it somewhat, “It’s a reminder of necessary foolish bravery, fierce loyalty and standing up for what’s right.”

He moved on to a curious body imprint just above her left hip, “And this? What does this remind you of?”

She replied sheepishly, “Foolish trust and never to get mightily drunk with a girl friend ever again.”

A tattoo of a golden Snitch. He wondered how Ron felt about that. He touched a reddish area just at her left rib cage and she flinched, “And this?”

She didn’t seem concerned, admitting and teasing, “That? For foolishly not holding on tight.”

“Did that happen when we…”

She finished it for him, nodding, “Slipped rounding third a few innings back.”

“Are you okay?” he asked concerned he had injured her, well, physically. There was a stretch when he had been a bit rough.

“I’ll live and with a visual reminder of that special memory for a few days,” Hermione merely laughed, probably at his seriousness, and with mischief in her eyes matching his slow kisses and caresses.

A few days, he thought as he let her lead and reacted to what she wanted to do. She was getting married in a few days. Or was she? Since leaving the restaurant he had tried to get her to talk about Ron. About what this would mean to him and about how she felt about him. He wanted to get there but had allowed Hermione to steer the conversation away and he lost control in the lift.

He tried once more, just as they got into the room and into her bed last night. It might have been helpful to her if they weren’t making out and had more clothes on while they talked.

“Your fiancé…”

“Uh-huh?”

“What’s his name?”

“I can’t, not right now…”

“You’re marrying him…you love him.”

“Later…we’ll talk about him later, I promise.”

She did not want to talk about him, not that he could blame her for not wanting to at that particular time. She was naked, touching and being touched by someone else.

“He’s going to get hurt…”

“Not if he doesn’t find out.”

“He might, and he will if he does.”

“Unfortunate, but I can live with it.”

She really didn’t sound convinced that she could. He couldn’t stop and he was trying to persuade her to stop for them. But by that time, it was really too late to talk about Ron.

“You’ll feel bad in the morning.”

“I know I will and I’ll deal with it then.”

“I just want to understand. How can you love him and do this?”

“I can’t. I can only do this because I don’t, at least not that way anymore.”

As if that was all he was waiting to hear, he let go of his own guilt about betraying Ron’s trust. Not a moment too soon, he was immersed deep in her pulsating warmth, relieving himself of the unimaginable burden he had been carrying around for months.

The fact that he allowed Hermione all night to skip around talking about her fiancé was not lost on him. The truth was undeniable; as much as he wanted them to have a discussion about Ron he wanted this to happen and did not really want to talk himself or Hermione out of it. As horrible as that made him, all he needed to hear from her was a sign to make the act not as terrible, and when she let go of those words, he heard what he wanted to hear.

He was not delusional. Hearing her say it made him feel better in a way but it did not make what they were doing right. No reason, no excuse could ever justify his betrayal of Ron and his betrayal of her. He was a horrible person. Sin, guilt, remorse, but planning and hoping for no consequence. Horrible…

Ron was not only his best friend, he was family. He had done him no wrong. He embraced him into the Weasley fold, stood by him risking life and limb in his fight against Voldemort and saved him from himself after his honeymoon with professional Quidditch. And this was what he was doing to repay all that. This was what he was continuing to do. He could not stop touching her and kissing her.

How could he be a friend to them and do this?

Train wreck damage control was in effect. Ron would not be a problem. This was Ron. He would not know unless someone told him.

He looked upon Hermione with concern. He doubted that he could hide this from her forever and a huge consequence was most likely going to happen in their lifetime. How did he ever think he could do this and walk away with everyone unscathed? He could only hope that she would be forgiving.

Harry momentarily stopped making out with her. Maybe it was better to come clean and tell her right now. He quickly dropped the thought. Not now. He could not bring himself to ruin this moment. It was too late. What was done was done and if things blew up at least he would have this. Maybe he could tell her when they were back in London. Maybe.

“What’s wrong?” she sensed his hesitation and asked.

What was wrong? There were so many; so many to pick from. At their conversation from a couple of days ago, she did say something about breaking off the engagement if Ron did something like this.

Her declaration was tormenting him no end.

“How can you love him and do this?”

“I can’t. I can only do this because I don’t, at least not that way anymore.”

He had to ask her.

“What you said about your fiancé, was that the truth?”

“I guess we’re back to him again,” she replied, “You don’t know him. Why are you so concerned?”

“I’m just curious. I find human behaviour fascinating,” he hoped she would buy that and noticed she still was trying to avoid talking about Ron, “Why are you marrying him if you don’t love him anymore?”

She answered freely, without holding back, “That’s a good question. I just realized tonight why I’ve been having cold feet and I haven’t figured that one out yet. Have you ever been married?”

He shook his head.

“Here’s a question. Would you ever marry someone you didn’t love?”

“Of course not,” he declared truthfully.

“My, such lofty ideals,” she teased him.

“Why? Would you?”

“Possibly.”

“Yeah, right,” he taunted her back, “Miss I’ve-never-been-with-another-man-ever. I find that very hard to believe.”

“What!” she said indignantly, in jest, protesting being typecast, “You don’t really know me that well.”

Apparently not.

She continued, “People marry for reasons other than love all the time. Money, social status, lust, coercion, kids, temporary insanity, I can go on all night…”

“Fine. Tell me then, if you were going to, why else would you marry your fiancé if you don’t love him anymore?”

“Are you always this annoyingly inquisitive?” she meant it in a nice way.

“Only when I’m talking with someone obsessively evasive,” he retorted.

“It’s just not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“You want me to bare all, figuratively speaking, when all I know about you, which may or may not be true, is contained in one stanza of a poem,” she had this grin and he could tell that she was pulling his leg again.

“Will you answer the question for another of my verses?”

“That depends on how good the verse is though I’ll definitely be more compliant if you attempt one.”

Laughing, he moved over on top, taking care to keep most of his weight off her and gave in. He really wanted to know why she would go ahead and marry Ron. Holding her brown eyes captive, Harry thought for a bit about what to say and confessed.

“A Plea to End Unrest by Roy Hunt.”

Of luck, of destiny, or maybe desperation,
Tonight I took and stole one fateful night of passion.
And as you lie beneath me willing and undressed,
I’m asking you one question I hope you will address
For unless you do, my heart and my soul will not rest.

She looked back at him, smiling but puzzled about something. Harry could only hope his admission was not so obvious to her

“Well?” he waited for her verdict, quite pleased with what he came up on the spot. He never knew he could do that. “Am I worthy?”

“Your heart and your soul will not rest?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Unless I tell you why I would marry someone I didn’t love anymore?”

“Yes.”

“A bit melodramatic, wouldn’t you think?”

If he was a stranger, yes, it would be.

“I’m very curious,” he answered and hoped she wouldn’t ask why it was desperation.

“Nosy to the point of unrest.”

“You know I nailed it.”

She chortled at his cockiness. He was confident as he waited for the answer which he knew would definitely come. The possibilities of redemption were quite more substantial if she decided not to marry Ron. He had a conflict of interest and would try his best not let him affect her decision. Try.

Still basking under the effects of one of the most personal and most meaningful poems she had heard naked, and she had heard a few, Hermione lay feeling warm and fuzzy under him and his piercing gaze. She wondered how he could do that. Create something like that.

The poetry itself was music to her ears but she was more impressed by how he was coming up with verses that touched her in a very private way. Once again, he spoke as she imagined Harry would have and it did not help that as he laid on top of her the light in room brought out the green in his eyes even more.

Earlier, after some well deserved respite, she regained consciousness and with it awareness of him watching her slumber. Hermione tried to ignore him and pretended to be asleep. In as much as she enjoyed his company she had to pull herself back a bit and regroup. He was a one-timer. Pillow talk was not really necessary. For her it was downright dangerous to engage in something that would make her more emotionally invested in him than she already was.

But she couldn’t go back to sleep and as he finally touched and embraced her it was almost instinctive to embrace back. Roy was one of only two people she had been this intimate with. It was very hard and quite impossible to remain totally unattached.

Roy was really not as she expected her last fling would be like. The sex was great and it had been so long since she had great sex it was good to be reminded that it could be this wonderful. But there was more to him than just that.

It seemed like he cared more about her, about her life and about what she was doing with him. He seemed very concerned about how Ron would feel and he didn’t even know the guy. She had to distract Roy from pursuing a discussion about Ron most times that he tried to bring him up. She had hoped he would take a hint that, unlike him, she couldn’t think about Ron, not at that time. It was confusing what he was doing. Telling her all these things that should make her stop yet doing all else to make her want more.

“He’s going to get hurt…”

He was right but why did he care?

“Not if he doesn’t find out.”

She had no intention of telling Ron. As much as she did not want him hurt she had to do this for herself and would risk it. This was all about her, a purely selfish act, committed with the knowledge of how wrong it was. She was not disillusioned to think any reason could make it right. And the possibility of him knowing was close to zero. They were talking about Ron here. He wouldn’t know unless somebody told him.

“He might, and he will if he does.”

“Unfortunate, but I can live with it.”

Roy would have probably made more sense if his hands did not continue to touch her in her most sensitive areas. She really could say just about anything he wanted to hear then.

Hermione thought about this as she decided about Roy in the ladies room last night. Ron would be hurt by her act of infidelity, not speak to her, maybe even call her names. She could lose him completely, make the decision she had yet to make and not marry her, as she gambled all that they had, the good and not so good, over one night of self-centeredness. There were consequences for doing something wrong and for getting caught doing it. And she would deserve it, a fitting penance for wanting this, for wanting to be with someone else.

“You’ll feel bad in the morning.”

She was deliberately and knowingly doing something that she knew could damage the man she was about to marry, a man she cared about. By her standards she was a terrible human being and feeling bad would be an understatement. How did he know this for a fact?

“I know I will and I’ll deal with it then.”

She was supposed to be taking a break. She was supposed to not think about her real life tonight. Not about what to do if Ron found out, what to do about the disgust she would feel towards herself after, what to do about her fast approaching marriage.

“I just want to understand. How can you love him and do this?”

“I can’t. I can only do this because I don’t, at least not that way anymore.”

This stranger asked and she told him the truth sensing that was what he needed to hear. Maybe she was just thinking about it too much. She really did not have enough experience with affairs to really know if Roy’s actions tonight were normal or not and maybe if they weren’t, Roy was just above average, atypical, and she was just ‘lucky’ that she ended up with him as her last fling.

Her last fling. She still spoke as if she was going to go through with the wedding. And with Roy waiting for an answer she might as well think about one probing question she was trying to avoid tonight.

Why would she marry Ron knowing that she did not love him that way anymore?

Her break from her real life was over.

“Fine,” she finally said to Roy, feeling a bit claustrophobic she nudged him over to one side, “Possible reasons why I would want to marry my fiancé, in no particular order.”

“I just spent six months planning and preparing for a wedding, I must go through with it. The caterer, the reception hall, the flowers, have all been paid in full, all non refundable.”

It was a joke and he laughed.

She continued, “All those presents and pissed off guests who already bought one.”

“Of course, you should really take them into consideration.”

“We invited five hundred people. They could incite a riot,” she really thought it could happen.

“That’s definitely the last thing you would want to happen when you call off a wedding,” he was laughing with her.

“The convenience of having someone to get into bed with when the need arises.”

“I agree, sex is important. Seriously, anytime soon.”

“I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“As opposed to living a lie and hurting yours.”

“I want him to always be a part of my life.”

“He’ll get over it and won’t stay mad at you forever.”

“I owe him for not saying ‘no’ the first time he asked almost ten years ago.”

“You weren’t stringing him along for a ride. You shouldn’t feel guilty about that.”

She stopped, realizing what he was doing.

“Why do I feel you don’t want me to marry him?” she inquired.

“I’m just helping you sort your reasons out,” he explained, “If you want your marriage to work, you better come up with something better than that.”

It was a challenge, a good one. If Roy could dismiss her reasons for wanting to stay with Ron and go on with the wedding, they would not have a chance.

“I want to be with someone who loves me, someone who I care about, to make a difference in his life and to make me feel that my existence matters. He loves me, I care about him a lot and with time I want to learn to love him again,” she said more seriously, awaiting Roy’s rebuttal.

“And you think this is possible, learning to love him again.”

“He’s a good man. I think we just grew apart after years of not spending enough time with each other. If I spend less time at work and more time with him, share his interests, be a wife, it’s definitely possible.”

“That seems like a lot to give up,” he observed.

“We reap what we sow and we can’t have it all.”

“I agree,” and with that Roy seemed to have finally dropped his inquisition.

With an initial tentativeness she was seeing for the first time, he touched her lips with his and gave her a deep, rich, melancholic kiss, seemingly knowing what she felt as she heard herself admit that she couldn’t have it all. She might as well stay with Ron if she couldn’t be with Harry. Her existence mattered to Ron and it did not really matter to him.

She kissed Roy back with Harry in mind, feeding it with the throbbing pain in her chest.

XXXXXXXXXX

8 February 2007 – Hermione’s flat in London

Hermione woke up panting, out of breath and feeling unusually warm. After a year she was still having them; dreams, nightmares of real events about Roy Hunt, ones she tried to not think about when awake. The one she just had was one of the more pleasant ones to have but gave her one of the worst feelings after.

She glanced over to her nightstand where a cup full of Dreamless Draught remained untouched, deciding last night that it was about time to test if she was still having them. She had her answer.

I can live with it if he does.

He did find out and this was how she was living with it.

I know I will and I’ll deal with it then.

Feeling bad was definitely an understatement. This was how she was dealing with it; self-medicating with personally concocted potions so she wouldn’t be reminded constantly; so she wouldn’t hate herself too much. She thought about consequences that night and she never thought it could be this.

She let the tears out as she thought about Ron and about Harry. The overwhelming grief and regret always came with the memories. The old adage about it being pointless crying over spilled milk was so true but doing something pointless was all she could do. There was no fixing it. There was only living with the mistake of one night.

It was fitting penance for the consequence of sin.

After a long while, she got up and went into the shower, her internal clock telling her it was around six in the morning. Hermione had her day planned. If all things went as scheduled she would be in Toronto by noon London time and leave within twenty four, maybe thirty six hours.

She could not imagine this assignment taking longer than that. After all, there was only one question and the answer was a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. Five minutes would be plenty.

Of course, she knew that Harry would want to talk about last year. She wasn’t ready to do that but realized she would never be ready. Ginny was right; it had to be done at some point. He needed closure so he could move on and her giving him that would allow her to do the same.

Hermione loved Harry but even if what he professed to her was true, there could never be a life with him, not after what happened. There was no going back to the way they were before, either. The Harry she knew was a reasonable man. He would understand why this had to be.

They would have to live with it. It was the end result of their misdeed, punishment for doing something they both knew was wrong, and a harsh but apt consequence of sin.

Sin, consequence, remorse and, hopefully, eventually, forgiveness.

She got out of the shower and in her bathrobe mulled over what to pack. Toronto, February, Harry. Mindlessly, she filled her bag with the usual necessities, toiletries, some knickers, a few pairs of pants, a fluffy shapeless sweater and a couple of turtlenecks.

That quickly out of the way, she got ready for work thinking there was plenty of time to make it to Mexico. And if this thing with Harry took longer, she’d have to come back after her trip.

Mexico. Draco needed an answer and her initial impulse on the phone last night was to say ‘yes’ until she saw Ginny’s almost physiologically impossible neck dislocating ‘no’.

Being with him made her feel better about herself and that was a feat considering how she felt about what she did to Ron. The ‘why’ behind it was still beyond her but she had a few interesting theories. It definitely didn’t start out that way at their first meeting for Magorian’s trial.

The good feeling started around the time she gave him a second chance and began treating him like she would any other human being. All those horrible years at Hogwarts should have made that an impossibility. She could understand how Ginny and the rest of the Order felt about him but they would not understand why she was doing it. They would not understand why she was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

They would never understand until they did something unforgivable, felt remorse for it and lived everyday struggling trying to live with yourself and the fact that there was absolutely nothing that you could do to undo what you had done.

What she did to Ron was unforgivable. Guilt and remorse hounded her every time she thought of him and of Harry. She wished she could talk to Ron and at least express just how sorry she was for what happened. How she wished Ron could convince her that what she did wasn’t really unforgivable, but just very, very, very hard to forgive.

It was too late to ask for forgiveness from Ron as it was too late for Draco to ask for absolution from Professor Dumbledore for his intent. Never in her life did she think she would have something in common with Draco Malfoy. But just maybe, since she had forgiven Draco to the point of seeing him and believing him to be a reformed human being, there was hope that she could somehow forgive herself.

Making a difference in how Draco felt about himself, as he admitted last night, was also feeding the inability to say ‘no’ to him. Hermione remembered why she chose to be a Healer. She felt it was the best way for her to have an effect in other people’s lives, for her existence to matter. It was in her to want that, and with Draco, as with Ron, she could see herself doing that on a more personal basis.

No, she did not love Draco, not like she once loved Ron and definitely not as she loved Harry, though knowing what he was going through she did care more about him than she could ever imagine possible. She had to find out what this was, if there was really going to be more to it, something deeper and longer lasting.

Sin, consequence, remorse, forgiveness and a second chance to do right. For both of them.

And Ginny was perceptive in assessing that it was a steep hill. There was something within her that was driving a need to know sooner. The timing of her trip to Mexico seemed to make perfect sense.

She stepped out of her flat into her backyard and with her briefcase and travel bag Disapparated to the staff designated area at St. Mungo’s. At seven it was still relatively quiet as she made it through the hall and into her office, quite surprised to see someone already there.

“Good morning,” she startled him somewhat. Dennis was unpacking unused phials. “How was the date?”

“So-so,” he replied, “You’re here early for someone who’s on vacation.”

“I have urgent business in Toronto and I wanted to get some stuff done before I leave,” she answered.

“When are you leaving?”

“I’m hoping by noon,” she guessed his next question, “And no, I’m not staying for the conference. Is there anything you need before I go?”

“Just your signature to order more phials.”

“Drop it off on my desk and I’ll make sure to sign it before I leave,” she knew about the problems they were having with breakage trying to bottle one of the more highly unstable potions they developed recently. “When I get back from Mexico we should really have a look at that modified Wolfsbane potion. Surely, we should be able to bottle it without making the phial unbreakable.”

“Sounds good,” Dennis answered, “I brought in breakfast if you want some.”

Hermione thanked him and went into her office. She sat at her desk thinking more about the Toronto trip and about what to say to Harry. Remembering Roy Hunt and how he turned out to be someone else, it seemed only wise to have learned a lesson from that.

A sense of disquiet suddenly washed over her at the possibility of Draco turning out to be just as Ginny suspected. In a decisiveness she had not had since Ron died, she ignored the clamors of decency screaming from within her, disregarded the list of consequences that were going through her mind, took out Draco’s medical file from her briefcase and used her passcode to magically expand it to its original Michigan hospital version.

It took her over an hour to read it in its entirety and she did while slowly sipping a glass of Dennis’ apple and peach smoothie.

19. The Healer's Notes

A/N. Most of this chapter is on Draco and his past.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 19 – The Healer’s Notes

Hermione closed Draco’s file and reduced it to its one page purged version. She put it back in her briefcase not noticing the crease that formed on her forehead, her expression summing up her thoughts on what she just read. She was baffled to say the least.

The first entry into the Michigan hospital document was about a concussed and severely beaten up teenager who was barely breathing when Draco was brought in by his hysterical mother.

Blunt force head trauma, occipital bone fracture, intracranial scans negative for bleeds or clots.
Posterior rib fracture, collapsed left lung.
Hematoma, upper abdominal quadrants with rebound tenderness suggestive of internal exsanguination.
Multiple lacerations.
Unresponsive.

Immediate critical care measures were undertaken and he regained consciousness the week after. Ministry authorities came to ask him about how he acquired his injuries.

Patient claims he fell off a cliff.

Draco’s explanation was judged as highly improbable by the Healer at that time. Hermione agreed. It would have had to be a very steep, heavily wooded or extremely rocky cliff with a mind of its own to have caused the significant strategically located injuries he had.

Two days later, Draco left the hospital against Healer advice.

Five similar hospital visits happened in a span of six weeks, each time with injuries less severe than the previous. Despite his non-admission, the Healer in charge was of the opinion that the young wizard was likely participating in Muggle fisticuffs.

What followed were mostly Healer notes from one-on-one sessions with Draco. While he was seen initially for non-magical physical injuries, he was referred to a Healer counsellor, a witch shrink, on his mother’s request who had expressed concern that Draco was not adjusting well to his new environment, was not using magic as often as he used to and she feared he was a danger to himself. Being of age under magical laws, his attendance to the sessions was not mandatory; his words were he did it to get his mother off his back.

At eighteen he was described as severely withdrawn, apathetic, anti-social and met criteria for severe depression. He was never observed to be violent and never expressed any emotion other than lack of interest. He was not open to any intervention. In fact, the first nine sessions were very quiet.

The only thing he would admit to was having nightmares that precluded sleep. When asked what the dreams were about he said he could not remember.

I’ve prescribed hospital grade Dreamless Draught for Mr. Malfoy to address his exhaustion from sleep deprivation. The content of his dreams are definitely important. Maybe getting rest will help him open up.

But that really didn’t. In fact, the Healer noticed that the more rested he was the more edgy and belligerent he became. After several fruitless sessions, the Healer was willing to try another approach. With his mother’s help, she was able to convince Draco to attend peer counselling. The Healer notes summarized the change.

It is like night and day. He smiled for the first time during the session as I asked him about how he found peer counselling. His reply was that he found it ‘enlightening’. He was distracted for most of the session and the smile never left his face. It was apparent that it wasn’t peer counselling itself that impressed him. Will need to investigate further.

The session after, the Healer was armed with more information.

I asked him about one of the volunteer peer counsellors. He hesitated but I pressed on. He seemed like he wanted to tell someone, anyone. He finally confided that he was dating ‘Mia’. As Mr. Malfoy spoke of her I was reminded of how wonderful this feeling was once one found it. He was obviously love-struck. He said he was afraid of it, of what it was doing to him, of what it could do to him. He asked for advice. I told him he’d know what to do.

The breakthrough was momentous as Draco opened himself up for more scrutiny. Things with Mia were going better than he imagined. The Healer had a cautionary response to Draco’s news that he had signed up with her to attend a Muggle Law Program.

Much progress. Mr. Malfoy surprised me today. He admitted to not taking the Dreamless Draught since he ran out a week ago and dreamt again for the first time in a long while. I asked him if it was the same one that haunted him before. He nodded and had this knowing look, the one which one usually had after self-discovery. He declined my offer to refill his prescription saying the same dreams, while nightmarish before were now quite reassuring to have. Curious, I asked what it was about. As proof of just how far we’ve gone, he replied that our time was up.

From subsequent notes, Draco had brushed off questions about his dreams telling the Healer that it was quite unimportant now that they weren’t happening as often and weren’t really nightmares anymore.

We touched on Mr. Malfoy’s childhood today. It made him very tense but he admitted he wanted to talk about it too. He said he couldn’t tell Mia, at least not yet, and Mia told him he didn’t have to unless he wanted to. I have yet to meet this young woman if not just to satisfy my curiosity if she is as extraordinary as Mr. Malfoy speaks of her.

He lived a very sheltered life. His family was well off, Pure blood of the ‘purest’ kind, with no tolerance for much else to an extreme that earned his father a death sentence from Ministry authorities. The older Mr. Malfoy died in prison a few months ago.

He described his childhood as like growing up in a bubble and being taught to be protective of it. He knew only of his world, his bubble, and that all else around him was a threat to burst that. He spoke of what he referred to as numerous ‘vile’ acts as a student at Hogwarts, a school for young wizards and witches, acts he now was remorseful about, some he wished he never did. He expressed a seemingly sincere wish to go back one day and ask forgiveness from his former peers though he knew some of them would never accept his apology.

I asked about the bubble. He said it finally disintegrated one fateful night he spent on a tower with a wise, dying old man. What he and his mother experienced up until his father’s execution also made him see things in a different light. Reluctantly, he admitted that as much as he was sad for his mother, he was somewhat relieved his father was dead. He refused to expound.

Hermione noticed how the Draco’s Healer knew exactly when to push and when to back off. While Draco chose to keep some aspects of his life to himself, the Healer saw the bigger picture.

Mr. Malfoy came in troubled today. He introduced Mia to his mother and his cousins for the first time. As he expected, they did not approve of her but it bothered him how they never even gave her a chance. He had quite colourful language that I cannot repeat here; very upset to say the least. He questioned how they could judge her without even knowing her.

I enquired how Mia felt about it. He said he could tell, without Mia admitting to it, that she was hurt and bothered. He declared that he would not let her go through something like that again.

The Healer’s entries stopped a few sessions thereafter as Draco withdrew himself from treatment citing the reality of Law School and actually studying for it was going to be taking up a lot of his time.

Mr. Malfoy discharged himself from care today. I expressed my reservations to him that while we both agreed that he had gone so far in the past year, there were definitely some lingering issues about his family and his past that would be beneficial for him to discuss and dissect, particularly about his father. I somewhat disagree with his perception that he no longer needs the sessions to do that but am encouraged by his recognition that his gains continue to be a work in progress. I wished him all the best and quite awkwardly, he thanked me, as if it was the first time he expressed appreciation in his life.

The notes spanned over almost two years and there was silence until a single entry about a year ago. Draco requested and was approved for a prescription of hospital strength Dreamless Draught.

Quite a few obvious questions popped up in Hermione’s mind as she was reading the notes.

The Healer’s description of Draco at the first session was quite different from how she remembered him last. The Draco she knew would be a cocky confrontational whiner, cheat in a fight, definitely use magic as leverage, and never allow to be emotionally chopped up. Draco definitely did not fall off a cliff six times. He almost died. What and who caused all those injuries? And why would he lie about that?

What were the nightmares about? It was interesting to her how what he considered nightmares at one time became reassuring dreams. Were the ones before he met Mia the same as the ones she assumed he again began to have a year ago? He mentioned Mia passed away around that time. Did he need the potion then? She knew first hand how overwhelming grief could result into sleepless nights.

As she suspected Mia was quite instrumental in the change she had noticed and from how he talked about her last night it sounded like he was seeing her up until the time of her death. Who was she really? And if she were so extraordinary why would Narcissa Malfoy disapprove of her son’s relationship with her? Hermione wondered if Mia was Muggle born.

There was mention of cousins. She read somewhere that they stayed with family for a while when they first came to the States. What kind were they? Malfoys or Weasleys or somewhere in the middle? What was his relationship with them like?

Why did he come back? He was cryptic about it last night. Was it to start his apology spree as he indicated to the Healer years ago?

And the one thing that she thought the Healer never really touched on was whether or not Narcissa’s other worry about her son was addressed.

Looking back on the times she had been with him, she had never seen him with a wand. It wasn’t really odd considering his work was mostly Muggle related and maybe she was just reading too much into it. Maybe the reason why the Healer never discussed it was because it was never a concern, at least not to Draco.

Some of her questions could only be answered by Draco himself. She paused and contemplated about the rest. The way she saw it she had a few options. She could just ask him, though evidently had to be careful and creative about how so he wouldn’t find out about her reading the medical file. She could admit to seeing the file, not quite good for her colleague over in Michigan. Or, she could just carry on and look for answers to her questions even further without telling him.

The latter wasn’t really a great way to start a relationship and she was even starting to wonder why she succumbed to the pressure of opening the file in the first place. It seemed that while her experience with Roy Hunt provided the spark to her compulsion to read his medical file for self protection against possible deceit, there was nothing in it to suggest that she should doubt him. In fact, those first two years of sessions with the therapist made how Draco was today make more sense. And while she had valid questions, the normal thing to do in any budding friendship was to ask.

Hermione assessed the temptation to be covert in her quest for answers. In her heart she did forgive him for what he was in Hogwarts. With age and the pain that sometimes went with it, Draco’s transgressions of long ago, at least against her, were relatively benign. With forgiveness came delicate trust and a second chance. She hated not knowing for sure but she had no reason to doubt Draco’s sincerity at the moment. Playing fair was the decent thing to do.

On the other hand she had already read the file; she could not just stop and ignore the questions now. Not having answers to her questions was driving her mad and the sugar loaded muffin and smoothie breakfast she just had was making her all queasy.

Hermione picked up her phone and rang Ginny. No doubt she would still be in bed.

It rang a few times.

Come on, pick up…

And a few more…

“Hello,” groggy answer, hoarse, masculine.

After double checking caller id, she replied, “Well, it’s either you spent the rest of the night drunk and singing karaoke off the top of your lungs again or you took the wrong hormone pill and lots of it.”

“Are you looking for Ginny?” the man chuckled as he asked, she couldn’t decide if he was someone familiar.

“Which I now realize isn’t you. Yes, I am,” she was curious and concerned at the same time, “And who are you, why are you answering her phone, and if you hurt her…”

“Hey,” it was Ginny, thankfully interrupting her midstream and thankfully preventing her from saying some potentially libellous remarks.

“Who was that man?”

“What man?”

“The man beside you who answered your phone.”

“Oh, this man. A good question which requires…a more… thought out…answer...” there was definitely something more going on on her side of the phone than hers.

“Is this a bad time?” Just say yes.

She heard a cat meow in the background. She hoped it was a real one and it was walking away.

“No, go ahead.”

“It’s about Draco.”

“I think there should be a rule that we can’t talk about him before my morning coffee,” at least she now had Ginny’s undivided attention.

Tell her about the file, about him getting beaten up, about the dreams, about Narcissa and about Mia…

“I’m going to ask him to come to Mexico with me.”

Some very colourful language came out of Ginny’s mouth.

“I guess it was too much to hope to hear you say something reassuring,” she interrupted her.

“You have the wrong number if ‘reassuring’ is what you want.”

Ginny has connections in Michigan. She can find out who this Mia is, the family they stayed with in Detroit and maybe, even who beat him up.

Her friend continued, “Well, only Toronto can save your soul now.”

“Very funny,” Hermione replied though she knew Ginny was quite serious. She thought about it but couldn’t tell Ginny right now. It was only fair to give Draco a chance. She would ask Draco her numerous questions first and if she sensed anything amiss, she definitely would enlist Ginny to help her dig up for collaborating or contradicting information. “We’ll talk when I get back from Toronto.”

“Give Harry a kiss for me,” she could imagine Ginny impishly smiling at the remark.

Hermione chose to ignore it. Ginny was the one person who knew how she felt about Harry but she could not tell her everything that happened between them. A few months after Ron died when their collective grief was more manageable, they had a long talk about Harry and about Toronto. While Ginny was as incensed at Harry as she was the time she found out, Ginny was more forgiving than she was when it came to him. She had been vocal against Hermione’s choice to put off talking with him and even suggested that Ron probably wouldn’t mind if they ended up together. Again, she did not know the whole story and couldn’t possibly understand that it just couldn’t be.

The matter out of the way for now, Hermione donned her St. Mungo’s Healer’s robe briefly thinking how that conversation with Ginny was like deja vu. She made a mental note to press Ginny for more details about it at a later time.

She made her way to the Spell Damage ward where Argus Filch had been admitted after being found unconscious inside an empty Gringott’s vault. There was a sentry just outside Filch’s room and Filch’s primary Healer, Delilah Dogooder, a young woman who was a few years her junior, had just finished doing morning rounds with a few interns.

Hermione walked into the room and was excited to see that Filch was awake. Well, kind of awake.

“Do you have a moment?” Hermione asked.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Delilah remarked, “I sought your consult but was told you were away on vacation.”

Some vacation.

“I am but I thought I’d drop in and see how Mr. Filch was doing,” she told the truth, “He was the caretaker at Hogwarts while I was there. I heard he came in unconscious but I can see you’ve made some progress.”

The younger Healer blushed, “I wish my team could take credit for his state of wakefulness. Not knowing why he was unconscious we’ve held off most major interventions until labs came in. That is, unless it was the enema he mistakenly got instead of Mr. Gander over there that did the trick.”

A group of Healer assistants, old timers who she knew attended Hogwarts long ago, sniggered behind the counter just outside the room. Poor Filch.

“If he was unconscious because of toxins, the accidental enema may have indeed helped with cleansing,” it was plausible. “Differentials?”

“No obvious trauma, scans all negative, brain function tested normal. We’ve tried simple counter spells to revive him. His tox screens just came in and they are all negative. There’s no poison to detect to give him antidote for. We’re considering a few Dark Magic spells and I was hoping you could help us with it,” Delilah rattled off standard protocol. She was often brought in on ambiguous cases like this because of her knowledge of Dark Magic from her research and their Voldemort encounters.

Hermione had walked over closer to Filch, took out her wand and began examining him herself. Filch was in bed, in a semi-reclined position, unmoving, with a fixed stare that seemed aimed out the window. He had not really aged much.

“Has he moved or talked at all?” she asked, running her wand over him as she tried to detect any splattering traces of magic on the surface of his body that could suggest he was hit by a curse.

“No. Not since he was found this way when the assistants came in to check on him this morning just before shift change.”

Not a spell trace, unless it was minute. On next pass she focused on poisons. As her wand was over his torso, she paused and scanned back, slower this time. There was a hint of something foreign in his blood, familiar yet not. She scanned through and could only detect it in areas with the most concentration of blood, his heart and spleen. It was definitely not a known poison and would be easy to miss in the lab because nobody was looking for it.

“He has something in him that shouldn’t be there,” she said to Delilah, who promptly re-examined the area.

“Very subtle but you’re quite right,” Delilah concurred, open to Hermione’s finding, “I feel it faintly, but what is it?”

“I don't know either,” she admitted, “Was he on any potion or Muggle medication?”

“Nothing on Muggle or St. Mungo record,” Delilah answered. “Though there was an empty phial found close to his body.”

“Any trace of what was in it?”

“Lab found it clean, said it was brand new, unused,” came her reply, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“It’s not that you have a choice,” Hermione countered, the furrow back on her forehead. Filch would get ‘the Works’, the Healer’s code for extensive but really unpleasant blind poking and probing. It was anecdotally described as the equivalent to a thousand enemas. “But don’t exclude anything out yet. I’ll think about the Dark spells and get back to you on it. This trace of something could very well be nothing. It could be something he ate. Call me with what you find.”

Delilah thanked her as Hermione scribbled her number on Filch’s St. Mungo file. Despite her years of experience in healing, Filch’s case was the reason why she could never say that she had seen everything.

The interns had gathered around Delilah and were trying their hand at detecting what they just discovered in Filch. He was a great learning opportunity. The old Filch would have probably resented that.

Hermione turned around to leave, thinking she might make it to Toronto earlier.

“Sir, please let go,” she heard one of the interns was pleading.

“Mr. Filch,” Delilah said, her voice somewhat strained, “It’s okay. They’re just examining you.”

Filch moving on his own was definite progress. She faced the now building commotion behind her just in time to witness a strong swirling gust of wind fill the room and blow away most unsecured objects from their proper place.

Argus Filch had a wide smile on his face. In his hand was a wand he had wrestled from one of the interns. It was a wand with a glowing tip.

Curious.

20. A Squib or Not a Squib

Chapter 20 – A Squib or Not A Squib

15 February 2006 – Her hotel room, five fifteen a.m.

Harry was dressed and had been sitting on the edge of the bed for a few minutes contemplating if he should wake her to say goodbye. He never did with other women in the past.

He wanted to stay in bed with her, get up only when they were both good and ready, perhaps make passionate love once more and spend the day together. He could imagine them spending the week, the month, the year like this. He felt a tightening around his throat and chest.

One night with her isn’t nearly enough.

He really had to leave, soon.

Tick… tock…tick…tock…

If only he could stop time…

Tick… tock…tick…tock…

Destroy all existing clocks in the universe…

Tick… tock…tick…tock…

Including that on ticking time bombs…

Tick… tock…tick…tock…

Like this Roy Hunt affair…

Compulsion prevailed over letting go cleanly. He swept her bushy brown hair off her face and watched her eyes slowly open, adjust to the light and meet his. She smiled.

“I have to go,” he said to her quietly, as if doing so would make him feel better.

“I know,” she replied.

“I had a really great time last night,” he said to her honestly, taking her hand, squeezing it lightly.

“So did I,” she answered back.

“You don’t have to marry him,” he blurted out, hoping she would not see or hear the obvious.

It would be a big mistake but he could understand why after ten years with the same man she would want to try and fix what they had. She would refuse to admit failure and letting go was an admission of that. Some would call that tenacity; others stubbornness.

“I know I don’t.”

He couldn’t tell if she had indeed decided what to do. It was really not his place to ask, not even if he heeded the call of his conscience to drink the anti-Polyjuice that very moment and ask her as ‘Harry’. He could not begin to imagine how that conversation would go

Staying any longer was going to make him lose control.

Tick… tock…tick…tock…

“Take care of yourself, okay?” he said to her.

She nodded.

“You too.”

Harry leaned down, intending to kiss her on her cheek but instead, finding the edge of her soft lips and unable to resist its pull, turned into it fully, allowing himself to get lost in her sweet gentle reply. This would be the last time he would kiss her this way and he wanted it to be etched forever in his memory.

He left her room with a churning sensation in his gut as the tingling sensation of her mouth on his lingered. The storm of emotions within him had to be sorted out and dealt with but it would have to be when he got back to London.

A few minutes later he got a call that the Toronto Auror watching over her was in place. He focused on the task at hand, his real assignment. Armed with his transfigured wand, a signalling device and a handful of bogus research proposals, he walked to the Ghoul barely noticing the almost knee deep snow the blizzard had left all over.

At the entrance, he lined up behind a couple of other blokes he recognized from the day before, politely chatted about the snowstorm and listened as the guy in front of him bragged.

“Half an hour,” Harry heard him say as they handed in their work and waited outside for what he was told was verification, “Got him plastered over a couple of shots of good ole Jack D and he was singing like a canary. Getting him to write it out legibly was something else. How did yours go?”

He wanted to make sure nobody else would get any ideas.

“She talked all night about her work I can still hear her in my head. I need a couple of Advils and to get as far away from her as possible,” he feigned a headache for good measure.

The man laughed as the Ghoul entrance opened up for them. There were a few other men already inside. Breakfast was being served by the waitress and the barkeep was filling drink orders as Waxball appeared from the Employee entrance beside the bar. He was followed closely by Floyd, who was carrying a small rectangular wooden box which he set on the bar.

Harry watched him sit down on a stool and pass the time lazily away with a couple of coins in his fingers, rolling them on top of each other as he did the day before and staring at him icily with familiar deep hatred. Well, it was personal.

He found the man he sat with yesterday, Klys, in one of the booths and joined him. Looking around, almost everyone looked like they could use a good night’s sleep.

“Congratulations,” Waxball said to the crowd of fifteen, Harry noticed that he had all the submissions for that morning in his hand. “Our employer will be as pleased as last year. Unfortunately, she had other commitments she can’t join us this morning.”

Klys gave him a knowing look. Klys was right; she was a no-show. That was quite unfortunate. His instructions were to signal as soon as all the expected players were all in place; like now. He held the device in his pants pocket as he took out his pen, his transfigured wand, to activate it.

“But as promised, aside from monetary compensation you are receiving in your bank accounts as I speak, you will each get a reward for your contribution,” Waxball continued he had to pause, thinking it was important to wait to see more of this. “Something that was a product of the efforts of last year. I’ve used it myself and the first time is special so I can only suggest that you chose well.”

Waxball nodded over to Floyd who put his coins away and slid the box open. There was a silence in the room as every Squib and Muggle eagerly waited what it was that Waxball referred to as something they’ve always wanted. It was hard to see what exactly but Floyd took a small phial that he was able to completely wrap in the palm of his hand. He slid the box shut, turned away, uncorked and tipped his head back, swallowing. Potion. Purple colored potion.

“As Mr. Floyd prepares to demonstrate for us keep in mind that you’ll only have at most twenty four hours to enjoy the use of it. Have fun. You’ve earned it,” Waxball continued speaking, drawing his attention, then turned it over to Floyd who still had murder in his eyes as he looked at Harry.

“Mr. Hunt,” Floyd called out, “Join me up here. I need some assistance with this demonstration.”

Harry had a bad feeling about this. A very bad one. Even Waxball had panic in his eyes.

“Tom,” Waxball interrupted, “A volunteer isn’t really necessary.”

“Didn’t you just say ‘have fun’?” Floyd pointed out with an excited glint in his eyes, “Loosen up, it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, let the man have some fun,” Harry said stood up and walked towards him, wand pen in hand, prepared for almost anything, “We all know he could use it.”

That drew laughter from the crowd making Floyd flush redder than Weasley hair. If he was a dragon there would be fire coming out of his nose.

Harry got to the front and faced Floyd, glaring back at him, the maniacal fury within his adversary transparent. He had to ask to confirm, knowing that Floyd was one to gloat.

“Is it true? Did you beat up a witch last year for being smart enough not to go out with a stupid git like you?”

Floyd replied, smiling, “She was begging for it. Halfway through, she wasn’t feeling so smart anymore. She deserved to die for being the intellectual snob that she was. Just as you deserve to die for messing with me.”

“Your threats really need a lot of work,” he mocked.

He leaned in close enough so only Harry could hear, “I hope you like green light because that will be the last thing you will remember. You’re a dead man, Roy Hunt.”

For someone who had been bullied and cursed several times by one of the most evil wizards of all time, he could not be intimidated any less. His bland, bored expression incensed Floyd even more.

Floyd stepped back and took out a wand from his pocket. There was definitely no reason to wait any longer to find out exactly what Floyd wanted to do. He was an expert on death, wands, and green lights associated with the two. He had seen enough of it to last him ten lifetimes.

Harry thought about the possibility of a known Squib like Tom Floyd gaining magical ability to pull it off. It must be from the potion he just took. He almost burst out laughing as he heard Floyd mutter several versions of how to say ‘Avada Kedavra’, thinking, ask me, I know exactly how to say it. Floyd was a pathetic ridiculous version of Voldemort.

While he would have wanted to wait and see Floyd fall on his face with his ambitious demonstration, it was best to call in the troops. He activated the signalling device.

In no time at all, about twenty members of the Toronto MLE barged into the Ghoul Waterhole from all entrances and exits. Chaos ensued as the waitress and the barkeep took out semi-automatics and began strafing the room randomly with rapid gunfire necessitating everyone to take cover. It was literally raining bullets and it was raining hard. A few buzzed by his head and splintered the wall behind him. One grazed his shoulder.

His heart was pounding, his mind was racing. Spells were also being thrown around, likely by Hit wizards, their aim quite atrocious. More gunshots came from different areas within the Ghoul. He was crouched on all fours on the floor, quite open to anyone who just aimed at him. Across the way he saw Klys’ lifeless body near their booth. One MLE was dead too. There was a clear necessity to do something promptly.

The bartender was reloading. As soon as he found cover beside one of the concrete posts, he got on his feet, quickly transformed his pen back to his wand and summoned every gun and rifle in the room.

Accio!

Finally silence. There was a sound of broken glass breaking even more in the distance as he stepped out from where he took cover, crunching noise as his feet walked on debris. At least twenty pairs of eyes peering from behind tables, chairs and walls were on him, with mixed expressions. He felt his heart gradually thud slower against his chest, the adrenaline die down, and this tremendous weight on his arms overpower him. He staggered and fell hard, the armful of heavy metals he was carrying spilling away from him, numbering more than the people in the room and more than he anticipated. Waxball must have had an arsenal nearby.

As if on cue, the frenzy around him resumed. Muggles and Squibs fought against the MLE and tried to elude arrest. Harry tried to get up several times but he couldn’t. He swore. He had to get back into the fight. Floyd. He had to make sure they got Floyd for Helga Braun’s murder. He looked around and he couldn’t find Floyd’s greasy hair nor the box of phials that was on the bar counter.

A warm wet sensation on his left side and back drew his attention. He gazed down. All he could see was red. On the floor beside him a thick puddle of it had formed and was alarmingly growing exponentially by the second.

Not good.

The room started to spin around him. He felt no pain, only numbness all over. He lost the feeling in his legs and instinctively was drawing deeper breaths as if he was not getting enough air. He could barely focus on the two wizards that came out of nowhere to help him.

“Yeah, he’s the one,” he heard one of them say.

The one what?

“The Brits are going to go ape on us. He’s fucked up!” the other countered.

I really wanted to hear that. Thank you for pointing it out.

One of them cast a spell and he felt an agonizing tightening around his leg. A pressure spell, he presumed, to stop bleeding.

“That takes care of that one for now.”

I prefer numb, really.

“What about that hole, gushing with blood?”

Great. A hole. Gushing.

He closed his eyes. He could feel his energy draining. Deeper breaths didn’t seem to help. So this is how it feels to die.

Funny. Voldemort had seven years to finish him off and no amount of Dark Magic could. And here he was, dying a Muggle death from a gunshot wound. And for someone whose life was fading away, he felt way too calm.

His life flashed before his shut eyes as a series of memories, flooding his thoughts. His father, his mother, Sirius, Professor Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione. She had been there from almost the very beginning, from when he became aware of who he was. She knew him before the hype of his defeat of Voldemort and stuck by him when things were bad after Quidditch.

For the longest time, she was the one constant in his life. His friend, his anchor, his rock. She was his occasional crutch, keeping him steady when he wasn’t and his lighthouse, shining the path to help him see where he was going and what dangers faced him. His home was home because he knew she was just two doors down and only a knock away.

She said something that morning that hit a chord. It was about why she would want to marry someone she did not love.

I want to be with someone who loves me, someone who I care about, to make a difference in his life and to make me feel that my existence matters.

He now realized what the panic within him since her engagement to Ron was about. She was indispensable, irreplaceable. She made a tremendous difference in his life, her existence mattered to him and she cared about him; she had ever since Hogwarts. She was the one person who consistently brought a smile to his face and made him feel good about himself. Every time she called him, came over to his apartment, asked him to take her out somewhere, or just be with each other, she made him feel that he was important to her, that his existence mattered.

He had not considered it before. He didn’t think she could possibly need him as much as he needed her. He thought she loved Ron and was happy with him. But last night she admitted that she didn’t and she obviously wasn’t. He wanted to make her happy.

And last night he saw her bare and uninhibited, not only physically but emotionally, seeing her as she never showed him, as she never would have had he not been a stranger. Even for that brief moment with her, delusional a thought as it may be at a time like this, he was almost sure that she could be happy with him.

It was an undeniable truth. It was so obvious to him now. One night would never be nearly enough. Why didn’t he see it before?

The other wizard held something against his chest, “We have to get him to a Healer, quick.”

Hermione. Take me to Hermione.

“Help me get him up.”

So much to tell her.

“I can’t do it by myself. We have to take him Side-along together.”

So much to confess.

“Quick! Before he loses consciousness!”

I can’t die.

“Where exactly?”

Not yet.

“The entrance, to trauma!”

Not without telling her that I love her.

An unpleasant tugging sensation came over him. He blacked out.

XXXXXXXXX

15 February 2006 – Hermione’s hotel room, moments after Roy left

Hermione knew she had to get up soon. Granted that doing so would officially end her night as her alter ego Jane, she just had to. And she shouldn’t have kissed Roy that way when they said goodbye.

That’s okay. You won’t see him again.

She stood and wrapped the white sheet around her as she, on autopilot picked up her clothes and other misplaced stuff from the floor. She grabbed her purse and her phone fell off from it. She picked it up and turned it on. Messages. Her eyes were shut as she listened to them one at a time.

Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron, Ginny, Ron, Ron, Ron

Just as she was finished with the last one her phone rang.

“Hi,” she said to Ron, the tears that had built up as she was hearing his messages from last night were silently falling now, the crushing weight of guilt bearing down heavily on her.

He asked how she was, worried about her.

“I’m fine. I just needed some time away.”

He said he understood; that Ginny explained how she needed it, how it would not be a good idea to go and see her last night, that he had to give her space. But that he wished she could have at least called to tell him she was okay.

“I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking,” she apologized. He was right; and she would have had she realized he might be looking her. “It won’t happen again.”

He repeated most of what he said in his messages from last night. He said he was sorry, too, about their argument, about how childish he was, admitting for the first time how jealous and insecure he was of Harry, mostly when it came to her, and how he would try his best not to be anymore.

There was, but now there was no reason to be. She felt a gnawing deep cut in her chest.

“I’ll call you back,” she managed to say, barely, “I have to go.”

She hung up just as Ron let her. She showered, hot, long, with more tears of guilt, remorse, and heartache, unsure of which was giving her the most reason to cry about and uncertain of what to do next. And after, Hermione couldn’t look at herself in the mirror, not only because she was so puffy-eyed from crying, but also because she just couldn’t.

Her phone rang.

The Toronto Hospital?

She was puzzled. Not knowing what to expect, she answered.

XXXXXXXXXX

8 February 2007 – Toronto, before sunrise.

As the Healers of St. Mungo’s were marvelling at the Squib Argus Filch’s fleeting late onset acquisition of magical capability, Harry could not have been more disinterested in what he was doing in Toronto. He and Andy were on a stakeout in their Ford Taurus, a few meters away from the back entrance of the Ghoul Waterhole.

It was almost six in the morning. He was cold, he was tired, and all night there was nothing out of the ordinary. He could have gone to London and back.

Having been both up since four the morning before, he convinced Andy to take a nap some six hours ago. He took the first shift and he would wake her if something happened. Nothing happened and he decided to let her sleep knowing that he probably couldn’t anyway.

In all likelihood, Floyd was just pulling a stunt and wanted to have fun seeing how high the Ministry would jump. Although his need to hurt Floyd was assuaged temporarily, his mounting frustration about him could not be denied. Almost a year had passed since Ron died and he was no closer to finding out what really happened and proving what he knew was a fact. Ron’s fall was not an accident. It was murder, Floyd had something to do with it and he had an idea how.

He told the London authorities, Kingsley, the Minister. They said they wanted to believe him but there was just no proof. He had physical evidence, but it was proof he could not show them and Floyd only knew that too well.

Quid pro quo.

How he hated that phrase! Floyd killed Ron because he held Harry responsible for Waxball’s suicide. He found out Harry was Roy Hunt and took payment in kind; a brother for a brother. And not only that, Floyd found out about Hermione and dragged her into it. He suspected that it was Floyd who made sure she would know without a doubt that he was Roy Hunt. Hermione was right. If only the Roy Hunt affair ended in Toronto.

Hermione was so distraught when Ron died. There was no explaining to her how it happened and that the Roy Hunt affair wasn’t about what she thought it was about. There was no explaining to her that Ron was murdered by Floyd. There was no explaining to her that he loved her when all she could think about was how hurt Ron must have felt knowing she had been unfaithful and how he didn’t get a chance to be angry at her, to tell her exactly what he thought. There was only the grief, remorse, and guilt she had to live with.

And towards him utter disgust. Not undeserving he stayed back. He wanted so much to be there to comfort her for Ron’s loss, and for her to comfort him, but that was not possible, not after what had happened. This was the consequence he was dreading. It was penance she imposed and he lived with for the past year.

As an Auror there were assumed risks. Retaliation against him for a job well done was one of them but for quite some time he could not grasp the idea that Ron was dead because of him and because of what he did for a living.

Had he not jumped at becoming an Auror to make sure Hermione was going to be safe would Ron be alive today? Would Hermione? Would Hermione have had that affair? Or would they all be in London right now, having dinner at their Richmond house, them a happy expecting couple talking about what color to paint the nursery and telling him how a wonderful godfather he would make?

Toronto was an assignment and it turned out to be much more than he bargained for. It was the good, the bad and the ugly. The Toronto mission made him realize that there was more to his feelings for Hermione than he thought there was. But because he took it, Ron died and Hermione wasn’t talking to him. And because of it, he could not be with her.

There was really nothing else he could do except hope she would forgive him, just enough to be in the same room with him or even start reading his letters. He had his own guilt about Ron and about Ron’s death to deal with and the only way he knew how was to focus his energies to bring Floyd to justice. He worked on the case feverishly until he realized they were right. There were no clues to uncover in London and everything led to Toronto. He had to go.

On record Floyd was in a Toronto Muggle prison the night Ron died, picked up by police after a scuffle in a club. But he was definitely on the pitch that night Ron fell. He had a theory about how Floyd was in two different places at the same time but the Muggle who he suspected Floyd forced to drink Polyjuice Potion to impersonate him for one night died of ‘natural causes’ just before Harry was to meet him months back.

Then suddenly, nothing. Floyd appeared to convert to a church choir boy, hair parted in the middle, neatly pressed, voice always perfectly hitting the high note. He became a legitimate businessman on paper but that was all hogwash. Twice Harry went over the edge to provoke him to prove that the Squib could do magic and twice he came close to being thrown out of Canada.

And he could not prove that the magic enabling purple potion existed. Floyd had slipped out that post Valentine’s day carnage at the Ghoul last year with it and Waxball was left holding the bag of research papers. He was going to be tried for Helga Braun’s murder and decided to make his exit by taking his own life. With Waxball’s death, they not only lost their link to the witch who was paying for and reaping the gains of his troop’s ‘research’ work, they lost the link to Floyd as well.

That was what was frustrating. His quest for justice for Ron’s death was not only because Ron was his best mate. He had to prove that it was not an accident. He had to prove it for him, but mostly for her. Hermione continued to blame herself for the ‘accident’, believing that had Ron not known she had an affair it wouldn’t have happened. To those who knew about the affair, her arriving at that conclusion was quite annoyingly far out and there was no convincing her otherwise. Rational thinking left Hermione that moment Ron died and her overwhelming guilt and grief took over. In her mind, none of this would have happened had she abstained from Roy Hunt.

Maybe he was delusional but he was hoping that if he could at least prove that Ron’s death was not an accident, that it was intentionally malicious and that it would have happened despite of what she did, it would make her feel better about herself, and stop punishing them for it.

This thing with Malfoy just proved how bad her loss of rational thinking had become. The thought of her with anyone else was gut wrenching but the thought of her with him was maddening. Pink Floyd may have lessened the exasperation he felt but as he sat in the cold, sleep deprived, staring at the dead stillness in the dimly lit back alley and simmering from thoughts of her, it was growing to dangerously high levels again.

He had to see her soon if it was just to tell her what a big mistake it was to trust that arrogant oaf. Ugh! Just imagining her say his first name made his blood boil.

A rustle behind mercifully distracted him. Andy must have shifted. All night he was hearing Andy’s breathing it reminded him of Hermione that first time they made love, how exhilarating it felt to watch her fall asleep in his arms and then have her soft breath lull him to rest. The evening with her was so special, not to mention amusing and enlightening, thinking about it always brought a bittersweet smile to his face.

The backdoor he was watching suddenly swung open and several of Floyd’s goons, five of them went off in different directions afoot. One got into a parked van. He nudged Andy.

“Something’s up,” he said to her, now fully alert and starting to get a rush.

Andy got her bearings back and asked, “How do you want to do this?”

Just then, Floyd’s tall figure emerged from the Ghoul with a small wooden box in his hand, paused at the exit. He took out a wand, conjured a dark colored backpack out of thin air and slipped the box in it. It looked like the same box he saw last year. His long legs started walking away from them.

Andy commented, “Fuck. You’re right, he can do magic.”

Harry replied abruptly, “I’ll follow Floyd on foot. Trail the one in the van and search it as soon as he gives you probable cause. I’ll meet up with you later.”

Floyd was a distance off and was quickening his pace. Harry donned on an Invisibility Cloak and walked briskly across the street from him. He was heading south towards Dundas, turning east at the Art Gallery and down the flight of stairs into the subway. Floyd joined a fairly small crowd of early morning commuters.

He got on the lead car and sat on an empty seat looking around as if waiting for someone. The train rolled off into the tunnel. The Squib seemed to be enjoying a carefree ride. An announcement came.

Arriving at College. College station.

The train stopped. A woman boarded and sat beside him despite the numerous empty seats. That was definitely not right. As the train left College Station Harry moved closer and was standing almost over them just as she gave him an envelope. Floyd looked in it. It was full of Muggle cash.

Harry was taking out his wand when the train experienced a sudden jolt caused as it ran roughly around a bend. His cloak must have moved because Floyd gave the wad of money back to the woman and began walking to the back of the car. He opened the connecting door and walked into the adjacent car, quickly.

He followed him between cars, taking his Cloak off in the darkness between. Greasy looked back, saw him and started running towards the very back of the train. Startled commuters expressed their shock as the two men ran from car to car. Harry couldn’t use magic, not in such public place and not against a known Squib. Floyd was bound to run out of space soon.

Somebody had sounded the emergency alarm and rightfully so. As he got into the last car, he was just in time to watch Greasy, open wooden box in one hand, take the same purple potion he saw him take a year ago. He smirked at Harry then Disapparated!

Argh!

Extremely frustrated, he went over to the spot where Floyd had stood just before disappearing. Something caught his attention.

There were two phials on the floor.

He picked them up.

One was empty.

One was full of purple potion.

21. Wanting the Impossible

Chapter 21 – Wanting the Impossible

Amidst the shrill ringing sound of the subway passenger assistance alarm, Harry looked around and noticed that the last subway car had emptied during the commotion. He quickly pocketed both phials and held on to them as he Disapparated just before the transit officers came.

In no time he was back in the alley where he and Andy had spent the night. Neither Andy nor Floyd’s henchman was there. He called her on the phone.

“Where are you?”

“Still on his ass,” she replied, “He’s stopped at the docks near the end of Cherry Street. His cabin lights are on and it appears like he’s picking his nose, disgusting pig. What about you?”

Harry told her.

“And Greasy?”

“He Disapparated on me in the subway,” he replied, “One can only guess where he is right now. But I did find a phial of potion.”

“THE potion?”

“I believe so,” Harry could not think that it was not the same magic enabling potion Floyd took before he Disapparated. “I gotta run it up to the Lab to see what they find. I’ll see about getting someone to take over for you.”

“Harry.”

There was something suddenly very odd about her voice.

“Yeah?”

He heard her sniffing.

“I smell something.”

“What?”

“Shit!”

“What?!”

“I um…found Greasy.”

“He’s there?!”

“The slimy freak is right beside me.”

Then the line went dead.

In a split second he Disapparated to where Cherry Street ended and had his wand drawn out. He didn’t know exactly where she was but he hoped he was close. The sun wasn’t up yet and there was an eerie silence in the darkness that made the small hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He paused, trying to listen.

A distant sound of a revving car engine caught his attention and he saw a faint taillight speeding away about two hundred meters off to his left further up the shoreline. He ran towards its direction. On the single streetlamp in the vicinity, an almost used up light bulb flickered for the first time since he arrived and was struggling mightily to illuminate the surrounding area. He could barely see it but the Ministry issue Ford Taurus was there and its passenger cabin was empty. A sudden whiff of a familiar awful odour filled his senses. He needed more light.

Lumos!

He walked around and peered inside the car for a closer look, his wand lighting the way. A piece of paper was on the driver’s seat.

For last night - Quid pro quo

Surely, Floyd wasn’t so stupid so as to do anything to Andy. He wouldn’t want the entire Toronto MLE out for his blood at this point in time. On the other hand, he was a cocky son of a hag. Really concerned now, he scanned the perimeter for signs of human life hopeful when he got a positive hit. If it was Andy, she was very close.

He walked around the car once more, stood at the back and opened the trunk. The horrible stench overwhelmed him and on impulse did the first thing that came to mind before staggering back.

“Scourgify!”

A literally petrified Andy was in the trunk, eyes ablaze, furious as even he had never seen before.

“Rennervate!”

The moment she regained control of her muscles she immediate got out of the compartment, ran off to the nearby streetlamp, and held it for support as she retched her gut out. He could certainly understand why. Thankful that at least she was physically okay, his eye caught sight of another note stuck on the inside on the trunk.

I felt generous. Next time, she won’t be breathing.

As he glanced over to his partner who was cursing creatively in between the vomiting, he was certain that Floyd would eventually wish he wasn’t so charitable.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dennis Creevey quickened his pace and glanced over his back to make sure no one was following him. He had just met with the Potion Master and dropped off more St. Mungo phials. He reported the Argus Filch incidence and got the reaction he expected. They had no choice on the matter. It would have to be done to keep the lid from blowing off before the Toronto conference. With the Healers milling around the miracle Squib, the only question was who would do it and when.

And there was the other matter.

He stopped, looked around and phoned Lestrange. He told her about Granger having an emergent need to be in Toronto and the possibility that she would not get any additional potion prior to Mexico. The matter of her trip to Mexico wasn’t clear to him either.

Lestrange seemed unperturbed.

XXXXXXXXXX

Not a couple of hours later, Hermione stepped out of a cab and onto the curb in front of Harry’s rented Toronto townhouse. The slow, agonizing beat of drums against her chest was deafening. Unbeknownst why, she was overcome with a sense of dread as she visualized herself talking to him. She was scared and no amount of pep talk was going to change that.

You have to do this.

Right.

Get it over with.

Sounds splendid.

Hermione found herself facing the door. She took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly.

Ding dong…

She waited. Maybe he wasn’t home although the Auror at the Ministry said to try him here. She resisted an impulse to turn away. She wasn’t about to give herself a way out of this too quickly.

Ding dong…

She heard muffled voices within. The door flung open but instead of Harry she found herself facing a tall, blonde woman with blue eyes and a confident air about her. She was also wearing what looked like men’s clothes. Harry’s?

Ouch…

“Hi. Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“I might be in the wrong place,” she said, thinking that it was definitely possible that she was.

Or maybe she wasn’t. Was she just stupid and blind to not consider that this could happen? The woman confirmed that she was.

“Are you Hermione?” she asked, seemingly excited, giving Hermione that same uncomfortable feeling that this woman knew more about her than she would have wanted.

“Um…yes,” she replied.

“Come in,” the woman ushered with enthusiasm, stepping aside, “He’s just getting changed. This is unexpected.”

It was definitely unforeseen. She didn’t even think that this was a possibility and it was throwing her off. She needed to gather her thoughts and make sense of it before meeting him.

“I should really come back at a later time.”

“Who is it, Andy?” Harry’s voice flew towards them from deep within.

Too late. Best of luck.

“You’re not going to believe this. It’s Hermione,” this ‘Andy’ replied back.

She heard the sound of footsteps drawing near. It seemed from his reply that this, that she, was an ongoing joke between them.

“I swear to Merlin your pink knickers and a copy of Canadian Witch Has-beens will find its way on the Ministry announcement board if you’re making fun of …” he swung the door, opening it wider and saw her, “…me. Hermione…”

“Harry,” she heard somebody say his name.

Hermione was certain it was mere perception that they stood there frozen for quite some time. The sight of him siphoned the remaining air in her lungs and amplified the deafening sound of the beating in her chest. She missed him, no doubt. She missed seeing his untamed black hair, his warm green eyes, his mouth with that roguish smile and even the faint scar on his forehead that distinguished him from everyone else. She missed the playfulness in his voice that she just heard right now and the mischief in the look that he just gave the woman who answered the door.

This was why she wasn’t ready. She still wanted to be with him, needed to be with him despite knowing that she couldn’t possibly be happy with him.

He put on the dark green sweater he was about to before he came to answer the door. He must have just stepped out of the shower.

“This is a surprise,” he said, it obviously was for him.

Harry seemed more curious than happy about her showing up unexpectedly at his doorstep. She preferred it this way, to come unannounced. She did not want him prepared for their meeting. The less time he had thinking about what to say to her, the less time it would take her to do what she had to do, the less possibility of her needing medical attention for inability to breath. Focus. This is Order business.

“I was at the Ministry and they said I might find you here. I should have called,” she glanced over to the tall blonde woman, in apology. “If this is a bad time, I…”

He interrupted her mid-speech, shaking his head, “No, it’s not. We were just on our way out.”

‘We’ came out so naturally and spontaneously they must have been together for quite some time. He was joshing her about ‘pink’ knickers and she was in his clothes. He had finally found someone to do that with.

This was really good. He had closure and they wouldn’t have to do that part of the talk. Yes, she loved him, but like twice before she could move on, knowing there would be no resistance from him. Just what the Healer ordered, a definite conclusion. It was something that should have happened at Hogwarts.

“I’m Andy, by the way, Andy Marsh. Harry has told me a lot about you. I’m his partner.”

“I see,” was all she could muster to say as she ignored the green tinge that the surrounding seemed to acquire each time the blonde woman spoke.

They politely shook hands. Meeting Harry Potter girlfriends was not a great experience and this time she distanced herself, not judging this one’s suitability to her former best friend, not thinking how good enough she was for him. It was far too painful to go trek down that path this time around.

“She’s an Auror, too. We work together,” Harry explained.

Why he would think that she actually wanted to know that was beyond her.

“My condolences,” Hermione turned to her and said.

The remark was an attempt at humour, taking a page from Ron’s how-to-disperse-pain-and-awkwardness book.

“Thanks for empathizing with my misery,” she replied, chuckling.

At least she had a sense of humour. It was a good time to shift to more relevant matters.

“The Order sent me. I need a few minutes of your time.”

“The Order sent you?” Harry asked her.

“Yes.”

Harry started laughing hysterically; irritatingly hysterically. What was so comical?! She felt her face flush but recognizing beforehand how this, him provoking not so neutral emotions from within her, could happen, she willed herself to focus for a little while longer. She needed a simple answer if she could only hold on to her wits long enough to ask the question.

“The Order sent you?!” he repeated.

“I’ll report back that at least one of us finds that amusing,” she remarked sarcastically hoping to convey her displeasure.

“The Order sent her!” he said to his partner.

Andy laughed with him, a bit more contained, “I know it seems very funny right now but I think you should stop saying that. You look like you’re losing it.”

“I hope he takes something for this,” she addressed her.

She was half-serious and half-insulting, unaware of what Harry’s mental state and health was over the past year. Any good partner should know. Hermione noticed that she had transformed Harry’s clothes to a more feminine version.

“He’s normally morose and depressing. This is quite an interesting side of him that I haven’t seen before,” Andy replied and then turned to Harry, “Don’t rush. I’ll see you at the Ministry.”

Hermione stepped into his house and he shut the door, his inability to control the enjoyment he was experiencing annoying her no end. Not knowing the reason for his shared amusement with his ‘partner’ was disconcerting but she would never ask him why even if that was the last burning subject she had on her mind.

He led her into his living room and helped her out of her coat. A couch, centre table, a telly, a bookcase with generic literature. Except for some very healthy plants near the window, it was plain, impersonal, nothing to indicate who or what kind of person lived in the house. Curious, it even looked like it was space barely lived in. The plants were definitely not ‘him’. They were greener than normal as she thought that maybe they crashed Andy’s place more often.

“You just don’t know how funny it is you showing up after all that’s been happening since yesterday,” that would be the old Harry trying to share a joke.

“I don’t really care what you and your partner do to keep yourselves entertained,” Hermione replied, wishing it came across as more indifferent than sarcastic. She was having trouble not making it personal. “I’m just here to ask you a question.”

She settled as close to the entrance and as far away from Harry as she could. She wondered about Apparition wards and planned for the quickest exit route in case there was fire. The laughter and smile on Harry’s face finally disappeared.

“Tea?” he offered.

She shook her head. Firewhiskey.

“Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Lots of it.

“Have a seat.”

“I won’t be staying long.”

She had no intention to. It was uncomfortable, them talking so distant, physically and emotionally.

“Are you here for the research conference?”

“No, I came just for this.”

“For the Order.”

“Yes.”

“To convince me to come back to London.”

“Yes.”

“I gave them my answer, twice. And still they send you.”

“The situation is desperate.”

“I can see that, but considering you won’t even open my letters, I find it hard to believe that you’re desperate to have me back in London, too.”

He was right. ‘Desperate’ would not be the word to describe her feelings about having him back in London. Conflicted, maybe. Chaotic seemed right.

“My personal preferences take a backseat to the greater good,” she replied, remembering how she was taking one for the team.

She certainly learned her lesson when she didn’t choose the greater good the last time she was in Toronto.

“I see,” he answered and continued, seriously, “I’m not sure if I should be flattered that I’m important enough for you to come or insulted that you did.”

“I stopped trying to figure out how you felt a long time ago,” that would be last year when she found out he was Roy Hunt, “I can’t help you with that.”

“You know why they want me back,” he had this tone; he was upset.

“We need to get more witches and wizards involved in the Order. You know the balance has always been tenuous at best. We can’t lose what we’ve fought so hard for,” she replied, doing what she said she would, make a best effort to get him to agree to come back.

Out of the blue, Harry startled her with an impassionate diatribe against the Order.

“Why can’t they just leave me alone?! All they want is a poster boy! And it will be like Cannon Quidditch all over again. I’m just so disappointed that you agreed to come because you of all people should know I’m done doing that!”

Hermione was taken aback by what he said but met his fiery gaze in kind. He was disappointed? In her?! He made it sound as if she was selling her soul to come and convince him to go home! That because she knew that after his experience with Quidditch he wouldn’t want to be their poster boy for recruitment, it was a crime to try and do as the Order asked!

Unable to hold back, she said icily, “I do know and I told them. I told them that you are not the same person ten years ago. That you’re not the fifteen-year-old kid they remember who wanted to be a member of the Order even before you could be. That you’re not the same man who saved Wizardom from Voldemort, risked life and all that was important to you because you believed in what you were fighting for.”

“What I did not tell them was that you’re now a selfish fool who would have no qualms about hurting people who care about you and that there was no one more important to you than yourself. I said I would go, do my best to persuade you to come, but I did not tell them how happy I would be if you said ‘no’. Because if you said ‘yes’, I would have to bear the burden of guilt thinking about all those people who will risk all that they have, their lives, their families, their future, believing in someone who was not worthy of the trust they were going to give him!”

He did not answer, the rage in him had obviously subsided and it was now mixed with palpable annoyance and obvious hurt. She had thought that for a long time but never said it to his face. She never had the heart to point it out, hoping that if she didn’t it wasn’t true. His inability to come up with a rebuttal said it all.

Tears were streaming quietly down her cheeks, crying for the loss of a good man, a man she once knew. She walked towards the front door, stopped right beside him, and without looking at him, said one more truth that she just couldn’t keep to herself anymore.

“You’re going to be a poster boy because you will choose to be one. It will be sad when you do. I don’t believe you were ever one before.”

As she walked towards the door, she brushed the wetness off her face and gritted her teeth to stem the dam from breaking and further flooding Harry’s living room floor. It was a lot to say to someone she never wanted to hurt, someone she would fiercely protect against being hurt, someone she cared about, the one man she loved. It hurt her to hurt him. The rest of the conversation would have to be put on hold after she got herself together. And if that didn’t happen within the day she would not be surprised.

“Wait!”

She stopped, mostly a reflex to his request. He had that power over her. Without looking back she could feel him approach. He settled in front of her, so disconcertingly close they were breathing the same air.

In her mind she begged in silence, Please, don’t make me hurt you more than I already have.

He stood there and didn’t say anything until she looked up and met his enquiring gaze.

“Do you want me back?” he asked her, softly, almost a whisper, with an evident desperation for the truth.

It was a question that meant more than the five words he put together and she quickly looked away because the answer would have been so obvious. She was not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing the truth and have him play her like he did the last time.

To want him was one thing but to be with him was just not possible.

22. A Life Sentence

Chapter 22 – A Life Sentence

Harry noticed her loss of eye contact and waited for an answer.

He was sleep deprived, tired and he just spent a good part of the morning doing something he wasn’t used to doing. Andy was all set to storm Floyd’s place with wands on both hands firing at will. If not for the phials and the first real chance of putting Floyd behind bars he would have had no issues with that and would have gladly joined her. Awkwardly, he played the role of pacifist, persuading her Floyd wasn’t worth losing her career and job over, and suggesting that it would be a great idea to give herself a thorough cleansing to fully rid herself of the Ghoul’s leftover special from last night’s menu.

It was Auror culture and a sport to highlight someone else’s embarrassing misfortune. It was bad enough being petrified by a Squib. They agreed that the last upsetting bit about her being trapped in a smelly trunk was not necessary to mention in their report and strutting into the station straight from the docks was out of the question. He insisted she use his place and his clothes, take her time while he delivered a report to Muller and the rest of the MLE about what just happened and about the night before. He ignored Muller’s glare and stressed that they were just having dinner when they were attacked and had to defend themselves last night.

His report about the purple potion and its apparent magic endowing properties elicited mixed reactions. There were quite a few sceptics who insisted and convinced Muller to await potion analysis.

He dropped by the lab and got a snotty git at service, a wizard by the name of Miles, known for lack of intelligence and sloppy forensics work. Seeing as he had already made a report he had to give this Miles the evidence. He gave Miles most of it. He decided to hang on to the phial filled with potion and hand it in later to Miles’ boss with whom he had more confidence in.

When Hermione showed up, he had just stepped out of the shower. They were about to go back to the Ministry to check on the labs and see if the Ministry experts were able to extract residues from the empty phial to support that it was in fact a magic enabling potion. Thoughts of Floyd and the case were gone the moment he realized Andy was not pulling his leg.

Seeing her for the first time in almost a year, he paused and for a while imagined her giving him one of her famous bone-crunching hugs, like the ones she used to give him at Hogwarts. He was quite jubilant that Hermione was in Toronto. She was actually here, in the flesh, and it took every ounce of his will power to not do something she would consider inappropriate.

The euphoria died down when he recognized that she only came for the Order and not to sort things out with him. It was disheartening to know that she wasn’t interested in doing that; that repairing their friendship was not important to her. And after that sank in, things went south fairly quickly.

He was miffed at himself for not having the self-control to keep his mouth shut about what he thought of the Order’s request and blamed his sudden belligerence on lack of sleep. He shouldn’t have taken it out on her and he was paying for it. Her retort to his angry outburst stung because it showed clearly just how low her opinion of him was.

But did she want him back?

The only reason he could think of why he would agree to come back to London to stay was if she did. It would be pointless, not to mention agonizing, to go back and not be a part of her life. All his unread letters to her asked that question. He wanted to know where he stood. He wanted to know if his deed was unforgivable; if this punishment was a life sentence. He had to know and he had to know from her.

“The Order wants you back,” she answered, walking away from him and deep into his living room, seemingly as far from him as she possibly could.

It was annoying and frustrating not to be able to get a straight answer from her. He could only believe she was purposely doing it to torment him further, not that he didn’t think he deserved it. She might as well just tell him ‘no’.

He followed her and stood about five feet away from where she was, between her and the only way out, “I know that. But do you?”

“I am a member of the Order. The Order wants you back,” she repeated, then said sardonically, “That’s not too hard to follow, is it?”

He had enough and decided that he had to be downright direct.

“Stop playing with words. You know what I’m asking. Do you want me back in your life?”

“You have your unopened letters,” she replied frostily, “The answer to your question should be clear enough.”

“You haven’t even read any of them.”

“I’d be reading tall tales and that would be such a waste of time.”

The piercing remarks were definitely getting to him. Cranky Harry resurfaced.

“Do you realize how maddening that is? You refuse to see me, talk to me and read my letters. How am I supposed to explain my side of the story and apologize?”

“Take a hint. You’re not supposed to because I don’t want your lame excuses or your pathetic apologies and particularly not your continuing lies.”

“But I guess you don’t mind lies so much if they come from someone else,” he snarled back.

He was referring to Malfoy, of course, and Hermione knew exactly who but chose not to bring him into the fray. The remark had done its job. She was insulted and she usually bit back when she was.

“Are we talking about Roy because that was last year and I don’t remember having this conversation?”

She chose to talk about Roy instead. The lesser evil? Interesting.

“No, this isn’t about Roy and you wouldn’t remember talking about Roy because we never did talk about Roy. You never gave me a chance!”

He wanted her to lambaste him; he wanted to hear her tell him how hurt she was. He deserved the lashing out and not the cold, avoidant, indifferent treatment of the past year.

“I was just keeping a promise I made that one stupid night! Do you remember or should I ask the Maples to remind you? What happened in Toronto was to stay in Toronto.”

Grrr! Really?! Honestly?! When so much was at stake?! Putting years of friendship and more on the line for it? Did she just mean they wasted a year of their lives not talking to each other because of that stupid pact?!

“Where we are now depended so much on that night,” Harry was ranting, “You expect to me to believe that was the reason you refuse to talk about it. It was a promise between two strangers!”

“It was a promise nonetheless,” she blurted out, “And as I recall it wasn’t my idea. You should have kept it.”

“I did, but I couldn’t anymore, not after Ron died. I had to explain.”

He couldn’t keep mum about it. But they were in so much grief and guilt, nothing made sense.

“Stop lying! Ron found out you were Roy and he found out what we did! You were the only one who could have told him.”

There was definitely nothing he could say or do to wipe the contempt off her face as she gave him a piece of her mind. If she was incensed at him because she thought he was the one who told Ron then she was angry with him for no reason. And besides, shouldn’t she be more upset about the fact that he was Roy?

“It wasn’t me! You’re not wrong often but you are this time.”

“Spare me the conspiracy theory!”

Trust was such a fickle thing. For years you nurture it and take care of it, allow it to thrive and grow, but once you lost it, it was so hard to get back. His words were no longer meaningful to her. Hermione knew why he asked to be assigned in Toronto and why he continued to be in Toronto. He told her before he left so she would not misunderstand the reason for his leaving. Obviously, she did not believe him about that either. He didn’t know how but he had to convince her of the truth that it was Floyd and that he had proof. First, he had to work on convincing her to at least listen and give him a chance.

“I admit. I wanted to tell him the moment I came back and saw that you were going to go through with the marriage. I was going to after the Quidditch finals. I wanted him to know if only to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

“I already made the biggest mistake of my life. Marrying Ron would have been a distant second!” she countered, making him wish she wasn’t as sharp as she was because every biting remark from her hurt like hell.

“Accident or not, Ron’s death wasn’t your fault nor mine,” he pointed out. “Stop punishing us for it!”

“Do you think I want this? I was unfaithful and I deserve the consequences of my misdeed. This is not meant to punish you.”

“It sure feels like it.”

“Well, it’s torture for me to remember Roy so can you blame me for not wanting to have anything to do with you?”

Unable to resist any further, he moved closer and reached for her hand, “But I want to be with you.”

She forcibly shook him off and recoiled, scoffing at his last declaration, “You don’t have to make me feel better. We both know that if you did, I would have never met Roy.”

“I had to protect you!”

“I was an assignment! Call me a moron if I’m wrong in assuming that having sex with me wasn’t part of it,” her eyes were ablaze with hurt and revulsion.

“It didn’t happen the way you think it did. I wasn’t sure how I felt about you then and you wanted a last fling,” somehow his well-rehearsed explanation did not come out as fluidly and as convincingly as he wanted to.

Furious, she yelled, “With a stranger! I never signed up to have one with a lying, sneaky, Polyjuiced traitor who was supposed to be my friend and my fiancé’s best friend!”

It hurt him to hear her say that for more reasons than the obvious. But it was the truth and he wanted her to say it to him.

“Were you expecting gratitude for sleeping with me?! Were you doing me a favour because I seemed so desperate?!”

“No, I was the desperate one,” he replied quietly, relative to the exchange they just had, “I had wanted and imagined such intimacy with you for so long and you were getting married. I was just a fool not to recognize sooner that I wanted more than one night with you; that my desperation had more to do with the fact that I was about to lose the woman who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

She was crying, furious and shaking her head. He knew she was about to say more wounding insults, likely telling to stop with the lies. He cut her off before she could.

“I know you don’t believe me but it’s the truth. That night I spent with you as Roy I found out things about you and me I never would have had I not been the stranger that he was. If not for that fact, I would totally regret what I did,” he continued. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. Know that I never intended to. If I could do it all over again I would have told you how I felt when Ron first told me that you were getting married and you might have helped me sort it out. If I could do it all over again, I would have offered to be your last fling when we first talked about it, then I wouldn’t have had to lie to you.”

“There’s not much comfort there,” she replied, calmer, more composed. “The sad thing about that is I would have said ‘yes’. Ron would have still been hurt.”

“Yes, he would have.”

Harry wasn’t really sure if they could have remained friends either, not when he had realized he loved her and she was intent on marrying Ron.

“Were you ever going to tell me about Roy?”

He looked at her and watched her get hurt even more as he gave her his honest reply with a remorseful understated shake of his head. He couldn’t because he knew this would happen.

Despite the raw emotions they were flinging all over the place, their tones were now more serene and even. They had said a lot about Roy Hunt and not surprisingly he had old and new questions that needed answers.

Why would she have accepted his offer to be her last fling?

Was she only remorseful because Ron got hurt?

And, he had to confirm how and when exactly she found out.

But Harry couldn’t push her anymore than he already had. At this point, he knew she just didn’t trust him enough and any questioning would be met with more avoidance if not open hostility. He had to step back and work on regaining some semblance of credibility. He wondered how long that would take.

She said in a more relaxed voice, “I came to ask you not to send me anymore letters. I came to tell you that we can’t go back to the way it was before and to ask you not to hope for that.”

With those words his worst fear just became reality.

“Retribution for being ‘Roy Hunt’?”

“No. A most unfortunate outcome.”

“A life sentence?”

“I can’t imagine it being otherwise.”

After hearing her talk about him and Roy he couldn’t either and the implication of it being so was hard to swallow. He had hoped for her forgiveness and it was forgiveness that was evidently never going to come. But just because he couldn’t see it didn’t mean he couldn’t wish that it wasn’t unforgivable. He had to try and reason with her.

“Ron’s dead, there is nothing that can bring him back to life. No penance, no act of repentance.”

“I agree, but I can’t look at you and not be reminded of what I did to him, of what a terrible person I am. I can’t live my entire life thinking that.”

Hermione was about to cry again and she really didn’t have to explain. He realized why she was asking what she was asking for. She needed closure and she needed him to accept this consequence of what they did. That consequence was he couldn’t be a part of her life. He felt intense heat starting to build up in his head.

She asked him, “You understand, don’t you?”

He did and he didn’t, and the mixed emotions enraged him even more. It could have been so much different but it wasn’t. It could have been different had he not been foolish enough to come up with the Roy Hunt idea and to think he could get away with it. It could have been different had Hermione not been so guilt-ridden about the entire episode and was just half the self-flagellating…person that she was. It could have been different had Ron lived to tell them exactly how he felt.

Hermione might have thought it was justified but to him it was unacceptable. She didn’t want him back in her life. The finality of it was all too sudden. Justice was too swift, his sentence laid down even before he could defend himself and the punishment was harsher than death. And to make it worse, she wouldn’t even give him the right to appeal.

Harry could only see red; fury for the predicament they were in, sore at himself for what he did to her and at her for deciding on this long before she came to see him. He had to vent on something else. Or someone else.

I can’t look at you and not be reminded of what I did to him, of what a terrible person I am.

Did she only mean that about him or was this the same thinking that made her date Malfoy?

And despite knowing better, he let go of the next thought that came to mind.

“I understand completely. What you’re doing makes perfect sense,” he said with an overpowering sarcasm she would have had to be brain dead to miss it. “You won’t give me a second chance because I make you feel bad and yet you’d rather be with a vile, arrogant, less-than-human oaf!”

23. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

A/N. Did quite a bit of rewriting on this chapter. The original was definitely not Portkey worthy :P. Even this one would probably get razzies but the outcome had to be congruent with the other version.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 23 – One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Harry suddenly felt like they were in a boxing match and the bell rang to signal the start of another round. He couldn’t keep track but from the bruising he felt they had to be deep into the match.

This round certainly got off on a good start.

“What?!”

If his Malfoy tirade stumped her such that she could only come up with a one word reply that was victory in itself. Hermione had an incredulous look, as if she could not comprehend how he arrived at that conclusion. Harry had also blindsided her with his sudden outburst about Malfoy and she was definitely irked that she was being goaded into an argument about the ferret.

“I can certainly understand why being with such a lowlife who is an ass beyond imagination makes you feel loads better about yourself! Your one mistake does pale in comparison to what he’s done in his lifetime!”

“This isn’t about him!”

“It is now.”

“Who I want to be with is none of your business,” she hissed, her features hardened to match his.

She was trying to not get her boyfriend involved in all this, being as protective as ever, as expected. Well, that was just too bad because he had a bone to pick about her dating him. Did she just say ‘want’?!

“There’s something seriously wrong with you if you can say what you just said about him and not throw up!”

Hermione had a slight crimson shade to her complexion. He actually missed seeing that.

“We haven’t spoken to each other for almost a year. Do you really want us to argue about Draco right now?!”

There it was. Her calling him by his first name sent sensations of prickly needles up and down his entire being, equating it to being seen by a first-time acupuncturist schooled through distance learning; unpleasant. She had a good point that there were other better things to talk about. But he just had to get this out because it was killing him to think they were going to become more intimate than how he saw them in the Prophet if they weren’t already, unless he intervened.

“Yes, lets,” he dared her, “What the hell are you doing with Malfoy?”

“I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question,” her tone smouldering just like the look in her eyes, and it wasn’t the hot and sexy kind.

“He is so wrong for you!”

“And I suppose you would know who’s right,” she scoffed, “Don’t make me laugh.”

“If there’s any laughing that going to happen it’s going to be by him sniggering about how he duped you,” he retorted, “So, do share. Why him?”

“Why not?”

“Isn’t that obvious? He’s evil.”

“He’s a saint compared to you.”

“If Malfoy was one, heaven would be hell. He’s a Death Eater.”

“Was a Death Eater,” she corrected him.

“Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.”

“I disagree.”

She was just saying that to win a point. They both knew that with Death Eaters it was a one time registration and death was the only reason why membership wasn’t renewed.

“Do you really think his Aunt Bella would stand for such disrespect from her own family?”

“She disowned him years ago. He no longer is family.”

“That should tell you a lot about the git if even his family can’t stand him!”

As he expected, she had an answer for everything. Harry didn’t know that Lestrange disowned Malfoy and Hermione talked as if it was for a fact. He was deep green with envy from thinking that something so personal could only come up during intimate conversation. And with jealousy showing its ugly head there was this nagging question in his mind about whether or not she had sex with him. It just had to be asked and there was no other way of asking it.

“Have you had sex with him?” he sounded like an envious ex-boyfriend.

“What do you care? It’s only sex, right? We’ve had it with each other a couple of times and it didn’t mean a thing.”

“Maybe not to you.”

She snorted a reply. He had a quick flashback of their first ‘meaningless’ night and remembered her naked body, her distinct body art, upset at his imagined image of Malfoy being privy to that.

“So, compared tattoos with him yet? The skull and snake on his arm must just make you want to get another one that’s more edgy than a Snitch.”

“Thanks for reminding me to have this useless reminder of you magically removed!”

Huh?

This was what he was going to look forward to; a lot of evasive answers with a splatter of hostility.

“Are you punishing yourself for Ron?”

“What?! Of course not!”

“I get it. You’re doing this to feed your saviour complex.”

“Where do you come up with these ideas?! Divination?!”

He carried on, ignoring her sarcasm, “You’re taming the bad boy, saving one soul from hell, doing something good to atone for your sins, and maybe even raise Ron from the dead. That definitely sounds like you.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

“Why not? Am I making too much sense? The other logical reason I can think of is that you’ve always fancied him and was just too ashamed to admit it until now.”

“I should have known better than to stay and listen to this,” she murmured under her breath.

She was looking around the living room, orienting herself, trying to find her stuff and wanting to exit. What else could he say that was sure to elicit a good long response?

“You’re doing this just to be spiteful because you know that going out with Malfoy would hurt me the most.”

Harry didn’t really think that but he got her attention and she spat back, “Do you think that I sit down and plan my life around what would make you feel bad? This may be a shocker to you but I don’t think about you night and day and nor do I have the time for such a pointless exercise!”

“Tell me then, what is the point of this Malfoy exercise? Or is it as worthless? I hope this isn’t about trying to prove that a Muggle-born can be good enough for the snobbish, Pureblood aristocrat that the ferret is.”

“He’s no longer that. He has changed!”

“I agree. He’s no longer a ferret. He’s now a chameleon, a double-faced monster. That’s all the more reason not to trust him. Malfoy is a mean spirited asshole. He’s not even human. Admit it. This doesn’t make sense to you either. Don’t you remember all the things he said and did to you at Hogwarts?”

“He apologized and I forgave him!”

“He doesn’t deserve forgiveness for what he did!”

“It was a sincere, heartfelt apology!”

“I seriously doubt that he even knows what those last three words mean!” her continued support of this suspect change in character was so mind numbing he went on a tirade, “How can you believe him? Alarm bells should be going off in your head! You’re smart, the most intelligent woman I know! How gullible can you be?”

“I fell for ‘Roy Hunt’, remember? That should give you your answer.”

Naturally it would be his fault that she was naïve to the point of accepting Malfoy’s word and his word alone!

“What proof do you have that this change is real, that this apology is genuine? Did you just believe that he has turned his life around because of his good behaviour for ten years? His volunteer work for good causes? It’s a smokescreen. That’s hardly proof even if it is true!”

She had enough and while he had been cautious not to get too close to her, her impassionate support for Draco brought her closer to him, close enough to reach and grab if the need arose. And her proximity was doing just that.

“Let me ask you this. Aside from turning his life around, what does he have to do for you to believe that he has changed? Turn in Lestrange and all the other Death Eaters when he doesn’t know where she is or who they are? Drop his family, friends and life to become a full time vigilante and take out some bad guys like you’re doing? Or maybe you expect him to wear a cape and start playing super hero. What payment do you require?”

That dig on his quest for justice for Ron’s death was definitely unwarranted. He wasn’t a vigilante; it was his job to prove Floyd was a murderer. This was about Malfoy.

“Really, other than die knowingly for someone else for a purely unselfish reason, I can’t think of any other thing.”

“Ugh! That opportunity does come up quite frequently everyday!” she said sardonically.

“If he has trouble finding one, I’ll gladly help,” he offered.

“And what about you? What do you have to do for me to believe that ‘Roy Hunt’ was not just about you wanting casual sex? That I shouldn’t think of it as a back stabbing traitorous act? What should I ask of you before I forgive you? Or do you think that because you’re Harry Potter I should just take your word for it? Because right about now, I’m thinking what you did to me last year was way worse than what Draco did to me at Hogwarts. He was a bully and an enemy ten years ago. His animosity was expected. But you, you were supposed to be my friend.”

Her words walloped him in the gut in rapid succession and took the wind out of him. She was nuts comparing his transgression to Malfoy’s. He just couldn’t answer her question right now, he had to back pedal and deflect.

“This is not about me. This is about you going out with him. He is evil to the core. He may not have cursed Professor Dumbledore to death himself but he wanted to. Should I even mention what his murderous intention did to Katie Bell and to Ron? He let Death Eaters into Hogwarts! He used Unforgivables! One doesn’t change once one gets to that point!”

“And why not? Why is it so impossible to believe that even the worst person can reform? He was young and impressionable with a need to belong. He grew up with hatred and he did not know any better!”

“Is this what this is about? Proving to the rest of the world that someone like Malfoy can change? Because if it is, it will not be worth it even if this reform that you speak of were true. Think of what just being associated with him can do to you. You’ll lose your family, your friends and your career. How can you risk everything that is important to you for someone like him? How can you let him touch you? How can you let him kiss you? And really, how can you even think for a second that he could be interested in you for purely normal reasons?!”

That last remark wounded her and tipped her over the edge.

“Just because you don’t fancy me doesn’t mean no one else does!”

Argh! What a stubborn woman! After everything she still believed that he didn’t care about her that way. How could he prove to her that it wasn’t about the sex, that he loved her, that he wanted her for the rest of his life?

His ears were ringing, exacerbated by the equally furious expression on Hermione’s face, heat from within him craving for any outlet.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Too bad because that’s exactly what I heard! And right now I would rather kiss him than kiss you!”

Really?! That was definitely a low blow. All the frustration emanating from the end result of his misdeed boiled over the surface and if there was one thing that he would prove at that very moment it was that she did not really mean what she just said. How could she rather kiss the ferret than him?!

The row of potted plants along his window exploded one after the other. He was told that having plants in the house would help him find inner peace.

His gut told him to work on bridging the vast emotional gorge between them and since verbal language seemed to be not effective, he had no choice but to resort to a more primitive form of communication. In one swift unexpected moment, Hermione’s body gravitated towards him and clashed against his, narrowing the gap and obliterating physical space.

He grabbed the small of her back with one hand and pulled her slender frame against him, hard, uncompromising. Before a word of protest could come, his mouth descended upon hers as an eagle would sweep down for prey, crushed and ravaged them with a determination and certainty that he should have had sooner, refusing to acknowledge what she just said.

Her toughened mouth was pursed tight; avoiding, not surrendering, the heated protestations coming from her throat required no translation. There was justified fury within her wide open eyes. It encouraged him. Wrath towards him, he decided, was way better than indifference. Did she not just admit that she would have said ‘yes’ had he offered to be her last fling? He’d have to be a dunce to not know what that meant. And if he misunderstood then it serves her right for not being clear about it.

Harry pulled back an inch to let her verbally vent her ire, challenging her piercing anger with defiance.

“How dare y...hmp!”

He did not let her finish. He moved into her slightly parted lips and pried it open with his, rough, relentless, unforgiving, with the intent to force them into submission. And submit she did. He saw her eyes flutter close as her mouth softened under his. Her hands and arms stopped pushing him away. Did she just kiss him?

“Take it back,” he said against her lips.

“No…” came her incongruent throaty reply.

Hermione was definitely kissing back. Harry had to be certain so he let her lead and he immediately felt her hot tender lips move on his, slowly at first, hesitant, quivering. Then she let go and gave in, and he was overwhelmed by the intense longing he felt from her as she did. For a moment the powerful sensation of her desire staggered him, this being the first time they would share a kiss as their normal selves, if he could call them that. Her fingers raked through his hair sending pleasurable impulses throughout him. The feeling of her entirety voluntarily seeking to be closer to him, straining up against him was very heartening. It was the high of knowing that she wanted him.

She opened herself up to give him access, her tongue welcoming his in a warm loving embrace, causing wondrous tugging and pulling in his gut as he immersed and lost himself in her essence. She tasted of something sweet and rich, just like the full kiss they were now mutually engaging in, her breath warm and lips affectionate, her familiar flowery scent filling his senses with a headiness that made him fleetingly forget the troubles they had.

They lost themselves to the moment; their kiss deepening by the second. She was tugging at his sweater and pulling him closer even though they were as close as they could get. Well, almost…

He freed one hand and slipped it under her fluffy sweater. The mere contact of his searching fingers on her warm bare torso was exhilarating. Expertly unclasping her brassiere, he quickly found one perky peak and stimulated it with his touch, thumbing her hardened nipple, eliciting from her a whimper which he took as a positive reaction.

Despite all that was said, he could feel that she wanted more just as he did.

Crash!

Something came off the hook and splintered into many pieces on the floor as they collided hard against the living room wall. Harry pressed his hips against hers, feeling every soft curve of hers fit into him just as perfectly as he remembered. He paused to breathe but his break was instantly interrupted by a scorching hungry kiss. It was obvious that she was searching satisfaction for the same thing he was. His hands were having their way under her sweater, stroking, finding their way down her back and past her Golden Snitch, which she said was a reminder of him, and beyond, caressing. Their united sighs of pleasure were enough to drive him insane.

Harry lifted her effortlessly and they continued to kiss as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried and settled her gently on his couch, under him, her brown locks splaying against the cushions. He glanced quickly at her face, reluctant but needing to meet her gaze, unsure of what emotion he would find and how she would react. The contact was brief, bittersweet, causing a dull ache in his chest and it was just as well that she was the first to look away, maybe not wanting to linger on that feeling either.

She pulled off the sweater that he had just put on, the cold draft that hit him gone the instant she wrapped her mouth tenderly on his bare neck, tracing it with her warm breath from just below his left ear to where it met his shoulder and down his chest, as her fingers dug into his firm back muscles.

Encouraged, he started undressing her. Her fluffy sweater joined his on the floor and before she could continue what he had interrupted, he hovered between, kissed, and gently grazed his day old stubble against her breasts, eliciting a pleased moan from her. Then he took one of them in his mouth, unremittingly licked and sucked until she could not take anymore.

She cupped his face with both hands, pulled him up towards her and kissed him fully on his mouth again, more needy, more wanting, more passionately, just more, naked hot skin touched and ignited as they embraced. The last time he felt this great was the last time he was with her.

And like the last time, it ended sooner than he hoped it would. There was unmistakable growing dampness on her face and he tasted tears. He felt her sob and that brought him back to the reality of their situation. Hearing it he couldn’t think she was crying of happiness. It was likely about Ron. He let go with reluctance and her hurt, tear stained appearance made him pull back.

“I’m sorry,” he said to her, touching her soaked cheeks with the back of his fingers, trying without success to wipe the tears off her face and kicking himself for, once again, losing it for temporal gain.

Hermione got up, pushing him off her as she did. She sat beside him, retrieved her clothes and put herself together.

Without looking she replied quietly, but hurt, “You shouldn’t apologize. Pride is quite overrated anyway. I shouldn’t have come. Is there anything else you’d like from me?”

The first thing that came to his mind was ‘forgiveness’ but knew her question was not really a question. And it would be better if she could give that to him willingly. He put his sweater back on feeling cold more than he thought he should.

“I missed you,” he said to her hoping that what just happened between them meant she missed him too and that she would at least admit to it.

No such luck. And just when he didn’t think things between them could get worse, they were. He could be such a bastard when his temper got the best of him.

“Are we done here?” she asked, her eyes bloodshot from the crying and indignation.

He had to do something. He thought back to the reason she came to see him.

“You don’t have my answer yet.”

“I thought the fact that you’re finished being a poster boy was a definite ‘no’.”

“It wasn’t.”

He had to come up with something.

“So, when shall I say will we expect you?”

“I’m not saying ‘yes’, either.”

“I’m tired of the games, Harry. I have a life to get back to. Is it yes or no?” she asked, indifferent, almost as if she really didn’t care what his answer was anymore.

“I need time to think it over,” he didn’t.

There was something about what she said that challenged him.

You’re going to be a poster boy because you will chose to be one.

She was right; it was a choice. He could be more than a poster boy if he chose to. Hermione seemed to think he would and he had a lot to prove to her and to himself.

And despite the outward hostility, her arduous response continued to burn his lips and skin. It was an encouraging indication that her heart wasn’t in agreement with her mind. A part of her wanted him back in London. A part of her wanted him back in her life. He knew what his answer was but he needed time with her away from everyone else, particularly Malfoy.

“Let me think about it,” he said to her.

“Fine. I’ll be at the Chelsea until tomorrow night,” she replied as she gathered her coat and purse.

Tomorrow night. That was all she was giving him. That was all the time he had.

He thought of her question. What indeed could he say or do to prove to her that there was more to how he felt about her than the lies and the deceit? It was true. Personally, what he did to her as a friend was more reprehensible than the verbal and emotional abuse she received from Malfoy as a teenager. Granted that his intent was less heinous and made the act more forgivable in his thinking, could he prove his intentions? And if he could, could he even assume that she would look at the mitigating circumstances surrounding his error the same way he did? Or did she expect from him some unreasonable act of sacrifice, just as he expected from Malfoy?

Like accepting that they could never go back to the way they were before; like understanding that he could no longer be a part of her life; like willingly serving his life sentence.

He needed her forgiveness for something which she considered unforgivable. It was akin to being put on death row, being next in line to get the needle, and only a pardon could save him from certain death. She did say he should stop hoping for a second chance. But if he could not hope for that what else could he hope for?

She did kiss him back. He could not give up. He could not allow her to leave without fixing this.

You have to woo her back. Regain her trust.

That’s kind of hard considering she thinks I’m the lowest of the lowlifes.

Lower than Malfoy is pretty low. So, you’ll need a lot of help. First, get her to spend more time with you.

Did you see that last look of loathing she left me? She can’t stand me.

True. But think. There has to be something that will make her have to.

What about Ron? Ron does need to talk to her. And maybe Ron can help me out.

Maybe, but don’t get your hopes up too much. Besides, you can’t tell her about the Ghost, not right now.

Why not?

Imagine how much worse she would feel when she finds out Ron chose to be one. You’re in the dog house. In fact you’re in the dog house’s flea house. Don’t be the bearer of bad news on this one. Take her to Ron and let him tell her himself.

She did come to see me against her will for the Order, for the ‘greater good.’

The greater good. That’s the key.

Hermione was ready and almost at the door.

A sudden inspiration hit him. Hermione could help with the Floyd case. He really could use her knowledge on potions and having her work on the case would make her see for herself that what he was saying about Floyd was true. If they found proof that Greasy murdered Ron, things would be perfect. Ron should know for sure how he died and could point them to the evidence.

But he would be putting her in a lot of danger. Floyd had already cursed Andy; if Hermione stayed to help him, Harry could only imagine what despicable acts Greasy could do.

On the other hand, letting her go back to Malfoy was just as distressing. And once she left, the probability of fixing this was going to be close to zero. At least in Toronto, he’d be around to protect her.

This wasn’t going to be an easy sell but he had to try.

“I need your help,” he blurted out, walked hurriedly past her and blocked her path to the door so that his presence was impossible for her to ignore.

“No,” she said emphatically and stepped to his left to avoid him.

He moved and persisted, “I’m on a case, about the research conference.”

It was best not to say anything about this being related to Ron, not yet.

“Whatever it is, the answer is still no,” she reiterated, now trying his right.

“It’s something big. Healers and researchers are in danger,” he knew it was underhanded but he was desperate, “You don’t want anything bad to happen to them, do you?”

“I may be gullible but I’m not falling for that one,” she rolled her eyes in disgust, “Get out of my way.”

He took from his pants pocket the small phial containing the light purplish concoction.

“It has something to do with this potion. You know a lot about potions. I need your help.”

Even she would know that was the truth. She did know a lot about potions, a hell of a lot more than most of the Ministry personnel he worked with and he could use her help.

“I just need to prove what it is and what it does. You should be back in London tomorrow in time for dinner.”

Hermione paused and looked at the phial and its purple contents intently. It was a good sign that she was at least considering it. She silently asked for it with an open hand and Harry gave it to her without a second thought.

As Hermione scrutinized it with more detail, his phone rang. It was Andy.

“Hi. What did the lab say?”

She had a bit of bad news.

“No residues at all from the phial?!”

He said it so loudly that Hermione turned towards him. According to the lab, it appeared that it had never been used before.

“That’s strange because I was sure it contained the potion he took just before Disapparating. What would he be doing with an unused phial?”

Andy opined that he was either wrong or the lab fouled up the test. The news wasn’t that bad considering he still had the other one. Harry told her he would call her back.

He turned to Hermione to find her with a most perplexed expression.

Before Harry could ask what the matter was, with seemingly all the emotional anger and frustration he knew she felt, she hurled the glass phial hard and fast towards the concrete wall behind her. He wished he had more control of his ability for unintentional wandless magic. A sinking feeling washed over him as he saw the phial fly away beyond his reach, already thinking that the one lead he had to prove that Floyd could do magic, that Floyd killed Ron, that could possible redeem him in Hermione’s eyes, was about to explode into nothingness.

Harry drew his wand out even if he knew it would be too late.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. We’re going back to the past in the next 9 chapters to find out what happened after Toronto leading up to Ron’s death.

24. The Petulant Patient and the Healer In Training

A/N. We’re leaving the present to go back and find out what happened last year after the carnage at the Ghoul. Originally, the intent was for them to flashback on it with Ron’s help, to explain why Hermione is the way she is with Harry in the present, but it took a life of its own and before I knew it there were nine chapters. Yikes!

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 24 – The Petulant Patient and the Healer In Training

15 February 2006 – Somewhere dark and cold.

Beep…beep…beep…beep…

Will somebody turn that blasted alarm off?

Whoosh…whoosh whoosh…

Jeez! Trying to get some sleep here!

“Pressure’s dropping!”

Who’s there?

“It's the blood bypass device. He's been on it than most have been able to tolerate. He can't stay on it for much longer.”

Where are the lights?

“I can’t see a thing. Get that sucker in here. He needs more blood replenishing potion.”

Who are this people?

Beep…beep…beep…beep

“You’re losing him, Healer Stitchworthy!”

“He’s some kind of Brit hero. We can’t lose him. Get next of kin in here!”

Right. Healer… hospital... gushing hole… good luck finding next of kin.

“I have the wife.”

Wife?

“I’m not his wife. He doesn’t have one.”

Hermione?

“Oh, Harry…”

Hermione. That bad, huh?

“Are you family?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then you don’t belong here. Find me someone else. How’s he holding up?”

“Not good. You need to control that bleeder.”

“He has no one. I’m as close to next of kin as you’ll get.”

Yeah, it’s a long story. Best listen to her.

“Clamp! Young lady, there are rules…”

“I know the rules! The rules don’t apply to him and I'm not going to let some hospital quill pusher make decisions about his care!”

I prefer her, too.

“Thrombocorpusculus! I will have to ask you to leave.”

No!

“Let me be clear. I’m not leaving until you fix him. Get me the forms for next of kin substitute and if you do your job you won’t need me to make a decision. Now, stop arguing with me and just save his life!”

“Fine! Somebody, get her the forms and make sure she signs them! Release clamp, gently... Damn!”

Beep…beep…beep…

“Harry, hang in there.”

I’m not planning on going anywhere. I just wish I could see or feel. Wait…I think I do feel you. You’re running your fingers through my hair. That feels really nice.

“You can’t die.”

I agree.

“Not like this.”

No.

“We’re going to grow old together.”

I’d like that.

“You, me, Ron…”

I prefer you with me and not with him.

“And the woman you’ll finally allow into your life…I promise not to be so critical…”

She’s already in my life. It just took me a long time to realize it.

“We could be neighbours.”

Better roommates; bed mates.

“Unfortunate kids with bushy brown, stubborn black or fiery red hair running in the backyard…”

Ha! I agree, that’s actually quite funny to imagine.

“Hopefully not getting into half as much trouble as their parents did…”

I seriously doubt that you’ll get that wish.

Whoosh…whoosh…who-

“No…”

Uh-oh…

“He's rejecting further bypass. You don’t have much time.”

“I hear that! Clamp! Almost…”

Beep…beep…beep…

“He’s going down the drain. Pressures are bottoming out.”

Hermione, don’t stop talking.

Beep…beep…beep…

“Replenishing potion dose maxed out.”

Beep…beep…beep…

“Shut that alarm off for a moment! Thrombocorpusculus! One more…”

“Harry…”

Don’t cry. I’ll be fine.

“Harry…there’s so much…tell… you…I…without…life…never…same…”

Your voice is breaking off. Can’t seem to focus.

“He’s…flatline…lost…much…too late…stop…let go…”

“Harry…love…”

I didn’t quite get that. What did you just say?

“I lo…”

Hermione?

Hermione?

XXXXXXXXXX

18 February 2006 – St. Mungo’s

Harry woke up feeling weak and exhausted. Every muscle and joint in his body was mush and it took a while before he could recognize the somewhat sunlit room he was in, longer than he should have considering he had spent a couple of months in the very same place the last time he was injured. He was in a private suite at St. Mungo’s

Hopeful, he glanced over to the corner where an old, evidently oft used two person recliner was nestled against the window and was disappointed to find it empty. It was a donated piece of furniture and he remembered when movers brought the seat in brand-new. It was years ago, some weeks after his Quidditch ‘accident’.

“Right there,” Hermione directed the two wizards to the spot, “Off to the right a bit, no back, forward, there, that’s perfect. Thanks.”

She was ignoring him on purpose as she gave the movers a galleon each and disappeared out his door. Did she leave?

Not long after he asked the question in his mind she came back, wand in hand and trunk in tow. A couple of flicks of her wrist later, a bookcase and a lamp stand appeared out of thin air, shortly followed by a parade of what looked like Healer school textbooks from the trunk, in some arcane order, finding their designated spots on the shelves.

What did she think she was doing? This was his room, that was his corner, and he did not ask for this reading nook.

Satisfied, she then sat on the new furniture and bounced on it a few times, reclined, then bounced a bit more, more than he thought necessary. This was quite unlike her, looking silly, obviously to get some reaction from him.

It was his first week in the new private wing and his physical injuries were continuing to heal. He had finally resigned, severing all ties with the Cannons and he had a persistent foul mood, reminiscent of that summer after the Triwizard Tournament when he was told to stay at the Dursleys against his will.

He wanted to leave and go home. All he had on his mind was that he was thirsty and nobody would give him a drink stronger than freshly squeezed OJ. Harry knew better than to ask. After all, he did voluntarily sign up for the treatment. Hermione made sure of that and he was annoyed at her for knowing just what to say to convince him to do so.

“It’s a disease, there’s a cure. You know where this is going and you know nothing good can come out of it. You have to do this, for yourself. But if you don’t think you owe yourself that much then do it for those of us who need the old Harry back. And do it for those who care about you. Just think about your Mum.”

Harry recognized that it was a rant from frustration and he didn’t think she even realized what she just said until she spoke all of it straight from her heart. Bringing his Mum up was not fair and it almost brought him to tears thinking how badly she must feel that the boy she had so much love and hope for ended up an alcoholic at 20.

It was easy to acquire but not easy to kick the habit. The physical symptoms of withdrawing from alcohol were not so bad though they were somewhat dulled by the alcohol substitute potion, ASP for short. The battle with his mind, his craving was worse. At one point, he gave Hermione his wand because he was afraid of what he would do with it.

Harry had no desire to and refused to talk to anyone, at least not pleasantly. He would only speak in one word sentences when asked, if he was so inclined to respond. Healer assistants were scared of him and there were only a handful willing to be assigned to his case. He had been biting everyone’s head off, including hers. And the worst part of it was that he was aware of how rotten he was to others but it seemed that it was the only way to relieve some of the internal fury he was harboring.

The tensions within him had peaks and valleys and yesterday, his volatile temper wreaked havoc in his room as a hurricane would have, sending a couple of hospital staff scurrying away in fright. Hermione stayed, by herself, matching his anger with her determination to break through his childish tantrum. She was right; it wasn’t his fault that the team wasn’t competitive; it wasn’t his fault that the Cannons owner took advantage of his popularity to make money; it wasn’t the end of the world that he would not play professional Quidditch. There were plenty of things to do with his life other than wallow in self-pity and continue to want to drink himself further into depression.

Her words stung and as she attempted to touch him, an invisible force repelled her and threw her back a few feet. Seeing her wince as she gingerly got up, he was jogged from his mental idiocy but was hit by a Healer’s petrifying curse before he could reach her to find out if she was okay.

And here she was, the day after, fine as if nothing happened, looking silly.

“What are you doing?” he had a Muggle magazine in hand, staring but not reading.

“Huh?” she acted surprised, “Are you talking to me?”

Her shock though feigned was not inappropriate because he rarely initiated conversation.

“If you intend to work here eventually you should stop doing that. You look kind of ridiculous.”

“I don’t think anyone can say that once they’ve sat in it. It’s fantastic. No magic can conjure one so cozy that’s why I bought it from a Muggle store,” she replied and ushered him, “Come. Try it out.”

Still feeling bad about what he did yesterday, he sat beside her, did as she did a few times and remarked truthfully, “It is quite comfy.”

“I told you so,” she had a satisfied smile on her face.

For the first time in a really long while he looked at her, really looked at her. Having admired her for her wit and intelligence all their Hogwarts years and recognizing her bossy and controlling nature for what it was (the overwhelming need to prove that she was right because of an unfounded insecurity which she had finally overcome with recognition for her role in Voldemort’s defeat), he could not help but wonder. If he did not grow up the way he did, he wasn’t sure if he would have forged such an unlikely friendship with the bushy haired bossy voiced know-it -all he first met on the Hogwarts train and he would have missed out on being friends with someone so extraordinary. Only someone amazing could have put up with him these past trying weeks. That, or she was crazy.

He could not help but wonder if he would find himself where he was now had he fought for her instead of stepping aside for Ron. Seeing her everyday this past week irritated him, made him angrier with himself and he now realized why. While he did not know if Hermione would have been interested in him at all, he could not help but think that his act of ‘sacrifice’ for his best friend cost him dearly.

Despite the cheery disposition and the constant energy she exuded, Hermione looked exhausted. Between her classes, keeping him company and revising for her final exams, he suspected that she barely slept since he was hospitalized. Ron was still with the team and she had not seen Ron in a while.

This morning, he overheard a couple of witches gossiping in the hallway that she received permission from the school not to attend the remaining sit-down lectures so she could be in the hospital with him. He suspected that this was brought about by the fact that he was being weaned off the ASP, and outbreaks like yesterday were likely going to get worse before they got better.

She didn’t have to do this.

“You don’t need to be here,” he told her, wanting her to be and not be at the same time. “You should be studying, in school, or in the library.”

“Your room is loads quieter,” she replied. “You rarely talk, you ignore me, and I can’t imagine a more perfect place to revise.

She was kidding, of course, and he sheepishly grinned, embarrassed at how preposterous he had been acting.

“You can’t camp out in here,” he pointed out. ”Aren’t there rules?”

“Since when were you ever concerned about rules?” she commented, “Your Healer figures you need company, one you won’t jinx on purpose.”

“There will be rough times,” he said to her seriously.

She knew that kicking his craving for the bottle would be a war against himself and the reason why Healers thought it best that he stayed at St.Mungo’s for a while.

“I’ll be here.”

“What does Ron think about all this?”

“He’ll be fine with it. I’ll owl him later.”

Harry didn’t want any trouble and was concerned about her answer, well aware how Ron disliked her making decisions like this without asking him first. He left it at that, knowing it was done. She was a stubborn woman; he knew that as well as Ron did.

“I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“It happens.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“I’ve been hexed worse than that. I’m fine, really.”

“Say something else, like how I should learn to control myself and not let my magic get away from me,” it was odd that she didn’t say something like that.

“What’s the point? You already know.”

He did.

“I am sorry.”

“I know.”

And from being close friends, the look in her eye as she said that reassured him that his apology was accepted and that all was forgiven. She took the advantage of his momentary good mood and summoned a couple of books from the shelves. As she handed one to him, he groaned in jest.

Chuckling at his reaction, she said, “That should keep your mind off firewhiskey, I would think.”

“Or drive me straight back to it!” he kidded then realizing that Hermione couldn’t tell, he tried to put her mind to rest, “It’s a joke.”

“Are you sure?” she asked again. “There’s other stuff if you want.”

She rattled off a few titles from what he saw was his shelf.

“Confessions of a Recovered Alcoholic, Your Liver Your Life, A Brain Cell Dead A Brain Cell Lost Forever, Sex and Alcoholism Don’t Mix…”

He had to interrupt, thinking that if he was going to read anything else from his shelf he would have to repopulate it with more innocuous material, “This is fine to start with, really. I’ve always wanted to read it. I just never had the time.”

And to convince her that he was sincere and prevent her from enumerating more book titles, he opened the cover to the thick thousand-paged book she handed him and read the title.

'Hogwarts: A History'

And that was how they spent most of the week, reading. She was right; it did keep his mind off drinking and his moodiness and cravings were under control. Though during one visit his Healer warned them that the worst was yet to come as his ASP dose was decreased further.

As Harry awaited his true test of resolve and determination, Hermione’s exams were coming up, too. It was quite evident that her stress levels were going through the roof.

“I knew the Hogwarts founders were friends but I didn’t realize that Gryffindor and Slytherin were that chummy,” he spoke to her the day he turned the last page over.

She was pacing by her nook, one of those question and answer review books in hand, reading and then muttering to herself, which he was so used to now. She interrupted her monologue.

“Best friends. Almost like brothers,” she answered absent-mindedly, still in thought about her answer to that last question.

“And Hogwarts taught a Squib that first year it opened.”

“Helga Hufflepuff sneaked her into her House. The young girl’s parents pleaded and she could not say ‘no’.”

It still amazed him what and just how much Hermione remembered. He was sure she had not read the Hogwarts history book since their first year.

“I like Helga,” Harry shared, “She was such a free spirit. I just can’t believe the student almost got through the first year without anyone noticing.”

She went over to the bookcase, returned the one she had in her hand and browsed. He joined her, put the Hogwarts book back, while searching for another one to read. It seemed he had tripped her brain auto replay.

“Well, I read somewhere else that she was great at potions, herbology, care of magical creatures, and surprise, surprise, divination,” she added and he had not a doubt that was what was written in some book.

She took another reviewer off the shelf and handed him a non-Healer hardback. He took one look at the title, ‘My Life as an Auror’, and promptly put it back. Subtlety was never one of her strongest suites.

“The other three Founders finally realized that another Hufflepuff student was helping her with spell work and she was dismissed from the school soon after, technically not for being a Squib, but for not being able to perform magic to complete assigned work,” she continued, handing him another book. “I think it was unfair. She was only twelve and I can only imagine she must have been devastated.”

“Yeah, they should have let her finish,” he agreed.

‘Unlock the Professor In You’

He put it back, as well.

“And her name was…” her voice trailed off and she turned to him, “What was her name?”

Was he supposed to remember that?

“You didn’t tell me there was a quiz at the end,” he teased her, “I should have taken notes.”

She chuckled; reached for the Hogwarts book, found the spot almost instantaneously, her eyes darted across the pages, up and down, then shut it, frowning.

“Hmmm, I could have sworn she was named in here,” she said, putting the book back.

He saw her stifle a yawn and rub her tired eyes gently.

“You need a break,” he snatched the reviewer from her hand and prodded her to her recliner.

“I can’t, the test is next week and I’m behind schedule.”

He was quite familiar with her schedule.

“One would need a Time-Turner to keep up with your timetable.”

Harry had an idea.

“Lie back, close your eyes,” she did as she was told, one of the few times he had seen her do so, “I’ll read the question, you answer, and I’ll let you know if you’re wrong.”

Hermione must have been beat because she didn’t even protest.

“If I don’t answer, wake me up.”

“Sure, I will,” they grinned, both of them knowing he was lying through his teeth.

He continued to help her revise the rest of the way. She would leave the hospital really late and arrive somewhat refreshed the following morning, though definitely not as much as he was. One time, a new Healer’s assistant even thought she was the patient.

And when she received a Howler from Ron (he guessed Ron finally got her owl about her spending time at St. Mungo’s), she quickly went into the anteroom, cast a Muffliato spell so he wouldn’t hear, and when she came back her immediate answer to his inquiring look was that they would talk about it after her exams. He was angry with Ron, not for being upset at her, but for his thoughtlessness, sending her a Howler just before her final tests. He decided not to make matters worse for her and to talk to him about it after.

Then, a couple of days before her weeklong exam period, he woke up in the middle of the night cold, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. He had a blinding headache that could not be relieved by anything the Healer could give him and his muscles hurt from his involuntary shivers. This was what they were expecting, his reckoning. It was bound to happen and it could happen on and off for days. His Healer and her two assistants were there. There was nothing they could give him, other than putting him back on a slightly higher dose of ASP.

Doing that would not be good. It would be a set back if he succumbed to its temptation.

Harry found the tremors worse when he was still, so he paced around his room. After what seemed to be an eternity but was in actuality just two hours, he couldn’t take it anymore. He could feel that he was about to break out and lose control of his magic. And he agreed with his Healer that it would be cruel to petrify him in his condition, not to say that doing so would prevent him from firing off accidental curses.

Finally, one glass window shattered into a trillion tiny shards, and just the look of fear on the faces of the others in the room was enough to make him ask for relief. Hermione was livid the following morning. They all knew how important it was for him to get past this but nobody had any answers to the conundrum they faced.

Concerned and despite his objection, Hermione spent that night with him.

It was around four a.m. when the trembling roused him from deep slumber. Learning from the previous night’s experience, he got up, wrapped his blanket around him and started walking to and fro. Every now and then he would look over to Hermione on her cozy recliner, sleeping in her pajamas, book open off to her side.

After about ten laps, Hermione must have sensed him watching, or heard his teeth chattering and woke up.

“What can I do?”

“Go b...back…back to s…sleep.”

She got up instead and made a cup of jasmine tea.

“Have some. It’ll warm you up a bit,” she said, handing him the cup.

His hand was shaking horribly as he tried to take it and he swore when some of it spilled.

“It’s fine, it’s only tea,” she reminded him with a reassuring voice, “Here, let me help.”

Hermione took his right hand, placed the cup in it and helped him steady his grip with the other. She gave him an encouraging look as he, with her assistance, brought the cup to his lips, taking a couple of small sips. A few more later, he felt warmer though the tremors persisted and his headache was reaching his threshold level.

“Headache?” she guessed.

He nodded gingerly.

She pulled him towards her couch and told him to lie down. He did, closed his eyes and was amenable to anything that would make all this go away.

“I have something to tell you, but don’t laugh too hard.”

She was hovering over him from behind.

“Uh-huh.”

Her fingers lightly touched his face.

“The first time we met, do you remember?”

She applied deep circular pressure along certain lines and points on his head and neck.

“The train, you were helping Neville,” he was not trembling as much anymore.

“To find Trevor,” she was all set to laugh and he wondered what this was about, “I was the one who let Trevor out of his compartment.”

“Really?” he couldn’t help but laugh with her, as she continued to work wonders with her fingers. “Why?”

“It was silly, really. Looking back now, it was actually cruel. I could have damaged Neville for life had we lost Trevor. But I wanted to meet you.”

“You let Trevor loose because you wanted to meet the boy with the scar?” he found that amusing, though if they weren’t friends he would have probably been offended.

He kept his eyes closed all the time, concentrating on her voice and the pleasant relief of her touch. She was still smiling. He could tell by how she sounded.

“Sad but true.”

“Well, was I what you expected?”

“Actually, I was kind of disappointed. I thought you’d glow like how I pictured you when I read about you. Or at least be cuter.”

“At least you thought I was cute!”

They shared a laugh and then fell into a comfortable silence. By the time she stopped he was no longer shaking and his headache was bearable. He thanked her and they went back to bed. When he woke up at seven she had left for the first day of exams.

It was fortunate that the attacks did not happen during the day because Hermione had asked the Healers to let her know so she could come. However, every night that exam week the headache and the tremors came, and every night she stayed up with him, prepared tea and they talked while she made his headache and shakes go away.

On the fifth night, she woke and got up, groggy, hair tousled and eyes barely open. She was so tired that when she sleepwalked over to make tea, she brought him an empty cup then slipped in beside him in his bed and cuddled. He did not have the heart to wake her to tell her the good news that his headache was tolerable and he wasn’t shaking anymore. A few minutes later, prudence forced Harry out of her cozy embrace and he slept in the comfortable but less stimulating recliner.

Months after, whenever they spoke of that time he would tease her about how she took advantage of his condition to cop a feel. She would always go deep red and, with a straight face, tell him he was lucky that was all she did. Of course, they were smart enough never to joke about this in front of Ron.

A rustle outside the door interrupted his nostalgic trek and he heard her voice before he could turn.

“Harry! You’re awake!”

A vision of brown hair, a whiff of her now familiar perfume and a much needed hug later he was beaming as she pulled a seat closer to his bed and sat, eyes brimming with tears of joy.

“You gave me quite a scare,” she declared.

After that night with her, all of a sudden, it seemed very personal.

“You?”

“Well not just me? Everyone else.”

She motioned over the gifts and cards of well wishers he had not noticed earlier and mentioned who had come to visit and when. She looked worn out, maybe even lost weight since he last saw her. A sudden panic came over him.

“How long have I been out? What day is it today?”

“The 18th.”

“February?”

“Yes” she was puzzled by his need to know. “Why?”

The 18th, the wedding was eight days away, if it was still on. He looked at her finger and her engagement ring was still on it. His disappointment was hard to hide and she noticed.

“Sorry, you didn’t miss the wedding,” she smiled, thinking he was teasing her about not coming. “And being best man you do have to wear a tux.”

Harry did not smile back. Hermione obviously did not know about Roy because she wouldn’t be talking to him like this if she did. He was trying to muster enough courage to tell her everything but telling her about Roy seemed to be not an option.

“That night, why did you call me?”

The change in her expression was immediate. She knew exactly which night he was talking about.

“I had a question,” she answered.

“You wanted to know how I would feel.”

Hermione nodded, “And you told me.”

“Why did you want to know?”

She was having difficulty answering, “Because you’re my friend and I needed to know what kind of a friend you were.”

“And was I the kind you expected me to be?”

“You were.”

He could not help but think there was more to it than that.

“How was it with the stranger?” he asked her.

“I had a good time,” she admitted, “Until the crash the day after. You were right. It wasn’t worth it.”

He wasn't sure if he felt good or bad about that.

“You should call the wedding off. You don’t love him.”

Hermione was caught off guard by his very direct suggestion but before she could answer, red hair appeared at the door.

“Harry! Blimey! It’s great that you’re finally back. I thought we would have to have the ceremony in here. It was going to be hard fitting five hundred guests.”

Ron continued to talk excitedly and Harry just nodded and smiled when he laughed, not really hearing much of what he was saying. He glanced over to Hermione and caught her shake her head slightly, her eyes confirming that Ron didn’t know. It was understood that if there was anyone who was going to tell him, it was going to be her.

“What were you thinking summoning a bunch of firelegs in the middle of a gun fight?” Ron commented, “Immobilizing everything would have been loads better.”

“Yeah, it would have been,” he replied, "Next time I’m in one I’ll remember that.”

“Hermione has been so upset, she’s been having trouble eating and sleeping,” Ron shared with him and he wondered if it was because of what she did or because she was about to marry someone she didn’t love.

She replied, “He’s been fussing more than his mother.”

Ron responded, “I’m only concerned about you. I can only imagine us talking endlessly about your dress not fitting on our wedding day.”

Harry thought to himself that an ill-fitting dress was the least of their worries. He was trying to figure her out, trying to see if he could pick up anything subtle that would indicate she was not certain about going ahead with the marriage.

Ron dropped his voice, “And she hasn’t let me come near her since she came back from Toronto. Maybe now that you’re fine she will.”

Really?

“Ron…” she expressed her disapproval of him inappropriately telling Harry that intimate piece of information.

“It’s only Harry.”

“We have to go.”

“We’re meeting with the Reverend for some last minute stuff,” Ron said, “Maybe I can still convince him to wear a Cannon Quidditch robe for the ceremony.”

Hermione gave him the look.

“What?” Ron didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, “He did it for Charlie. Although, he definitely needed the added protection of a dragon keeper’s robe in case the dragon got away!”

He and Ron laughed, Hermione smiled, though he was pretty sure he and Hermione were finding something else amusing, about her brief, one-time career as a dragon keeper. It was too bad they couldn’t openly share the laughter.

They left. More well wishers came, friends, Ministry officials. He had some time to go over the cards and gifts, some from people he knew and a lot from strangers. He may have missed reading a few due to the sheer volume.

Later that day, he met with his assigned Healer and was told that if the muscle-strengthening potion worked he would be discharged the following day.

“Do you have any questions?” Healer Dogooder asked.

“I mean no offence but I’m just wondering why Hermione wasn’t assigned to my case.”

The Healer smiled, “If I were sick, I would want Hermione assigned to me, too. She did ask to be head Healer for your case but was declined.”

“Why?”

“St. Mungo’s has an enchanted patient registry system. When a Healer signs on with his or her wand, the system verifies a few things, like if he or she is indeed a certified Healer, not suspended and the like. There are certain rules that it adheres to and there are no ways around it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“One strict regulation is that unless in an emergency, we are not allowed to treat family. We’re thought to be less objective hence less effective Healers when we treat a loved one. It’s rare for friends but in your and Hermione’s case, the registry seems to think that you are close enough for this rule to apply.”

Interesting.

Harry definitely had to talk Hermione into calling her wedding off. He had to let her know that he loved her. He wondered if she would come and visit again tonight because tomorrow just wasn’t soon enough.

25. What Curiosity Killed

Chapter 25 – What Curiosity Killed

The visit with the Reverend was uneventful except that it took longer than they anticipated. To describe Reverend Gershom Jugmaker as a senior member of the London Society of Magical Union Binders would be an understatement. The Reverend was ancient and considering his age, his frequent trips to the bathroom for a chronic medical condition was par for the course. Ron did point out that it was amazing that he was still alive so being able to go on his own was a miracle in itself. He had married every Weasley couple since Ron’s grandfather and tradition was definitely not to be broken with them. It wasn’t worth thinking otherwise.

Reverend Jugmaker went over the ceremony with them, reminding them of certain cues, what to expect, what to say and when to say it. He stressed definite no-no’s, like forgetting their vows, forgetting the name of the person they were marrying, forgetting who they were.

Coming from someone wizened it was fitting and it only heightened her awareness of the seriousness of the entire matter. Going into a magical union was not something to be taken lightly. Not many young couples chose to do it, opting for the more modern and legal but non-magical binding ceremony, because of the complications should the union fail. It was a lifetime commitment and unlike Muggle vows, death literally was the only thing that could dissolve it.

It was noon and Ron had to leave her to join the Cannons at the training facility. They defeated the Harpies in the semi-final game last night and were set to meet the Toronto team in the championship match in a few days. With this run for the Queen’s Cup, their manager wanted them focused on the game and required the team’s presence everyday.

Hermione was on her way to the Daily Prophet to see Ginny. They had not really talked since she came back from Toronto as Harry’s grave condition kept everyone in the family pre-occupied. It detracted from her impending marriage to Ron and her affair with a stranger, and now that Harry was definitely on his way to a full recovery, she had no reason to procrastinate about her problem.

It was really a no-brainer; even Roy the Stranger knew the answer. She couldn’t marry Ron, not after realizing that she did not love him that way anymore. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. And meeting with the Reverend made her decision more concrete in her mind. It was the right thing to do.

But she could not tell Ron. She tried a couple of days ago but realized she couldn’t. Not yet anyway.

“How is Harry?” Ron asked.

He just came home from Quidditch practice and she was in bed, tired and sleep deprived. It was the night after the Healers at Toronto successfully repaired Harry’s bleeding heart and that morning he was deemed stable enough to move through the inter-hospital Patient Transport Closet, which worked on a principle similar to the Vanishing Cabinet.

“He’s still in deep sleep,” she replied.

As Ron leaned down to give her a kiss, Hermione flinched. Thankfully, Ron didn’t seem to notice. She definitely needed to tell him, not about Roy because it wouldn’t make a difference, but about not wanting to marry him anymore.

“He’ll pull through,” Ron reassured her, knowing how worried she was and trying to make her feel better, “He always does.”

Although Ron had a point, that thought did not make her worry less.

“How was your day?” she asked him as he put away his Quidditch robes.

“The practice was great. Mike is really getting better at honing on the Snitch faster and both Jeremy and Felix are natural Beaters,” Ron talked excitedly. “We’re going to cream the Harpies tomorrow. This is definitely our year.”

Hermione had heard that a few times before but this time she believed it. Although underdogs because not many of them had playoff experience, it was their year. They had a strong solid line up with experienced players and their closest rivals were not as talented as they were. Ron was playing very well and was the top contender for the season’s MVP award. After years of chasing the Queen’s Cup it seemed that Ron would finally get what he wanted. She was proud of and happy for him and his elated voice said it all.

“So, Miss Granger, barring any injuries, kidnappings or emotional breakdowns amongst the team members, you will be marrying a Quidditch Champion!” he gave her a sloppy kiss on the forehead, making her break out into a bittersweet smile.

Ron did not see it. He was brimming with happiness and was singing some Cannon ditty on his way to and while inside the shower. Her stomach did a back flip. She supposed that even the most insensitive version of Ron would be distracted if she called the wedding off on him during his team’s run for the championship. The Cup was what he had been working so hard for all these years. This was important to him. This was the worst time to do this.

She couldn’t. Not right now. What she was about to do was going to cause a major upheaval in both their lives and with both of them being public figures the event would be magnified a thousand fold. She could just imagine the circus that would ensue and that would distract Ron and his teammates further.

Hermione supposed that waiting a few days until the championship game was over would not matter. As she heard him in the shower she thought about how to tell him, but by the time he had joined her in bed, she still had not come up with a good one.

Ron snuggled up behind her, kissed her hair and the back of her neck as he often did to start something. This was going to be painful. She closed her eyes, thinking that if she didn’t see his disappointment it wouldn’t hurt so badly.

“Not tonight,” she heard herself croak.

He stopped, her words still hanging in the air. She could feel him looking at her face and imagined the irritation and doubt she was causing. Closing her eyes did not make her feel less bad for him.

"What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m just tired.”

She heard him exhale in frustration and flop beside her.

“You’re tired because of him.”

Not this conversation again. She was weary of this talk. It was petty and childish.

Hermione sat up and faced him, annoyed, “Harry is in the hospital. He almost died and he still could.”

“I know that,” he replied, sitting up too, just as frustrated, “But why do you always have to be there for him?”

“Because I’m his friend!”

“I’m your fiancé and I always seem to come second!”

“Don’t be juvenile!”

“Why does it have to be you? Why can’t it be someone else?”

“He has no one else!”

“That’s just it! He pushes everyone else away so he has no one else! And he’ll never have anyone else because you’re always there for him!”

What?

Ron got out of bed and turned to her, telling her in a more calm tone, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t go there. I’m just saying you need step back. Let it be someone else. You can’t always be there for him, definitely not after we’re married, and he won’t see that he needs someone until he wakes up and there’s no one there.”

He left the room, as upset as she was. She buried her head under her pillow, which quickly absorbed her warm, wet tears.

Hermione pressed ‘5’ on the Daily Prophet lift and listened as the aged structure creaked its way up.

That night, Ron was annoyingly right. She needed to step back. His diatribe on her relationship with Harry made her realize a few more things. She was always there for Harry not only because she was his friend and she cared about him, but because she wanted to and had to. The fact that he had no one else was a non-factor because even if he did, she would still want to be there for him.

Had she really unwittingly all this time prevented him from needing someone else? Maybe subconsciously she had always wanted him to not need anyone else because she wanted him to need her. She hoped not because she knew now that getting him to need her was a pointless endeavour.

Since their conversation, she did as Ron asked and kept her presence in Harry’s room to as less as she was able to tolerate. With her thoughts about the wedding in a state of flux, she decided to withdraw her vacation request and work, as there was never a shortage of that. She was on night shift over the next three days and nights were preferable because not only would she not be at home when Ron was, things were relatively quiet and she could sneak down to the private ward and check up on him. She reasoned that since she was working, that was part of her job, never mind the fact that she was not authorized to have anything official to do with his care.

Finding him finally awake earlier today was a huge relief. And again, he had asked about Roy so plainly, without a tinge of jealousy or anger, it hurt her to answer. Then he told her not to marry Ron with an abruptness that caught her off guard.

How did he know for a fact that she didn't love Ron? It was unusual to hear Harry say something like that and it made her wonder where such conviction was coming from. Or was it because he knew her well enough to know that she would not have gone through with the fling if she did?

Hermione could not tell anyone about her decision not to marry Ron, not before she told him. It would not be right if he were the last one to know. She was thinking about what to say to Harry when Ron came into his room.

As she got out of the lift it took no time at all to find her red haired friend at her cubicle tapping away on her keyboard. They were supposed to go out for lunch but Ginny had a few deadlines to meet and they bought food from the cafeteria instead. They commandeered one of the smaller meeting rooms.

“That’s great,” Ginny said to her upon hearing that Harry had finally woken up, “I’ll drop by later to visit.”

“Delilah said he should be out by tomorrow.”

“I still can’t believe you agreed to have that flirtatious bimbo take care of him,” Ginny, surprisingly, disapproved of Delilah Dogooder.

“She’s a pretty good Healer and I trust her,” she replied, “And I think she knows it pointless to flirt with an unconscious man. Where is this vileness coming from?”

“You didn’t notice her with the guests.”

“Which ones?”

“Every male guest save for Mad Eye. Just ask Tonks.”

“She’s just friendly,” dismissed Hermione, really thinking Delilah was misunderstood.

“It’s unfair that just because Harry is friends with you he can’t be your patient.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hermione actually agreed that she was too attached to him to have any consistent objectivity and it was risky to put her in charge of his care. When Harry flat lined on the OR table in Toronto, her mind went blank for a moment before turning back on when they asked her approval to stop resuscitation. What she did after was a blur and a bit embarrassing. It was time to talk about something else.

“So, tell me about ‘man with cat’.”

“Nothing to tell, really. Just the usual,” Ginny answered, evasively.

“Must be serious if you’re not sharing,” she remarked, fishing.

“No, it’s not,” a slight pink blush crept on Ginny’s face which Hermione thought was interesting.

“Fine. You can have your little secret for now,” Hermione felt generous, considering she had secrets of her own, “Just tell me he’s not married.”

“No, he’s not married and it’s really not serious,” Ginny insisted, and did the same thing she did earlier; divert their conversation. “But tell me about Toronto.”

“It was cold, the hotel so-so and the conference started off weak…”

Ginny interrupted her just as she thought Ginny would, “I don’t care about the bloody place or the bloody conference. I want to hear all about the hot DH you dated!”

They both laughed.

“I really shouldn’t. We promised we wouldn’t tell anyone else,” Hermione had every intention to tell her but felt a bit bad about breaking their pact.

“A promise to a guy you don’t know. Yeah, I agree, you should take your clandestine tryst to the grave,” she rolled her eyes up, “We don’t have to talk about him. We can talk a bit about baseball.”

She couldn’t help but laugh and she couldn’t say no.

“Spill it. I want details,” Ginny was grinning, pleased that she was going to.

And Hermione told her all about Roy, well almost; from the time he spoke to her first to how they parted ways the following morning. It took a while as they were interrupted by fits of laughter about how so unlike her this ‘Jane’ character was and her feeling too embarrassed to continue. Ginny insisted on hearing every moment, dismissing her reminders of the time, and her nearing deadlines. Of course, Hermione omitted any reference to Harry, about how Roy reminded her of him and did not mention her calling him into the huddle with a late phone call.

Ginny was beaming after, happy for her, she guessed.

“I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I didn’t either,” her face darkened as she remembered Ron.

“This final box score is outrageous,” Ginny was keeping score, “He’s a dream. Women would kill for this. I’d like to meet this guy. No, I’d like to date this guy. What was his name?”

“No, you can’t have his name,” Hermione said to her but she had already magically turned on a Muggle computer, bringing up the Prophet research database.

“Come on,” Ginny tried to persuade her, having no qualms using her work for something so personal. They were just having fun, “This taps directly into the Ministry records. It’s up to date. He may have a picture here. I want to know how he looks like. Squib you said, right? And lives in London, maybe. Male 25-30…”

“The answer is absolutely ‘no’,” she said emphatically as Ginny entered the search parameters.

“Five thousand returns. A first name would narrow this down a bit more. You did exchange first names, didn’t you? Aren’t you interested in what he really does for a living?”

Ginny was a journalist and was as persistent about getting information as a bloodhound was for blood. Hermione had his full name from his rendition of his poems. Or at least what he said his name was.

“No, I’m not interested and stop asking me for his name. Don’t you have actual work to do around here?”

“Oh, shit! The time,” Ginny remembered something, “Don’t move. This is not over. I’ll be back in five.”

Hermione wanted it to be over but before she could tell her she was leaving, Ginny disappeared, leaving her in the meeting room alone. She cleared up the table, getting rid of their rubbish, when she noticed that Ginny had left the computer logged on. The cursor was blinking on the box labelled ‘first name’. Adjacent to it was ‘last name’.

As a researcher she had compulsions she no control over and they had a saying that while curiosity killed the cat, the cat had nine lives, and only animagi researchers should be really worried. Without second thought, she filled the empty boxes in.

ROY HUNT

The screen refreshed in an instant and she could not have been prepared for what she was about to read. Her heart raced a thousand thumps a minute and she had to sit down as her legs almost gave way. The picture on screen was definitely the attractive man she met in Toronto. She read it, the long list, con after con, on women, young and old, theft, robbery, deception, each the same but different. Known associates, criminals, Dark wizards, details blurred as the information went into her mind and she could not make sense of it to know what to do with the facts.

She read as fast as she could, hoping at some point there was something that would say this was a mistake, or he had a twin brother with same name, something that would not make her come to the conclusion that she had spent the night with a con man and start thinking if there was more that was taken from her aside from her pride and dignity. Ginny would be back soon, and this was definitely something she could not tell her right away, not until she could think.

Finally as she got to the end, a puzzling entry caught her eye.

Arrested 12th February 2006 for attempted robbery. Charged with six separate counts of theft and convicted. Incarcerated since arrest at Auror Facility in West London. For transfer to a Squib-Muggle Prison.

But how could he be in two places at the same time? He was in Toronto on the 14th. Or was he?

With a sense of foreboding, she opened the link to his arrest record dreading what she would find. She felt blood drain from her face. The arresting officer on record was a Hit Wizard.

H.J.Potter

Without much thought, she cleared her search findings and brought the screen back to where Ginny left it. She paced the small room, thinking. The booming in her chest had not eased and she could hear the sound of her heart beating in her head. Where to start?

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Maybe there was some other explanation. But the only thought her mind could focus on was how Roy constantly reminded her of Harry.

Harry was in Toronto working on an assignment. He called that morning and he sounded sick. Was he really sick or was it because he didn’t have his own voice? Hermione was privy to information about a newer Ministry version of the Polyjuice potion, which was longer acting and voice altering. Could he have been on Polyjuice all along?

They were supposed to have dinner that night but something came up at work. He had to cancel and minutes later she met Roy Hunt.

That first conversation, she was about to leave but Roy knew just what to say to keep her interested.

“Of course Weasley’s much better and thank goodness Potter’s gone…”

And all night, Roy asked very personal questions about her and Ron and seemed like he cared about what her answer would be. She remembered how a few times it felt strange, as if he was trying to make her stop what she was doing.

“What would your fiancé think?”

“How can you love him and do this?”

“Why are you marrying him if you don’t love him anymore?”

That explained why he was so sure this morning that she did not love Ron. His reference to the stolen night in the poem was now glaringly obvious. And during the phone call to him, Roy was on the phone too.

She recalled the events of that night for the second time that afternoon and viewed it in a totally different light. Harry as Roy fit like a glove and explained the little things Roy said and did that she had thought odd. It made a lot more sense to her thinking it was Harry and now that she had, she could not think otherwise.

What really happened? Why did it happen? What did it all mean?

All she did that night she did with him and not with some stranger she would never meet again. It was Harry who she told innocent lies to, flirted with, and seduced. It was Harry she kissed, touched, and had sex with. It was Harry who did all those things to her, too.

It was taking a long time for that to sink in. This was Harry, her friend. They had been through so much together. How could he do something like this?

He appeared to act willingly and she could not believe he was being forced or Imperiused. Why would he do such a horrible thing? And whatever reason he had, surely, he knew this would hurt her if she found out. Did he think he could get away with it?

No doubt he was in Toronto working as Roy Hunt. But she could not imagine that the things they did was part of his job. He chose to drink Polyjuice Potion and be Roy Hunt while he was with her. He chose to be a stranger and she could only think that the reason had to be because he wanted it that way. She simply could not come up with a rational explanation to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Most of all, he had all night to come clean but he did not.

Sometimes remembering every single detail was not a good thing. Roy said something to her that night that coming from a stranger was quite appropriate.

“I need some reassurance that this is a one-time thing.”

That was all he wanted, a one-time thing and he didn’t even want her to know that it was him. Did he think her so desperate to have a last fling that he decided to ‘do her a favour’? Was she a side trip from his assignment, ‘might as well have sex with her because I’m here and she won’t even know it’s me’?

She was shaking, from anger, from disbelief, from heartache, from being betrayed by someone she least expected would.

“Are you okay?” she didn’t notice Ginny was back.

“Um, yes. I’m fine,” she managed to say without crying.

“You look pale,” Ginny was really concerned.

“I’m okay, really. We had a busy night and it’s finally caught up to me,” she explained, “I should go.”

“Have you thought more about what you’re going to do about Ron?” Ginny asked before she got to the door.

All of a sudden even the answer to that question which seemed like a no-brainer moments ago was muddled.

“Gin, I know you mean well but I just need you to back off right now and let me sort this out,” she said with a seriousness that took Ginny aback.

“Your wedding is in eight days. Surely you’re not thinking about going through with it, are you?”

And give Harry the satisfaction that I’m going to do what he wants?

Hermione snapped at her without meaning to, “Maybe I am, I don’t know! I need time to think!”

Ginny steadily looked at her and waited.

Seeing Ginny’s reaction she calmed down and realized that she shouldn’t take it out on her, “Please, just give me some space and I swear you’ll be one of the first to know what I decide.”

“Okay,” Ginny replied. “Fine. I’m backing off. But just to let you know, I’m not buying a wedding present.”

They both smiled weakly and gave each other a hug before she left. As much as Ginny was her closest friend, this was something she had to deal with on her own.

26. A Moment of Sobriety

Chapter 26 – A Moment of Sobriety

Hermione was in her St. Mungo office later that afternoon getting set for work, sensing the beginnings of a very bad headache. She acquired some much needed sobriety a couple of hours after her Roy Hunt discovery.

You’re a scientist. You don’t have any proof.

Your gut feeling could be wrong.

Harry would never knowingly do something to hurt you.

There is a logical explanation for this.

Roy may have not been Harry.

Roy may have been Roy and Roy in jail was an impostor.

Or the bloke you met may have been someone else posing as Roy. That means you could have been duped by some stranger posing as a con man. And you thought you couldn’t feel more stupid than you already do.

Whoever it was it was someone who knows a lot about you and who is very much like Harry.

Talk to Harry. Ask him about his assignment. He’ll sort this out.

There is a rational explanation for this.

He’ll say it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t him.

And in the end she sat there, feeling calmer but not better. It was now clear to her why she instantly jumped to the conclusion she did.

A mad part of her wanted it to be him.

Harry had been calling and leaving her messages. She just could not get herself to pick up, afraid she would start accusing him over the phone and making a much bigger fool of herself.

Looking at the hospital Timeteller, she still could go and visit, get this confusion and delusion over with. It was then that a couple of owls dropped a rather large parcel on her desk and saved her from further pathetic internal ramblings. It was a package from the Toronto Hospital. More legal disclaimers to sign?

Hermione opened and peered into the box; her heart started to race once again. A wallet, two cell phones, a wand, loose Canadian change, a hotel card key, a receipt, a note, and a bottle of Advil regular strength liquigels spilled onto her desk as she emptied its contents gently.

The note read ‘Personal Effects – H Potter’.

Weren’t you looking for proof?

The wand was definitely Harry’s, she’d recognize it anywhere. One of the phones was his too but access to it was magically locked so only the owner could use it. The other phone was unfamiliar, one of those common, uncomplicated, generic ones altered such that the batteries never went dead. Haphazardly written on the back of it in black permanent ink were the initials ‘RH’.

She perused the wallet, prepared to see Roy Hunt’s picture and she did on a singular ID card buried within bills of Canadian dollars and British pounds. The receipt was from the Amor Ninho. It listed what she and Roy had for dinner and was date and time stamped just before she and Roy left.

Hermione didn’t know what to think anymore. The supporting yet circumstantial evidence, her initial gut feeling and her continuing delusion were conspiring against her battle to stay sane. Theories swarmed her mind, relentlessly pitting one thought versus the other.

Her now splitting headache screamed for respite. Without even thinking, she grabbed the bottle of painkillers, unscrewed the cap and tipped a couple on the palm of her hand. Strange. Two different color fluid capsules, red and orange, not quite the over the counter Advils she was familiar with.

An idea came to her naturally. Taking both pods to her potion work counter, she put one color pill in each of her two smallest cauldrons and dissolved them into amplifying solutions. It did not take long for her to confirm what they were as she used revealing spells. The red one was in essence Polyjuice with a strand of a budgerigar’s vocal chord, the added component that made possible voice transformation, and the orange one contained anti-Polyjuice which she had helped a Ministry Unspeakable create just recently.

It was Harry.

Exhausted from the internal conflict she had been through the entire afternoon, she finally got to some questions she knew she should answer. What was the big deal if it was Harry? Didn’t she just admit that she wanted it to be him?

Didn’t she contrive that elaborate plan, in which use of magic was considered, to convince him to be her last fling before Roy showed up? Just sex, one time, and not to talk about it outside Toronto? Didn’t she get what she would have asked for? It felt kind of hypocritical that she would be livid at him for something she wanted because he did it in a different way.

Harry would never mean to hurt her. He did dissuade her from having a fling but maybe when he realized that she was going to go through with it, he thought better him than some other guy who would not do a proper job of it, a noble act to spare her from an unpleasant experience. And like her, he didn’t want the awkwardness after and found another means of doing that.

Not that she thought her anger was unreasonable; what he did was sneaky and she would have preferred knowing it was him she was spending the night with, particularly during the more intimate moments. But Hermione suspected that the fiery emotions she had earlier had a lot more to do with the fact that she was hurt because of the way he chose to do it, which only belaboured the point that he was not interested in her the way she would have wished. She decided it was downright childish to be furious at him for not being in love with her.

Hermione sighed, aching but tranquil, now fully accepting what happened for what it was. It was a fling, a one time thing, and she enjoyed it. It was never meant to last, whether it was with Harry, Roy or someone else. And as intended, she should let it go. She remembered their ridiculous pact, to not discuss it with anyone else and not if not in Toronto. The promise wasn’t so silly after all and it made sense to start keeping it.

She gathered his stuff together and put it back in the box, planning to drop it off at the private ward’s assistant desk before her night shift started. As she sealed it and removed any trace of it being sent to her, she did not notice that Roy’s phone had vibrated and a message flashed across its screen.

Quid pro quo.

XXXXXXXXXX

Sometime later within the private ward, Harry was looking out the window and could tell it was getting late. He had been stuck in his room all day taking as much muscle strengthening potion as he could but still could barely muster getting himself out of bed.

Dean and Kingsley had dropped by earlier and gave him an update on the case. As he knew from before he lost consciousness at the Ghoul, the deep-pocketed financier witch was a no-show. Waxball was arrested and charged based on the evidence found with him. His vault at the Ghoul was searched and in it were some of Helga Braun’s private items and research papers. Murder charges were about to be laid upon him when he died of an apparent suicide his first night in jail. Tom Floyd was nowhere to be found and there was not enough evidence to arrest him anyway even if he did show up.

Harry told them about the boxful of mysterious purple potion and what he suspected the potion was. From what they gathered, there was nothing like that found at the Ghoul but they would ask the Toronto MLE. Investigations were still in progress and gag orders were in effect for both the Toronto and London MLEs. All the press knew was there was an altercation post Valentine’s Day and the conflict resulted in five dead and fifteen wounded. There would be no mention of Squibs; Canadians were a conscious lot about profiling and the International Healers Association with the World Research Council immediately issued a request to not mention that it involved research, which was peculiar.

And with the case in Toronto ongoing, the MLE decided to use Roy as bait for a while, just in case somebody wanted to tie up loose ends. Roy Hunt’s file was released through Ministry records and another Polyjuiced impostor was going to be transferred to a minimum-security facility.

He had been calling Hermione all afternoon to ask if she could visit but she wasn’t picking up and had yet to return his call. One of the Healers did say she was working tonight and Emerg was packed with patients from a massive potion factory accident.

Seated in bed, the last visitors long gone, stacks of well wishers’ cards and notes on one of those adjustable patient tables in front of him, Harry was trying to pass the time away. He wanted to leave his room to find Hermione but he knew she was busy.

Harry crumpled one of the parchments and sent an arching shot through a magically contrived Quidditch goal, straight into a rubbish bin at the far corner of his room, finding its bottom and amongst several other death threats. He read the next one, grabbed a parchment and, with a quill, wrote a letter of thanks. It went on the pile that would go out via Owl post in the morning. The one that followed was familiar. Some anonymous lunatic sent him numerous notes with the words ‘Quid pro quo’ on them. The more the merrier, he thought. He’d have more paper Quaffles.

Crushing this one with his hand and aiming for the hoop, it sailed a couple of inches to the left and landed on the floor.

“You were always a shoddy Chaser, Harry,” a recognizable female voice said from the entrance.

He turned and smiled as Ginny crossed the room. They kissed each other on the cheek.

“Yes, I was,” he agreed, staring at the obvious indication of more missed versus made shots. “Aren’t visiting hours over?”

“Who said I was visiting?” she replied jokingly, pulling a seat closer. “I used my press badge and told them I was interviewing you. It’s a circus out there with that factory accident. Staff, patients, family. Hermione barely recognized me when I bumped into her in the hallway.”

Hermione was busy.

“How are you?” Ginny asked.

She took out a couple of green bottles from a brown bag, unscrewed one and handed it to him. It looked like it was something from a liquor store. She wouldn’t dare get them both in trouble with Hermione but he could never guess when that mischievous Fred and George side of hers would make an appearance.

After the challenge of getting him fully sober, Hermione could not make herself any clearer about her thoughts on him drinking again. And while he had his addiction totally under control, the rare glass of wine he took at dinner was not known to her.

“I’ve been worse. I could be better,” he replied, taking it and reading the label. “NABB?”

“Non-alcoholic Butterbeer. It’s new, always meant to try it, gross Muggle trademark rip-off,” she explained, as she opened the other one for herself, and toasted, “Congratulations.”

He gave her a puzzled look as their bottles chinked.

“On making Auror.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.”

They took swigs. He forgot that it was a ‘promotion’. It seemed so long ago when he accepted Kingsley’s offer so he could go to Toronto but he knew for a fact that that the Auror office did not make such personnel changes public. It was actually quite the opposite.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“The Toronto press,” Ginny replied, “The Toronto MLE is refusing to comment on what that incident at the bar was about but some writer got wind you were a sort of Brit hero and it was easy enough to dig up your story. Someone from the Ministry Human Resources blabbed about your recent promotion; got a mere slap on the hand. You were a Toronto headliner alongside the mysterious events that happened. The Prophet put you on page two the day after.”

“Only page two? I’m deeply offended,” he said poker-faced.

“I’m sure you are,” she replied, knowing he was being facetious, “Be thankful or you’d have to go through twice as much mail as you are now. What was the assignment in Toronto about? ”

“You know I can’t tell you,” Harry answered, thankful of the Auror guidelines for non-disclosure, “Can you stop working for a few minutes?”

“Nobody wants to talk about it, so everybody wants to know,” she laughed.

Her work frequently required sensitive information and despite knowing MLE were on strict rules not to talk to press, she asked the people she knew anyway. None of them would ever admit to violating Ministry rules.

After breaking up years ago, he and Ginny remained friends. Hermione had tried to get them back together when they both became available and they dated once to get her off their backs. What they had before they acknowledged as puppy love. And besides, they were now different people, with different experiences and baggage, both jaded and cynics. Neither of them was looking for something lasting, neither of them wanted long term commitments for somewhat different reasons and they were mature enough to admit that. They said no because they did not want to hurt each other.

“The Toronto article was a work of fiction, sketchy at best. Was Hermione involved in any of this?”

While it seemed that Ginny was just fishing, Harry was concerned about giving her any more ideas. She was very good at what she did.

“I can’t tell you,” he answered truthfully.

“You don’t have to. I know she was.”

Dean. He wouldn’t.

“Having fun tricking old boyfriends for information?” he accused her playfully.

She laughed.

“Why else would you finally accept the Auror post Kingsley’s been offering you all these years?”

She had a good point.

“A more exciting job? A pay raise? A different partner?” One who could keep his mouth shut?

“I find it hard to believe that your epiphany was merely coincidental with being assigned to a case in Toronto where she just happened to be.”

“Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.”

If Ginny knew then Hermione would, too, and if not yet, eventually. Hermione’s interrogation of what his exact assignment in Toronto was was going to be a very interesting one.

“Dean caved about Hermione being involved a while back, though that was all he would say about the case. I’ll tell him you win,” Ginny said with finality, ending his speculation and quashing his hopes.

“It’s so obvious I can’t believe she hasn’t come to that conclusion yet.”

She hasn’t?

“And a good thing, too.”

Definitely a good thing.

“Why is it a good thing?”

“She’s distraught enough as it is. Her leaving a job she loves, getting married, her Mum’s affair, Ron. The last thing she needs is guilt over how she almost got you killed in Toronto.”

“It wasn’t her fault. Why would she feel guilty?”

“I’m not saying she will but she’s so stressed right now she just might. You know how she gets sometimes about feeling responsible,” then Ginny mentioned something he was unaware of, “Remember that time after your accident? She felt guilty about that.”

“Why?”

“She felt she could have done something to prevent it like helped you pick a better team or stood up to the owner to tell him to stop taking advantage of you or spent more time with you,” Ginny explained.

Really?

“So, now is really not a good time to risk her thinking crazy like that again.”

He felt relieved. At least Ginny was not inclined to tell Hermione about why he took the Toronto assignment. But what was the point of this conversation? Ginny wanted something and like most women he knew, she was taking her time getting to the point.

“She said you were working and she never saw you in Toronto until that morning you were in the hospital. Is that right?”

Somebody, please, stop her from asking all these questions.

“I can’t tell you anything about the case,” he repeated.

“I’m not talking about your case,” she replied, “You were there because of her. I assume that either you or some other Ministry official was watching her all the time. You know what she did in Toronto.”

“She attended a conference.”

Ginny knew he knew and he was contemplating what to do.

“We both know she did more than that. She called me that night.”

He just had to bite, hook, line and sinker.

“Why did she call you?”

“She wanted me to stop her.”

An unpleasant sensation washed over him, now knowing for a fact the Hermione, at one point, wanted to back out. When she called him, she wanted him to do the same.

“You didn’t.”

He didn’t either.

“Why would I? I suggested it to her in the first place.”

“A really bad idea.”

Ginny’s and his.

“Maybe so, but it did make her realize one important thing,” she paused, and looked at him seriously, “You know what I’m talking about.”

He did and he did not have to say it.

Ginny continued, “I love Ron but he doesn’t have a clue and it’s her call if she doesn’t want to tell him. They’ll both be miserable for the rest of their lives. She shouldn’t be marrying him.”

“You’re worried that she’s going to,” Harry realized she wouldn’t have mentioned it if she wasn’t.

“It’s so obvious what she should do but she’s thinking about this too much. There’s something important she’s not telling me and she won’t talk to me anymore,” Ginny was rarely wrong about things like this, “I’m fine with that. I’m just concerned and kind of hoping she will tell you and you can talk about it.”

Harry wasn’t so sure about that. If Hermione wouldn’t tell Ginny then chances were she wouldn’t tell him. She told Ginny to back off and he was wondering if she would do the same to him.

“You will talk to her about this, right?”

“I will.”

It wasn’t before long when Harry’s veteran Healer assistant ushered Ginny out, insisting that he needed rest. He was able to convince the tyrant that he had to finish writing thank you notes. It took another hour or so before he was done.

He couldn’t sleep. So, she was going to try and make things work out, try to fall in love with Ron again as she said she would. He imagined him telling her again she shouldn’t go ahead with the marriage and asked himself just how prepared was he to tell her how he felt? Could he take it if he professed his love for her and she told him the feeling was not mutual? He probably could, though not very well.

Someone rapped on his door. Odd.

“You never knock,” he smiled as Ron joined him.

“Which just goes to prove anyone can change,” Ron joked back. “How are you?”

“I could be better,” Harry answered as the Healer’s assistant waved to Ron who waved back, “How’d you get past her?”

“Matilde’s husband is a huge Cannon fan,” he explained, “I gave her a couple of tickets to the game against Toronto.”

“I heard you had a great game against the Harpies.”

“You should have seen me, I was in the zone,” Ron always looked like a little kid when he talked about Quidditch, “You are going to come to the Finals. I won’t take no for an answer.”

He had never gone to a live game since his ‘accident’ but this was a must.

“Of course, I will,” he figured a long time has-been like him being there wouldn’t take away from the attention the game and Ron deserved, “What are you doing here so late?”

“I brought her dinner,” that was nice of him, “I heard about the factory accident over the news and figured she would never take a break unless someone was around to remind her to. She finally did when things quieted down half an hour ago.”

“She loves what she does here,” Harry said to him, hoping Ron would pick up on what that meant.

Ron hesitated and then asked, “Can we take a walk?”

Harry had wanted to since he woke up and Ron had this rare look that he wanted to talk about something serious.

“Sure. But I am going to need your help.”

He took his wand out, conjured a wheelchair and levitated himself into it. Uncharacteristically, without a word or jibe, Ron pushed him out his room, down the corridor, into the lift and down to the second floor. Harry had been there a few times before. It was a restricted staff only area but there was no one around and Ron seemed to know his way. He took him into this long alcove with glass windows overlooking down below to a still busy St. Mungo Emergency Room, summoned a wooden stool tucked away in the corner and sat beside him. They both spotted her at the same time.

They just sat and watched her for a while as she checked up on the patients, talked with the families and guided the younger Healers. It was like déjà vu. When he was a long term resident in the hospital years ago, Hermione sometimes took him here. She watched and learned, and talked about healing, why she loved it, and how the place had so much potential to be chaotic, and on appearance, it was. But she found order in it because when faced with something emergent as a Healer you had no other recourse but to save the patients’ lives first. There was no room to think about other things. As he watched the frenzy around her, he knew that to her, being in the midst of it was calming.

“I’ve been watching her all night,” Ron broke the silence, “She’s great at what she does.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“The London Flamers have asked me to join their team next year. Nothing’s official yet but today, I said yes.”

This was a total surprise. Ron had always expressed his desire to be a Cannon lifer. Harry looked at him and he was still looking at Hermione. He was doing it for her.

“She can stay here. That’s going to make her happy,” Harry stated the obvious.

“I thought so, too, when I told her,” Ron replied. “She said she was but she wasn’t quite as happy as I thought that would make her. It was almost as if she actually wanted to leave this place.”

Harry recalled what Hermione said about how she could love Ron again.

“She’s must think if she stayed here she’d still be too busy and not have time with you.”

“I wish it were that but, lately, I can’t seem to figure her out. There’s something different,” Ron said to him.

“Do you think whatever it is will go away?” he felt sorry for him.

Ron shook his head.

“And I can’t ask her what the matter is. Not with the Finals coming up,” Ron admitted honestly, “I have a bad feeling about this, Harry. It’s distracting but I’d rather not know for sure what it is than know what it is and have to deal with it right now.”

“I understand.”

Harry did. It wasn’t because Hermione and their relationship weren’t important. This just couldn’t have come at a worst time for Ron. The Cup Finals was a big thing for many professional athletes and it was rare to get the opportunity to be in it more than once.

Had he not been too wrapped up in his needs and his wants, he would not have trivialized how what he did and what he was about to do would affect his best friend. When did he start being so selfish?

He imagined that if he told Hermione about how he truly felt about her, Ron would eventually know. He couldn’t think of doing that, not to Ron, and not after what he had already done. As hard as it was for him to wait, he would. He would wait and hope that Hermione would do the right thing.

27. The Long Wait

Chapter 27 – The Long Wait

Hermione woke up to the sound of her pager’s alarm. It would be 5am, just an hour after the last Emerg patient that needed her care was transferred to the ward. She kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, trying to remember where and which bed she had managed to crawl into when she decided to get some rest. As she recalled where her aching feet foolishly took her, she hoped the sound of her pager going off did not wake him.

Sitting up on the old comfortable recliner, she opened her eyes and tried to focus in the dimly lit room. The sudden smell of strong coffee expedited the return of her mental alertness and she instantly saw a cup of hot steaming java being offered to her. So much for hoping.

“Good morning,” she heard his voice, and a searing pain cut through her chest, unexpectedly.

“Good morning. Thanks,” she replied as she reached and took his offer.

Their fingers grazed incidentally and that had new meaning, evoking a yearning to have them touch a little bit longer. With care, she willed her eyes to meet his warm gentle gaze. That hurt as well. She wondered how long this was going to last. She came to his room to watch him sleep and see how she felt about him. As she sat there in the dark she was surprised by how she had no anger and thought that was a good sign. She was merely disappointed and it was funny in a cruel sort of way that both of them felt the same way about each other post-Roy.

“You had quite a night,” Harry sat beside her. “Ron and I were watching from the gallery.”

“It was unreal,” she shared. Talking about work was easier, “We were fortunate we didn't lose anyone.”

“What happened?”

“An accident. The potion factory apparently got a shipment of unfrozen Ashwinder eggs and it inadvertently came in contact with skrewt fire-expelling end cuttings and Peruvian instant darkness powder.”

“That must have been quite an explosion,” Harry would know what such an interaction would result in but had a frown in his face she guessed what he was thinking.

“It was and yes, it was a definite violation of a few Ministry statutes on possession and handling of dangerous materials,” she added, “Kingsley’s got someone on it already. Don’t you even think about working until you’re fully recovered.”

“I wasn’t,” he denied but she knew otherwise, “Fine. I was, a little bit. But I am fully recovered. I’m able to get up and walk on my own this morning. I made you coffee.”

She was shaking her head, unable to remain serious. Just the way he said it tugged at her heartstrings.

“Unless you plan to serve Death Eaters coffee at work, I think you need to be able to do much more than that.”

“Oh, I feel that I can do much more than that.” he replied in a casual way that reminded her so much of Roy a few mornings ago and she blushed before she could tell herself not to. “Delilah did warn me about this.”

Delilah? This? For a moment she thought he was flirting with her then she happened to glance down and realized something.

“Oh, the potion side effect.”

“It’s not painful. Just uncomfortable.”

“The strengthening potion affects all muscles including those ones,” she said to him, professional and to the point, making a valiant effort not to look, “For obvious physiological reasons it is worse, or some would say ‘better’, in the mornings. The potion actually has recreational uses.”

“I can certainly understand why,” he replied, “Delilah knows of some remedies and said she might be able to help.”

That skank! Ginny was right; she was a flirt! If she wasn’t a good Healer…

“But I’d rather not wait. Can you do something about it?”

She could but if she did what she knew would help it would be totally inappropriate on so many levels.

He seems to think it’s a big, big problem.

It’s a big problem all right but you’re so not helping.

“There is a suppressing draught but the risk of an adverse reaction to multiple potion use is not worth it. You could stop taking the strengthening potion but you definitely need it. You can, um, relieve yourself once in a while but if you’d rather not do that or can’t, the only thing you can do is not to think stimulating thoughts.”

Hermione tried to tell him plainly, thinking that was so easy for her to say. His arousal was sparking provocative ideas of her own.

“We should talk about something else,” he hurriedly suggested.

“Good idea,” she quickly agreed, as relieved as he was, and his choice of ‘something else’ effectively doused their growing discomfort.

“So, Ron’s going to be a Flamer.”

She acknowledged with a sound as she sipped coffee. The fact that Ron did that for her had not sunk in yet.

“You can stay in London and continue your work here.”

“I could.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

For work, yes; continuing to see so much of him, not really. Their close proximity was already stirring memories of her night with him and it was difficult to not think about what it would have been like had she known. Moving would have been a great excuse to stay away from him.

“It is,” she said to him then joked, “I hate packing and moving.”

He laughed somewhat, “Ron is unconvinced you’re happy about it.”

“Really?” she frowned, not realizing she had been so obvious even Ron picked it up.

What Ron had done completely surprised her. He always said he was going to be a Cannon forever and agreeing to play for the London team was never an option. It was one of his wedding gifts to her, he said, so she wouldn’t have to leave St. Mungo’s.

Ron should have told her first before making such huge decision. He was certainly making things more difficult. Even coming last night to make sure she took a break, waiting for hours until she could, without a complaint, then sitting with Harry up in the gallery were all quite strange. She must have not been paying attention but since when did he become so thoughtful and interested in what she did?

“Well, I didn’t see it coming. I was so looking forward to being a Cannon wife.”

The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Harry. He had heard her rant too many times about her impending membership to that club.

“You shouldn’t marry him,” he repeated what he said to her yesterday. “Even if you learn to love him a second time, what’s different that you won’t lose the feeling again? Seriously, you’re thinking about it too much.”

She guessed that the fact that she had not called off the wedding was misleading. The truth of the matter was she wasn’t thinking about it anymore, even though Ron’s recent behaviour was making her feel extremely guilty about what she had decided to do. And while in the heat of the moment, when she found out about Roy and was being pressured by Ginny for a response about Ron, she might have considered briefly going ahead with it just to spite Harry, it did not take long for her to calm down and realize that her breaking up with Ron was not connected to Harry being Roy.

If it were not for Ron being in the midst of Quidditch playoffs she would have told him already and Hermione was resolute that Ron would be the first to know. She heard herself saying to Harry the same thing she did Ginny.

“I know you mean well and I appreciate the concern, but I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“What is it that you can’t talk about?” he said with a hint of frustration in his voice.

Hermione looked at him and said with finality, “Harry, let it go. Trust me, okay? I’ll do the right thing.”

And for the first time, she wondered if this concern about her apparent path to unhappiness meant more to him than she thought. Of course, if it did then he would have told her by now that he was Roy Hunt, and that she shouldn’t marry Ron because she should be with him. Yes. She was losing it. Again.

“You’re right,” Harry finally relented, “I should trust you. You always do the right thing.”

“Well, almost always,” she smiled sheepishly, remembering Roy.

“Yeah, almost always,” he smiled back.

Hermione recalled what made her decide to sleep with him. No wonder Harry did not sound too distressed about her sleeping with another man.

“What?”

She must have laughed. It was tempting to tell him but accepted the fact that they would never share a laugh about the humorous moments of that night.

“I just remembered that day when you were shot, at the hospital, they thought I was your wife,” she watched his reaction as she said it and kicked herself for setting herself up to be more hurt than she already was. “It seems funny now.”

“I actually heard that,” he replied, with a strange amused expression she had never seen before.

“You did?”

There was no need to panic, yet.

“It sounded intense. Anyway, thanks for stepping in and being my next of kin.”

“That was nothing.”

It was just nerve-racking when they asked her permission to cease trying to get him back from clinical death. She refused and was quite glad that she wasn’t thinking like a Healer at that precise moment in Toronto.

“You were crying when that machine stopped working.”

“You’re my friend, you were dying. I got a bit emotional,” she admitted, it wasn’t totally improper.

“You said something.”

“About?” she asked, holding her breath.

“Something about there being so much to tell me. Do you remember?”

“It was a very distressing time, Harry.”

She did recall and she would never forget. The overwhelming need came over her as she thought he was indeed about to die and it had to be said. She told him that she loved him, that her life would never be the same without him. Then she told him she loved him, again. What if he heard all that? That would still be friend appropriate, wouldn’t it?

“Here’s a thought. Pretend that I’m about to die. What would you like to say to me?”

An involuntary nervous laugh came from within her, and she almost snorted her coffee. He was asking, maybe he didn’t hear her after all. She quickly came up with emergency evasive maneuvers, lame ones.

“I don’t know, Harry. This is way too early to be doing this.”

He laughed with her but with seriousness, insisted, “Come on. You said there’s so much to tell me. Tell me one thing.”

“It’s different,” she was smiling, embarrassed at what she had gotten herself into and not prepared to say exactly what she wanted to tell him. And if there was so much to tell him then, there was definitely more to tell him now. “It’s very different when you’re actually dying.”

“Don’t you think it’s wrong for you to hold back until I’m about to die? I could step off the curb today, get slammed by a bus and you won’t get to tell me.”

That was graphic. Of course he made sense. It was a foolish game that people played. Might as well admit to that.

“You’re quite right and it’s really stupid to wait but I still can’t tell you. How about I tell you when we’re 60?” she proposed, thinking by then all this would not matter.

“What if I don’t get to live ‘til 60?”

“Let it be an incentive to stay alive then.”

She was only half kidding about that, sometimes horrified by his risk taking behaviour. His signing up to be an Auror was a good thing except for the dangers she knew he would be more than willing to take.

He persisted, “If it’s important enough for you to tell me as I’m dying, it should be more important for you to let me know while I’m still alive.”

“Harry, it’s embarrassing and it’ll be awkward. I can’t tell you.”

“This is me. You can tell me anything.”

“I hate to break this to you but that’s not true,” she had to be honest about things she could be honest about.

“Will it be less embarrassing if I do the same?”

“Are you telling me that you have something similar to tell me?”

“Loads.”

This was unexpected. She couldn’t tell if he was teasing or serious. He looked serious.

Harry continued, “Perhaps we should start being more honest with each other.”

Hermione thought that was rich coming from him. Or maybe he was going to confess.

“Really? Then you should have no problem going first,” she challenged without sounding threatening.

She noticed the hesitation as she awaited his answer. He was thinking about what to say and for someone who had ‘loads’ to tell, he couldn’t come up with one to tell her, either. There was no reason to get her hopes up.

Her pager sounded. She was needed urgently in the Spell Damage Ward.

“I have to go,” she made her empty coffee cup disappear and got up. Sensing that he felt bad, she tried to make him feel better, “Don’t worry about it. I can relate. It is easier said than done.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he tried to explain. “Can we do this later? I mean, sooner than we turn 60, maybe in a few days?”

“That sounds good,” Hermione answered. Strangely, it gave her something bright and cheery to look forward to and could not resist saying to him, “Until we do, maybe you should watch out for that bus when you step off the curb.”

He nodded and smiled as she left to attend to a patient.

She was curious about this being-more-honest-with-him proposal that he had. Doing it after calling the wedding off and after telling Ron he gave up his career with the Cannons for nothing sounded like splendid timing to her. It would be like spring cleaning, an emotional cleansing. Who knows? She may even go totally mad and tell him the entire truth.

The rest of that morning flew by quickly. By the time she had endorsed her last critically ill patient to the Healer taking over, it was 10:00am. Tired and sleepy, she went home, flopped on bed with her eyes closed, wondering if Harry heard her confessing that she loved him, wishing fervently that when she woke up, it would be the day after the Quidditch Finals.

More than one could ever imagine, Hermione was rooting for the Cannons.

XXXXXXXXXX

19 February 2006 – London Auror Office – 2 p.m.

“Thanks Harry,” Kingsley said to him as Harry changed in prison clothes, “But are you sure you’re well enough to do this?”

Delilah did discharge him from care earlier that day. He had to continue taking the muscle strengthening potion for another two days but if he could walk out of St. Mungo’s under his own power, he should be well enough.

“I’m fine.”

Doing something was better than moping at home, and thinking about Hermione and Ron. Not 12 hours ago, he almost gave in to the temptation to tell her he loved her. Didn’t he say he would wait until after the Finals? Trust her to do the right thing? Ron was distracted enough as it was.

But the uncertainty was killing him. If she stayed with Ron he was already thinking of the stupid things he would have to do and it was driving him crazy. Not knowing exactly was frustrating and he was really curious what it was that she wasn’t telling him, those words that she said to him as she thought he was dying. He wanted it so much to be the same thought he had about her.

When he saw her sleeping in his room, he struggled to rein in his desire to join her. Harry missed her, touching her, kissing her, more so now that he knew how it felt with her than when he was clueless before. He was almost certain that his undisciplined muscle group that did not escape her notice was the way it was not so much because of the potion he was drinking. No, he did not want to spend time thinking about her and not be able to do anything about it.

The Quidditch Finals could not come soon enough and the Cannons absolutely had to win.

Work was a great escape and he happened to be at the Ministry moving into his carrel that afternoon when loud, very creative profanity came from within Kingsley’s office. Dean, on loan from the Hit Wizard Office, was already at the minimum security prison as Roy Hunt but the Auror trained to relieve him backed out. A sudden long term illness came up. As Mad-Eye would say, they did not make Aurors like they used to. Harry was to replace him.

“Be extremely careful. A few of Waxball’s Squib recruits for the Toronto mission have already died of mysterious causes. If Roy was going to be rubbed off it would be during the transfer or within forty-eight hours of it,” Kingsley reminded him.

A techie implanted a tracking device into his left forearm as he took the Polyjuice pill and instantly transformed into Roy Hunt.

“The wards between a couple of unused shelves within the prison library have been temporarily disabled and we’ll Portkey you there the first time. You’re to switch with Dean and he’ll come back in the morning. There will be a few Aurors there and they will make themselves known. Any questions?”

“They know you sent me in his place to Toronto. They’ll be expecting this.”

“That’s why we don’t think they will try anything,” he replied, “But they might and we could get lucky.”

Or they could. He remembered what Hermione said about stepping off the curb. This wasn’t exactly heeding her warning about watching out for that bus.

“Any word on Floyd?”

He had discovered the text message on Roy’s Toronto issued phone and instantly realized who those cryptic notes he kept crumpling into Quaffles were from. Floyd and likely, Floyd's associates, knew he was Roy.

“Not a trace of him. Do you really think Floyd is here in London?” Kingsley asked him.

“Unless he’s sending all these notes and messages from Toronto, which I doubt,” Harry replied.

“The Toronto MLE didn’t find those phials that you said existed,” Kingsley told him the bad news.

“They should be able to find a collaborating witness easily. The room had at least twenty people in it when Floyd took it.”

Kingsley gave him an apologetic look, “Not one. And Toronto isn’t investigating into the matter further. Their experts said that such a potion only exists in legend. It would be pretty hard to keep a lid on something like that.”

His face grew hot as he heard this. How could it be that not one person recalled seeing the phials? Something was definitely not right. It was a cover-up likely involving a Ministry insider and it stunk to high heaven.

“They think I made this up?!”

“No, they don’t,” Kingsley tried to calm him down, quite aware of his volatile temper, “They think what you remember about the incident may have been altered by your near death experience.”

“Great! That makes me feel loads better. They’re not saying that I’m a liar, I’m just crazy!”

Harry vented on his boss. He was extremely irked about the mere suggestion that the incident could have altered his memory. In the first place, Floyd drank the potion way before he was injured. And secondly, he did not want anyone making light of his thoughts as he was painting the Ghoul floor with his blood.

“Look,” Kingsley took him aside and said to him firmly, “You know how it works. It’s nothing personal. You can work the lead and find the evidence but without proof we can’t do much.”

He calmed down. Kingsley was right. He was annoyed at Floyd for tracking him down and seeking some form of revenge but more importantly he had to find evidence that this potion existed because its existence had serious implications.

The switch went without a glitch. By nightfall, Harry as Roy was deeply entrenched and mingling with Hunt’s fellow low-lifes. He had his wand on him most times, disguised within a pack of cigarettes, and a single anti-Polyjuice pill, just in case, rattling by its lonesome in a prescription bottle. It was a good thing that the MLE made certain Hunt’s prison mates were not from his old hauntings because while Harry and Dean knew who his associates were, it would have made things more difficult had they had to prove over long periods of time that they were really Roy.

Not much was happening save for the shower proposal Harry had to not-so-graciously decline. He’d have a laugh about that with Dean at some point. The prisoners were ushered into the common room after dinner, where he found out Monday night was movie night. The feature presentation was ‘Escape from Alcatraz’.

“They’re playing mind games,” the burly man to his right said to him as the lights dimmed and movie started, “They don’t show anything else but prison break movies.”

Harry did not reply but could sense the friendly guy and the bespectacled man on his left were buddies and had just made eye contact.

The man to his left whispered, “Are you Roy Hunt?”

“Who wants to know?”

“The boss lady wants to meet you.”

Interesting, meet, not kill, yet. He focused on what Roy would say and do.

“I know a few of them boss ladies. Which one? A name would help.”

“She hired Waxball to hire you.”

“Oh, that one. Well, Waxball’s dead, some colleagues of mine have been showing up dead, and she’s obviously not dead. Why would I want to meet her?”

“She said to tell you not to worry about her. She’s not interested in killing you,” friendly guy whispered as the room fell silent.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? What does she want?”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

“Tell her, thanks, but no thanks.”

“Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice.”

A loud blast rocked the facility followed by instant lightless darkness. He could hear the scampering around him as the occupants tried to exit the room amidst panicky shouts from the guards to stay where they were and the wailing of sirens overhead. A few tried Lumos spells but that didn’t work well. Peruvian instant darkness powder.

Harry felt his two new friends each take an arm and knew he would be taken to her. He would let them knowing Kingsley would find him and resisted transfiguring the cigarette in his hand just yet. It was big risk but he wanted to meet their boss lady.

“I’m ready,” the man to his right said. “The wards should be down by now.”

“Hold on, Roy, this will not be pleasant. On three,” replied the other as Harry prepared to be Side-Alonged, “One, Two…”

Crack!

They were in a small, cold, dingy room, the sound of dripping water nearby. A single, dull, yellow light lit the centre of the furnitureless and windowless space, dust on the wooden floor white and thick.

“Leave him,” a woman’s wispy voice came out from the shadows at the corner.

Harry tried hard but could not see her face. Four more figures emerged, two in the front and two in the back, watching from under hooded cloaks, as the two who brought him Disapparated, likely back to prison.

They did not act like Death Eaters but there were similar bands of criminals always cropping up. And this boss lady was definitely not Lestrange; she would not be modest or exhibit reservations about killing a non-entity like Roy. As the tall man off to his right approached. Harry nonchalantly stuck his disguised wand behind his ear as he was searched; they now had the rest of his cigarettes and his pill container.

“Who are you?” Harry asked the woman in the shadows.

“The more important question is ‘who are you?’” she replied, still barely audible.

And as she did, the tall man who had approached took his hood off, unveiling disgustingly slick black hair and a set of steel grey eyes full of open hatred. He should have known.

Floyd.

Before Harry could reach for his wand, he was hit by a binding curse and a mushroom cloud of dust erupted around him as he crashed on the hardwood floor. Floyd knelt down and sucker-punched him on the face so hard he immediately tasted blood, lots.

Now quite concerned for his life, Harry’s mind went into overdrive, thinking of what to do if the Aurors didn’t arrive soon. He figured breaking the binding curse would be the key first step. Wand.

From the corner of his eye he spotted it a few inches from where he fell. He tried to summon it by will, thought the situation called for something desperate, like learning a magical skill for the first time. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hatch a plan with Floyd’s weight on him and the choking sensation he was beginning to have as blood pooled in the back of his throat. He could only watch as Floyd uncapped the pill bottle, forced the single anti-Polyjuice capsule into him, and covered his mouth and nose, snug and tight, with a rather large palm.

Harry struggled physically in his mind, wanting to move but couldn’t. He needed air, and he needed it sooner as Floyd waited patiently, mocking him. The git wasn’t going to let go until he swallowed the pill.

28. Exam Room 13

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.

29. The Journal

Chapter 29. The Journal

Breathing fractured, chests heaving, they clung on to each other tightly, not wanting to let go, feeling the pounding of their hearts. Did he hear her right?

His mind raced through different scenarios in a somewhat least to most desired order.

She said it to Roy Hunt.

She imagined Roy was someone else, maybe Ron.

He imagined it. She never said it.

She knew he was Roy and the words were meant for him.

Okay. So that last part bordered on delusional. If Hermione knew he was Roy, he would have been jinxed by now, many times over.

He couldn’t believe that she was in love with Roy. How could she feel that strongly about someone she just met and barely knew? Personally, he did not believe in love at first sight and as far as he knew, neither did Hermione; especially not Hermione. But there were already so many things he knew of her that she proved wrong in the past few days, including doing what they just did, when they did and where they did.

Harry pulled back and looked into her eyes, puzzled. If she said and meant the words, was this why she was so mixed up about making the decision to marry or not marry Ron, the thing she couldn’t tell Ginny or him about?

“Did you just say…um…that you loved me?”

That took a lot to get out. Her eyes met his and she had a perplexed yet amused expression.

“Why would I say something like that?”

A bucket full of ice cold water just splashed all over him.

“I was asking myself the same thing,” he admitted, red in the face but was almost sure he heard right. “I must have imagined it.”

Definite awkward moment.

“You must have,” she concurred then suggested, “We should get dressed.”

“You’re right,” he moved away, pulled his boxers and pants back up as she found her wand and undergarment, “Jimmy might walk in and think this is part of patient management.”

Right beside him, still flushed and weak-kneed from what she just did with Harry, Hermione didn’t think that it necessary to share with him that she sent the intern on a wild goose chase. She had hoped she could be alone with him long enough to give them a chance to talk and him the opportunity to confess, if he wanted to. Neither the talk nor the confession happened, although, she was quite surprised at the swiftness they got to home plate.

So, that was what it was like with him. Indescribable, unimaginable, beyond belief. She would have never thought it possible that such a feeling could ever exist even for a brief moment, and just thinking about it made her insides flutter pleasantly. And like after any other amazing experience, the question that begged to be answered was when would it happen again.

Hermione had to keep her wand hand from trembling as she removed tell-tale signs of what just took place, unsecuring the room to the way it was before, feeling enormously guilty about Ron and about breaking so many institutional and moral rules in that one act. It was foolish to do it, to risk it, but the moment screamed at her and there was no holding back. That reason was definitely not one that would hold up in an inquiry.

She didn’t mean to say the words out loud but she lost it when she heard him say her name. It was a good thing Harry thought he imagined it for the last thing she really wanted to have right now was a conversation with Roy Hunt about what she just couldn’t keep to herself.

This farce that they were engaged in was getting to be quite troublesome. For a second she contemplated outing him, and just dealing with it once and for all but she restrained herself, thinking it better if they talked about it when Harry was good and ready to do so. If she felt guilty about this she could be sure he did, too, and if she were concerned about Ron he would be, too.

Out of the blue, she heard him ask.

“Why are you still engaged?”

“Why do you care that I am?”

“What makes you think I care? I’m just a stranger you met at a bar.”

“Not anymore, you aren’t,” she couldn’t resist pointing the truth. “If this isn’t the one time thing that you thought it would be, what do you think is it?”

“Is it not obvious?” he replied.

“No, not really, and I’d rather not jump to conclusions. What do you want out of this?”

Now wasn’t the time to come up with theories.

“I…”

Harry was disrupted by the sound of the swing doors into Exam Room 13 clashing against the hard wall. It made them both jump, and Harry, she noticed, had taken out a cigarette. She couldn’t help but think the time for having one was definitely past.

She looked at their intruder and wasn’t sure if she would laugh or be angry for his interruption. It was Jimmy the intern, at least it looked like him behind a stack of books hovering precariously in front of him obstructing his view. So, he was resourceful, figured the answer out and armed himself to prove he was right. It was only a matter of time before…

Crash!

“Sorry,” he muttered as he tidied up the fallen books on the counter. “I was looking into your question…”

She interrupted, “Later, Mr. Jingle. I’m at the end of Mr. Hunt’s um… physical assessment.”

That drew a grin from Harry. It was, in a way, true. Summoning his chart and flipping randomly through the notes, she was unable to concentrate on the task at hand.

Unflinching, Harry reminded her why she was there, “So, am I fit enough to be discharged?”

Hermione replied poker-faced, as she signed him out, “Fit as a race horse.”

She figured she should make her exit. His piercing gaze was so uncomfortable and she was fighting the urge to kiss him once more. It was a good thing the intern was there.

“Would you like to see me again?” he asked.

“Do you think it’s necessary?” she answered him with a question, probing, thinking if they were going to see each other again, that decision was not going to be hers.

Seriously, he replied, “I rushed you through that examination I kind of feel bad. I know you like to be thorough.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Hunt,” she assured him. Why did he have to be so considerate? “I think we both got what we needed.”

“But what if I still need to see you?” Harry insisted.

She searched his face, pondering the many probable reasons why Harry as Roy would want to see her again. This meeting tonight, she figured, was unexpected. The fact that he sought help at St. Gregory’s made her even wonder if he was trying to avoid her. But surely, he couldn’t think this sham should go on forever. Or was he offering her the same service he had provided her twice now, the extent he was able to give?

Once before, Hermione had questioned his intention. She could not do that anymore, not after seeing in his eyes the inner conflict and desperation that she also felt. To openly want her as Harry was filled with complications. He may have still been considering if it was worth it. Ron would be devastated and he was probably waiting for the Quidditch finals to end, too, before doing anything about it. Impatience had always been Harry’s weakness.

“I suggest giving it a few days, it could pass,” she said to him.

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then, you know where to find me.”

Maybe she shouldn’t have encouraged him like that, but her hormones were doing the talking. Already, her need to be with Harry was as strong as it was earlier, unquestionably fuelled by his obvious desire to do what they just did again. How foolish of her to think that once with him was going to be enough.

She scolded herself for acting like a self-control challenged, hormone-crazed, teenager. This fleshly yearning that she had suppressed for a long time and thought dead was at near obsessive levels. It would be tragic if, after all this time, the definition of their relationship would come down to just that.

This wasn’t right. What they were doing to Ron and to each other was not right. She never would have thought in a million years she would allow this but this was stranger than fiction. She should really start looking at the forest and not the trees. For while she somewhat understood the conundrum Harry was in, how many more times would it take for her to say that enough was enough and to start questioning just how much he really cared about them if he continued to willingly deceive her. She felt compelled to do something to prevent them from going down that path, thinking that if they were going to do this, they had to do this right.

Her answer to Ron’s proposal, which had been obvious from the moment he mentioned it, was a definite ‘no’. After the Finals, she would tell Ron and then summon all the Gryffindor courage she could, to take the chance that she wasn’t sure Harry would ever take. She would confront Harry about whether or not he wanted them to have something beyond the platonic relationship they had.

That was all it would take - a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. She wanted to know exactly what he meant when he said he was wrong thinking it was a one-time thing. Just thinking about it made Hermione remorseful for she knew that they would definitely hurt Ron. She hoped Harry would have the foresight never to tell Ron he was Roy from Toronto.

With that thought, she handed his chart over to the intern and told Jimmy to carry out her order. There was only one, and it was to remind Mr. Hunt not to use other potions with the muscle strengthening concoction.

As Hermione left Exam Room 13, she looked at the non-stranger who had been staring at her all night, fantasizing about a normal, open and loving relationship with him. She could only hope that if Harry indeed wanted to make amends for their recent hurried ‘examination’, he would not do so as Roy Hunt.

XXXXXXXXXX

21 February 2006

Forty-eight hours later, the need to see her would not pass.

Harry had been avoiding her, immersing himself at work, where Kingsley had ordered him not to be at, with the little concentration he could afford it. He was bursting to tell her not to marry Ron, move in with him and snog her senseless, not necessarily in that order.

Having her see Roy again was not a good thing, adding to the lies he would need to hide from her. He had a feeling this would end badly. She asked Roy what he wanted out of this and he could only have made matters worse had the intern not interrupted, for the moment she walked into the room, he wasn’t totally in character.

It bothered him that Hermione did what she did with Roy. Yes, he realized how hypocritical that was not thinking it before and during, but it hit him hard after he left the hospital. Her interaction with Roy had a raw feel to it, almost instinctive and unprocessed, as if she was allowing her basic impulses free reign around him. Knowing Hermione for so long, he had not seen this coming, and wondered; after what they did at the hospital, what was it that she wanted out of him?

He hoped it was about the same thing that made her go out with Roy in Toronto for the thought of her wanting more from him was downright scary. He shouldn’t have stared and wanted her so overtly. He shouldn’t have said to her that he was mistaken to think Toronto was a one time thing or pestered her about the possibility of seeing her again. She didn’t want to but in the end left it open; and she left it for him to make that decision.

It was very tempting. Her lack of inhibition and candidness with Roy was addictive; her touch, the feel of her against him, her scent, her lips on his and everything else, intoxicating as he had never experienced before. He was dying to find out if she would be the same way with him.

His alter ego was bent on acting without conscience buoyed by the fact that Hermione found him attractive and responded to his amorous advances. While Harry desperately wanted and needed to be with her, he felt that each time he did that as Roy, the lies brought them farther apart.

I love you.

A whisper now deeply etched in memory…was it real or merely a figment of his imagination?

For a moment, he allowed himself the fantasy that she did say it and that the words were indeed meant for him. Maybe it was premature to think she wouldn’t be interested in him after Ron. Maybe talking to her as Harry, asking her point blank if she had any romantic feelings for him, without mentioning Roy, would be the way to go.

The Quidditch game was in a few days. Harry would only have to deal with chance hallway meetings and Ron’s invite to have dinner with them tomorrow night. The limited interaction would make things easy enough and he should be able to manage this compulsion to touch her. He would try to be good, be an exemplary model of patience and stay off the juice.

He willed his attention back to work. A small picture of Floyd was on page 4 of a Toronto daily. He had been arrested after a scuffle in a pub and was in a Toronto jail awaiting trial for the post-Valentine’s Day incident at the Ghoul. No mention of at-large accomplices, no mention of any potions. As far as the London Auror office was concerned, the Toronto case was closed.

As for the Waxball’s employer and her goons, Mr. Quincy and Mr. Hughes, a scan of known criminal elements in Britain did not turn up anything. Their search for that room he was taken to and escaped from was unproductive.

The link to Lestrange, while informative and useful for when they ever captured her, was hollow without evidence of this purple potion ever existing. From the time Harry Dissaparated from Floyd and his minions to the time he was able to get in touch with Kingsley, the number of living Squib and Muggle witnesses to Floyd taking the potion at the Ghoul dropped to zero.

The cover-up was complete. If only Legilimency and Veritaserum were approved methods for Squib interrogation, but Floyd knew his rights only too well.

It was late. He was tired but ached to get a glimpse of the woman he wanted to be with the rest of his life. He stopped by at St.Mungo’s and watched her for a bit from the gallery, what ifs eating him up as he saw her leave the Emergency Room with Ron.

XXXXXXXXXX

She felt like a traitor, sitting across from Ron, who was telling her how his day had gone. He had dropped by to remind her to take a break and while physically she was with him, the rest of her wasn’t. It was two days after the Exam Room 13 incident and it was quite difficult to not think about Harry.

Hermione had intended to steer clear of Harry like he had the plague. Much to her chagrin, Harry had not really sought her out, making her avoidance of him insignificant. No, she did not want to see Harry, really, but it would have been nice if he wanted to see her. Argh! She hated this feeling thinking she was a bit too old to be having it. How she wished she could talk to Ginny about this.

There was always work. She completed her alternative potion research proposal and submitted it to ethics. Unfortunately, it was against St. Mungo rules to work everyday of the week so she couldn’t work after tonight. With Quidditch and her supposed wedding day close she was not on schedule anymore. Once again she had so much more to think about. Ron had given her another surprise.

Hermione had to hand it to Ron for knowing exactly what to do to work her up to what he wanted to happen. He revealed another of his pre-nuptial presents earlier that day and she should have insisted that she did not want it.

“You have a diary?” Hermione asked, still groggy, an old book with a faded orange cover in her hand.

“Not a diary,” Ron corrected, “A journal.”

She did not bother to tell him there was no difference. It was just so unlike him to be jotting down anything on a regular basis and never saw him do that.

“Since when?”

“Since we got together,” Ron was amused by her reaction, knowing it was truly a surprise, “Go ahead, open it and read it.”

“But, Ron, this is private.”

Hermione wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know. She was going to break up with him.

“I want you to know everything there is to know about me,” he reiterated, “I don’t want anything private.”

“I appreciate the offer, but ‘no’, really.”

“Please,” he insisted, and turned the cover over for her. "So, you can understand me better."

First the Cannons, now this. Maybe she should just tell him right now.

“The first one is about how I felt when we first kissed, do you remember that?”

He smiled and it too brought a smile to her face. How could she forget? It was just before he and Harry were to go to Cannon Camp. She just moved in and he was helping her set things up when he made his move in the kitchen. The kitchen. They joked, saying it was appropriate that he would do it in his favourite room. The subsequent passages brought her back in time. They were young, in love and it was so long ago.

“I didn’t write in it everyday,” he explained, “Just during extremes of emotion, particularly when I felt or thought something that I couldn’t tell you. There are a lot of my feelings about you and Harry in there.”

She wasn’t really up for another one of their Harry fights.

“Ron, I know all about that. We’ve certainly discussed Harry and I like a broken record over and over again.”

“You don’t know everything.”

Ron said those words with such surety that it jarred her. How could he know for a fact that she didn’t know everything that had to be known about that? She let him turn to the page dated about a year into his Cannon career. She was in Healer school and Harry was in the hospital. They had a big fight when she told him she would be at St. Mungo’s to help Harry recover from his injuries, his alcoholism and his depression. He didn’t want her there; she did it anyway. He sent her a Howler in essence telling her he was going to break up with her if she insisted. He was pretty miffed about the fact that she called his bluff and ignored his tantrum.

Hermione couldn’t understand why he was so jealous of Harry. Harry was their best friend and he needed them during that difficult part of his life. She was not doing anything wrong. How could Ron even suggest to her not to do everything that she could to help Harry out. It was so unreasonable she thought that if Ron was going to break up with her because of that then she wouldn’t want to be with him anyway. Ron never followed through on his ultimatum.

But as she read his words in the journal she found out where the jealousy was coming from.

“He asked me if he could go out with you, like on a date, before we became a couple,” Ron said as she got to the very same passage in the journal.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something but didn’t find the words. Did he just say what she just heard and read?

“I said ‘no’, and all this time with you I’ve been expecting him to tell me how he shouldn’t have asked me or listened to me then. I know you two have grown closer over the years and I keep on telling myself that, as you said, there’s nothing to be jealous about. I can’t help but think that every time he sees you as that one person in his life who is there all the time, he’ll clue in and want you to be that someone he once thought you could be. I can’t compete with him, Hermione, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“Ron,” Hermione finally found her voice, feeling horrible for him, “That was so long ago.”

She didn’t know what to tell him, really. All she knew was that he shouldn’t have felt that way all this time up until a few days ago because there really was nothing going on between her and Harry. But now? What could she tell him that would be truthful and not hurt his feelings? She seemed to have acquired a sudden case of thought paucity.

“And then there was what happened to your Mum and Dad. I couldn’t ask when we argued about them before your left for Toronto, afraid of what your answer would be. But I’ve often wondered if Harry asked you, would you leave me to be with him.”

Silence followed, begging for a filler, something like the Jeopardy jingle but longer and less annoying. While he wasn’t asking a question she felt pressure to respond, to reassure.

Hermione figured she had a few options. She could say something like ‘Harry would never ask’ or just blurt out something insensitive like ‘within a heartbeat.’

“Ron, if I were to leave you it won’t be because Harry asks me, okay?”

Ron thought about her answer before replying, “Okay.”

She knew that wasn’t much of a reassurance.

Ron left her to go through the rest of his journal but her mind was stuck for a while on his revelation. Did Harry really want to date her? Was this what this was about for him? Wanting to find out if he was missing something before she and Ron got married? And the one time wasn’t enough?

He said he couldn’t compete with Harry, and that he didn’t want to lose her. How could she tell him that he was right about the former and the latter had already happened some time ago? She would have to be such a horrible person to be able to say something that, even if it was the truth.

Ron was right. There was a lot about Harry and him that she did not know about, events during their year as Cannons, a lot of them quite disturbing, particularly the ones leading up to Harry’s early Quidditch retirement. Ron wrote about the night Harry was injured with details neither of them told her about, and looking back, she understood now why Harry was the way he was after and why he and Ron never talked about it.

It was ugly, Ron’s jealousy. There was no other way to describe it. Each time Ron expressed his envious side it was always followed by remorse, a realization that what he had just felt, thought and perceived was wrong.

Hermione cried reading it and could still vividly remember one dreadful line Ron wrote during Harry’s time at St. Mungo’s.

‘I wonder if she’ll give me the same kind of attention had I been the drunk and depressed, moron that Harry is. Maybe I should do a Potter during a game and find out.’

She confronted him that morning about it, wanting to know if that was true. Laughing, Ron brushed it off, saying that was so long ago. He was so young and was an idiot then, pointing out what Hermione already noticed, that most times each ill emotion passed quickly and some admonition about how stupid it was to feel that way followed.

It wasn’t funny, not to her. Somehow, Hermione was not comforted; thinking the worst of what could happen if she ended up with Harry.

“I invited Harry over for dinner tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

“Harry is coming for dinner tomorrow,” he repeated. “And Delilah, too.”

“Delilah?” The flirtatious bimbo?

“Yes. She said she wanted to get to know Harry better.”

I bet she does.

“I know you’ll probably be tired. We can just go out…”

“Oh no. I’ll cook.” I wonder if she’s allergic to anything…

“Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.” I’ll make certain it’s in everything I serve…

“So, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About Harry and Delilah.”

You don’t really want to know. “Oh, that. I don’t think it would work.”

“Why not?”

For one, he’ll never hear the end of you teasing him about dating a Dogooder. “She’s tall and she’s blonde. It won’t last,” Hermione knew she was right about this. “Does Harry know you’re setting him up?”

He shook his head, grinning, “You know he told me to stop doing that years ago. I’ll tell him it’s your idea. He wouldn’t mind if it comes from you.”

It does make perfect sense to have the man I love date someone else. It wasn’t worth an argument.

“He’s not seeing anyone nowadays, is he?”

Seeing? No, not really. “Not that I know of.”

“Great!”

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hermione went back to work.

Ron’s pre-wedding gifts were driving her insane. He gave up the Cannons, looked past her Toronto transgression, and bared his soul by having her read his journal. Breaking up with him was going to be more difficult than she ever imagined it could be. How could she even think of going out with the real Harry now knowing that was the one thing Ron was so afraid would happen?

Knowing this made her uneasy for all the talk about love being able to conquer all, she now cared more for how Ron would feel than being personally happy. After reading his journal, she could not, in good conscience, brush aside Ron’s deep seated envy and hope he’ll be okay, at least not in the immediate future.

Hermione thought about Harry, how she wanted to talk to him about taking their friendship to a different level, quite upset that it would have to wait until she was sure Ron would be fine with it. And if Ron never would be…he would eventually, for sure. If only she had not read the journal.

Throughout that night at St. Mungo’s, during lull moments, she questioned how true her love for Harry was if she was willing to give him up for Ron.

A/N. I know - give up Harry for Ron? Is she nuts? In her defense, she did spend 10 years of her life with Ron.

Any thoughts on why Ron made her read his journal?

30. Quidtch Talk

Chapter 30 – Quidtch Talk

Somewhere in England that very same night, a tall man with grey eyes was in a private meeting with Bellatrix Lestrange, the most powerful Dark witch of her time. He had just finished pitching a scheme enduring intense, uncomfortable scrutiny throughout it. While he really did not need her help in the execution of his plan, this was her turf and it was common courtesy to offer her a part of the action if she so desired.

“That is indeed quite an interesting proposal,” she said to him after his pitch.

“I thought you’d like it,” he waited, knowing not to speak more until she did.

“I admit, gambling in sports is an easy way to make money,” that sounded positive, “What’s in this for you?”

“I need the dough.”

“Revenge?” her eyes pierced his.

“No,” he said calmly, “This is all business.”

“But what if he doesn’t think she’s reason enough to do it?”

“He already knows about Toronto and yet he stays by her. Saving her from the humiliation of her disgraceful act should be more than enough reason for him to do whatever we want. And if it isn’t, then we follow through,” he replied.

She shook her head.

“What would it gain us if we did that? I want this to be a sure thing. You must learn not to give your victims options and not limit yours by acting imprudently.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have Black blood running through your veins. Think your plan through and always be prepared to kill.”

XXXXXXXXX

It was mid afternoon. Chilly February air crept through a slightly ajar bedroom window and nudged her awake. She turned over to get up and heard a dull thud on the floor.

Ron’s journal.

She picked it up, protective of it, feeling emotionally exhausted from thoroughly reading it in its entirety. Without the jealous bits about Harry, the journal was really their story, eight years of companionship and caring, their best and worst of times, chronicled through a different and quite enlightening perspective. In some places he had inserted a photograph of her, of them, of an important event, sometimes insignificant in her view but precious to him because of how it was related to her.

Hermione again broke down a few times, laughing and crying at the same time, as she read some of the passages Ron wrote about his really bad first year as a Cannon.

‘The team has been losing and nobody is having fun playing anymore. There is quite a bit of unrest amongst the boys. They’re looking for something, anything, to fill the absence of that addictive rush of winning and success. She fills that void for me. She loves me whether we win or lose and thank Merlin she constantly reminds me!’

He also spoke of resisting the appeal of groupies…

‘It gets very lonely on the road sometimes I lock myself up in my room and turn to this journal. I can almost feel her when I write. The guys tease me because I never join them and I can’t. Knowing what’s out there for us, I refuse to be tempted. I just think of her and of how lucky I am to be loved. I’d be a moron to waste what we have.’

…and explained why he never complained when she missed a game.

‘I know she would be here with me if she could, but I understand that she can’t come and watch me play all the time. School is important to her and learning to save lives is her priority. I’m so proud of her. She’s going to be a magnificent Healer. She’d definitely laugh if she read what I’m about to write. She’s right; Quidditch is just a game.’

Ron was such a bad sweet talker in real life she would have never known thoughts like the ones he wrote about her ever existed had he not let her read his journal.

‘I can’t help but notice how far we’ve gone as a couple. We rarely argue nowadays. I have been working on thinking before saying, learning to say what I want to say in a way that doesn’t annoy her. So many times I’ve seen her bite her lower lip and I know she’s doing the same. She definitely knows what sets me off, too. It’s great that we both are working hard to make our relationship better. But once in a while, I deliberately throw in an obviously disgusting and weird idea just to tease her. I know it’s not right but I miss the arguments sometimes and I miss how smashing she looks when she gets all riled up.’

It spoke volumes of how he truly loved her.

‘Today, I am the luckiest man in the world. She said ‘yes’! Finally, after so many years, she said ‘yes’! We’re getting married! She talked about moving closer to the Cannon facility after, setting up her own research lab. How can she even think about giving up St. Mungo’s for me? It can only mean that she truly loves me.’

‘But I don’t want her to stop doing something she loves because of me. I know she did say we would have to spend more time with each other after we married so I thought it best not to put down her offer. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. If only I worked closer to London. Maybe London. But I’m just one of many Keepers, one needs to be the best Keeper in the league for the other teams to take notice.’

‘That’s it! I’ll work harder to be the best so other teams like London will take notice, trade for me or offer me a transfer. She wouldn’t have to move. She can stay at St. Mungo’s. Brilliant, but best keep it to ourselves in case I fall flat on my face…'

Her St. Mungo future had been a misunderstanding from the start but it was a huge surprise to her that Ron had planned to get a job with the Flamers months ago. She put herself in Ron’s place and remembered her reaction when he first told her, shock and disappointment. Hermione was so immersed in the turmoil of her own emotions at that time it was only now that she realized she hurt Ron that night for sure. And from his writing, she had been doing that a lot lately.

A recent, quite forcibly written and tear stained set of words jumped out of the page.

‘She did it, I know she did. Fuck, it hurts…how could she? Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? All I’ve done is love her and this is what I get in return.’

This was followed by a more composed note…

‘It was my fault. I should have apologized to her before she left for Toronto. Considering how upset she is with her Mum I shouldn’t have told her she was just like Fiona. I should have known that would make her want to prove that I was wrong. I’m such a git. And why didn’t I just ask her if she was in love with Harry? She certainly was expecting me to.’

She closed the book shut and placed it inside her bedside drawer. By reading the journal thoroughly, her hope was to find some silver lining, some indication that Ron had overcome this deep-rooted envy he felt for Harry. She thought he had outgrown all that and was taken aback that it was this bad. After all, if one had to look at Ron’s life since Hogwarts, he pretty much had the life that he wanted.

Looking back, Hermione understood how difficult it must have been growing up in the shadows of his brothers and of Harry, that even in adulthood he was constantly trying to prove to himself through others that he was as good if not better than they were. Losing her to Harry, would, to his simplistic mind, mean he wasn’t.

She wanted to tell him that whoever he was right now was fine, that he shouldn’t have to prove his worth all the time. But how could he believe that if she did end up with Harry it wasn’t because Harry was better than he was?

For a brief moment while reading the jealousy-riddled parts of the journal again she felt like some trophy, some object he wanted to have that no one else would have. That was an unsettling feeling but in the end decided that Ron did not mean it that way, particularly not after all this. In their years together he had always allowed her to be her own person and he definitely knew that she was against any notion of ownership of another being.

An overwhelming guilt about her current affair with Harry hung over her but Hermione refused to believe the tiny voice in her head saying that Ron gave her the diary to make her feel that on purpose. To her, Ron was not capable of something scheming and manipulative like that. And besides, how could he know she would feel this guilty.

It was his desperation to hang on to what they had that was making him act this way. And about that silver lining, she really didn’t find such thing. Instead, she found plenty of reasons to give them another chance.

Hermione thought about Ron, and now dreaded the coming of the day after the Quidditch finals. Her resolve was wavering, unclear if this was just the guilt eating away at it or really her own uncertainly of whether or not she was doing the right thing. The decision was simpler to make when Ron’s love was more abstract, when she had not known he cared about her that much. A second chance seemed reasonable. She judged herself quickly, thinking it heartless and selfish to still consider breaking up with him. Was she prepared to live with that the rest of her life?

Resolved to do what most guilt filled people did (be extra nice to the person they wounded), she got off their bed and into the shower, the patter of warm water on her bare skin fully awaking her senses. She wanted to take a break from all the thinking but there was still the nagging question that had been plaguing her about just how strongly she felt about Harry.

It seemed so easy for her yesterday to conclude that she couldn’t possibly go ahead and confront Harry at the risk of hurting the man she had been with for years. If that was a measure of love then she was certainly coming up short.

Keeping things in perspective, with Ron, she had a long history. Harry was an uncertainty. Not only was this continuing deception eroding into her confidence, he had stayed away for three days and she was beginning to doubt his interest. After all, he did admit that he was mistaken to think what they were going to engage in was a one time thing. Maybe, twice was enough.

As much as that possibility hurt, and it was a possibility, a part of her preferred it to be true. She was not looking forward to having to choose between Harry and Ron if Harry wanted the same thing she did. Living with whatever choice she would make would be extremely hard and that philosophical question about how truly she loved Harry would be put to a real test then, should that time come. At least for now, not being with Harry was familiar; intentionally choosing to hurt Ron wasn’t.

For probably the first time in her life she really didn’t have a plan of action for the quagmire she found herself in. Put simply, she did not have the heart to break up with the fiancé she knew for a fact loved her and the man she wanted to be with was continually deceiving her, his intentions quite unclear. If she had to make a decision now it seemed like the answer was obvious.

She shut her eyes and emptied her mind of thoughts. An even more interesting idea came the moment her mental break ended. Let go of them, both.

Having no energy to dissect that novel inspiration, she turned to thinking about how she was going to spend the rest of her day. There was something about today that she should be doing. No, she didn’t have work. It definitely had nothing to do with the wedding.

When it finally dawned on her what it was, she quickly got out of the shower and dressed. Ron had invited people over for dinner, well, Harry and what’s her name, the flirt of a colleague that she had. Why on earth did she say she would cook? She’d be lucky to be able to poach an egg properly in her state.

Relax…it’s fine…it’s dinner for four…you’ve done this many times before… with your eyes closed…Ron has such an appetite you cook for this many people even when guests aren’t coming…you’re one of the best potion makers in the world…cooking is basically the same thing…

Ron arrived with some wine and something non-alcoholic for Harry shortly after she got to the kitchen. The guilt fuelled better treatment would have to wait. She toiled furiously for most of the afternoon and ignored the worried glances Ron cast her way every now and then, Ron getting the drift that she did not want his help, staying away from the hot kitchen which mirrored its occupant’s pervading mood. She was somewhat miffed at Ron for not resisting her offer and letting her do this, jealous of Delilah for being Harry-worthy, annoyed at Harry for not seeing her in three days and fuming mad at herself for feeling all of the above.

Her displeasure at Harry seem to fester even more as she kept on remembering what happened at the hospital, what he said to her after, an intention, a want to see her again, how she even left him that opening to see her again as Roy, if it came to that, though she hoped not. And she hadn’t seen one strand of his disorderly hair in almost three days, probably wouldn’t have for another few had he not been invited to dinner.

She magically cut more cucumbers, fresh tomatoes, and lettuce absentmindedly thinking one could never have enough of those, the banging sound of knives against the cutting board reflective of how she felt. Potatoes were rinsing under the kitchen faucet, chowder was simmering and thickening away and, in checking the oven, it seemed the roast was almost done, perfectly brown on the outside, juices trapped in the inside, just as her mixed emotions were.

I rushed you through that examination I kind of feel bad. I know you like to be thorough.

Stupid her. It was obviously just some line to make her feel better. And forget the scorching expression he had for her just before. Had she had more experience with men she wouldn’t have felt so special.

Their front door opened, their black haired guest peeked into the kitchen door from afar, waved at her as he said hello and smiled. She waved back, getting satisfaction from imagining herself rubbing pie on his haughty face.

Jeez, I may not have enough time to make desert. She ordered Ron to get some from the local wizard pastry shop, and heard him tell Harry if he was smart he should come too.

Hermione was so worked up about the ‘dinner’ that she didn’t notice she had opened a half-litre bottle of oak matured mead and started drinking. An hour later, when she heard more voices in the living room, she surprised even herself that she had already set the table and laid out the food, got rid of the apron, had ‘de-bushified’ her hair and was dressed. Boy, was she in a rush to get this dinner started and over with.

She downed the last drop of wine from her glass and set her goblet in the sink next to an empty bottle.

Warm and loose…better than steaming and uptight…

“Honey, Delilah…is here,” Ron faltered mid way through his introduction as he and their guests stared at the dinner she prepared.

“What?” she snapped at them, wondering what, if anything, was wrong.

“This looks lovely, Hermione. Thanks for having us over,” Delilah spoke first, her eyes moving over towards Harry as she said ‘us’.

Hermione smiled politely, “You’re welcome.”

Obvious slut.

“I am kind of hungry,” Harry said, staring right into her eyes.

“And we all know you can have such a huge appetite,” she retorted, coldly.

Lying bastard.

“I guess I should have invited more guests tonight,” Ron said.

Fine, she may have overdone it. Looking at the amount of food she had cooked that afternoon, it was indeed enough to feed the entire extended Weasley family a few meals.

“Or dragged me out of the kitchen sooner,” she replied with a fake grin, remembering he didn’t really ask her if she wanted to have dinner with Harry and Delilah before asking them.

Insensitive swi...person.

Seeing that the table was already set, they sat and started to eat. Apparently, Harry, who sat across from her, and Delilah, who was to his left, were going out after; something about dancing. Harry didn’t particularly enjoy dancing. She forgot something.

Conjuring four of them, she added them onto the table.

Twang!

“Knife. For the roast,” she plainly told a surprised Harry as one had landed and stuck into the table right in front of him, vibrating to and fro from the force.

“Thanks,” he said back, eyeing her curiously, as he wiggled it off and set it aside.

Ron passed the salad over to their other guest and said, “So, Delilah, Harry tells me you grew up in Canada.”

Bowls materialized out of thin air and a ladle began filling them up with chowder.

Delilah answered as she put some greens on her plate, “Yes, Vancouver. I really don’t like talking about it, it was years ago, but it came up when we were chatting about his recent trip to Toronto.”

Then she looks over to him, again. He was looking at her, too, attentive, smiling. With a flick of a wand, Hermione sent a bowlful of thick, hot, steaming soup zooming towards Harry so fast he moved his chair back on reflex, breaking his eye contact with Delilah. Too bad he caught a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. She set it down in time, more gently than she intended.

Hermione acted as if nothing was amiss, as she served Delilah’s and Ron’s, “Yes, Harry, tell us a bit more about Toronto.”

Harry inched his seat forward, slowly, “There’s really not much to tell. I was working.”

“Really,” Hermione was trying not to grit her teeth, “It’s too bad you can’t talk about your work, or do you find that convenient sometimes?”

Not loose enough. She needed more wine. Pop!

Ron laughed as he replied, “Yeah, I would love to have that excuse.”

She filled her glass, swallowed a few mouthfuls, and filled it again.

Ooh…that feels nice. You should really eat something. Soup maybe…

Ron continued, food in his mouth, “People always talk to me about Quidditch.”

“But honey,” she said to him sweetly, “You love talking about Quidtch…Quid-ditch. My, is that such a hard word to pronounce or what?”

Delilah was still smiling politely as she noticed Harry and Ron giving each other worried glances. It was wonderful not to really care.

“So, Delilah, do you follow Quidtch…Quid-ditch at all?”

“I’m a huge fan. I played while I was in school back in Vancouver.”

Just my luck; another one of those athletic types Harry is so fond of. I should have known and picked a more cerebral question.

“Really? What position?” Harry asked, Delilah’s eyes fluttered, Hermione stabbed a baked potato with her fork, cutting it in half without meaning to.

“Chaser.”

“How fitting,” she murmured a bit too loudly, she guessed, for Ron grabbed the wine bottle and moved it away from her, far away.

“What she means is, you look like you’d be one,” Ron interjected.

Look, sound, act…she’s definitely a Chaser.

“Did you ever play?” Delilah asked her.

She shook her head, opting for the safe answer, “Spectator.”

Ron added, “She’s Muggle-born and she’s not too comfortable with heights. She doesn’t like Quidditch much.”

“I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like Quidditch.”

Was she getting cheeky with the hostess?

“I’ve never met anyone who never met anyone who didn’t like Quidtch…Quid-ditch,” she replied pleasantly and drank more.

“Um, Ron’s a Keeper,” Harry broke the awkwardness.

“And such a fine Keeper he is,” Hermione declared to Harry, who she just noticed was looking particularly dashing across from her.

A sudden image of herself climbing up the table and snogging him was causing her to smile abnormally.

“I know,” Delilah replied, her irritating voice effectively killing the wonderful picture, “Have you always been a Keeper?”

No, of course not, you dimwit. Hmmm, this seafood chowder is actually good, not as runny as I usually end up with. I wonder what I did differently.

“I guess,” Ron said modestly.

“It’s a lot of responsibility…” Delilah was working on Ron, who was turning a bit red in the face, distracted enough Hermione took the opening and started another bottle of mead.

“Big responsibility,” Hermione concurred.

“To keep the opposing team from scoring.”

“And he does that so well,” Hermione thought she’d join in the praise. “Ron’s the best Keeper in the league. He’s got a huge arsenal of great defensive moves.”

Ron was brimming from ear to ear as he heard her compliment, looking at her with cheerfulness in his blue eyes. Good tactic. Build him up then cut him down. Maybe she should actually start making him feel bad, so he wouldn’t have to drop from such a lofty mental place.

“Which one is your favourite?” Delilah asked him.

“I don’t know. There are so many manoeuvres to choose from.”

I’ve certainly seen a lot of them lately.

“I always liked the double eight loop,” Ron continued.

“That’s when he flies at a very high speed in a figure of eight pattern in front of the three goals,” Hermione explained, feeling a bit chatty. “It’s kind of his last stand, when he’s desperate. It’s quite disorienting to watch.”

Kind of what I’m feeling right now with all the stuff he’s throwing at me to make me stay.

“It’s just too bad he can’t win the game all by himself,” Harry joined in the conversation.

“What do you mean?” Delilah asked.

Ron answered kind of annoyed, “I can’t stop the opposing Seeker from scoring.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Hermione mumbled as she chugged more wine, hoping he would have better luck in the real Quidditch match because the Seeker they were talking to was scoring pretty heavily, in her opinion.

“It is a team sport. I do have to rely on our Chasers, Beaters and Seeker to help the team win,” Ron said glancing over at Delilah.

“It’s so unfortunate the rules of the game are so rigged that it almost always favours the Seeker,” Hermione added, her comment met with a bit of a glare from Ron, “But it’s true. I mean, if you really look at it, Chasers only score ten points per goal but when the Seeker catches the Snitch, not only is the game over, it’s worth a hundred and fifty points. Imagine how many goals your Chasers have to be up quickly to make the opponent’s Seeker a non-factor. Great if your team has a talented Seeker or really good Chasers.”

Not like the one you have here.

“And why are the rules unfortunate?” Harry was puzzled.

“The players should be more evenly matched. It’s not fair,” she was feeling sorry for Ron.

“How can it be unfair? Those are the rules. It’s a game,” she couldn’t believe Harry would even argue with her about something as plain as this.

“Yes it is a game and let’s not forget that,” she may have bitten back with sarcasm a bit too much. It was definitely the wine doing the talking, “But frankly I think because of the fact that they usually score big and can single-handedly win the game for their team, professional Seekers are quite pompous, big-headed arses who think too much of themselves.”

That drew laughter from both Ron and Delilah. Harry had this amused expression. Immediately she was working on what to say or do to wipe that off his face.

“Ouch!” Ron loved it, “I didn’t realize you had such a poor opinion of Harry’s former profession.”

“I just call it as I see it.”

She was taunting him. His non-response was annoying her even more.

“Harry’s retired,” Delilah came to his defence, “And he’s not like that.”

Except these days he’s proven that he is. And letting a woman talk for him…pathetic.

There was that sappy, syrupy Delilah look again. Ugh! Two bottles of mead down and the night was still young. Pop!

“Sorry, Ron, but the team with the better Seeker does win,” Delilah was making her move, blatantly so openly.

“Usually,” Ron answered.

“Usually, but not always,” Hermione weighed in. “Some Seekers don’t play-to-win. Some of them don’t take the Snitch even if it was right in front of their noses begging to be caught. They just want the game to go on and on. Right, Harry?”

She looked at him pointedly and her words effectively rearranged his expression to one less merry. He answered with some seriousness.

“I do admit. In the past, I have foolishly let go of opportunities to catch the Snitch early in the game, but it’s not for wanting the game to go on and on.”

“Why would you pass up a sure win?” Delilah asked a very good question.

Ron offered an explanation, “It’s an unwritten rule in professional Quidditch but most Seekers live by it. They’re not supposed to end the game before both teams have at least ten points. So Keepers have to let the opposing team score a minimum one time. It’s better for the fans, and what’s good for the fans is good for business. But mostly, it’s professional courtesy not to drub your opponent with such a humiliating loss.”

“That’s such a noble thing to do,” Delilah’s voice was now like sharp metal grating against metal.

“Maybe so, but it could cost him the game,” Hermione wondered if she and Harry were talking about the same thing. “It would be a pity if that happened.”

Harry agreed, “Especially in a game so important.”

Ron butted in, “Guys, it is only a game.”

It’s only a game.

She decided that alcohol and deciphering double talk was not a merry mix. Ron was acting a bit strange, she was hammered and Harry was looking at her in a way that made her self-conscious. Why did she get the feeling that only Delilah was on a different conversation? She was likely just imagining things.

Delilah leaned over closer to Harry, no doubt sharing with him a top view of her suddenly ample bosom and said something out of earshot that made them laugh. To his credit, Harry was trying to focus on cutting roast and the potatoes on his plate. He had to try very hard. Ron was sniggering, looking very pleased.

As she watched Harry and Delilah over her perpetually emptying wine glass, she felt compelled to say something loud and interesting enough to break their side conversation, “Professional courtesy aside, I still find that one of the most impressive Quidtch plays one could ever witness is when the Seeker dramatically captures the Snitch mere moments into the match.”

Ron’s was a bit shocked, “Really?”

“Yes. Is the idea that strange?”

She must have scared him off because he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head almost at the same time.

“What about it do you find impressive?” Harry asked plainly, his attention now all on Hermione.

Hermione answered, slowly and deliberately, talking directly to Harry, thinking it appropriate because he did ask the question.

“I’m not quite sure what about it impresses me but I watched this match once in which the Seeker did just that. It was unexpected, breathtaking; the swiftness of the events surrounding the catch and the rush of the immediate victory quite electrifying it sent me trembling in places I never knew existed in me. There was spontaneity in the moment, an enticing unpredictability, leaving me no time to think but just react on pure instinct. Immediately after, there was a pleasant disorientation. I didn’t exactly know what happened but all I recall about it was that it felt great. So I’m a fan. This Seeker has the spectator in me hooked. I would definitely want to come back and watch him play again.”

Bollocks! Did I really just say what I just said?

There was way too much silence at the table. She definitely overdid it. Ginny did tell her once she was a perfect example of how disinhibiting alcohol was. It was true, that was what she was thinking, but it was definitely not the message she wanted to get across. From the glint in his eyes and the reddening of his ears she could tell he definitely got that message loud and clear.

Even Ron picked up on the underlying tone, “I think your depiction of it is more impressive than the move itself. You got me wishing I were that Seeker.”

“Anybody can be that Seeker, Ron,” she teased, more to make Harry jealous than anything else.

“I wouldn’t mind being one tonight,” Ron replied, his hand was under the table stroking her thigh as the word ‘backfire’ reverberated in her head.

Delilah merely chuckled as Ron gave Hermione his take on how sexy should look like. They were adults of at least average intelligence. It would take a moron not to know what that was about. She smiled, pleased that Harry wasn’t smiling anymore, more pleased that Ron needed both hands to continue eating.

Off in the distance she heard a phone ring and their apartment buzzer sound. Ron got up to see who was at the door and Delilah excused herself to take a phone call, leaving her and Harry at the table.

“I should tell you that the Plumpton Pass that you are impressed with is a move that loses its appeal with spectators rather quickly,” he continued their Quidditch conversation.

This could be interesting.

“Speaking from experience, Harry?” Hermione couldn’t help the dig.

He winced at her jibe, got up and walked around the table to her with his drink in hand, settling himself down where Ron was just moments before. He was close, too close for comfort.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Even as a Seeker I find the temporal satisfaction of a quick score leaves me wanting for more. And I am almost certain that, whenever I do that, I rob the crowd of some of the pleasures they were expecting to get by coming to the game.”

“True,” she was drunk and not only from what she had been drinking since before dinner, as she imagined what pleasures she had been robbed of that night and wondered if he had any plans to give them back to her.

“I do think there are other more impressive plays than that.”

“Like what?”

There was no mistaking what they were doing. Harry lifted the bottle of NABB up to his mouth, and as she followed it with her gaze, she never wished she was a butter beer bottle more in her life. She now had utmost admiration for her self-control.

“It takes more than one specific play to really get a crowd going. But if I were pressed to choose I would have to say a well executed Wronski Defensive Feint is up there on my list of crowd pleasing moves.”

Hermione raised her brows, “Really? How so?”

He pushed Ron’s plate aside and leaned forward. She couldn’t move even if her life depended on it as she listened to him explain the finer points of the Seeker manoeuvre.

“It’s all about stick handling, how a player rides his broom, and how he stays on it while his hands are busy somewhere else. I usually get spectators involved by hovering, doing a few different moves and well masked fouls, riding my broomstick just low enough, to let them know I’m there and interested, looking for the Snitch, but really in no rush to find it.”

“For how long?”

“Long, as long as it takes to convince them I am seeking. Then I make my move only when I know they’re ready for it, when I’m ready, making sure my broomstick is as high up in the sky as it possibly can be and then ride it straight down towards the pitch, flying in slow at first, then picking up speed as I get closer, to the point when I feel nothing but the crowd’s warm welcoming embrace, see nothing but blur and hear nothing but wind and excited gasps from whom I am trying to please.”

Merlin, help me…

“The faster I go the hotter everything gets and then just as I am about to crash and explode, I stop, I stay motionless within the pitch and wait, I wait for the split-second stillness to be broken by the tight pulsating emotion from the crowd, feeling and hearing their tension release, perhaps with a cry or a moan, or the yawp of my name.”

There it was again, the yearning to smother him with inappropriate affection, curious as to how that would play out. Hermione’s wine glass was empty so she grabbed Ron’s and drank fast. She did not even notice that Harry took a few swigs directly from an open mead container.

Control…control…Ron is in the other room…control…

“And then what?”

“That depends. At that point I go with what the crowd wants. I could do it all over again or I could catch the Snitch and score,” he paused then asked, “Now, if you were the crowd, which would you prefer?”

“Um…I don’t know. I might have a better idea if you show me exactly what it’s like to be your audience.”

“Be careful what you ask for,” he replied, then added as they heard Ron’s and Delilah’s animated voices in the next room “If you can escape the clutches of your fiancé, I should have no problem ditching the woman you so eagerly want me to date.”

She couldn’t tell if he was serious or being sarcastic, although he didn’t sound or look angry. Delilah was Ron’s idea but she thought that detail quite unimportant at the moment. What he said sobered her up pretty quickly but seemingly not enough to prevent her from asking a burning question.

“Are you playing me like you do the other women in your life?”

He shook his head.

“I’m done playing. Are you?”

“What do you mean?” What did he mean?

“You’re engaged, you had an affair with a stranger and you’ve been flirting with your fiancé’s best friend right in his face,” he pointed out quite matter of factly. “If you’re not playing then tell me what it is that you are doing because I’ve been watching you all night trying to figure it out and frankly, I haven’t got a clue.”

Before she could even think of how to answer, Ron and Delilah joined them, thankfully still amused and laughing about their conversation they did not notice the heavy weight that was now in the room. Harry moved first, away from her, as they found their original seats.

“What’s so funny?” he asked them.

They explained, Hermione outwardly attentive but not really listening, something about the Queen’s Cup finals being between the Chudley Cannons and the Toronto Beavers, and how badly they felt for the person who was going to call the game. The Cannons and the Beavers. Then more laughter. She smiled, laughed along, glancing over to Harry once in a while only to notice he seemed to not want to look at her.

So, he was done playing. He could have been less cryptic but at least now, she knew with some certainty that she had to make that difficult choice soon. It was liberating and at the same time scary that they could now talk about their friendship and possible non-platonic relationship openly, at least to each other. And at least they could talk about Ron. Thank Merlin for oak matured mead.

She fielded the requisite wedding questions from Delilah, listened to the boys discuss game tactics, and, before she was sober enough to say Quidditch normally again, she saw Harry help Delilah into her coat and disappear with her out their apartment door.

Hermione asked herself, if she did not love Harry then why on earth did that sight of him leaving with another woman hurt so much?

A/N. Drunk Hermione was inspired by Jose Cuervo :) She seemed pretty funny after a few shots.

31. The Debt Collector

A/N. The plot thickens and the last scene of this chapter I never originally intended to write - the reason why I had Ron unconscious in TCC and dead here in TPP. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 31 - The Debt Collector

Harry got into his apartment, undressed and went straight into the shower. It was around one in the morning. He had just dropped off Delilah, his feet were killing him from the uncommon activity they had just been subjected to and his mind was exhausted thinking about the rest of the events of the previous night at Ron's. Unexpected seemed to be the theme which began with a trip to the local pastry shop to pick up dessert.

"I think I've pushed her over the edge," Ron said to him as they exited their building and began briskly walking towards the pastry shop a couple of blocks around the corner.

"What happened?"

He wanted to know and didn't want to know at the same time. Ron had definitely wanted him to come with him so they could have a more private chat.

"She's stressed."

That was obvious. The perfunctory greeting he got earlier was dismissive and quite unlike the usual welcome he received. Knowing what she had done with Roy, being stressed was a reasonable reaction.

"Wedding?"

"Among other things."

He wished Ron would just say it because he could sense that the pent up emotion in him was aching to get out.

"She had an affair in Toronto."

Look shocked, look shocked…wait… you actually are shocked. But how…? Why…?

"I know. I was as surprised as you are now. But it's true," Ron saved him from having to come up with something appropriate and truthful to say. "How could she, right?"

At that point the temporary numbing of his senses was gone and the first realization hit him. Ron did not know it was Harry as Roy she had the affair with. There were other disorganized swarming thoughts and questions in his mind. He picked one randomly.

"How did you find out?"

"Not important," his query was quickly parried off, "We talked about it."

"And…"

"She didn't deny it."

"And…"

"I told her I was fine with it."

"Are you?"

"If you spent eight years with someone, you'd understand. It was meaningless to her. She had her reasons."

He immediately acquired a newfound admiration for his soon-to-be-ex best friend but hoped Ron would elaborate on what those reasons were.

"What did she say?"

"She said she was sorry."

"Was she?"

"Can't picture her not being so."

"And the wedding?"

"I love her, Harry. I can't imagine not being with her."

"I see."

They got to the pastry shop and Ron went over to line up at the counter. What to think now…Ron knew about Toronto…she was willing to go on with this seemingly purely lusty relationship with Roy…she told Ron she was sorry…he believed her… the wedding was still on…what the hell was she doing?

Glancing over at Ron, he felt an enormous amount of sympathy for what he was going through. Harry never took him for a martyr. Ron loved her, he really did, for only one so much so would turn a blind eye to the very obvious implications of what Hermione did. And the reality of it was making him more nauseous about going through with his intent to stir up the pot after the Quidditch Finals. The guilt and anxiety were taking their toll on him. He wondered about the reasons Ron deluded himself with to justify her act of disloyalty, hoping they were really good ones. He wondered whether or not he would continue to be so blind if he knew Hermione wasn't as remorseful about the affair as he assumed she was considering she had done it again and was willing to carry on with Roy Hunt.

"So, anyway, I started thinking," Ron had rejoined him with a bagged pastry in his hand, as they started walking back to their apartment, "I haven't exactly been the best boyfriend all these years and with this wedding coming up she's having cold feet. You know how I'm such a klutz with talking around her, I'm not good at that sweet-talk shit but I just want her to know how much I love her."

"And you think she didn't get that with your reaction to Toronto?"

"I don't want to leave any doubt in her mind that marrying me is the right thing to do," Ron explained, "So, I let her read my journal."

"Your diary, from years ago?"

Ron's infamous diary was what kept him sane during their first year as Cannons. Harry wouldn't have mocked him while he was writing in it had he foreseen his plummet into depression and alcoholism then.

"Journal," Ron corrected. "I'll kill you if you tell anyone else, but I've actually kept it going all these years. You know, elderly habits die difficult."

"Not telling anyone," Harry assured him, kind of knowing what he meant.

"She's been reading it like she would some textbook, like she was going to be tested on it or something. She read it again this morning after getting back from her night shift. I'm almost regretting showing it to her at all. And I think that's what's driven her over the edge. You saw her in the kitchen."

He remembered.

"What was in it?"

"Stuff, you know, deep feelings…thoughts…emotions…"

Ron struggled. Fine, details would have to be skipped as both of them were really uncomfortable about discussing anything 'deep' of his.

"Got the picture. So what do you want to do?"

"I don't know, I just want us to get over this difficult patch and get married," Ron shrugged, "I don't know what to do because all this is freaking her out. What would you do?"

Great. He made like a fish out of water that would have included gill flapping if he had some. He wished the Finals were behind them so they could have their talk, too.

"See what I mean?" Ron saved him once again. "Where does one get help for something like this?"

"Just talk to her and be honest," that was rich coming from him. "She'd know what to do."

Harry was not so sure about that last bit and Ron seemed to think the same.

"Don't you think she's got enough on her mind right now?" Ron sighed.

The obvious conflict of interest was preventing Harry from making further suggestions but if Ron was concerned about this as he described it, it sounded as if Hermione needed a break from him.

Ron finally said just before they entered the building, "Sometimes I think I should just let her go completely, let her think this through with less pressure, and that if she really loves me she'll come back and it would all be better. But I can't because I don't think I'll survive if she decides not to come back."

He understood. His trip to the pastry shop with Ron had underscored what he already knew. Taking Hermione away from him was going to be brutal.

Harry got out of the shower, donned on pyjama bottoms and an old shirt, slipped into his bed, staring up the ceiling still wide-eyed.

That was the first surprise; Ron knowing about Toronto and being okay with it and Hermione carrying on with Roy despite the fact that Ron knew. What happened over dinner was quite unexpected, too. For one, he had never seen Hermione so inebriated. Having not seen her that way he did not know what to expect.

The biting sarcasm was odd and her treatment of her friend was even odder. He felt it similar to what she would reserve for one of his dates who she definitely disapproved of, guessing the alcohol unmasked that dislike a hundred fold. But then, she was the one who arranged for Delilah to come and from what Ron implied, she already told Delilah that they were going to go out dancing.

What puzzled him more was how she treated him, as if she wanted to kill him at one minute and snog him the next. There was the knife, the soup, catching her staring at him with a dreamy expression, lambasting professional Seekers, her implying that some Seekers did not play to win, and then her blow-by-blow account of how she enjoyed her and Roy Hunt's tryst a few nights ago. Why was she overtly flirting with him in front of Ron, Ron who had just forgiven her for her Roy Hunt transgression?

Once they were alone, his misgivings about their rushed interaction surfaced and he felt a compelling need to let her know how he would have preferred to do things differently. He would have given her an actual demonstration of the Wronski Feint had Ron and Delilah not been in the other room, for her proximity and competence at Quidditch talk were wreaking havoc on his resolve to keep his broom in the shed.

And when she suggested a desire to experience it he was jolted back to their reality. Drunk or not the implications of her words renewed nagging thoughts about what she had been doing and why she was doing them. He needed the 'reasons' Ron was latching on to for while Harry loved her, he was having difficulty justifying her actions with Roy and with him, especially since it was plain that she was staying engaged to Ron.

Did she know he was Roy or was she indeed merely playing with both of them, letting loose her wild side before settling down with Ron. Or was that just all booze talking?

He was done speculating. He needed the real answer. He wasn't sure where it would lead them but he could not go on pretending he was not in love with her, so he finally opened the door for them to start being honest; with her first, then if need be, with Ron.

As Delilah and Ron came back to the table Harry noticed a fleeting annoyed expression on Ron's face. He must have noticed how they jumped apart from a somewhat intimate conversation. The rest of that evening, Ron was casting them both probing glances. Guilty, he tried his best to not give Ron much more to think about, engaging him in a conversation about how the game plan was going to change as the Toronto team had just lost their superstar Seeker to a mishap at practice, making the Cannons sudden heavy favorites to win the Cup.

Harry was looking forward to talking with her again in private. And if in the end she decided to stick with Ron, it would hurt but at least he would be free of this burden he had brought upon himself.

Harry spent an eternity tossing and turning, sleep eluding him. His eyes were shut and his brain empty save for his intent to get some rest. It was frustrating because he could hear every sound in the dead stillness of the night. The ticking of a clock, the clicking of the airconditioning as it turned on and off, the whirring of his Sneakoscope?

Someone had just entered his apartment, and his Sneakoscope would only alert him of unfriendlies. The intruder was walking to his bedroom and not really making an effort to hide it.

By then he had his wand in hand and was out of his bed, poised to defend or attack if need be. He heard the doorknob turning…the door slowly swinging in...a hand with a lit wand emerging…

"Expelliarmus!"

The spell hit its intended target and the wand flew off into darkness.

"Ow!" it was a familiar voice. "Fuck, Harry, what did you do that for?"

"Ron?" he asked to confirm as he turned the lights on, seeing his red-haired friend trying to find his wand, "Well, what are you doing sneaking up on me like that? Are you crazy?"

"I didn't think you were home yet. I was going to leave you a note to see me as soon as you got in," Ron was holding up a piece of parchment.

"What's wrong?"

"We need to talk."

Twice in less than twelve hours. What now?

He put away his wand as they walked to his kitchen where they usually had conversations. They sat along the outside of the counter across from each other and Harry asked again.

"What's the matter?"

Ron struggled. Harry had never seen him so restless and serious. He would start to say something and then stop. Harry waited patiently until finally, he had to intervene.

"Just say it, Ron."

"Harry, you're my best friend. We've been through a lot together, a whole lot."

"Yes…"

Harry could only think that any talk than began with that would not be good.

"I wouldn't be doing this unless it was really important, and it's quite important to me. I need a favour, a huge one. I can’t take no for answer." Harry did not interrupt, feeling his pulse quickening by the second as Ron continued, "You owe me."

What he said was so unexpected Harry didn't quite know what he was talking about at first. Then he remembered.

"You know what I mean," Ron said further, "From your, um, accident. I know it was so long ago but you owe me and you said it. I'm calling it in."

If he had to call that in then Ron must have been certain he was not going to be enthusiastic about being asked to do what he was about to be asked.

"It's about Hermione," Ron began, and a certainty dawned on Harry that the conversation would go bad very quickly, "I'm asking you. Stop messing with her."

"I'm not messing with her," came his immediate truthful response.

"You were flirting with her over dinner," Ron pointed out.

"She was flirting with me."

"She was drunk."

"Is that her excuse or yours? This is a conversation you should be having with her."

"This is not about her! I'm not blind," Ron had stood and was now red in the face, the veins on his neck angry as he continued to stand by the woman he loved. "I see how you look at her."

Harry had gotten off his barstool too, and met Ron's glare with an expression that betrayed him, wondering, had he been that obvious that even Ron noticed?

"How do I look at her?"

"I should have said something sooner. You've been looking at her like you do each and every woman you're about to sleep with. Tell me I'm wrong and I'll call you a liar."

Ron's blue eyes pierced through him like a cold sharp knife, waiting for a reply. He looked back at him, his heart pounding against his chest, and could not think of not being straight with him.

"I want to be with her."

There, finally, he said it. It was at that moment of his admission that he knew things would never be the same between him and his best friend. Harry had been prepared for a physical confrontation and while in the past Ron may have readily done so, he would have been foolish to get into a fight with an Auror.

"Curious what shagging her is like?" Ron asked, shaking from the effort of not letting loose the raging animal within him, icy sarcasm lacing every syllable, "She's just another girl to you. Is she the current flavour? For how long do you want her? A week or two, a month tops before you toss her out like an old rag like you usually do with your women and return her to me?"

"Forever. I want to be with her forever. I love her."

Ron laughed; a mocking, mean one.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. After all these years of just looking out for yourself, what makes you think you're capable of loving someone else?"

"Just because I haven't in a while doesn't mean I can't."

"Well, you can't with her. She's already spoken for."

"I think she should make that decision herself."

"She has. She's marrying me."

"She shouldn't because she doesn't love you."

"And you think she loves you? You should get Delilah to write you a potion script to get rid of your delusions."

"I don't know that she does but I don't know that she doesn't either."

"If you're feeling special because of her alcohol induced attention I should let you know that she does that all the time when she's had too much to drink. Think. Why would she want you? You have nothing to offer except maybe a good romp in the sack and we both know that grows old quickly with you. You're a womanizing, self-indulgent has-been whose life is not only aimless but a complete mess."

"Stop it, Ron…"

But Ron carried on, "She deserves better than you. She told me she pities you because she feels bad about what you've become. You're her charity, that's all."

"Stop it!" Harry repeated, tears streaming down his face.

"What's the matter? The truth stings, huh? Or is this part of the Potter act? What would others think of you now? You lying, two-faced, sneaky, son of a bitch!"

"Keep my mother out of this!"

"I'm surprised you're not making her an excuse for your behaviour...

That was all the verbal abuse he could take. He barely noticed and before he knew it he had decked Ron with a right hook, his knuckles stinging from the contact. Ron quickly got to his feet and with a cry charged into Harry head first, his broad shoulders catching his foe in the midriff and eliciting a grunt as their momentum caused them to crash into a glass cupboard, shattering its windows, shards raining all around them.

Ron caught him on the face with a left jab, splitting his recently injured lip again, but Harry was ready for his right, avoiding it and using Ron's off balanced position to push him away. He had regained control of his temper but Ron wasn't done. He had his wand out.

"Stupefy!"

Harry dove to his left as the spell hit his fridge, the blast creating a hole in it. He thought it hypocritical to ask Ron to stop now when he started everything.

"Levicorpus!"

He swore loudly as he barely avoided that one, thankful Ron's dueling skills were rusty. Ron had every intention to hurt him. He made an effort to get to his wand on the kitchen counter and just got it in time to unbind himself from the leg locking curse he just got hit with and dismissed the next spell with a shield charm.

"Let's talk about this!"

They were now both armed standing a few feet apart and one of them had righteous murder in his eyes. The spot Harry had punched was starting to grow a bruise and Harry's shirt was spotted with fresh blood from the cut lip Ron had given him. They were glaring at each other, both breathing heavily from their confrontation.

"This? Talk about this? You're crossing the line with her and you want to talk?! What's there to talk about?" Ron was livid and rightfully so as he sent another curse flying towards Harry.

"Protego!"

The spell bounced off on something in the background. Ron had tears of frustration and anger as he lowered his wand.

"I can't believe you would do this. You're my best friend. I trusted you!"

"I've tried but I can't let go of her either," he tried to explain, knowing it would fall on deaf ears. "I can't move on unless I do this. I love her and I have to know if she feels the same way about me. If you were me what would you do?"

Ron slowly raised his wand and pointed it at him again, trembling. Harry just looked at him, waiting, accepting, for he deserved whatever it was Ron was about to do to him.

A loud banging interrupted them. Someone, the super, was at the door.

"Are you okay, Mr. Potter!?"

He stood down and said to Harry, coldly, "You owe me. I'm calling it in and you can choose to do the honorable thing or not. Stay away from her."

"Mr. Potter?!"

Ron, who was closer to the door, walked towards it and opened it.

"He's fine, Jennings," he said to the shocked man standing in the corridor, giving Harry one last scathing look, "He's more than fine."

Ron left and Harry told Jennings that everything was indeed fine. After the man was gone, he shut the door behind him and appraised the damage he and Ron had done. At that moment, his apartment was a close reflection of his personal life. Chaos and destruction, and more to come.

It was only then that the challenge Ron had left him with finally sunk in; this debt that he was calling in, to honor or not to honor. Honor? There was a shortage in him of that lately. What Ron did not know was that he had already crossed the line and slept with her, twice.

It was a tall order. Stay away from her? It was unimaginable, quite likely impossible. And for what? He had asked Ron a favour a long time ago and owed him for that. He should have known that what he now recognized as an idiotic act was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

And looking back, the secret he begged Ron to keep wasn't really worth this payback. That night, on his very last professional Quidditch game, he was sober and his falling off his broom was not an accident but a moment of weakness, of stupidity. It seemed important then not to let anyone else know, to not be scrutinized, to not be dissected, to not feel more pity from those around him than he was already subjected to and he asked the one person who did know not to tell a soul.

Ron did not agree. Harry begged, pleaded and bribed, not taking no for an answer. Finally he relented. Ron had kept his word all these years and, as lame as the reason for his asking the favour was, had a right to collect the debt.

A/N. Would you honor the debt if you were Harry?

32. The Death of a Keeper

A/N. This Chapter is long enough. Suffice it to say that: (1) I never intended to write a Quidditch match this long and I did; (2) I never intended to write so much about Ron's death and I have ; (3) I apologize to Scott Lambert/Lambert Scott for using your name - I suspect you do exist but hopefully you're not an avid HP fanfic reader; (4)the gambling/odds/betting thing - I'm not quite sure I understand the real thing properly but I wrote what I thought it was anyway - this is fiction after all!

The mature theme of this fic continues.

Chapter 32 – The Death of a Keeper

23 February 2006 - A Muggle Diner somewhere in South London, daybreak

The bell on the door jingled as a red-haired man entered the twenty-four hour diner and shook a dusting of snow off his seldom used Muggle winter coat. He put away the piece of paper which bore an address, including instructions on how to get to and what to do after he got to where he was, touching his wand in his pocket as he did, getting some reassurance that he had it just in case it was needed.

He could hear his heart banging in his chest, its pace quickened and his senses were heightened to a level it was unfamiliar with this early in the day. Scouting the area before taking his first step towards the counter where he was told to sit, he found the place almost empty save from a burly, half asleep, truck driver at a far corner booth. He sat and kept the thick coat on as he waited, noticing that the sun rays streaming abundantly from the east facing windows betrayed how cold it was inside. He was already regretting his decision to follow the instructions he was given word for word particularly the part about coming alone.

Waving off the waitress even before she got to him, he stared at the torn and crumpled envelop in his hand. It came last night by Muggle carrier as they were having dinner with Delilah and the traitor. Thinking it unlikely to be of importance, he did not open it until in his anger and frustration less than five hours ago, after a not so cordial collection of something owed him, he took his ire out on the lifeless piece of junk that was the first thing he saw as he entered their apartment.

It was an image of her face falling off its open edge that made him stop his manual shredding of what he thought was trash mail. Repairing the damage to the envelope's contents with his wand, what he saw before him hit him harder than the punch he received just moments before that.

Nothing could have prepared him for it, not even the fact that he knew it happened. It was startling to him how one moving picture of her in an intimate passionate kiss with someone else could cause so much pain and how he could not get the image out of his mind. The details were not important but he could tell it was taken from within a hotel, the long corridor with several doors in the background suggestive that this was just outside her room.

With the instructions and the photograph was an unsigned cryptic message.

I know about Toronto.

It certainly made him wonder who it was who sent the picture to him, why they had it and what they thought they would gain by letting him know. He wondered what would have happened had he chucked the thing by accident or totally ignored it.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes must have passed, and the Muggle waitress was already eyeing him with suspicion. He really should have, at least, let someone know but at the moment, that person couldn't be his girlfriend about whom Toronto was about or his former best friend who he now completely mistrusted.

The bell at the door interrupted his thoughts and a tall man in a black trench coat and toque entered the diner. He had detached grey eyes as he walked towards the counter. In a deep hypnotic voice the stranger ordered coffee from the waitress and after she poured him one and left, he took out from his pocket an envelope similar to the one that came the night before.

"Mr. Weasley," the man greeted him.

"Who are you?"

"Who I am does not matter. What I know does."

"I don't care about what happened in Toronto."

"Well, you should."

The contents of the second envelope were emptied right before his eyes. There were more photographs of her and the same man from Toronto this time taken from within a St. Mungo exam room. Amongst the pictures was a Ministry document of the same man's arrest record.

"The real Roy Hunt was apprehended by your MLE not two days before that picture I sent you was taken. He has remained in Ministry custody all this time. I won't insult your intelligence by telling you who it was she was with that night in Toronto and who she continues to see here in London."

His eyes were fixed upon what was before him, staring but not looking, feeling incongruently numb. He blinked and a couple of teardrops fell on the Ministry document that bore the name of the traitorous bastard as he did. It never occurred to him that there could have been any explanation other than the one he immediately concluded.

A question briefly flitted into his mind and he dismissed it. She said Toronto was meaningless, that it was with a stranger. He knew in his heart then as he was sure now that she was telling the truth. The git just could not leave her alone.

As if the pictures were taken for posterity, he gathered them with care and put them away, turning his attention to the stranger who was saying something.

"If the truth about her improper behaviour with a patient on hospital property comes out, she could be suspended from Healing, or worse, stripped of her license. She would be humiliated, lose credibility and respect."

"I don't care what happens to her."

He stood up, took all the documents, and headed for the exit. However, the stranger had more things to say.

"I should say, I have admired you for standing by her, but I guess there are limits to what one can take," the tall man said mockingly, and continued, somewhat amused, "Finally ridding yourself of the scarlet woman you were set to marry? Really? Are you a good poker player, Mr. Weasley?"

He did not answer.

"The pot is rather large and I really have nothing to lose. Walk out that door and I will call your bluff."

The fact the threat was said in such a nonchalant manner chilled him. There was no time to think, nor a need to. He loved her and in spite of what she did, he could not bear to think of what she would go through if this man did what he said he would do. To not be able to heal would kill her.

It was up to him to fix this. He had a pretty good idea what this was all about, what this stranger wanted from him but he had to be certain.

"Tell me what you want."

The stranger grinned, sensing victory.

"I love Quidditch and I prefer Toronto to win."

He was right.

XXXXXXXXX

24 February 2006 - A Quidditch Pitch somewhere just north of London.

The stadium was at capacity. A sea of spectators in orange and blue swarmed like ants as they settled in and made their way to their seats, thousands still lined up outside hoping to get in. The game was mere moments away from starting; fanfare music was blasting, food and drinks were flowing freely, excited fans were chatting boisterously.

She looked around Ron's private guest box and saw lots of red hair in orange clothing. The entire family had come to watch the big event and support Ron. All his brothers and their families were there, and even Molly had been coaxed out of the Burrow, happily making sure there would be adequate refreshments.

Hermione had just seen Ron in the locker room. He was definitely nervous; his face was pale and she could feel his hands shaking as he squeezed hers. He had not seen him since yesterday morning for management had sequestered the team at their training facility last night. He was unusually somber that even his teammates noticed. The Toronto replacement Seeker was a rookie and was not likely going to be a factor, so the pressure was on Ron to prevent Toronto from scoring big. Before she went back to the stands she wished him luck, reminded him that he was the best Keeper in the league, and just to play the game as he usually did.

Fleur was talking to her about wedding rehearsals and weddings, playing big sister, droning on about what to do and what not to do. Molly mentioned that Reverend Gershom had dropped by earlier thinking the wedding was today. Hermione could barely listen. She had butterflies in the pit of her stomach, about the game and about after. The Cannons had to win.

For now she was thankful of the distraction who was seated a few rows down from them. Luna Lovegood had dyed her blonde hair Weasley red for the occasion and was causing quite a stir amongst the Quidditch fans, much to the discomfort of Neville who came to the game with her. It was not the hair that drew attention but Luna's choice of a headdress, a Cannon spearing a Beaver in a thought provocative manner, its design probably not quite suitable for a non-mature audience. Only Luna could wear such a thing and keep a straight face.

She waited with the rest. The conversation about the wedding and the rehearsal died a natural death and her mind drifted to the last time they were together, that night after Harry and Delilah had dinner with them.

They were in the living room. Their guests had just left and Ron had helped her clear the table, eerily silent, which only happened when there was something quite important on his mind.

She had behaved shamefully during dinner. She suspected that the silence was about that, about how, in her moment of tipsiness and loss of inhibition she had flirted with Harry. Ron wasn't on her case about it, about what must have been obvious and what should have evoked displeasure from him. It worried her that it didn't and they had to talk about it.

"You've been so quiet," she said to him. "Do you want to talk?

He put away the unopened Muggle mail that had come by courier during dinner, a frown carved on his face.

"I was just thinking about what's gotten into you lately."

"Clearly, too much wine than should have," she answered with the first thought that came to mind, half joking and half serious.

He smiled and replied, "You've always been naughtier after a few drinks. I should get you drunk more often, in private."

The light banter quickly ended as a clouded expression washed over them both. They were thinking about the same thing.

"I'm sorry."

"About?"

He was at least making her work for it.

"Harry...tonight..."

And the other night and Toronto…

"It was inappropriate, not to mention inconsiderate."

And cruel.

"Yes, it was."

"You should be angry."

"I know you didn't mean it. You were drunk. He shouldn't have encouraged you..."

"Stop making excuses for me," she cut him off, startling him with her impatience and biting her lip before she said something in defense of Harry.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, confused, "Do you want me pissed off? Is that it?"

"Yes!” Her tone was pleading, coaxing, attempting to convince, “I want you to be livid at me. I want you to be angry at me for being unfaithful. I want you to scream in my face for flirting with Harry!"

"Why?"

"Because you should. Because what I did was not okay."

Because it would make me feel less guilty if you did.

Ron sighed, "And if I don't feel that way would you prefer I make it up and pretend that I do?"

"It’s just that I don't deserve any of this," she said as she closed her eyes, just as frustrated as Ron was about the whole thing.

He took her in his arms and hugged her, seeking to comfort.

"Don’t be too hard on yourself. You forget too easily. You've done other things, good things too numerous to list down."

There he was again, being too nice. She had been looking for ways to lessen the blow and the fact that he was wasn't helping. He did not know the enormity of her transgression.

"It won't hurt you as bad if you're angry. It won't hurt you as bad if you let me go," she said, unable to look at him, "Just let me go."

"I can't," Ron answered, his embrace tightening even more. "You're going to have to do it. I can't imagine life without you."

Even then she had already decided but there was a considerable bridge to cross between deciding it and doing it.

She joined him in bed that night as she had countless times before. He always slept like he did not have a care in the world. Eight years with him and it was definitely over. She still loved him, but not enough to want to spend the rest of her life with him. She thought as she closed her eyes and heard his rhythmic snoring, how odd that she would probably miss that too. She snuggled up close to him, laid her head on his chest, felt his arm drape around her shoulder and listened to his heartbeat as it lulled her to sleep.

Little did she know that that was going to be their last night together. The following day, Ron had called her that the Cannons were going to spend the eve of their match at their training facility. She asked how he was and he said other than the being nervous, he was fine, though Hermione felt a lot more tension and anxiety in him that usual. It was a day before the Finals, the match he had worked so hard to get to for a long time. She thought his nervousness was expected.

"Hey," Ginny had just arrived and sat down beside her, immediately noticing her not-so-rested appearance, "God, you look awful. Those last minute wedding details must be keeping you awake at night."

Ginny was trying to be funny but knew the discussion would have to wait for a later time. Hermione was dying to talk to her about Ron and Ginny had been away on assignment in Berlin the last few days.

"Maybe if my maid of honor was around more, she'd help me out. When did you get back?"

"Last night."

"How was Germany?"

"A dead end. I keep telling the old fart the legend of the Last Hufflepuff Squib is a legend for a reason."

"I thought that story was dead two years ago."

"Well, it's got nine lives. Squibs buy the Prophet too and what better way to keep them interested than giving them hope that Helga's alleged prediction of a Squibless world is coming true. That and my boss's wife is a Squib," Ginny vented her dissatisfaction on being assigned pointless stories, then, suddenly asked, "Where's Harry? I thought he was coming for sure."

"I thought so, too."

"Hey Sis. Care for a little brotherly wager on the game?" George tapped Ginny from behind and asked.

Hermione was looking at them but not quite listening. The dull ache in her chest that was residual from last night had just come to life with Ginny's mention of his name.

"No thanks. The bookie's already got my money. You can't believe the odds they're giving Toronto to win."

She felt odd as the reality of change hung in the air. The three of them had been close friends for fifteen years. It was hard to imagine that after all of this, things would remain the way they were before, even if she was going to aim for that with Ron. She consoled herself with the fact that it usually got better over time.

"Last I heard the tease was one in twenty; the spread for a Cannon win an even hundred with the chance of that happening at nine in ten," Fred joined in.

"Wat duz dat min?" Fleur asked.

He answered, "If I bet nine Galleons on the Cannons, they have to win by more than a hundred points for me to get ten galleons back, while if I bet on the Beavers and they win, I'll earn a hundred and eighty. Of course, betting on the Seekerless Beavers to win is ridiculous."

Hermione was starting to feel as if she was his object of ridicule. What happened last night was embarrassing, not to mention painful, so much so she didn't want to see him. With Ron hived off at the training facility, Harry paid her a visit at their apartment.

He knocked. Neither spoke as she let him in, the fact that he had come as Roy was disappointing and already said a lot. They remained standing at the foyer, his eyes looking deep into hers, conflicted and begging for relief. She realized how confusing her actions must have been to him and imagined him thinking the worse, what he mentioned over dinner, asking her if she was done playing.

She could not leave him thinking that way and it was only right, she thought, that since he already took the first step last night, the second one tonight, it was her turn to show him she wanted more honesty. Hermione boldly took steps closer towards him responding to the magnetic pull of his proximity until she couldn't anymore. She had to touch and she watched her hands come up, make contact with his firm chest and slide upwards to meet behind his neck, her body pressed against his, aching for his embrace. She pulled herself up slowly, breathing shallower as her mouth inched closer to his, his warm breath falling on her lips, as she said to him.

"I'm not playing. This isn't a game to me."

With her arms wrapped tightly around his neck she kissed him, slow, arduous, as she had wanted to do for days. He pulled back and asked.

"Tell me. Who am I to you?"

It was the time for absolute truth. She joined him, way out there on a limb. She answered, they were so close and the night was so still he would have been deaf not to hear her.

"You're my best friend, the man I've loved for a long time but gave up on thinking you couldn't possibly feel the same way about me. You were my intended last fling. The stranger I went out with and ended up in bed with reminded me of you. Twice I saw you almost die and both times I almost died with you. I love you, Harry, and how I wish you never came to me as Roy and just came as you."

She stopped and was relieved of the yoke she had been carrying for days. She had tears on her face. The confusion had left his and in its place was pain; pain, not relief. Her answer was not the one he had hoped for.

On hindsight, perhaps the delusion she had led herself to believe since the night of their St. Mungo tryst and encouraged by their Quidditch talk had not prepared her for this possibility. She shouldn't have hastily concluded that when he said he was done playing he meant he was done. He was indeed done, with her. She should have thought it when he came as Roy to, fittingly, let the stranger end it as he started it, and when he did not kiss her back.

She needed a finality to all this, a closure. And as hurtful as it would be, to hear it from him was the only way she would believe it. She braced herself as she asked.

"What about me? Who am I to you?"

He paused for a moment before answering, as if trying to organize his thoughts, hopefully to find a kinder way to say it as she had been trying to for Ron.

"You are my best friend and I wish I never came to you as Roy Hunt. You shouldn't trust a liar and a traitor, and you should be with someone who clearly loves you. This is over."

Over…she closed her eyes as his words carved into her chest as a dull knife would. It was a slow, painful death. What he said was unambiguous. He was not pleased to hear that the affair wasn't meaningless to her and that she loved him, making him remorseful about the Roy Hunt affair. He said she shouldn't trust a liar and a traitor, which he obviously was. And he said she should be with someone who clearly loved her; he clearly did not.

Not infrequently she had thought about how it would be like to be one of those countless women she had witnessed him date over the years. So this was what it was like. It was great while it lasted but it was over and it hurt like hell being let go.

Before he turned away she asked him one thing. Fighting back the tears that needed shedding in payment for his glaring rejection of her love, she wanted to make sure that Ron's emotions would not be a senseless casualty in this.

“Please. Don’t tell Ron. He can’t know.”

He nodded.

He left last night with the weight of his parting words sitting heavily on her chest like a dead elephant, for a moment not allowing her to breathe, until she did as she sobbed uncontrollably. Perhaps she should have felt angrier then but at that moment there was no room for any other emotion except excruciating anguish. And besides, she had only herself to blame. She chose to get involved with Roy and with Harry. Her mistake was thinking it possible that he would treat her differently.

Hermione had grieved so much lately about not spending the rest of her life with him that after the tears were spent she did not feel too much pain; her heart was likely tired from the emotional yoyo she had gone through the past couple of weeks. Maybe it had finally sunk in that it was not meant to be.

Understandably so she did not want to see him. She was hurt and embarrassed and she wasn't sure if or when she would get over that. It was just as well that he sent Roy to do the deed for at least she could conceivably look in his face and think that he was not the bastard she slept with. Conceivably, for appropriate or not, now, she was starting to feel resentment that he chose to be Roy Hunt in the first place, never intending it to be more than a meaningless affair.

Survival instinct? Maybe. She remembered what she told Ron. It won't hurt you as bad if you're angry.

"Wizards and witches, magical and non-magical beings, welcome to the 55th Queens Cup Finals!"

A thunderous roar erupted from the crowd drowning the team introductions as seven streaks of blue and seven of orange zoomed onto the pitch. The magical mascots were on the sidelines pulling pranks on each other already. On the large screen showing the highlights of the event orange tinged cannons were blasting blue-face painted beavers into smithereens as the latter were stuffing tons of maple leaf confetti into their muzzles.

Two identical looking bespectacled, butterbeer bellied, middle aged wizards with long silvery hair, goatees and sideburns came up on the screen, familiar to Quidditch going fans as the experienced game commentator and analyst duo that usually covered games of such import.

“I'm Lambert Scott and with me to call this game is my partner in crime, Scott Lambert. Scott.”

“Lambert. What an afternoon this is going to be. Such an excitement coming into this winner take all match.”

In actuality, Lambert Scott and Scott Lambert were one and the same wizard. He was a regular at St Mungo's and without the personality unifying potion, had more interesting, but less socially acceptable, alter egos.

Scott continued, “Even in points coming in, Toronto was heavily favoured to walk away with the Cup until they lost their Seeker two days ago. What a shock!”

“Yes, what a shock indeed! Now the Cannons are the favourites. What will it take for the Beavers to steal this championship?”

“A lot of everything, for sure. Their big dilemma is not only how to prevent Mike Ryan from catching the Golden Snitch early in the game but also how to get the Quaffle past Ron Weasley. The Cannon Keeper is having such an extraordinary year.”

A round of applause and cheers broke out from the stadium as Ron was mentioned. Hermione looked up and found him immediately. Every game she attended Ron would swoop low and do a slow flyby where she was seated. Today, seeing that it was the most important game of his life, he landed in the box and was instantly in the midst of a Weasley group hug. Mouths were moving but no words could be heard as the deafening noise from the crowd and the music continued to drown everything else.

Ron was still nervous, she could tell as he extracted himself from his family and gave her a more lingering personal embrace. Then he mounted his broom and just before he took off, pulled an orange rose from within his robes, kissed it and gave it to her, unmindful of the teasing his brothers were subjecting him to.

She didn't know why but that gesture made her heart ache even more. It was so unfair to both him and her that she loved someone else. What a waste. She had thought long and hard all night asking herself that since she definitely would not be with that person, why not let Ron have what he wanted?

It was difficult to decide. Ron would not agree but he deserved someone better.

As the teams continued their warm-ups, prominent figures and personalities in attendance were being flashed on the screen; Ministry officials, sports executives, entertainment heavy-weights, each causing as much applause as their popularity indicated. Wild cheering broke the monotony of the proceedings as the image of a former Cannon Seeker was shown on the screen, Ginny indicating to her that he was in the owner's box about a dozen rows up to their right. The Weasleys were waving at him frantically to come and join them but he waved them off. Good, because, in her opinion, where he was right now was just fine.

She looked up on the screen just in time to see Harry duck away from view as a surprised crowd gasped.

Crash!

A practice Bludger zoomed over his head and bore a hole in the opposite wall, the offending sporting equipment boomeranged back to the Beaver beater who was now being restrained by officials as he appeared to want to go after Ron.

“Whoa! What was that about?”

“Those two go back a long way. A welcome back prank, I'm sure. After all Potter has not been sighted this close to a Quidditch pitch since his accident a few years back. Glad to see he still has great reflexes!”

There was cheering as Harry appeared to be okay, the smile she used to like so much now struck her as irritatingly haughty.

The whistle sounded and the game began.

Not one minute into the game the Cannons drew first blood.

“Elton, Bono and Posh worked so seamlessly on that goal,” Lambert commented.

“That’s a great start. High scoring matches are so much fun to watch. The Chasers on both teams are evenly matched although the Beavers, with veterans Justin, Bellamy and Hullbrenner, have more championship experience,” countered Scott.

“The Cannon Seeker seems content to shadow his rookie counterpart.”

“That’s a great Cannon strategy to not leave the game to chance. Ryan would likely out-fly and outsmart the greenhorn Lavigne should the Snitch appear in their vicinity.”

Then things went south quickly for the Cannons as their Chasers scored on Ron eight straight times.

"That wasn't even close. My grandmother could have caught that!" Scott said unkindly as Ron appeared to be distracted he could not make what seemingly were simple saves.

Ron's teammates were egging him on, hoping he would snap out of his stupor and make some stops. He nodded feebly but she knew something was definitely wrong as he kept on looking at a spot a few rows down on their left.

She looked through her omnioculars and scanned the area. There was a tall man with slick black hair looking through omnioculars past her to the right.

"Another score by the Beaver Chaser!”

In the split second it took for her to see what just happened she could not find the same man in the vicinity anymore. She thought no more of it as Ron's horrible game took over.

“Looks like Weasley is suffering from a terrible case of Cannon loser's lurgy reminiscent of his first year."

There was loud laughter from his partner and the crowd in blue that made Hermione feel so bad for Ron. He was definitely not himself. If only Socrates, his manager, could call time out to regroup. But there was no such thing in Quidditch.

Each time the Beavers were in scoring position, not only were their fans cheering, the Cannon fans were jeering their Keeper. It was horrible hearing the heckling and she was not even playing. She could only imagine how he was feeling.

"It seems like Socrates Mann has seen enough. Well, it's about time! They are a hundred and ninety points down. The more this gap widens their Seeker will never become a factor in the game. If they get decent performance from Killdeer they might just still win."

The back up keeper was warming up. Considerable concern and disagreement exploded from the Weasleys around her. Ron was gesticulating to his manager leave him in but the decision seemed to have been made.

The next Beaver salvo had three Chasers bearing down on him hard and fast. Moaning from the orange faithful was abruptly replaced by pleased cheering.

"A spectacular Starfish and Stick save by the veteran!"

"But one wonders if Mann will keep him in. His fate is not entirely in his hands. It appears that Killdeer is continuing to warm up."

As his teammates went on the offensive, Ron summoned Pfaff, their rookie Beater, and said something to him. Several things happened at once. The crowd erupted in a frenzy following a spectacular goal by Ron's team just as the scorer at the sidelines was hit by an errant Bludger. The referee's whistle sounded, tossing the offending Cannon beater out of the game for bumphing and, as he signaled an official's time out to get medical attention to the scorekeeper, the players took the opportunity to huddle for a team meeting.

Scott and Lambert were having difficulty keeping up, then directed the spectators to the big screen.

“Weasley seems to be having a vigorous discussion with Mann. Now, where is he going?”

Hermione was appalled and confused as Ron landed right beside her, dismounted his broom and motioned to his family that he needed a private moment. She was self conscious that they were on display on the big screen.

“It looks like Weasley has gone to get some much needed inspiration from his fiancée, the lovely Healer, Hermione Granger,” Scott commented.

There was whistling and teasing from the crowd that warmed Hermione's face. Ron seemed to be enjoying the attention, smiling and waving for everyone to see.

Lambert sighed, “Lovely indeed. She makes the best personality unifying potion, ever. Um, that’s a tip for those who need some.”

“Have you gone mad?” she asked Ron, quite uncomfortable.

He answered her with a happy, excited grin, took both her hand and pulled her to a sheltered corner where the magical cameras would not reach them. Even then they would be barely able to hear each other unless they shouted because of the continuing commotion from the crowd.

"About that second chance, I need your final answer!"

"What? Now?!"

He nodded.

Confused and disbelieving, she searched his expression and could only conclude that he was serious. Ron couldn't have picked a worst moment to force the answer out of her. Why it couldn't wait she didn't know and would try to find out at some point.

As if by some magical force the noise around them died down, the figures around them blurred away and what she had before her was only him and the decision he was waiting for her to make. It was appropriate she thought that it would be like this because this was really just about them. This was not about what her mother did, not dependent on this game’s outcome and not about Harry. And in that instant it became clear that it was the right thing to do.

"The answer is the same, Ron. It hasn't changed."

The smile on his face quickly went away. He waited, perhaps hoping there was a 'but' to her answer or that she would change her mind. What he said to her next came as a big surprise.

"I talked to Harry. I know about Roy, about Toronto and about St. Mungo's. You're just another girl to him. He doesn't love you like I do."

Ron knew everything and he talked with Harry, which somehow explained the Bludger he sent Harry’s way. That was too much information too quickly and she could not think of what else to say to him except the obvious and the truth.

"I know. But this does not have anything to do with him."

How could he still want to be with her after knowing all that? How could he even talk to her or still consider that second chance?

"You love him."

"Yes but…”

Ron cut her off just as she was about to say Harry did not feel the same way about her.

"He's a lying, cheating bastard and you're choosing him over me,” he said to her, a conclusion she knew he would reach if he found out about Harry. “I guess my life has just not been tragic enough for you to care as much about me as you do him.”

“It’s not about that, Ron. Harry and I will never be,” she tried to explain, “I would have ended us even if Harry and I didn't…didn’t do what we did.”

He sighed and gave her a weak, sad, smile, “Let’s just agree to disagree on that one.”

Hermione was going to protest but this was not the time or place to continue to explain. The moment passed and they were back in the midst of Quidditch Final chaos. Ron pulled her into an embrace and spoke into her ear.

"I figured it would happen even if we lost the game. I can’t fix it. I was stupid to think I could do it on my own. I’m sorry I can’t do much more.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she replied, thankful he had finally realized what he just did, and asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

“Don’t worry about me. It's fine. I’ll be fine,” Hermione wasn’t sure if he was reassuring her or himself, “Watch the rest of the game closely. This is all for you. I'll make you so proud of me. I'll be more Harry-like to the point you'll regret you let me go."

That last bit he sounded like he was joking; he usually came up with something like that when things got too serious or awkward. He smiled wildly at her, and, seemingly acting weirder than she was accustomed to, he took off. She got back to her seat beside Ginny, ignored her puzzled look and watched as a more energetic Ron rejoined the team huddle.

"Weasley has convinced Mann to let him stay."

"Not sure that's a good idea folks but I'm glad it's not my decision to make."

"It looks like after several attempts the scorekeeper has finally passed the Mediwizard's simple mathematical skill question."

“I actually didn't think he was smart enough about numbers to begin with!"

The official's whistle blasted and fourteen players took off from the ground for the second time.

“The Beavers have the Quaffle…the old-timer Justin is way too experienced for the young Posh…”

“And the ref’s called a foul on the young Cannon!”

There was considerable spectator booing.

Lambert was showing his colors, “Cobbing? Oh, common ref! What’s Quidditch without a little elbow action? Let them play!”

“Hullbrenner takes the penalty shot…no worries! What an effortless save! It’s nice to have the real Ron Weasley back!”

The crowd was now chanting the Gryffindor cheer ‘Weasley is our King’.

"The Cannons have the Quaffle, they're on the attack."

"Oooh! Bono just barely avoided that Bludger…he backpasses to Elton and the Cannon shoots it though the Beaver hoop and scores!"

"Now here come the Beavers. Bellamy has the Quaffle with Elton right beside her. Look at them go!"

"Bellamy drops it below for Justin. No! Posh steals and is off! This Cannon is speedy they won't catch her even if they blagged her broom. It's just her and the Beaver Keeper."

Thunderous applause broke out from the orange colored crowd.

"Wow! We may have a game in our hands. Beavers two hundred and ten, Cannons fifty."

Gasps from the crowd brought everyone's attention to the two Seekers who were now zooming side by side in the same direction.

"The Seekers have the Golden Snitch in sight. The Beaver rookie Lavigne is trying her best to get to it but the savvier Ryan is blocking her off. The Cannon can’t take it, not yet. If he's not careful the ref could call him for blatching."

Another wild applause broke out from behind her as Ron just made another almost impossible save.

"I can't believe Weasley got to that! He was hanging on to his broom with one ankle! Amazing!"

"Wait! Is that legal?"

Hermione looked and saw Ron had the Quaffle in hand, swerved to avoid a Bludger and had joined the Cannon Chasers in an attack formation.

"I don't recall any rule that says it's a foul for a Keeper to handle the Quaffle outside the scoring box."

"The Toronto bench is already protesting but the play continues. Weasley passes off to Elton to his right who draws Bellamy's defense…drops the Quaffle to Bono below…he zigzags to try and get away from the Beaver Chaser Hullbrenner…hands it up to Posh who was in a sloth grip! She’s close to the scoring box…it'll be Posh to shoot and the Chaser Justin is right in her face, ready to block. She throws..."

A large collective intake of air from the crowd and the commentators occurred as the speedy Cannon threw the Quaffle forward into the air just before she was inside the scoring area deliberately short of the goal and flew slightly into Justin to take him out of play. Her shot drew out the Beaver keeper who attempted to get to it to bat it away but an unguarded Ron was closer and he calmly picked up the suspended Quaffle.

"Weasley has it! Weasley has the Quaffle! The Toronto Keeper is in deep poo in the middle of no wizard's land! And Weasley scores! Bloody hell! What a play!"

The stadium was rocking and the crowd wild, as Scott yelled at the top of his lungs to be heard.

"The sideline ref has taken out the Quidditch rule book. Never in the history of this Quidditch tournament has a Keeper done that. And the Seekers seem to have lost the Snitch. We have another official's time out."

Already the Cannons were celebrating and encouraging their fans to do the same. Ron went over to where they were seated and slowed down enough to smile at her and wink. He had gone a bit mad, she thought to herself as she felt how much fun Ron was having out there at the moment.

Screaming Cannon fans screamed more as the ref ruled it a legal goal and the game score flashed on screen. Beavers 210, Cannons 60.

"Third restart and the Beavers are back with a vengeance. A Bludger just took Elton out of play. And there goes Posh diverted by another. Three Beaver Chasers against one Cannon, and Weasley at the Keep."

"And the Seekers have quickly found the Golden Snitch again! They're really closing in on it!"

True enough, Hermione quickly glanced on the screen and the Snitch was just feet away from the grasp of both Seekers. Back to Ron, the situation seemed dire. The Toronto Keeper boldly joined his Chasers as Ron had the play before.

"Another Bludger has taken the last Cannon Chaser out of play! It's all up to Weasley now. Four against one!"

Ron did the figure of eight loop and gained speed as the Beavers attacked his goal. Hermione held her breath.

"Justin shoots at the left most post! I think he's timed Weasley’s defensive effort well! It's going in..."

Smack!!

A resounding sound of a Quaffle being kicked reverberated throughout the stadium as Ron's foot made solid contact, sending it soaring fast towards the opposite unattended goals.

More gasping from the crowd, the commentators were speechless, even the Seekers were momentarily distracted as everyone waited with baited breath.

"GOAL!! GOAL!!"

Mayhem broke out not a second later as the game whistle sounded. On the large screen was the Cannon Seeker holding on to the fluttering Golden Snitch.

"Cannons win! Cannons win! Cannons are the Queen's Cup Champions!"

Everybody was shouting, hugging, embracing. She was crying with joy as Ron's image was up on the screen, surrounded by his teammates and being congratulated, beaming, ecstatic that his moment to shine had come. He had been announced as the game and season most valuable player and other accolades would surely follow. She was so happy for him.

She turned towards the Weasleys as the Cannons dispersed into the darkening sky in a sort of victory ritual, swallowed by the explosions of orange and green fireworks, as their fans continued to celebrate on the pitch and up in the air. The twins were animatedly re-enacting the game as if they were the only witnesses to it, Molly was in tears too, smiles and laughter all around. This would likely go on throughout the night, for days on end.

Then, something sounded horribly wrong. A piercing chilling shriek from somewhere in the crowd that was joined in by more of the same, echoing each other, infecting the remaining occupants of the stadium in waves.

Brooms swooshed as they landed near the center of the playing field where an orange motionless dot was attracting emergent attention.

She stared at the large screen and for a moment she could not comprehend what she was seeing. There was someone wailing near her, calling out Ron's name. He was on the pitch surrounded by Mediwizards and Healers, his body in an unnatural position. They said he had fallen broomless from the sky. There was talk of it being an accident, an eerily familiar accident. A dark haired figure on a broom had touched down beside him and briefly obstructed her view before joining those trying to help.

Inappropriate as it may have been Ron’s face was shown; his eyes were open, fixed and empty. She tried to speak, to ask what was happening, why was he not on his broom celebrating, why was he not moving, why were the Mediwizards and Healers not doing anything? But no sound escaped from her. Not one single muscle on her seemed capable to take her down to where he was even though she wanted to. It was as if while her mind refused to accept what she was witnessing, she had seen death too many times the rest of her knew that it was too late. Her knees gave way and she would have fallen had Ginny not been beside her to hold on to.

He was quickly taken away, presumably to St Mungo's because somehow that was where she ended up next. The staff at St. Mungo's did not even try to revive him anymore. The family was brought into the exam room, thirteen it was, and she walked towards his lifeless broken body that was painfully on the same gurney she and Harry had been on a few days ago, tears just flowing out of her as if through a busted dam.

Somebody was holding her in his arms as she cried clasping Ron’s still warm hand in hers, one of the twins it seemed. She saw Molly on the other side of the stretcher, howling, slumped over Ron's body as Bill tried to offer her comfort. And beside Molly someone, who she was certain was Harry, was sobbing openly. She couldn't force herself to look at him to confirm, afraid of what she would say and do to him if she did. She asked him not to let Ron know and he could not even do that.

There was nothing anyone could do. One moment he was smiling and laughing and in the blink of an eye he was gone. As she wept she looked at the orange rose that she still had in her free hand, guilt draining her, responsibility for his death eating her up. Ron’s voice echoed within…

…my life has just not been tragic enough…

…I wonder if she’ll give me the same kind of attention…

…I should do a Potter during a game and find out…

…I'll be more Harry-like…

As hard as it was for her to believe, Ron did it. She should have known that there was something more to his unnatural response to her infidelity that met the eye. Finding out it was with Harry was devastating but her breaking up with him was the last straw. Just as he angrily mused in his journal years ago, Ron did what Harry did during his last Quidditch game, only he succeeded where Harry did not.

...I can't imagine life without you...

…you'll regret you let me go…

When Hermione said she could live with the consequences of her Roy Hunt affair, she never imagined it would be this. She never imagined Ron would take his own life.

A/N. Hah! Finally the past is done! I'm not quite sure if I've properly conveyed the reason/s why Hermione is the way she is in the present with Harry. Let me know if I haven't.

More seriously, concerning the mature theme of suicide - I'm not trying to give anyone ideas. It's wrong to take life regardless of who it belongs to.

33. Incasabil

A/N. We're back in the present and this is a continuation of Chapter 23 with Hermione throwing the phial of potion, Harry's evidence, towards a hard surface. Harry's reaction here is what the collective reaction was from the reviews of that chapter. As you're reading Hermione's POV, remember that this is about a year after Ron's death. Hopefully she does not confuse you too much about her thoughts - if I were a shrink I would recommend medication.

Chapter 33 - Incasabil

8 February 2007 – Harry’s townhouse in Toronto

Plink!

The phial with the purple potion hit and ricocheted off the solid wall just as she expected it would. It was interesting that it even damaged the paintjob. Before the small glass container reached the floor, it went flying straight into Harry's awaiting outstretched hand.

"Have you gone mad?!"

Harry yelled and she met his furious reaction with calm indifference, certain that it would incense him further. She crossed her arms across her chest as he approached knowing she deserved to hear what was to come. He continued.

"Let me make this clear! There is a murderer out there! This is evidence against him! This is the best lead we have! I trusted you with it because you are good at potions and I do need your help! This is not some pawn that you can throw around to satisfy your need to hurt me back for what I did!"

Well, that was clear. Maybe this wasn't the time to interrupt to tell him what a splendid job he had done on that. This was a first; she had never deliberately made him angry before. He took a breath and steadied himself.

"I thought you'd be mature about this, to take this seriously at least. I did not expect you to act like a vindictive, spoiled brat!"

He was red in the face and breathing hard, and he did make her feel a bit guilty for doing what she did; a bit. Yes, it was impulsive, petty and childish. Vindictive brat was certainly close to accurate. It just seemed a fitting release to rid herself of the sudden jealous rage that overcame her. The way he talked with this Andy was just unsettling, especially since the memory of his mouth on hers still scorched. She had not felt this way in a long time, not since Hogwarts. And throwing the phial hard, watching it bounce off the wall was quite therapeutic.

She knew it was important evidence and would not have done what she did unless she was absolutely sure that it would not be damaged. Duh! Really, he should be thankful she did not throw it at him.

"Oh, relax," she dismissed his outburst, "It's unbreakable."

"Thank goodness it is! If it wasn't…wait. You knew it was unbreakable?!"

"I'm not daft to destroy evidence."

"Why didn't you just say it was unbreakable?!"

"I thought the visual demonstration would make the point clear," the lies she came up with sometimes were so lame.

An incomprehensible prehistoric sound came from within Harry.

Yup. Frustrating isn't it?

Hearing it gave her a small measure of satisfaction and made her smirk.

"How did you know?"

"Where did you get it?"

"I asked first."

"What do you think is in it?"

"You've seen it before."

"The man who drank the potion and Disapparated, was he a Squib?"

"Are you going to tell me what you know or do I have to arrest you for obstructing justice?"

Hermione chastised herself for the pleasant thought that came to mind about being arrested by him. Pathetic. Her considerably weakened defenses were getting weaker every second she was alone with him.

"Not here," she said to him, "Can we have lunch somewhere?"

She wasn't really hungry but she wanted to know more about the phial and more importantly, its contents; the more public the place, the better.

"Unfortunately most don't serve lunch this early," he snapped, short tempered. She forgot. She was still on London time. "There's a 24-hour diner a few blocks from here."

"That's fine," she answered, anywhere but here.

"It's a good ten minute walk," he told her, "Unless you want us to Apparate."

He'd have to take her Side-Along. She remembered the last time they did that. It was tempting.

Argh! Stop it!

"Let's walk."

They left his messed up living room, stepped out of his house and sauntered beside each other, snow crunching beneath their feet. It wasn't too cold that morning and there was no need to rush. It would give her time to think and hoped the fresh outdoor air would cool down Harry's understandably irate mood.

She glanced at him briefly when she knew he wasn't looking and noticed the scowl on his face. It was apparent to her that he was livid or trying to sort something out or likely both. He had not slept. He seemed to have lost some weight since she last saw him and he allowed his hair to grow longer that he usually did. She felt the familiar feeling of concern swell within her.

Hermione hated this, feeling this, wishing it would end. There was something seriously wrong with her. She had been burned and scalded badly by him before. It was prudent not to have anything to do with him. Yet here she was, unable reign in her emotions and, not one hour alone with him had caved in to his physical advances already. Not only that, she was reacting to him with more groin and loin than brains. She must have the letters S-T-U-P-I-D stamped across her face. That or the other S-word.

And this was precisely why she knew that coming to see him would be a mistake. She was not ready to let go unless he let go first. She didn't think her love for him would survive the Roy Hunt break-up and definitely not Ron's death, but it did. She should be angrier, more resentful, vengeful, for she went out on a limb, gave him her heart and he not only dropped it from the highest tree branch imaginable, he jumped on it a few times and left it for dead.

Fine, she was being melodramatic and her description perhaps bordered on exaggeration. It didn't seem bad now but the night it happened that was how she would have described it. Time had somewhat healed that wound and nursed the battered ego that resulted from it. Yes, she was still embarrassed she would rather not talk about the incident ever again but she had to admit, all things considered, how he broke up with her could have been much worse. The truth hurt but it had to be told and he was pretty good at letting go. She guessed the practice that he had with other women really helped. Of course, he cowardly chose to do it as Roy Hunt.

Then Ron died. The pain of his rejection was nothing compared to how she felt after that Quidditch match. Pain was indeed relative after all.

In the days following Ron's death, Harry wanted to talk about him and about them. She didn't. There was nothing to talk about. And even if there was, she couldn't, because she couldn't be in the same room with him. The torment of guilt about Ron dying was unbearable whenever she saw him and even more so when she heard him speak. She had no choice but to shut him out.

He persisted; she resisted. By then he had changed his tune and said he loved her, maybe out of pity, maybe out of sport. Whatever his reason for his change of heart she wasn't in the mood to play games with him anymore. To her it felt like he was stringing her along knowing fully well that she loved him following her foolish confession, choosing that fact to be the center of her ire. It was easy to focus on how their games had caused Ron to do what he did, choosing to be angry at him for the liar that he was. The alternative, her believing him again, was unthinkable.

It would have been reasonable for her to hate him, for telling Ron about them after she asked him specifically not to, for not keeping his word. The truth was she didn't hate him and, until they talked and argued this morning, she wasn't even angry at him anymore. While she did think that had he not told Ron about them things would be different, she could not in good conscience blame him for Ron's decision. It wasn't his honesty that killed Ron; her lies did. She was the only one who knew everything and was the only one who could have prevented what happened. Had she not broken up with him that night Ron would still be alive today.

Earlier, when he asked her if she wanted him back in her life she could not tell him the truth. There was such a big difference between wanting and being. It would be bad to encourage him. And while she was no longer angry at him for being Roy Hunt, she remembered the bitterness she suffered last year all too well and used the memory to push him back.

If only he would stop explaining himself and let her be, she’d be able to let him go.

The blast of a horn from a passing red street car caught her attention as they turned around a corner onto a busier street and arrived at their destination. Harry stomped his snow covered boots just outside the diner as he opened the door for her and followed her in. Muggle music was playing softly in the background, complimenting the retro decorated interior. It was the Beatles and she raised her brows somewhat involuntarily as she recognized the song.

She loves you, yeah yeah yeah
She loves you, yeah yeah yeah
She loves you, yeah yeah yeah

She noticed that there were quite a few Muggle customers present as they slid into an empty booth across from each other. There was awkward silence.

She said you hurt her so
She almost lost her mind.
But now she said she knows
You're not the hurting kind.

John, Paul, George and Ringo were killing her. More awkward silence and hopefully no blushing.

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
And with a love like that
You know you should be glad.

Harry smiled weakly at her. For Pete’s sake! She was about to draw out her wand to discretely disable the music. Thankfully, a heavily made-up middle-aged woman in an apron showed up beside them.

"Good morning, Harry," she greeted him, "Will it be the usual today?"

She wondered what that was for him, as another Beatles song played in the background.

Try to see it my way,
Do I have to keep on talking till I can't go on

"Hi Lucy. No, just coffee is fine."

"And your friend?"

She wondered who else he brought here.

We can work it out
We can work it out

"I'll have the same, thank you."

He was staring at her, the annoyance no longer there, and it was good that he did not point out that she seemed to have forgotten the reason they left his house.

Think of what I'm saying we can work it out
And get it straight or say good night

The waitress smiled as she poured them cups of coffee and left a menu for them just in case they changed their minds. She fought off the impulse to pick it up and start memorizing it so she wouldn't have to talk with him. She looked up and met his gaze.

We can work it out
We can work it out

His bright green eyes were on her, soft and kind, and she could feel that longing he had for her that was beyond the physical he had shown her so far. She cautioned herself against reading too much into it, having been wrong about it before.

Life is very short and there's no time
For fussing and fighting my friend

"How are you?" he asked, so earnestly it made her chest hurt.

She wanted him to care, she needed him to care and he sounded like he did. She shouldn't but, quite baffling to her, she still trusted him somewhat. Love was so blind and made her so stupid.

Hermione realized that they had not even exchanged civil greetings since she arrived at his doorstep. This was how bad things were between them and it always made her think that if only she never went looking for a last fling, none of this would have happened.

Life was indeed very short and it was a crime to fight and hold on to something that could not be. She bit her lower lip to keep herself from crying, tuning out the music.

"Just fine," she managed to say, "And you?"

"I could be better," he replied. "About this morning…"

"I'm sorry about it, too," she said before he apologized once more and provoked the evil twin inside her to classify the apology into lie, truth, or didn't matter.

"It's really good to see you," he declared.

Fine, that was probably true.

She could not decide how she felt about seeing him. On the one hand she missed him terribly but on the other, being with him reminded her of Ron and how he died.

"It's unbreakable."

Hermione had to steer their conversation abruptly away and that hurt her as much as she sensed it hurt him. Coming to Toronto she thought she could but just now realized she still couldn't talk about them calmly apart from her asking him again to leave her alone. She did not want to hear his side of the story or give him the opening to make that pitch which she would likely find truthful.

Across the table Harry was at a loss as to how to get through the barrier she had created between them. He guessed she was not as happy to see him as he was her. Not that he could find fault in that, but he was frustrated that even after all this time she wasn't giving him a chance to air his side out. And it seemed that she would never give him that opportunity.

For a moment he thought about pressing her for it but decided it better to let it go, afraid he might push her too hard it would drive her back to London.

It's unbreakable.

Harry knew she meant the phial but at the moment, he could say that about her resolve to end his hopes that they could find a way to be together after what happened. He heard the song that was playing and thought it appropriate for what he seemed to be facing with her.

The long and winding road…

"How did you know?"

"It says so on it."

Really? He took it out and examined the green bottle. He could not find any markings on the outside.

"Hold it up sideways at eye level, look inside and turn the phial slowly back and forth," she instructed him.

He did as he was told and true enough, there were black bold letters and numbers printed on the inside of the glass container.

"Incasabil?"

"Unbreakable, in Romanian. That's where it's manufactured. Dragon hide washings give it that property," she explained, "China makes them cheaper but I've found them less um…durable, for lack of a better term."

He set the purple potion down on the table right beside the salt and pepper shakers. Harry never heard of unbreakable phials. As she had always been able to do in the past, Hermione read his mind.

"It's fairly new technology. About a year ago, we were developing a potion that was so volatile and unstable to store we couldn't find a container strong enough to hold the mixture over the period of time needed to do proper testing."

"There is a charm to make things not break," he knew this because Hermione had performed it on the jar a vile reporter spent some time in while in her Animagus bug form.

"That's what researchers have been doing for ages whenever they had this problem. We did that but charms are temporal and wear off unless re-casted," she sipped some of her now seemingly lukewarm black coffee. "There had always been a need for a more resilient phial and it was just a matter of someone wanting one badly enough to actually think about making one permanently so."

"You invented it."

"No, I'm only a lowly potion maker," she laughed at his conclusion and it felt good that made him smile, "I suggested it to Luna. She's always looking for projects. Her boss at the Department of Mysteries okayed it and she came up with the first prototype of the unbreakable phial after a month. I did help her with testing."

"And the numbers?"

"I'm not sure. I don't normally meticulously examine a phial and I only know they put the Romanian word in to identify it as such and prevent inferior knock offs."

She flipped her phone on and selected a contact. He could hear the ringing.

"Hi Luna, it's me…yes, I'm in Toronto…yes, he's here with me…she says hello and …um…she says to stay away from the lakes…because of the Ontarian mind-numbing geese mites…Harry says hi. Listen, I have a question…the Romanian manufactured unbreakable phials…there are numbers on them…uh-huh…uh-huh…okay…thanks…I'll see you when I get back…bye…yes, I'll stay away from the lakes, too."

"Just as I thought, serial numbers," she answered his questioning look. "Luna says it's unadvertised but the Ministry recently mandated manufacturers to have unique identifiers on each of them to keep track of who they sell them to."

"That's great. That means we can track down the phial buyer. But I'm just wondering. It's a phial; isn't tracking each and every one of them a bit too much?"

"Unsettling as it is that the Ministry is keeping this mandate hush-hush, it's actually a good idea. At this time, the potions that it will be needed for are likely experimental and somewhat dangerous. Or something unknown just like what you have," she motioned to the phial on the table between them. It did make sense, "So where did you get it?"

It was his turn to give her some answers.

"Andy and I were on a stake-out and I followed a known crook, a Squib, who had a box full of phials with most likely the same potion. He appeared to be selling them, but he saw me and made a run for it. The git Disapparated right before my very eyes from inside a moving subway train. He left this phial and an empty one by accident."

"I overheard that the lab tested the empty one and it appeared unused?"

"Yes."

"Interesting, that's the second time I heard that today," Hermione seemed to be talking to herself, thinking more than she was telling him.

"What do you mean?"

"An empty phial was found near Filch and there were no potion residues in it the hospital lab concluded it had to be unused," she replied. “You know about Gringott’s?”

He nodded and was sure Hermione was wondering the same thing as he was, a highly probable London-Toronto connection.

"It seems too much of a coincidence, don't you think? Two Squibs in acts of dubious legality and two unused phials."

"True. I'll have them check the St. Mungo one if it's indeed unbreakable," she looked at him and asked, "You think it's magic enabling potion?"

"I know it is," he said confidently.

"You've seen it used?"

She seemed skeptical.

"It's either that or the Squib who's been drinking it and performing magic since last year isn't a real Squib."

"You realize that if you're right, this is a big thing."

"I do know there are quite a number of vindictive Squibs out there who could cause trouble and whoever gets rights to manufacture it will be rich and famous."

Hermione had a worried look on her face. It was the same look he had been encountering at the Ministry whenever he mentioned magic enabling potion.

“You don't believe me.”

“It's not that I don't believe you, Harry. It's just the possibility of this being a magic enabling potion is daunting. This thing,” she glanced over to the phial as if it was cursed, “If it is what you think it is, will affect not only Squibs. Granted that an uprising of Ministry malcontents and the tide of opportunists would be immediate concerns for law and order, the implications are astounding beyond the obvious political and economic effects.”

“I don't understand,” he admitted, hoping she would speak simpler English.

Hermione lowered her voice, leaned slightly forward and, with a seriousness that bothered him, explained, “The social ramification of the existence of a magic enabling potion is too complex it's unthinkable. First Squibs, then Muggles. It is the biggest threat to the statute of secrecy and it is for this reason that engaging in research on any enabling magic has been outlawed by the International Confederation of Warlocks for centuries. Can you imagine? There will be no Squibs or Muggles. The world as we know it will change and no one knows for sure if it will be for the better.”

“One would think it would be a good thing,” Harry opined.

She responded, “There will be those who will agree but there will be those who won't and will try to contain it. Even Squibs will disagree amongst themselves. This will split the wizarding world apart and it won’t be as clear who is right or wrong. And like in any ideology, there will be extremists on both ends of the spectrum who will willingly go to war if need be.”

“But a thing like this cannot be bottled up forever.”

“I agree and that’s why you need to be sure. If this potion that you have here is indeed the Squib Holy Grail, the outcomes will depend on who will have control of its use, if it can even be controlled.”

No wonder he had been meeting considerable resistance about its existence since last year.

“How do you recommend we proceed?”

“We?”

He thought this would be obvious to her.

“You know potions and there is so much more at stake in this than some Squib who wants to make money. I could really use your help, unless you don't want to help me.”

“It's not a question of want, Harry. This is a Toronto MLE case, I'm a Briton and not even a Ministry official. There are enough Toronto potion experts they will not allow my involvement in this,” she said to him and she had a good point.

“Leave that to me,” he didn't know how yet but he was determined to find a way. “But I'm asking you now. What should we do first?”

She sighed, buckling down, deciding she would indeed help, “First, we have to prove what this potion does. If we were to do it properly we really should figure out what's in it first, make sure it’s safe for human use and know how to use it. Beyond that, even I don't know if we should try and reproduce it, if it's reproducible.”

“What will we need aside from a willing Squib guinea pig?” he asked her.

“A well equipped lab, one that can handle a level five potion. Considering an unbreakable phial is needed to contain it, Merlin only knows how unstable this potion is once we uncork and expose it to the elements.”

Hearing the potential intricacy of the whole thing he was more relieved that she was around and willing to help.

“The one at the Toronto Ministry is a Level 5 lab.”

“And Harry, it would be a good idea to keep the number of people who know about this to a minimum.”

He understood that there would be parties that would resist such an investigation from happening. The cover up of the post Valentines Day incident at the Ghoul last year was a reminder of the dangers they were up against.

“That may be a problem. The entire Toronto MLE knows,” he said and told her about the morning briefing.

“Then I hope you know who to trust.”

A heightened sense of urgency and gravity fell upon them both. For a moment it was just like before, when they were trying to figure out what and where the remaining Horcruxes were and how to destroy them. For a moment he forgot that the primary reason he wanted her to stay was to woo her back. For a moment.

He watched her take another sip of her coffee and wondered if she wanted to eat something before going to the Ministry. As she put her cup back on the saucer, he said to her.

“The food at the Ministry is not as good. If you're hungry...”

Kaboom!

An explosion! The tremendous force of the unforeseen blast shattered the glass windows facing the street and rocked the booth they were in, as a sudden blackness swallowed them! Instant Peruvian darkness powder. It was deja vu.

Screaming and shrieking filled the enclosed space as the cold from the outside and smoke from the discharge enveloped the Muggle customers inside, some of whom were scurrying in the dark, falling on each other, and running into furniture. There was the unmistakable popping sound of Apparitionists in the vicinity, how many he wasn't certain.

“Stay where you are!” he shouted over to Hermione as he drew his wand out and climbed over the table to get to her, intending to Disapparate her out of the diner as soon as he made contact and confirmed it was her.

But before he could reach the other side of their booth, a pair of very large hands grabbed him by the arms and flung him hard across the room, too fast for him to jinx the asshole, that all he could do as he flew in the air was brace himself for impact.

Crunch!

“Umpff! Ugh! ” he grunted in succession.

Just his luck. Firewall then hard concrete floor.

“I have the potion! I have the potion!” a man with a squeaky voice called out excitedly.

“Everybody out!” a bossy tone, a woman's, commanded.

One, two, three cracks...

If he wasn't so worried about Hermione he might have swore more. It was so stupid to leave the bloody phial on the table. It was still pitch black. He got up as quickly as he physically could, wand still in hand with a faint light that was unable to penetrate further than its tip. Not knowing which direction their booth was, he yelled out her name amidst continued panicked shrills.

“Hermione! Hermione!”

Crack! There was a fourth Dissaparition.

“Hermione!”

She wasn't answering. If something bad happened to her...

“Herm...”

A hand surprisingly grabbed his arm tightly and before he could do or say anything else, his entire body spun in place and he Dissaparated.

34. The Elixir of Magic

Chapter 34 - The Elixir of Magic

Harry reappeared and stumbled forward, falling on the individual who Side-Alonged him out of the diner, their collective weight disturbing the soft thick snow. He had his wand at the ready quite prepared to Stun the individual who was face up and pinned down under him, until he recognized the chocolate brown eyes that stared back at him just inches away.

"Hermione! You're all right!" he exclaimed, relieved that she was.

"I will be once you get off me and stop screaming in my ear," she replied.

She was squirming, trying to carve more space between their pressed bodies only to make it worse. Her breathing was stifled and was surprisingly annoyed at something. What was it this time? And he was already quite hopeful that after their cordial conversation, things were looking up and that they were, maybe, just a couple of snogs away from getting back on track. Scratch that. Must focus on immediate task at hand. They were just behind the hedge of his yard a few feet from his front door.

He got on his feet and pulled her up by the hand without asking, having done so countless times before, irked when she abruptly snatched her hand away from his as she got to her feet. Her response to his chivalrous action made him grit his teeth and once again could not help but vent his frustration.

"Was it too much to expect you to answer to your name?" he said unkindly.

"Well, pardon me for being inconsiderate," she replied in kind, "I really should have answered after I got away from the person who grabbed and pulled me but silly me thought it best not to just in case he was still close by."

“I could have seriously cursed you taking me out of there like that without a warning!”

“Fine! Next time we’re in danger, I’ll remember to leave you behind!”

It pissed him off even more that he had already put her at risk and she had not even been in Toronto half a day. He calmed down a bit.

"Did you see any faces?"

"It was kind of dark on my side of the booth and my Hand of Glory is in my other purse," she retorted sarcastically as she brushed off snow from her hair and clothes. "Who were they anyway?"

"I don't know. Bad guys?" he snapped at her.

"Don't you get snarky with me! I wasn't the one who left the potion on the table."

What?! She was the one who started it!

She then said to him, "We need to talk, securely."

He understood the need to do so; it was likely they were being watched and listened in to. Swearing many times to himself, he led Hermione back into his house down the corridor that led to his kitchen.

"I see you've easily assimilated the local culture and language," she commented on his foul mouth.

Hermione was annoyed and did not really require an answer. Yes, he did use bad language more but anyone would too if they worked with Andy.

"We have to get that potion back," he said to her before taking out his wand and pointed it to the four corners of the kitchen incanting "Impertubatus totalum" non-verbally.

She did not answer. She was pacing, thinking, maybe she did not hear him.

"Are we secure?" she asked after he stopped.

"We should be."

"I need your disguise kit."

"What for?"

"Just...just give it to me," she said to him impatiently complete with hand gestures and all.

It had been a long time since they worked together like this he almost forgot that this was how she was sometimes, preferring to not answer questions while she was in the middle of something.

"This changes everything," Hermione mumbled to herself, waiting, pacing again.

He kept his reply to that to himself as he summoned what she requested from a hidden closet and handed it to her.

Hermione set it on his kitchen counter and rummaged through his Ministry issue stealth and disguise kit, taking out the phial containing a thick, dark, muddy potion. With a nail file, she scraped something off the bottom of her nails from a couple of fingers on her left hand into the container. The potion frothed and acquired a different hue.

"We need it to stand a bit. I'm not quite sure I got enough," she said to him as he stood beside her and watched.

"You scratched him," she did, whoever it was who grabbed her, and what she had added to the potion was a bit of skin and dried blood.

"Or from the pinkish color, likely, her," she muttered a spell to cleanse her hands.

"Brilliant!"

He had always been amazed how quickly her mind responded under extreme pressure.

"It was reflex," she explained. Was she blushing? She then asked, "Aside from the entire Toronto MLE, and the Squibb who dropped it, who else knows you had it?"

"Realistically, anyone. Anyone in that briefing room could have blabbed to anyone," he answered.

"That narrows down our list of suspects."

He ignored her caustic remark.

"Whoever they were they knew it was important. They obviously don't want me to hand it into the MLE for analysis."

"Which means you're probably right about what it is. Or it's definitely something that they don't want the MLE to know."

She took a glance at the Polyjuice Potion, and, deciding it was the best it could be given the amount of subject they had in it, retrieved a mirror from within her purse and held up the phial in his face.

Her suggestion was met with unmistakable hesitance.

"What? You didn't really think I was mixing the potion for myself, did you?"

He did not have to answer.

"I got the specimen and I made the juice. It's only fair that you take it," she said to him as his face involuntarily acquired that look of disgust which always went with the thought of drinking Polyjuice.

He tried to reason with her, "But it's likely a woman's."

It was definitely wishful thinking on his part that that would matter.

"It'll do you good to experience being one. And if you do turn into a woman think of it as...um...poetic justice," she retorted, shaking the phial in front of him, enjoying all this too much, not giving him much of a choice, then with annoyance at the delay, added, "Just drink it. You've certainly taken it for less important reasons before. You want a suspect, don't you?"

He snatched the phial with bubbly pinkish potion from her and readied himself, as she held up the mirror for him to see, taking it straight up, fast, by experience the method he found the best. She was right, there was probably not enough specimen to make him transform to the exact likeness of the person she injured for he didn't feel the usual repulsiveness that came with drinking the juice. Hermione was scrutinizing every detail on him, her eyes appraising him inch by inch a little too much, he thought, he felt naked. Their eyes briefly met, locked, and she saw something that made her frown then suddenly look up.

Harry took the mirror from her, peeked in to see what it was and a pair of familiar green eyes stared back at him. Looking upwards he noticed the one change that did occur.

"Do you feel differently?" she asked.

"Like how?" he continued to peruse himself to see if there was anything else.

"Having a certain liking or craving for something that you don't normally have...wanting to do something that you don't normally do..."

The answer was no to the former and yes to the latter. Somehow he didn't think she would appreciate his honesty if he mentioned how he wanted to kiss her right then and right there.

"No."

"Feel a bit effeminate at all?"

"Ef...womanly, no."

"Any subtle physical changes down, you know, there?" she asked with some apprehension, motioning with her finger to a vague area below.

With a bit of dread over what he might see and already thinking about how he was ever going to recover from a memory like that, he unbuttoned his trousers and looked down his boxers, examining his thing thoroughly.

After careful assessment he reported, relieved, "No."

"Are you sure? Size...length..."

"No..."

"Hair color..."

"No..."

"Location, pattern, distribution..."

"No, no, no!" he reiterated, then, fed up, tugged his pants forward towards her mischievously offered, "You can see for yourself if you want!"

She stepped back, red in the face and declined defensively, "I was just being thorough!"

Right!

Hermione exhaled her frustration, obviously disappointed. And he was hoping she would be relieved, too.

"It's just too bad I didn't get enough for us to at least identify gender. Well, we do know one other thing," she replied.

"What?"

"You should never dye your hair pale blonde," she said matter-of-factly before moving away.

He wanted to ask her what she meant by that but she had turned her back and was already on the phone calling someone at St. Mungo's. Taking another furtive look at the mirror, he actually thought it looked good on him, save for the fact that it reminded him of something unpleasant he could not put a finger on.

Harry got Andy on the phone to tell her what just happened. Hermione had paced back towards where he was and they stood a few feet apart, both on the phone, staring in the direction of but past each other.

"So, you're quite certain there are no inscriptions inside the phial..."

"Hi, it's me."

"No letters?...No numbers?...What about foreign characters?"

"Yes, we were there. We lost it," he had to distance the phone away from his ear as a cacophony of swear words overflowed from it.

As he was with her phone conversation, Hermione was listening in to his. She faced away but not before he saw her scowl.

"No, huh? Try one thing for me...break it..."

"Andy..." he was trying to interrupt.

"You heard me, break it. Smash it, throw it, pulverize it...break it..."

"Andy...stop..."

"Yeah, I heard it break," she frowned.

"Instant Peruvian Darkness Powder...don't know who they were...best not to say anything to anyone yet until we have a plan. Any suggestions?"

"And the repairing charm just works fine on it...hmm..."

"Can you go over and find out what the Hit wizards are up to?"

"I need another favor…send it to Luna Lovegood at the Department of Mysteries…"

"And before you leave, check out the unused phial from the evidence locker."

"Nothing really, just grasping at straws…how's the miracle patient?"

Miracle patient?

"I just don't want it to go missing."

"And nothing yet from the works?"

"We'll talk later."

"Thanks, Delilah. Let me know if something else turns up."

Their phone conversations ended simultaneously and she stood in his kitchen, unmoving, deep in thought.

"I overheard about the phial," he said to her, breaking the silence between them.

She nodded.

"I'm sending it to Luna for more tests."

"Who's the miracle patient?"

Hermione recanted the strange events of the morning in Filch's hospital room with the student's wand and he told her about a similar incident the day before at the Muggle loony bin.

"Hmm…this is getting even more curious. Jane Doe, can I see her?"

"I don't see why not. The Healers at the Toronto Hospital are stumped about her they could use your help," Harry replied.

"I seriously doubt that after last year," she said absentmindedly, more to herself and added before he could say anything else, "What do you have to do?"

After beating himself up for losing the only evidence he had against Greasy?

"I have to go back to the Ministry and report the phial missing," Harry said to her, and, to give her an idea of how bad the situation was, said, "That will only add to the already popular belief that I'm loopy for thinking this magic enabling potion actually exists."

"Are you going to tell them how it went missing?"

"I don't see why not."

"For one it will make you appear even crazier if you're going to say there is some conspiracy theory trying to cover up its existence."

"But there is! I saw the potion used last year and the Squibs and Muggles who witnessed it are all dead, no trace or evidence of the potion was ever found and…"

His voice trailed off as Hermione gave him this look that reiterated the point she just made, making him even angrier at himself for losing the phial.

"Fine! But I said I had the phial, the Ministry is expecting me to turn it in and if I don't get it back, I'd have to tell them I lost it. Because, unless you tell me you can actually make the bloody purple potion, turning in something different will make me look worse than an imbecile!"

He was puffing from his rant and was even more irritated that Hermione seemed not to be getting the enormity of his problem.

"We need that potion back!"

"Why? You already know what it is and what it does. Maybe it is better that it remains unknown to the rest of the world," she said to him calmly.

"What?!" he couldn't believe she just said what she did.

"Maybe losing it was a good thing."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"An elixir of magic will change a lot of things, Harry, particularly if everyone has the recipe to make it."

"But the world changes all the time. Change is constant. New technology is always developed and ways of life are altered. People will adapt. You do research to make things better. You know this," Harry approached her, puzzled by her non support of the concept of such a potion.

"I do, and yes, people will adapt to change but at what cost?" she replied, "With everything we always have to weigh benefits and risks. That’s why Nicholas Flamel’s elixir of life was never made for public use. Is this potion worth the social upheaval that it will bring?"

"Being able to do magic is great," he said as he remembered the very first time he intentionally made something happen with this wand.

"It is, but unless this elixir of magic can make everyone freely magical like you and me are, I would rather it did not exist."

Seeing his frown she continued, "We don't know enough about this new potion. We suspect it enables certain Squibs temporarily but will that be true for all? Will it enable all Muggles? Will it be readily available for everyone who needs it? What's needed to make it and how easy is it to make? And will it be safe for everyone to use?"

She had good points. Hermione wasn’t done as she spoke passionately on the subject, trying to explain her point of view, hoping he would change his mind.

"While the intention to create one may have been noble, there will always be those who will use it to take advantage of the very beings it was made for and there will be those who will taint it by finding less humane uses."

"If you want proof, just look at history. The earliest weapons were not intended to be weapons but for use in hunting and survival. Then someone thought it would be great to use it to kill enemies, conquer lands, rule over other nations. Weapons and weapons technology is currently a billion dollar industry.”

Hermione carried on, “And what started out as a search for alternative sources of energy gave us nuclear power. That seemed okay until someone put it inside a bomb, killing and maiming hundreds and thousands of civilians because they were not creative enough to come up with a better plan to end a war. Just imagine how many nuclear warheads are out there, now being peddled like common produce, to whoever will pay for it most? How many have died and how many more will because of it?"

“I’m sure the inventors didn’t think that could happen,” Harry interjected, “Fear of misfits using your invention to do harm should not be reason to stop trying to change the world for the better.”

“That wasn’t my point. The point is whether we like it or not a magic enabling potion will be a commodity and we have to be cautious about what we do if the purple potion is indeed one. You already said so; they're selling it. It will be subject to the laws of supply and demand, the highest bidders will get it and they will use it to profit even more, to take advantage."

"And if it can do for Muggles what it can do for Squibs I really don't think we can keep its existence hushed up and uphold the statute of secrecy. Muggle-borns like myself will want this for my family and the economic incentive to break it will be too great. And considering that this world cannot even feed its hungry and provide the thirsty clean water for free, I am skeptical about the potion ever becoming available for use at no cost by everyone who so chooses. I can't support unleashing to the general public something that will favor the haves over the have-nots and create more inequality."

“Of course, I could be wrong and worried over nothing but that’s how I feel.”

Hermione stopped, breathing heavily as if she had just finished a marathon. Harry felt pride and admiration for the woman before him who always championed the disadvantaged and had the moral fiber to look at the bigger picture. Her full blown diatribe on why the purple potion should not go public at this time actually embarrassed him.

“I'll be honest with you,” he answered the look of anticipation on her face as she waited for his response. “I have not thought much about how this potion will affect the world. Until you said what you said, the phial to me was evidence that a Squib can do magic and I’m desperate to get it back."

“Is proving that more important than keeping this potion a secret?”

“He used magic to kill someone.”

“Justice for one person is not enough reason to expose this. Many more will die once more riffraff become aware of its existence.”

“Even if that person is Ron?“

She looked surprised and was speechless for a bit. Hermione did not expect it at all.

“This is the same Squib from last year?”

Harry was glad she at least remembered what he told her, why he was going to Toronto. At that time, he wasn’t sure she was listening although the one thing she said to him was that Ron’s death was an accident and that he should just let it go.

“Yes. He had something to do with Ron's death and that potion was the only evidence I had to prove he's capable of doing more than what the MLE thinks he is.”

When he saw grief in her eyes he did not have the heart to add that with it he could probably have Ron’s case re-opened. Understandably, thinking about what happened to Ron was still difficult for her. She bit her lower lip and turned away from him, the sight of her shutting him out was heart-wrenching for he wanted to comfort her, if only she would let him. He was afraid to hurt her more if he touched her.

“Ron’s case aside, I hear what you're saying,” he said to her softly, “But the fact still remains that the potion is out there, it's being sold and used illegally. I have to stop it and the more I know about it the better. Because if I'm not able to put an end to it, it won't matter whether the MLE knows what's in it or not. A lot more people, those who use it and those they’ll use it on, will know it exists."

He waited for her response and after some time, Hermione brushed off some tears that had fallen on her cheeks and faced him. She knew he was right about this.

“You’re positive about this potion and about this Squib?”

“Yes, I am.”

"Do you trust me completely?

Always have and always will.

“You know I do. What is it?”

“Call your boss. Tell him what happened at the diner,” she said to him and, from within her purse, took out quill and parchment, scribbling a list of names on it. “Tell him to arrange for these people to come to the MLE lab in two hours and to provide an eager Squibb to help in a closed-door demonstration of the Elixir of Magic. If he says no, tell him you’re concerned about the statute of secrecy and will go to someone above him if you’re forced to.”

Seriously, she really had to stop making him figure out where she was going with this. He quickly glanced at the list that she handed him. Ministers of Magic, Heads of Departments of Mystery and the MLE, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, the Head of the Association for the Protection of Squibs, the Headmistress of the Global Registry of Potionmakers …should he point out to her that they didn’t have potion to demonstrate? Or was the point to embarrass him in front of the most influential people in the magical world?

“But...”

She did not allow him to interrupt.

“Before we meet with them I'm going to need an hour private use of a non-Ministry owned Level 5 potions lab.”

“What are you up to?” he had to ask.

“I need to take a closer look at what's in this.”

As she said that, Hermione pulled from within her robes pocket the phial with the purple potion, the very same one he thought they had lost in the diner.

A/N. What I really liked about JKR's Hermione was her quick thinking under stress and I can't write her any differently.

35. Sophie Bruin and the Family Secret

A/N. I hope not too many get confused about these new characters coming in at such a late time. Many might not remember the mention of the Sophie Bruin character eons ago in when Harry finally read Hogwarts: A History. I apologize in advance for the language in the last part of this chapter.

Hat’s off to those who knew Hermione had the phial all along.

Chapter 35 - Sophie Bruin and the Family Secret

Across the city just southeast of Pape and Danforth Avenues, a petite, slight woman with short auburn hair appeared out of thin air beside a cherry tree in the backyard of her modest Toronto home, a split second after vanishing from the College Street diner. Pia Russet adjusted the thick lensed glasses on her face and quickly went into the house through the side door, as loud bickering emanated from within her living room.

Two men and a woman were there, her cousins, and there was heated argument between two of them. It did not take long to realize what it was about. The item they had stolen from the diner was not what they thought it was and the squabble had resulted in a powdery black puff of spice in the atmosphere.

"Achoo!"

The booming sound of big Bruno Bole's sneeze broke the glass vase serenely perched on the coffee table and he quickly apologized. Pia gave him a reassuring look as she silently repaired it. They turned their attention to their quarrelling relatives, Sienna and Rusty Fallow, both brown haired and brown eyed as they were, the brother slightly taller than his five foot four fraternal twin sister.

"Gesundheit!" that was Rusty, always the well-mannered one.

"Thank you," Bruno replied, trying to suppress another sneeze.

"Idiot...atch."

Sienna brought a hand to her nose just in time to cut short her more lady-like version as the concentration of pepper lingered in the air. The unkind remark directed towards her brother would have been longer had it not been interrupted and it was usually a good idea to let her vent.

"Bless you," her sibling said, annoying her further.

"Stop saying that!"

"Why? It's good manners."

Rusty liked to purposely wind her up. They were not kids at twenty five but Pia was used to this. It was his turn to sneeze.

"Achoo! Excuse me."

"Bless you," Bruno chimed in.

"Thank you kindly."

Waving her wand, she got rid of the pesky irritant, "Finite Niesen. Evanesco!"

"Moron! That was your only job," Sienna continued her tirade against Rusty as she paced to and fro within the tight living quarters. "You said you had the phial! You should have just summoned it like you were supposed to!"

"I did! It didn't come so I grabbed whatever was on the table," Rusty explained, then added, finger pointing at his sister, "I know you're upset, we all are, but did you have to smash the pepper shaker? You should really see someone about your anger issues."

"My anger issues?! You mean the ones I seem to only have around you?"

"Enough, you two," she decided to step in, "We need to come up with a plan."

But Sienna was not done.

"It's bad enough trying to keep the potion covert with that nincompoop Floyd using it and selling it. Now, we have to deal with the Ministry to keep it off the streets. The Hufflepuff prophecy is coming true and this is all your fault!"

"My fault? This is one phial in a batch of what, thousands?" Rusty stated the unfortunate truth. "Let's face it. Unless Floyd stops doing what he's doing, we're just delaying the inevitable."

Rusty had a good point. Pia had expressed the same sentiment to the Council of Bruin Elders earlier that morning at the emergency meeting following Floyd's loss of the phial. She reiterated that even if they retrieved the potion, they had bigger worries to address. They had to stop Floyd from selling it and they had to find the source. Floyd was the only link they had to Lestrange's Potion Master.

"Ugh! This is so frustrating!" the fiery Sienna screamed.

Then Rusty said what all of them thought but could not say out loud, "We're on the side of a losing cause. We can only Obliviate and implant memories so much and there's only a few of us crazies left struggling to do this. Let's face it. The Hufflepuff prophecy cannot be denied anymore."

Pia looked at the faces of her younger cousins and felt their disappointment. At twenty-eight she was their leader by default because of her age and experience. She moved to Toronto two years ago after a distant German relative of theirs was murdered and instructions on how to make magic enabling potion fell into the wrong hands. Keeping a watchful eye on Ted Waxball and later, Tom Floyd, was a full time job. Unfortunately, the Bruin Elders were wrong to assume that Waxball could never make it, and the Elders were also wrong to think that just because Floyd seemed to have lost interest in it after his brother's death, the idea to mass produce the potion had died too. What happened in the last few days caught the Bruin Elders offguard and they suffered one set back after another. This was as close to the Hufflepuff prophecy Squibkind had ever reached; the reality of a Squibless world and the chaos that would ensue when it happened.

The purple potion was unnamed, but over decades, rumours of its existence necessitated it being christened with a few. The more common ones were Elixir of Magic, the Squib Holy Grail, and more recently, Squib Vitamin X. The individual who developed it centuries ago was a brilliant Potionmaker, Sophie Bruin, the only Squib ever to attend Hogwarts. After she was expelled from the school in her first year for failure to perform magic, she set out to create a potion that would give Squibs like herself the ability, and have the same rights and privileges as non-Squibs. She was the first to disprove the popular belief that it was impossible for Squibs to concoct potions. Sophie Bruin was their great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother.

Her version of the potion had almost the same imperfections as the one Floyd was using and while it was her life's work and she did use it with success, she had eventually become too ill to work on it as a result of her self-experimentation. She asked her three Squib daughters to continue. Not a month later, Sophie Bruin died, never seeing her vision for Squibs come to fruition. She was only forty-five years old.

At her deathbed, she admitted what she knew was the truth; the potion was unsafe and unethical to produce. She put an eternal death curse on everything related to the potion creation, binding her daughters and everyone related to them never to reveal the potion's existence, including how to make it, to anyone outside blood relatives, until it could be made with more acceptable ingredients and be absolutely safe to use. The handful who foolishly dared to share the knowledge was rewarded with instantaneous death and the recipients of the information suffered the same fate.

Sometime after Sophie Bruin passed away, the Hufflepuff prophecy was made. Although they loved her and could not tell her while she was still living, two of her three daughters were horrified at what their mother had created and what she had to use to create it. Concerned about their mother's legacy and the thousands who were going to suffer as foretold by Hufflepuff's prediction, they tried to convince their younger sister not to continue and to destroy evidence of their mother's work. Devoted, Sophie Bruin's youngest daughter who she named Helga after the Hogwarts founder, could not let go of her mother's dream. She moved away and they never heard from her again.

The family secret would be passed on from generation to generation, to Squibs and magically able alike, and the Bruin family would be divided into three; those who carried on with the clandestine experiments, those who were passionately against it, who vowed to keep the prophecy from coming true, and those who silently waited in the wings hoping a better potion would become available and that the unrest that Hufflepuff predicted would not come true. She used to belong to the latter group and remembered everyday of her life what made her change her mind.

Pia glanced over her fireplace mantel and found what had kept her going during the past trying week; the reason that she changed from being a passive spectator to an active anti-potion Bruin. It was a picture of two young girls, neither more than eight years old, on a backyard swing, laughing, happy, still unaware of the family secret that would haunt their lives like an accident waiting to happen. There were other more recent images of her and her sister beside it but that one was her favourite. Her sister was always so positive about everything. She was the activist, the passionate one, the one who believed she could change the world and everyone in it. Thinking about her always lifted Pia's spirits up. And no matter how hopeless their cause was, Pia would press on if only to make her suffering and death not for naught.

"We may be losing the fight but we're fighting for what's right," she reminded them firmly, putting her heart behind her words "It has already killed a lot of our friends and a lot of our family. If the prophecy is coming true then we know thousands more will suffer and die. We can't give up."

"Pia's right. We can't just stand back and watch it happen," Bruno echoed her belief.

"Maybe Lestrange will help us out like the last time," Rusty opined, his morale buoyed by Bruno's and Pia's comments.

"Maybe I should hex you to remind you that she killed everyone involved the last time," Sienna brought him back to reality, "Her methods are barbaric and the only reason she did that was so she could teach her kin a lesson for not getting her involved in their scheme and to make the Ghoul an example for all the world to see."

They all were wondering what Bellatrix Lestrange was up to. It was indeed worrisome that her distant nephew, Floyd, had her support to use the potion this time around. As she had feared, Floyd's presence in Britain last year had forged an alliance with the equally evil Lestrange. Floyd cost Lestrange galleons betting that the Cannons would lose in the Quidditch final, and pawned what his brother had intended to be a Squib undertaking so the witch would spare his life.

The Bruin Elders did not think the staunchly Anti Muggle Lestrange would want such a potion to exist but again they were wrong. Wiser and better connected than Floyd, she got the right expert to work on it and ordered Floyd to lie low, lulling the Council into a sense of complacency. As she warned the Elders then, it was only a matter of time before they came up with a more stable version of the Sophie Bruin purple potion.

It took Lestrange a year. They suspected a few days ago they were mass producing from somewhere within Britain when that centaur was killed. There were the deaths of the Hogwarts house elf and the giant from the Pyrenees that Lestrange had been able to pass off as non-suspicious. Intelligence from the London Bruins believed Lestrange robbed Gringott's not only because she needed the goblin to complete the potion but more so to finance a major undertaking. The Dark Witch knew that the Bruin Elders would never lead authorities to investigate anything remotely associated with the purple potion for fear that its existence would be discovered.

"But why is she shipping the potion here? Toronto is not her turf and one would think she'd start from within hers," Sienna asked.

"I agree. We're missing something," Pia replied, wishing she knew what, "The Council wants an update in half an hour and I'll try to convince them that it's time to up the alert level to critical. We need more of us here in Toronto and they should be prepared to do what no other Council has ever before."

The possibility of orders to kill chilled her as it did most of the Bruin family members she knew. They were adverse to the use of violence which was what got them in this dire situation in the first place. The gravity of the impending discovery of the existence of the potion did warrant the use of force. And to put an end to the threat they needed to know who Lestrange's potion master was.

"So what do we do now?"

Pia took out a compact mirror from her purse and gently tapped on it with a series of pauses. A few seconds later, a set of brown eyes stared back at her.

"We don't have it," she said to the man staring back at her, "Is it at the diner?"

"I was in there until the Obliviators and Hit Wizards got us out. They think it was a malicious prank. It's all like usual. The phial's not there."

Pia tapped the mirror again and the image on it split in two. A second set of brown eyes appeared.

"Where are they?" she asked the woman from within the other half of the mirror.

"His place, kitchen, Imperturbed."

"Interesting. I would have thought that they'd go straight to the Ministry."

"Maybe they don't have the potion," Sienna suggested.

"If we don't have the potion, they don't have the potion, maybe someone else has it," Rusty added.

"Floyd may have it," Bruno said from behind.

The twins argued.

"Floyd wasn't there because if he were we'd know. He's not subtle."

"I disagree. His murder of that Cannon keeper was clever. If there's one thing we should have learned by now is not to underestimate the asshole."

"It will simplify matters if Floyd has it. If these two have it, the fact that they did not take it to the Ministry tells us they're planning something with it," she arbitrated but the twins always found something else to disagree about.

"That has to be good," he said. "They're thinking."

"Or still bad," she said. "We can't trust them to do the right thing. We should try and retrieve that phial."

"He's an Auror and I read she's no pushover in a fight," Pia had to put an end to that idea, "The odds of a handful of wizards and witches untrained in magical combat coercing them to hand over the phial are quite low."

"We know they're both reasonable. Let's knock on his door, tell them who we are and what we're trying to do. Ask them to give us the potion back," Bruno was sweet but not very bright for a twenty-year old.

"Right. Maybe they'll volunteer to be Obliviated and dance the polka for us," Sienna said sarcastically, then realized it was Bruno, she retracted. "We can't. The deathbed curse, remember? Grandma Sophie wanted this known to blood relatives only."

An official looking owl came swooping into the room entering from somewhere in the back of the house and went straight to Pia. She told the man and woman on the mirror to stay on their beats and await instructions. She tapped the mirror once, caused the images to disappear and put it away.

"They're definitely up to something," she said as her eyes flitted over the letter.

"What is it?"

"They've asked for an audience with Ministers Scrimgeour and Truelove, the Supreme Mugwump, Healer Hama, the Chief Squib, the Unspeakable and MLE Heads. I can't imagine them demanding this audience if they didn't have the real thing."

"That's at least ten more people who know about it that shouldn't," Sienna calculated.

"Show and tell is not until two hours from now."

"Granger's going to take it apart," Sienna came to the same conclusion she did. "We have to stop her."

"She'll need a level 5 lab that's not under Ministry surveillance and there's only two or three here in Ontario. Let's stake those out and try to take the potion again," Rusty surprisingly agreed with his sister. "If only the phial wasn't indestructible this would be much easier."

Pia thought for a moment as three sets of brown eyes waited for her opinion. The Elders had dropped the ball too many times and this was now bigger than they could handle. They needed help from outside the family and from what she knew of Potter and Granger they were probably the best help they could get.

"We can't overpower them. They'll be ready for us," she stated the obvious. "I know it's odd but for someone I've never met I trust Granger completely. I vote we let her take it apart and see what they do with it."

"But that's against what we've vowed to do!"

Pia expected this from Sienna and from most of the seven members of the Bruin Elders Council.

"Sienna's right, Pia," Rusty concurred, "For centuries our families have worked so hard to keep the truth about its existence hidden. If she takes it apart she’ll know how to put it together. We can't let it happen."

"We need their help."

"We've never needed help before!"

"We've never been closer to the prophecy as we are now!" she blurted out. "We should have put an end to this two years ago when we realized Waxball had Helga Braun's uncoded copy of Grandma Sophie's potion instructions. Or even last year after the incident at the Ghoul. We should have moved against Floyd then."

Sienna tried to reason with her, "That's all water under the bridge but there's a big difference between the potion remaining a legend and the Ministry knowing it exists for real. Once the Ministries know it will only be a matter of time before the rest of the magical world finds out. And after that, there will be extreme political pressure to mass produce it, even in its current unsafe state. We will have the chaotic Squibless world that Hufflepuff predicted."

"With Floyd and Lestrange selling the potion it will only be a matter of time before the Ministry gets a hold of another sample," Pia replied.

"But we don't know when or if that will ever happen," Sienna retorted.

"And we don't know if Granger will go ahead and give the potion to the Ministry once she finds out what's in the potion either."

"Potter will want to if only to arrest Floyd."

"Again, we don't know that. Bruno has a point; they're reasonable. They know what this potion can mean and we need their help because even if the Elders agree to use force, we'll be like pesky flies to Lestrange and her Death Eaters."

She continued, "We know the potion is evil because of what's needed to make it. We know it's unstable and we know there is a one in twenty chance the drinker will have a severe reaction from it. Thousands are in imminent danger of illness and death. Extreme measures are warranted."

Sienna fell silent knowing she was right.

"I know the Elders will likely say 'no' but I'll try to convince them anyway. They're still hoping to contain this and avoid a messy and very public confrontation. But they've been wrong so many times I'm going with my gut on this and I'd really rather if I did this with all of you behind me."

They all looked at each other with anxious and frightened expressions. Going against the Council's wishes was unheard of and she was asking them to do that based on her gut feeling that Potter and Granger could be trusted to do the decent thing. One by one, her cousins nodded their heads in support.

"Are you certain what we're doing falls outside Grandma Sophie's deathbed curse?"

"As long as we don't tell them about the potion, what's in it and how to make it we should be fine. I just hope Granger's good enough at potion making to figure the potion out."

Pia was assessing other indirect ways to assist Potter and Granger without invoking the curse that would cause their deaths. It was then that a yellow pendant hanging around her neck warmed against her chest. She took it out from under her sweater. The Bruin family crest of a black badger towering over a lion, a snake and an eagle shimmered.

"The Council is meeting right now," Pia said to them as she held on to the metal and waited nervously, unsure how she was going to say what she had to say. She had been summoned to report on their failure to retrieve the phial, "Wish me luck."

In the blink of an eye, she was no longer in her living room.

XXXXXXXXXX

Moments ago at Harry's place, Harry was staring at Hermione speechless, his facial expression unreadable as it seemed to cycle through a few different emotions. Quite guilty for not telling him right away that she had the potion all along, she started apologizing.

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know what to do and ..."

"You considered not telling me," he looked a bit angry and a bit amused.

She knew that fact would be a touchy issue.

"I was undecided. I needed some time to think. I know this potion is important to you but its existence is a big deal and there are serious..."

Before she could finish her rambling, Harry suddenly held her by the shoulders and pulled her closer, pressing his lips firmly on hers. Her brain did not even have time to process it as he quickly pushed her back, her arms limp at her sides, startled like the rest of her body was. Her mouth was slightly open, instinctively and traitorously wanting and feeling it deserved a lot more. After all, if not for her quick thinking, things would be very different.

The caustic remark that she formulated failed to reach her mouth as he once again beat her to the punch.

"There. We're even," he declared.

How he had managed to come up with that conclusion was beyond her and she was annoyed that he had manhandled her twice that morning already. To be totally honest about it, she was only slightly annoyed at him this time and was more irritated at herself for the lack of conviction in her displeasure.

"That was brilliant, by the way," he praised.

"Next time, just thank me."

"That's what I did."

She gritted her teeth as she saw what looked like a smirk on his face just before he turned away. She thought about telling him not to kiss her again but did not get the chance.

"Wait till Andy hears...it's okay if I tell her about this, right? She has seen Floyd use the potion. He hexed her."

"Do you trust her?" she asked what seemed apparent.

"If there was one person here in Toronto to trust that would be Andy."

"That's good to know," she replied, hoping she wasn't too obvious about being uncomfortable with the prospect of working with the woman.

Harry got on the phone and without giving specifics asked Andy to come right away. He also contacted his boss about putting together that important meeting in two hours, the meeting she was still unsure what would be about. She could tell from the Harry's body and verbal language that the request was not well received. While he did that she called Luna again about the Filch breakable phial that should have already arrived from St. Mungo's. Hermione asked her to perform more tests, look more meticulously for potion remnants and previous spells performed on it. It was good Luna did not ask why, for she wanted the Unspeakable to examine it without knowledge of what she was looking for.

After they were off their phones Harry told her about a Level 5 lab that had been shut down and unused due to hospital budgetary cuts. Not two minutes later, Harry ushered her out of the front door in response to a car honking.

"I must say, pale blond isn't really your color," Andy greeted him dryly as he opened the passenger door.

"So I've been told," he answered.

Since the change after imbibing the juice, Hermione had been waiting for Harry to say how similar it was to Draco's hair color and to start accusing Draco of being one of those who attempted to take the phial at the diner. It would be a coincidence because she knew Draco was in London with an important Muggle trial to attend to. She spoke with him on the phone minutes before she left for Toronto to give him her answer to Mexico.

That conversation seemed to have happened so long ago and seeing Harry again she could not think about going to Mexico, alone or with anyone. This case of Harry's was more important than that. She'd have to call Draco back at some point, definitely when Harry wasn't around to listen in.

Harry must have thought it farfetched too, for surely the sight of that hair would have made him think of Draco. For a split second, her heart quickened when she thought she saw Harry with Draco's grey eyes. She imagined it for sure because when she looked back a second later they were green.

Hermione could not even begin to think what this time she was going to spend with Harry would mean to her and Draco. Even though she knew a relationship with Harry was just not possible, every second with him was making her think that being with someone else was not possible either.

"A Beemer, nice," Harry commented on the pretty black car Andy was driving.

“I thought you’d like it,” came the woman’s reply.

Then he froze, unsure of what to do when he noticed it was a two-seater.

"Sorry, Harry didn't mention you were coming," she apologized to her then turned to Harry, "Ours is still out of commission and I hope never to see that piece of shit again. This was the only decent car in the lot. It's a loaner from Jack. Unfortunately it's all Muggle and he prefers it to remain that way. It might be a bit snug but I think you two can fit okay in that passenger seat. Where are we going anyway? Hotel?"

By the sounds of it, this Jack who owned the vehicle was someone not to get on the bad side of. She looked at the passenger seat. Snug would be quite an understatement if she shared it with Harry. Thank goodness Harry felt the same way for he was assessing options.

"Scarborough Grace. There are no near Apparition sites and too many Muggles around that hospital."

"I'll take a cab," she suggested.

"No, I'm not letting you go around Toronto unprotected after what happened at the diner," Harry replied.

What Harry said irritated her. For one, she preferred the way he treated her when they were fighting Voldemort. They were equals, partners, and although unspoken they knew the other had the other's back. She was not some princess who needed a bodyguard, which was how he was making her feel at the moment. And secondly, after Roy Hunt, she was not keen on his type of protection.

"I'm not five, I don't need a Nanny. I can take care of myself."

"You may not be five but you sure are acting like one," he said to her firmly, irritating her even more. "I'll drive. Andy can meet us there."

"You know you can't drive in Toronto," Andy reminded him.

"Since when?"

"Since you got here and can't accept the fact that the rest of the city is not driving on the wrong side of the road," Andy retorted, "And you definitely can't drive stick."

Harry took out his wand and waved it, creating a backseat. Hermione helped herself in and looked out the window, to ease a somewhat painful discomfort that was definitely an unwarranted stupid reaction.

"I'll put it back to the way it was."

"He'll know."

"He can fire me."

"You can't say I didn't try," Andy said then asked as she weaved in and out of traffic, "Why are we off to the Grace, anyway?"

Once again, Harry cast the spell to allow them to talk freely.

"Hermione has the phial."

"And why are we not handing it in to the Ministry right away?"

"Because I want to see what's in it first," Hermione replied before Harry could, fleetingly meeting Andy's questioning stare from the rear view mirror, sensing her disapproval.

"Harry, I see the desperation but this is not a good idea."

"We need her help. She's an expert in potions."

"I have no doubt that she is, but she's a non Canadian civilian here on a Visitor's pass. Muller will chop your head off for dragging her into this fully aware that you're breaking more rules than you can count with your fingers and toes. Merlin knows we have too many lazy assed overpaid underworked Ministry experts who can analyze the potion."

Was she implying that she was lazy, overpaid and underworked?

"This case is too important."

"Are you sure it's about that?"

She really didn't want to cause trouble.

"I trust her."

"Your trusting her is going to get her killed."

Hermione wished she were somewhere else. They really should argue about her some other time, preferably when she couldn’t hear them.

"I won't let that happen!"

"What exactly did you tell her?"

"What she needs to know!"

Was she invisible or something? Perhaps she should remind them she was there.

"Did you tell her that there's an insane, dangerous and pissed off Squib on the loose; that the bastard's using and selling magic enabling potion and that asshole's planning something big with it? Did you tell her how you wasted the entire year watching the cocksucker, knowing the truth that nobody would believe, with him playing the part of a wrongly accused and perennially harassed non-wizard, and how that changed this morning when the fuck cursed me and let me live?"

"She knows!"

Hermione could not stand it anymore and finally said to them, "Will you two stop talking about me as if I'm not here?"

Andy pulled over the side of the road abruptly and turned to her.

"That's only fitting because you shouldn't be here. This isn't a field trip or a simulation to give you a break from your mundane day job…"

The condescending tone of her voice was infuriating. Mundane?! Just because she wasn't getting cursed everyday like Aurors were did not make her job unexciting! How dare she judge her life so quickly!

"Andy, stop it…" Harry warned her.

"What's between you and Harry is personal, and if he wants you to stay and you want to stay, that's fine. But you can't ride with us, especially not with this case. I do suggest that you go back to London because your being involved is going to be fucking distraction and it's going to get us all fucking killed."

"Andy!"

"It's okay, Harry," she said to him before answering the foul mouthed woman behind the wheel. "You're right. I shouldn't be here. I am a civilian and I'm not trained to fight crime and the Dark Arts as you and Harry are. But I'm not as stupid as you think I am. I know danger. I know evil. I've seen it and fought it, knowing death was always a possibility. You may find it hard to believe but I can hold my own in combat so you don't have to worry about babysitting me. If you need proof we can step out into that alley and I'll show you."

Was she insane? That was definitely all talk to defend her ego. It was one thing not needing their protection in case things got a bit hairy but what was she thinking challenging the likely very experienced Canadian Auror, when the last time she was in a duel was…of course it had been so long she couldn't even remember when it was!

"That won't be necessary," Harry interjected, "Hermione has great instincts, Andy. If things get too intense she can always Disapparate to safety, right?"

"Of course, I can," she reassured them, noting to herself that 'can' was quite different from 'will'. "And do you really think I'm going to enjoy this? I'm supposed to go to Mexico, on holidays, living my mundane life, working on a tan on the beach all day and dancing and drinking tequila all night. I'd rather be there if not for the fact that there seems to be a dearth of social intelligence here and somebody should be constantly pointing out to you two that this case that you have is more than about a Squib using a magic enabling potion to do bad things!"

Andy turned to Harry with a perplexed look, visibly annoyed at her insult and too proud to ask her what she meant herself.

"What the fuck is she talking about?"

Scourgifying her mouth came to mind. Hermione really didn't feel like going through that entire rant about the social implications of the magic enabling potion again, especially not for her.

"He'll explain later," Hermione snapped at her, "Let me put this in words you can understand better. I don't fucking care that I shouldn't be here. The fact is I am here and I can help if you fucking let me. So, it's your fucking choice. You can either unlock the fucking car door so I can get out or put up with me and shut the fuck up!"

36. The Alley

Chapter 36 - The Alley

Harry was so stunned at the barrage of expletives from Hermione his mouth was agape for a good few seconds. He would have never believed it had he not witnessed it himself. It was so unexpected hearing so many 'f' words coming out of her it stirred his already florid fantasies into a state of frenzy.

Down boy! Not now!

The sight of two witches glaring coldly at each other doused imaginary freezing water in his pants. Knowing firsthand what powers each of them had, he was quite worried that any inadvertent magical discharge in the small interior of Jack Muller's black BMW would spark a major explosive incident. It was a definite setback if they did not get along well enough to work on the case together.

Before he could think of what to say to calm them down, the unmistakable sound of doors unlocking broke the glacial silence and multiplied the already heightened tension in the air. He quickly locked them back before Hermione could exit and faced his partner, who now had a most satisfied expression on her face.

"What are you doing?"

Andy turned to him, shrugged and deadpanned, "She gave me a fucking choice; I picked one."

"You picked the wrong one!"

"I'm not putting up with your English Ice Princess and nobody, nobody tells me to shut the fuck up!"

"Um, I believe I just did," said a derisive voice from the back seat.

Hermione was really asking for it. Harry remembered the last time someone had cussed at Andy and was thankful she seemed to have not thought Hermione deserving of what she did to that unfortunate person.

Andy continued to express her ire, refusing to talk to Hermione directly, "Explain to her that I'm actually doing her a favour. Because really, if she doesn't leave the car now, she'll be in imminent danger and it won't have anything to do with this fucking case."

"Oh, was that a threat? I'm so scared," mocked Hermione, alarm bells were ringing all over, "Outside, now, and don't forget your wand."

Crack!

"Oh, shit!"

"And you said she was a smart woman."

He did a quick visual scan of the perimeter and found Hermione in a narrow alley lined by trash bins across the street from where they were parked. Was she nuts? He was really putting it kindly when he said that she had good combat instincts for as much as he'd like to see two women duel (really, what man wouldn't?), Andy would make short work of her in that confined space.

"Don't worry too much. I'll have her back for you in one piece."

Click! Click!

A quick swoosh of his wand and a pair of magical manacles suddenly appeared shackling both Andy's wrists to the steering wheel. He conjured them just in the nick of time, the chains rattling as Andy tried and failed to Disapparate.

"Take them off!" she said to him forcefully.

"No. You're on time out!" he replied to her in kind, "Jeez, you should know better. She's a civilian!"

"I never back down from a fight!"

"Oh yeah I forgot. You can't because you're in primary school and this is some schoolyard girly fight," he said to her, ignoring her flaring nostrils and the clenched jaw. "You're going to put up with her because I'm asking you to. I'll talk to her about the shutting you up part because we both know that's not going to happen but you better appear happy about having her around when I get her back. We need her."

Harry heard her swear at him. She would eventually calm down, take out her wand and try to disengage herself from the magical handcuffs. He figured they had a couple of minutes. He Disapparated, and reappeared a few feet from where Hermione was.

"Where is she?!"

She was looking over his shoulder, squinting towards where the car was parked some fifty meters away, and she realized why Andy had not come.

"Release her!"

"Seriously?!"

"Let her come," she was serious, flexing her wand a couple of times, "Don't worry. I'll try not to leave a permanent mark."

Had the situation not been dire he would have found her bravado more amusing.

"Okay, she may have deserved the cursing but challenging her to a duel? Are you mad?"

She stubbornly declared, "I'm going to prove to her that I know how to defend myself."

"She's an Auror, you're a Healer," Harry reminded her, "You're pushing your luck a bit too far."

"I'm not afraid of her!"

"I know you're not. But really, and I don't mean to belittle your abilities in any way, you don't want to be in this one. She's won the national Witch and Wizard Duel championship trophy five years in succession. She's very competitive and, on top of that, she’s quite pissed off."

"Oh, well, that's good to know," the fact she just heard seemed to not have dampened her resolve to go ahead. "I won't feel as bad if I lose and you won't think that I'm too much of a coward if I Disapparate to save myself. You could have mentioned this before, you know."

"I would have if I knew you were going to pick a fight."

"She started it!"

What exactly did Andy start?

"Explain it to me because I seem to be missing something here. Andy doesn't want you tagging along the case, big deal. But how did we get from there to me having to restrain her from hexing you and me ending up in this alley trying to convince you not to fight? Now that is beyond logic, wouldn't you agree?"

"She called my work mundane!"

"And I guess we must smite down everyone who thinks so," he hoped the sarcasm would point out to her just how foolish this all was, "I know she can be a real pain without even trying, but she is not the enemy."

"She called me your English Ice Princess!"

His brows lifted slightly as it surprised him that troubled her. The inflamed reaction she was exhibiting was definitely proof that she was not that. His pause seemed to have made her unleash a thought she had been meaning to hold on to.

"Is that code for when you two talk about me? Is that what you told her, that I'm icy, frosty, frigid!?"

"No, of course not..." maybe ice-like was mentioned once about how she was treating him but it would be foolish to admit that.

"And who is she supposed to be? Your Canadian Fire Queen?" she scoffed sarcastically.

If there was only one rhetorical question in the entire English language that would be it.

"Just how much does she know about us?"

Lie.

"Not a lot..." he started and when Hermione gave him a scowl he admitted, "Okay, she knows quite a bit. But that doesn't matter."

"Let me make it clear that I am nobody's princess..."

"I'll point that out to her," and Merlin forbid anyone ever mention anything vaguely synonymous to 'ice' again.

"And while I'm sure you find what happened between us entertaining, I do not appreciate being conversation fodder for you and any of your girlfriends!"

He remembered that being a concern for her that night in Toronto he was Roy. Did she just refer to Andy as...?

"She's not my girl…”

"I was willing to work with her but I will most certainly not put up with her foul language!" Hermione expressed a thought that he knew Jack had heard from so many of Andy's ex-partners.

"It's just how she talks. She doesn't bite when she barks and she's actually likable once you get to know her," he explained, not really getting through to her. "Look, she'll have realized by now just how silly this is and I know you agree that it is. We have to prevent that social disaster, remember? So, can you stop acting like...this and just come back to the car with me?"

Hermione finally put away her wand.

"No," she replied.

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"She's right. Ministry rules and all that distraction bit. I shouldn't be with you."

One minute she wanted to hex her, the next she was agreeing with her. Women! And he wasn't even sure if he totally understood why they were in the alley so he gave up trying to understand that. Knowing her and knowing what was at stake, she was going to stay in Toronto. But what was she planning on doing?

"What about the phial?"

"I promise you'll have the phial back well before the big meeting in two hours."

She was thinking in the background, he could tell. With the possible London connection, he knew she was considering bringing in the Order, if she hadn't decided already. Hopefully they could talk about that later. But right now, safety around the phial was a big concern and her protection was something he could not delegate to someone else. That sense of desperation he had about her earlier that day just got more desperate.

"If I get Ministry approval, will you work with us?"

"You should really discuss things with your partner first because she clearly does not agree with you on that one."

"Andy will, once she understands."

"If she does, fine, but I'm not working with someone who doesn't want me working with them. Either way we can cover more ground if we split up."

"Splitting up isn't right."

Hermione said to him, "Until you get approval from the Ministry, the less you have to do with this phial the better. It'll take some time to take the potion apart and yours is better spent doing something else. We need to find out who those people were at the diner and why they wanted it, and we need to find out where this potion is coming from. I'm sure you and Andy have other things to look into and from the looks of it you've been up all night, you need some rest. "

"You'll be in danger."

When she did not say anything immediately after that, Harry had hoped he had gotten through to her.

"I was perfectly safe until I started hanging out with you," she pointed out in a somewhat more somber tone, "I told you, I can take care of myself."

As he looked into her eyes he sensed she meant so much more with what she just said to him. It hurt her to say it she could not hide it. Like many times since she came that morning she was going to look away but he reached out, took her hand into his, and held it steadily, before she could.

"I know you can and I know you don't feel as safe around me as you did before, but I wish you'd give me a second chance and let me take care of you, too."

Knowingly or not, she opened herself up briefly for him to see her struggles within. He inched closer wanting to hold her but she immediately stepped back and took her hand away.

"We're wasting time. We should get going."

They understood each other well enough to know she wasn't just talking about the case. That was painful and he wondered how much more rejection he could endure before giving up.

Hermione steered their conversation to the more pressing matter before them. She was determined to not get him involved in the potion analysis.

"There's a professor at York University, Dr. Deng Mao Tan. I'm doing some collaborative work with him. He won't mind me using his lab."

York U did have a Level 5 lab and it would have been his first choice if not for the fact that it had been cited for improper research practices once too often and Professor Tan would have unlikely provided assistance to someone affiliated with the Ministry. Muller would have already guessed they were going to analyze the potion and Professor Tan's lab was the least accessible to the Ministry. The Professor had in the past accused Ministry on spying on him and stealing his research; his lab was always Ministry bug proof and would be perfect to keep it all covert. And, unless the Ministry knew Hermione was with him and that she was an acquaintance of the professor, they would not even think he would go there.

"Let me come with you," he offered as a courtesy.

"I'll take a cab."

This was frustrating.

"You're too stubborn for your own good!"

"I know," she admitted as she summoned his phone, added her number to it and in his notes, the inscriptions on the inside of the phial she was taking with her. She gave it back to him. "Check the empty phial for any markings too and get in touch with the Maro Flacon Companie in Romania. They should be able to give you the buyer's name and shipping address."

"Andy can do that. I'll stay with you," he would not take no for an answer, "Someone's after the potion and while I don't think it's Floyd, we can't assume that whoever wants it will be more pleasant. I am coming with you whether you like it or not. It's my job."

"Your job? Like I was your job last year? I guess the whole Roy Hunt thing did not leave a bad taste in your mouth," Hermione was obviously annoyed, "I'm not part of your job!"

"You may not be but the phial is. It is my job to make sure the phial gets to the Ministry so unless you give it to me, I'm not letting you out of my sight," he said to her, realizing the only way she would not fight this was if there was a good official reason for him to come with her.

"Fine. What choice do I have? After you lost it at the diner, I can't just hand it over to you again, can I?"

He almost pointed out the technically, he didn't lose it but thought he should be thankful for small victories.

"Let's go tell Andy the plan and it's probably best to let me do the talking for now."

"Eggshells," he heard her say under her breath.

"Eggshells?"

"Over there by the rubbish bin," she pointed behind him.

True enough, a sack full of eggshells had not successfully made it into the big metal container and half of it was littered on the ground beside it. Why she pointed that out, Merlin only knew.

They started walking back to the black car.

"What is she doing?" she exclaimed, appearing aghast and scandalized, "Is she giving me the finger?!"

"No. I think that's for me," he replied, seeing Andy was still shackled, odd because she should have broken the spell by now.

Something was not right. He drew out his wand. As they got closer he saw that Andy was actually frantically trying to warn them about something.

Crunch! Crunch!

Behind them, eggshells! He turned just in time to shield him and Hermione from a curse that came from a stubby man who had just appeared beside the trash bin.

Crash!

The hex ricocheted off his charm and bore a deep hole in the opposing wall, powdering red brick on the spot. Harry aimed his wand at their attacker but was not quick enough.

"Stupefy!" a familiar male voice exclaimed, blasting his target up against metal. Their assailant fell into a heap, but got up quicker than he thought possible, swearing.

The voice was Floyd's and he had just appeared with several others at the entrance of the alley, blocking their path to the car. He could not even see if Andy was okay.

"The next idiot who fires off a curse in her direction dies!"

Several popping sounds signaled the arrival of more of his henchmen. The worst case scenario was that Andy was still handcuffed to the car, was under attack and it was his fault. He quickly turned to Hermione as he saw eight to nine hooded figures in what looked like Death Eater robes with wands pointing at them, closing in on them front and back, the alley narrowing even more as they did.

"Disapparate to the Ministry, now," Harry hissed at Hermione, who he noticed had her wand in her hand.

That was the safest place for her that he could think of.

"No, and don't argue," she hissed back, "We’ve got to get to Andy."

It would have been pointless. Their safety warranted risking Apparating onto a Muggle infested street.

“Reducto!”

Hermione sent an entire fire escape down the side of one building, falling onto a couple of their foes, causing a distraction. Prepared to encounter more of Floyd's men where Andy was, he grabbed Hermione's arm on his left.

Whack!

A deep searing pain cut through his arm forcing him to let go of her as he let out an involuntary yelp.

"Harry! Watch out!" Hermione yelled out a warning.

He regained focus just in time to lean back and duck out of the way of a barbed whip that Floyd was controlling with his wand as it sailed just under his eye, grazing his face. He aimed for it and hit it with a transfiguring spell, sending it back to Floyd. Harry would have been pleased by the look of a big giant noodle on him had it not been for the fact that Hermione was now unarmed, and was physically being restrained by two big brutes.

"Stupefy!" one of Floyd's men shouted from behind, and he felt a slight tickle on his back.

A flurry of missed spells ensued. He had to ward off some and take cover behind one of the trash bins, not assuming they would be as ineffective. Surely, all this magical activity would bring the MLE soon.

"Enough!" Floyd commanded.

Harry peered out through the settling dust to take a quick look and saw Floyd and his party had taken cover as well. He was almost certain that they were Squibs who had taken the potion too, for Floyd would unlikely command the same respect from wizards. Nonetheless, this was a pathetic bunch, and he would have been more brazen had he been alone in the alley with them. Stupid as it was, he got up from where he had crouched down and walked out in the open.

"Potter," Floyd greeted him. "I've finally drawn blood. Can you tell I've been practicing? Quite an improvement from last year, wouldn't you say so?"

Wetness was indeed trickling off his left hand as it hung by his side. He could not afford to look as his eyes were busy watching Floyd and the periphery for any other curses.

"Not sure if it's an improvement. I must say, this is less humiliating than pasta on my face. Would you like red or creamy sauce with that? I can mix something up real quick."

There was suppressed sniggering from within the shadows. It wasn't time to infuriate Floyd further but he just could not help it. How was he going to get Hermione back? He scouted her sentry. They were humongous but not armed and the one on her left had her wand sticking out of his back pocket.

"I know you!" Hermione said, talking to Floyd. "I've met you before!"

"I guess I did make an impression after all," Floyd turned his attention towards her. "I have often wondered if we would have known each other more intimately had Roy over there not duped you into going out with him. That must have been awful finding out that he lied to you."

"Did you kill Ron Weasley?"

"Who? Oh, do you mean the Canon Keeper fiancé of yours? Is that what he's telling you?" Floyd let out a loud amused laugh as Hermione listened to his every word. "Just between you and me he's running away from the guilt so he's blaming me for the accident. If I really wanted to kill someone I would have killed him."

"What do you want, Floyd?" he asked, almost set about what to do. "The phial?"

He laughed and his minions followed suit.

"No, not really. Although, as you can see, it is an amazing potion I could get a lot of money for it. In a few days, what you find out about it wouldn't matter anymore. However, I do need Miss Granger."

"I kind of need her, too, and my need is a bit urgent," he replied, "What do you need her for?"

"Insurance, so you'd behave yourself."

That answer came quick and somehow, even though he could use her as leverage, he was not convinced Floyd was telling the entire truth. He could not wait for the MLE.

“Who came up with that lame idea?” mocked Hermione.

Crack!

"Fuck! He's Disapparated!"

Pop!

Harry reappeared behind the two thugs and grabbed Hermione's wand.

"Incendio!"

"Ah!!"

"Stupefy!"

Thump!

One of them keeled over as the other was off doing the pants-on-fire dance.

A sudden spate of popping sounds filled in the alley. More Apparitionists. Harry could tell they weren't MLE but was too concerned about Hermione. Floyd had her by the arm and was using her as a shield. But judging from the look on his face and the flurry of curses in the background, the new arrivals were not part of his team. Not MLE but not Floyd's. He'd have to think about that later.

"Leave the Bruins! They're not worth it! And no one gets left behind." he yelled out.

Floyd mumbled a spell which Harry could not hear over the fighting, the missed curses and the cracking sounds of a magical retreat. It caused Hermione to lose consciousness, and he guessed it was to prevent the splinching that would likely happen if Floyd Disapparated with someone reluctant to go.

The momentary loss of balance brought about by Hermione's dead weight was an opening. He lunged forward, hurtling himself hard towards Floyd before he could disappear with her. The momentum landed them feet away from Hermione and knocked their wands away from their reach.

Floyd recovered from the impact sooner than he did. A large boot caught him in the mid section as he tried to get up, causing him to fall on the ground again. He barely got back his wind back when his head exploded as the same Timberland shoe found the side of his head.

"They wouldn't let Squibs play Quidditch so I played a lot of soccer growing up," Floyd explained.

Another well placed kick brought him down on his stomach again, but he would not give Floyd the satisfaction of hearing him groan and he was going to get up until he passed out.

“Wish they let me play Quidditch instead?”

He heard Floyd walk around him, then timing it perfectly, he avoided the next foot that came his way. Harry used the force of the glancing blow to get Floyd off his feet. This time, he was up at the same time Floyd was.

Ignoring the gnawing aches and pains, Harry quickly landed several jabs into the git’s face, staggering Floyd backwards, throwing punch after punch until he physically had to stop to recover. What he saw as he did was a surprise. Floyd spit out a tooth and some blood, but aside from that, there was hardly a scratch on his face.

He grinned mockingly, “Are you done?”

Before he could try another round of blows, a curse hit Floyd from the side. It was from one of the latecomers, a Stunner, although it did not even move Floyd. The brown haired wizard who cast it seemed not as perplexed as he was but sent another ineffective one, drawing more annoyance than anything else. What was going on?

“I hate pesky Bruins,” Floyd muttered under his breath as he shoved his right hand in air, palm towards the direction of his attacker, sending the man up and back a few feet.

That was definitely new and unexpected.

Harry saw his wand on the ground and was about to retrieve it when Floyd got a hold of his neck. With extraordinary strength, Floyd lifted him up by the throat, until he could not feel his feet touching ground, the firm grip on his windpipe made breathing quite impossible.

He brought his hands up to try and pry off Floyd’s fingers but couldn’t. His legs continued to dangle and frantically search for secure footing even as he was able to force a couple of coughs to relieve his need for air.

“I could kill you right now,” Floyd taunted.

His face was hot, his eyes watery and he was sure he was going to lose consciousness soon. He saw a couple of spells hit Floyd but that did not even distract him.

Vroom! Vroom! Vrrooommmm!

From the corner of his eye, he saw Andy in Muller’s black car careening down from the street into the alley, horns blasting like crazy as figures got out of the way. She was heading straight at them, pedal to the metal. Floyd had seen her too, for only someone deaf would not have heard the warning that she was coming. He looked irritated that he had to deal with it but did not move a muscle. Harry prepared himself for the impact.

Crash!

The sound of metal against metal rang as Andy hit Floyd, dragged him a few feet and crushed his legs between the now silent but steaming front of the Beemer and a large rusty trash bin.

Floyd let out an agonized cry. Unfortunately, the force of the collision did not make Floyd let go of him and as the injured man cried out, Harry felt his grasp tighten even more. His feet found traction and with all the remaining energy he could muster, he threw his weight down, packing a blow onto Floyd’s arm from above, hearing bone snap.

With another scream, he finally let go. Harry found himself on his knees on top of the carhood holding onto his neck, panting, trying to catch his breath, looking into the eyes of a somewhat dazed Andy who was struggling to get her wand up through the semi-deflated air bag.

Then the car moved back…an inch…and another.

“What the fuck…?”

He didn’t have to know how to lip-read to discern what Andy just muttered from inside the cabin as she saw something that made her eyes widen. He turned and witnessed what she did. Floyd physically moved the car back again. There was blood everywhere. His legs were mangled, his arm was unnaturally bent, and he was looking at him with hatred in his eyes.

Then, with a snap of his fingers, Floyd was gone.

A/N. I kind of needed Floyd to become a worthier villain - what do you think?

37. The Gringotts Robbery Suspect and Elder Obliviator

Chapter 37 – The Gringotts Robbery Suspect and Elder Obliviator

Floyd was gone but they were definitely not out of the woods yet. Harry slid off the hood of the car on the driver's side, unmindful of the glass shards from the broken windshield as he scanned the area where he last saw Hermione. She wasn't there.

"Um…Harry, I need some help here!" Andy hollered out after him as he went past her to search.

Panicked, Andy's call for assistance and the rattling of chains did not register. The alley was now quiet save for the hissing from Jack's car. He found his wand at the same time he found Hermione. She was on her feet, unsteady, being held up by a tall, generously-built man beside one of the trash bins.

Rushing, he pointed his wand as he approached.

"Let her go!"

"Harry, no."

Hermione motioned with her hand, putting herself between him and her captor. A bespectacled woman with short, brown hair was beside the stranger and she handed Hermione her wand.

"Who are you?" he asked as he lowered his, noticing a design on the sleeve of her robes that reminded him of Hogwarts.

"We are nobody and it would not benefit you in any way to seek us out. We are not the enemy," she replied and then turned to Hermione and said, "We trust you to do the right thing."

With those parting words she Disapparated and so did the man beside her.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked her, worried.

"I'm fine. Are you?" she said to him, concerned at the sight of Floyd's handiwork.

"Yes, I'm okay."

Hurriedly, he walked back towards the car to free Andy before any more attacks happened. Hermione followed him close.

"Well, it's about time," Andy said to him, relieved as the manacles came off. "Jeez, Harry, you look like you were in a car wreck."

Andy liked to joke about injury. She was pulling something from the glove compartment of Jack's car.

"I was in a car wreck. Nice piece of offensive driving, by the way," he complimented.

"Thanks," she replied, still rummaging for something in the car.

He caught a glimpse of the damage Floyd had inflicted on his face and neck from the side mirror. It looked worse that he felt but at least he had his own hair back. In the meantime, Hermione had found a wooden square box, toppled it upside down and motioned him to sit.

"Let me have a look."

Harry let her, taking advantage of her studying him intently to do the same to her. Somebody tried to grab her at the diner and Floyd attacked them to get to her. He only had himself to blame for putting her in danger and the chances of her going back to London was now next to none. What did they want with her?

"You really should go to a hospital, get a more extensive examination," Hermione said after she finished scanning for internal injuries.

Andy handed her a magical first aid kit.

"What for? You're a Healer, aren't you? Make yourself useful."

Andy had walked away to secure their perimeter before Hermione could respond and he had to physically stop her from pointing her wand at the other woman.

"Just once, really," she said through gritted teeth, fuming.

He mouthed the word 'no', and for now she would heed his advice. Hermione gave him a dagger look as if it was his fault she walked right into that.

Frustrated, she vented her ire on the object that was given her. Perusing its contents and making a scoffing sound every now and then as she read labels on the items in the kit, tossing some by the wayside, no doubt finding something wrong with them.

Andy had rejoined them and was already rolling her eyes up at what Hermione was doing, a distraction was in order.

"I was hoping you'd join the fight sooner. What took you so long, anyway?" Harry asked her, vigilant for any more suspicious activity, still wondering why the MLE had not come.

"I was a bit busy entertaining a couple of Floyd's men," she said, then tartly added, "That and changing gears with both hands tied to the wheel was a bit of a challenge."

"I told you, you should have released her," Hermione murmured against her breath.

He was about to protest, comment on the fact that Andy should have been able to take the shackles off easily and that Hermione should have been a bit more thankful that he did what he did, but had to clench his jaw as he felt a sudden stinging sensation over his arm. Hermione was probing the insides of the deep gash with a heat producing spell. Did she forget the numbing charm?

"That stings."

"Good. That means it's cleaning the wound like it's supposed to."

Hermione was still angry but there was no time to deal with that at the moment. Harry wanted to talk to Andy about what she found out at the diner and discuss what to do next. His blonde partner was a few feet away staring at the smoke coming off the front of the dented hood, biting her bottom lip, appraising the damage to Jack's car.

Clang! Pffffffttt...

The front bumper that was barely hanging on to the rest of the car gave way causing all three of them to jump back slightly as the front passenger tire began to rapidly lose air.

"Any ideas on how to break the news to Jack?" he asked Andy as a frown formed on her face.

"So, you think he'd notice, huh?"

He chuckled as Andy's phone rang and she took the call. His laughter was abbreviated by the same burning healing spell on the cut under his eye. It probably was too late to ask her for a bit of magical anaesthetic.

"You won't believe what just happened," Andy said over the phone livelier than she would normally have, turning and walking away from them. That would be Jack on the other end. "We ran into Floyd."

Hermione briefly met his gaze and confirmed what she already knew, "He's the Squib you've been after."

"Yes," he replied, relieved that it seemed she was starting to believe him.

They talked as Andy’s voice carried towards them in the background.

"It looks like he's less affected by curses when he's on the potion, he was just absorbing them."

"What does he want with me?"

What transpired a few moments before was now just sinking in and like him Hermione was struggling to make sense of it.

"I’m not sure. He and his brother were stealing research ideas last year," he responded. "Are you working on something worth stealing?"

"I crushed his legs... Harry broke his arm...there's blood all over... he survived and disappeared without a wand...you should have seen it…"

Hermione answered, "I don't think so."

"Think about it some more," he suggested as Hermione reduced the swelling that Floyd's foot had left on his face. "He's up to something big, something related to this year's conference, it might give us ideas what it is and hopefully stop him in time."

"And he beat the crap out of Harry, almost killed him really if I hadn't done what I did..."

Harry asked Hermione, "That man and that woman; Floyd referred them as Bruins, did they say anything else to you?"

Hermione answered the negative. She was unusually quiet, not asking questions, at least not out loud. She closed his wounds with essence of dittany.

"Yeah, he's here…there's so much going on we don't understand…"

"You know who they are."

It wasn't a question.

"Kind of, but not really."

He'd have to ask her again about them when they had more time.

"No, we didn't get a chance to discuss that yet..."

"They said they trusted you to do the right thing. Does that change what you want to do?"

"No, it doesn't."

"Let me talk to him...he's reasonable..."

He had been eavesdropping on Andy's conversation with Jack and it was going just where he had thought it would go. Harry had hoped to talk to Andy before Jack did because after Jack did, Andy would not have much of a choice.

Harry quickly got up, startling Hermione, "We have to go."

"You're sending troops over…okay…we'll wait..."

He pulled Hermione behind him as Andy’s conversation with Jack ended and she put her phone away.

When Andy turned to face them, her wand was pointed at Harry. Harry's was already aimed at her.

"Drop the wand," he said to her, unable to pull the trigger as he intended to, "I don't want to hex you a second time."

XXXXXXXXXX

Back in London, Dean was at the busy Underground Hammersmith station standing in front of a long stretch of wall temporarily magically segregated from Muggle view. This would be the third magical damage to public property reported since last night. His partner, a Pureblood rookie with the personality of the concrete structure they were staring at, was taking notes.

In bold, flashing neon colors written in hard to Scourgify magical reappearing ink was something he had heard of before.

VITAMIN X

Earlier that day, he had interrogated a Squib crook who claimed to have paid good money for Vitamin X, some potion that would allow him to do magic. The git was arrested by police as he unsuccessfully tried to rob a bank with a wand. The Ministry shrink dismissed him as delusional.

Vitamin X. Dean wondered if it was some new street drug, a powerful hallucinogen perhaps, and if there were other similar cases they dismissed as mere loony cases. Someone was taking advantage of Squibs, selling them empty promises of a magic enabling potion, and advertising the merchandise quite effectively.

Squibs and magic. He smiled to himself. Wait ‘til she hears about this. Maybe he could see her before tonight.

"Kids," his partner said derisively, as he copied the graffiti on his notebook. "Must have nothing better to do."

That was rich coming from someone who still lived with his Mum. Dean ignored him as much as possible because doing so was the only way coming to work would not be a chore. He'd have to think of a more subtle way to get rid of this one. Gumboil was already on his ass about the six other partners he went through since Harry.

His pager went off. Two dead bodies had just turned up at a popular Squib hang-out.

"Wait for the clean up crew and stay until they’re done," Dean ordered his junior.

"But that could take forever."

Whiners were the worst partners.

"That's the point."

XXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, Ginny was at her desk at the Prophet. She had just come from the daily staff meeting where potential headline stories for the next morning edition of the paper had been identified and assignments were handed out. The old fuddy-duddy was still pissed at her for her anti-Scrimgeour editorial and was sending her off to scour the MLE Hit Wizard arrests and investigations for potential fillers. Filler stories were the pits, an assignment fit for those in the Chief's doghouse. That was where she was.

At the end of the meeting there was a headliner which no one wanted to work on. She volunteered with the relieved blessing of her fellow reporters and the reluctant agreement of the boss. Gringotts was carrying on a separate non-Ministry sanctioned investigation on the robbery that happened the day before and the Chief wanted someone on it. But as the goblins were an unfriendly bunch, particularly those who worked at Gringotts, her co-workers knew a dead end headliner when they saw one. She wanted to do it for more personal reasons. She wanted to help find Ragnok.

Ginny scribbled a quick note on a parchment.

Gringotts robbery investigation. Can you help?

Ginny signed it and sent it off by express owl. She would have to wait a bit and patience was her least developed virtue. Logging on to the Ministry database, she started working on promising short features, taking down notes.

Squib robs store using wand as weapon, claims he can do magic. Policemen Obliviated.

Magical graffiti at Kings Cross. Vitamin X, recreational drug?

Mysterious death of suspected Death Eater associate at known wizard nightspot. No witnesses.

She carried on for about half an hour, picking similar stories. By the time the reply owl came back, she had plenty of filler crap to stuff the Chief's big ass.

Her contact at Gringotts was a goblin of position that she had at one time helped out of a bind. The goblin knew and trusted her brother, Bill. It was Bill who told him to ask her for help.

The goblin had sired a child out of wedlock, a crime punishable by death in Goblin Law. While the specifics of what she had to do through the Society for the Protection of Magical Beings were never going to see the light of day, the goblin owed her and was the rare one who was sincerely grateful.

While she could have abused it by demanding interviews she knew he could never refuse, she didn't. She didn't help him to gain future favours. But this investigation was more than a story, and like the one other time she approached him for help, gave him the option of what information and how much information to give her.

The goblin's reply was cryptic.

Sir Isaac Umber is coming in for questioning in an hour. Best get to him before that.

Umber. She knew that name. He was a successful investment banker amongst Muggles and a philanthropist in both Magical and Muggle worlds. He had been knighted by the Muggle Queen for his contribution to the English banking system and for his charity work. The goblins had invited him for questioning. If she was told to get to him before that, it only meant one thing.

Goblin justice had been served; his guilt had been decided.

XXXXXXXXXX

Across town in the penthouse office suite of the Bank of Great Britain, a tall, bespectacled elderly man with graying brown hair appeared within his fireplace, encased in a green flame. He stepped out, dusted off his Armani suit and picked up the phone.

"Can I help you, Mr. Umber?"

He may have been a knight but he disliked being called Sir Isaac.

"Martha, reschedule all my appointments for the next two weeks," he said to his assistant.

"Will do, Mr. Umber."

The man hung up. That was why she was hired. She did not ask questions.

He paced the well trodden rug in front of his sturdy oak desk, expecting his arrival soon. They had agreed to meet away from the other Elder Bruin Council members.

After years of relative non-activity, the Bruins were being called into action. The Prophecy was coming true and they were failing miserably to prevent the remaining events that were about to happen.

As leader for the English arm, he had his hands full in Britain. Lestrange had masked her intentions of the knowledge of the family secret well and they had paid the price of their non-action and their preference for peaceful solutions. They were no where closer to knowing who her potion master was than they were days ago when the centaur was murdered and they first suspected Lestrange was going to attempt to reproduce it.

He was a descendant of Sophie Bruin's eldest daughter, Brumhilda. Brumhilda and her sister Sabrina destroyed notes and information about their mother's potion after she died, not wanting to leave anything to chance. While their anti-potion descendants did not have the exact instructions on how to make Grandma Sophie's potion, those actively involved in the cause to prevent its creation knew enough to monitor activity that may be related to it. The deathbed curse had made the job easy for while the Bruins may have been of differing opinions as to whether or not the potion should exist, if it was going to be made Grandma Sophie wanted it to be by one of them. But things went sour when one of Helga's granddaughters was foolish enough to carry with her an unencrypted copy of how to make the magic enabling potion.

To challenge Lestrange in open warfare was suicide for not only were they unskilled to fight the Dark Arts, that would mean exposing their existence and the reason for their existence to the world. It was one thing for the potion to be a myth but it would be a less than ideal situation if knowledge of the potion's existence would become widespread. It would be almost as bad as creating the potion itself.

He had already met with the other six members of the Bruin Council of Elders twice today and it was not yet nightfall. Potion shipments were being made from Britain to Toronto and the Toronto arm had to deal with that Squib scoundrel who had obviously been using the potion and studying Quikspell for quite some time.

His Toronto Elder counterpart, his cousin Ecruminus Brown, had expressed a rare celebratory delight during their second meeting upon knowledge that Potter and Granger still had the phial. His suggestion to let them take it apart was met with open hostility and they were the only ones who supported the motion to trust the pair and allow them to help.

On cue, green flame surged in his fireplace and Ecruminus stepped out. Ecruminus was as tall as he was but was stockier, had less hair and dressed considerably less distinguished than he did. His face was in a permanent scowl lately. He was deeply worried about the events that had transpired and where their future seemed to be headed at.

While Isaac was concerned about the social upheaval that would occur if the potion was used widely, there was more reason for Ecruminus to be worried. Ecruminus was the Chief of the Association for the Protection of Squibs. The potion was unsafe for use and they knew this. He feared the promise of the capability to do magic would make Squibs take foolish risks with their health and bring about more persecution of Magical Beings.

"I’m sorry I’m late,” his Squib cousin said as he approached, “Another Floyd situation came up. He attacked the Potter party.”

Aside from Lestrange, the only way they could get to the Potion Master was through Floyd and that was the only reason they had not neutralized him yet.

“Why did he do that?” Isaac asked.

“That’s unclear. Maybe he wants the potion back or he wants to test his magic. Or maybe he’s finally tired of playing with Potter.”

There was one other possibility that popped in his head but Isaac thought it too farfetched he quickly dismissed it.

“I sent my team to help them. She may be delayed.”

Isaac didn’t have much time.

“I hope she comes soon. I have a meeting with the Gringotts goblins in an hour. Best not to keep that bunch waiting.”

His concern was addressed as the fireplace produced the same flame and Pia Russet stepped out.

“How did it go?” Ecruminus asked her as she joined them on the rug.

“It is worse than what our sources tell us,” the young woman reported, distress in her eyes, “Floyd has studied the potion well and can wield its powers without use of a wand.”

There was silence, the three of them at a loss for words. Neutralizing Floyd just became a priority.

“And what of Granger and Potter?” Isaac broke the silence.

“They’re alive, they still have the potion and we made contact as you instructed. I sense that she knows of us.”

“Do we know why Floyd attacked them?”

“Not the potion. It was probably to show Potter his new wares although he did seem interested in Granger.”

Isaac did not want to hear that.

“For our sake I hope we are right about them,” Ecruminus said nervously, “Assist them for now, but once the tables turn, be prepared to do the worst.”

Pia nodded. She had lost so much to the cause she knew what was at stake.

“I must return. Floyd just suffered extensive physical injuries and will be more vulnerable. We may have a window of opportunity to find him and get the information we need. Do you have further instructions before I go?” Pia asked.

“Two,” her Elder spoke to her gravely, “If you find Floyd, eliminate the lowlife. The identity of the Potion Master is now secondary. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Uncle Crum, I understand. And the other?”

Ecruminus took a big breath in and waited for Isaac to nod his head.

“You were in attendance and you know we are in violation of the Council’s wishes. My lack of magical ability is a liability and there will be a time when I will deny ever having this conversation with you.”

He paused to allow Pia to take in fully what he was saying.

“You are to take orders from your Uncle Isaac from now on and until this imminent threat is over.”

Pia hesitated, understandably worried about being on unknown footing.

“I trust him, Pia. So should you.”

“And what if your orders and his orders contradict each other?”

Pia looked at Isaac, looking into his eyes, as if measuring him for worthiness of her trust.

Ecruminus replied, “Then you are to follow his.”

“No,” Isaac interrupted, meeting her penetrating gaze, “You are to follow what your heart tells you is right.”

“Isaac! It’s not fair to ask her to make such a big decision!”

“By going against the Council she already has,” Isaac replied, and Ecruminus knew it to be the truth. They had to tell her what they were asking. “To protect Bruin interests Ecruminus needs to remain head of the Squibs. He will lose that, and a lot more, if the Council finds out he has ordered you to aid Potter and Granger. You are young and idealistic. They will be more lenient if you act on your own and I will make sure you are protected when the Council finds out.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” Pia replied and then turned to Ecruminus with concern, “I will do as you wish.”

They embraced and then Pia left the same way they came.

“She’s a brave soul,” Ecruminus was fighting off tears, “Take care of her.”

“You know I will,” Isaac replied.

“Let’s get this over with,” Ecruminus announced.

Isaac took his wand out and waved it at his Squib cousin.

“Obliviate!”

For a brief moment only the whites of Ecruminus' eyes could be seen. As Bruin Elder Council members they had gone against the Council’s wishes three times and for the third time, Isaac made Ecruminus forget.

“Isaac, we have to do something!”

Interestingly enough that was what Ecruminus said right after the other two times he was Obliviated.

“I should tell Pia to assist them!”

“No, you’re not an Occlumens and they will find out. We both know it is important that you stay in the Council and that you remain Chief Squib. Leave it to me.”

Ecruminus would not be able to argue with that.

“What are you planning to do?”

“It is better you don't know. Now, have you decided what to do when you meet with Granger and Potter?”

“They can be trusted more than anyone on the Toronto MLE. We will oppose any attempts to take them off the case but there will be no human testing until the potion’s safety can be determined without a doubt.”

“And that will delay confirmation of what it can do, buy us some time. Make sure you make the MLE responsible for the potion's safety but have your people around it 24/7, make a switch at first opportunity. Granger can keep a secret but once the Ministry figures it out, it will be very difficult to keep a lid on it.”

“What about Gringotts? What is that about?”

“They suspect I might know something about the robbery.”

“I don’t trust goblins. Be careful.”

He would be. He'd dealt with Gringotts goblins before. He always was.

Ecruminus left with some peace of mind and it was now up to Potter and Granger to prove them right. Potter's and Granger's adventures as teenagers were well known to him and he always thought that they would not have survived Voldemort had they not had innate intangible skill to react to situations like the one they were going through appropriately.

Of the two, he had followed Hermione Granger’s life more closely. He felt uneasy about her appearance in Toronto and her close involvement in the case but, just like last year, he chose to step back and allow the present to play itself out. He was unclear what her role in the Prophecy would be but knowing who she was and what she was capable of, he was quite hopeful her contribution would result in a most positive outcome.

38. Healer versus Auror

A/N. Surprise! I had thought I couldn't but I actually wrote it and the rewrite was well worth the while. Enjoy :)

Chapter 38 – Healer versus Auror

Andy did not move a muscle.

"Give it up, Harry. I'm siding with Jack on this one," she said to him, unflinching, "We got a glimpse of what it can do. The potion has to be turned in."

"He'll have it in two hours."

"He wants it now! And you might as well lower your weapon because you and I know that you're not going to use it on me."

As much Andy knew he wouldn't hex her, he knew Andy wouldn't hex him either; at least not under the present circumstances. If she wanted to, she would have already. He lowered his wand somewhat and so did she. He would try to get her on their side one more time.

"I need your help on this one."

"Listen. You know I bend a lot of rules; I friggin enjoy it. But this is different. I'm not getting into that hole you're digging until you give me one hell of a reason why you have to do this and it better not be so you can get your dick back into her pants!"

A warm feeling rushed up his face, embarrassed as Andy hit a raw nerve. It wasn't so much because of the rudeness of her delivery. It was a figure of speech; a dysphemism. Well, kind of. What Andy said was partly true and her recognition of his desire to hang on to Hermione was bang on. What Hermione had said to him about the possible consequences of the potion's existence made sense but defiance of a direct order from his superior and hiding evidence from the Ministry was a big deal, especially after seeing what Floyd could do with it. They could get away with something like this back when they were teenagers but as adults they were expected to act more responsibly.

He would probably not have gone this far if not for the fact that this was what Hermione wanted to. He was doing it for her because it was important to her. And all this, being together in the last couple of hours working side by side, reminded him so much of how it used to be and what it was that he wanted back.

Harry was so distracted by his thoughts he was not able to stop the hot flash of a curse Hermione let go of from somewhere behind him. Andy's wand discharged in response, containing Hermione's hex and sending it his way, fast. Their proximity and his lack of preparation handcuffed him and the power with which his partner parried the offensive move overwhelmed his hastily produced defense.

Blag!

He fell to the ground, arms and legs unable to move.

"Stupefy!" Hermione tried again.

"Cursio rebundo!" Andy's wand flicked the spell right back at her, and she barely was able to get out of the way. Andy mocked her efforts, "You have to do better than that!"

He had to help her. His wand had fallen beside him and he was trapped in Hermione's straightjacket curse. It would be pointless to physically struggle. He looked over to where Hermione had fallen on the ground.

"Hermione, release me!"

Andy made sure she wouldn't; his partner one of the best mind players he ever met.

"Oh sure! Get your ex-boyfriend to fight your fight for you!"

That definitely riled Hermione up even more.

"He was never my boyfriend!"

Hermione quickly got up and aimed her wand at Andy. A surge of red light sent Andy soaring back as the full energy of Hermione's non-verbal attack did not totally bounce off latter's attempt to block it. Andy's impeccable body awareness and control allowed her to right herself mid air and still land on both feet.

"Could have fooled me," was Andy's snide reply as she regained her footing in time to redirect a couple more volleys, "You sure are acting like his jealous ex-bitch!"

Jealous? Really? No time, he needed his wand right away. He concentrated, neck slanted towards the piece of wood a couple of feet to his right. It did work out of desperation before.

Accio wand!

"This is getting fucking boring," he heard Andy say.

"Sapone bocca!"

From the lack of response he figured Andy was not able to dodge that unfamiliar one. He had to look, realizing instantly what that spell did. Andy was talking, soapy bubbles coming out of her mouth instead of words as she angrily spoke.

"That should clean up your filthy mouth," Hermione said satisfied at the small victory she had achieved.

He should have warned Hermione that it was better to allow Andy to talk. Shutting her up made her bite worse.

Accio wand!

Using a combination of spells he had seen Andy use before, three short bursts of light later, Andy had Hermione disarmed, bound and unable to speak, her wand in Andy's possession. Andy was not an Auror because she looked good.

Accio wand!

"Accio phial!"

Rip!

Hermione’s robes pocket tore as Andy had broken the soapy mouth spell and retrieved the evidence using her wand.

"Up you go."

Andy levitated her prisoner precariously and speedily up thirty feet into the air. Harry heard a muffled scream from Hermione, realizing that he must have told Andy offhandedly that she was afraid of heights. Andy was choosing to humiliate rather than inflict pain. Hermione would have preferred pain.

Relashio!

"Put her down, gently!"

Harry finally freed himself and had his wand aimed, once again at Andy. Andy had one wand pointed at him and one at Hermione.

"Be serious, Harry," Andy said matter-of-factly, "You can't pull the trigger."

Without second thought he did, catching Andy offguard.

“Fuck, Harry!”

On reflex, Andy brought both wands together to protect herself, the force of their combined hexes resulting in a small explosion, causing her to fall on her back and Hermione's now unlevitated figure to suddenly drop from the sky. Never intending to hurt her, Andy joined him in his attempt to cushion her freefall. He had to take advantage of the opening she gave him.

Harry hastily conjured a large safety net and hit Andy with a jinx just as Hermione landed on it.

“Ha!Ha!Ha!Hee…”

Loud uncontrollable laughter pierced the air just as the Hermione’s muffled screams ended. He released Hermione so she could get off the mesh and be able to verbally express herself. She was understandably as mad as hell.

“Give me my wand back!” she demanded from him.

“Ho!Ho!Ho!”

“No! We need to talk to her!”

“We will, after. I promise!” Hermione replied, determined to get some revenge.

“Ha!Ha!Ha!”

“Do you really want to attack an unarmed Ministry official?”

“Just this particular one!”

“Hee!Hee!Hee!”

“It’s not necessary!”

“Oh, believe me, it is!”

“Ho!Ho!Ho!”

“You can go to prison!”

“Honestly, Harry. I’ve stolen Ministry evidence and am about to tamper with it. Let’s put things in perspective!”

He had had it with trying to be a pacifist.

“Fine! Here!” he put her wand in her hand, “Knock yourself out!”

He watched as Hermione marched over to where Andy was and pointed her wand at the Auror. Andy was doubled up, tears streaming down her face as she could not stop laughing. It was really the only hex he could think of that would incapacitate her but not make her too miffed at him.

“Ha!Ha!Ha!”

Hermione took a good five seconds.

“Ugh! Finite Incantatem!”she couldn’t curse Andy either. She took the phial back and walked away, muttering to herself as she did, “You really shouldn’t have told him you had the phial.”

She pulled out parchment and a quill from her purse and started scribbling. What was up with her and her sudden liking for note writing? She did it earlier too. Andy finally recovered from all the laughing, stood before him and quite pissed off. He still had a wand aimed at Andy to keep her away.

“You were actually going to let her?!”

“She’s a Healer. What’s the worse that she could do? Give you a few painful boils?”

“I heard that!” Hermione resented what he just said, but went back to her note writing.

“Well, you’re an Auror. Was that the worst you could do?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Sure, my jaw hurts and my side is sore but you’re too fucking nice. Of all the fucking hexes, you picked the laughing curse?!” Andy swore at him, “If I were someone else you'd be dead by now.”

“If you were someone else, I would have used a different one.”

"I do admit your hex was unexpected. I didn’t think you’d let her fall."

He answered, feeling she had calmed down, "I trusted you had that covered."

"Yeah, that was really stupid of me," she crossed her arms across her chest. Then with concern, Andy said to him seriously, “But what you’re doing is a hundred times more stupid.”

"We really need your help."

“It’s obvious she doesn’t want to help,” Hermione interrupted.

"She just needs to understand why."

"Then explain it to her," Hermione snapped at him impatiently, still writing, "It should be easy enough to admit to the truth in what she said."

So, she knew he was letting her run with the potion to regain and rekindle the close friendship they once had. That should have been a given. After all, Hermione knew him so well. Now that it was out in the open it really sounded as foolish as Andy pictured it. Foolish but he would do it for her over and over again.

Andy found the voice he couldn't find and screamed at Hermione, "What kind of a friend are you?! You know why he's doing this idiotic thing and you're letting him do it! This little stunt of yours just earned him a suspension pending an inquiry! He could be banned from law enforcement for the rest of his life!"

He didn't really think of or care about that.

"Andy, it's okay..."

"No! It's not okay! I can't just listen and watch her treat you like shit. I can't think of anything you could have done to her to deserve this!"

"You just don't know..."

"It has been a year! Nobody deserves what you've endured from her! And you're too fucking desperate to see it and too fucking nice to tell it to her face! She's using you! She doesn't want you to hand the potion in because she wants to be famous for being the first to figure it out!"

Harry defended Hermione, "She's not like that."

"Open your eyes! She's stringing you along for a fucking ride and she's enjoying it all the way!"

He honestly didn't see it that way. He looked at Hermione, disturbed that the accusations didn't seem to bother her at all. If anything, it seemed that she was a bit embarrassed, as if she had been caught with her hand inside the cookie jar.

Hermione had seemingly finally finished her list and met Andy's mockery and indignation with indifference, "Nobody is stringing him along for a ride. He's a grown man and he's done a lot more stupid things for less."

She was right about that.

"He trusts you and he says we need you," she paused and forced herself to say, "I seem to have regained a smidgen of trust in him so I'm going to take a leap and trust you. Am I going to regret it?"

After his Roy Hunt betrayal, trust, no matter how little, was good; he would take it. He listened to Andy's reply, his hope for a smooth resolution quickly dampened by the tone of her voice.

Andy's answer was colder than ice, "I can't promise you anything."

At least Andy was giving her a warning. Hermione took Andy’s wand from Harry and he knew what she was going to do. He would be more prepared this time around.

"Fair enough," Hermione replied, giving Andy back her wand, "I apologize for losing my temper. I shouldn't have cursed you. I wouldn't have asked and let Harry to get involved had I been sure I could do this on my own. And no, I'm not doing this to be famous. If you hold off on arresting us I'll try to explain why I have to do this."

Andy’s answer made Harry relax a bit more, “I’m listening."

"You saw what that Squib can do. You already think that it's because of the potion. Imagine how many other Squibs will want it just to be able do magic."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"No, there isn't. But from what I've heard Floyd has had to take it a few times and he's selling it. What's the going price for magic in a bottle?"

"So Squibs are about to get the shaft but why do you need to take the potion apart? If it is what we think it is, holding one phial hostage is not going to accomplish anything," Andy reasoned out, "Others are obviously after it and by asking for a meeting with high level Ministry officials, you've alerted spies of every conceivable shape or form."

Harry was observing Hermione all throughout Andy's monologue then just realized something.

"You had hoped that would happen. You wanted to flush the players out."

Hermione gave him an apologetic look.

"I did wonder who was going to show, foolishly not thinking just how dangerous that would be. The truth of the matter is I was most concerned about the Ministry analyzing it. The Ministry isn't ready for what the phial contains and I just couldn't hand it over."

"You never intended to return the phial," Harry concluded from the tone in her voice.

"I did; I wanted to because it was important to you to expose Floyd. I was hoping that if I knew for sure what's in the potion we could go to that meeting and I could convince our audience that it shouldn't be scrutinized. I really thought I could hand it over, but after hearing what it does, I don't think I can take that chance," she answered him honestly with a hint of regret.

"You're not making sense," Andy finally said, frustrated, "It's one phial, there are more out there. Not giving it back is not a solution and it’s not an option. You will both go to jail for this."

Andy had a good point but unlike her he had faith in Hermione to do the right thing and to find a way to do it. They always found a way.

Hermione pressed on, "Had we taken it to them immediately, they would have analyzed it like any other evidence and by this time, it would be too late to prevent the rest of the world from knowing that it exists and what's in it."

"You already know what's in it?" Harry asked her.

"No, I don't; although I can make an educated guess based on what I've heard this Floyd can do while he's on it. That's why I want to take it apart. I want to know for sure because if I'm right the Ministry should not have it.”

"So, what do you think is in it?" Andy asked.

"Magic cannot be created out of thin air. Research on magic enabling potions and artifacts are banned not only because of the social impact but also because it is one of the five principal exceptions to Gamp's law of elemental transfiguration. What do you think gives the potion its magical properties? Think about it.”

"Wandless magic and the ability to withstand spells…fuck…"

Harry realized too what Hermione was getting at. Floyd absorbed spells like a giant would and did magic like a house-elf would. What was about to happen to magical beings was going to be worse than what would happen to Squibs if the potion became public.

"This one phial is priceless not because of how much it’s going to cost to buy it but how much it’s going to cost to make it. I may just be delaying the inevitable but keeping the potion off public scrutiny for as long as possible will give us more time to catch whoever is making it and hopefully put an end to this."

Andy was finally seeing it from her point of view, "I can already hear Squibs clamoring for it. They will be demanding magical being blood if that's what's in it. You're right; the Ministry shouldn't have it. They'll fuck this all up. Magical beings are segregated and abused enough as it is."

The conclusion Andy had arrived at was a surprise to both of them.

"We can talk about that after we know for sure what's in it," he suggested, not really liking the idea of not handing it in to the Ministry at all, hoping they would find a way.

"Jack will not give you two hours. He'll have everyone looking for you."

"That's fine," he replied, confident they would be, "He won't see us until then. In the meantime, we need you on the inside to check things out for us. We need to find out where the potion is coming from and we can do that through the phials. Do you have the empty one?"

Andy gave it to Hermione who quickly showed her the number markings on it. Harry handed her information of the one Hermione had and how to track down the buyer.

Harry continued, "What did you find out at the diner?"

"The HWs think it was a prank, nothing malicious. It definitely wasn't Floyd; not messy enough. The Muggles were mostly confused and distraught but there was a Squib witness who said there were a bunch of teenagers who walked in and he definitely saw one pull out something powdery and black just before the mayhem started."

The guy who threw him against the wall was definitely not a teenager, and neither was the woman who told everyone to get out.

"Get the name of that Squib; we might want to pay him a visit. Find out why the MLE didn't come when we needed them and see what you can find out about the Bruins."

"The Boston hockey team?"

Andy was Canadian. She breathed hockey.

"No. The Bruins, descendants of a Squib named Sophie Bruin," Hermione answered and Harry remembered how she said she knew who they were. He still couldn’t place the name she gave Andy and would have to ask her later. "I doubt you'll find anything if you do a search but this might help."

Hermione gave Andy the parchment she had been writing on earlier.

"What's this?"

Harry saw a list. Books and newspaper articles?

"You can borrow these books from any good size Muggle library."

A few popping sounds disrupted their discussion. The MLE had finally arrived and he noticed that took a long time. The protective spells Andy had put up earlier would hide them for a couple more minutes.

"I hate to point this out and I mean no offence but we're in the middle of a fucking case against a Squib-wizard-magical being and you want me to go to the library to take some books out? This isn't the time to be doing fucking homework."

"She does have a point, Hermione," Harry cautiously agreed in a more hushed tone as the Jack's men drew closer, "You can just tell us what you know."

"I could but I don't want to influence what you think," she insisted to do it her way, "I don't know the exact dates of those Daily Prophet articles. However, they are all written by the same reporter."

Andy read the parchment and couldn't help mention what she knew of the name on it, "Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister and another ex-girlfriend."

"I was never his girlfriend."

"So you keep saying,” Andy gave Harry a fleeting what-is-her-problem look then urged him, “You have to go. You're going to have to hex me and make it convincing. Let me contact you as soon as I'm in the clear because I know Jack; he will be watching."

Harry raised his wand but the spell was slow in coming.

"For Merlin's sake!" Hermione hissed, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Blag!

He stared at trigger-happy, quick-draw Hermione, mouth slightly open. She was looking down on the now stiff Andy with a most satisfied expression.

"Sorry. No offence meant."

It was a hollow apology if he ever heard one. Harry decided not to look at Andy's face and grabbed Hermione's arm.

Crack!

A/N. I really love this one and this version is more believable. Andy was obviously holding back - it was a definite mismatch and the action was kind of lame but I couldn't make them really go at it because they do need Andy on this case.

Poor Harry - having to deal with all the estrogen. Andy's mouth is really something. The things she comes up with! LOL!

39. The Story of the Magic Pill

Chapter 39 - The Story of the Magic Pill

As Harry and Hermione Disapparated from the downtown Toronto alley, back in London, Ginny was ushered into the Bank of Great Britain Penthouse office of Sir Isaac Umber. The tall distinguished gentleman met her at the door with a firm handshake and a warm smile.

So far, he was just as she read he was, and her gut feeling even before she met him was he had absolutely nothing to do with the robbery. The Ministry had rightly dismissed the evidence against him, the same evidence the goblins likely had. The man before her was not stupid and she immediately concluded that he was set up. She had a suspicion who; the question was why? And she did need to get something a bit more objective to help locate Ragnok, hoping that the man before him had some answers.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Umber. I know you're a very busy man," she greeted him, craning her neck up as they walked in.

"I read your weekly editorial," the older man confessed, motioning her to sit. "I've always wanted to meet the fiery soul behind the writing. How can I be of assistance?"

"In the interest of saving time I hope you won't take it against me if I ask blunt questions," Ginny decided on the approach considering he only gave her ten minutes.

"Merlin forbid we futz around at a time like this," his tone was a bit philosophical and seemed inwardly pleased he had come up with it.

"I'm working on a story about the Gringotts robbery. I have sources who say you know a lot about it."

"About the robbery?" Umber repeated, she noted the maneuver to delay, "I'm afraid that I don't know any more about it than the average Prophet reader."

A lie if she ever heard one. Maybe she was wrong about him being a good guy.

"You were one of the first to be brought in for questioning by the MLE."

"They did have good reason to. The MLE found several notes in my handwriting amongst Ragnok's possessions detailing the Gringotts strike."

"Do you know Ragnok?"

"Being a banker I've had to deal with Gringotts goblins countless times. I knew Ragnok. He was one of the more trusting ones and was quite reasonable to work with."

Umber talked of Ragnok with a tone of respect and remorse, and it did not escape Ginny how Umber referred to him in the past.

"You talk about him as if he's dead."

"I apologize for my insensitivity. That's just an old man talking. The Ragnok I knew was a family man. I was quite troubled when they said he had assisted in the robbery and had gone missing. He would never abandon them for any material treasure in the world."

Ginny could not agree more.

Umber added, "You must also know that the MLE and goblins found a cache of stolen items inside my vault at Gringotts. Half the missing items have been recovered."

"But the MLE cleared you."

"After interrogations with two of their best Legilimiens. They somewhat agreed with me that if I really robbed Gringotts I would not be foolish enough to stash it in my own vault. That and I clearly wouldn't write Ragnok in my own handwriting and use company stationary. It's a serious violation of bank rules and what would my staff think?"

How could he find something amusing in all that?

"You're being framed."

"Obviously."

"And you're not concerned?!"

"Young Miss Weasley, when you get to be my age not too many things will concern you."

An overwhelming impulse swelled within her and she could not control it. Ginny knew this man was innocent and could only think about the preventable injustice that was about to take place. She briefly thought about what her goblin contact would do if she did what she was about to do but decided whatever it was, she could deal with it later.

"Are you feeling okay, Miss Weasley? Can I get you something to drink? Tea perhaps?"

She shook her head.

"The goblins have decided your guilt. I'm certain you've heard of Goblin justice. They will make an example of you if only to prevent any future break-ins. You cannot come to that meeting they invited you to, at least not without a high ranking Ministry official."

Ginny was out of breath, both from the gravity of her warning and from the fact that what she just said seemed not to trouble Umber at all. In fact he was laughing. The man had lost his marbles.

"Our mutual friend at Gringotts was quite right about you."

"What do you mean?"

"The goblin who gave you my name. He said you would try to persuade me not to come as he has been since I got the invite late last night," he was smiling.

"And you're still going?"

"I'm an old man of some social standing. I cannot ignore a Gringotts inquisition. I must meet with them and settle the matter," he explained.

Surely, having dealt with goblins before, he knew settling the matter for them meant settling the matter their way.

"You must tell them someone is trying to frame you."

"Oh, they know. They even know who it was who robbed them, the same witch who wants to smear my good name."

"Lestrange."

Umber laughed, "See? Even you know. But the goblins will never make her pay and they need to make an example."

"How can you be okay with this?"

"Each of us has a role to play in the world we live in."

"And being scapegoat is yours?"

"Not sure yet. One never knows until one gets to that fork in the road and has to choose. But it's exciting to know the choices and try to figure out what's best, anticipate where that road will lead you, then see when you get there if you were right."

Ginny had decided then that as innocent as Sir Isaac Umber was of stealing from the goblins, he was definitely off his rocker.

"Why did she go through all that trouble to set you up? Why you?"

"That's a question you'd have to ask her. I'm afraid our time is up, Miss Weasley," Umber got up and said to her gravely with cold hard truth that unnerved her, "I know Ragnok was your friend, but do not waste your time looking for someone who is forever lost."

As she stood, she accidentally knocked over a book from edge of his desk onto the floor. She bent down to pick it up and it was only then that she noticed the aged area rug her feet had been on. Her heartbeat quickened considerably as she saw the design on it, somewhat jaded, and really out of place in the modernly designed office.

"Curious piece of rug you have here," she stood up and appraised it more from afar. A black badger standing tall over a lion, a snake and an eagle. "It reminds me of Hogwarts. We're you a Hufflepuff?"

He wasn't.

Umber joined her side, "I was sorted a Ravenclaw."

"You sound disappointed."

"I wish I had more loyalty."

"Is that what this piece depicts? That loyalty should be above courage, cunning and intelligence?"

"It's the family emblem and the rug was a hand me down. I believe its original owner, a great-great-grandmother of mine, was a Hufflepuff and to her it signified that her House was the best of the four at Hogwarts. There was another of my relatives who idolized Helga the Founder. It can signify whatever you fancy."

"What does it mean to you?"

"It reminds me that loyalty is important and that sometimes it's hard to be fiercely so; that situations will arise when you have to have courage, cunning and intelligence to remain loyal and show it," he said to her wistfully, "Of course, some will say if you are truly loyal you won't need any of the others to be so."

She handed him the thick hardbound book that fell on the floor but something caught her eye she did not let go.

"The Story of the Magic Pill," she read the title out loud as they both held on to the book with faded covers, each tugging back a bit.

Umber did not let go as he asked, "Do you read Muggle stories, Miss Weasley?"

"Not a lot but I've read this one. A friend of mine, a Muggle-born, brought it to my attention in the course of doing research for an article I wrote a few years back. Your office seems like an odd place for a children's storybook to be in."

The book looked older but otherwise appeared the same as the one Hermione lent her to read a couple of years ago.

"My granddaughter's, for when she comes in to visit. Did you like it?"

"Not really. I liked the part about young Helga discovering the pill that would give everyone the ability to do magic but it doesn't have a happy ending."

"No, it doesn't. It made everybody around her greedy and mean to each other."

"Made her wish she never made it in the first place. Not the traditional children's story ending one would hope for."

"No," he tugged a bit harder and she let go. "Have a good day, Miss Weasley."

"You, too, Mr. Umber. And best of luck with the goblins."

Ginny left the Umber office with mixed emotions. She was unable to find new information about Ragnok and the Gringotts robbery, except perhaps confirm that Umber was a fall guy. He had her wondering about the outcome of his meeting with the goblins, and if he wasn't concerned about it she wasn't going to be either. She still refused to believe what Umber said about Ragnok. It would not be real to her until she saw him, dead or alive.

And what a coincidence. It had been three years since she reluctantly accepted the assignment to write about the Hufflepuff prophecy. She had pursued it like she did any story, obsessively and hating each and every road block and dead end she met at every turn. Since going to Germany last year she did not have any new leads. The trail had gone very cold, until today.

She recognized the family coat of arms and the book that was supposed to define the family philosophy. Had she, in fact, found a Bruin? And if so, was it mere coincidence that Lestrange was trying to frame one?

XXXXXXXXXX

Sometime ago, Dean arrived at a popular Squib hang-out where two half naked lifeless bodies lay on the blood stained floor, beaten up almost beyond recognition. He watched Ministry forensics document the crime scene as he wondered why two known dangerous criminals, one a Squib and one a Muggle, would have wands. A Death Eater mark hovered over the victims.

A colleague talked to him, "Pummeled and then murdered with the killing curse. Talk about overkill."

"Lestrange does like to play with her food. Looks like she wanted to pass on a message," Dean replied, moving their garments a bit more off their torsos.

Flesh was carved off their chests and raw red muscle oozed with blood, forming a letter.

"And what message do you think is that?"

"I'm not sure," Dean replied with a foreboding feeling that something nasty was imminent, "But 'X' usually stands for danger."

XXXXXXXX

At St. Mungo’s, a figure under an invisibility cloak was in the same room as the Miracle Squib awaiting the opportunity to be alone with him. He wondered when they were going to leave the poor man be. He was aching to get his job done and he had to go to Toronto.

Finally, it seemed that the final test had been drawn and the final snotty intern had seen and examined him. The Healer’s assistant had drawn his privacy curtains in and he was told to get some rest.

After making sure they would not be rudely interrupted, he dispensed of the cloak temporarily. The still listless Argus Filch did not even recognize him when he appeared from under the cloak. It was unfortunate for them both that Filch did not die from the side effects of the potion. This errand was really beneath him but he had to tie up the loose end and to get it done right. The Death Eater traitor and the non-magical misfits he sold stolen potion to had been made examples of. The element of surprise was key for the Toronto operation's success. There would be no more unauthorized use of the purple potion in London prior to it.

He set down a thick collection of tattered parchment on a patient table right in front of the former Hogwarts caretaker.

“Imperio!”

One by one, Filch crumpled the pieces of aged parchment before him and started eating them. It would take longer than the Avada Kedavra but at least his death would be more meaningful and amusing.

On the twenty-eighth page of the rules and regulations he had compiled as Hogwarts caretaker, Argus Filch choked and breathed his last breath.

XXXXXXXXX

Sir Isaac Umber took out a rare coin collection of first print American silver dollars from his walk-in concealed safe and wrapped them. He would send them over to his friend at Gringotts, having just lost their friendly wager when the Prophet reporter warned him about the Gobbledegook inquiry. He really should have learned his lesson last year to never bet against a Weasley.

He had a few minutes before he was expected at the Wizards Bank. The old book on his desk was open on a still half empty page and black ink appeared on it as the final chapter of the story was magically updating itself.

Allowing Weasley to see the family emblem was intentional but her seeing the book wasn’t. It would have only taken her a second to open it and realize that the hardbound was different from what she had read. The most glaring difference was that the one on his desk had no ending, at least not yet.

The Story of the Magic Pill was the worst Muggle children's story ever written. The mere thought that it was brought a smile to his face. It was first published some fifty years ago and it was never the author's desire to garner fame and fortune for it but it was a story that had to be written to help educate generations to be careful of what you dream of.

This particular copy that he had in front of him was different in that it was magically bound to an actual living individual, just as each of the others in his safe were. These individuals were a select group of women he had been somewhat watching over for years who had one commonality.

They were supposed to be dead.

The Hufflepuff prophecy not only warned of the chaos that a magic potion would bring, it also foretold of the one individual who would be involved in the upheaval, a powerful witch descended from the Squib who created it and parented by non-magical Purebloods. Many decades ago, an edict was passed by the Bruin elders that no Squib couple in the family would be allowed to raise daughters. Umber remembered the very first time he had to deal with one of the Bruin cursed, as these condemned babies were referred to. He was in Toronto with his wife and daughter, visiting family, unaware of the favour his cousin Ecruminus was about to ask of him.

"She's having a girl, Isaac," Ecruminus said to him nervously one night they were at a Muggle bar.

Ecruminus' Squib wife was pregnant with their first and was due to deliver any moment now.

"You don't know that," he tried to assure him.

"We had a skilled Healer try out this new gender detecting spell," his cousin explained.

"The Healer could be wrong."

"But what if she's right!? The Council will take our child away and kill her!"

Ecruminus was distraught. Isaac was not a Squib and neither was his wife. He would never have to go through what his cousin was going through but could relate. He and his wife would be devastated if anything happened to their daughter.

"You know how I feel about the rule that purely Squib couples in the family must not raise daughters. You knew that when you took a Squib for a wife. But we are not members of the Elder Council. We cannot change that and we have to abide. It's to protect against the fulfillment of the prophecy."

"She's only a child, a baby. Killing hundreds to protect against the prophecy that one such Bruin would come and make it a reality is sickening; it's murder! My daughter could be a Squib like me and her death would be for nothing," Ecruminus passionately made his sentiments known, "I need your help. You're the only one I can trust."

Isaac hesitated, unsure of what to say.

"I don't think I can, Crummy. The Council…"

"Please," his cousin pleaded, "You're a great wizard. When the baby comes you can hide her for us."

"Crummy, how would I do that?"

"I don't know, just keep her alive."

"But the Council already knows you have a baby coming. They will be suspicious."

"We'll tell them we had a miscarriage. That the baby died."

"They will investigate. They'll know. You won't be able to lie to them," Isaac was trying his best to persuade his cousin that it was not a good idea.

"I can if you do something with my memory."

"No!"

He had to draw the line.

"You're very good at memory charms and Obliviation," Crummy pointed the truth out. "If there was one person who could do this that would be you."

A few days later, Ecruminus and Daisy Brown became proud parents of an eight pound baby boy. Isaac was present at the time of the home delivery and he told his relieved cousin that he was worried over nothing. At that very moment, at a nearby Magical hospital birthing ward, another Squib couple was marvelling at seeing their baby for the first time after being taken right at birth for precautionary observation. Their baby was fine. They had a girl.

That was how it all started for him. He kept a close eye on his niece as he had promised Ecruminus before wiping his memory. She was a Math teacher at a Muggle school with a Muggle husband and two grown sons. Ecruminus would have been proud. She too was a Squib.

Over the course of time, with his active involvement in the Bruin cause to protect against the prophecy, he would encounter and come to know of Bruin Squib couples in the same situation, less so when gender detection spells and Muggle fetal gender tests became common practice. There were couples who pressed on hoping for leniency or hoping to hide their daughters as Ecruminus had. He could not stand back and idly watch the Council take the cursed daughters away. He saved those he could.

Umber may have disagreed with some of the methods used by the Council but he was not irresponsible. He tracked the lives of those he rescued with the thought that he would have to intervene if one of them turned out to be the ONE. As their number increased, that became a challenge. He found an ancient magical ritual that helped him do that through the pages of the book.

Of the dozen or so special books he had, three were very different in that right after dissolving a strand of hair into the pages of the Story of the Magic Potion as part of the rite, the final chapter of the book disappeared. The strands of hair, he would confirm later, belonged to those who had great magical potential.

The owner of the book before him was a most interesting find. More than twenty five years ago he got a panicky call from Toronto. Ecruminus said it was an emergency, that it involved family. He got to Toronto and found himself in the Muggle Toronto Hospital Intensive Care Unit beside his cousin, looking into a room through a glass window.

There was a young woman with brown hair lying motionless on the bed, hooked up to monitors and Muggle life support. She was pregnant.

"She's a Bruin, a direct descendant of the sister of the founder of this hospital," Ecruminus explained to him.

"What happened to her?"

"Car accident. Her husband died a few hours ago. She's been declared brain dead as well. The only reason she's on life support is because her baby's still alive."

"Why are we here?"

"She's a Squib and so is her husband," Ecruminus said sadly, "She was advised at the start of her pregnancy to get a sonogram. She refused and was being watched as a possible violator. She's having a daughter."

"Positive?"

"She had an ultrasound earlier today to check on the baby. It's confirmed."

"The Maples, huh?"

"She's a cardiologist. Her husband was a brain surgeon. I've been assigned to make sure it's done. We have to do something."

He pushed away an evil thought. What the baby's parents were should not matter. She may not be the one.

"I'll take care of it."

The following day, an emergency Caesarian section was performed. The doctors announced that the baby girl they delivered was stillborn and he had to Obliviate his cousin for the second time. Two days later, Isaac left a baby girl inside the home of a Muggle couple he had already identified as suitable parents for a future placement. The dentists had been married for more than five years and were told they could not have a child of their own. They had enlisted to adopt.

He left a copy of the book asking only that the child be loved as they would their own and to make sure she read the story.

Over the years he had come to watch her grow up from a distance. He made sure her Muggle parents would send her to Hogwarts and be accepting of the fact that she was a witch. Curiously, the title of the final chapter of her book first appeared the afternoon she was on the train to attend her first year at the Wizards School. He felt pride when he learned of her role in Voldemort’s defeat, cementing his belief that he had done the right thing. That she chose to be a Healer was no surprise but it was certainly interesting that at this very crucial time in their family's history she would become very involved in it. And it was more interesting that words began to reappear again in the final chapter of her book the second she arrived in Toronto. What he read, so far, was all good.

The alarm on his watch sounded. He had to go. Umber put the book back into his safe amongst other similar looking books, took a small phial from a square wooden box and locked the secret compartment.

Knowing he would need it when he faced the goblins, he uncorked the phial and quickly drank the purple potion in it.

40. On Eggshells

Chapter 40 - On Eggshells

Kingsley Shacklebolt had just Flooed into St. Mungo's and headed for the Spell Damage Ward. He came from his office where he had a lengthy Floo conversation with his Toronto counterpart, Jack Muller. In past dealings he had always found the Canadian a reasonable guy. Muller's reaction to what Harry had allegedly done, and Kingsley had a feeling the allegations were true, was appropriate.

He had fifteen minutes before he was to meet with Minister Scrimgeour and Head Unspeakable Goddess Hush to discuss their game plan for the meeting Harry had demanded in Toronto. He had to brief them about the possibility of the existence of magic enabling potion and he had very few facts. He needed to speak with Harry to ask him what this was really about and what he and Hermione were up to.

And while the Toronto MLE was still unaware of Hermione's involvement, it was only a matter of time before they found out. She was definitely in a lot of trouble too. He'd have to be a bit more creative about her.

As it was becoming more apparent to him that the recent events in London and Toronto were related, he had reviewed the Roy Hunt file and read through the Floyd and Waxball incident of last year. He remembered Harry's frustration stemming from the lack of evidence and the loss of witnesses. There was a definite cover up. Being an oldtimer he had seen too many cases like that and like most of them, it had eventually gone cold and became less of a priority.

Harry could not let go, not after what happened to Ron, insisting Ron was murdered by the same magic capable Squib he had met in Toronto. There was no proof and Floyd had a solid alibi. He asked to be transferred to the Canadian city and now, after a year of perseverance, he finally found his evidence. Kingsley couldn't blame him for being a bit paranoid about it. He presumed Harry had asked Hermione for help and that was how she got involved.

Kingsley got to the crime scene and found it already cordoned off, crawling with MLE and forensics. Tonks was just outside the room deep in conversation with the dead man's Healer. He'd talk to her later. He walked through the magical barrier to join the hit wizard who was examining the still warm but very dead Argus Filch.

"Dean, thanks for joining us on this one," Kingsley shook Dean Thomas' hand.

"Not that I don't want to help but it's kind of a bugger being pulled from a high profile double murder case," Dean replied dryly, "Gumboil isn't pleased either."

"The double murder involves Death Eaters. It now belongs to the Auror Office," Kingsley informed him and did not have to mention how much more displeased Head Hit Wizard Gumboil was with that. "I requested your temporary reassignment so you can help us with it."

"And am I here because this has something to do with that?"

Dean caught on quickly.

Kingsley nodded and handed him a file, "And likely with an old case of yours."

"Roy Hunt."

"The Toronto file."

Dean laughed, amused, "Harry's secret mission."

"I couldn't show it to you last year and forbade Harry to tell you about it," Kingsley was aware Dean was unhappy being kept in the dark about that, "It was my call."

"You said it was classified."

"It still is."

"What do you need me for? The real Roy Hunt died in a prison brawl three months ago."

He thought with the murder of the Miracle Squib that would be obvious but realized Dean needed to be filled in some more.

"Read the file, then we'll talk. Come to my office in about an hour," Kingsley said as they turned their attention to Filch, "So, what do you think?"

"Unorthodox, creative M.O. No death mark but that doesn't mean anything. Whoever it was it would be a Hogwarts alum from when Filch was caretaker, probably had one too many detentions for violating Filch's not-to-do list. This killing was not a first and judging from how Filch died, this murderer has lots of patience and an unusual sense of humor or, maybe, he or she thought it would be poetic justice."

Kingsley nodded, "Not too shabby for a Hit Wizard. We suspect Mr. Filch was part of the party that stole from Gringotts, that he was a loose end that had to be tied up. We think Lestrange is behind it though this obviously wasn't her. No offense to Mr. Filch here but I feel a certain amount of respect for murderers who do not rely on the killing curse. I doubt we'll find many clues."

Dean grunted a half agreement then added, "It's just unfortunate about Filch."

"What makes you say that?"

Dean eyed the single piece of parchment in front of the Squib that matched the one that was lodged halfway into his throat and dangling from his mouth.

"If only he made a few less rules, he would still be alive."

XXXXXXXXXX

Just moments ago, in the northern part of Toronto, Harry and Hermione reappeared between two tall buildings on the York U campus away from the Muggle public eye, his hand letting go of her arm as she stepped away. She found the path to Dr. Tan's Lab and seemed to know how to get there.

Following her in silence, he felt somberness in her pervading mood that was not there before. Something was bothering her big time and he was almost certain it wasn't totally about the phial of magic potion.

"Are you okay?" he had to ask as he caught up with her.

The need to converse more openly with her made quietness between them an itch that had to be scratched. There was a lot to be said but he wasn't sure where or how to begin.

Hermione stopped, turned to face him, and asked him seriously, "Do you think I'm stringing you along for a ride?"

"Of course not," he tried to reassure her and, sensing Andy's diatribe got to her, added, "Andy doesn't know everything."

"Is she always like that?"

"Like what?"

"Protective of you."

Was that jealousy? He wasn't sure. He was about to say that Andy reminded him of how she was many years ago but decided against it.

"Is she, really?" he answered nonchalantly.

That seemingly was the only benign thing to say. It was like he was walking on eggshells around her, overly cautious not to say something that would make her walk out of his life again. Eggshells...she mentioned that before. She must know he was handling her with kid gloves.

Andy asked him once why he even bothered to patch things up with her, seeing how it was so obvious that Hermione didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore. Had she wanted or needed his apology she would have been more receptive. Andy opined that the only other reason any woman could drag this on forever was to get some measure of revenge by putting him through the torture. There were countless other women besides her. Why didn't he just give her up?

His partner had a good point but how does one give up on fifteen years of friendship? How does one give up caring about the one constant in his life, the one person who had been there from the very beginning and the one being who saw him for who he really was? And he had already been with countless other women besides her and wasn't keen on doing that again.

For years they were always there for each other, unspoken but proven and tested through time. It was his fault that wasn't the case anymore and it would be a lifetime of regret if he didn't exhaust all means to fix it. He loved her and he desperately wanted her to believe that, for only then could he even hope that she would reciprocate. Not seeing her the past year made him realize even more what he was missing in his life. And as the day wore on it seemed to him quite possible that, despite their rough start, things between them had turned around.

"She's right, you know," Hermione admitted as if annoyed that she did, "You're too nice. You shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't be doing me favors, not after this past year."

It was amusing to him how she could agree with Andy and yet allow him to help her.

"Did you expect me to wrestle the potion from you?" he asked jokingly. "Or turn you in for trying to steal it?"

He was trying to be funny but she did not even break a smile. She knew he would never do that.

"I shouldn't have convinced you this was the right thing to do."

"Well, isn't this the right thing to do?"

That wasn't a real question either.

"That's not the point," she was really upset at herself, "I knew you would do as I asked. It was inconsiderate of me to let you sacrifice your work here in Toronto. Even if Kingsley will let you have your old job back in London, you might not be able to work elsewhere..."

"Ssssh…"

Without a thought he raised a finger and pressed it lightly against her soft lips. Everything came to a halt; her...him…time...and all he could hear was the steady strong cadence of his heartbeat. He was quite unprepared for the gut wringing sensation the feel of her slightly open mouth and her warm breath on his skin would evoke. Her eyes spoke to him as they did so many times before, relieving him of the burden of uncertainly he had lived with since Ron died. He missed that, that reassurance that she cared about him, that look that he had taken for granted in the past more times than he could remember. It was even more of a relief because she still did in spite of what he had done.

While in times past and probably under less tenuous circumstances he would have pressed her then and there, he remembered his earlier mistake and instinct told him 'not yet'. And while she did say she wanted him out of her life, he couldn't believe that she really did, at least he hoped that she wouldn't when she heard the truth. She had to trust him more so he could convince her of what really happened. For now he allowed himself to be comforted by the knowledge that, despite everything, she still cared about him deeply and that she was staying.

"The sooner you accept that I'm here and we're doing this together, the sooner we'll get to the bottom of it," he said to her seriously as he withdrew his touch reluctantly. "Look, you convinced me that this is the right thing to do. You and Andy may think I'm doing this just to get back on your good side but give me a bit more credit that it's not about that…at least not entirely."

Finally, he saw her eyes smile somewhat at his openness.

"But your job…"

"Small sacrifice to prevent what can happen, don't you think?" he rebutted. "In my mind I am doing my job, just not exactly the way my boss wants it done. And let's not forget, you wouldn't be here had I not asked for your help, so stop feeling guilty."

Her brows furrowed as a clouded emotion loomed behind her brown eyes.

"I'm here because of the potion," she replied.

That was true; how could he forget. It was a reminder that he felt was as painful for her to say to him as for him to hear from her. She wanted it to be clear that she wasn't staying because he asked her to. It was in keeping with the fact that she wasn't stringing him along, nipping false hope right in the bud.

It was a reality check and was a reflection of where their relationship was at that very moment. They were a long way from where they were before, longer from where he wanted them to be, but he had to focus on the positive. They were now on speaking terms. Good, civil speaking terms.

He nodded slightly, signalling that he understood.

"At least you're here," he answered her quietly.

Hermione brought up Ron.

"It was very confusing when Ron died and for a very long time I couldn't think about you. I never meant to hurt you, Harry and I'm sorry that I did. I just wanted you to leave me alone."

Her apology was earnest and he understood how she couldn't and didn't want to think about him. At first, he gave her space because he knew she needed it but when she still didn't want to see him weeks after he began to worry. Avoiding him was her solution but he had hung on to the hope that she would realize that wasn't a permanent one. Did she really think he would leave her alone?

"I have trouble doing that."

"I figured as much," she smiled weakly, then shrugged, "Story of my life. I can't get what I want."

They began moving again towards the direction of the lab. As they got out in the open he clutched his concealed wand and intermittently scanned the perimeter for unfriendlies. While he did not think anyone could have followed them there, he could not be certain. He was there not only to protect the phial but more so to protect her.

set him free…save her…

Harry remembered the last part of the cryptic message from the Jane Doe they picked up from the Muggle loony bin yesterday and he could not help but think that the 'her' that was mentioned in it was Hermione. But save her from what? The conference was opening in two days and his gut was telling him Floyd needed her for something other than what the arse admitted to. He certainly found them quick enough. And how did news of Hermione's presence in Toronto travel so fast?

"When did you decide to come to Toronto?" he asked.

They were walking briskly on the sidewalk beside the length of a snowcovered football field.

"The Order asked me late last night."

"Who else knows you're here?"

"Aside from the Order, not many. I may have mentioned it to Delilah, Dennis, a couple of others maybe, I don't remember."

A couple of others...for a person who remembered every line in every book she read, he found it hard to believe that she would forget. Not mentioning Malfoy told him her personal life was off limits. She definitely did not want to talk about him.

Damn! Malfoy! The hair and the look on her face after he took the Juice...he should have recognized it as she had the moment he saw it. But he could not share that thought with her. Now wasn't the time for another confrontation, not when she was at least talking with him again. Bringing the git up in the same breath as evil suspect who's dating you only because he has something twisted to gain from it was definitely going to put her on the defensive again.

It could have been Malfoy who was at the diner. It was too much of a coincidence, he thought, but seemingly farfetched too. Even he would have to admit the only reason he thought of Malfoy was because his intentions were highly suspect and he could not stand the thought of Hermione ending up with him. Openly accusing Malfoy was not an option unless Harry had absolute proof that he was in Toronto and that he was at that diner. He'd check into that later. But if Malfoy suddenly showed up with the slightest hint of a scratch he would arrest him in an instant, even if there would be no real reason to.

Harry wanted Malfoy to be neck deep in this potion business. Catching him red handed would solve his dilemma of how to quickly convince Hermione to stop seeing him. He was mulling possibilities of how the ferret would be involved when she interrupted his thoughts. She knew why he asked the questions he asked.

"You really think Floyd needs me for something other than what he told you?"

"I could be overreacting," he tried to play his worry down, "But he did want something from you last year and I don't think he ever got it."

"And you think Ron got involved and that's why he killed Ron?"

"I don't know," he said honestly, "I just know he was there at the Stadium during the match."

"The guy with Omnioculars, a few rows down from where we were," Hermione suddenly realized.

"That's right. You saw him."

This was good. She was receptive to the truth.

"I didn't see his face. Ron was not himself during the beginning of the game and was distracted by something or someone in the crowd. I was following Ron's gaze when I saw him. He Disapparated after he..." she paused and looked at him,"...saw you. He was looking at you."

"He was gone when I got to his seat. I thought he was there for you only to realize later that it was really Ron he wanted to hurt. By the time I saw Ron falling it was too late to stop it."

There was so much more to tell her about what happened last year. He had to tell her the whole truth about Roy Hunt, how he was asked to go to Toronto as him, and how things went awry. He would have continued to offer information had she not looked away. She was confused and upset; about Ron, he presumed. Backing off, again.

They had arrived at the front entrance of Dr. Tan's lab and he stopped just before pulling the door open.

"Listen," he said to her, "All of this is probably overwhelming. I want you to believe me, but if you can't right now, then you can't."

She nodded, then said something he didn't quite expect, "All things considered, I'm glad you're here with me."

"You are?"

"My confidence in my fighting skills has waned considerably after my dismal performance at defending myself. I doubt I can keep the phial safe. Can you believe how pathetic I've become at combat?"

"Don't be too hard on yourself. Andy's been an Auror for a while. She does it for a living."

"I kept thinking about the possible serious injuries I could inflict and kept hoping I wouldn't cause permanent damage," she explained, unhappy about it."That was never a problem before."

"Too bad you've developed a conscience and lost your edge," he teased her and it did make her feel better.

"Not to make you feel guilty but doesn't that ever cross your mind? How do you do it?"

"It helps when the other guy shoots first and it helps knowing that they deserve it. I also try to think that it's better them than me," he replied.

"Self preservation...will keep that in mind for the next time."

Next time?

"You can't seriously be thinking..." his concern was interrupted by a chuckle.

"Who, Andy? Merlin, no!" she answered quickly, "I should have listened to you on that one. I may be stubborn but I'm not stupid."

She was laughing at herself somewhat as he pulled the door open for her to go through. He followed her in with a wide smile on his face. This felt good.

They approached the information counter and were told by the receptionist to wait inside what appeared to be an anteroom. They found a few lumpy sofas and uncomfortable wooden chairs in it, an indication that the lab preferred their guests on their feet. They drifted apart and roamed.

As they waited he couldn't help but notice that the room's plain walls were adorned with framed posters depicting the Lab's past and current Muggle undertakings. Tired from sleep deprivation and the magical scuffle he had engaged in, he was just eager for Hermione to find out for certain what the contents of the phial were. He quickly browsed through them until he found himself staring at one particular piece.

It was small and somewhat unobtrusive as it hung on the east wall amongst the oldest posters. He stood in front of it for a long time. It was different in that it was a painting, an old painting of a badger, a lion, an eagle and a snake, and the only reason it held his interest was because it reminded him so much of Hogwarts.

A/N. I realize some (maybe many) will disagree with Harry's approach. It puts him on unequal footing in the relationship, certainly exposed to being taken advantage of, but stupid as it may sound, true love makes one vulnerable to pain and the possibility of being hurt. Ónly the bravest and the most daring (or the most stupid - if you want to call it that) can reap love's richest rewards.

Hermione is not giving him hope but he's just hoping for the best, thinking she would come around once she discovers the truth about Ron's death. Is he being foolish? Any thoughts on whether or not Hermione should take him back once she finds out the truth about Roy and Ron? Is the truth enough?

41. Conflicted

Chapter 41 - Conflicted

As far as Hermione was concerned, things with Harry were just as she expected... not according to plan. As she stood in front of a poster on advanced plant cross pollination, she cast him a quick glance at the opposite corner of the room, thankful for the moment she could have without his aura interfering with her thought processes.

You don't really believe that aura hogwash do you?

Of course not. But if you come up with a better explanation, I'm happy to rethink it.

This wasn't a good time to be arguing with herself either but that was how bad things were. She needed a sounding board; she needed to talk to Ginny. She tried Ginny's mobile but got her voicemail. She left one, a rambling one...

"Hey, it's me. So...I'm here pretending to be looking at plant pictures...he's over there looking at a painting...it's bad...call me...", then just as she was about to hang up, added, "Oh! And we ran into the Bruins."

Right after, she realized how crazy that sounded, which was kind of good since it stressed urgency. A mental regroup was necessary.

Priority.

Potion.

Goal.

Stop reproduction.

Focus.

Right.

Stop thinking about him.

That should be easy. Your mind draws a blank when he's close and he's been too close.

And don't encourage him.

Not that he needs encouragement.

Hermione threw him another furtive look. She was sure he had not moved from the spot and was seemingly engrossed with the small painting on the wall. She sighed. Why did this have to be so complicated? If only he would do as she asked and just let her go.

She turned away to stare blankly at the poster before her, odd looking trees stared back. Where to start?

The phial. The phial was to blame. Had she not seen it and had she not been curious about what was in it she wouldn't have stayed. Had she not stayed, she wouldn't have found herself with the potion and she wouldn't have made that pitch to him to keep it from the Ministry. She wouldn't have met Floyd and she wouldn't be feeling this mixed up about Harry.

Earlier, as she took care of his injuries, she overheard his partner describe what the Squib did to him. A panic overcame her as she realized that he almost died, again. Life was too short, seemingly shorter all the time with him, and she kept thinking about having regrets. It was déjà vu. She asked herself how she would feel if he died today.

Her answer annoyed her and added to her irritation of his partner having really good points about what he was doing to 'get into her pants'. If she were Andy she would have probably said the same things to her, using less repugnant language, of course. And she had to be honest with herself. Despite the fact she had no right to be, she was jealous of the blonde woman and the obvious easy-going relationship she had with Harry.

So, Hermione had to stay in Toronto longer than she wanted to, spend time with him much more than she was prepared to, and deal with emotions she never intended to, all because she recognized the bloody phial!

The phial was to blame.

She had moved on to the next poster, half read the blown up journal article that boasted of the first set of transgenetic mice.

He's telling the truth about this Squib, Floyd.

Maybe.

He has no reason to lie.

He has lied to you before.

What if Ron was murdered?

It makes no difference.

What if he really loves you?

She ended that train of thought. It was starting to creep up on her…hope…possibility…an exercise she was certain would only hurt both of them even more. She had trodden this path with him before and she should have learned her lesson. Really, she should think no further than earlier in his living room; how she wanted to and they almost but she couldn't.

It was quite obvious that Harry thought her lack of enthusiasm to see or talk with him the past year was because of what he did to her as Roy Hunt; that it was punishment. But it wasn't about him. It would have been easier to address if it were.

Hermione seriously just wanted him to stop; she wanted them both to move on, she wanted him to leave her alone. She was avoiding him all this time hoping he would do so without resistance and they wouldn't have to talk about what happened. She didn't want to talk about what happened because she knew that if they did, this would happen. He would make sense, be believable, and she'd consider giving them a second chance. Like him, a part of her could not let go even though it would be the right thing to do.

The right thing to do...she still thought letting go was, but now with less conviction than before. She missed him; his face, his voice, his hair, his presence, and their talks. She missed him much more than she thought she did. The longing was eating up her resolve and his open advances were effectively nibbling through her defenses. She couldn't dismiss him as easily as she thought she could and should, considering what he did to her. Somewhere within her bruised and hardened exterior was her old self who already believed that he had good reason, that he did not mean to do what he did, that she should give him a chance to explain and make things better between them.

There was merit to Andy’s crude remarks about her and her shoddy treatment of Harry in the past year. But having him back in her life was not an option for her. She could not trust herself not to betray Ron again and she couldn’t live with herself if she did. So, she hid from him, thankful that he didn’t know what her avoidance was truly about, not thinking that Harry needed his own peace of mind. She did not mean to hurt him.

She should just deal with it once and for all so they can both put this behind them. And for Harry, he would not be able to until he was satisfied she had all the facts. She knew what he was thinking; that she would change her mind if he proved to her what he knew was the truth.

If Harry is telling the truth, if Ron was murdered and if he seriously wants you in his life, what's the harm in giving it another try?

Needless pain and waste of time. It's not going to work.

You don't know that. What have you got to lose?

Not much, aside from the little pride you have left and the small morsel of dignity you're trying to hold on to. And there’s Ron.

Maybe Ron didn't kill himself. Maybe it wasn't your fault Ron died.

You've been through this before. You've thought this before.

For the longest time she was convinced that she had pushed Ron beyond his limits and that he took his own life to prove a point - that she did not care about him as much as she did about Harry. Her actions spoke louder than words and while she never lied to Ron, she never had the heart to admit that fact to him either.

When Harry first mentioned the Squib a year ago she couldn't believe anything that came out of his mouth. Even then he had no reason to lie about that but Ron's unusual behavior on the pitch during that game made her conclude that his knowledge of what she had done with Harry and hearing her final decision about them took him over the edge.

She never talked about it, not even with Ginny who believed that all the guilt she had after Ron's 'accident' was because of the Roy Hunt affair. Right after Ron's funeral, there were times when she thought she would go insane thinking how Ron would still be alive had she done things differently, about what she could have done differently. The nightmares came. It seeped through her entire being and her every waking moment. Family, friends and work all suffered until Ginny broke through and injected enough sense in her. The nightly doses of dreamless draught she self medicated with helped and provided some respite from the remorse that she could never talk about with anyone.

It was a good thing that time did heal most emotional afflictions and Hermione did feel that after a year, she was going to be able to live some semblance of a normal life. But when Harry started sending her more notes recently, she began entertaining the idea that she was wrong and that there was truth to what he had said all along. A few times she had actually thought about looking into it but the certainty of having to come to Harry to ask for information froze her. She asked Kingsley in passing once and even Kingsley said there was no proof. Hermione decided not to proceed, telling herself that if it could be proven Harry, or someone else, would have done so by now.

It wasn't that she didn't want to confirm what really happened to Ron but every time she thought about the likelihood of her being mistaken and of maybe, on her own, investigating Ron's death, she would question her motive. Did she really want justice for Ron or did she just want to feel better about herself and feel less culpable for what she had done? And was she hoping that with less guilt everything would be honky-dory between her and Harry?

In the end she always circled back to the fact that how Ron died would not make him less dead. It would not take away the sorrow she felt each time she thought of him or the disgust she felt because of what she did.

She realized now that she should give this thing that happened between her and Harry the same finality she had given hers and Ron's. She would have to look Harry in the eye and tell him straight that knowledge of the truth, whatever that was, didn't change the fact that they could never be the way they were. She'd have to tell him that she actually preferred not knowing because knowing would hurt more. She had a feeling he would not understand.

The question was would she be strong enough to do that? Or, would she cave in and listen to the other voice of reason about giving them a second chance? That voice that still desperately wanted to believe that he really did want a life with her, that deep down he was still the decent and good man she had known him to be and that she could still have what she wanted to have with him. It was the same nagging voice that reminded her how most of their lives she had wished for him to be happy, hating the fact that she couldn't do much more than she was doing and now that it seemed she could directly influence that, she was causing the exact opposite.

She was desperate to talk with someone about Ron more honestly; better Ginny than Harry.

Hermione moved over to her side to the next poster. It was a futuristic one, Star Trek like. It was a news article dated in the year 2159 and it was about the discovery of the one pill that would cure-all.

Panacea, Medicine’s Holy Grail

The fictional distraction was welcome but it made her think of the Squib Holy Grail and the Bruins. Keeping the purple potion from the Ministry was an impulsive decision and truth be told she wasn't a hundred percent sure it was right one. Her excuse was impaired judgment from seeing and talking with Harry for the first time in almost a year. Several times already, even before hearing Andy make some annoyingly very good points, she had asked herself who did she think she was? What gave her the right to make this decision and what made her do something so stupid so as to jeopardize her and Harry's careers? It was definitely a decision that was not well thought out.

She was a Healer, in Toronto on some unrelated mission, and by fluke happened upon a magic enabling potion. It was coincidence she was there. She could have just let things play out as if she wasn't but she just couldn't help herself. She just couldn't help thinking about horrifying possibilities and she felt a compelling urge to act, to do what she could to prevent or at least protect against it. They were definitely in a heap of trouble, but she couldn’t worry about that right now.

And she still couldn't think of any reason why the Squib would want her. Maybe it was just as Floyd said, that she would be leverage, but she found that hard to believe. Not that she wanted the Squib to, but Harry was there and Floyd could have just taken him or killed him. Floyd didn't really need leverage. It didn't make sense.

The more she thought about it the more she thought that unlikely. She heard Floyd shout out to his men not to hex her. He didn't want her hurt. But was it her specifically that he wanted or what she did? And she had come to Toronto on an almost spur of the moment decision and had been there not even two hours. How did Floyd know where she was?

"Hermione, this is a pleasant surprise!"

Professor Deng Tan greeted her from the room entrance with a wide smile on his face.

"Professor," she returned the Asian looking man's smile and they walked towards the other, gave each a peck on each cheek as Harry joined her side, "This is Harry Potter, a friend of mine. Harry, this is Professor Deng Tan."

Harry shook the older man's hand and they exchanged pleasantries. She introduced Harry as a friend. She hoped Harry would read less into that than she was.

"It has been too long. How are you?" Professor Tan asked Hermione.

"Just fine. And you?"

Hermione had last seen him years ago at some conference although they spoke by Floo about work when they had projects together.

"If I felt any better I wouldn't need health insurance!" he chided. "So, have you finally decided to come to stay and work with me?"

She laughed and he joined her. He always asked her that although he anticipated she would always decline.

"Professor Tan has gathered a throng of detractors for unabashed poaching from research oriented hospitals like St. Mungo's,” Hermione explained to Harry. “Some of his recruiting methods are, should I say, unacceptable?"

Most were incensed at his brazen techniques but she found him harmless and amusing. He did so because he was driven to have the world’s best Magical research team.

"I’m just innovative and subtlety was never one of my stronger points," he admitted. "You should see our preliminary findings on the modified Wolfbane potion you sent us last week for testing. It looks promising."

"That's great news," Hermione replied. She was looking forward to the phase two Toronto results, hoping the experimental potion would pass the clinical safety testing. But she was there on a different matter. "Professor, is there somewhere private we can talk?"

The professor appraised her and Harry before finally saying, "Of course, you know how much I love secrets. Can he be trusted?"

That was debatable.

She nodded.

Professor Tan led them into the restricted area through a magically locked gate, and up a steep flight of stairs. They found themselves on an elevated hanging walkway flanked by laboratories on either side and followed the professor through the long path which ended in front of an oversized door. He waved his wand. It unlocked itself and they stepped into a windowless interview room, plainly outfitted with an oval wooden desk and a few matching chairs. Off to one corner was a closed exit without any knobs.

He motioned for them to sit and asked as he sat in front of them, "How can I help you?"

Harry spoke before she could, "We'd really appreciate it if you could tell your staff in the other room to take a ten minute break and to shut off the recording devices on their way out."

She tried to hide her surprise and was more successful at it than the professor, who had averted his attention to the wall on their right and spoke a few words in what she could tell was Cantonese, his second language. She met Harry's gaze and read his thoughts. It was a caution, to be selective about what to say, if she still wanted to proceed as she planned. She nodded slightly.

"I'm so sorry about that. I seldom use this room and forgot we use it for observation of adverse experimental reactions."

"Excuse me," Harry said once again and suddenly Disapparated.

An awkward few seconds followed as both she and Professor Tan didn't know what to make of his departure, until they heard a loud crash nearby. Harry reappeared and quickly explained.

"Your staff forgot to turn off one of your Eavesdroppers and I didn't know how to. I think I may have ruined it," he deadpanned.

She loved how he said that, and noticed the professor turning slightly red in the face. She had read somewhere that Eavesdroppers were expensive magical gadgets that had a pick up range of 2 to 500 decibels within ten feet. She couldn't think he did that on purpose but she had known of the Professor's reputation about bending certain rules and expectations if he could get away with it. Unfortunately they really needed a Level 5 lab and his was the most well equipped that she knew in the area. He was also probably the only one who would allow her to use his lab to do what she was about to do.

"We apologize for the inconvenience but we need your help and I'm afraid I can't tell you much, at least not to the extent that I know would satisfy your curiosity."

"What is this about, Hermione?"

"I need to use your most shielded lab to take apart an unknown potion. It’s likely a Class F."

That should require no further explanation. Class F's were potions containing magical being as ingredients. As far as the Potion Registry was concerned, they existed only in theory and internationally banned. What she was about to do was not only illegal, it was also dangerous.

"Will you need my or my staff's assistance?"

"I won't."

XXXXXXXXXX

The Potion Master had just come from St. Mungo's on that little errand and got a panicky call from Toronto.

"Tom's been hurt," the woman was concerned. "He tried to nab Granger, there was fighting, the Bruins came to help and Potter's partner tried to run him over with a car. She crushed his legs."

He already heard about this from a pissed off Lestrange. Floyd wasn't supposed to make second contact with Potter but calling him the idiot that he was was a waste of effort.

“He has the patience of a two year old,” he retorted. The Squib was still needed. "Can you fix him up in time?"

"I'll try."

"And hide him well. His premature display of his skill while on the potion will make his death a priority for the Bruins."

He was not pleased that Potter now knew what to expect but there was nothing he could do about that.

“I’ll try.”

“What about the training?”

“It's coming along as you expected.”

“Do we need more potion?”

“We have enough. The Squibs should be ready in four days.”

“Make it two.”

“We’re pushing it up. Good. They won’t expect it. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Ginny was at Gringotts waiting with other reporters just outside the conference room where the interrogation of the Sir Isaac Umber was taking place. They had been in there for at least an hour, invited to hear the post inquiry briefing of the sham that was happening and everyone was getting antsy. The Goblins were not very good hosts and provided really crappy refreshments.

After she left Umber's office she got back to researching him some more. Interestingly enough, there was a lot of information about his life and works but none about his family. She couldn't find any names of kin in any of his public records, Muggle or magical, as if there was a deliberate attempt to hide it. His birth records had been conveniently ‘misfiled’ and even his Hogwarts records did not contain the names of his parents, who were referred to in documents as Mr. and Mrs. Umber.

What she did find was an obscure Muggle article dated a few years back about a trip to Toronto and he was photographed without his knowledge with an 'unknown family member'. She would have to confirm but she was almost certain that the man that was standing beside him in the picture was a younger Ecruminus Brown, current leader of the Association for the Protection of Squibs.

She wanted to call the Prophet Research and Archive Section to see if someone could pull the Squib’s file while she was stuck at Gringotts but Muggle phones didn’t work in the building. She sent a note through the bank’s courtesy owl service, instead.

Just as she got back to her seat, the double doors to the conference room swung open widely and the bank's Lead Goblin Kurnuk emerged, stone faced as he passed them on his way to the podium. He was followed by the rest of his entourage. One of his goblin advisers gave her a slight nod in greeting. Last to appear was Umber, serene and composed. His body language already told her what the outcome of the interrogation was and she smiled back when he glanced over to where she was and gave her a wink. She didn't know how but he pulled it off and wondered if he would grant her another interview.

"Thank you all for coming," Kurnuk spoke to them in a forceful voice, his minions behind and Umber beside him, "I'm pleased to announce that Sir Isaac Umber has been cleared of any wrongdoing in the robbery that took place yesterday."

Click! Click!

Cameras flashed as the goblin and Umber shook hands. Several voices vied for attention.

"Mr. Umber..."

"Mr. Kurnuk..."

"Sir Isaac..."

One of the ones in the front got pointed at and he fired off a question.

"Sir Isaac, how does it feel to be publicly exonerated?"

"A huge relief," the knight replied, "As you can imagine, it has been a difficult time for my family."

She guessed he meant the family he was hiding from the public eye.

More questions.

"Mr. Kurnuk, what made Gringotts come to this final conclusion?" another of her colleagues asked.

"Mr. Umber has provided us with overwhelming evidence it was someone else," Kurnuk answered.

Really? Umber did not even flinch. He wanted Kurnuk to say that.

"Who robbed your bank, Mr. Kurnuk?" Ginny asked what everyone else wanted to know.

There was silence as everyone waited, each of them wondering if the bank would continue to look for believable scapegoats to pin the crime on. The answer they got was a bit of a shock.

"As of right now, Gringotts Bank, its international and Muggle affiliates have frozen the vaults and assets of Bellatrix Lestrange," he announced and the group of reporters around her gasped. "We urge her to come forward as soon as she is able and provide contradicting evidence to clear her name. She can be assured of safe passage during the interrogation."

The Lead Goblin and his staff were obviously uncomfortable and distressed about what they had done. They left in a rush, ignoring the clamors for more answers to more questions. Gringotts had just declared war on the Death Eaters. There would be a high price to pay for inconveniencing Lestrange.

And Umber was either very brave or a closet lunatic. How he managed to persuade the goblins of his innocence and to openly accuse Lestrange was beyond her imagination. But one thing was certain in her mind as she exchanged looks with the unruffled wizard.

She was staring at a very dead man.

A/N . I told someone Umber scares me. He's a rogue, an unpredictable sort.

I've added a glimpse of the potion master, the change in the evil plan and what's happened with Floyd.

So, about Hermione and her current state of conflict - I know a lot think she's avoiding Harry because of what he did as Roy Hunt. She really isn't. She's not playing victim that some have concluded from her actions. She knows and admits she started this all with her desire for a last fling. She just wants Harry to let go but is afraid of the conversation that they have to have about it. She's afraid she can't let go once they talk about the truth and now she realizes that they have to so they can both move on. Conflicted...

I hope that explains Hermione a bit more although I know some will find it irritating that she can't tell Harry what this really is about for her. Some might know her well enough to know and understand why.

42. Traitors Within

Chapter 42 –Traitors Within

The sudden departure of the goblins from the briefing left Sir Isaac Umber besieged by the onslaught of information hungry reporters.

"What evidence do you have, Sir Isaac?"

"I'm not at liberty to say until after the investigation."

He would definitely have less liberty dead.

"Mr. Umber, before today Lestrange's assets have never been frozen despite being a known Death Eater. The Ministry has been trying to make the goblins do that for years and failed. How did you convince the goblins to do it?"

He smiled and replied with a glint in his eye, "Goblins are free beings and their decisions are without external influence. I merely pointed out that whoever it was who robbed Gringotts had to know it was not to be tolerated."

And the goblins actually considered it?

"Do you think the Death Eaters will attack Gringotts?"

"I think Mrs. Lestrange is reasonable. She runs a business; she needs money to do that, it will not benefit her to take down our banking institution that has protected her interests for so long."

Honor and respect among fellow thieves.

"Will she kill or negotiate?"

"It's hard to speculate and I wouldn't want to second guess such a brilliant mind.”

Both. Definitely both.

"Why are you risking your life by implicating the Death Eaters and giving Gringotts evidence against Lestrange?"

"I did not have much of a choice. I was going to be charged with a crime I did not commit. I have my name and my family's reputation to protect."

After his answer, he begged off other questions and made his way out to the lobby. Some reporters continued to hound him until he Disapparated just outside the bank.

Ginny stayed back, thinking about the briefing and his interview earlier that day. She had listened to and observed him during his exchange with reporters. Umber knew exactly what he was doing, he knew exactly what he would tell the goblins during the interrogation and he got his wish - Bellatrix Lestrange with murder in her eyes. This was personal and Lestrange would make sure he would suffer a long and painful death.

She went through random thoughts about the robbery...Lestrange was retiring...needs money to finance retirement party...robs Gringotts...possible Bruin framed for crime...Bruin fights back to rain on Lestrange's retirement parade?

The question that still begged to be answered was why would Lestrange want Umber to take the fall for Gringotts? She obviously thought the goblins would sentence him and that she would get away with it. But it was not like her to do something cowardly like steal and then not take the credit for it, even if it meant she was taking from the goblins. And she looked but did not find any other connection between Lestrange and Umber. What would it gain Umber to risk his life to get Lestrange in trouble with the goblins?

I have my name and my family's reputation to protect.

Ginny didn't notice until then that her heart was pounding harder. That was what the anti-potion Bruins pledged to do. Farfetched but not totally impossible.

Was Lestrange a threat to what the Bruins were trying to protect?

She was too close to this and needed an objective pair of eyes to tell her if she was overreaching. She thought about calling Hermione to run it by her. That and she was curious how things were going with Harry.

As soon as she got out onto Diagon Alley, she took out her mobile phone but before she could place a call saw that there was a message on it. She listened, couldn't help by break into a smile as she heard Hermione's concerned voice. It was good that she thought things were bad...nowadays it was the law of opposites with her. But what the heck were they doing in an art gallery? And did she say Bruins or Ruins?

She called her. It rang...and it rang...

As Ginny waited patiently for Hermione's voicemail to pick up, she glanced at the giant time teller above the Gringotts entrance. It was a good thing the Umber proceedings ended earlier than expected. She had some time. She wanted to drop by Hogwarts to attend a funeral; a house elf's.

XXXXXXXXX

Sometime just before that, at a magical potions lab somewhere north of Toronto, Harry was trying his best to stay awake. It seemed that the two days of sleep deprivation had finally taken its toll. It did not help that he was by himself in a cozy, warm observation booth listening to piped in elevator music and was relegated to being a spectator as Hermione did all the work inside the Level 5 lab. He tried to convince her that he could help but she refused, telling him she needed him to stay outside just in case something bad happened and she couldn't leave the lab on her own.

Was he worried about her safety? Yes. But when she told him she needed a Level 5 lab and was going to take the potion apart he knew it would be dangerous. As much as he was concerned, she was the best person to do it and he understood why she wanted to do this on her own.

Professor Tan had left them at his own private lab some time ago. He did not trust the Professor at all and neither did Hermione but they, in the interest of a nearing deadline, decided to press on and just be on the watch. He had scanned their perimeter and aside from a Muggle movie recorder he found running from within the room he was in, there had been no further attempts to spy on them.

It took a while for Hermione to set up the Professor's lab the way she wanted it set up and he took the opportunity to put in a call to Kingsley. Harry filled him in about the events in the last couple of days, Floyd, the disruption that seemed to be planned at the research conference, and what Hermione was attempting to do. It was good that Kingsley knew about his history with Floyd and the elusive purple potion.

He fought against indignation to rub it in Kingsley's face that he had been right all along. For one, Kingsley had admitted that the MLE from both Toronto and London dropped the ball on this and had an almost apologetic tone throughout their conversation. There was also the fact that there was nothing to gain by not working with him. Kingsley shared with him ongoing events in London that potentially were related to the events in Toronto. There were low level crimes highly suggestive of Squib and Muggle use of a magic enabling potion, a recent interrogation confirming one such concoction was going around under the street name Vitamin Squib X or Vitamin X. There was also word out that Lestrange and the Death Eaters did not want anyone touching or using it, and those who had were made examples of. To add to that, Argus Filch had just been found dead; suffocating as he was forced to ingest a list of his Hogwarts rules. Losing a witness put a considerable damper on their Gringotts robbery investigation, which also pointed strongly to Lestrange.

Kingsley would know more when they met in about an hour and in the meantime, he suggested they avoid MLE contact until their meeting. He was clear; as a leader in the Order he was behind them but as the London Head Auror he would be hard-pressed to justify what they were currently attempting to do. Aside from Andy, who had already contacted him a few minutes earlier and was on her way to meet him, Harry had every intention to stay away from Toronto law enforcement.

Harry barely had time to think about his conversation with Kingsley when Hermione's phone started ringing. She had left it outside the lab and it was on the counter beside her purse.

Ginny. He remembered what she said the last time they spoke.

"You broke it, you should fix it."

"I'm trying to," he replied, "She won't let me."

"Stop making excuses."

Harry had planned to ask her for help with Hermione that time he was in London and she wouldn't cut him some slack. Ginny had known for a long time what this thing between Hermione and him was about, although he didn't know exactly how much she knew. His strained conversations with her even made him wonder if he knew everything she knew and whether or not what they knew were one and the same. Ginny confronted him right after Ron's death seeing right through how the tragedy wedged him and Hermione apart rather than bring them closer.

He wasn't sure how or when Ginny found out. Hermione must have told her. And even if Hermione didn't, having already concluded that his acceptance of the Auror position last year and immediate assignment to Toronto was about Hermione, it would not take much imagination on her part to take the extra leap about why Hermione did not want anything to do with him after Ron died.

Without giving her the Roy Hunt case details, he relented when she cornered him, admitting that he was the stranger who Hermione had an affair with and that Hermione found out from someone else. He was also really dying to tell someone and on hindsight, Ginny was probably the worst person to tell if he wanted sympathy. She already had a very jaded opinion of men who she trusted less than a used artifacts peddler in Knockturn Alley. He told her of how he and Ron had a fight about Hermione. There was some screaming and a lot of swearing, all on her part, and in the end, she had understandably sided with Hermione and with Ron. Ginny was never one to hide her emotions.

Months after, Ginny finally asked and let him tell her his side of the story. It was not as cathartic as he thought it would be because he could not tell her the entire truth either. There was indeed something to the saying that 'the truth will set you free.'

He looked upon the woman behind the glass window and felt the usual throb in his chest. For him, the only person who had to know the absolute truth was Hermione. Not that she could possibly know but he had been waiting a long time for her to hear him out and to release him of its burden, although he recognized that she was under no obligation to do that.

Now that they were talking again, it seemed very possible that he would get his chance. He was hopeful and cautious of the opportunity at the same time. For sure, he would go ahead and tell her if she allowed him, but he had to be prepared for unwanted outcomes. What if telling her everything did not bring about the healing that he so wished for? What if the truth wasn't enough?

Harry let Hermione's phone ring. In a previous life he would have picked up but he was an outsider now, more plainly so as she reminded him about why she was in Toronto and what she wanted that she couldn't get. What if after telling her the truth she still did not want him back in her life? What if she still wanted him to leave her alone?

He would find out the answer to that sooner or later but for now, it was about the potion. Hermione was just about to start. She had added a few extra rows of magical shields around the glass enclosure she was going to put the potion in and a few more surrounding the room.

"I'm ready," she said out loud, knowing he would be listening through the two-way open intercom.

"All set," he replied; she could hear him, too.

He watched her at work. She took out the Floyd phials from her repaired robes pocket and brought the potion up to eye level.

"Purple potion, clear with no visible residues, contained in a dragon washing reinforced Romanian phial," she described what she saw for the log file that they were creating.

Hermione put the full and empty unbreakable phials inside the working space, secured the top lid and inserted her hands into gloves that mimicked the pair of artificial ones inside of the compartment. It would allow her to manipulate the potion without having to touch it and gave her protected access.

"Slowly uncorking phial with potion…"

They waited and not five seconds later, a purple mist hissed from its small mouth, she had to immediately re-cork it. He looked at one of the screens on the panel in front of him, hit the zoom button and knew that if not for Hermione's anticipation of the possibility a lot more of the potion would have evaporated.

"It must not like air. We need the compartment to be in a vacuum."

He found a lever he had noticed before.

"Hang on," he said to her as he pulled it and an indicator light saying air-tight lit on the bottom right of the glass box.

After some time, the light stayed on and she continued. She unsealed the phial again and this time it did not evaporate. She tried the obvious.

"Specialis Revelio!"

Hermione let out an involuntary sigh. Scarpin's Revelaspell did not work. She did say it was unlikely to be that easy. After manually transferring half the potion to the empty unbreakable phial, she re-corked both, opened the top lid, retrieved one of them, and put it in her pocket.

"Saving some for the Ministry?" he asked as she replaced the cover, resealing it air tight.

"Trying to keep our options open," she answered.

The next series of wand motions were not familiar to him. Her intense expression said it all; it was going to be a challenge. When that seemed not to work either, she halved the working potion further, putting some back into the other unbreakable phial that stayed with her. There was not much concoction to work with and the refilling charm was also ineffective.

She summoned a container of reddish liquid from one of the desks and she braced herself as she introduced a drop of it into the phial.

Boom!

The lab immediately filled with purple smoke as the addition caused a muffled explosion. He was on his feet quickly and about to barge into the lab but her calm voice rang from somewhere within the room even before he could call out her name.

"I'm okay. Just stay back."

A vacuuming sound came from the ceiling and the mist started to dissipate. He had to see for himself that she was fine.

"Where are you? What happened?"

The cloud lifted and he saw her picking herself up a few feet away from where she last stood, wand in hand. Hermione had a magical protective shield on that she must have conjured just before she did what she did. It was probably something that had happened to her before.

There were shards of glass everywhere as the blast broke every breakable thing within five feet of the phial. The top lid of the glass enclosure had blown off to a corner but the potion container itself was intact.

"It didn't like me amplifying it," she answered. The way she said it reminded him how she treated potions like they had minds of their own. "That was really amateurish."

She was visibly upset at herself. The unbreakable phial was intact but the potion in it was gone. She paced around the more undamaged parts of the lab.

"Don't worry about it," he tried to make her feel better, "And if you end up using all of it to get answers, you should go ahead. We've gone this far and really, the phial is one of many. Another would surely turn up."

"I'm really hoping that wouldn't ever happen," Hermione said in frustration and talked as she flipped cupboards open and close, searching for something. She addressed the potion, "So, you are special. You won't magically reveal yourself and you won't allow magical reproduction or amplification. But I wonder…"

She found was she was looking for from one of the dusty cupboards way out in the corner. He recognized the contraptions; they were definitely Muggle. Once again, she halved the remaining potion, placed one phial snugly inside a centrifuge and put both the Muggle device and the potion within it back inside the protective airtight container, replacing the lid. The centrifuge whirled around at a fast clip as Hermione set how rapid and timed how long the revolutions were going to be, decanting drops of the less thick portions into several clear test tubes at each stop. He had an inkling of what she was trying to do and she confirmed.

"Seeing as I've tried magic and it didn't work, I'm hoping this will."

This was how Muggles would do it. It was a shot. She then lined up a few microscopes and began preparing specimen slides from the decanted fluids. As she was doing this Andy arrived.

Andy dumped an armful of books and reading materials on the counter in front of him and took one look at the destruction from within the observation room.

"I never liked science experiments. What happened?”

"We just had a contained explosion," Harry replied and recanted what Hermione had done so far.

"That explains doing it the Muggle way," Andy said then asked, insensitively, “”So, how are things with her? Have you managed to get her off her high horse and kiss her senseless yet?”

He immediately blushed like an inexperienced teenager and sputtered like one, “Um…Andy…”

"And don’t you believe her when she tells you she doesn’t want it because she so obviously does…“ breaking glass interrupted her monologue, beaker and several test tubes, prompting Andy to doubt Hermione’s skill at Muggle experiments, “Does she know what she's doing?"

"She knows what she's doing."

Hermione answered back dryly as she quickly cleaned her mess up and perused the first slides, comparing it with reference images on one of the working computers inside the room.

"Good," Andy replied, then mouthed a sentence and gesticulated to Harry, "I need to talk to you in private."

He shut off the sound input from their side.

"That was embarrassing. Why didn't you warn me that she could hear us?"

And he had to do that because he knew what she was going to say? Andy continued before he could answer.

“Well, it’s true. Stuck up Brit. She should just do what she wants, have sex with you and get it over with because this tension between you two can’t be good for case objectivity and concentration.”

Andy sure did not mince with words. From Hermione’s reaction this morning he doubted that was really what she wanted. He did wish Hermione had Andy’s more practical approach.

“You think she wants to have sex with me?”

“For someone who has been with a lot of women you certainly don’t know women.”

“How do you figure that she does?”

“Harry, my slutty grandmother was part Veela. I learned and inherited a lot from her. Trust me, despite what you did to her, she wants you.”

He was still skeptical and besides, he was aiming for her to want more than just sex from him.

“Right about now she already knows we’re talking about her behind her back, probably wondering what about...don’t touch that and let her!”

Andy smacked his hand away as he reached for the switch. She was crazy.

“I’m trying to rebuild trust here,” he tried to explain.

Something broke again. Hermione looked upset as she repaired it. An Erlenmeyer flask. How he remembered that, was amazing.

“She already trusts you; she said so herself. Now let her prove it. You’re not doing anything wrong which brings us back to my first point about your impaired objectivity,” Andy’s voice took a more serious tone. "The phials from Romania, they were ordered and received by a Healer from St. Mungo's. I'll give you one guess which Healer it is."

First Floyd and now, the phials. More and more it seemed that Hermione was a part of this case in more ways that they thought she was. It also troubled him that the evidence of a definite London connection pointed to her.

On the other hand, the conversation he just had with Kingsley made more sense now. The potion supply was coming from London and likely involved the Death Eaters. Were Lestrange and Floyd in this together? What about the other woman Floyd was working for last year?

He rose to Hermione’s defense.

"There's a logical explanation for that."

"Of course there is."

"She probably didn't know."

"Sure. She didn't know that she ordered fifteen hundred Ministry regulated special phials and Merlin knows how many of them are missing."

"I trust her. She's above suspicion," he said to Andy firmly. "Now drop it and let's move on."

"Fine," Andy finally said, but he could sense her still doubting his judgment, which she probably thought was hormone influenced.

Slightly miffed at her distrust, he forcibly flipped the intercom switch back on.

“What else did you find out from the MLE?”

“The Squib witness at the diner does not exist. The name he gave the hit wizards was bogus.”

“Great,” he said, exasperated at yet another dead end, “Why did it take so long for them to respond to the commotion at the alley?”

“There was an active permit for a mock exercise filed by another phantom this morning. Until I called Jack, the Ministry thought it was some drill.”

“And Floyd?”

“An all portraits alert has been sent out and we’re monitoring every Muggle and Magical Hospital we have a presence in.”

Floyd would be too smart for that.

"What about Jack?"

"Pissed as hell. I had to convince him the car wreck was necessary, admit that I got blindsided by your yet to be identified accomplice, lose the tail he put on me without being obvious and then I had to line up to get a fucking library card. Do you know how long it has been since I’ve been in a Muggle library?" Andy complained, "But from what I’ve read so far, some of these Bruins are absolutely nuts."

Andy had been looking at the screens on the panel in front of them which were now linked to the microscopes and the specimens mounted inside the lab. Harry did the same as more slides filled the screen. Each image looked different. All he could tell from his limited knowledge of Muggle biology from before he attended Hogwarts was that they all looked like cells.

"Fuck...I think I'm going to be sick..."

Obviously, Andy knew more than him. He looked over to where his partner was, just in time to see her ashen expression disappear into the nearby trash bin followed by retching noises. That was the second time today he saw her do that. She was having a really tough day. In the meantime, Hermione had joined them in the observation booth. He could already tell what they had before them was not good.

"What is it?" he asked Hermione, who had almost the same troubled look on her face as Andy had.

She pointed at one particular image on the screen.

"These spindle shaped structures interposed side by side are smooth muscles cells," she explained, then moved on to a magnified image, "It's typical of heart muscle and it's not human. This particular one belongs to a house elf."

XXXXXXXXXX

Draco Malfoy was reviewing a magical being case that he had just volunteered to take on. The file was thick and he did not have a lot of time to study it.

It was a challenge to concentrate. She left him a message to tell him Mexico was on hold. She said she had a personal emergency to attend to. She was in Toronto. There was no surprise there.

He really had to study the file. It did not help that the Death Eater mark continued to pester him despite the use of the numbing potion.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

Her voice was always cold; her words, no matter what she said, biting. He did not look up to see who it was. He did not have to.

“I’ve been busy,” came his terse reply.

Her coming to see him was expected. He knew that there were limits to her patience and she forced him to give her his undivided attention.

“Now, now Draco, where are your manners? That’s not the way to talk with your favorite aunt.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Sir Isaac Umber was in his London office. Gringotts went better than expected. Things were going to move very fast and he had to act before Bellatrix Lestrange decided it was time to deal with him. He took out a Bruin medallion from his breast pocket and signaled for an urgent meeting.

As he did, a familiar yellow owl impatiently tapped on his glass window. The contact was unanticipated. Umber took the note from its leg and read it carefully.

Interesting.

Dear Bruin Elder,

You have a traitor in your midst. I suggest you clean house.

The Potion Master

Not long after he read it, his medallion pulsated, sending out bright red sparks at his touch. Another emergent Elder Council assembly, no doubt to discuss this first direct communication from the Potion Master to the Bruin Elders and what it meant that he knew exactly who all of them were.

What was the Potion Master up to?

He read the piece of parchment again. A traitor.

Sir Isaac Umber was well aware that there was a Bruin defector amongst them but the turncoat he was most concerned about wasn’t the young, brown haired man whose image kept reflecting off the Potion Master’s letter.

43. The Execution of the Blood Rat

A/N. Warning - really gory execution scene.

Chapter 43 - The Execution of the Blood Rat

Just outside of London at an abandoned meat processing factory, Dennis Creevey was swearing to himself as he waited in the cold for her, wondering what it was that she wanted. He was pissed at being her errand boy and was sick and tired of being at her beck and call. At least Lestrange paid more. The danger he put himself through everyday was really not worth it and he had enough.

He had met the witch almost two years ago at a research conference in Toronto. He was struggling with his career, making illegal permanent love potions for a living and was looking for employment. The witch was head of the magical research division at a Detroit Hospital and was looking for assistants. One of the screening questions was to write an essay about a children's book called the Story of the Magic Pill. His knowledge of it was from the bedtime story his Mum read to him and his brother Colin up until she died just before he turned six. He must have aced it for he got an immediate appointment for an interview.

Creevey did not enjoy working for her but he had to. She was family; he saw evidence of his ancestry, that his mother was in fact a Squib and not a Muggle as everyone believed she was and he could not turn away. It was his destiny, he was told, to be one of those who would help bring this change in the world to fruition. He was needed to protect Sophie Bruin's legacy, to break down social barriers and inequalities that Squibs and Muggles were subjected to, by helping in the search for and to guard the Bruin cursed who would make the potion the way it was meant to be made.

Fine, that was how it was sold to him but he never did buy into the nonsense. Magic was supposed to make life easier, and at that time, there was nothing in his life that was. Desperate, he was in it for the money, although there was no point for everyone else to know that. And when he was asked to work for Granger to keep an eye on her, he thought nothing of it, especially not after those he was taking orders from started taking orders from Lestrange.

As he thought, it was hogwash. He didn't really care if the purple potion was produced the way it was being produced now. The more chaos it created, the more opportunities to make money. What did he care? It was not his war and he didn't need the potion. The Squibs and the magical beings could figure it out. And the extra dough poisoning Granger to keep Lestrange happy was the least he could do for her allowing him to stay alive. He was a half blood, tolerated by Lestrange because Granger was foolish enough to trust an old schoolmate. What was he supposed to do? Say 'no' to the Death Eater?

He liked Granger. She was decent but, unfortunately, cursed. It had been years since the Hogwarts Sorting Hat thought him courageous enough to make him a Gryffindor but dying for someone else was never his idea of bravery. And to be honest with himself, he was not the same person in Hogwarts. Life in the real world had made him, well, a heartless bastard.

The witch was late as she always was, always expecting people to wait for her. He despised her arrogance.

A series of pops suddenly broke through the chilly air and before he could draw his wand out to protect himself, he was bound and gagged by at least four hooded figures. Panic took over. He struggled with all his might, kicking and screaming for naught, as he was carried off into a large room deep into the empty building.

His captors remained cold and expressed no emotion, none of them even peered through their hoods to give him the opportunity to identify them and beg for his life. The sign on the door caught his eye as they entered.

REFUSE and SCRAPS

He began to sweat fear as he saw the huge rust covered Muggle contraption before him. They set him down on an icy, rectangular tiled table right in front of it; one of them directed a very bright yellow light at him as another manually pressed a button. Loud whirring echoed and bounced around the hollow concrete walls as the machine roared to life and the wide mouthed funnel up on its pinnacle vibrated wildly, as if begging to be fed.

"Please..."

Creevey pleaded over the noise, deciding to concentrate his energies to reason with his foes rather than fight in futility. One of them summoned a rat scampering in the shadows and dropped it into the funnel. Its short-lived squeal was replaced by a brief grinding sound and seconds later, a reddish thick liquid trickled from the connecting trough into a collection drum. Merlin!

"Please…don't kill me…I'll do anything…anything that you want…" he quivered as his mind faltered.

"It's too late to beg for your life," a man answered. His voice was familiar. Quincy, her right hand man. "You should have thought about that before you betrayed your own flesh and blood."

"Quincy, no! You don't understand…"

"You were supposed to protect her."

"I did…I was…"

"Loyalty above all else."

He noticed the Bruin insignia on the sleeve of his robe, the badger with a ferocious and wicked expression.

"Lestrange was going to kill me!"

"You should have let her. She would have been kinder."

With those words, Quincy nodded to an extraordinarily large man, the half giant Hughes, who lumbered over to where he was. Creevey tried to fight back once more but it was useless.

"Let me see. Where should we start?"

Quincy pointed his wand and Creevey's pants became undone, his underwear vanished into thin air. He was trembling from within, incredulous at what was happening and in disbelief at what was about to happen to him.

He mocked what he saw, "Jeez, Creevey. Looking at this I almost feel sorry for you. I even wonder if it’s worthy enough to be the place the start."

"Symbolic, if you ask me," one of Quincy's henchmen answered, "Considering how dickless he's acted all this time."

It was decided. Over the next five minutes, he screamed in agony as his captors slowly tore him up into little bits and pieces starting with his least vital appendage, one of them stemming the bleeding, keeping him alive and conscious as long as they could. And after each harvest, they made him watch parts of him go into the funnel in a solid state and come out the other way liquid.

Dennis Creevey was too defeated and too weak to cry out as the Bruins, left with nothing else to rip off, tossed his dismembered head and trunk into the grinding machine.

XXXXXXXXXX

The amount of security, conjured and otherwise, present at the Toronto Ministry of Magic on Queen Street that Thursday morning was astounding. There was a lot of cursing going around as unplanned trips and high level meetings that involved the Supreme Mugwump in combination with any Minister for Magic always brought about an inordinate amount of stress to those responsible for their protection. Thankfully, they were rare and far between.

The gathering was in the unfixed, constantly changing, currently sixth floor conference room of the Ministry. It was exactly eleven a.m. when Ecruminus Brown appeared in one of the seats marked with the names of the invitees to the Potter meeting, the room set to receive only those who were called. The attendees all appeared simultaneously, transported magically by the pull of the enchanted room from wherever in the world they were.

Being the Squib leader for quite a number of years, Ecruminus had met each of the individuals in the room at one point in his life, but never in such an intense atmosphere. Harry Potter and his friend, Hermione Granger, had just been taken into Ministry custody. The Toronto contingent moved immediately after Granger produced the less than half filled phial that he currently had in his hand. Their London counterparts were upset and barbs were being exchanged all over the place. He found the scene disturbing and the squabbling did not auger well for what he had hoped they would accomplish.

"They should be let go!" the visiting Auror Shacklebolt insisted.

"They committed crimes against our Ministry!" replied his Toronto counterpart, Muller, "They cannot go unpunished!"

"They are not the enemy! He acted appropriately based on past experience and she was merely helping a friend!"

"They are loose cannons! Why are you protecting them?! Are they your spies?!"

"Get a grip! There are spies in your Ministry but it's not them. And considering what happened last year, he should not have trusted you with the fact that he found the phial!"

Minister Scrimgeour interrupted, "Kingsley, that's enough!"

"Are you suggesting I'm incompetent?!"

Minister Truelove tried to rein in her Auror, too, "Jack, I do not think Mr. Shacklebolt meant that…"

"You said it; I didn't. You had your chance with Floyd last year and you bungled it. This would be over had you done a better job!"

Wands were drawn and he was about to dive under the table had he not seen the Supreme Mugwump summon their weapons to avert the duel.

"This is why I never had a desire to have children," the grey bearded man commented calmly. "I am hopeful the Ministries can settle the matter of who will get punished, who punishes, and what is reasonable, in a more civil manner. I do suggest that we move on with the more important matter at hand."

Sensing all attention coming to him, he gingerly put the phial at the centre of the table and watched it with the rest. He could not believe he would live to see the day to actually see Grandma Sophie's potion. It did give him a sense of pride that not only was it created by a Squib, it was by his grandmother. That quickly mellowed, put in perspective about what it took to create it.

"The Squib Holy Grail," the Canadian Head of the Department of Mysteries, Gillian Bellow, said under her breath with eager anticipation, "I can't wait to do tests."

"We will do it together, of course," her English counterpart, Unspeakable Hush interjected.

"I hate to point this out but neither of you should. In fact, nobody should," Healer Lana Hama, the Headmistress of the Global Registry of Potionmakers, spoke.

Minister Truelove stressed, "Healer Granger's testimony of what is in it is not enough."

Minister Scrimgeour countered, "I assure you that Healer Granger is highly competent and the reason why she is on our Department of Mysteries retainer. If she says that's what's in the potion, that's what's in the potion."

"She could be the best at what she does but she is not infallible," Minister Truelove replied, "We need at least one confirmatory test and it would be easier if you help us force her to share with us how she did it."

"I'm telling you, none of us should. It is a confirmed Class F potion by a member of the Potionmaker Registry. Section 55 of the International Declaration Against the Experimentation of Magic Enabling Potions, Artifacts and Devices clearly states that any such potion does not require validation, is to be considered as Class F and should be destroyed within a reasonable amount of time," Healer Hama further explained.

"Is that true?" the Canadian Minister turned to her Unspeakable.

"I'm afraid so."

Unspeakable Hush added, "But it was a rule created many years ago and the spirit of the law has always been to protect all of us. In my opinion, safety concerns support us going ahead and finding out more about this potion. This is already on the streets as we speak. We have to be prepared."

"Section 55 is quite clear. The spirit of the law was to prevent someone like us taking it upon ourselves to interpret it any other way," the Potion Headmistress countered.

"Healer Hama is right," the Supreme Mugwump said, "Saying that, the International Confederation of Wizards created the law based on theory and principle. The dire circumstances of the purple potion’s existence and impending global distribution may now supersede what was an ideal. Is the health danger posed by an unknown, unproven potion more important than the threat of finding out more about it and its magic enabling properties? Hah! Interesting! I will call for an immediate review and anticipate a lively discussion. It is a worthwhile exercise for us to rethink conflicting priorities."

The Supreme Mugwump seemed too enthused for his comfort.

Minister Scrimgeour said, "I am most interested about what more it can do, to prepare our men who will face those who use it."

It was his turn.

"I oppose any human testing until the potion passes lower level safety tests. I will not agree to Squibs being guinea pigs until then."

"But that could take weeks!"

"Months even! Depending on when we will be allowed to experiment on it!"

The Unspeakables said one after the other in frustration. Should he say that was the point?

"That may be a priority to you but we should not forget the more pressing matter that requires urgent attention, preventing further distribution of the potion. I know it will be difficult but I look to the MLE and the Auror Offices to do everything in their power to neutralize this Squib Floyd."

"I agree, Ecruminus," Healer Hama concurred. "We will have a bigger problem in our hands once use becomes widespread that this hits the press. What about the Bruins?”

Shacklebolt answered, “We all know they will deny their involvement. There is no point to beat a bush that’s been beaten before.”

Muller replied, “True. At the moment, we are working towards the same goal but if they get in the way, we will make arrests.”

Bellow asked, “Should we alert the magical being leaders?"

"I think we should," Minister Truelove opined, "It is important for them to know that they can trust us, that we are against such a potion, that we would like to work with them to keep it off the streets."

"Their current leader doesn't and will never trust witches and wizards. Such news will only incite him and his people into a state of unrest, unnecessary at this point when nothing is certain yet," that was Minister Scrimgeour, "We all know he is looking for reasons to declare war."

All eyes were turned to the Supreme Mugwump who said to them, "We'll wait, for now. I know what you mean, Rufus. I dread the chaos that will ensue if my magical being counterparts learn of this. At this point we may still be able to stop it on our own."

Ecruminus agreed. Such pandemonium would be needless but he could not help but think how magical beings were once again being excluded. Wizards and witches always arrogantly assumed they had all the correct answers.

The Mugwump continued, "Nonetheless, I trust apprehending the Squib and those he is in cahoots with will be the MLE's priority. I'm not one to overstep my role but perhaps, instead of arresting Mr. Potter and Healer Granger, asking for their assistance on the matter would be the wiser road to take."

Ecruminus was so ecstatic about the outcomes of the meeting he had to remind himself not to smile. He could not have wished for anything more.

Little did he know that there was another Bruin in the room who was thinking the very same thing.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione paced impatiently within the confines of an interrogation room. She was alone, left there to await further questioning after both she and Harry were taken away from the meeting. They expected that to happen, and she thought she was quite prepared for it. But all the waiting and uncertainty was getting on her nerves.

Did they believe them? What were they planning to do? Were they under arrest?

Harry had come up with alibis for them, simple enough that they were believable. His excuse was based on a mesh of their combined thoughts about the events of that morning; that the attempt to steal the phial from them at the diner reminded him of the cover-up of last year (his), that he called the meeting to make sure all those who needed to know knew that the potion existed (hers), hoping that would lessen the chances of there being another one (his), and that the most rational decision would be made about it (hers).

On the other hand, the defense he came up for her was a blatant lie; she supposedly did it as a favour for an old friend she just happened to be visiting, not knowing where the potion came from or that it was proof on some active case. That could not have been farther from the truth; it was her who 'persuaded' Harry to tamper with the evidence. This was her fault and if there was anyone who should be punished it would be her. She had no problem telling the truth about that and it was unthinkable for her to fib to get Harry in more trouble than he already was.

She argued with him as he insisted. In the end, Harry appealed to her common sense. Unless they lied they would go to prison, her especially considering the phial could be traced back to her, and even she agreed this was not the time to be incarcerated. Being the trusting, oblivious, gullible friend to an Auror who had good intentions seemed to be the best story they could come up with on such a short notice.

It floored her when Harry said that based on serial numbers, the unbreakable phials were part of the lot she ordered a few days ago. She couldn’t believe it but she couldn’t think of a reason why someone would want to frame her for it. It being some mistake also rang false as it would be too much of a coincidence. She tried calling Dennis but couldn’t get a hold of him. She was going to ask if there was something unusual about the order, some mix up, and maybe to check if the ones they still had in the lab were indeed the Romanian unbreakable ones that they were supposed to get. Andy agreed to keep it off the record while they checked into that.

If the phials were being ordered through St. Mungo’s and it very likely was, then the potion was being produced in London and pieces were falling into place. She had cried the moment she saw evidence of centaur and goblin tissue in the specimen they had. Even Harry thought the very same thing at the lab though neither of them could mention the names of the centaur and goblin they had on their minds. It wasn’t until Kingsley spoke of the strange murder of Firenze and the disappearance of Ragnok at the meeting that it became real.

More and more she was beginning to feel uneasy about all the odd connections that the case seemed to have with her. It was as if she was destined to be in Toronto at that particular moment, that even if the Order had not asked her to persuade Harry to come back, she would have still been involved in this. Her problem was she never really believed in this kind of a preset course that others referred to as destiny.

A pang of guilt washed over her again as she thought about what she got Harry into. She was anxious about it. What if his 'good intention' was not reason enough for the Canadian Ministry to look the other way? What if all that she feared he would get as punishment would come true?

As Hermione seriously considered retracting her previous statement, the door suddenly swung open, startling her. A parade of individuals walked in. Aside from Harry, Kingsley and Harry's Toronto boss, Jack Muller, she did not recognize the two others with them. They looked like Aurors.

Hermione looked at Harry's expression, sensing he had just been in a heated argument and was not happy about something. It was difficult to read anything more into his expression. She glanced briefly over to Kingsley who gave her an imperceptible nod of reassurance. She was in the clear, but what about Harry?

"Am I under arrest?" she asked Muller.

Muller spoke in a firm tone, "No, you're not. In as much as I know you and Mr. Potter here are lying about the extent of your involvement in the matter, I have no proof."

"Are you under arrest?" she asked Harry.

He didn't answer and she could tell he was still simmering beneath the calm front he was putting up.

"No, but he will be subject to a disciplinary hearing at a later time," Muller replied for him, "Healer Granger, we have a proposal we would like you to consider."

Harry shook his head slightly, telling her that she should say 'no'. She turned to Muller.

"A proposal?"

"We understand that Floyd tried to abduct you earlier today. You probably are already aware that the last time you were in Toronto, he and his brother wanted something from you, which we think they never got."

"I'm listening."

"We need to bring Floyd down and we think he will come after you again. We need your help to draw him out into the open."

Hermione could feel all eyes on her, more Harry's than anyone else's. She now understood why he shook his head.

"And what would I have to do?"

"We would like you to stay in Toronto until the end of the Research Conference, attend some talks and perhaps give the one you were invited by the organizers to give. Also, you would have to allow us to intrude upon your privacy and provide you with protection."

Muller stopped talking. She did not even have to think. Her answer was well formed the moment she realized what they were asking her to do and why. Capturing Floyd was key to getting to the potion supplier, to end this before it got out of hand.

Just to cover her bases, she asked Kingsley, "What do you think?"

Kingsley replied, "We need Floyd to get to everyone else. It's dangerous, but it's our only lead right now. You know what can happen if we don't stop Floyd."

With Kingsley thinking the same thing she was, she was more comfortable making the decision.

"What about me? Aren't you going to ask me what I think?"

Harry was definitely irked that she didn't. She didn't have to.

"I already know what you think."

"But I guess what I think doesn't count,” Harry countered pointedly.

Actually, it did, but it wasn’t the time or place to admit to something personal like that. He already knew what her answer was, too, and she wished he would not fight it. When she didn’t say anything, he carried on.

“They're using you just like they did last year. You're going to be bait!"

Floyd was already after her; what difference did it make? It was an opportunity and even if she was bait, at least now, she was an informed one. He must have read her mind.

"Yes, Floyd needs you for something. But you should get protection and lie low, not dangle yourself in public and dare him to make a move," Harry continued, "You've heard what he can do. None of us in this room can guarantee your safety and the next time he comes after you, we might not be as lucky."

And did he really think she would decline because of that?

"I'll do it…" she said to Muller, ignoring Harry's ongoing frustration, "…but only if you grant me two things."

"Just two?" Muller replied, raising his eyebrows.

"I want full access to case files on anything concerning and related to Tom Floyd,” she said and explained to wipe the ‘why’ expression on Muller’s face, “I might find something in it that will tell me what he wants from me and that might give you an idea of what he’s up to."

That was mostly the truth although she had a more private motive. She also wanted to know the official version of the events of last year. It was going to be difficult, but it was time to face the facts. She imagined she and Harry would have a more in-depth discussion about the past soon and she preferred to have more objective information when they did.

"Fair enough. That should not be a problem," Muller answered, "And the other?"

She thought it was worth a shot.

"Drop all the charges against Harry; I want your Ministry’s word that there will be no disciplinary hearing and none of it goes on his record."

Hermione tried not to meet Harry’s intense gaze but failed. She did not want to see him look at her like that. She was going to risk her life anyway so she might as well get as much from it as she could. What was the big deal about her trying to do something nice for him?

XXXXXXXXXX

It was already dark out when the Potion Master arrived in Toronto. After dropping off his suitcase at a Downtown hotel, he quickly Disapparated to a home in Willowdale where he met up with Quincy, Hughes and the witch who was their Bruin leader.

“Is it done?” he asked.

“The rat has been, um…liquidated.”

“Good. And the unexpected problem?”

“Contained. We’ve asked family in Romania to make sure the phials don’t lead to her.”

“Good.”

“How did the meeting go?”

“Just as we planned. Section 55 has been repealed by the International Confederation of Wizards, Healer Granger is set to attend the conference and Tilden Toots has confirmed for Day 1.”

“Excellent.”

“Bellatrix has yet to be informed.”

“I will let her know. Now, if only we can keep Floyd from messing this all up.”

“Someone mentioned my name?” an icy tone came within one of the rooms and Floyd appeared at the doorway, mocking him as he had in the past. “I thought that voice sounded familiar. Hail, the Potion Master!”

The Potion Master matched his frosty reception. He disliked Floyd but the Squib was a necessary evil if he wanted to succeed.

“Tom,” he greeted the man on crutches, “I heard you injured yourself for nothing.”

“I was doing fine until that bitch Marsh ran me over. I thought we could benefit from having Granger at our disposal sooner, you know, soften her up a bit.”

Floyd tried to justify the misdeed that was not part of their plan. This deviation was troublesome.

”And I needed the practice,” Floyd added.

“I can’t argue with that. You could have Disapparated before the car crashed into you if you were more skilled.”

Or less stupid.

“I could have if you made a better potion.”

“Your little stunt just tripled security around her.”

“Once I get my legs back, that won’t matter. I’ll be able to take on a roomful of Aurors, Potter included.”

This gung-ho attitude was an undesirable potion side effect.

“How many times do I have to tell you? You are not invincible.”

Floyd merely smiled, “Not yet.”

“Enough, you two!”

The witch intervened, reminding them both to put their differences aside and work together. They would, for now, but he would have to keep a closer eye on Floyd. Floyd was a git to begin with but he wondered if the potion was bringing that out even more. He would have to keep him on a tighter leash without him knowing it.

The Potion Master had to admit that Floyd’s prowess at harnessing the magical skills afforded by the Bruin potion was astounding considering that he developed it over a short period of time. He would have to decide soon how much longer he would allow his distant cousin to live.

44. The Night Ahead

Chapter 44 - The Night Ahead

Harry woke up to the buzz of an alarm clock and hit the snooze button. It was six p.m., some four hours after he finally lumbered into his own bed. Muller had sent him home to get some much needed rest and even his mind could not resist; assured Hermione would be safe at the Ministry, it blacked out the second his head hit the pillow and fell into a restful dreamless sleep.

Earlier, he objected vehemently to the plan to make Hermione bait knowing that once Jack and Kingsley asked her she would not say 'no'. Andy was even open to his suggestion of her being a Polyjuiced clone but that was quickly shot down by the Auror Heads. Admittedly, they were right. Floyd's need likely had something to do with Hermione's skill, either in healing or potion-making. Floyd would not kill Hermione but would not hesitate to eliminate a Polyjuiced substitute, a ruse he would be expecting and could quite easily and quickly determine.

In the end Harry realized it was mere common courtesy that Kingsley and Jack told him before they asked Hermione. He tried to talk some sense into her on the off chance that she would take his advice. Not only did she not heed it, she did not even solicit it. She asked Kingsley instead; Kingsley, who continuously pushed the limits of civilian safety in pursuit of justice. She trusted Kingsley more than she trusted him. It offended and irritated him that she did not even consider how he felt about this.

He could only watch as she accepted their proposal and negotiated to wipe the record of insubordination from his already tainted Ministry record. That riled him even more. She always did that. She always presumed that he would not mind her doing him favors and she never asked. And she always thought of what was best for him; at least what she thought was best.

It galled him that Hermione always took care of him and yet she would not allow him to take care of her. He was growing tired of this one way street, where she could choose to and be able to and he couldn't even though he wanted to. Why wouldn't she let him?

Harry had plenty of excuses to act crazy but fuelled by this particular frustration, he told her off. It hurt him to say it but he meant every word of it. The thought formed in his mind and out his mouth so quickly, he did not have time to smoothen out its gruffness. He remembered what he said.

"You don't want my opinion; fine. You want to go ahead and do this; fine. But keep me and my Ministry record out of it. I don't want your charity, especially not one I'm bound to end up feeling guilty about."

Or something like that. It was too late when he realized that although he wanted to say that to her it wasn't exactly what he wanted her to hear. It was true, though. If something bad happened to her, his expunged record would yet be another reminder of how he owed her so many things about the life he was living and how stupid he was for recognizing too late just how important she was in it. He stormed out of the room before anybody could say anything else. He had to because he would have only carried on and added to the pain he saw in her eyes after he said what he did. At least he was able to grit his teeth and keep his voice to a level that only she and Jack could hear; he tried to anyway.

Harry stayed clear of Hermione as she remained in the interrogation room which was going to be set up as their Command Centre. Last he saw her just before he left she was immersed reading a mound of files relating to the case. His staying away wasn't so much because of what she said and did but more because he wanted to give her space, for her to find out about the past without his interference. Anxious about how all this would affect them, he did manage to get some reading done in the hour or so he spent at his desk, although he had not made a dent into the thick pile that was on her list of required Bruin reading.

He started with Ginny's Prophet articles. She wrote of the legend of the magic enabling potion as an offshoot of her series on Helga Hufflepuff's unconfirmed prophesies. He read how there were so many versions of the myth, it was really difficult to know which one or ones to believe. Ginny's explanation of the limitless iterations was that they were part of the family's propaganda to prevent the truth from surfacing.

There was one other thing; Ginny, or anyone writing about the Bruins, could not name names. Apparently, Sophie Bruin's family was well connected that years ago, they had successfully argued in court that the centuries old rumours of the existence of the potion and the alleged prophecy attached to it was causing significant distress amongst her descendants. It was made illegal internationally to publish actual names of family members, true or suspected, including the mention of the name Sophie Bruin, in connection with the prophecy or any magic enabling potion without a valid magical or written consent. Harry thought it insanely annoying that the Ministry Legal Department had to be brought in to tell them how to investigate and document the involvement of the Bruins without calling them the Bruins because of the association of the case with a magic enabling potion.

It was by default that he would be part of her core of Auror bodyguards. Jack assigned Andy to lead that team, a decision both women were not really happy about. Andy was quite pissed, certain that the dubious designation of 'Head Nanny' was punishment for wrecking his car. She tried to get out of it, telling Jack how Hermione had boasted that she did not need a babysitter and could take care of herself. Jack didn't bite. Two other senior Aurors were assigned to Hermione's protection team, Leo Fairweather and Holly Kettlenip, and Kingsley pledged to send three Britons to help out over the next five days.

Getting out of bed after the alarm went off the second time, he saw the small leather bound book on his side table beside the clock. He picked it up and flipped through the pages he had already gone through once, finding it interesting that a Muggle children's book, The Story of the Magic Pill, was on Hermione's list of possible Bruin related books. He was skimming through and picked it up because it was the thinnest and least intimidating book in the bunch. He recognized the obvious connection and how so unusually negative the story was it couldn't have possibly been intended for Muggle children. Andy was right; some of these Bruins were mental.

Harry tossed it amongst the stuff he usually took with him to work and it landed right beside a copy of the now almost day old Daily Prophet. He tried not to dwell on the article on its Socials section, which he seemed to have recently developed a compulsion to read. She did mention she preferred to be in Mexico, 'dancing and drinking tequila all night'. Had he remembered that maybe he would have been more prepared to read who she was going with. It was too late to stop it; the lump and ache came.

As he showered, got dressed and Apparated to the Ministry, he forced himself to think more about the Bruins, the potion and Floyd. He thought about last year, about Lestrange covering up what happened at the Ghoul and burying the potion. He thought about the potion being brewed in London and Lestrange on the brink of retirement about to hand off to a yet unknown Potion Master. This successor seemed to be the natural Floyd connection but short of asking Lestrange, how could they know without a doubt that Lestrange's Potion Master was the same potion maker who was reproducing the purple potion?

And now Lestrange was trying to keep the potion bottled up in London. If Floyd was working for her that did not make sense because the Squib seemed not fussed about parading the potion in public? Was she the bitch of a witch from across the Atlantic that Klys referred to who had bankrolled the Waxball-Floyd operation and was the no show that post Valentine's day massacre at the Ghoul? If she was, then who was that woman with Floyd in London who help abduct him as he was disguised as Hunt?

He got to the Auror office and went straight to his desk, finding Andy at hers and about to leave for the day.

"It's about time you got here," Andy said. "Feeling better?"

She heard about his outburst, likely from Jack.

"I'm fine."

"Liar," she replied, knowing him too well. She wavered a bit, then decided to say what was on her mind, "What she tried to do was a good thing. Even I can see that."

"Yeah," he replied, clenching his jaw.

When he didn't say anymore she shifted their conversation.

"Your buddies from London are not coming until the morning. It'll be you, Holly and Leo tonight. And Jack has someone else doing call for us."

"Anything new?"

"Floyd is still underground. We've checked known associates and hide-outs, nothing so far and, as you expected, he would be too smart to seek detectable medical attention. Hermione went to see Jane Doe earlier, talked with her Healers and suggested a few counter potions. We already went over security details with her. The international ban for testing the purple potion has just been lifted and she's scheduled to help the Unspeakables confirm ingredients tomorrow morning."

She handed him a copy of Hermione's Auror Office approved itinerary for the next few days. He browsed through it quickly.

"The first real test will be tomorrow afternoon when she attends some pre-conference sessions," Andy continued.

Then there was the Tilden Toots talk the following day and her talk the day after. In between and all through out the schedule was full, but not as jam packed as he knew Hermione would have preferred.

"She's seen this?"

"No, I knew exactly which boring sessions she wanted to waste her time on," Andy replied sarcastically. The day had been very long for them both and he had to save his energy for what he had planned for what was left of it, "Of course, she's seen it and has signed off on it, every friggin' detail it drove me nuts. She's a control freak."

"I'm taking her to see Ron tonight."

It wasn't a request. Harry had been thinking when he would be able to do that since she came that morning. He still didn't know how to break the news of Ron's ghostly existence to her, still hoping he could find a way for Ron to do it himself. After a contemplative pause, Andy responded.

"I guess tonight would be the best time to do something 'fun' like that," Andy scribbled on her copy of the schedule, "Extraordinary or not I don't think anyone can recover that quickly from the injuries he sustained earlier. I doubt Floyd will try anything in the next day or so."

"Keep it off her official sched. I don't want anyone else there."

Andy gave him a look of disapproval before begrudgingly magically erased what she had just written down.

Harry suggested, "I would send Leo and Holly home. I agree, Floyd won't try anything tonight. You'll need fresh Aurors over the next few days."

She knew he was right but was not totally convinced having Hermione without the two extra guards was a good idea. She had this querying look, wondering if his suggestion was clouded by emotions he shouldn't have had Hermione been some other protectee.

"I'll make the changes," she finally consented and backed off, sensing he was in no mood for personal questions. "By the way, my Detroit contact pulled through. I didn't have the time to read what's in it but I figure you might tonight. Your desk, bottom right drawer."

"Thanks," he said plainly, feeling a lot less enthusiasm than he thought he would.

"There's definitely something wrong with you," Andy frowned.

"Where is she?"

"Command Centre, helping Leo and Holly organize what we and London have," she took her copies of the Bruin information, stuffed it in a duffel and made for the short corridor that lead to the room. "Are you coming?"

He told her to go ahead as he pulled the new Malfoy information that she had left in his bottom right drawer, opened the file and quickly skimmed through the inch thick binder. It was a list and summary of all the cases he had ever been involved with from the time he was a student at Ann Arbor up until he left for London a few months ago. He read the first few and found nothing interesting.

The more he read the more stupid he felt. He tried to remind himself what was he looking for and why was he looking for it? Shouldn't he be using the time to try and find Floyd or at least figure out who the Purple Potion Master and the Mystery Witch were?

The events of one day seemed to have quickly changed his priorities, at least he hoped that was it. Somewhere lurking in the back of his head was a thought that just as it was useless to sway her decision about participating in the Floyd case, he would be unable to dissuade her from continuing to go out with the ferret. The fact that she had planned to go to Mexico with Malfoy underscored the seriousness of their relationship. He had known Hermione for a long time; she always thought things through. She would have checked and looked into what Malfoy had been up to, finding nothing either. He probably should consider the possibility that the git was indeed a changed man. Harry couldn't agree more with the next thought that came to mind.

When hell freezes over.

Considering how little his opinion was valued, he was unlikely to share that with her again any time soon. But Hermione's words were just now sinking in. She said Malfoy apologized and she forgave him. Unimaginable as it was, she really did. Harry wondered what Malfoy's act of penance was that was so convincing of his remorse that made her a believer. There had to be at least one very good one but as hard as he tried to think about what that could have been, short of his answer to her about Malfoy selflessly dying for someone else which he obviously had not done, Harry could not come up with anything else.

"And what about you? What do you have to do for me to believe that 'Roy Hunt' was not just about you wanting casual sex? That I shouldn't think of it as a back stabbing traitorous act? What should I ask of you before I forgive you?"

Harry could not come up with a solid answer to that either. Maybe he should look into fixing what he did instead of trying to find proof to discredit what Malfoy had successfully done and take a tip or two from how he turned his life around.

Ron was right. You're a pathetic has-been who cares only about yourself. What could she possibly want with you?

He thought about the past year, how she had been avoiding him and what she said to him earlier today She never wanted to hurt him but he just wouldn't listen. She had been trying to tell him all along that she did not want that kind of relationship with him. Was it conceit or just denial that he could not imagine that possibility? How could she mistake her eventual physical response to his kissing for anything more than what it was; the only way for her to get him to stop. It was shameful that he had sunk that low.

Do the right thing. Think about her for a change. Give her what she wants and leave her alone.

He swallowed hard then closed the file, sealed and shrunk it to fit in between the pages of one of the other Bruin books he had to read. He magically sent the books to the hotel room adjacent to Hermione's where he would be spending the night, hoping to catch up on his reading after they talked with Ron and hopefully set him free.

Ron; he wondered how it would go. He was looking forward to it and not at the same time. Recalling Ron's crass behaviour the other night, Harry dreaded what further damage he could do to her, knowing how emotionally fragile she still was from his passing away.

An apprehension to take Hermione to Ron was growing within him. He should really ask her first if she wanted to see Ron. If she didn't want to, telling her about Ron's problem would force her to come. Which begs the question, what was the point of asking her if she would have to anyway?

Realizing the poor excuse he just tried to give himself for not being courageous enough to tell Hermione about Ron, he felt no embarrassment. But he did owe Ron a lot. If he were asked to choose between respecting Hermione's wishes on the matter and helping Ron move on, he would have to go with freeing the ghost from an eternity of unhappiness. He would probably tell her right before. There was no sense getting her wound up throughout dinner.

There was also the matter of asking Ron exactly how he died and hopefully drum up new leads or new evidence against Floyd. Ron's murder may or may not be directly related to the current case but he wanted justice for his best friend even if he would have to torture Floyd to confess. And the biggest incentive to nail the creep for it was to lessen the emotional burden Hermione had put upon herself about the accident.

Without realizing it, he had walked down the corridor and was standing just outside the now enlarged interrogation room/Command Centre. He peered inside through the small glass window on the door, watching Hermione without her knowledge, making most of the opportunity to see her without the guarded façade she had been putting up almost constantly since she came that morning. It was one of those things that he missed the most. His frustration was starting to boil over again.

His partner was giving final instructions to Holly and Leo and walked out.

"So, are you coming in?"

"Eventually."

"Don't take too long. For someone who has avoided you like the plague all year, she sure seems fussed about how she hurt your feelings."

She gave him a knowing look. Andy must have sensed his resolve waning and that was her way of telling him all was not lost. It was reassurance and coming from her, after her obvious disapproval of Hermione's treatment of him, it helped a lot. He nodded slightly.

"Okay. Stop moping already and keep your head in the job. Have you eaten?"

Naturally, hunger was not to be tolerated and essential to keeping his ‘head in the job’. Now, why didn't he think of that?

She continued, "I'm going home and, barring any culinary disasters, dinner will be ready in an hour. Come by. Bring her with you."

He hesitated, unsure how Hermione would feel about it. Andy sensed his apprehension.

"You'll need to eat before you see the Ghost. I can't imagine anyone having an appetite after talking with him," Andy had a point and was already assuming what his answer was. "She's not allergic to shellfish is she?"

Trying to convince Hermione to come would be an interesting exercise but he thought it was a good idea for Hermione to see Andy outside work. They had gotten off on the wrong foot and Andy's peace offering of dinner at her place, he hoped, would help them work with each other better over the next few days.

"Promise you'll behave yourself."

"I always do," Andy dismissed.

"We'll see you in a bit," he replied.

Andy left and he heeded her advice. He used his wand to gain access to the now restricted area and went in, wondering if Hermione would even want to talk about his eruption earlier that day considering that she had been trying to avoid talking about personal matters with him altogether. That was part of it, the wait for her to be open to what he had to say. He had decided that he was done initiating. It would be pointless to talk to her until she wanted to, and he hoped she eventually would.

Hermione looked up and smiled, somewhat. He smiled back weakly and sighed inwardly as he walked towards her. He tried not to think too much about why Hermione felt bad about hurting his feelings. For as long as he'd known her she had always been that kind of a friend. They had a rich friendship; it was a good one. Maybe she had softened her stance and was now willing to have him back as that. All was not lost.

Across the room Hermione immediately felt relief at the sight of him coming through the door. She had been wondering when or if he would come again tonight, not really looking forward to spending the rest of the day with two strangers watching over her while she tried to sort out on her own what it was about what she did and said that made Harry so upset.

It used to come so naturally, but her intentional detachment from him this past year seemingly made tuning into his feelings rusty. Unable to straighten her face out to show less concern, the grimace/smile would have to suffice. Neither of them seemed capable of coming up with a proper verbal greeting as he found a spot beside her and focused on the documents spread out on the table. She also momentarily lost the nerve to ask what she wanted to ask him just before he stormed out of the same room earlier that day. Focusing on the case was a welcome distraction.

She should have been more prepared for his outburst considering that getting him to be livid at her or maybe even hate her was on one of her back-up plans. She did not imagine that would sting so much; she did not foresee that for Harry to be mad at her he'd have to be really hurt. Some plan. Harry had not spoken to her that way in a very long time, not since he was in recovery, and how he looked as he walked in just now reminded her of him during those trying times. He was pulling away, that much she could sense. Seeing him like this was agony.

They really had to talk and what happened earlier was not the only thing they had to talk about. They had to talk about them and that meant they had to talk about Ron. It had to be done and she preferred this thing between them taken cared of before the case took over; like right now.

Hermione felt stupid after reading the official London and Toronto Ministry records of everything about the case and it took a lot for her to feel that way. Personal excuses aside, she could only think about how alone Harry must have felt all this time and was angry at herself for being partly responsible for that. At least she had Ginny to talk to. She imagined what his life was like the past year, filling it in with snippets of what she read from his Toronto case file entries, wanting to know more of what he did the rest of the time.

She wanted to ask him but that would not be a good idea. These thoughts were feeding her love and encouraging it. It was better not to know because knowing made her care and caring made it so much more difficult to stay away. She could feel her feelings for him trying to break free and it was almost beyond her influence and control. She yearned to reach out, to touch, to connect even for a second, to appease her need to comfort him and know that he felt comfort.

Why does it have to be you?

He has no one else.

If you weren't around all the time he would get someone else.

Thanks for the reminder, Ron.

Anytime, honey. And thanks for not taking the potion last night. It's been a while since we talked.

Hermione sighed inwardly shutting off the voices in her head and searched for ways to break the ice. She barely responded when the other Aurors said their goodbyes and left the room. They were alone. Well, not counting the deadweight of what was left of their friendship. She couldn't tell if the short gasps she was hearing was it struggling for a second life or it on its way to its death.

Harry distanced himself from her, studying the stacks of case information she had spread and grouped on the table to help organize her thoughts about it. Without a word, he took the centre pile and piece by piece posted them up against the wall opposite the door. He surrounded Floyd's picture, first with facts known about him, then with possibilities about him.

Recognizing what he was trying to do, she took the Waxball information and put it up next to Floyd's. They carried on with the rest of the cast of characters, Hunt, Lestrange, the Potion Master, the mystery witch from his abduction as Roy, and the Waxball operation bankroller who was either Lestrange, the mystery witch, or someone else, occasionally conferring and adjusting the other's placements, intermittently reaching across, sporadically touching the same items as if they had thought the same thing at the same time, each offering to let go, as they did. For that span of time it felt like the way it was before with them, all good and uncomplicated.

They linked the players with solid or dashed lines depending on how they were connected and she noticed how he hesitated when it was time to draw one between them, at which point, Harry had become acutely aware of her watching. Finally, he took himself out of the picture, saying that he shouldn't be on the wall; symbolic; a message perhaps. She looked and walked away just in time before the injury his act caused within her surfaced and replaced the stoic front she projected for him to see.

Hermione laid out the events in London on one side while Harry posted the ones that happened in Toronto on the other. It was fitting as she noticed the vast ocean that what was so obviously between them, currently temporarily bridged by Floyd and this case of the Purple Potion. When that was gone they’d be back to what it was like yesterday but each with a clearer picture of where the other stood.

What's your problem? This is what you want, isn't it? You're finally getting what you want.

The impending finality of it all was causing this tremendous ache in her chest. When she decided this had to be she knew it would be painful but she just did not realize it would this much. Her question, of what it was that she said that upset him was really just academic now. She could ask, but would not be able to do anything about it. And it would be more painful to know and not do. But maybe if she did ask that would help him.

In ten minutes they had cleared the table and were staring at the montage of information on the wall together.

"Not bad," he said to her.

She almost disagreed, not really thinking about the same thing.

"Still needs a lot of work," she replied.

"Yeah, loads," he agreed, tensely. "You must be tired. It's close to midnight London time."

He was right but she didn't really notice. Was he suggesting that they should go back to her hotel and call it a day? A mini panic rushed through her, the prospect of her spending an entire night with him in the adjacent room, watching her, was disconcerting. It was way too early to turn in and she was way too awake to deal with that.

"I'm fine."

What are you planning to do? Stay here and stay awake all night?

She should have thought about how awkward this would be when Andy sent Leo and Holly home. She'd have to reassess Andy's planned Auror coverage. Alone in private with him should be a no-no, particularly at night.

"I need to go over some stuff for the talk I'm giving and I have to use your library," she fibbed.

Harry had this brief puzzled look on his face until he realized something, smiled somewhat and shook his head.

"What?"

Of course he could tell she was lying.

"She didn't tell you, did she," he said to her and the blank expression on her face confirmed what he already knew, "She wants us over for dinner."

Relief. Wait…what? She?

"Who?"

"Andy."

"Seriously?"

"Uh-huh. We have about forty minutes."

"I don't think this is a good idea."

Really, really not a good idea.

"We can't back out now. She's cooking. Shellfish."

"Should I be worried about poisoning?"

She asked seriously but he laughed, thinking she was joking. She and the witch did not get along. The woman hated her.

"It'll be a good opportunity for you to get to know her."

Or a good one for us to kill each other. And why would I want to get to know her?

Hermione almost blurted out but decided to bite her tongue or risk him asking 'why' she didn't want to get to know his partner.

"We don't get along. You should have seen us go at it about my schedule. I had to keep on reminding her it was my schedule. That woman is a control freak."

He just shook his head and laughed again, "We'll drop by your hotel. We have time."

To write my last will and testament.

Harry ignored her plea for a rain check and in no time at all, they had gone back to her hotel, she had a quick shower and was standing in front of the closet in the hotel bathrobe, thinking she should have packed something more appropriate.

"We're meeting an informant after. Best to dress casually."

His voice made her jump. She forgot that the wall between their rooms was currently an illusion and that the only private place she had was in the shower. She turned her back to him, donned on underwear, a pair of jeans and a red sweater. The thought of him watching her as she did all this warmed her entirely.

It was going to be a long night.

He's a gentleman; he would look away. He definitely looked away.

Harry's sudden reappearance through the adjacent wall right next to the writing desk and the brief moment their eyes met dispelled that notion. The caged fiery intensity she felt from him matched hers, burning her up even more. They both let it go.

"We should go," he said to her.

"We should," she couldn't agree more.

It was going to be a very long night.

A/N. Andy insisted on dinner.

45. The Third Suspect

Chapter 45 – The Third Suspect

Hermione asked that they drop by the pastry shop around the corner from her hotel. The choice of what dessert to bring their hostess in view of the fact that she did not know much about Andy was a difficult one. Harry must have sensed her conundrum and on his suggestion, they picked up a lemon meringue pie.

Harry thankfully thought it as prudent for them not to Side-Along Disapparate. They agreed not to for the sake of the...um...pie. He hailed a cab as they reached the street, helped her into the backseat and followed her in. They sat on opposite sides of the cushion and found interesting things to look at as the cab motored west down Gerrard and hung a right on Avenue at the light.

It would have been an understatement to say that the first part of the short ride through rush hour traffic was most uncomfortable. The windows were all closed, the heater was blasting warmth into their shared air as it should have, and she could not help but notice the new cologne he was wearing. She had to laugh inwardly as the scenario reminded her of cheesy telly ads. If he commented on her short and shallow breaths she'd have to say it was some allergic reaction.

Muggle music from the radio filled the cabin.

They say what you give is always what you need

So if you want me to lay my hands on you…

She rolled her window down slightly. That didn't help.

That was Lay Your Hands On Me.

I love that song, Stew. The man's a poet, what else can I say.

Lesson one. Never argue with Korinne about Bon Jovi.

Now on to our Easy Rock listener question for the night; we'd love to hear from you.

Give someone else ideas. Where were you Valentine's night last year?

She felt him cast a glance at her. It was hard but she didn’t look back.

Yeah, where were you? I was calling you all night.

A pause.

Right. You were having an affair with a stranger who turned out to be my best friend. Now there's an idea. Call that in and see what they say about that.

There was mounting pressure to say something to keep her mind distracted. She had to make conversation and would have struck one with the cab driver had he not been talking with someone else on the phone. The hostess; might as well ask him about their hostess.

"So, how long have you worked with her?"

"Since I got here."

She nodded and they suffered through a long pause as they both looked out the window watching the slow passing of people, buildings and cars around them. Maybe he was still upset about what she did earlier that day.

"You two seem to get along very well."

"Yeah, we do."

Dismissive. Another break. Either he didn't feel like chatting or he was indeed still upset at her.

"Is she a good partner?"

"She's not bad."

Maybe he didn't want to talk about her. She really should apologize. If only she could figure out what she should apologize about.

"Who else is going to be at this dinner?"

"Just her family," he replied.

It was like pulling teeth talking with him tonight. Just her family. She imagined a long dinner table full of Andy look-alikes exchanging her trademark pleasantries. She thought it best to not know exactly and expect the worst.

The traffic had now crawled to snail speed and pedestrians were outpacing the motorists. Harry kept glancing at his watch and up ahead as if doing so would clear the road. They should walk if they were close enough and if they were still far off, she was willing to suffer the momentary closeness of the Side Along than this eternity of discomfort between them.

His phone rang and the awkwardness was momentarily pushed off to the side. It was Andy checking up on them.

"We're stuck in traffic."

His partner's voice was irritating, spilling over from the phone receiver, just enough for Hermione to hear her talking but not enough to make out what she was saying. Hermione heard him laugh at what Andy said.

"And you think I planned this all along. Very funny."

They could be less obvious.

"Do what you have to do, Mother," he teased over the phone.

Hermione was not listening to any more of that. She fumbled for her phone in her purse and rang Ginny, who she had been playing phone tag with all day. It was late. She meant to call in the morning but it was something to do to prevent them from continuing that non-conversation once he hung up.

Ginny picked up and Hermione tuned the other conversation out.

"Hi, I'm glad you're still awake."

"Well, I'm not," Ginny replied groggily, "I've been waiting all night for you to call back."

"I've been busy."

"So I heard. Kingsley called another meeting and told us about what's happening in Toronto. What the hell are you thinking agreeing to all this?!"

Not her too.

"It's not that I have a choice."

"You and him both, high maintenance, saviour complexes that need to be fed," Hermione had to roll her eyes because she knew what was coming. "You deserve each other. He's probably the only one who'll understand."

Judging from his displeasure, apparently not.

"So, how are things going with him? I got the incoherent message. Then there was the bad decision. I can only conclude you snogged him and your brain turned to mush. Am I right or am I right?" Ginny asked, sounding like she was stifling a yawn.

"I'd love to talk to you about that but it’ll have to wait ‘til the morning. We're in a cab on our way to dinner at his partner's house," she hoped Ginny would take a hint.

"I guess that's a 'yes' and from the sound of it you're still being stubborn and not hearing him out. It's been a year. Give the man a break."

"Yeah, the dinner would be a nice break," she replied, "We're meeting an informant after. I hate keeping you up at this ungodly hour. Is there anything more important you'd like to tell us?"

"Alright, I get it, you can't talk about him with him listening in," Ginny replied then ordered, "Put him on the phone."

"Absolutely not."

"Hermione, I'm tired and have no patience for bullshit. I do have his number if I wanted to talk to him about you behind your back, which I have in the past. Just put me on speaker. It's about the Gringotts robbery. I told Kingsley already but I want to tell the both of you, too."

Slightly embarrassed, she told her to wait while she got Harry's attention and cast a Muffliato spell so the cab driver would not hear.

"Go ahead," Hermione prompted.

"Hey Harry. How's it going?"

That sounded way too nice. She wouldn't dare…

"Oh, you know, could be better. How are you?"

"Today has just been horrible. It started off really bad…"

Here she goes…

"First, I got this disturbing early morning phone call about Mexico…"

It was past 8; it wasn't that early.

"Then was shocked to be reading about it in the morning edition of the Prophet…"

That they guessed right about that was not my fault.

"The boss had me doing fillers…"

You should interrupt her now…

"I've been chasing after Bruins, worrying about this impending social upheaval, mourning the loss of friends…"

"Ginny!” she tried.

"And on top of that you two have not patched things up!"

Too late.

"Gin…" Harry tried to calm her down.

"What will it take to make you realize that life is short, there's no sense crying over spilt milk and that what happened is all water under the bridge?! We're human; we all make mistakes! We move on! There is absolutely no excuse that you can't at least be friends again!"

As Ginny ranted, Hermione looked up and found it irresistible not to return Harry's gaze. Each word was meant for her; each thought rang true and made her flinch. They were certainly ones he had expressed to her one way or another before.

"Gin, we're working on it," he said firmly as he held her eyes with his.

Then he asked her, mouthing the question that was meant only for her, "Are we?"

Harry wasn't sure if they were.

"Yeah, we're working on it," she answered them both.

Ginny picked up on it.

"Stop covering for her. Jeez, between the both of you…" Ginny couldn't finish, an irritated incomprehensible sound came over the receiver, then a moment of silence, "Fine. So, did you really run into the Bruins?"

"Once, maybe twice. The ones we met are anti-potion, at least we think they are," she replied, thankful that Ginny let it go, for now, "Tell us about Gringotts."

"It's about Sir Isaac Umber."

"The guy Gringotts just absolved from involvement in the robbery?" Hermione heard it on the Wizard News.

"Yes. I was in his office today; saw the Bruin crest on an out of place area rug and an old copy of the Story of the Magic Pill. He's definitely a Bruin and I think so is Ecruminus Brown. Kingsley said he was at that meeting. Brown was one of the handful who Umber invited to his knighthood ceremony; he was in the background of a picture taken for a local newspaper covering the event. So I looked into the Squib and found a Halloween party photograph in his Muggle high school yearbook of him wearing wizard robes with the Bruin crest. Travel records confirm they're very close."

These Bruins seemed to be coming out from the woodworks.

"Interesting," Harry interjected, "Brown is staunchly anti-potion which will put Umber in the same category."

"Most analysts think Lestrange robbed Gringotts to finance her retirement party and framed Umber to prevent goblin backlash," Ginny explained. "The guy is squeaky clean and that made everyone wonder why Umber? Whatever is going on between them it has to do with Sophie's potion. The only reason I can think of is that Umber is interfering with her retirement and Umber is interfering because it has something to do with the Bruin potion. But why she just won’t kill him is baffling. Then today, Umber does the shocker, points the finger at Lestrange and convinces the goblins it is her."

Hermione summarized, "So we have Umber, Brown and the alley Bruins on one side, Lestrange, the purple potion maker who may or may not be Lestrange's Potion Master, Mystery Witch and Floyd on the other."

"What mystery witch?"

Harry told her a brief summary of his dealings with who they had named Mystery Witch. She forgot that as much as Ginny knew about the Bruins and the current events in London, she did not know much about Waxball and Floyd.

Ginny asked, "How did they get Sophie's potion recipe?"

Hermione replied, "We think it was stolen two years ago from a German Healer who was murdered by Floyd here in Toronto. We're almost sure she was a Bruin."

"Helga Braun?"

Harry was as surprised as Hermione was and inquired, "How do you know this?"

"I was in Germany last year to look her up only to find out that she had died the year before in Toronto.”

"The dead end," Hermione remembered that conversation at Ron's last Quidditch match.

"Unfortunately in the literal sense. Classic Bruin cover-up. Death records list her as having died from natural causes which in most cases is Bruin code for having ingested too much of the experimental poison. The Braun family was very tight lipped but I spoke with a close Braun family friend who swears the Healer was a late bloomer everyone thought she was a Squib. I never thought twice to ask more questions about Toronto.”

Harry spoke, understanding what Ginny was implying, "So, she was a maker and a user. What made you go to Germany to look her up in the first place?"

She sensed Ginny hesitate, then finally decide to tell them, “Daughter Helga's family tree led me to her."

"You have a copy of the Bruin family tree?" she had to ask; Ginny never said anything about this, not that Ginny shared all work secrets with her.

"Part of the Bruin family tree,” Ginny corrected, “And it's illegal to own one, so I'd have to say 'no' to that. Some Bruins keep track, to find the granddaughter who, depending on which Bruin you ask, will make them proud or cause more disgrace. I can't tell you where I got it, it’s old and incomplete but I've been adding on to it and it led me to Germany last year. Helga Braun was a Bruin, a pro-potion one."

"She travelled a lot, too; attended every major potion conference ever organized in her adult lifetime. The same family friend said that Helga was obsessively looking for a long lost relative and was hoping to find her at one of the meetings. I think she was looking for the one prophesied to make the potion that Sophie Bruin intended to make. The Healer had very high hopes about finding her in Toronto.”

Harry was puzzled, “Even if the prophecy were to come true, what made her think this granddaughter was already born and would be attending potion conferences?”

He obviously had not read the compilation of probable Hufflepuff’s prophecies.

Ginny tried to explain, “After Helga Hufflepuff made the prophecy about the potion and the Bruins to Sophie’s daughters, Sophie’s youngest, also named Helga, broke off ties with her anti-potion sisters. It is said that related prophecies were made Helga to Helga, and these have been passed on from generation to generation of pro-potion Bruins. Supposedly, some of these provided specifics about who this Bruin granddaughter was and when she would come. Only her descendents would know and who knows how accurate the current versions are after all these years.”

“Aren’t there actual records of these prophecies?” Harry asked.

“They were housed in the London Ministry of Magic Department of Mysteries up until about ten years ago when a bunch of teenagers smashed the orbs which contained them. The misfits had some lame excuse about needing to escape Death Eaters.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Harry mumbled, knowing fully well which bunch of teenagers Ginny was referring to.

Hermione had to put things in perspective, “These are prophecies. We really should take them with a grain of salt. They're like horoscopes; they tend to ring true if someone wanted to read something more into them.”

“Harry, and Hermione knows this, you have to be very careful around these Bruins, particularly the anti-potion ones. I’ve heard stories and some of them are certifiable. There are Bruin zealots who will do everything for the prophecy, including murder.”

Hermione had heard Ginny’s Bruin horror tales and thought it unfortunate that so many Bruin lives were affected adversely by a mere prediction. She felt sorry for Helga Braun, not only because of how she died but because she started the cascade of events that could make the initial Hufflepuff prophecy of chaos to come true. That was tragic.

Ginny initiated the next round with a question, “So, Helga loses the recipe to a bunch of con men and the con men went to Lestrange who then had Potion Master brew the potion?"

“Lestrange did not know about the Ghoul Potion until after the fact,” Harry explained. “The con men were working for Mystery Witch.”

Ginny understood, “So who do you think it was who followed Helga’s recipe?”

Hermione replied, “We don’t know.”

"Neither Floyd nor Waxball knew how to make potions," Harry answered.

"Neither has been associated with anyone who could have," she added.

"So the Ghoul potion maker was either some other player we don't have a clue about or the Mystery Witch herself, who we don’t know much about either."

They really didn’t have much to go on.

Hermione tried to find something positive, “At least we know for sure that the Mystery Witch cannot be Lestrange’s Potion Master.”

Harry concurred, "You're right. Lestrange hates women too much she has none in her inner circle to succeed her. She can’t be the anointed one.”

She continued, “And we also know that Lestrange’s Potion Master has got to be the potion maker who concocted the batch that Floyd currently has.”

He added, “Yes, because the fact that the potion was made in London means Lestrange knew about it. Something this big would have Lestrange's permission. We know she's retiring. We know she wants to go out in a big way. We know she knows about the potion and this thing between her and Umber suggests that her plan has something to do with the usually low key Bruins. And whatever this plan is, her successor, the Potion Master, has got to be neck deep in it. We're talking about the Squib Holy Grail, the magic enabling potion. If her Potion Master is not the purple potion maker, he really should change his moniker. It would be too embarrassing to continue to use it."

Hermione could not have reasoned that out more clearly. Ambitious wannabe Dark Lords would want to at least live up to their chosen alias. Otherwise they'd be a joke.

She thought out loud, "That also means Lestrange is supporting Floyd in whatever plan the Squib has to disrupt the research conference. But last year, Lestrange did not find out about the Ghoul potion until after the fact. Whoever it was who brewed that first batch did so without Lestrange's knowledge or blessing. Very few Death Eaters would be able to do something like that and live."

"So, we may have two different potion makers..."

"Or her Potion Master was the same potion maker from the Floyd-Waxball Operation, someone unknown, got recruited and rose quickly within the Death Eater ranks to become her heir,” Hermione finished the sentence for him.

Harry said to them, “My gut says there’s only one potion maker.”

Hermione hoped he was right. Without discounting the possibility of there being two, it was much more desirable to be looking for only one person.

“So how do we prove or disprove that?” Harry asked.

“Maybe the answer lies in the answer to this other question. Lestrange clearly does not want this potion used in London, at least not yet. Why make the potion in Britain, risk the Ministries intercepting it during various stages of shipping, and deal with having to keep the potion’s existence off London streets? The potion can be easily made here where it is obviously meant to be used."

"The Potion Master lives in Britain. Maybe he couldn't take time off his real life to come over, kill off magical creatures and make the potion," Harry reasoned.

She thought it conceivable that nefarious criminals could have busy normal lives.

“Upstanding citizen by day, conniving evil potion maker by night.”

“Or maybe evil potion making is just a hobby; something to fill spare time,” Harry was only half joking.

“If only we knew where the Ghoul potion was made,” she said wishfully, “There’s not much comfort to know it could have been from anywhere in the world. It is somewhat easy to move phials of potion around.”

Harry had an idea, "The phials are easy to move but the same can’t be said for magical creature tissue. That's it. That's how we track down the maker of the original Ghoul potion."

She realized what he was thinking.

"The same way we're tracking down the Potion Master."

"It will take time, but it's worth a shot,” he said.

“We can narrow down the search, start from a set radius from Toronto and hope it was made more locally than the current batch."

"If the Toronto and London potion paths converge to one person then we know there's one maker."

"And if the paths stay separate then we know there are two."

"Either way identifying the maker or makers should lead us to Lestrange or the Mystery Witch."

"Or both."

“Then maybe we’ll have some suspects to consider for Mystery Witch.”

The way they completed each others' thoughts off was exhilarating. They paused, excitement replaced the uneasiness that was present before.

The sound of throat clearing interrupted them and they realized Ginny was still on speakerphone. Ginny had not said anything in a long while and Hermione wondered if she had dozed off.

“Are you still listening?” Hermione asked.

"I was but you stopped talking, it made me wonder," Ginny commented. "That was good and I didn't have to call a pay per minute number."

Hermione thought it best not to respond to that. Harry got on the phone and spoke with someone at the Ministry about doing a search on any reported deaths or disappearances of house-elves, goblins, centaurs and giants in eastern Canada and the United States from the day Helga Braun died to the day he saw the potion at the Ghoul.

As Harry was on the other line, she heard the now familiar purring in the background and they talked as they waited for him to finish.

“You sure are spending a lot of time with Cat Man.”

“It does seem like it, doesn’t it?”

“I feel like I know his cat more than I know him,” Hermione said to her, “When do I get to meet the man?”

“When you get back. Just don’t do anything too crazy while you’re there, like get yourself killed, okay?”

“Not planning to.”

Harry was off the phone and asked, “So Gin, what do you really think?"

"You're definitely onto something. Come to think of it, that would be a way to find pro-potion experimenting Bruins too, although I would hope not all of them would resort to killing for ingredients," Ginny replied then added, "I hate to be the one to point this out but Lestrange seems to be contradicting herself. If she is backing Floyd, why did she put a lid on the potion last year and why is she continuing to do so in London? What’s changed in a year and why have her retirement party in Toronto? And Hermione, if Lestrange is part of what Floyd is planning there and Floyd needs you for it, why didn't she attempt to take you while you were still here?"

"I don't know,” she admitted.

Hermione still didn’t know what Floyd wanted from her.

"Any other leads on Lestrange's Potion Master?" Harry changed the subject.

"Loads," Ginny replied, "Winky was examined after the ceremony. You're right; she did not have her organs either."

Ginny continued, "The Auror office has cordoned off the Hogwarts kitchen, maybe a bit too late, and are interviewing potential witnesses. And I know Kingsley told you about Filch already."

"Two magical beings murdered within Hogwarts grounds, and Filch killed in a more personal manner," Harry said more to himself. "Whoever killed them, he or she knows Hogwarts pretty well. A former student, a former employee, someone familiar. It’s evident who Kingsley should ask first, if he can be found."

"It's not the Professor," she declared.

Harry countered, "He's the most obvious one. In my books he’s still an evil git."

They could have easily fallen into a debate about innocent until proven guilty had Ginny not intervened.

"Neville and Professor McGonagall said he visited Hogwarts the day before Firenze was found dead in the Forbidden Forest. And Aberforth thought it curious to see him having a drink with a visiting half giant at Hog's Head last week. Same half giant has since gone missing."

Even Hermione thought that strange. But then again, Severus Snape was an obvious scapegoat. Too obvious.

"Snape's smart. He would not do something like that and leave footprints to get caught," the evidence even made Harry doubt, "Any other suspects."

"Dennis," Ginny said softly.

"Dennis?" Hermione could not help but feel an upwelling of emotion to defend her assistant.

Ginny gave them reasons why Dennis was a suspect.

"The Unbreakable phials you said he ordered from Romania are not in your St. Mungo's Lab. Dennis can make potions and you yourself said he’s pretty good. We know he worked in a Detroit hospital before working for you. If he was the one Potion Master you are looking for, then that explains why the current batch was made in London. And he is missing. His phone was found in an abandoned meat processing plant. They traced one frequently called number to a Death Eater relay and he has received a lot of calls from someone he has identified on his phone as BB.”

Bellatrix Black.

“Was there anything about him that seemed suspicious,” Harry questioned.

Dennis? She couldn’t begin to think of him as a Death Eater.

Hermione shook her head and answered truthfully, “No.”

Ginny asked her, “You are sure you purchased the phials, right?

“That’s not something I would forget. Why do you ask?”

“There is no record of you ever ordering or purchasing anything from Romania.”

Even Harry knew that was not right, “We checked. The phials found here were traced to her name.”

“The Romanian company has retracted. They now say those serial numbers that you gave them do not belong to any of their phials.”

“Another Bruin cover-up,” Harry concluded.

“Likely. What did the Bruin woman in the alley tell you exactly?”

“That they trusted I would do the right thing.”

Harry opined, “If I were a Bruin I would say you did not disappoint. If not for you, the potion would have been analyzed and it would have been all over the news right now. Maybe they’re repaying you a favour so you would not get in trouble.”

Hermione did not answer, too distressed at the fact that Dennis was missing. She thought of him being another victim in all of this as she listened to Ginny tell Harry there were no other real suspects and that she would send over a copy of the Bruin family tree.

Ginny said goodbye, reminding her to be very careful. Sensing she did not want to discuss Dennis further, Harry shut her phone off for her and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She looked at him and found his unspoken concern a comfort. His phone rang.

“Yes…right…I do and I agree…okay…”

He hung up.

“Andy’s place isn’t far from here. Let’s walk,” he suggested and paid the driver.

It must have been Andy. They were late. She followed him out, pie in tow, taking the hand he offered as she alighted from the cab. He tugged at her gently, pulling her towards the sidewalk. After walking a block or so, they got off the main road and turned onto a side street. They walked in silence for sometime, hand in hand, his grip firm, strong, secure…

Keeping her close, Harry did not want to let go and he did not want to say anything that would make her. Moments ago, in the cab, he realized just how much more involved Hermione was with the case, and she already was even before she arrived in Toronto without her knowing it.

He could not believe that Dennis Creevey was the Potion Master either. Even Snape was sounding like a fall guy. He had another suspect whose name was not brought up in the conversation. He even asked Ginny again and she said there was no one else. But when Ginny called him almost immediately after hanging up, his concern for Hermione’s safety increased a hundred fold.

“Don’t let her know it’s me,” Ginny said in a hushed tone.

“Yes…”

“Your to and fro discussion with her made me think of one more Potion Master suspect.”

“Right…” they were thinking the same thing.

“There is a wizard who lived in Michigan and moved back to London three months ago. He’s good at potions, has lots of magical creature contact and he’s the most obvious successor to Lestrange if people would only see him for who he really is. You know who I’m talking about.

“I do and I agree…”

“She won’t be as open to the idea so you can’t tell her, not until we have proof. And there’s more to this that I have to tell you about the Bruins. If we’re right about him then I think I know what Lestrange wants out of all this. Call me when you get a moment away from her.”

“Okay…”

“And Harry, take care of her. Stay close. Malfoy is in Toronto.”

Harry glanced at Hermione from the corner of his eye. He was going to stay close, as close as she would allow him to be. Instinctively, he held her hand more firmly and he felt her hand hold his back.

46. Just a Job

Chapter 46 – Just a Job

Hermione felt Harry's grip tighten and her hand instinctively responded in kind. She cherished the comfort it gave her and did not want to say or do anything that would make it end. It was uncomplicated if they didn't talk about it and if she didn't dwell on what it meant. And at that particular moment, she did not want to think about where it was going.

She was worried about Dennis, convinced that he got into this mess because of her. It was unimaginable to her that Dennis would willingly work for Lestrange, much less sign up as a Death Eater. As her assistant, he was excellent. He knew what he was doing and required very little supervision. Their work in progress was the modified Wolfbane potion and it looked good on paper and during non biological testing but they couldn't seem to bottle it for long periods of time, even with the Romanian unbreakable phial. This was probably the reason why; somebody was substituting their unbreakable phials with ordinary ones. Maybe Dennis found out and got into trouble for it.

But that did not explain the phone calls to and from Death Eaters. He was probably being set up. Rules for framing meant that would not be Lestrange but the Bruins. Yes, that was it. The Bruins wanted to help authorities make the connection, link the loss of the phials to Lestrange and her Potion Master. They used Dennis to accomplish this. Hermione remembered what Ginny said about the lengths the Bruin zealots would go through for the prophecy. If Dennis did not show up by morning she would have to get in touch with one of them and start asking questions. She would want the truth and there was a better chance that the Bruins would give her that if the Ministries weren't involved.

As she hoped they were all wrong and that Dennis was going to be okay, she noticed Harry had led them off the side walk onto a well trodden trail through a park. The ground of mixed ice and recently fallen snow crunched beneath their feet as the soft light of the full moon penetrated through the gaps of the pine trees that peppered the vicinity, lighting their path. It wasn't very cold out that night, and their own heat was all they needed to keep their bare hands warm.

Harry cast a spell to make their shoes water impermeable just before they veered off to the right and started walking on softer, undisturbed white ground. She stole a look, saw the hard line of his set jaw and the furrow on his forehead as he strained to observe their surroundings. Hermione forgot that he was actually working.

This is nice. Almost feels like a date.

We're just walking.

Didn't you do the same thing last year? You just happened to be watching the same musical, just happened to be going to the same restaurant, just happened to share the same table, just happened to walk back to the same hotel, just happened to go into the same room and just happened to share the same bed.

I don’t think this is okay. I mean, I haven't even celebrated my first death day and here you are enjoying yourself with the same man you lied to me about constantly, deluding yourself that your holding his hand is part of 'just walking''.

And it seems to me like it's happening all over again. You’re seeing someone else. Potter shows a little interest in you and you just can't help but respond like some love struck school girl. What is it about this guy that makes you act like a scarlet woman? How many others will you hurt and kill just to be with him?

Her arm flinched, away from him. He felt it and let go instantaneously. She heard him draw an annoyed breath in and could tell he was hurt; maybe even angry.

"I'm sorry," she apologized before she could even think how inappropriate that might be.

"For what? For cringing away?" his manner hinted irritation as he continued to walk and she tried to keep up, "You shouldn't be. I can't fault you for feeling revolted."

How could she possibly make things worse? Hermione remembered that morning, at his place, their hot passionate kiss, their searing physical exchange, how good reason was overpowered by her desire for intimacy with him and how that need was overruled by the taunting voice in her head, the one that sounded like Ron, telling her what Ron should have but never did or ever would. She was right; the passing of time had not mattered and when she realized that the voice did not go away, it depressed her so much she could only cry. He could have read it as just that; a repulsion. She had to do something to change that.

"I didn't cringe away," she said, to make him feel better.

"No, of course you didn't."

"I don't find you revolting."

"No, of course you don't."

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped patronizing me," her frustration of his skepticism about how truthful her answers were was becoming evident in her voice.

"Okay. I won't."

"You're doing it again!"

"What?! What is it exactly that you would like me to do?"

They had stopped moving and were now facing each other, glaring, each just as frustrated, the dim light of a nearby source intermittently illuminating the shadows on both their faces.

He continued, "Oh, right. You want me to leave you alone. Well, I'm sorry I can't right now. But had you not volunteered to risk your life you would have been rid of me sooner!"

"Why are you so hung up about me being involved in this? I had no choice!"

"Yes, you did!"

"You wanted me to stay!"

"Not for what you ended up staying for!"

"I made the decision on my own and if anything happens to me, it won't be your fault. I'm just a job, Harry!"

"Get real! You've never been just a job and if you want me to say that you are to make you feel better don't hold your breath!"

He was ticked off even more. He was right, of course. It would make her feel better if he thought of her as just a job. She turned away and decided that she should shut up the rest of the way. She continued down the general direction they were headed and hesitated when she reached a fence, not knowing exactly where to go next. He wasn't moving.

Harry said unexpectedly, "You never asked me."

She turned back and felt a rush of warmth creeping up on her face. What was he talking about?

He walked over to her slowly and the source of muted brightness, a flickering old lamppost beside them, cast a light on his eyes that brought the fire out of them even more.

In a quieter, controlled and even voice, he added, "You never asked me how I felt about you doing this."

That was familiar.

"The last time I asked you that question I didn't quite get the answer I wanted," she replied in the same tranquil tone.

And I ended up sleeping with you.

They stood maybe one, two feet from the other, their just concluded outburst of emotions somewhat relieving the tension that had built up from the morning. It was now easier to look into his eyes compared to earlier; the act was less threatening. She was not as afraid she would lose herself, accepting that if she did, then so be it.

Harry nodded. He remembered that night when she called him to ask how he would feel if she slept with the stranger she was having dinner with. When he spoke, she felt an immense regret.

"Had I known then what I know now I would have answered differently."

"You were honest. That was good."

They looked down on the ground almost simultaneously. She had to so she wouldn't betray her thoughts or point out that that was the last truly pure thing he did. They were silent for a bit until he broke it.

"Do you know what frustrates me the most?"

She shook her head, prompting him to continue.

"You don’t want anything from me but when you want to help or do what you think is best for me, you never ask. You just do it."

"There wasn't time to discuss…"

"I'm not only talking about today. You've done it for as long as I've known you. You've done it throughout Hogwarts and you've done it after. When I was recovering from my accident, you stayed even when I told you not to."

"I thought you needed me but you being you would never have asked. I should have listened and left you alone."

"No. You were right. I needed you there. I wouldn't have come out of that had it not been for you."

"So what is this really about? Why are you so upset about what I did at that meeting?" she asked. "You knew what my answer was going to be even before they asked me. I was just trying to work out a deal, to get us both out of the mess I got us into. It wasn't about charity, or making you feel more responsible for my safety than I know you already do."

"I know. But it would have been nice if you asked me what I thought anyway, not only about the deal but particularly about signing yourself up to be bait, even if you knew what I was going to say, even if you knew you wouldn't like the answer. It would have meant that what I had to say was of some significance," Harry revealed openly, "I understand that you don't want anything from me but I've had it with this switch that you control."

"Switch?"

"You have this knack of knowing what I need, sometimes even when I don't know that I do, and you show that you care about me whenever you want to. But you've never really asked for anything significant from me. You've never really needed me that way or if you did, you never mentioned it. And you've always chosen if and when to let me get close."

"We were close."

"No. You were always close to me but you decided how close I got to you. If we were so close then how come you didn't tell me how upset you were about your parents' divorce? How come you never told me you were having problems with Ron? How come we never talked about us?" he pointed out, "See, I’m dense and I can't read you as well as you read me. I never asked if things were okay with you because I assumed they always were. You seemed to have everything under control."

"I don't. Not always."

Nodding, he replied, "But I would be the last one you'd let know."

She was dumbstruck, unable to find words, not expecting it to be about that. His pause calmed her down a bit.

"I don't know how long you've been doing this one way thing," he said, remaining calm despite the overflowing sentiment, "But it's as if you won't let me get close because I disappoint you. It feels like you don't think what I have to give is good enough. I shouldn't have the right to say it's unfair after all the stupid things I've done but somehow I get the feeling that the rule only applies to me."

Trying to fight off tears, she realized that in a way he was right and as much as her instincts were to shield him from getting hurt, she couldn't lie. For years she had not let him too close so she wouldn’t expect him to care about her the way she did about him, sensing he never would. How could she tell him that the one time she allowed herself the delusion that he wanted to do that and gave him the chance, she was bitterly disappointed and hurt? It had always been safer this way; no opportunity, no expectations, no dissatisfaction, no pain, no resentment.

"I don't think that what you have to give is not good enough," she said truthfully, "I just don't want to expect anything."

"I thought that at one point too; how perfect it was between us without the expectations," he confessed, "I didn't want to expect anything from you either. But this is all frustrating for me because I do expect something from you. And this morning I was annoyed at you for not asking me what I thought but I was mostly miffed at myself for expecting you to ask. I shouldn't expect that considering how things have been between us."

Harry added, "What I'm saying is, I'm not okay with you doing things for me anymore. It doesn't feel right. When you do it I feel terrible because I can’t get close enough to do the same thing for you."

Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing and wanted to make sure she understood what he was trying to say.

Steeling herself, she asked, "You don't want me to care because I don't let you?"

"No, no, no...you're getting it all wrong. This isn't some contest about who can dish out what the other does. I did this to us and I can’t fix it…this is hard," he was shaking his head as he faltered, as if trying to decide how to proceed. "You said I never ask for anything but I am asking you now because I don't know what else to do."

"What is it that you want, Harry?" she asked with trepidation.

After a pause, he answered, "I just want you to be reasonable. Let me do what you're doing. Get rid of that double standard switch you keep turning off every time you think I'm crossing that line you don't want me to cross and let me be someone important in your life again. I know it’s a lot to ask but I’d really appreciate it if you could give me a second chance."

Anxious, Harry waited for her answer. It was the question that she had been avoiding to hear. If he knew her half as much as she thought he did he would not have been so worried for the reply to his question had been set even before he asked it. Did he really think she could say 'no' to him after hearing him say something like that?

Hermione sighed, resigning herself to the moment. The walls she put between them had started crumbling down the second she decided to see him. The day was not even over and nothing was left of the barrier she had created. As a testament to her own frailties, resolve had flown out the window past the point of being able to summon it back. It was foolish to think she could pull this off the way she planned. Before seeing him today the idea of rekindling their friendship was not even an option and though she had foreseen this conversation she had not thought of this as the outcome.

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty for shutting you out?" she asked in a non-hostile way.

He was trying to suppress a smile, knowing that under the poker face she had on she would be okay with whatever the true answer to that question was. He played along.

"Maybe. That depends. Is it working?"

"Oh yeah, most definitely,” she quickly confirmed. “But it is kind of pathetic that you had to resort to that."

"I was desperate."

"Obviously."

He took a couple of unhurried steps towards her and they embraced, tight and snug, her arms locked behind his neck, his on her back pulling her against him. Slightly on her toes with her face just over his left shoulder, she closed her eyes to take it all in, his breath in her hair, the scent of his cologne, the feel of his touch and of him holding her. Tears were inevitable. She missed being able to do this.

"You never stopped being important in my life," she clarified, as she continued to close her eyes and hug him.

"Could have fooled me," he whispered, his voice hoarse and unsteady, and she could tell he was crying, too.

"If you repeat any of this to anyone else, I'm going to hex you," she scolded, half seriously, "You shouldn't ever think that what you have to give isn't good enough, that you disappoint. You're Harry Potter; you saved the planet from an Evil Wizard. Don't you ever let anyone make you feel unimportant, especially not some girl."

"You're not just some girl," he stressed out, then jokingly added, "But being the self absorbed bastard I've been all my life I figured this was entirely your fault."

She couldn't help but smirk as they both pulled back and she saw the familiar glint in his eye that he always had when he was teasing. The tears had finally stopped and she was brushing them off her face with her hand.

"Is that so? How do you figure that?"

The corners of his mouth were upturned slightly, almost smiling but not.

"You're an addiction. I've developed a mental, physical and emotional dependence on you, I can't let go. "

"An addiction, huh? Is that the best excuse you can come up with for having sex with me as someone else?"

"No, I have some better ones but it's one that's true. Getting engaged, plotting to leave me like that and forcing me to go cold turkey; the desperation was a given."

Even in the dim light she could see the color of his eyes deepen and his expression tense up. He had been studying her face and his gaze settled into hers, making his intentions clear. There was something in the way he looked that she had never seen before; a mix of hope and apprehension.

Harry leaned in closer, so slow she did not even notice he had her back in a tight embrace until his breath fell on her mouth. Diving into the sea of green, she willingly lost herself in it. The air was scarce, getting scarcer by the second and soon she would have to surface to take a breath or risk passing out. Or she could lean a little forward, swim a little deeper and drown with him. They were so close she could feel his mouth lightly brush fleetingly against hers as he spoke.

"I'm not sure how you feel about this, but right now would be the best time to tell me you don't want to be my addiction."

Addiction was a bad thing. She really should have told him that but the lump in her throat took her voice away. That was her excuse and she was sticking to it. She just wished he didn't wait too long for an answer that wasn't going to come. Her eyes fluttered to a close as she waited.

The wait was an eternity. It took another couple of seconds for her to finally realize something was amiss. Was that just another line and was he jerking her chain again?!

She flung her eyes open and was about to speak her mind but stopped at the blurry sight of his finger to his mouth motioning her to keep quiet. His wand was out which she guessed meant they could be in danger. Great. Admittedly, it was not the time to think about how his lips would have felt on hers but she was breathing his air and that finger was the only thing between them and that kiss she was waiting for. Whatever it was that interrupted that had better be good.

In another few seconds she heard what he probably had, footsteps crunching on the ground, getting louder as it approached them. Then it stopped. Harry lowered his wand.

"Slipped out again, Julius? You're going to be in so much trouble," Harry said to a spot a few feet in front of them, only then noticing the fresh set of prints indented into the ground.

A pair of Nike sneakers was the first to appear out of thin air, followed by legs and the rest of the body of what appeared to be a typical Muggle teenager. He was thin and stretched, almost as tall as Harry, and was dressed in jeans that were a couple of sizes too big for him. The black hooded sweater he wore with the emblem of a Muggle public school was the same. As his one hand held the Invisibility Cloak that he had hidden under, the other took off the hood, exposing spiky blonde hair and grayish blue eyes on a young pale face. His fingers grabbed the wires dangling near his neck and two buds snapped off his ears, releasing loud electric music into the air.

Julius shut off his IPod, looked at Harry and at her, then replied almost without a care, "You may have a better excuse to be late but I don't think she'll see it that way. How about a deal? Forget you saw me and I'll forget I saw you."

This kid was a wise guy and had a smart mouth and, judging from Harry's greeting and the need for concealment, was not supposed to be where they met him. The lamp light shone on him enough for her to see that Julius looked a lot like Andy Marsh.

XXXXXXXXXX

Somewhere in Cheddar Gorge, Somerset, England.

Dean and six other Apparitionists appeared almost at the same time, surrounding an isolated cabin that had been magically protected from Muggle and magical intrusion. It was one-thirty in the morning. The night before, the Auror Office received an anonymous tip about the location of a wizard of interest connected with the Argus Filch murder. His companions moved swiftly, blasting the entrances and entering the shack with the precision they had discussed a few hours ago. Heart pounding a million times a minute, he was the last to come in and immediately headed for the small bedroom off to the right.

As organized mayhem occurred in the background, an overwhelming putrid odor smacked his senses and almost knocked him down the second he blasted the door away. There were sounds of the others shouting out that their assigned areas were secure, making his chest thump even more rapidly.

A sudden movement caught his attention off at the corner table and his wand discharged a Stunner at the offending creature. He lit his spare and saw it was a rat; a huge rat right beside a propped up book on Muggle healing. It wasn't moving. Sweeping the rest of the room, Dean stopped at the sight of an immobile figure on the queen size bed.

He was still, too still to be merely asleep. Thick duvet covers covered him up to his neck. The man's eyes were closed, his cheeks sunken and grey, and small chunks of bloodless facial flesh had been bitten away. A fine line of a healed cut was just above his eyebrows and circled to the back of his bald head. Dean approached the form bit by bit, the unpleasant smell becoming thicker as he did.

By then the other members of the Auror arrest team had joined him in the room and someone had magically conjured more permanent lighting. Recognizing the absence of any threat, they had all lowered their weapons and silently stared at the main attraction.

Kingsley pulled off the covers slowly towards the man's ankles and they fell in a careless heap at the foot of the bed. Two left the room in haste, two others were puking in the back. Dean gritted his teeth and felt a surge of revulsion within him. He had to fight off the impulse to get out, too.

Lying before them was the naked, emaciated body of a man. Bite marks similar to the ones on his face punctured him in several areas. There were scars in various stages of healing, frozen by death in time, straight and cleanly cut, precise, surgical; Muggle-surgical. One area just below the ribcage on his right still had stitches.

His line of sight finally settled on the vision that had driven the rest of the team away. The centre of the dead man's chest was cut open with a deep, midline, top to bottom incision, the ribs forcibly ripped back to the sides to expose the hollow cavity. It was obviously done to harvest what was now glaringly missing.

The forceful scent of death had killed his sense of smell but the stench was now permanently engraved in memory. And while the corpse was mutilated and had decayed almost beyond recognition, the faded Death Eater tattoo on his left forearm was a distinguishing mark. It would take some time to confirm his identity but it was almost a certainty that they had found the man they had come for. They had found him unexpectedly dead and it appeared he had been dead for quite sometime.

The grotesque scene before them proved what Dean had thought all along; the now literally heartless former Hogwarts professor, Severus Snape, was not the Potion Master.

47. A Different Perspective

Chapter 47 - A Different Perspective

"Right. We both know she'll find out anyway but let me think about it," Harry replied, "Julius, this is Hermione Granger, a friend of mine. Hermione, Julius Marsh."

"Pleased to meet you," Hermione greeted the young man who shook her hand and merely nodded.

Immediately, Hermione wondered how he was related to Andy. He seemed both too old to be her son and too young to be her brother. And they also looked too alike for him to be neither. She was leaning towards sibling, unable to imagine Andy having anything to do with something as positive as creating another human being.

"So, where were you?" Harry asked the boy, disregarding the cheek they got from him earlier.

"With friends," the boy answered as they started walking down to the left.

"Which ones?"

"Ted and Jeff. We were over at Jeff's studying; Calculus exam tomorrow."

All the while she was expecting Julius to start flinging profanity but he seemed okay with Harry's interrogation.

"You didn't have to sneak out for that."

"It's more fun this way," he said to them. "See you at dinner."

Julius disappeared under the cloak. She saw his footprints come off the trail and into the backyard of a detached two storey, red, brick house. They followed the fresh marks in. It was clear that Harry was a frequent visitor at the Marsh residence. He also knew Julius enough to know that he snuck out a lot, that Ted and Jeff were okay to hang out with, and that Julius had enough respect for him that he would be willing to answer questions.

Hermione cast an inquiring look at Harry who replied with an amused smile. He knew she had a burning question and what it was exactly.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"It's more fun this way," he repeated Julius' answer from moments ago.

They had reached the house and Harry tapped a rhythmic cadence on the glass side door. A second later, the smiling face of the young man they just met peered through the blinds and the door slid open.

"Hey, Karl," Harry greeted and they exchanged some complicated series of hand slapping and clasping motions. "How's it going?"

Looking more closely, this indeed wasn't Julius, for Karl was a bit taller and his blonde hair was longer. His face had more color in them compared to the boy she met earlier. Twins? She was trying to keep a not-so-surprised expression.

"Just great. Hi, I'm Karl. You must be Healer Granger. Welcome to the Marsh home."

He was definitely more polite. They stepped into the foyer and she shook his hand.

"Thank you. Please, call me Hermione."

He smiled and nodded, "She's starting to worry. I'll tell her not to send out the marines. Is that lemon meringue?"

Karl had eyed the forgotten and slightly abused bag in her hand.

Hermione answered, hopeful the pie had not been ruined by her neglect, as she handed it to him, "Yes, it is."

"Good. Thanks," Karl said, taking the bag from her.

"How did you know it was?"

"Harry always brings lemon meringue," Karl replied then turned to Harry, "The game was awesome, by the way. I can't wait to tell you about it."

Karl swiftly disappeared down the hallway before Harry could even respond.

"Karl plays Seeker on his school's Quidditch team," Harry explained.

"Why do you always bring lemon meringue?"

"The um…family likes it."

"What if I chose something else?"

"I would have had to transfigure it, with your permission, of course," Harry hesitated a bit and added, "I should probably warn you about Sally."

"Sally?"

"She doesn't like Muggle-borns."

"Who's Sally?"

"She's like the old, protective, spinster aunt, kind of like my Aunt Marge but smaller and dog less," Harry said vaguely, and then as if wishfully dismissing that it wasn't serious, added, "Don't worry; it should be fine."

They dried and left their shoes next to the ones she presumed belonged to the other occupants of the house. She counted quite a few pairs, mostly men's. Harry then helped her off her coat and put them away in a nearby closet. Both in their socks, he led her to another room that looked like a study where she was less startled to see another Julius and Karl look-alike. Hermione was beginning to wonder how many more of them she was going to meet.

Off to the left, seated on the sofa at the foot of a narrow tightly winding staircase, the bespectacled version looked up and instantly flashed a wide grin. He put down the wand he had been swishing and flicking in the air beside an open Dilfer's Essential Book of Complex Spells, got up and met them halfway with an outstretched hand.

"Healer Granger, it...it is su...such an honor to meet you," he stammered as he shook her hand vigorously and enthusiastically, which kind of amused and puzzled her at the same time, "I've re...read all about you. Ian, Ian Marsh."

"Hermione."

"Hermione," Ian repeated, dreamily.

"Ian chose to do his midterm Muggle Studies essay on you and your contributions to the Magical World," Harry said to her, pleased about something.

"I'm very flattered that you did," she said to Ian, both of them blushing a bit.

"Harry he...helped me with the details," Ian revealed.

"He got an 'A' plus," Harry added, smiling devilishly.

"Professor Kiggle was very im...impressed," Ian said proudly, "Would you mind reading it? It's not very long...just once…to…to make sure I got it right."

"I would be more than happy to."

"What? My word wasn't good enough?" Harry said to tease the boy, then addressing her, "He didn't believe half of what I said."

"That's not true! The Professor had a few questions!" Ian defended himself, "I'll be right back."

Ian went up the staircase behind him two rungs at a time.

"He's normally very articulate but then he has a crush on you," Harry said in a hushed voice.

"You're enjoying this way too much," she said to him as he stood beside her trying not to laugh.

"Immensely," he answered, grinning from ear to ear, "And, yes. Karl, Julius and Ian were born on the same day, in that order."

"Thanks, that was a tough one to figure out," she said with a smidgen of pretend sarcasm.

Harry's eyes danced and Hermione felt as cheerful as he did. She could tell that, like her, he was looking forward to being alone again so they could continue where they left off. There was still so much to talk about and things she did not think they would ever discuss they probably now had to. It bothered her somewhat that he never brought up the fact that she was as much, if not more, at fault that the Roy Hunt affair happened. He had not mentioned it or used it against her, not even in frustration. She had taken it as a sign of maturity, of him choosing to take responsibility for what happened and not point a finger at her. She wondered if that would eventually come back to haunt them.

While she had not really cared about him knowing some truths before, this push toward openness and honesty made her now worry about what he thought happened. The cheer quickly turned into low level anxiety.

'Roy Hunt' was a Pandora's Box. Already, she was waffling about how honest she was going to be with him. She was concerned about the confession she was forming in her head, how Harry would take it; how he would react to it. How would he respond to the fact that she let him continue the charade even after finding out about him? Should she even tell him how she thought Ron died?

"What is it?" Harry asked, concerned, sensing the change.

She almost admitted that she remembered Ron but it wasn't the time or place for that conversation.

"It's something for later," she said lightly.

Harry nodded, understanding, not pressing.

Way to dampen his spirits.

Hermione looked around the room and found photos on the mantle above the fireplace. They were mostly of the boys, moving magical ones, from whence they were babies. There were a few of an older couple which she thought might have been Andy's parents and, somewhat obscured in the back, one of a handsome man in his mid twenties with wavy black hair and intense black eyes. There were no pictures of their hostess. She was about to ask Harry about that when they overheard heated discussion coming from atop the stairs.

"Back off! You are not my mother!"

"Well, Mom died two years ago and unfortunately for you, I'm the closest thing to one you have!"

She instantly guessed the raised frustrated voices belonged to Julius and Andy. The exchange partly answered one question.

"I don't belong here!"

"I'm sure Aunt Hilda won't mind you staying with her in Timbuktu, rural Saskatchewan! You liked it there so much last year!"

"I can't wait 'til I turn eighteen!" Julius' reply confirmed that what Andy said was far from the truth.

"I guess you'll have to put up with me for another two years!"

Julius loudly stomped down the staircase and walked past them into the hallway fuming mad. Andy followed a few seconds later, more composed with a worried look.

"Glad you could make it," she said to them at the foot of the stairs, then expressed regret, "Sorry you had to hear that."

"Don't be," Hermione answered, "I feel like we're the ones intruding."

"I don't remember giving Mom and Dad as much trouble when I was a teenager."

"Are you going to be okay?" Harry asked Andy, for she had this look that she wanted to vent some more.

"I'll be fine. He won't. He's upset because I took his cloak away. I warned him I would do that the next time he snuck out. I just wish he'd talk to me more so I can start trusting him again," Andy replied, and then they were interrupted by Ian's return.

"He…Here it is."

"I guess you've met my other brother, Ian."

Hands trembling, Ian gave Hermione the rolled up parchment, twelve feet by her estimation. He did say it wasn't very long. Length was obviously relative and while reading about her was something she had never liked doing, for the kid she had to make an exemption, a 144-inch exception. Ian ushered her to a seat.

Harry watched as Ian took Hermione away, buoyed by how things were going with her. At least he could see some light at the end of the tunnel.

"So, what took you guys so long to get here?"

Harry answered, quickly, "The traffic was horrible."

"I bet it was. Julius told me the second he got into his window," Andy replied with a piercing look of disapproval directed at her partner.

"That rat. I'll get him later. Should I have to point out that you are not my mother either?" he was joking.

"Very funny," Andy countered, then added more seriously, "If Julius got that close to you before you noticed imagine how much closer someone like Floyd could have."

"I thought we agreed that he's not coming tonight."

"Let's just not protect her tonight then," she quipped.

She had a good point.

"Tell me honestly. Can you keep your head on the job?"

"Taking me off her detail is not an option."

"Not relying on you as part of it is. You didn't answer my question."

"I'm on the job," he declared to her boldly, more to tell himself that her.

"For her and your sake, I hope you are," Andy let it go, taking his word for it, "So, I see things with her are getting better."

"It seems that way."

"She obviously doesn't know about the ghost yet."

"No," he confirmed, "Coming here for dinner was stressful enough. I'll let her know later, after."

Harry took the opportunity to tell Andy about what was happening in London and their thoughts about the Potion Master, including how he and Ginny thought Malfoy was a potential suspect. Andy merely raised her eyebrows and said nothing about that. Her silence meant she was reserving judgment on the merit of his suspicion for a later time.

"We should rescue her from Ian," she suggested after, motioning to her brother. "Do tell her not to encourage him too much."

"Lighten up. So, he fancies her a bit. Big deal," Harry said to her.

"Easy for you to say, you don't have to live with him after he finds out you and her are more than just friends. Teenage mood swings are a bitch to deal with and with Julius pushing my limits I don't think I can handle another one having a meltdown."

Meanwhile, Hermione finished reading Ian’s paper and found it as accurate as anyone could have made it. It was insightful too, so much so that she wondered how much of it was because of Harry’s influence. Hermione was trying her best to be supportive of Ian without providing him with any heartening ideas. It was just something she was never good at. She looked over to where Andy and Harry had been talking seriously for quite some time, likely about work, quite relieved when seconds later Andy asked Ian to help his brothers set dinner up.

"Have you met the rest of the family?" Andy inquired after Ian left begrudgingly.

Hermione replied, "I haven't met your Aunt Sally."

"My Aunt Sally," Andy repeated.

Harry added, "And Colin. Is he around?"

"They're in the kitchen," Andy answered, leading them down the same hallway Julius and Ian had disappeared into. "Lemon meringue?"

"Karl has it. I thought you were cooking."

"I was but I had to call Colin in. You know..."

"Culinary disaster?"

"Uh-huh. After I mentioned you were coming for dinner, Ian slipped and tipped her off about Hermione being Muggle-born. She's in one of her moods. I should have just worn the apron," Andy countered then said to her, "It might be better if you don't speak to her directly."

"Okay…" Hermione’s concern was escalating.

"You didn't warn her about Sally," Andy gave him a reprimanding look.

"I did," Harry said defensively, "But I may have downplayed it a bit."

Hermione was slightly panicky about meeting Aunt Sally she glared at Harry and he apologized. They went past the dining room where Karl and Julius were setting the table. Ian just joined them with a bowl of soup cupped in both hands. Andy swung and walked through the connecting door where Ian just came from and into the kitchen. They followed her in.

A tall, attractive, physically imposing man with dark brown hair was behind the counter holding a metal tray full of steaming oysters and salmon he had just taken from the oven. Mittens covered his hands and he wore a tight apron with the words 'SOUS CHEF' printed boldly in the front.

"This is perfect, Sally! Great work," he said to someone beside him.

"Colin and Sally is a great team," answered a confident high pitched voice, "Mistress Andrea and Sally, now there's a different story."

"And a story we can talk about some other time," Andy interrupted. "Harry and his friend are here."

Hermione and Colin shook hands after he set the food down and took the oven mittens off.

"Colin, live-in boyfriend, preferred Marsh household sous chef."

"Hermione."

"Thief!"

The accusation was punctuated by a loud crash of metal utensils on metal sink. A diminutive figure with large bat-like ears and angry bulging eyes suddenly appeared from behind Colin, one hand on her waist and the other pointing a finger at her. She had on a red, flowery printed dress and a black wig that was slightly askew. The words HEAD CHEF covered every inch of the size appropriate apron she was wearing. Aunt Sally.

"Sally! That's rude!" Andy admonished, surprised.

When Harry spoke of her as an 'aunt' he was obviously talking in the figurative sense. Sally was an elf; a free elf from how she was dressed and a very old one from how she looked. Eyes squinting at her, Sally made Hermione feel like she was naked under a microscope.

"Sally read what Master Ian write about you. Sally not trust Muggle-borns, believe they steal magic from someone else. Sally read Gamp's Law, create magic only from magic."

Hermione felt warm in the face. The elf had a point about that. She bit her lower lip, reminded of Andy's suggestion. She knew the old elf would not listen to anything she had to say anyway. It was helpful that Harry had come closer and was now holding her hand.

"Sally, Hermione is a guest!" Andy said firmly, at a loss about how to calm down the outspoken magical creature. "She brought your favorite, lemon meringue."

"Sally not care. Mistress Andrea wrong to invite thief into home. Muggle-borns are reason for Squibs, for people with magical blood not do magic. Half-bloods bad enough and now thief in home! Bah! Disrespect for parents! Disrespect for Master Julius!"

"Hermione is cool, Sally," Julius appeared from the adjacent room just as Sally mentioned his name, just in the nick of time for Andy was about to blow from an obviously sensitive point.

"But Master Julius…" Sally tried to argue.

"Really, she's alright," Julius said calmly, as if soothing a small child, and showed her something, "Look, she brought us our favorite pie."

"Lemon meringue?!"

Julius nodded.

"Okay," Sally's expression changed.

Sally took the pie from Julius and carried it back into the dining room as if the entire incident never happened. The heat in the kitchen lifted.

As Sally disappeared through the swinging door Julius turned to Hermione and said, "Just to let you know, no one else in the family thinks the way Sally does about Muggle-borns. My parents never did. You are welcome here. She's just very loyal, especially to my parents because they set her free. Except for her being set in her thinking and in her ways she's wonderful. I hope you don't take this against her."

"Of course not."

If her volunteer work with magical creatures taught her one thing it was the fact that it was very difficult to change old thinking, especially those that painted Muggles and Muggle-borns in a negative light. Come to think of it, that was the same for witches and wizards.

Colin announced that they should eat. As they moved single file into the other room she glanced back and saw brother and sister lagging behind. Andy attempted to ruffle Julius' fixed spiked hair and thanked him for diffusing the unfortunate situation. Her bother told her not to mess with his 'do' and apologized for his earlier behaviour.

Dinner went better than expected. The Marshes had a magically self-adjusting round dining table centered in the square room which expanded and contracted depending on the number of people who were to be seated. It seemed that seating arrangements had been determined beforehand.

At first she was disappointed she and Harry would not be sitting beside each other but between conversations with Colin and Julius, she found the time quickly pass away. She did not even notice Sally leave the table after eating the entire lemon meringue pie by herself, save for the sliver that remained untouched on Julius' plate. Sally politely said goodnight to everyone, even to her.

"What do you do aside from being sous chef?" she asked Colin after answering his questions about her work.

"I'm a Persuader for the Toronto MLE."

"What exactly does a Persuader do?" she asked further, not remembering there being a British counterpart.

"I persuade witnesses, suspects or known criminals to do the right thing."

Andy overheard and chimed in, "He says persuade, I say smooth talk. He tells them what they want to hear.”

“We met on the job a few years back."

"Five, to be exact.”

“I hated her…" Colin said, looking at Andy.

"The feeling was mutual…"

Julius groaned beside Hermione, telling her under his breath, "Here they go."

Perplexed, she asked Julius what he meant while listening to Andy and Colin at the same time, "What is it?"

Julius merely motioned over to the Andy and Colin, and they watched them banter.

"I was negotiating a hostage crisis…"

"Giving hardened criminals time to hatch a plan to escape…"

"When Miss Rambo here stormed the scene…"

"Took control of the situation…"

"Without clearance…"

"I made an executive decision…"

"Undermining my authority…"

"I made him look bad, stomped on his ego…"

"I had no choice but to make an example of her insubordination…"

"He talked me into going out with him after I rescued the hostages unharmed…"

"I had to teach her who's in charge, show her who's boss, put her in her place…"

Andy laughed, "He thinks he has. He is such a man…"

"Just admit it. You're in denial…"

"And you're delusional…"

Then they started kissing right then and there, and it wasn't just a simple peck or smack. The public show of affection was a surprise and a discomfort. She had to turn away the moment Colin's hands disappeared from sight.

Julius said to her, "Colin has an excuse; she is part Veela. But you'd think they'd be a bit more considerate knowing there are three hormone-crazed teenage boys around."

The boys weren't the only ones.

"So, calculus," she said to Julius. Talking about that should help distract her, "Do you like math?"

It turned out that Julius did and he was pretty good at it. He was a member of the Math Club and told her about the interschool competitions that he had been a part of. That got them into talking about other Muggle professions he could go into if he decided to become a math major. His face lit up when she mentioned that she knew of a non-magical former university math professor employed by the Ministry in the Department of Mysteries, although she didn't know exactly what it was that he did. Julius intimated that he had always wanted to work for the Ministry but preferably in law enforcement like his dad and like Andy. Colin heard this and rejoined their conversation, informing Julius of certain careers in the MLE where non-magical people were preferred.

Every so often their attention would drift over to the animated Quidditch conversation between Harry, Karl, Ian, and Andy, and she and Harry would exchange knowing glances. Harry did not seem to be in a rush to meet the informant. The time passed quickly and before she knew it, dinner was just about over and the boys started teasing their sister about her competing and winning the Miss Canadian Witch title at their age, bringing out pictures which their sister had supposedly gotten rid of, ignoring warnings of bodily harm from Andy.

Unmindful of the time, they helped the Marshes clean up. The boys disappeared swiftly. Andy said that was expected and foretold Colin making up some excuse about helping with Ian's homework. Even Harry stepped out of the kitchen to take a phone call; his phone must have been on vibrate because she didn't hear it go off.

"It's good to see Harry happier," Andy said to her.

The kitchen looked pristine after a few wand motions from the hostess. They were sitting at a small working table sipping hot chamomile tea.

"It's good to see him."

"I've known Harry for a year and he's a nice guy. He wouldn't say much more except that he betrayed Ron but you were at fault, too. That's what I didn't understand and I was ticked off by how you were treating him," Andy said to her and then asked, "I know I'm being nosy and you can tell me to fuck off anytime but what was it that he did that was so horrible?"

Hermione thought for a moment, tempted to tell Andy to 'fuck off' in a less abrasive way.

"What makes you think it was something he did?"

"I'm not blind. You care about him and you wouldn’t do something like that without reason. And being the man, he's obviously the prick to blame."

They both smiled at her prejudiced remark. Hermione thought that if Harry didn't tell her about his deception she wouldn't. It wasn't about that anyway.

Hermione explained, "I wanted him to stay away not so much because of what he did but because of what I did and wanted to do. I didn't think I could live with that. I still don't know if I can."

"Guilt is hard to live with but harder to run away from,” Andy seemed to understand. “I hope you sort it out. He thinks it was entirely his fault. You should tell him."

"I will," she nodded. "I was also upset at him because I thought you and he were, you know."

Andy laughed and she did too, embarrassed.

"You can't imagine how many tall blondes I've seen him go out with over the years. It wasn't much of a stretch for my imagination," Hermione defended herself.

"If it makes a difference, he never showed any interest."

"Are you sure it wasn't because of what you said to him the first time you met?"

Colin had rejoined them and sat down beside Andy, sipping from her cup of tea. He was teasing her again.

"It definitely wasn't. If it was then he'd be the first man to listen."

Colin turned to Hermione, "Do you know what she tells all her new male partners?"

"No. What?"

He asked for help, "How does it go, honey?"

"Stop it. It sounds ridiculous. Hermione doesn't need to know."

Colin ignored her and pressed on, "It goes something like, 'I only have three fucking rules! I drive unless I tell you to, I don't take lead on any case after ten unless I want to, and most importantly, keep your fucking hands to yourself and your fucking dick in your pants if you don't want me to cut them off!'"

They laughed.

"Her partners eventually become infatuated. Muller has been annoyed she keeps losing partners because of that."

"The bane of a few drops of Veela blood. Harry's been the exception. Him and Tony, who I later discovered was gay."

"We actually thought Harry was gay we asked him if he would like to go out with my cousin Jerry," Colin added, laughing at what happened, "That suggestion finally nudged him to tell us about you."

The door from the dining room swung in. It was Ian.

He smiled at her and then addressed Colin, "Karl's given up. Can I practice with you?"

A peeved Karl corrected Ian from somewhere within the house, "On you! He wants to practice on you!"

Colin got up and excused himself, "First, cooking with Sally and now, getting hexed by your brother. You know you're going to pay for this."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

A thorough kiss later, Colin ushered a wistful Ian out, giving her an opportunity to ask Andy a more personal question.

"I'm curious, and you can tell me to 'fuck off' if you don't want to answer," she echoed Andy's earlier statement, "Why did you become an Auror? It just seems an odd career path for Miss Canadian Witch 1991."

Andy replied quickly, "The short answer is retribution."

"And the long answer?" Hermione asked; her curiosity piqued as Andy took some time to think of what to say.

"My dad was a detective for the Vancouver police and I was seven when I told my parents I wanted to be a cop like him. My Mom was totally against that, horrified by the idea, and my Dad, already feeling guilty about the amount of time he was spending at work, agreed with her. I was molded and shaped into what my Mom thought was more 'appropriate'," she motioned quotes with her fingers.

"I was fine with that. I won the title in ‘91 and had a promising career in modeling. That was the same year Karl, Julius and Ian were born. My Mom needed a lot of help taking care of them and it was great that she finally had someone else other than me to fuss about. Everything seemed so easy then; everything was good. Things got even better two years later. I fell in love."

"The man with black wavy hair, on the picture on the mantle."

Andy nodded, "Alex was an Auror who occasionally worked Muggle cases with my Dad. My parents didn't approve but we didn't care. You know the feeling; forbidden fruit usually tastes better."

They chuckled. There were no judges in the room.

"So, what happened?"

"We finally convinced my parents we were serious. I was twenty and he was twenty five when we decided to marry. Then he died. And my Dad died. They died on the job a few days before our wedding."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Andy shrugged.

"It was a long time ago. So, anyway, after that I just couldn't go back to what I was doing before, especially when those responsible for their deaths were never brought to justice. There's nothing like good ole revenge to fire one up."

"I agree," Harry said as he joined them. "But only if you're not talking about avenging something I did."

"A bit defensive now, are we? It's not always about you, you know," Hermione said to him, smiling.

"I'm crushed that it isn't," he countered. "So what girlie thing were you two talking about?"

That drew protests from both women at which he just laughed. Harry took her tea cup, his hand lightly brushing against hers as he did, and took a sip from it just as Colin did from Andy's earlier. She felt good about that.

"I was just telling Hermione about why I became an Auror."

"And she wanted the long version, no doubt. So, did you tell her about Al Pacino?"

"What about Al Pacino?"

"She has a thing for Al Pacino."

"No, I don't," Andy denied, "Have you, Colin and boys been conniving to embarrass me as much as you can?"

"We can only conspire to try," he countered, then asked Hermione, "You know Al Pacino, right?"

"The actor; of course I do."

"Andy liked him in Scarface the most."

"Shut the fuck up, Harry!"

Andy was not really serious.

"Right there, perfect example," Harry continued, "She didn't use to talk this way."

"I did when I met you."

"What was the question you drew in the interview during the 1991 pageant?"

"It was so long ago. I don't remember."

"You were asked about your most fervent wish," Harry refreshed her memory then said to Hermione, "The boys have the entire thing on tape."

"It's too bad I can't go beyond threats when it comes to family."

"What was your answer to that?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"It was something lame like world fucking peace."

"I think it's safe to say you would not have won Miss Canadian Witch 1991 if you answered it that way," Hermione joined in and they all laughed.

"I had to do what I had to do," Andy finally admitted, "It was a hard transition from modeling to joining the MLE, and I'm not talking about the spells. You can imagine how much flak I got not only to prove that I deserved a spot in the Auror Academy to train but also that I had what it took to be one."

The price of being blonde and beautiful was something she didn't think she could ever relate to. Andy continued.

"Rumours would crop up every now and then about how I got in, how I finished the course and who I slept with to get my job. I was fed up about not being taken seriously so I moved to Toronto, rented a library of cop/bad guy Muggle movies and reinvented myself. I haven't had that problem of not being taken seriously for a long time."

"So, the swearing is all an act."

"Well, yes and no," Andy replied, a bit ashamed. "It was before but now it's a part of who I am, especially at work. It's kind of pathetic because I've had to sign up with a support group to keep it in check."

"Judging from your profanity word count today you might want to attend more meetings," Harry advised.

"Fuck off Harry. You're not my mother."

Everything just seemed funny at that point. It was then that Harry mentioned the time and suggested that they got going. They went back the way they came in. As they said their goodbyes she could not help but think how coming to dinner tonight to meet Andy's family and see this more human side to her had made her gain a lot more respect for the Auror.

A short distance from the house beside the Marsh tool shed where they were concealed from view, Harry took her hand in his and they Disapparated, this time maintaining their balance as they reappeared under a leafless tree. The full moon that had lit the night earlier was not in sight and it was dark. It took some time for her eyes to adjust. Harry tugged on her hand slightly and they walked towards the outline of a large house that on closer inspection was in a state of disrepair.

He had been vague about the informant they were meeting and he had said very few words since they left Andy's place. She knew there was something he wasn't telling her about what they were there for and that he was about to.

They stopped in front of the porch and she waited for him to speak. There was not a stir coming from within. Harry lit his wand with his free hand and faced her.

"This house is designated," Harry said softly, looking very serious and concerned. "Andy and I found out yesterday. We came to check it out after Jane Doe gave us the address."

Her pulse quickened and, in mere seconds, she felt her chest vibrate from the ruckus of its contents within. It wasn't hard to figure out why Harry was telling her this, why he had trouble doing so and why the grave expression on his face.

She felt herself look away, unable to think at all. He squeezed her hand to get her attention back.

"He asked me to bring you here. He wants to talk with you," and when she didn't answer, he added, "He's kind of desperate."

Her mind was frozen. Vaguely, she recalled that at some point she wished she could see him again, even if he was a ghost, to talk with. But how come the thought of doing just that was, right now, paralyzing?

"I probably should have told you sooner but with everything that went on today the right moment never presented itself until tonight and when it did, I didn't know how to tell you. I'll spare you the other excuses," Harry filled the silence, "Of course, you can refuse to see him if you don't want to but I really think you should."

Hermione didn't answer. She couldn't think of anything to say. She didn't know how long they stood there but she felt her grip on his hand loosen and his reluctantly let hers go. She saw her feet go up the porch steps one after the other, not even noticing that Harry was walking beside her with his lit wand to light her way. He got to the double doors first and lifted the heavy ornate knocker that looked like a beaver, the sound it made echoing many more times and much louder than the three original taps.

The right side of the entrance creaked open, enough for the both of them to enter at the same time. They stopped walking a few feet in and the door behind them closed with a groan and a soft click. It was dark and dusty and there was no other source of light except for Harry's wand, which seemed not able to illuminate farther than a couple of feet around them.

An irritated voice came from several directions, "Who are you and what do you want at this ungodly hour?"

Harry answered, "I'm Harry Potter. I'm here with Hermione Granger to see Ron Weasley."

"He didn't expect you to come back so soon. I'll see if he's available."

What if he wasn't available? Ghosts had lives to live, too. That might be better because as hard as she tried she could not decide what to say to him first. There were lots of things to talk about and she was having difficulty understanding why she kept on thinking it was important to ask him where he kept his old Gryffindor keeper gloves, the ones Harry had given him, for Molly had promised to donate it to Hogwarts.

A sudden gush of cold air jolted her back to where she was and without further warning, the familiar figure of Ron appeared in front of her. No amount of notice could have prepared her for seeing him like this; transparent, ghostly, with the same sad expression he had the last time she told him it was over between them.

“Boo!”

At the sound of Ron’s voice, her heart stopped and she couldn’t breath. Hermione was engulfed by the sensation of being spun like a top, faster and faster, until she blacked out.

XXXXXXXXX

A/N. Ron finally!

48. Snakes

A/N : Okay. Here you go. First part is all mystery then Harry-Hermione-Ron Round 1. Please go easy on me :)!

Chapter 48 - Snakes

The cabin hidden deep in Cheddar Gorge was now swarming with London MLE and forensics. Members of the Coroner's office had just taken away what remained of Snape's remains and it was going to the Ministry lab for further examination.

The Chief Coroner had given the Aurors something to work with. Snape died no less than a week ago and no more than two, adding that he had probably been a vegetable for a lot longer and was likely kept minimally alive by the lung, liver, and kidney machines they found off to the side of the room. On initial exam, he was missing quite a number of organs, seemingly taken as a Muggle surgeon would, one piece at a time from least vital to most, over a period of months.

Dean was still shaken up by what he saw. He had never been so affected by death as he was now. He did not particularly like the Professor, most of his former students didn't, but nobody deserved to die that way. The gruesome death was not necessary that it seemed personal and was obviously related to the recent murders of magical beings. Its uniqueness eerily reminded him of what happened to Filch. Why him? And why were his organs taken Muggle way, not magically as was the case with Firenze and Winky?

As forensics was finishing up with their evidence collection and investigation, Dean and Kingsley were riffling through Snape's personal effects that had already been photographed and catalogued. Severus Snape was proven to be a Dumbledore spy and, after Voldemort died, lived a quiet life. He resigned from Hogwarts and became a hermit. What they found in the shack confirmed rumours that he continued to pursue studies in his two beloved subjects; potions and defense against the dark arts.

They found a concealed trap door on the floor under the bed in the master bedroom that led to a sizable underground potions lab. At its centre were several large cauldrons and other potion making paraphernalia, which seemed to have been used recently. A few unbreakable phials were found on the longest counter along the far wall and it would take a few hours to confirm that they were made in Romania. The stench of death was strong there, too, although he wondered if that was just because he would never forget the putrid odour from that small bedroom for the rest of his life.

The lab was designed with a large, well stocked pantry of potion ingredients, one which he suspected contained every imaginable potion substrate. Right beside it was a frequently used study containing advanced books on magic, some of which he had never heard of before. That was where they were at the moment. It appeared that someone had been camping out on the couch and, on one of the tables, obtrusively out of place, was a stack of recently published books and journals on Muggle Surgery, organ donation and harvesting for transplantation. Snape's murderer had lived in his house and used his lab as his life slowly slipped away.

The bulk of documentation related to Snape's recent work was in the drawers of the writing desk in the room. They were handwritten ideas and thoughts about potions and spells he was not familiar with, some of them making sense, most of them way over his head. They sifted through it, hoping to find some clue as to who his killer was.

Finding the lab below the cabin was not difficult. It was standard practice to search every crevice in the crime scene and the simple spells that guarded it from detection were more to keep non magical people out. However, they had been disappointed not to find anything deliberately concealed or hidden away, an act they were certain Snape would do for his most prized possessions.

"So, what do you think?" Kingsley asked as he placed a stack of papers into a box labeled 'Department of Mysteries - for review.'

Dean noticed that Kingsley liked asking that question. He plopped a handful of documents in the same box. Where to start?

"The Professor was a very skilled wizard and he did not trust anyone. Whoever took him down was either more skilled or, as much as I can't imagine him putting his guard down, someone who he absolutely did not expect foul play from. We know organs are being used to make magical potion and I can only conclude that the professor's were used for the same purpose, and the person who was making the potion concocted it right here in his lab. The potion maker spent a lot of time here and all the books on Muggle surgical methods suggest that he or she was the same person who had taken the organs from him. More and more it sounds like this potion maker is Lestrange's Potion Master."

Kingsley said to him, "What do you make of the cauldrons?"

He took out the remaining documents from the bottom drawer, then continued.

"Snape experimented with potions and I doubt he was into mass production. So the newer large cauldrons were not his. That batch of magical potion sent to Toronto was probably brewed right here, although I can't imagine how anyone could stick around long enough to use the lab with a foul smelling carcass up above, even if that trapdoor was closed."

Kingsley continued playing devil's advocate, "Why didn't he get rid of it? That would have been easy enough to do."

"True. Maybe he wasn't done. Or maybe he wanted it found," Dean threw off random ideas, "The sheets bother me."

"I was wondering when you would get to that," Kingsley said to him. "What about the sheets?"

"So, I'm this horrible potion maker. For months I've cannibalized the man bit by bit, then in the end, took his heart out, leaving his chest open and exposed," Dean summarized, "Why on earth would I take the time to cover him up with sheets like that?"

Kingsley was nodding his head, "Good question, evil potion maker. You should go see a shrink and find out why. Maybe that will help you find out who you really are. It almost sounds as if there's more than one of you."

"So, you think the Potion Master had a conflicted accomplice?"

"Either that or he was the one who was conflicted."

They had emptied all drawers and found nothing on first pass. Kingsley sealed the boxes and magically took them out of the study. Dean followed him, and then right at the doorway he looked back one more time and scanned the room from left to right. It was something he did out of habit, a last check. No magically concealed entrances or contrived disillusions.

His eyes fell back on the writing desk that they had just emptied and felt there was something off. There was something about the uncut flat panel of cheap manufactured wood covering the front. From his estimation, the height of the drawers stacked on either side seemed shorter than the height of the flat panel as he viewed it from the front.

He walked around to the side and to the back of it where he and Kingsley had been. There were three drawers of equal sizes running down on each side and a wider inch deep one in the center. On closer examination, he noticed that the top drawers on the left and the right did not begin right below the half inch writing surface but was staggered an inch down, leaving that much space above it on both sides and him wondering about the possibility of hidden compartments.

Kingsley and the forensics had already cleared the desk, as they had for all the cabin contents, for signs of magical tampering. Knowing his limitations, he would not even attempt to uncover something magical that they were unable to. It would be an expectation for a talented wizard like Snape to do that but maybe the Professor expected others to think that he would use magic to conceal valuables and opted to use Muggle ways of doing so.

It would not hurt to look. He took out all the drawers and examined the underside of the actual desk. The plank of wood that formed the desktop was a half inch thick solid piece, and formed the ceiling of the middle drawer. There was nothing suspicious there. He perused the right upper drawer ceiling that was an inch lower than the middle portion. He tapped the four quadrants of the one foot wide and two and a half foot deep piece and the sound came back solid. He turned his attention to the left one and did the same test. Hollow. He did it again. All quadrants were definitely hollow.

Excited, he toppled the desk over intending to overturn it legs up to get a better view, but halfway through, gravity caused the false top to slide forward, and a part of the medial panel clanked on the floor, exposing a cavity within.

He thought about smashing it in but decided he did not want to risk damaging what was in it. Prudent enough not to blindly sweep within it with his bare hand, he thought he'd let gravity help out again. With his wand pointed at it, he flipped the table onto its right side. Something definitely moved within but whatever it was it was snug it had to be pried out.

Picking up the inch wide piece that fell off, he slid on his back between the legs of the table, and lay down directly below the opening. He lit his wand and directed a beam into the blackness. It was a book of some sort, the pages clearly visible, bound in greenish brown animal hide. He used the stick to pry it loose from one side surprised at how soft it felt and the fact that the darn thing would not budge.

He shifted the focus of his lit wand to the other side. There was definitely more space to maneuver there. Then it moved in an odd way. He stopped; it stopped. He stuck the wood in and before he touched anything inside it moved again, this time much faster, so fast he could tell it was moving clockwise and inward, as if...

Fuck!

He had to move! As he thought that thought, the slits of two pairs of eyes and two forked tongues appeared from that gap he had his wand light on. They were hissing as they uncoiled, unimpressed by his poking and prodding. A tail uncovered the book and disappeared into the back, causing it to fall on him the same time the wide open fanged mouths of the two headed guardian that kept it in place lunged for his face.

Gravity was so not helping...

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry saw the blood drain from Hermione's face the moment Ron appeared and was quick enough to catch her and break her fall.

"Blimey! There's something I never thought I'd see in my lifetime!" the red haired ghost exclaimed, more amused than concerned about Hermione losing consciousness.

Harry took off his coat, bunched it up and gently rested Hermione's head on it, miffed at Ron as he replied, "This isn't exactly part of your lifetime anymore, is it?"

Ron merely threw his arms up in the air and complained, "That's precisely what I mean about being dead! You can't imagine how many of those ghosts can't use anymore!"

Ignoring Ron, he transfigured an old, dusty couch into something more comfortable and much cleaner, and set it up in front of a fireplace in the receiving room to the right of the entrance.

"Why do you think she fainted?" the ghost asked, hovering over him and Hermione as he lifted her and carried her, and set her down on the sofa.

It seemed that the degree of Ron's transparency matched the degree of sensitivity he had left compared to his former self, which was not a lot to begin with. Harry did not answer, contemplating if he should just get her to a Healer even though his gut feeling said she would be fine in a few minutes.

"Do you think I scared her?"

The room was dark and cold. He lit the fireplace and it slowly filled the room with much needed warmth and light.

"I must look really ghastly."

He checked on her again as Ron continued to float around, trying to catch a glimpse of himself on the grimy mirror above the fireplace mantle.

"Oh, Merlin! It's my breath, isn't it?" Ron had a genuine horrified expression, then, moved closer to him and repeatedly blew cold air from the mouth directly onto his face as he asked, "Is it? Is it? Is it?"

"Will you quit that?!" Harry finally turned to him and told him off. The frosty mist made him shiver again and Ron's behaviour was starting to really annoy him, "You may need a tic-tac or two but I don't think it's bad enough to make someone faint!"

His comment just made it worse.

"What should I do?!" Ron panicked, "I can't talk to her like this!"

Seriously?

"Get a grip, Ron…"

"I knew I shouldn't have had that second serving of Jemima's onion soup!"

Ghosts didn't eat, not really. But then this was Ron. Harry could not imagine him without food.

"She lived with you for a long time. I don't think she'll care…"

"It'll be the last thing she'll remember about me," Ron insisted, "It's a definite no-no on Witch Goddess' list of what not to have when you meet an old flame, way up on it right after a botched engorgement job. I'll be back."

He gave up, thinking Ron must have a lot of time on his hands to have gone through and read such a list on a publication more popular for its, um, graphic fleshly content. The ghost was acting very much like some self conscious teenager and, just like yesterday, a lot more immature than Harry remembered him to be. Merlin only knew what he was going to say to Hermione. This was a major concern particularly after thinking how much of an ass he was when it came to her when he was a teen.

Harry took a glimpse at Hermione; she was still out of it. All night at Andy's he was going insane keeping himself away from her and admittedly, he had thought long and hard about what to do after dinner. He finally decided to do the decent thing as opposed to acting on the not so decent thoughts he was having about her since he watched her get dressed back at the hotel. He got farther with her than he hoped for after they talked in the park and, if not for Julius, he would have gotten even further. It did not help that he had to watch Andy and Colin make-out at the dinner table nor did it help that each time he looked into her eyes she looked back with the warmth he thought he would never see again.

And she was as transparent as he. She wanted that kiss as much as he did. Her openness to his touch and invasion of her space was heartening and he could sense that she was as keen as he to be alone with each other. But as they left Andy's place, he had decided on 'decency' and put Ron first. He thought it best not to talk to her until he could not back out on that choice, afraid that one kind word about them would swat his resolve quickly.

But at the moment he wasn't so sure Ron was earnest about the reason why he wanted Hermione there. He was having regrets about coming, particularly about not giving her more time to prepare for it. He should wake her up and warn her about Ron while the ghost was off finding a breath mint.

He was about to when he was distracted by an awful smell. The room suddenly filled up with an obnoxious aroma that he could only describe as a cross between overripe bananas and rotten cabbage. Ron was back with the poltergeists he had met the day before, directing them as they carried lit candles and placed them in strategic locations around the room.

"Scented candles to mask my problem," Ron answered his perplexed look, "We found them in the neighbor's rubbish."

For good reason. He fixed that with a gas entrapment spell that was handy for noxious fumes and replaced it with the more pleasant and milder flowery one of Hermione's perfume, the first thing that came to his mind, and it immediately evoked a deep churning within him. It was not appropriate to be thinking about her that way right now but self control had never been his strength. Ron didn't seem to notice or care.

"How long do you think she'll be out?"

"I don't know."

With Ron there he was no longer in a rush to wake her up. Maybe it was a good time to ask him about how he died.

"I have to be somewhere else in about half an hour."

For a ghost he certainly seemed to have a lot going on. That wasn't a bad thing except both he and Hermione were in the middle of this potion business and there wasn't much time for much else. If not tonight he didn't know when else they could have this talk with him. It was frustrating, as he thought almost certainly that whatever it was, it was something not as important or one that Ron could skip just this once.

"Another Quidditch match?" Harry's tone was laced with sarcasm.

"Don't be silly. It's way too late for Quidditch," Ron answered, not noticing it at all, "Thursdays are usually strip poker nights but the gang is going out tonight on a rare special permit."

"We can come back another time. You have what? A few days to sort your problem out?"

Harry didn't know what else to say. Ron finally picked up on it.

"Were you expecting me to drop everything on short notice?! You should have sent word that you were coming with her! We ghosts have lives, too, you know!"

"Next time I'll be sure to call ahead for an appointment!" he could not help but bite back, "I'm sorry, it slipped my mind. It's been a busy day."

"I can only imagine. So what happened? Did she immediately rush into your arms and spent the entire day fucking your brains out?"

"Watch the language!"

Ron ignored his warning, no doubt trying to push his buttons.

"Did she sound like this? 'Oh, Harry! Yes! Yes! Yes! Make me come over and over again!'" Ron moaned very much like a woman in the throes of passion and then said, "Or has the fact that I'm no longer around to ridicule taken the fun out of that?"

"We never meant for you to get hurt!"

"It never crossed your mind that sleeping with my fiancée would do that? Overestimated my insensitivity, did you? The first time, maybe, I would have given you both the benefit of the doubt. But you've always had the talent to turn any decent woman into one of your whores."

"Stop talking about her that way! She's not like that!"

"Like what? Like some scarlet woman? Let me think. She was going to marry me and then she had an affair with you. I say measure her up for an appropriate bold letter in red and mount it on her with a permanent sticking charm. You don't know her like I do!"

"She still hasn't gotten over you!"

"Good. She shouldn't, not after what she did to me!"

It was obvious that Ron was still bitter about what happened despite already 'forgiving' him. Harry could sense where the conversation was going to go once Hermione woke up. He tried to appeal to Ron's other side, the one he knew for sure cared about Hermione.

"If you loved her, you'd want her to move on!"

"If you loved her, you wouldn't have screwed with her and her life!"

"Is this why you wanted us to come? To remind us of how wrong we were and make sure we live with that guilt forever? I'm not surprised that you can't cross over! And I didn't bring her here so you can do this!"

"How predictable! My treacherous best friend trying to protect my unfaithful fiancée!"

"Ex-fiancée."

Both wizard and ghost turned to the quiet voice that interrupted them. Harry saw that Hermione was up on her feet, staring at Ron with tears in her eyes that did not match the disapproving and stern look on her face. He did say that Hermione would chew his head off and make him regret becoming a ghost.

"Hi, honey. Feeling much better?" Ron asked sweetly, a bit afraid, intimidated at what was coming and Harry could not blame him.

"Hi honey?! Don't you 'hi honey' me!"

Hermione said through gritted teeth, her voice shaking as she talked.

"Hermione..."

"You're a ghost!"

"I realize that…"

"What were you thinking?!"

"I suppose my brain was somewhat damaged by the impact..."

"We talked about this when you were still alive!"

"Er, um, did we? Really?"

"Don't even pretend that you don't remember!"

"You don't have to..."

"A desperate, useless attempt to hang on to the past..."

"Sounds like something I would say."

"Choosing a life that's neither here nor there is for pansies..."

"Yes, quiet down a bit, will you?" he tried hushing her.

"It's cowardice not to face the unknown future..."

"I remember."

"You said you couldn't imagine why someone would want to be a ghost!"

"That’s obviously changed. It seemed like a really good idea at the time…"

"It obviously wasn't! So, why did you choose to be one?!"

"Let's not get into that," Ron seemed not to even consider telling her what he told him. Harry thought this a good sign. "The important thing is I don't want to be one anymore."

"You better be on the way to moving on to the other side, because if you're not, I'm going to tell your mother!"

"No, please, not Mum! Dying on her unexpectedly like that was bad enough. She'll be distraught if she sees me like this. I would have gone already if I could but I can't seem to cross over."

"What?!" she looked at him, he nodded to confirm, "Why can't you?"

"If I knew that you wouldn't be here. That's why I asked Harry to bring you."

"Yeah, right. I’m having serious doubts about that," Harry interjected.

"You know I would have never wanted you to see me like this unless you had to," Ron countered, "I need your help, Hermione."

"You always do this, leave important things for the last minute. You have less than two weeks!"

"I am getting a bit desperate. So will you help me?"

Harry watched them as Ron awaited Hermione’s answer. It was a foregone conclusion that she would, if that was indeed what Ron wanted her here for. Despite Ron’s benign treatment of her Harry still had his doubts. He looked over to Hermione, unsure if she was flushed from the emotional outburst she just had or if that was the red glow from the fireplace. For a brief moment, he thought she would faint again.

Standing beside Harry, Hermione felt unsteady as she took this new information in and stopped herself from reaching out to him for support. She righted herself in time but was still in disbelief. The fact that Ron had chosen this kind of life was troubling and scolding him just happened spontaneously. She figured it was either that or cry her eyes out. The latter would be something for later, for doing so in front of a bickering Ron and Harry was not going to be productive.

His choice distressed her because she knew it was not what Ron wanted and that the decision was an impulsive one. She was responsible for this and the fact that he could not move on only added to the crippling guilt she already felt.

"I don't have a choice, do I?" she finally answered.

"Awesome!"

Absentmindedly, Ron gave her a hug and she immediately felt the biting coldness as part of his form merged with hers, making her tremble.

"Sorry, I forgot," Ron apologized immediately. "So, when did you get into Toronto?"

"This morning."

"And it took you this long to come and see me?"

It seemed like he was feigning disappointment but raised his brows at Harry as if indicating he was right about something.

Harry spoke out in her defense, "She would have come sooner had I told her sooner."

"When exactly did you tell her?"

"I'm here now. It's not important," she said to Ron.

"But it is important, honey," he replied, "You came for him. Not me, him. He was always more important to you. You were always at his beck and call."

He was taunting, goading her into an argument, daring her to contradict what he just said. At least that was what it felt like. The lack of acrimony in his tone made it sound more like an observation than a remark with the intent to incite, but she thought it best to let the comment slide. Unfortunately, Harry didn't.

"It was a coincidence. The Order sent her."

"Drop it, Harry," she advised.

"What does the Order want with you?" Ron asked, too innocently.

"They want me back in London," Harry countered, not knowing what he was walking into.

"Coincidence, huh? So, who came first? Kingsley? And then, Remus? You told them to what, 'forget it'? Did you play hard-to-get knowing they'd eventually ask her to try and talk you into it?"

"What?!" Harry expressed his disbelief at what he was hearing.

"She didn't want to see you but you made her anyway. Nice!"

"He just wants to pick a fight. Let it go," she said to Harry again, hoping that he would know that she didn't believe what Ron was suggesting.

"Admit it," Ron continued, "There was a reason why the Sorting Hat thought about putting you in Slytherin. You're manipulative and conniving. You're a snake, always has been, always will be! You couldn't even stay away from her when I asked you to!"

He asked him to stay away…that was why he came that night and said what he said.

"She wasn’t in love with you anymore!"

"And you pounced on the opportunity for an easy fuck!"

"It wasn't like that! I love her and I thought that if she didn't love you, she might love me."

Hermione felt warm wetness stream down both cheeks. She loved him, too. He knew that because she told him that night he came as Roy to do what Ron had asked him to do.

"You owed me! You owed me for keeping the real cause of your accident a secret!"

"It wasn't fair to ask me to give her up for that!"

"You were supposed to do the honorable thing!"

"Would you choose honor over love?"

"You're the hero! I expected you to do what was right! You were supposed to stay away from her!"

"Ron, stop! He did stay away!"

Hermione finally got in between him and Harry as the men glared at each other.

"Yeah, he did, until I died. And now, he wants to slither himself back into your life. Tell me, Harry. What would you have done had I lived?"

Harry looked straight at her and replied, "I would have asked her to make a choice. I intended to after the game."

"I rest my case. Lock up this serpent in a glass cage and throw away the key!"

"What would you have answered?" he asked her quietly as he kept his eyes on her.

The response would have been simpler but it wasn't, not with Ron right there about to get hurt some more and have added reasons to feel bitter about than he already had. So instead, she faltered and did not give Harry what she knew he wanted to hear, hoping he would read between the lines and they could talk again at a later time.

"It would have been a difficult choice to make."

"You're too kind, honey. It wasn't that difficult avoiding Harry was it? Until you were forced to see Harry you pretty much chose dead me over him."

Ron was getting to Harry. Hermione could tell by the change in how he looked at her. She had to do something.

She turned and said to Ron firmly, "I understand why you're upset at him but he wasn't the only one who betrayed you. If there's anyone you should be angry at it should be me."

"True. But I never could stay mad at you. I seem to find excuses not to. I'm sure you can relate."

Ron had this seriousness, the one he spoke with when he knew he was right. He was referring to how she was with Harry, how she always seemed to find excuses to not be angry at him either. She needed a moment with Ron, if only to let him vent on her, for he was deliberately picking on Harry.

"Harry, I need to talk with him in private."

"No, I want him to stay," Ron refused as she expected he would. He wasn't done. "Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it with him here."

"This has nothing to do with him."

"Silly me. You're right. Let me get a flask of Polyjuice so he can be Roy Hunt."

"We can leave. You don't need to do this right now," Harry suggested, fed up with Ron.

"Believe me you'd want to do this right now," Ron replied to him, "She owes us the truth. Are you interested in the truth, Harry, or are you too afraid to find out?"

Ron smirked. She had not seen this mean streak of Ron's in a long while. It was the sort of meanness she had wanted him to have when he found out about her tryst and when she carried on with it. It was the treatment she felt she deserved. And he knew her too well to know to use Harry to make it sting just a little bit more.

"What happened between us had nothing to do with him," she repeated.

Ron retorted with mockery, "It had everything to do with him. If it wasn't him you wouldn't have had your last fling."

"I would have and I did. I didn't know it was him that night here in Toronto."

"Really? Just like you didn't know it was him that night at St. Mungo's? Would you have let a mere stranger use you that second time even after I forgave you for the first?"

Ron paused, his words hung heavily in the air as she was drawn to Harry's querying gaze. She did not say anything and that was the answer to the question.

"It was just too good to pass up, wasn't it? Even if you thought nothing serious would come out of it. Curious how it would be like with him? See, Harry, you're not the only one with secrets. But why oh why did she let you think that she was angry at you for it?"

"It was a difficult time."

"I know. I was there."

"Tell me about it. It's hard to be a ghost. There are no real guides out there…"

"He loved me and I broke him. He died, Harry."

"Yes, he did. He was my friend, too. We could have talked about it, mourned his loss together."

"I couldn't look at you and not see him. I just wanted you to stay away."

"Was that because you felt guilty about what you did to me? Oh, honey! I'm so touched."

"And you just couldn't say that? Here I was thinking all along you didn’t want to see me because of what I did!"

"You wouldn't have listened. You wouldn’t have stayed away."

"She's right, you know. You are kind of stubborn."

"So, what if I didn't? We could have sorted this out sooner!"

"I wasn't ready!"

"She still isn't from the looks of it."

"Why didn't you confront me?! Why didn't you get in my face and force me to tell the truth?!"

"That's easy, Harry," Ron answered for her, "For the same reason you didn't tell her you were Roy Hunt when she met Roy. She thought it would be a one time thing. She didn't think it would last forever, either."

"Is that right?" he asked her to confirm but he already knew the answer.

"You were lying to me, Harry. And after what you said that night, what was I supposed to think?"

"It's not her fault. She was feeling a bit left out being one of the few women you had not slept with. I already said this once and I'll say it again. What else could she possibly want from you aside from a few quick romps in the sack? That's all you're good for nowadays."

"Ron!"

He ignored her.

"She said so herself. She wanted you to stay away. She's been telling you she wanted out in so many ways for a fucking year! I guess you're as dense as I am and can't take a hint!"

That did it. Hermione had hoped Harry would at least stay calm and not be swayed by how Ron was picking bits of reality and taking them out of context to suit his purpose. What Ron just said was accurate. She did want an out; there was no denying that. There would be no more lies, at least not from her. If only they had a more candid conversation about Roy before seeing Ron, things might have gone better.

“I'll be outside," Harry said calmly to her as he grabbed his coat from the couch.

Torn between helping Ron transition over and telling Harry the truth from the very beginning, she really didn’t have much of a choice. The truth wouldn't matter if Ron remained a ghost. Harry walked off as Ron laughed in the background, floating after him until she heard the sound of the front door opening and banging shut. Ron had a most satisfied and smug look as he glided his way back to the spot where her feet seemed to have frozen solid to the dust-covered floor.

"For someone supposedly smart and in love with you, he seemed content hearing my preferred version of the truth. He didn't even give you the benefit of the doubt. He definitely failed that test, don't you think?" Ron said eyebrows raised. "And you wanted him instead of me."

Hermione tried to push the disappointment aside. There would be plenty of time to deal with that once she got Ron on his way. But she had to try to get Ron to ease up on Harry.

"That really wasn't necessary."

"At least now you know he's a runner," Ron merely shrugged, "I do have one burning question.”

“What is it?”

“After all this, do you still want him or not?"

49. The Underground Greenhouse

Chapter 49 - The Underground Greenhouse

"Sectumsempra!"

Dean made one quick slashing motion with his wand in the air and the two serpent heads flew off to the wayside. With disgust, he flung away its still writhing body the second it fell on his chest and rolled off to the side of the table just in case there were others. As he got up, he counted himself lucky that he remembered the spell in time and that it had not missed.

Kingsley and a few others were drawn back into the room by the commotion. He recounted for Kingsley what had happened as someone from forensics quarantined the snake and the small book that came from within the secret compartment.

“Good job,” Kingsley complimented him on his find. “The book was a most important find.”

"I can’t wait to find out what’s in it," Dean countered, a bit frustrated that they wouldn’t be able to examine it until the morning.

“Let’s call it a day,” his boss suggested.

He couldn’t agree more. A close call with a two headed snake was a fitting end to his first full day as a temporary Auror. As they made their way to the door leading into the main potion lab, they heard horrified skin curling shrieks from somewhere really close by.

Dean broke into a sprint towards the direction of the cry drawing his wand as he ran. Past the door he instantly saw that off to the side of the potion ingredients pantry was a gap that wasn't there previously and the screams were coming from within it.

Being the younger, more athletic and least experienced (or more foolish) of the lot, he got to the opening first, entering the dark, muggy compartment just as the screaming halted, punctuated by a dull thud on the floor. The weight of the air was stifling and the earthy smell pierced his senses. He walked further in, blindly in the dark to his right, to let the others behind him in, uncomfortable of their obvious disadvantage. He turned as he heard the last footsteps shuffle in and his eyes had adjusted enough to see several human figures lined up neatly as if facing a firing squad.

Swoosh!

He saw a shadow of a movement come from his right and on instinct, he ducked, feeling the air above him disturbed. A few of them lit their wands almost at the same time, each frozen momentarily by the sight before them. It was a seven-foot potted plant with several long branches waving at them like arms with hands saying ‘hello’.

“Watch out!” someone yelled out.

Swoosh!

Wand lights scattered and extinguished as everyone dove for cover to avoid the attack of its whip-like branches. Intermittent flashes of curses illuminated the giant green monster. He guessed the spell to subdue something like it was not in any of the Ministry issue Auror manuals.

Dean sent a Stunner towards it and it whimpered as it was hit squarely in the body. The spell did not do much except incur its wrath even further. He felt a couple of its branches take a hold of his legs, lift him and coil tightly around his body. On his way up, he caught a glimpse of the lifeless body of one of the techies on the floor, what was left of his head turned in an unnatural position.

Panic was good. With desperation, he hacked away with his wand using the same curse of Snape's that killed the snake. The plant wailed and its grip loosened. He fell back on the floor which was now wet from the sticky liquid that squirted from the cut branches.

Someone had found a switch that opened a retractable ceiling, exposing a glass roof that allowed moonlight in. The scene was a revelation. They were in an underground greenhouse filled with weird plants he had never seen before, herbology experiments gone badly, most of them seemingly docile compared to the one who thought he was midnight snack. His attacker was hopefully dead, if not severely incapacitated. Rouge fluid continued to ooze from its injured parts.

"Odd color for plant sap," Dean said dryly.

"Odd indeed," Kingsley replied, helping him up.

Dean had some of the thick, sticky stuff on his arms and he tried to shake it off. The red sap looked, smelled, felt and tasted like blood.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry got out of the house as quickly as his feet could take him, his calm exterior barely able to hold back the brewing hurricane that was trapped within. He had to get out. He had to get away from the ghost before he found a way to kill him and from Hermione who was, little by little, doing him in. He walked down and off the path, pacing in a random pattern in front of the house, unmindful of melting snow and ice around him as he did.

Hermione knew he was Roy all along and while he heard her say why she didn't tell him, he couldn't get past asking himself what all that he went through this past year was for. At any time she could have chosen to tell the truth but she didn't.

The fact that she knew explained a lot of things that bothered him about those last few days leading up to Ron's death. He just did not expect that she knew that night at St. Mungo's, especially not after she stopped talking to him. It didn't make sense, even with Ron's explanation and it didn't help that she was holding back. It was understandable that she did not want to provoke the ghost further. But there was something she mentioned that riled him; what was it that he said that made her conclude that what they had was not going to last?

Admittedly, his beef about not being confronted with the truth was childish and he was embarrassed for even bringing it up. How could he be upset about that when he pretty much did the same thing? He recognized the hypocrisy, realizing it was borne out of frustration that she chose to keep silent even after Ron died, even after he confessed, and instead, led him to believe that the reason they weren't friends anymore was entirely his doing. While she never actually blamed him, the fact that she never said anything to contradict his erroneous assumption irked him.

I just wanted you to stay away.

She couldn't look at him and not see Ron, she said. He could understand the guilt but could not understand her unwillingness to face it with him. He also could not understand her decision not to tell him about it at all. That would have at least given him some peace of mind and more hope that things between them would get better. All their lives Hermione confronted every difficult thing head on, never shying away from anything. But here, she avoided him and shut him out.

Harry realized that Ron's explanation to what happened was meant to provoke him and to incite him to do something foolish. But she just stood there and silently admitted each point Ron made. She wanted it that way, not meaning for it to go any further than that. It was what it was meant to be, a one time thing with Roy and a one time thing with him. Inasmuch as he knew Ron was trying to push buttons, he could not help but feel inadequate. Ron's jibe about him having nothing much to offer for her to want to be with him hit a sore point and he had not felt insecure like this in a very long time.

If she really cared about you she would have said something.

As glaringly logical as that thought was he was weary speculating and preferred not to. Harry was glad he had spent time with her today. Had he not, he would not have anything tangible to support his gut feeling and boost his confidence. Because of today it was conceivable to him that while what Ron pointed out may have been true before, things may have changed. She cared about him and he just had to find out from her how much.

Right now, she needed space to see Ron and he would give her that, but he had every intention of talking with her after. This had dragged on much longer than it should have. And unlike last year when he decided to wait until after Ron's Quidditch match, this time he would not wait for Ron's problem to be resolved.

The moon peeped out from behind a cloud exposing the well-thawed out area around him and broke his introspection. The pacing helped somewhat with the temper and with sorting out the rigmarole of emotions that came with finding out what he just did. It was only then that he felt the chill in the air and donned his coat on.

Forcing himself to think about work, he scanned the area and found it secure. She was still the only living person inside the house. He looked at his watch and thought about how much time was reasonable to give them. Then, remembering Ron's parting shot, he wasn't feeling particularly generous.

Five minutes was plenty and, from his estimation, their time was up.

XXXXXXXXX

A few minutes earlier, Ron asked Hermione a tough question and she had to weigh her options. She was standing beside the fireplace, her back to it, as the glow of its flames fell on his transparent, hovering body. Ron was watching her.

You said you weren't going to lie anymore.

If you don't lie, you'll risk him lingering forever. That seems like a steep price to pay just to tell the truth.

Any avoidance or delay would make the answer obvious and if she were to lie convincingly, she had to lie now.

"I still do," she heard herself say.

It was more a surprise to her than to him.

"He wants to be with you, too. So, what seems to be the problem?" Ron asked without the vileness he had mere moments before, surprising her even more.

Her furrowed eyebrows and frown prompted Ron to add, "Look. You obviously need to talk with someone about this. Talk, I'm listening."

Ron was the last person she expected to have this conversation with about Harry. He was a ghost, her former fiancé, the man they betrayed. The sudden shift in his attitude from harshly cruel to pleasantly supportive was also quite disturbing. This was weird on so many levels.

"But what about transitioning..."

"I have a few days, you two have less than that to either make it work or totally screw it up like you did the last time. What will it be?"

"You're okay with this?" she asked, still unclear where he stood, especially after the royal treatment he gave Harry.

"I'm dead. I don't really care one way or the other."

"If you don't care then why are you helping?"

"I'm not helping," he denied, motioning her over to sit on the couch with him, "I'm just making conversation."

Ron was never a good liar. Caught totally off guard by his offer, she took it, joining him, hoping he could help. She didn't know where to begin, or how to. Ron patiently waited as they sat beside each other staring at the cinders in the fireplace.

Finally, she turned slightly and said, "I hear your voice whenever I think about him."

He thought about it for a moment before responding.

"Am I nasty?"

"Quite a bit. Disapproving, to say the least."

"You know it's not really me, right?"

"I know."

It was her guilt with his voice and his face.

"Tried everything to make it go away?"

"Pretty much, except confess I'm having auditory hallucinations. It's not something a sane Healer should have."

Ron nodded, "Has anything worked?"

"Dreamless draught to stop the nightmares."

"Bummer that only works for when you sleep."

He paused again, waiting for her to continue.

"I wanted him to move on. It would have been better if he treated me just like one of his girlfriends."

"But you're not," he pointed out. "Do you think he loves you?"

"He says he does and sometimes I think he does, then I remember last year and I get a reality check," she said to him honestly. "But even if he did, I still can't see how we can be happy."

"Bad taste from the last time, huh?"

"I'd be betraying you over and over again. Before I saw him today, I swore never to do that."

"You were going to give it another try," Ron guessed.

She nodded. Her face warmed up as the admission embarrassed her. Guilt followed and then the tears came. Ron continued to listen, concerned.

"I was going to tell him the truth. I wanted to see where that would take us. I miss him so much I don't care about the voice anymore…" her words trailed off as she sobbed, her hands covering her face from shame, thinking how hurtful it was going to be for Ron to hear.

"Ssshhh…" Ron tried to comfort her, feeling his cool arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry…" she managed to say coherently.

"What for?"

She straightened out and explained to him, "For wanting this…I can't stay away, not when he says he wants it, too."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to be happy, Hermione."

"I'm a horrible person."

"It's okay to be happy with someone else. That does not make you a horrible person."

"It does if that someone is Harry."

"No, it doesn't."

"How can it not be? I cheated on you with him."

"But I'm dead, so you won't be doing that anymore. Get over the past. We all make mistakes."

She followed his logic, it made sense but her guilt listened to neither.

"You died because of what I did."

"No, I died because I lost my broomstick and fell."

"You were upset. I broke off our engagement."

"I was disappointed, I don't deny that. But I asked you and you did what you had to do. You had no choice."

"I could have lied."

"I would have known. That would have been worse. Luv, never regret being honest."

"What did you mean when you said you would do what Harry did?"

Without batting an eyelash he replied, "That I would be a hero and do something extraordinary."

"Like how you played in the game?"

"It was heroic, don't you think so? Down by so much and we rallied to win the Cup."

"Yes, it was," Hermione felt some relief from his answer, "I never got to say this but it was the best game I'd seen you play. I was very proud of you."

"Considering that you just broke up with me, the inspired performance was to make you feel bad that you did," Ron was teasing but there was some truth to what he just said. "I gather that didn't work."

"I wasn't choosing him over you."

"I know that. I just feel better thinking that you did. Leave the ghost with the delusion that you said 'no' because there was someone else, will you? It's better for my ego."

They both smiled weakly.

"How would your ego take it if I end up with Harry?"

"Vindicated and pissed off at the same time," he answered truthfully. "Do you want to know what I think?"

Ron had this seriousness she rarely saw him with she let him continue.

"If what happened between us had nothing to do with him, then this thing between you and Harry should have nothing to do with me."

Ron lifted his brows, daring her to retract her insistence that Harry had nothing to do with her decision to break up with him. She said nothing, choosing not to argue that while it sounded good, she did not agree.

"I hope seeing me tonight hasn’t made you change your mind about telling him everything. You should give it a try and see where it takes you. Just tell the voice to go away," he added.

"The voice doesn't listen, Ron."

"I’m not surprised that it’s as stubborn as you,” he chuckled and then suggested, “Figure out a way to make it and if it still doesn't, live with it. Unless you don't think Harry is worth it. Unless you don't think he loves you."

"He did fail the test. He walked out."

Ron rolled his eyes up, and he lectured her, "You're not supposed to judge him that quickly; that's my job as the resentful ex-boyfriend. He just needed a breather. He'll be back."

Hermione hoped he was right. But for someone who had been deliberately mean towards Harry all night he sure was speaking up in Harry's defense. She had to ask him.

"Why are you doing this?"

He answered sincerely, "Because I shouldn't have died that night. Had I lived he would have asked you to make a choice and we both know what your answer would have been."

They were interrupted by the sound of someone coming in through the front entrance. She instantly recognized his footsteps.

"I told you so," Ron said to her.

"Do me a favor. Ease up on him, okay?"

"No way," Ron protested, "I'm bitter, totally jealous. And it's way too much fun to give up, even for you."

Ron floated over to greet Harry as he entered.

"Back for more?" Ron sneered, "We were just talking about you."

Harry was all business.

"Do you need more time with him?" he asked her.

Ron answered, "We're done, for now."

"I was asking her," he was waiting for her reply, not breaking the icy contact.

"I was asking her," Ron mimicked.

Harry's eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened at Ron's continued mockery.

"We'll come back tomorrow," she replied quickly, right after.

"We'll see how tomorrow goes," Harry knew not to promise anything.

"We'll see how tomorrow goes," Ron repeated after him again. "What do you mean you'll see how tomorrow goes?"

"We're in the middle of an important case," she tried to explain.

"You two are putting me second to some case?! What? Not feeling too guilty anymore?! Should I remind you two what..."

Ron suddenly lost his voice at the same time a flash of orange light hit him. Hermione could not believe her eyes. Ron did deserve it but did Harry just hex him?

She saw Harry put his wand away and they both watched Ron gesticulate and mouth obscenities. The frustration Harry wore was replaced with amused satisfaction.

"He's mad at you," Hermione stated the obvious as she walked closer and stood beside him, wondering what she should do.

"If you'd rather listen to the rest of his vindictive rant..."

Not really. She had enough of that the past year.

“I have to admit his silence is refreshing," she replied, hoping Ron couldn’t hear her as his mouth continued to move soundlessly in objection, "What did you hit him with?"

"Silencio sidhe. Ian mentioned the spell over dinner."

"To quiet down distraught banshees. It’s interesting that it works on ghosts. ‘Sidhe’ means fairy," she said needless facts rapidly, as she usually did when she was nervous.

He laughed and when she realized why, she joined him. Ron furiously demanded what it was they were laughing about.

"You have to show me how to work that spell sometime."

It was an olive branch. So, she had to fake not knowing a spell. He would see through that.

He nodded, "Maybe after we sort things out."

After. Good. Hermione was relieved. She could tell he was relieved too. Leaving was foremost on her mind and she was about to suggest it when Ron got in between them, angrily asking Harry to lift the hex.

Harry reluctantly did so at her request.

Immediately after, Ron pointed his finger at Harry and put his regained voice to good use, "Don't you ever do that again!"

"Or what?" Harry matched Ron’s fury with calm indifference.

"Or nothing," Ron backed down, irritated, "Just don't, okay?"

“Stop being obnoxious, then.”

“Be thankful I can't use a wand,” Ron muttered mostly to himself.

It was then that a poltergeist came into the room and said to Ron, “We’re going in five.”

Ron nodded.

“I have to go,” he said to them as his housemate left.

Harry stopped him, “Wait, I need to ask you a few questions.”

Right. In her haste to talk with Harry, she had forgotten all about the Squib. She and Ron had skirted the topic of his death and she thought surely, Ron would have told her then if he was murdered.

“Go ahead. But I hope you don’t expect me to answer,” Ron was still sore at Harry.

"Do you know a Tom Floyd?" Hermione asked Ron for them.

"Tom Floyd…Tom Floyd…Tom Floyd…nope…not that I recall."

"He’s a tall man with black, greasy hair."

Ron shook his head, "I don’t know him. Why do you ask?"

She let Harry ask the next one, not having the courage to do so.

"How did you die, Ron?"

Once again, Ron's personality shifted, this time to a more amicable and chatty persona.

"Ungainly, if I remember right. Really, falling from a great height to one's death is not very pleasing to the eyes."

That wasn't exactly the answer they were looking for. Harry tried again.

"What’s the last thing that you remember before dying?"

"The team was celebrating the win and we were way up in the air. I remember sitting back on my broomstick, taking in the magnificent view of orange and green fireworks painting the sky, as I listened to the multitude of fans chanting my name…Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!"

Ron was never this descriptive.

"And that was the last thing you remember?" she redirected.

"Yeah. I blacked out and then I was dead."

"Did you notice anyone who wasn't supposed to be there," Harry continued.

"The stadium was packed. Gee, let me think hard…"

It was her turn, "Was someone else up there with you when you fell?"

“The rest of the team, and I suppose there were some fans. I can’t be sure. Why do you want to know?”

“Did someone cause you to fall?”

"Are you suggesting that it wasn't an accident?!" asked a genuinely horrified Ron.

"Was it or wasn't it?"

"Everyone keeps telling me it was an accident! Now you're telling me I was murdered! This is bad!"

"Calm down, Ron. We're not saying you were murdered," Hermione intervened, sharing with Harry the same puzzled look he had on his face, probably wondering as she was, how could Ron not know. The ghost was zooming at a nauseating speed to and fro bouncing off walls like a pinball.

"But it's a big possibility and probably the reason why I can't move on! My murderer is still out there!"

"You may not have a murderer. It could have been just that, an accident," she added, trying to calm Ron down.

"Do you remember anything at all that will help us find out for sure?" Harry asked.

"No, not really."

Another ghostly figure suddenly appeared through the wall behind the fireplace and asked, "Ron, are you coming?"

"Of course, I am. Tell them to wait a sec," he replied and the other imprint dissolved back beyond the fire, "I really have to go."

"Where are you going?"

Hermione was bewildered at the sudden change from panicked possible murder victim to totally apathetic fun loving phantom, and at the decision not to stay.

"We have a pass to go out tonight. Can't miss that."

"What about moving on?! What about finding out how you died?! Priorities Ron!"

"It's clear to me what’s holding me back. You have less than two weeks to find my murderer if I have one, or at least find out how I died. If you do, great. If not, then I might spend eternity as a ghost. I'm sure between you and Harry, you can figure this out in time. I trust you, honey. And those Keeper gloves Mum wants to donate to Hogwarts, my man Pfaff is holding them for me. Harry knows him. Harry can track him down; he lives in Toronto now. Harry, just be sure you wipe those secret Cannon plays from it before handing them to Professor McGonagall."

"Secret plays?" Harry didn't know what he was talking about.

"You know, the ones I had to write down during our rookie year," Ron reminded him then assumed Harry would remember, went on to the next thought, "And if you both can, drop by the courthouses tomorrow afternoon. It'll be nice to have a few non-ghost supporters during the hearing."

In a rush, Ron disappeared through the same wall the other ghost did.

"What hearing?!"

His head popped back and he reminded her, "Remember, this has nothing to do with me so tell me, the voice, to fuck off."

"Weasley! Are you coming?" a voice from beyond called out.

"Keep your knickers on!" he yelled back, then complained to them "For the amount of time we have on our hands, you'd think we'd all have a little more patience. Listen Harry, my best bud, my pal…"

"Yes?"

"About sorting things out with her, there's this question you should ask her to answer honestly no matter what."

Ron was giving Harry advice?

"What are you up to?" she asked Ron, more a warning than a question.

Harry was suspicious as he should be.

Ron looked at her and said to Harry, "Ask her who you are to her. I didn't like her answer much but I'm betting you will."

It immediately dawned on her what that meant. Ron smiled at her and disappeared again. She called out after him.

"Ronald Weasley! You get back here right this instant!"

Ron didn't answer. He was gone.

A/N. How did you find the Ron-Hermione talk? How did you find Ron?

Good for those who knew about Roy Ron.

Ron's death - I know I'm bad. So, was he murdered or wasn't he? Do you think he really doesn't know how he died? If he does, then why is he not telling them?

50. The Thing About Elevators

Chapter 50 - The Thing About Elevators

For a Thursday night, there were quite a few patrons at the Brunswick House on Bloor Street West. The bartender was serving a non-regular, a tall man with pale blond hair, who had come in about half an hour ago. The man was sitting by himself at the end of the bar and was a curiosity because he was a high strung businessman-lawyer type, one who never just stumbled into the place to unwind at three hundred bucks an hour. He didn't appear to be expecting anyone either, although he kept on taking his phone out, as if trying to decide if he would ring someone.

He took the empty glass off the counter and replaced it with what would be the man's third pint of Labatt Blue.

"You should just call her," the experienced barkeep went with his intuition, "End your misery."

"You think so, Terrence?" the man replied after squinting and finding his name on the plate on his chest.

From his accent he wasn't born and raised in Toronto but most of the town was that way.

"I know so," Terrence countered confidently. "Did you have a fight?"

"No," blondie brought the glass up his mouth again, "Right now she's spending time with a childhood friend."

"Boyfriend?"

The man frowned and answered, "They're very close."

"Hmm, one of those. And she didn't tell you about it."

"I didn't expect her to. We just started going out. We're not quite there yet. I figured I should back off."

"But?"

"I keep getting the urge to crash the reunion."

Proud, conflicted, noble. An anomaly. Unlikely to be real or unlikely to last.

"And you think drinking will drown your pride and give you the guts to overstep the boundaries."

"Now that you mention it that seems about right," he laughed, as if finding more meaning to the words than was apparent. "Any advice from the wiser?"

He had the perfect one.

"A bit of ale will give you courage, but too much can make you stupid."

"True," he replied. "And I do think I crossed that line half a pint ago."

At least the guy was honest. Terrence stepped away as he saw the man drink half of what was before him and got on the phone.

"Hi. It's me…is this a bad time?"

"What can I do for you, sir?" he greeted the customer who had just sat a seat away from the man he was just serving.

"Guess what? I'm in Toronto."

"It's been a long day," the newcomer said dryly with a haughty expression. "I need a drink."

"You've come to the right place to fix that."

Terrence smiled as the blond guy laughed. He must be doing well.

"I wish I were but I can't lie. I'm actually in town on business. Disappointed?"

"What's your poison?"

"At this wonderful bar called the Brunswick getting an education from the wisest barkeeper I've ever met…"

He acknowledged the compliment and then redirected his attention to the man with slick black hair.

"I'll have what he's having."

"I was wondering…it's too late tonight and frankly, I'm a bit inebriated to be good company, but can we meet tomorrow?"

He filled a glass with ale and served it.

"Breakfast. Early, really early."

That deserved an a-ok sign. From the corner of his eye Terrence saw the other guy tip his head back and drink the beer bottoms up. He was not kidding about being thirsty.

"No? What about dinner?"

He gave the other man a refill.

"Fine. Lunch it is then. I'll call you in the morning…bye."

Two empty glasses hit the counter almost simultaneously.

"Another round, gentlemen?" Terrence asked.

"Hit me," the man with black hair answered, then stood up and moved right beside the one who just got off the phone. "And get this poor chap another one, too. He looks like he needs it."

The blond man did not reply although the bartender noticed a change in his demeanour. His grey eyes hardened and his posture stiffened. He was staring at the reflection on the mirror that spanned the back wall behind the bar. The tension was unmistakable.

"Lunch? All you could manage was lunch?"

The barkeep got them their refills.

"What are you doing here?"

They knew and didn't like each other.

"Guys, if you have to, take it outside. I don't want trouble," he warned them sternly.

"There won't be any," the blond man reassured him.

Terrence the bartender heard what he wanted to hear and knew when his presence was no longer needed. He stepped away to serve another customer.

XXXXXXXXXX

Pia Russet was in her home in Toronto surprised at the lateness of her Uncle Isaac's visit. He had arrived on short notice to make her aware of certain things he felt were important for someone else in the family to know. He never said it but Pia sensed that this had to do with the fact that her uncle had declared war on Bellatrix Lestrange and he did not expect to live much longer.

"There are two sides to the story," he said to her, knowing fully that she was overwhelmed by the information.

She could not believe her ears when he told her. They had always been led to believe that the Bruin cursed would be involved in distributing the evil potion and that the prophecy about her creating Grandma's Sophie's intended one was propaganda from the pro-potion Bruins. She was hearing for the first time that it was the other way around.

"You're saying Council destroyed evidence about the subsequent prophecies?"

"A long time ago. Most of us thought it best not to take chances. The social upheaval is a certainty; the creation of a better potion is not."

He gave the impression that 'most' did not include him.

"And Granger is a Bruin cursed?"

"Yes."

"She should be dead."

"She isn't and she can help."

"She could be the One and I really don't know which prophecy to believe anymore," she admitted her confusion.

"Right now, the immediate threat is Floyd unleashing the impure potion," Uncle Isaac put things in perspective, "She might not be the One. Would you want innocent blood on your hands?"

She understood. It was a fine line but she still did not like it, especially when he asked that this matter remain clandestine. She had also found out that day that Uncle Isaac, like Uncle Crummy, had chosen not to get anyone else in their families involved in Bruin business. That disappointed her. On the one hand she knew of the enormous burden to keep the cause going but without anti-potion purists, everything they and their families had worked for all this time would be wasted. And this new information about the other prophecy was testing her belief.

"When I die, I leave it at your discretion what to do with the information, knowing the lives of these women depend on your sound judgment."

"What would you have me do?"

She stared at the books her uncle had shown her. He would continue to keep them until he couldn’t. He would find some way to get them to her.

"I want you to keep a close eye on Miss Granger, the others and the books. I don't know how he found out but I suspect Floyd knows she's a Bruin cursed. That's why he's after her. When he comes for her, we have to be ready to take him out."

Pia nodded.

"And when you get the books read hers often. If she is the One, you will know."

"How?"

"You will know," Uncle Isaac reiterated.

"And if she is the One?"

"Your heart will tell you what to do," he repeated his advice from earlier that day.

"You don't want her dead."

When he didn't answer, she had to ask him, "If you knew that she was the One, what would your heart tell you to do?"

Without a pause, her Uncle Isaac replied, "I would tell her everything and hope for the best."

"So, why don't we just tell her right now?" Pia asked.

"There's not much to gain and so much to lose," he answered, "You know how it works. Once a Bruin tells her she will be bound to the curse and she cannot openly discuss potion matters with anyone else but us. We don't want that to happen, at least not yet."

In a way, Pia agreed. There were too many non-Bruins out there who knew about the potion already. To help stop the spread which seemed to be her intention, Granger would need to be able to talk freely about it. And she could only imagine the ramifications of Granger suddenly not cooperating with the Ministry.

Pia had a lot on her mind. Her sister died taking this wicked potion and she had spent years making sure others wouldn't suffer her sister's fate. For the first time she was seriously thinking about the promise that the intended potion could bring, looking past the social effects that a magic enabling substance would.

They were on the brink of the flawed version’s introduction to society and on the side of a losing cause to prevent that from happening. If they stopped Floyd this time, there would be other Floyds to stop in the future, just as there were others in the past. She realized that for as long as the better potion wasn't available, this unsafe inferior one would harm more Squibs. If Granger was indeed the one who would make the potion as it was intended, then she could end all this.

"There's one other matter I'd like you to think about," her uncle said before leaving.

She had been wondering when this would come up.

"Your sister trusted him."

Her sister was blinded by love.

"I don't," she told him straight.

"He might be useful. Just think about it."

Pia didn't have to.

XXXXXXXXXX

Moments before, Harry watched Hermione, mystified by how upset she was with what Ron just said. It did not make sense.

"I think he's gone," he offered after Hermione belted out Ron's full name. "I suppose this is a bad time to ask what he meant."

Whatever it was he wasn't sure if it was good or bad because like Hermione, he did not know what Ron was up to either.

"That wasn't you," she said to him, still angry and frustrated.

He didn't know what she meant. He figured his befuddled expression would be enough cue to make her clarify.

"You weren't Roy," she said to him again.

Huh?

"I was Roy."

"I know you were," she replied impatiently, "But that night. You weren't Roy that night."

Harry didn't want any more misunderstandings between them. What night was she talking about?

"Hermione, you're going to have to be clearer about this."

"You weren't the Roy I saw the night before the Quidditch match."

It was then when he realized why she was mad at Ron. The rambling started.

"Ron was supposed to be at the Cannon facility…I didn't even consider it was him…I didn't think he knew…"

Hermione was pacing and talking to herself. He had to do something.

"Hermione…"

"But how did he find out…you told me you didn't tell him…did he talk with Ginny…but I didn't tell Ginny until much later…did Ginny know all along…"

"Hermione…"

"I was so stupid to think that…I couldn't believe it but when I told you what I said and you said what you did what was I supposed to think…only it wasn't you..."

She was going a bit insane, he thought.

"Hermione!" he grabbed her arm as she passed by him and finally got her attention, "What does it matter?"

She hesitated.

"Had you known it wasn't me who came that night would it have made you feel less guilty?"

Hermione shook her head, admitting it didn't.

"So what does it matter? You can't change the past."

Harry felt her body soften and he gently pulled her into an embrace. She let him. Right away he heard her muffled sobs into his chest. The harsh realities of what they had uncovered tonight had no doubt taken its toll. He could not begin to think what she was going through but there would be time for that later; when she was ready to share it, if she was going to share it. At the moment, this was all she needed.

"Let it go," he whispered as he stroke her hair.

With those words her sobs intensified and he instinctively hugged her tighter. He hoped he wasn't making things worse.

"I'm sorry," she said after some time. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't know what for. Was it for knowing that he was Roy and not telling him? Was it for making him believe it was entirely his fault? Or was it for what they did to Ron? It didn't seem the right time to ask.

"It's okay. We'll talk about it. It'll be fine."

It didn’t really matter anymore, not at that particular moment. He could find out the details at another time. As they stood and embraced within the fire and candle lit room, he could not help but wonder what it was that Ron did and said that night as Roy that upset her. A few minutes later, he felt her pull away. Then she stopped, looked up and met his gaze, opening herself to his scrutiny, allowing him to read her thoughts.

He moved first, and he did so slowly to give her every opportunity to change her mind. His lips touched hers tentatively, asking, inviting. He paused and waited as their warm breaths mingled. Not a moment too soon, she lightly brushed her soft mouth against his in response, leaving no doubt in his mind that it was okay to go ahead. Leaning in with more resolve, he pressed his mouth against hers and they kissed tenderly. As a pleasant warm feeling filled him, he pulled her closer and she tilted her head slightly to deepen their kiss further, her body melting into his as they did.

They kissed and they kissed; slowly, softly, sweetly, intensely. Needing and wanting every second, they savoured the feeling it gave and cherished the meaning that went with it. Needless to say neither wanted it to end but it had to at some point. Hermione pulled back, her breath as short and as shallow, eyes closed as she rested her forehead on his.

"We have to go," it sounded like a plea, her mouth falling naturally on his mouth again, briefly, disengaging with reluctance.

He mumbled something in agreement and kissed her one more time. They were getting extremely hot. Yes, they really had to go.

A phone was ringing in the background. Hers. He wished she would just let it ring and was disappointed when she let go of him. But she needed the break. He needed the break. Like their last tryst at that exam room at St. Mungo's they were hurriedly heading towards what they both wanted. He preferred not to rush so much this time around. And besides, doing this in Ron's house was not kosher.

Harry watched her go over to the couch, dig into her purse and take out her phone.

"Hello."

He began extinguishing all the fires in the room.

"Oh, hi."

A surprise caller she seemed anxious to hear from. It was late. He wondered who might be calling at this hour. Hermione had turned her back and was walking away from him.

"No, it's quite alright…are you following me?"

The question was a jibe. Immediately he guessed Malfoy. An instant surge of ugliness overcame him, inadvertently lighting the fire in the fireplace that he had just put out. She laughed at something the git said and he tried but was unsuccessful in blocking out all thoughts about what that meant. Was she merely amused or was she flirting?

"Where are you?"

Harry got on the phone and called Leo, who he had asked to try and track down Malfoy after talking with Ginny over the phone at Andy's. He spoke softly so Hermione wouldn’t hear while he continued to eavesdrop.

"It's Harry. Did you find him?"

"A wise bartender? That explains poison being offered."

"I'm at his hotel. He checked in early but hasn't come back," the other Auror replied.

"He's at a local pub. There's quite a few along that stretch on Bloor."

"I'm on it. I'll call you back."

He got off the phone and caught her looking at him.

"No, I can't."

She turned away again.

"What about lunch?"

He couldn't help it. He really couldn't help it. She just invited Malfoy to go out with her.

"I'll talk to you then."

She put her phone away and rejoined him.

"Who was that?" he asked, testing.

"Draco," she replied casually as they walked towards the double doors.

"What did he want?"

He was dying to lash out. He tried to hide the jealous rage and outrage at what she just did.

"He's in Toronto. He wants to meet tomorrow."

"I see."

She knew what this inquisition was about. She knew how he felt about her going out with him. Why was she trying to hide the fact that this was a big deal?

"I told him I'd meet him for lunch."

"I heard," he said through gritted teeth.

What did she expect him to say? What did she expect him to do? They had been through so much and they had finally turned the corner, now this. Malfoy had mal-intent; his seeking her out was expected and not the point. Once again, she didn't ask him how he felt about this before deciding and they just had that conversation.

"You may have heard but I don't think you were listening," she said in his same controlled tone. "Why don't you ask me instead of jumping to conclusions?"

"I know what you're going to say. He has nothing to do with us, right?"

That stung her. Harry immediately felt remorse the second all the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"You know we're dating.”

Anyone who reads the prophet knows!

“I was going to Mexico with him.”

How could you even consider doing that?! Ugh!

“I think it’s only fair to tell him in person that I can't see him anymore."

Who cares if you’re unfair to the git? He could use a good dose of injustice!

She bit back, “Unless you’d rather I didn’t do that, string him along so he can be back-up in case you find that this thing between us is not what you thought it would be!”

Hermione blinked off the tears welling in her eyes and walked away. Following in silence, he saw her Disapparate before he could get his foot out of his mouth.

Harry figured she would go back to her hotel. He Disapparated close by and quickly found out he was right. He caught up with her just before she got to the entrance. They walked with faces as long as the night that was just about to end, barely acknowledging the doorman's greeting, both anxious to get back to their rooms.

They crossed the lobby quickly to find the elevators and got on one. He pressed twenty four, stepping back behind her as the doors shut and the car started its ascent. From where he stood, the scene looked very familiar; the only difference being he was not disguised as someone else. The memories from the last time they were this alone in an elevator and the days that followed that first time they crossed the line flooded him, reminding him of what was important.

You should apologize.

His reached forward with his hand and grazed the back of hers lightly, preferring this to telling her through words. She understood and let her fingers fall in place, intertwining them with his.

Ask her the question.

He felt a gentle reassuring squeeze, letting him know that it was forgiven.

What if this is all that she wants?

He took a step forward.

Then it is what it is. Just ask her the question.

The elevator jolted to a halt; he needed time to stand still, to ask her before he lost all reason. She must have not noticed that they were stuck on the 20th floor or knew it was nothing to be concerned about, for she leaned back against him. And like the last time she did that it evoked an almost intolerable sensation that would need addressing right away. Her scent only added to his discomfort. Whatever happened, after tonight, being in a lift with her would never be the same again.

Harry closed his eyes and whispered in her hair, "Who am I to you?"

Hermione turned slowly, the blistering desire on her face matching how he felt. He couldn't breathe until she spoke.

"You were my best friend; the man I've loved for a long time and didn't think would ever love me the same way. A few times I hoped you did and a few times I was sorely disappointed to find out you didn't. I don't normally make a fool out of myself many times over but I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, even if I'm almost sure it won't work out."

"I love you too."

He inched in even closer, gently brushing the back of his hand against her cheek.

"I know that now."

She let the tears fall freely.

"Don't write us off just yet."

He leaned and kissed her softly.

"I wouldn't be here if I did."

She brought her arms up behind his neck and kissed him back, passionately. He responded with equal fervour, the momentum of his action forcing her to backpedal until she was between him and the cold elevator door. His mouth was unforgiving against hers and hers as relentless. Her fingers dug into his hair while his worked her coat to open partly and allow his right hand to slip under her sweater.

The feel of her bare skin was just what he was looking for. He freed her breasts, cupped one of them and caressed it, her lips parting for him when she moaned. Their tongues met halfway and sparred, their bodies clinging and straining against the other, yearning to touch and be touched, as each tried to express and satisfy the deep longing they had.

The heavy breathing and panting was broken by an annoying sound. He swore. His phone was ringing. He fumbled for it in his pants pocket and glanced at the Caller ID. It was Andy.

"Let it ring," she said to him, leaving a trail of kisses from his mouth on her way to his neck, her hands now doing quite a bit of exploring of their own.

He wished he could. Andy would send in troops if he didn't pick up. That would not be good.

"Where are you?" Andy's voice spilled from the receiver as he couldn't put it against his ear, not at the same time Hermione decided to languidly nibble on it.

"Lift…we need…a moment," he answered hopefully not as winded as he felt, his eyes closed to concentrate as Hermione continued to work on his most sensitive parts.

"Elevator sex, how exciting. How much of a moment are we talking about?"

Hermione heard and took the phone.

"He'll call you when he's done...don't wait up."

She flipped it shut, slipped the phone back into his pants front pocket and kept her hand in it, moving it rhythmically, stroking his inner thigh and the other part of him that was right beside it.

Hermione was driving him crazy.

Harry set the elevator back in motion, holding her as the doors opened on the 24th floor. It was pretty late; the corridors would be deserted, hopefully. She didn't seem to care about that. She took her hand out from his pocket and he lifted her so they could continue to kiss. They got to her room quickly, her door opening as they got there and closing behind them after they got through it. The curtains pulled apart allowing moonlight in and they didn't need much more.

With single-mindedness he thought 'BED'. They managed to lose their coats, and shoes on the way, discarded without care on the floor. He set her down on the firm mattress and let her take his sweater off, allowing himself to be pulled down so that he was on top of her. Pressing his body against hers, her hands seared hot as they touched his bare torso, their insatiable mouths finding each other again.

Sensing she wanted to, he rolled them both over. She straddled him, moving herself against him. He groaned. He had been full and ready a long time ago. She must have known how he felt for she undid his pants and got rid of them, giving him a small measure of relief, until she moved slowly against him again.

Harry sat up, took her sweater off and tossed it aside with her already unfastened brassiere. He buried himself deep in the hot steaming flesh before him, unremitting with his mouth, as she gently held his head and directed him exactly where she wanted and when, arching her back to offer more of herself to him, his arms behind embracing her tightly and giving support. Breathless, he looked up and caught a glimpse of her watching him, glassy eyed, with a bittersweet look on her face.

"Are you okay?" he asked unable to read her mind.

"Never better," she answered straight, as if anticipating that the question would come.

She kissed him hard on the mouth again and fell on top of him. They worked on getting the rest of their clothes off and in no time at all, they had fresh areas of nakedness to explore. His fingers ran up and down her inner thigh and gravitated to the mound in between her legs. She gave him more room to manoeuvre and he fondled her wetness slowly and tenderly, working from outside in then back out, taking pleasure at seeing her completely lose herself.

Flesh against flesh, they made love with absolute abandon; their raw desire and extreme longing surpassed only by the love they felt for each other. And as he took her he looked into her brown eyes and knew in his heart this was the kind of intimacy he had been searching for. Slow…deep…intense…he felt her come and knowing that she had, he let go and did the same, speaking her name as he did.

They stayed connected for some time, content, in silence, intermittently kissing. He thoughtlessly caressed her bare back and watched her fall asleep in his arms.

For the first time in a long while, Harry felt right.

51. The Janus Prophecy

Chapter 51 – The Janus Prophecy

It was two a.m. and she had been fast asleep for a good hour. With considerable difficulty, Harry disentangled himself from Hermione's warm and cozy embrace, taking care not to wake her, kissing her hair softly when she momentarily stirred, tucking her in. He dressed and barefoot, crossed the false wall into the adjacent Auror observation room, organizing his thoughts. He had a lot of work to do.

The hotel room had been altered as workspace to give the Aurors the ability to monitor the area and work on the case while they waited for Floyd to take the bait. When they were discussing how to set it up, Andy had to remind him many times that the point was not to prevent Floyd from coming but to make sure they'd have enough time to react and protect Hermione if he did. Wards had been put up to disallow Apparition to or Disapparition from the entire 24th floor and to deny access through the window overlooking Gerrard Street. Within Hermione's room several key objects had been transformed into portkeys to give her easy ways to escape, designed such that the destination was random for each and known only to the team. Although Hermione had already expressed that she would never use them, Andy insisted on it, saying that it would be there if she needed one. Hermione refused to carry one in her purse.

TV screens were stacked and lined up where the bed would have been, hooked up to hotel security cameras and combined with detectors to give them immediate alarms and visuals when magic was used. He wasn't too concerned about Floyd coming here because they had controlled the environment to stack any confrontation in their favour but the real challenge was protecting her when she was out in public.

Harry sat at one of the work desks where he had sent all the materials he had wanted to read and began plugging away. For obvious reasons, he started with the Malfoy file. He read through case upon case that the ferret was involved in starting from when he was a law student. Malfoy's very first one in the Public Defender's office was about four years ago. He won that one for the crook, a con man who had been caught selling non existent Caribbean vacations to unsuspecting buyers.

In fact most of his earlier cases were similar to that; most he won, some he lost. The past two years he was lead counsel for a couple of high profile murder cases with which he had success with. As Harry was not very conversant in Muggle Law he couldn't tell if Malfoy was good or just lucky, although he naturally suspected that Malfoy illegally used magic to gain advantage and that he just had never been caught.

After some time Harry noticed a few repeat customers. He set aside the cases involving his most frequent clients when something struck him. Malfoy had repeatedly requested to be assigned as defense attorney for some guy by the name of Tommy Waterman. The odd thing about Waterman was that he committed crimes out West, in San Francisco. What was a Detroit PD doing on his case?

Waterman started his criminal career as a petty thief and gradually went on to do bigger and nastier things. His rap sheet when Malfoy defended him last two and a half years ago included assault and murder, all of which Malfoy got him out of.

Harry pondered the information for a while. He was sure Malfoy would have had to get another license to practice law in a different state. That was strange because from what he read, Malfoy never involved himself with any other trials out West. The similarity of Waterman's name with Floyd's was a red flag but he could not allow himself to get too excited about the possible connection. It couldn't be that easy, could it?

The Waterman cases were obviously of importance to Malfoy, enough to ask for it. A computer linked to the Ministry database received his query and it took some time for Waterman's information to come up on the screen. The sheer length of his Muggle rap sheet was the reason for that; the words robbery, assault, battery and murder glared back at him repeatedly. Waterman was a Squib.

What he read next convinced him that he was on the right track. Waterman grew up in Flint, Michigan with a brother, Theodore, who also had a California record of less violent crimes. Harry was sure he had found Tom Floyd's and Ted Waxball's real identities; both Watermans were supposedly killed in San Francisco during a Muggle sting operation gone wrong the same time Floyd and Waxball emerged in Toronto from nowhere. They must have moved to California, started their criminal careers there before moving back east with aliases when things got very hot.

He accessed the Bay area mug shots and that confirmed everything. The two men that stared back at him were definitely Floyd and Waxball, only both looked younger and both had blond hair. So Malfoy knew them both, likely from before the Watermans moved out West, when Malfoy first came to the Detroit area with his mother years ago. Maybe they met at school, some juvenile detainment, or a gang. As Harry thought about how they would have met, he remembered something that Floyd boasted to the Mystery Witch sometime ago and what Andy said last night.

"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."

"It's too bad I can't go beyond threats when it comes to family."

He had always wondered why Lestrange let Floyd live, and why, according to the Squib, she couldn't touch them. Thinking how easily Lestrange killed her cousin Sirius, it was difficult to imagine her mellowing down and giving an ass like Floyd reprieve even if they were related, although in the past few years she had been known to tolerate rivals she wouldn't have before.

Of course, he didn't have a copy of the Black family tree and would not be able to get to it from where he was. He thought about how else he could prove that the Watermans and Malfoy were related. The Watermans parents' names were also not available. Harry would tell Andy and Ginny about this at a more reasonable hour but he needed confirmation before discussing Malfoy with Hermione. It was a conversation they had to have but he was not really looking forward to.

The fact that Malfoy was a former attorney to a wanted criminal would be enough reason to bring him in for questioning in the morning but if he was family, they could lean on him harder than if he was not, and they would have more questions for him to keep him in the Ministry past lunch.

Admitting to himself that his reasons were more personal, Harry left a message for Kingsley to send him a list of Lestrange's relatives and last known addresses. Fortunately for the git, Harry had regained some objectivity. As much as he would like to it to be so, being related to Floyd, like being related to Lestrange, did not mean Malfoy was the Potion Master. Being in the vicinity of where both batches of potion were created did not automatically make him the Potion Master either. While his gut said Malfoy was involved, he recognized that all they had on him was circumstantial.

It was probably too much to wish for his Potion Master confession or for him to be stupid enough to get caught fraternizing with Floyd. And there was the matter of motive. If Malfoy was the Potion Master on the brink of running arguably the largest band of Dark wizards and witches in Europe, why was he keeping his day job?

Malfoy or not, the Potion Master and Lestrange chose the Bruin Potion and the Toronto Research Conference for a reason. He called Ginny back last night as Andy chatted with Hermione in the Marsh kitchen and they continued their conversation about Lestrange.

"A couple of years ago, when I was doing research on alleged Hufflepuff prophecies, I came across an obscure one about the emergence of a powerful wizard known as the Grey Warlock, supposedly made to Salazar Slytherin," Ginny wasted no time in explaining. "Scholars call it the Janus Prophecy.”

"Janus, the two faced Roman god of doorways and beginnings," he once dated someone who was into gods and goddesses.

“The exact wording is lost forever but it mentions that a Dark Witch will cause worldwide catastrophic disorder. Beings of light and dark, magical and non-magical, Muggle and non-Muggle, will clash and there will be a period of turmoil. It goes on about how this unrest will be short-lived and will be immediately followed by an absolute utopia of co-existence."

"That sounds like something from a fairy-tale," Harry was already skeptical.

“Don’t preach to the choir. I get what you mean,” Ginny replied, as cynical as Harry, “Anyway, it is said that this Paradise will be engineered by the Grey Warlock, that he will unite light and dark because he is both, walked both and will have support of both. He is being envisioned as someone who is Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin combined for only one so can do something like that, and once he does, he is supposed to become the undisputed leader of both Muggle and Magical Worlds.”

“Beings will always disagree about something, light and dark cannot co-exist in harmony and one man rulers are never good."

She answered back, “Several experts throughout history believe that the Grey Warlock is a wolf in sheep's skin, one who will ultimately reveal his true Dark leanings after he attains full control, summarily eliminate all opposition and have a Dark version of peace.”

"So, you figure Lestrange fancies playing the Dark witch who will cause the chaos?”

“Yes and more,” Ginny replied, “It’s a crazy thought so keep an open mind as I go through it.”

Harry had an inkling where she was going with this and tried hard to do as she asked.

“I’m listening.”

"Floyd meets Helga Braun and stumbles upon the potion recipe, gets a potion maker to brew it, tries to distribute it with Mystery Witch a year later, gets slapped in the hand by Lestrange because we presume she wants to be the one to do it.”

“At that point Lestrange would have already made the Bruin potion connection and the Janus prophecy is well known among practitioners of the Dark Arts. Here's where she gets a bit strange. You’d think being a Muggle hater she’d quash attempts to make magic enabling potion. But instead, she waits a year, gets her potion maker to brew another batch and specifically chooses Toronto during this year’s research conference to show the world. Why did she have to wait a year? Why Toronto and why the research conference? If she wanted chaos, she could have done so last year and on her turf. When we thought that Malfoy could be the Potion Master, it made me wonder about the Janus Prophecy.”

"You think Malfoy is the Grey Warlock."

"I don't think it's Malfoy, but I think Lestrange thinks or wants it to be Malfoy or whoever her Potion Master is. For years she has had no real successor and now she’s retiring with one, coincidentally the same time Malfoy decided to move back to London. They needed the year to prime and prepare him, to get him in place."

"You're saying that Lestrange is not only grooming him to be her successor, she's orchestrating all this potion making to create bedlam so that Malfoy can fulfill the Janus prophecy?" Harry was skeptical, "She's got too much confidence in her nephew's abilities, don't you think?"

"You have to admit Malfoy's the most obvious two faced wizard who is involved in all this. At this time, shouldn't the Potion Master be more forward about who he is? And why else would she agree to produce a magic enabling potion unless it’s to throw the world into Darkness?" Ginny explained, "Malfoy is living the Janus prophecy. Already he has been invited to be on several committees at the Ministry. His political clout is growing in places the Malfoy name has never been mentioned before. He's Pureblood and will also have Squib blessing. He's publicly reformed, has gained a lot of magical being approval through the years both here and abroad. He's riding Hermione's popularity to gain respect from the Muggleborns and if she goes on with him and they get continued press coverage, he'll have it and a lot more support from witches and wizards. But causing the chaos is key. Without the chaos, the Grey Warlock will have nothing to fix and be a hero for."

"But he's not close to being like Salazar Slytherin. And Godric Gryffindor? Forget it," he scoffed, stating the obvious.

"In magical powers, I agree, but how sure are we? He’s been away for years. Have you seen him do magic lately? And I can't imagine the statute of secrecy being broken, I probably won’t ever, but if that ever happens, I personally think Muggles will more likely trust someone not as magically endowed, or at least someone who doesn't appear to be. "

"I'd still say he's delusional if he's forcing himself into being Janus," Harry was still skeptical. “Both him and his deranged Aunt.”

"It doesn’t matter that you and I don’t think he is the Grey Warlock. If he does and Lestrange does, then this is where they’re headed. If he is the Potion Master, he will succeed Lestrange. The Prophecy only says that the period of chaos is short-lived, but what’s brief? One year? Five? Ten? How much time does one need to become more powerful, to change opinions, to gain more trust? Just watch out if he tries to keep his day job and the Potion Master sees it fit to remain nameless and faceless."

"That’s a good point,” he acknowledged. “I’ve been thinking more about Malfoy as Potion Master and some things don’t fit. If he's the Potion Master then why not do this in London? And he's already got Hermione covered so why send Floyd to get her?"

Ginny had no real answers either. "All I can think of is that the Potion Master’s Bruin Potion is not the intended one and maybe he's looking for other potion makers to help to improve it.”

They both knew Hermione would never willingly help and Harry did not like what he was hearing. While the bit about Malfoy being the Grey Warlock seemed almost laughable, Ginny's point about Hermione helping improve the potion was very possible. The conference would be attended by many brilliant potion makers like her. It could be recruitment by coercion and the reason for all the waiting.

"Maybe they're in Toronto for the same reason Helga Braun was there two years ago," Ginny said thoughtfully.

"To find the Bruin granddaughter prophesied to create the better one?"

Hermione?

"Obviously not Hermione,” Ginny quickly answered his mental question, “But maybe they're there to look for Sophie's granddaughter. If he believes he is Janus then he must be looking for ways to be a hero. Creating the safer and better magic enabling Bruin potion is a must once this impure one hits the streets. He must know that the better potion has to be created to fulfill his destiny and that potion can only be created by the One."

Harry made a mental note to get the list of potion makers in attendance and have the team scan for possible Bruins. Still, it all seemed farfetched. He was trying to think like Lestrange and he wondered if Lestrange knew more about the Hufflepuff prophecies than they did.

"Are the two Hufflepuff prophecies related?"

"I don't know. Both were made by Hufflepuff around the same time but they have never been mentioned as part of the other despite the fact that both speak of chaos," she replied. “Although what are the chances she was predicting two separate occurrences?”

“Trelawney saw everyone as being in ‘grave danger’,” he pointed out, remembering their Hogwarts Divination professor, “Maybe ‘chaos’ is Helga’s thing.”

“Trelawney was a fraud 99 per cent of the time,” Ginny retorted.

He agreed, “Have any of Helga’s alleged predictions come true?”

“Nope. Not yet,” Ginny answered, “So maybe we shouldn’t be too worried.”

“If this potion becomes public knowledge at least one will come true. And I am worried about Hermione,” he confessed, “Malfoy got to her. She really thinks he has changed. She’s going to be disappointed and upset at herself once we prove he hasn’t.”

“Look on the bright side then. We could be wrong. Maybe he's genuinely interested in her the same way you are. Maybe she's right about him and he's not the Potion Master."

Although Ginny was being facetious, Harry thought the latter was actually more plausible than Malfoy thinking he was about to fulfill the Janus prophecy as the Grey Warlock. It was until he found the Floyd connection. He quickly browsed through Hermione's suggested Bruin reading and found not much more than what Ginny had already told him. That or maybe he had exceeded his capacity to comprehend and retain information.

His phone rang. Leo had good news. Malfoy was careless and stupid after all. A bartender id’d him having a few beers with Floyd at a pub on Bloor. A search warrant was in the works and once they got clearance, they were going to assemble a team to pick Malfoy up for questioning. He asked Leo to let him know before they started the interrogation. He wanted to be there.

And to think yesterday, he couldn’t catch a break.

He tipped his head back and stretched his neck from one side to the other. He was tired. Gazing across the other room over to her, he noticed that Hermione had moved and was now on her right side. It was almost five. Thinking that he should probably wake her before the next shift came, Harry walked back into the other room and got into bed with her. He lay on his left, watching her sleep as sky light streamed through the open window, thinking about how much he should tell her about Malfoy. She shifted slightly and he brushed off the lock of hair that had fallen on her face.

“Do you always do this?” she asked quietly moments later with her eyes still closed; he had woken her up.

“What?”

“Watch women you sleep with sleep?”

“Not always; just you.”

She smirked and her eyes opened. They looked at each other for a while, at ease and satisfied. Talking about Malfoy was the farthest thing from his mind.

Across from him, feeling no compulsion to move, Hermione looked into his green eyes and was pleased with what she saw. He was happy.

"Good morning," Harry broke their silence.

"Good morning," Hermione replied.

He made a move to kiss her and sensed her pull back.

"You don't like to kiss in the morning?" he asked.

"It's not that. Um...I have morning breath," she admitted, embarrassed as if it was some communicable sexual disease.

He laughed, leaned in and kissed her, licking his lips after, smiling, teasing, "It's pretty bad but I think I can live with it."

She was about to protest but whatever it was she was going to say got drowned by another kiss, this time more tender and sweeter, causing pleasant fluttering sensations deep within her. She could only kiss him back and they lost themselves in the moment. By the time they were done she was on her back and Harry was up on his side, supported by his arm, a leg lightly draped over hers, looking very content as he gazed down.

"How was last night?" he asked.

"How was last night?" she asked him back.

“I asked first,” he pointed out.

She gave in and answered, "Good."

“Good?” he frowned.

“Uh-huh. Good,” she repeated.

"Just 'good'?"

"Sorry, I was a bit preoccupied and you didn’t mention anything about an evaluation. Had I known I had to do one I would have taken notes."

"Really…I would settle for something other than 'good'."

"Like what?"

"Marvelous? Extraordinary? A once in a lifetime experience?"

"You're so modest."

"It's a curse."

"Fine. It was all of those."

It was and more.

"I knew it," he grinned.

"Although I didn't expect it to be so, what’s the word…raunchy."

He laughed and she did, too.

“And how was it for you?”

“Amazing. Simply amazing,” he said to her seriously before adding with a hint of mischief in his eyes, “Now, about your complaint…”

“Who’s complaining? I don’t mind raunchy, once in a while.”

"I can make it up to you."

He lifted the sheets up and peered underneath it, basking her nakedness with his attention. She let him, trying not to squirm away or blush. It was hard not to.

"You're supposed to be working."

"You didn't seem to care about that last night," he accurately pointed out.

Inch by inch, he slowly pulled off and got rid of the covering, then unhurriedly grazed the length of her neck and shoulder with his lips, soft stubble brushing against her skin lightly as he did.

"Isn't somebody coming to take over for you?"

"I most certainly hope not," he worked his way to the other side and nibbled her ear. She felt ‘pretty good’, "I find the concept of sharing you with someone else quite unappealing."

"If someone sees you could get in trouble."

Her hands made their way under his shirt and started languidly stroking firm, hard muscles.

"We have time. We won't need much."

She could tell he was grinning and thoroughly enjoying himself as she was.

"I should take a shower."

He chuckled, "Yes, now we're talking."

"No," she chuckled back, realizing what he was thinking.

"Why not? I can help," he had stopped his ministrations briefly to look at her, his eyes were dancing with naughtiness.

"You're incorrigible."

With one motion he took his shirt off and covered her with his body where the sheets used to, his taut muscles feeling harder against her bare chest than she remembered. They made love again this time gentler than the night before.

"So, this wanting to love me for the rest of your life; when did this come about?" he inquired right after.

They lay in bed, bodies entwined. She nested her back comfortably against his warmth and he cradled her in his arms, holding her from behind.

"Sometime last year, a few days before my wedding day," she answered vaguely as she was distracted by guilt again.

He recognized her unease.

"If you don't want to talk about it…"

"We should," she said with resolve. "We need to."

And talk they did. It seemed easier to do so without looking at each other. She talked and listened with her eyes closed, sensing that he was doing the same, each soothed by their tranquil factual exchange, telling their stories without the charged emotions that made it all more complex and it already was. She told him about the days just before and up until Ron's death and he did the same.

They were as honest as they could be.

He wanted her to understand why he did what he did and admitted that as much as he had regrets about how much he hurt her and Ron, if not for that night as Roy, he would have never realized that it was her who made him feel alive and connected, who made him feel human, who made his existence matter or at least made him feel that way. He would have never found out that she was unhappy and would have never been emboldened to think that he could make her happier.

She wanted him to understand what Ron did to make her feel so guilty, including how she thought Ron killed himself because she had broken up their engagement. She told him about the nightmares and the voices that interrupted whenever she thought about him, how she tried to run from them because she couldn’t deal with them, what she tried to do to keep herself from wanting to be with him and how she failed.

After he heard this, he moved over her and settled on the other side of the bed. She opened her eyes to meet his concerned ones.

"Are you still having them?" he asked about the voices.

“Not since I talked with him last night.”

"You told Ron about it. That's what he meant when he said to ignore him."

"Uh-huh."

“That’s a good sign; that you’re not hearing them anymore.”

She murmured an incoherent agreement, instinctively breaking eye contact for a split second, not yet knowing why she did not want him to know that it was and it wasn’t. The guilt was still there and now it was missing the company of the chastising voice she deserved, making her feel guilty even more. There was no end to this. At that point she realized that it did not matter that Ron had forgiven her, had told her to move on, and had given his blessing to be with the man she loved. She had to find a way to forgive herself.

Harry must have caught it.

“Do you still think he killed himself?”

“No, I don’t.”

She didn’t. It was just odd that knowing that was not much of a relief. It should have been.

"Can I ask you something else about last night?"

"Go ahead."

"When you said you were sorry, what were you sorry about?"

"A few things."

"Like?"

"Shutting you out all that time."

"What else?"

"Making you think I was angry because of what you did."

"Any more?"

She paused and thought about her next answer, making sure he would not misunderstand.

"That you weren't Roy Hunt that night before the Quidditch Finals."

"Why?"

"Because if you were, Ron wouldn't have been hurt as much. He wanted to find out how I felt about Roy and instead found out how I felt about you. I don't think he expected it," she didn't notice the tears that started to stream silently down her face from the same overwhelming feelings that brought them down last night the first time she realized what Ron did. She continued, "He looked at me the day after and asked me what my final decision was. He still wanted to marry me despite that. And I told him I couldn't and that it wasn't because of you."

"I kept telling him what happened between us wasn't about you. I've been telling myself the same thing. In a way it wasn't, because I had decided after Toronto that if I could do that with a stranger then I shouldn't marry him. But really, even if it was not about being with you, it was about you. I went out with Roy because he reminded me of you. I couldn't marry him because I didn't love him anymore. I couldn't marry him because I loved you."

She cried in his arms for some time, her remorse for how Ron found out and how she caused him so much pain fed her guilty conscience even more. It was a relief to be able to talk about it freely with someone else, more so because it was with him. He knew not to say anything, he knew that all she needed was for someone to listen and hold her.

When the sobs finally abated, she let Harry help her shower as he had offered. Warm water sprinkled and cleansed them both, washing away everything except for the emotional stains that she was certain would remain forever.

52. Black Connection

A/N. More clues...don't blink.

Chapter 52 - The Black Connection

A couple of hours ago…

It was 9 am. Dean stepped into the London Auror Office still banged up from his encounters with the two-headed snake and the giant plant. He missed being a Hit Wizard already. On his way to the coffee machine he got flagged by Kingsley and begrudgingly veered off course.

"We got the book back," Kingsley said, closing the Head Auror's office door behind him.

THE book, the one that almost cost him twin snake bites.

"So what's in it?" he stood in front of the desk as Kingsley walked around, pulled it out of the right bottom drawer.

"Meetings, appointments, notes."

Kingsley tossed it to him and he caught the small tome between his hands. How many appointments could a hermit like Snape have? Browsing through its leaves he got his answer quickly. Snape was one busy recluse.

"Last entry was two months ago," Kingsley said.

Dean started reading. Two sets of initials stood out.

"TT and NL?"

"Read the notes carefully. Find us some names to work with."

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry listened to Hermione and didn't know what to say. While he knew she had a lot of guilt surrounding the incident last year, he had no clue she thought Ron killed himself and that she blamed herself for his death. With a better understanding of why she had been the way she was, he held her as she cried. It was just about the only thing he could do. He did not trust his voice either and feared he would make things worse.

They had just finished possibly the longest shower he had had in his life and he was standing behind her in front of the bathroom mirror. He had to ask.

"What can I do to help?"

She looked back at his reflection and replied, "You're already doing it."

He wasn't convinced and she recognized his unease. She turned to face him and reiterated.

"Harry, really, you are."

"You will let me know if there's anything else I can do, right?"

"Of course, I will."

He left her to finish. As he got dressed there was a knock on Hermione's door. He peered through the peephole, recognized the visitor but had to confirm identity.

"Yes?" he asked.

A tray of coffee cups came into view.

"Room fucking service," she answered dryly.

It was Andy alright. He magically unlocked the door and let her in.

"She's in the washroom," Harry answered before Andy could ask and then pointed out to her, "You didn't have to knock."

"I couldn't assume that you were decent," came her quick reply.

Andy walked past the invisible barrier to the other room, motioning him to follow her. Setting the coffee tray down on one of the unused desks, she took a couple of cups from it and handed one to him. Both of them took slow, careful sips as he waited for the questioning he was about to be subjected to.

"So, how was it?" she finally asked.

"Good."

He couldn't help but smile remembering Hermione said the same thing.

"Feeling better?"

"Much."

"Good."

"Thanks. For backing off."

"Glad to be of help. I couldn't stand all that tension anymore. But I must say, when we talked about keeping your head in the job, I didn't imagine you were meaning to do that quite literally," she jested tongue-in-cheek.

He smiled.

"Very funny. How long have you been waiting to say that?"

"All fucking night," she admitted. "You were supposed to call me when you were done."

"I wasn't until you got here and calling you then would have been pointless."

"Smartass," Andy muttered, "You're grinning like an idiot, by the way."

He knew and didn't care. Andy continued with another question as more coffee warmed his stomach.

"How did it go with the Ghost?"

"Better than I expected," he replied, then told her about the case related parts of their meeting, "I think he knows exactly what happened."

"So why not just tell you?"

"Because he's bitter and wants to give me a hard time. He said something about his old keeper gloves, something about hidden plays which I know don't exist," and then he lowered his voice, "I got the feeling that whatever I find in them he doesn't want Hermione to know about."

"Where are they?"

"With Pfaff."

"The Ex-Cannon Beater?"

"He lives in Toronto now. I'll find out when I can see him once we get Hermione to the Ministry."

"Do you still think it was Floyd?"

"More than ever," Harry replied. "When are we moving in on Malfoy?"

Andy hesitated and measured him up. From the looks of it she had bad news.

"Spill it," he said, not wanting to waste time.

"We're having a bit of trouble with the warrants."

"What!?"

"We're getting stonewalled at Legal," Andy said to him, "He must know someone there. They're giving us crap about how we got the information that he was in the pub and about why we're wasting resources following a perfectly law abiding citizen."

Harry tossed his now empty cup in the rubbish bin and swore, "But we act on hunches all the time! This shouldn't be any different!"

"Relax. I know that, Jack knows that. Jack's working on it."

"Malfoy was seen with a wanted criminal! What more does Legal want before they allow us to question him?”

“Something they call ‘due process’. I’m not a fan myself but they’re apparently pretty big on it.”

“Well they can shove that because there's more."

He recanted how he found Floyd's real name while reading the Malfoy file she got from her source in Detroit and the possibility that the two were related. Andy wasted no time, got on the phone and relayed his discovery of the Watermans to Jack. She appeared to be listening to instructions, nodding as she did.

"Okay," she said to him when she hung up, "The story is you got an anonymous tip to look into the Watermans of San Francisco and that's how we got Malfoy's name. We can speculate it was a call from the Bruins. Jack's getting another permit to search and interrogate based on that."

Harry swore again. Their random unofficial investigation into Malfoy was giving them so much grief. He wasn't thinking about lawfulness when he sent Leo off to find him. Any good counsel could make all the information they got from finding Malfoy with Floyd inadmissible so much so that he could actually slither his way out of this on a technicality. Harry would hate it very much for that to happen.

"I hope you haven't told her about Malfoy possibly being the Potion Master."

"I haven't. Why shouldn't I?"

He really did not want to have this conversation with Andy again.

"I would think that was obvious."

"You think she'll tip him off?!"

"She tipped you off about where he was last night."

"She didn't. I overheard..."

"She tipped you off without knowing it,” Andy corrected him, “That's even worse."

While Andy had a point he firmly believed Hermione wouldn't, "I trust her. She'll be careful. She knows what's at stake."

"Is she a good Occlumens? What if he slips her Veritaserum when she's not looking? And I hate to be the one to point this out to you but she was going to Mexico with him, drinking tequilas and dancing all night, remember?” he winced, “You don't really know how close they are. You're assuming too much that just because she slept with you she's going to believe and do whatever you say."

There was truth to that he would never publicly acknowledge. And not that it mattered last night but Hermione never really answered his question about whether or not she had slept with Malfoy.

"The evidence is there. She’ll see it,” he said with certainty, “If Malfoy is the Potion Master then she has to know what's coming so she can protect herself. And the more informed she is the more she can help us."

"Fine. This is your case and your case to blow. Tell her whatever you want, just be prepared that she may see things differently."

Andy broke off their conversation as Hermione came out the bathroom. In his gut he believed telling Hermione everything was the best thing to do. He wasn't too worried that Hermione would give Malfoy information. What Harry was most concerned about was how she would take the news and how he would react to it. What if Hermione continued to refuse to believe that Malfoy was involved in all of this?

It took another twenty minutes before they left her room. On their way down they got on the same lift they came up on last and it brought back memories of the night before. One look and the ride unexpectedly became more intimate between them than what Andy would have wanted to witness. It was regrettably abbreviated as they went from twenty four non-stop to the underground parking garage.

By the time they got to the Ministry it was almost 9am. The House of Magic that occupied the ground floor was just opening up for business to the Muggle public. Starving, he suggested breakfast at the Ministry cafeteria just beside it. Andy begged off and volunteered to start looking for potential Bruins in the conference participant list. She didn’t want to be around when Harry told Hermione about Malfoy but gave him a cautionary look as she left.

They took a booth overlooking busy Queen Street and discussed the case over bacon and eggs. They talked about Ron and Dennis for a bit, the Bruins and when they were almost done eating (purposely timing it that way), he told her about how Ginny thought Lestrange might be in it because of the Janus Prophecy.

Harry wasn’t surprised that Hermione knew about the obscure Hufflepuff prediction or that she guessed where he was going with it.

"Ginny thinks Lestrange believes Draco is the Grey Warlock and you both think Draco is the Potion Master,” she summarized accurately.

Hermione didn’t look upset and that was troubling. He anticipated she would immediately ask for proof and either come to Malfoy’s defense or join him and Ginny on the other side. Hermione never sat on the fence so despite appearances he knew that what he said disturbed her and deduced that she was keeping this from him because she was siding with Malfoy.

He made his disappointment transparent.

“There’s a lot more that you should know about him.”

"It's obviously not good. Maybe you shouldn't tell me."

"I have to."

"Andy disagreed," she guessed correctly.

"She thinks you might compromise the case."

"She's right. I could."

"You need to know so you can protect yourself.”

“I don't want us to argue about Draco.”

Was it really hard for her not to call him by his first name?

“Believe me, neither do I.”

And we wouldn’t if you just saw him for who he is.

“So let’s not.”

“But you’re wrong about him and if arguing about him is what it takes to convince you of it then we’re going to have to!”

Frustration took over civility and he didn’t realize that he had raised his voice until Hermione stopped talking and looked at him, brows raised, lips pursed.

“Just hear me out,” he calmed down enough to ask, to plead, “Please.”

She measured the situation and after a while finally acceded. Harry narrated everything he knew about Malfoy, what Ginny said last night about the Janus prophecy and why they thought he could be the Potion Master. He told her about the Waterman-Floyd-Malfoy connection, his theory about Floyd being related to Lestrange and the ferret and the fact that he was seen having a drink with Floyd at a pub last night. He watched her as she listened and her expression continued to be unreadable.

"We're picking him up for questioning," he paused and waited for her reply. When none came he asked, “What do you think?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. You have to work the case as you see fit and do your job. You can't let me influence that.”

He knew better to leave her answer at that but he wanted to hear her tell him exactly where she stood.

“But what do you think?”

Realizing that he would not let her get off that easily, she replied, “I think you're right to follow the Tommy Waterman lead and ask Draco about his involvement with the suspect.”

“And him being potion master?”

“You need more proof,” came her succinct reply. He did not miss how Hermione was choosing her words very carefully. She continued, “Harry, don't feel obliged that you have to tell me everything about the case particularly if it concerns Draco.”

“You don’t want to know?” he couldn’t believe his ears.

“You found him with Floyd because you heard us on the phone.”

“Is that what you’re sore about?”

“Should I be? Are you telling me you’re purposely using me to get information against him?”

“No, of course not!”

“I thought so. Look, he’s my friend. Just as you found out where he was last night through me he could find out things about your case the same way. I could compromise your investigation. Don’t make me be that person to betray your trust or his.”

“You’re missing the bigger picture! Floyd’s his drinking buddy! He's involved in all this!” he emphatically declared, annoyed he couldn’t get closer both literally and figuratively.

“That's even more reason not to tell me things you don't want him to find out.”

He was about to say something nasty when she got up from her seat and cut him off, resolute, “We're not arguing about him."

She leaned over, gave him a lingering kiss on the mouth and wandered into the House of Magic store, retrieving her now ringing phone from within her purse as she did. He left money on the table and followed her in. Her kiss reassured him and prevented jealousy driven conclusions over her siding with Malfoy but he was still simmering about her stubbornness on the matter. Why couldn’t she see it? He was her friend?! The git was using her!

He could only think that she knew something about Malfoy that made her trust him more than was reasonable. He would ask her about it if not for the fact that the only reason he wanted to know was so he could discredit it. He was almost certain she would take offense if he did that. As he contemplated how to get through to her, he overheard chatter between the cashier and a Muggle customer.

“These just came in yesterday,” the store clerk mentioned. “They’re selling like pancakes. I believe you have the last of it.”

“My daughter’s birthday,” the overweight balding man answered nervously, “The wife said to get some party favours.”

There were two other men with him, one with a bag of merchandise walking towards the exit and the other pretending to browse the contents of the shelves a couple of aisles down, holding a smaller package. On the curb, a white van was idling, driver as antsy as the customer by the check-out counter.

“How old is she?”

“Uh, five, six.”

“There's lots more in the store ...costumes, wands, broomsticks, loot bags...” the clerk offered.

“No, no these pretend potions should be fine.”

Hermione was just getting off the phone. She was closer to the counter and something piqued her interest. He followed her gaze and noticed a familiar wooden box disappearing into a brown paper bag as the clerk packed the purchases.

“That’ll be fifty dollars and seventy one cents.”

He handed her three green bills.

“Keep the change.”

“Wait!” Harry yelled out.

Everyone in the store turned in his direction and the fat man next to the cashier bellowed.

“It’s Potter! Run for it!”

The goon right beside the exit took a couple of steps and promptly Disapparated with the large paper bag as the sound of a van speeding off registered in the background. The fat man tried to run but he tripped on Harry’s Impedimenta spell, falling on his face. There was one more. He scanned quickly and, using the store security mirrors, found him three aisles down, bag still in one hand and reaching into his pocket with the other. Hermione stood a few feet away blocking his escape. Harry aimed his wand at a display of DVDs in front of him.

“Stupefy!”

Pfft! Pfft! Pfft! Crash!

Harry’s hex pierced and bore a hole straight through three units of shelves, hitting the third accomplice hard, sending him, his wand and brown bag flying up and back against a rack of ghoul costumes. Hermione summoned the brown bag he was holding before it hit the floor. The commotion brought the Hit Wizard on duty to the scene. Recognizing Harry right away, he secured the two prisoners and called for back-up.

He got to Hermione just as she opened one of the wooden boxes and it confirmed what he thought. Floyd was smuggling the potion in through the Ministry. That was unusually ingenious of him.

All in all they confiscated fifty phials. Floyd had two less men on his payroll; they were privates who were useless for information. The escapees would have already relayed the bad news to Floyd. Very soon his weakened defense would be fixed and reinforced. The London company that supplied the potions had been in business for less than a year and a quick check in the database showed that it was now closed. All signatories who at one point passed routine inspection were now bogus names.

That crime scene was quickly cleared. Harry took Hermione up a couple of levels to the Department of Mysteries where she was scheduled to help validate the contents of the potion. On the way she expressed how impressed she was by the Stunner he conjured to save her but also how disappointed she was that he did not leave the third guy for her to deal with. He apologized. She was teasing.

After reluctantly leaving her with the Unspeakables, he went straight to his desk and got a hold of Pfaff. The ex-Cannon was in transit but would be able to drop off Ron’s keeper gloves at the Ministry later in the day. Exhaustion suddenly hit him. Sleep would be a good idea. He would need his energies for when he was on again later in the day but there were a few things he was waiting on that would not let his mind rest. Deciding to look into them, he made the short trek down the corridor to the Command Centre and found it bustling with activity. The team was following up several leads and getting preliminary reports from all over.

Harry found a couple of parcels in his name. He opened the one from Ginny first and quickly read the names over. Nothing struck him about it and thought for a moment, knowing he’d have to be discrete about the Bruin names because it wasn’t supposed to exist. He pocketed it, intending to show it to Andy once they were outside the Ministry. It would be useful to compare to the conference participant list.

Kingsley’s package contained the directory of Black relatives he requested. He went down the list and their last known whereabouts.

Waterman…Waterman…Waterman, Oak Park, Michigan…found it!

That bumped his heart rate up a good ten beats.

Sybilla Waterman, deceased

Married to Henry Waterman, deceased

Two sons, Theodore and Thomas, both deceased

The information was at most 75 per cent accurate. He read on and found out that Sybilla was a distant cousin of Bellatrix’s and Narcissa’s, descended from Arcturus Black’s daughter, Callidora. Sybilla apparently moved to the States as a young witch and met her future husband there.

His elation must have been obvious for Andy joined him, looked over his discovery and gave him a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. Andy had more good news. Their query into the trail of magical creature ingredients had come back with initial results and they already had a combination match within a 50 mile radius from Malfoy’s home address of last year.

Their mini-celebration was interrupted by Jack Muller’s entrance into the room.

“Potter! Marsh! Come with me!”

It was understandable that with one day to go before the official start of the research conference and with Floyd still at large, Jack's nerves were quite frayed. They followed him into one of the observation rooms.

“He’s here. Now what?” Jack asked them.

Across the glass window in the adjacent interrogation room, a bedraggled man with pale blond hair sat quietly by himself, his calm exterior incongruent with the annoyance in his grey eyes.

As if sensing his presence, Draco Malfoy looked up and stared icily at him.

53. The House of Order and Disorder

Chapter 53 – The House of Order and Disorder

Hermione furiously watched from an observation room as Bellow and Hush, the Canadian and British Head Unspeakables, worked on taking the potion apart. Having just acquired more magical potion for them to experiment with, the pressure to use as little of it as possible had been lifted and they thought it best to make a sport of things. Decency immediately went out the window and competitive spirit replaced it. It amazed her that they could fit in the now divided Level Five Potion Lab experiment room considering they both had gigantic egos.

The contest rules were simple enough. Each would have the luxury of five phials to burn. The winner would be whoever got to break down the contents first or whoever got the closest to doing it with the least amount of potion. She was not supposed to help other than to express her opinion if she thought what they were proposing to do would necessitate evacuation of the premises. Hermione didn't think either was stupid to do something that would cause that, which begged the question, why did she have to witness the disgraceful act that was about to happen?

Her comment about what a waste of magical being life it was had been ignored. The Ministers okayed it and left to deal with other more important matters. Even Healer Hama, the Headmistress of the Potions Registry, stayed out of it because she knew better, excusing herself from the proceedings too. Of the others in the room with her only Ecruminus Brown thought what they were doing was a bad idea.

Hermione bit her lower lip and kept mum as the contest began, hoping each of them would get what they deserved. A couple of senior techies were present to document everything and so was a Mediwizard, just in case. Off the bat both lost half a phial to the atmosphere and both tried Scarpin's Revelaspell without success. As she had, they reached for the amplifying solution and she stepped away from the window grinning to herself.

She certainly could have made better use of her time. As much as she told Harry she did not want him telling her about the case she was dying to hear progress on it. Thinking about what Harry told her over breakfast, she wondered if her decision to not be as involved was the right thing to do.

An explosion rocked the entire floor and everyone but her cowered from the perceived danger. She peeked in; too bad. They both got up.

What was it that Harry said? That she was missing the 'bigger picture'?

Admittedly, she was too close and maybe she wasn't seeing the forest for the trees, but there was nothing she could do about that. She understood where Harry was coming from. His immediate assumption that Draco was dating her for some nefarious motive was borne from the same distrust that made her and Ginny investigate Draco's past before the Magorian trial. That led to Harry’s discovery that Draco not only represented Waterman in many criminal cases, they were relatives. With Lestrange involved, their suspicion that he was the Potion Master had merit and when he was seen with Waterman last night, any competent Auror, even one without prejudice, would have concluded as Harry did.

While in the past she would have arrived at the same reasoning without second thought, she couldn't anymore, not after spending time with him and not after reading the Healer's notes about what he went through. It was a difficult leap for her to believe that someone like him who had gone through so much and turned his life around could go back to what he had successfully escaped from. Draco was up against prejudice and skepticism, and she always had a soft spot for underdogs.

Hermione was open to the idea that there was a perfectly good explanation why Draco was with Waterman last night. Being related to Waterman was not a crime. In fact, she suspected it was Tommy Waterman who beat him up when he first came to the States, the one he would not tell authorities about. With Waterman's history of violence that made sense.

Boom!

Smoke filled the Brit half of the other room and got immediately sucked out. Hush reappeared and swore under her breath.

Reminding herself why she decided to stay in Toronto, she was torn. She intended to help Harry with the case but the direction where the investigation was going precluded her from effectively doing so. Now that Draco was a prime suspect the fact that she did not think him guilty would make her involvement bring more harm than good. There was great likelihood that she would be obstructive and considering who was running the inquiry that was the last thing she wanted to do. If they were right about Draco and something went amiss, everyone would blame Harry if he got her involved. The integrity of the inquiry would be questioned. She did not want to put Harry in a compromising position.

It was unlikely that Harry would ever agree to that logic much less to the notion of Draco being innocent. He meant well and she appreciated that he wanted to be truthful about everything despite the caution from Andy but it would be pointless to tell him why she thought Draco was clean. Considering herself an expert in arguments, she recognized that this was something they would not come to an agreement about.

The concept that Draco was using her was absurd. She never detected a hint of it when she was with him and she trusted herself to be able to see through something like that. She also dismissed the added danger Harry and Ginny perceived her to be in. Potion Master or not she did not find Draco threatening in any way. But as much as the evidence was circumstantial she was not totally blind to it. She knew it was possible. However, if Draco turned out to be the Potion Master it would be tragic on so many levels. She refused to see it until there wasn't a shadow of a doubt it was him and to her that meant Draco telling her himself.

As odd as it was, although she had only known this new version of Draco for a short period of time, she felt it was the right thing, the decent thing, to give him the benefit of the doubt even if that meant going against the grain and against Harry. Hermione hoped Harry would back off and do his job as he normally would. She really did not want to have the same conversations about Draco she had with Ginny all over again; most definitely not with him.

Hermione glanced over to see how the competition was progressing. Hush was using a replicating spell and her counterpart, Bellow, was preparing shields as she was about to perform what she announced was a novel revealing spell. They weren't getting it.

Ecruminus Brown stood right beside the observation window watching with animation, rooting for the potion openly. Being the anti potion Bruin that he was that was understandable. She walked over thinking how dangerous it was to do what she was about to do but she had to ask one of them about Dennis.

"Are they close?" he inquired.

"No, they aren't."

"Good," he responded, "In my opinion these potions should be destroyed."

Seeing that the Unspeakables were getting set for the next round of attempts, she motioned to the corner farthest from the observation window, and advised, "We should step all the way back."

Brown guffawed and then walked with her to the spot she indicated just as the glass shook from another explosive reaction. They watched silently for a couple of minutes until she could not hold on anymore.

"My research assistant, Dennis Creevey, is missing."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I hope he's alright."

Brown merely nodded. She sensed his growing discomfort.

"Can I be forward?"

"Go ahead."

"Are you a descendant of the Hufflepuff Squib, Sophie Bruin?"

He nervously laughed, "You weren't kidding when you said you were going to be forward."

"Well are you?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I need help to find my Assistant."

"And you think I can? I'm a Squib, a mere figurehead. You are asking the wrong man."

"Who should I ask then?"

There was another discharge. They had not seen Bellow since the last blast. The Mediwizard ran through the entrance that connected into the potions lab and yelled out, "Healer Granger, I need your assistance in here!"

"You should go. Save those foolish witches from themselves," Brown had found a way out of their conversation, "I'll alert the Ministers that the potion confirmation will have to wait."

"Healer Granger, come quick!" the Mediwizard repeated with more urgency but she couldn't leave Brown until she got something more concrete.

"Please. Who should I ask?"

"You shouldn't. I suggest that you let the matter go."

Brown's response was so serious and dismissive it sent a chill up her spine. Hermione knew then that she would never see Dennis again.

XXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, a few floors down, the three Aurors were discussing what to do next.

Andy frowned and said, "He looks like he slept in his clothes and spent the night in a dumpster."

"That's because Mr. Malfoy did sleep in his clothes and was found in a dumpster,” Jack replied as puzzled as Harry was how she came up with that.

"It was a lucky guess," Andy shrugged their baffled expressions off. "No wonder he looks pissed."

"We got to his hotel about half an hour ago and he wasn't there. Bed wasn't slept in, nothing suspicious," their boss recounted, "Then we intercepted a 911 Muggle call. Garbage men found him unconscious and called it in. They got his name from his wallet."

Harry noticed the lack of shackles and guards and exclaimed incredulously, "Why aren’t we arresting him?"

"Legal wants more evidence. He's a suspect; he's being treated like one. If you want him arrested, you have to do some work. Question him and make him crack."

"And his lame story?" Andy asked.

"That he was put there by a man he knew to be dead and he wants to help bring him into custody," Jack answered, slapped the Malfoy file against Harry's chest and then instructed, "Legal should be here in five and he has waived his right to representation. Sort it out while I padlock the House of Magic. Smuggling the potion in right under my nose straight into my house...the gall...when I catch the ass who made me look like one he's going to wish he wasn't born!"

Harry took the folder, opened and read it. After the first page he had enough of the drivel. He looked over to his partner who was staring at their suspect with an inexplicable smile on her face.

"So that's Draco Malfoy," Andy said knowingly, more to herself.

"What is so amusing?" he asked, annoyed.

"I didn't imagine him to be..."

"What?"

"Not repulsive.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Andy could have picked a better way to say what she meant.

She added, “You've always painted him to be hideous."

"Well, he's not my type and don't let appearances fool you. Ferret on the outside, monster on the inside."

"I can see what Hermione sees in him," Andy continued, making him wish she would stop talking, "He does have an air about him, of understated vulnerability and an edge that can go either way. Actually, it's probably the very same thing she sees in you."

"Gee, thanks for pointing that out," he answered with sarcasm.

"Don't mention it. Always happy to enlighten. So, how do you want this?"

"There's just the two of us. Let’s have some fun."

"Are you sure? Jack said Legal would be here in five," Andy warned.

"Don't you think the situation calls for it? Besides, Jack said Legal was on their way, not that we HAD to wait for them."

"True," she agreed with his faulty logic, she was up to having fun too.

"I'll be bad cop."

"A no-brainer. I can't imagine you being good in this one. By the way, it's your turn to make sure we’re documenting."

He replied, handing her the Malfoy file, "Weird. I could have sworn it was yours."

Andy opened the door into the interrogation room and Harry followed her in. She took the seat across from Malfoy, opening the chart on the small square table before her as he stood back, crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the mirror that faced their suspect. Harry looked up and met Malfoy's indifferent stare. He had not seen Malfoy face to face in a long time, the last time was on the tower that night Snape killed Professor Dumbledore. All the memories of the event brought the taste of disgust in his mouth.

"Potter. Why am I not surprised?" Malfoy said to him, his tone smug and contemptuous.

He did not answer and took a moment to divert his anger, to try to channel it into something more productive.

"I'm Auror Marsh."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No."

"Not yet," Harry added.

"Shouldn't someone from Legal be here?" Draco raised the point astutely.

"Sure, we can wait," Harry anticipated it, "I guess you need them to protect your ass. Only proves you have lots to hide."

Malfoy drew out a long breath, his jaw clenched, his eyes angry. Harry's ploy worked as Malfoy waived his right to have the Legal department present in the interest of expediting the process.

"Before we start, would you like anything?" Andy offered.

"Actually, yes. I'd like to go back to my hotel," Malfoy said bitterly, testing their nerves.

"Don't hold your breath. You'll be here all day," Harry retorted.

"Breakfast? A change of clothes?" Andy offered.

"What else do you people want from me?!"

Malfoy’s frustration was boiling over. Harry walked closer to the table, a sense of urgency filling him. This moment was an opportunity and he would loose it once the quill pushing asses showed up.

"Your confession."

"I've done nothing wrong!"

"You're busted, Malfoy."

"What are you talking about? I was abducted!"

“Witnesses say you had a few drinks with him,” Andy read matter-of-factly from the file.

“I did. You don’t say ‘no’ to Tommy Waterman. What your witnesses didn’t see was what happened after he took me outside into the alley. Or maybe someone did see but someone here wants to make me look bad.”

“You were always a pathetic liar.”

“He attacked me...”

"That explains all the injuries you don’t have."

"…and left me in a dumpster to die!"

"If Waterman wanted you dead you'd be dead already,” Harry said, believing that to be the truth. “You had a wand. You knew he was dangerous and on the run. Why didn’t you use it on him?"

"We were in a Muggle public place. I thought I could handle him diplomatically without compromising the Statute of Secrecy and he blindsided me.”

“Right. You expect us to believe this shit?”

“I didn't expect it!"

“You knew his history of violence. Why didn’t you?” Andy redirected.

“Because I’m his lawyer,” Malfoy explained, “I’m the only one he can trust not to sell him out to prosecutors. I didn’t think he would turn on me.”

“Why did he see you?” Andy continued.

“He heard I was in town and fancied a chat.”

“What did you chat about?” she pressed on.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. He has me on an indefinite retainer. It’s privileged information.”

“And he says he wants to help. Book him for obstruction of justice,” Harry was dead serious. “Let’s see how privileged this information really is.”

Andy pulled him back a bit, “He doesn’t have a choice. He has rules to follow.”

“Yeah. Rules that protect criminals from getting what they deserve.”

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Malfoy spoke, his voice grating in his ear unpleasantly.

“Waterman’s guilty! There’s no need for more proof! But there are people like you who take advantage of our flawed system so people like him get off the hook! I’ve had it with this sham!”

Harry shoved the table forcefully off to the side sending the Malfoy file off it and in the air as it crashed against the concrete wall, startling both Andy and Malfoy. He grabbed Malfoy by the collar and forced him to stand up, "What do want from her?!"

"Who in Merlin's name are you talking about?!" Malfoy faked confusion, "Get off me!"

“Give him space, Harry!”

"We both know you’re the same malicious bigot you were and that you’re up to no good. What do you want with Hermione!?"

Malfoy laughed derisively, taunting him, "Is this what this is about? Drumming up bogus charges because she’s going out with me? What’s the matter? Frustrated you can’t convince her I’m the bastard I was at Hogwarts? It must hurt realizing that she believes me more than she believes you. I’m guessing this is payback.”

He felt an infinite number knots tighten within him as Malfoy’s mocking laughter dissolved the restraints he put on his temper.

“That’s enough!” Andy intervened firmly, seriously this time, sensing he wasn’t acting the part anymore.

Harry heard what she said but it barely registered. There was only darkness in the room and Malfoy’s annoying laughter echoing within.

He answered in a low voice, “No, this isn’t payback for using her.”

Loosening his grip on Malfoy’s shirt, Andy relaxed and as soon as she stepped away, Harry’s balled up fist connected with Malfoy’s face. His blond head snapped back complementing the satisfying sound of breaking bone.

“But that one is.”

It was difficult to fully express just how great he felt at that moment. The genuine surprise on Andy’s face was also amusing to watch.

“Harry! Stand back! Now!”

“Screw you, Potter!” Malfoy managed to say while both his hands reflexively held his injured nose.

The git slumped back on his chair as blood trickled down his face. Andy immediately fixed the break and conjured an ice pack to help with the swelling.

She turned 180 degrees away from Malfoy to face him, her shocked expression incongruent with the harsh reprimanding tone of her voice.

“You’ve definitely crossed the line! Let me take it from here!”

That was his cue to exit. He left the room feeling good, certain that he played his role extremely well. Arriving back at the adjacent quarters he turned the recorders back on and was rejoined by Muller.

“Legal is stuck with Floyd’s men,” he informed Harry, then saw Andy in the room with Malfoy, “What the hell is she doing? She’s supposed to wait for them.”

“Malfoy waived all that. He said he’s in a rush to get out of here.”

On cue, Andy repeated that for documentation and Malfoy’s confirmation.

“Did I miss anything?” Jack asked.

“Nope,” he lied, “Andy’s just getting started.”

“Shouldn’t you be in there?”

“Too much bad history.”

Andy had put the strewn parchments of the Malfoy file together in time and thanks to her skill, the damage he caused on Malfoy’s face was not noticeable. She had also successfully convinced Malfoy to accept coffee and a change of clothes.

“There is one more thing,” Harry heard Malfoy say to her.

“What is it?”

“I changed my mind. I’d like to call someone to come and be present for the rest of the inquiry.”

“Your lawyer?”

Malfoy looked up and once again spoke to Harry as if he could sense where Harry was. Harry instantly knew who he meant.

“Not quite.”

“Name and number?”

“Her number was on the phone I lost in the dumpster last night but Potter should be able to find her for me.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Back in London, Dean was on the phone waiting for someone to answer. It was ringing seemingly forever. Acting on information he had taken from Snape’s book, he joined Kingsley and a team of Aurors attempt to take into custody a person of interest for questioning.

“Hullo,” Ginny answered, “Are you okay?”

“Not quite,” he replied, “You won’t believe where I am right now and what I’m seeing.”

He told her.

“No. It can’t be!” she echoed his disbelief.

“It’s all here. Notes, potions ingredients, potions, weird plants. It’s like he has an alter ego, another life. Kingsley is beside himself. The Order meets in the very same house.”

“But why? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him when we find him. He’s not at Hogwarts and he’s not here either.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Ginny answered as if it was something he should have known.

“You know where he is?”

“He’s been planning this trip for months. He’s where he’s been telling everyone he knows he would be.”

Dean guessed no one was really listening. He had the knack of being invisible.

“Neville is in Toronto. He left yesterday.”

54. One Line, Two Sides

A/N. Here's the continuation to Draco's interrogation and a few interesting developments. I know bad 'Neville' would be a shocker. Most don't believe it possible just as almost everyone thinks Draco is guilty. Human nature is amusing.

BTW, do remember that I started this story pre DH.

Chapter 54 – One Line, Two Sides

Andy had rejoined Harry and Jack in the adjacent room to discuss Malfoy's unusual request.

"Absolutely not," Jack's first answer to it was firm, "She's not a lawyer."

"She doesn't have to be," Andy pointed out, knowing the rule book by heart, "If Malfoy's half the attorney I suspect he is he knows this. I don't think we have a leg to stand on to refuse."

Visible annoyed that his Auror was likely right, he asked, "Why do you think he wants her there?"

"I don't know," Andy started a list of guesses, "To muddle things up, gain sympathy, who knows. I can ask him if you want."

Before Jack could answer his phone rang.

"Muller," he took it and walked away from them, out of earshot.

Andy walked over and stood by Harry at the glass window where he was watching Malfoy keenly, trying to figure out the real answer to Jack's last question. It was a travesty that Legilimency and Veritaserum use were prohibited.

"Remind me about today when we play good cop-bad cop again," she spoke her mind about the surprise he gave her minutes ago, "Fuck, Harry. He's a reputable lawyer, not a criminal lightweight like Floyd. He can hurt us in many unimaginable ways. You know I don't mind the pain but the waste of time is the killer."

He didn't care about himself but he put Andy in a tough situation. She had gone through something like that earlier in her career and learned her lesson.

"I lost it."

"I'll say."

"I'm sorry."

"Just don't let it happen again," she replied, then added, "At least not when I'm looking."

"I'll let you know when not to look."

"So, about Malfoy's request," she carried on, "I don't hear you yelling and screaming about how we shouldn't call Hermione in for this."

Andy was perceptive as always.

"Nor are you gung-ho about the idea of her being in there."

“She doesn't want us talking about him or about the case. If we don’t then I can’t convince her that he's the same asshole he was years ago," he explained.

"And her being in there while we ask Malfoy questions can accomplish that?" Andy had misgivings about the plan. "That's a double edged sword, wouldn't you think?"

That was true. Depending on how the interrogation turned out, she could be convinced of something he didn't want her convinced of.

"It's not only that."

"What?"

"Knowing her she has a perfectly good reason for not wanting to talk about the git."

"Do you think she's already privy to information that will prove his guilt?"

"I don't know."

He certainly hoped not.

"Afraid, Pandora?"

"I’m just bracing myself. There's no other way around this. We have to talk about him. I have to open the box."

"Well, I think you're off the hook on that. Malfoy is opening it for you."

A profanity signaled that Jack was off his phone and demanded their attention.

"Who the hell is Neville Longbottom?"

Dread immediately came to his mind.

"What's happened? Is he okay?"

"That depends on what you mean by okay," Jack retorted, "That was Kingsley. He says you know this guy."

"We went to school together. We've been friends for years."

"Well your friend's name came up during the course of investigating the murder of another suspect."

"Dennis Creevey's been murdered?" he asked.

"No. The other one. Severus Snape."

Snape was dead? The furrows on his forehead were deepening by the minute.

"Kingsley sent people to bring Longbottom in for questioning and do a search. No Longbottom but they hit the mother load at his manor in London. They found preserved magical being remains, potion paraphernalia, a couple of full unbreakable phials and evidence he's been communicating with Lestrange."

Harry immediately smelled set-up and a poorly executed one. It was unimaginable that Neville would do something like this and him having a conversation with Lestrange was as remote a possibility as could ever be. The witch altered his childhood and ruined his parents' lives. The idea of Neville working for or with Lestrange was too far out.

"Something's not right," he said more to himself.

"That's what Kingsley deduced. 'Unlikely' he said but procedure has to be followed. And customs confirm he got into Toronto yesterday."

"To attend the conference."

Harry suddenly remembered Neville talking about it the last time he went home a few months ago. If he recalled correctly, Neville hadn't missed a Toronto conference in five years. It was too much of a coincidence.

"Kingsley is on his way and promised details when he gets here. He also wants to assemble a team, do a briefing and send them out to find him," Jack informed them.

"Did he try calling and asking Neville to come in?"

To Harry that seemed like a reasonable first step. After all, this was Neville they were talking about.

"Not sure. I'll ask. I'm meeting him right about now."

If Kingsley was on his way Harry estimated the search would happen within the hour. Neville was a decent guy and his friend. He hoped this Malfoy interrogation would be finished by then because he couldn’t be in two places at once.

As Jack made his way to the door, Andy reminded him.

"What about this shit from the dumpster?"

He waved his hand dismissively, "Give him what he wants and see where he goes with it."

Harry got Hermione on the phone after Jack left and explained the situation to her. He tried to hide his displeasure at how it didn't take a split second for her to decide to come or how she seemed to be at Malfoy's beck and call.

"Holly's escorting her down,” he told Andy, “We should meet them outside."

"We?"

"I'm not sitting this one out."

Andy was shaking her head, "You, him, her in one room? Bad idea."

"Why?"

"If you have to ask that question then it's definitely a bad idea. You look like shit, you're tired, you're cranky, you already punched the guy once, you want to rush this so you can join that search for your friend Longbottom, I can go on and on."

"I promise I'll behave."

"I won't hold my breath."

"You don't have a choice in this."

"I know but the token resistance will make me feel better if we fuck this up," Andy resigned herself to the idea. "Try to focus, will you? We have a story to take apart."

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione looked around the room unsure of what she was doing there. After she stabilized and sent Unspeakable Bellow off to the hospital, she got a phone call from Harry. It was a weird one. He told her what the situation was, what Draco's request entailed and said she could do whatever she wanted.

It wasn't really a question of want. Draco asked her to be his one person; she was not going to say 'no'. Admittedly, it was murky to her what she could do to help, if that was indeed what he had hoped she would do but she really didn't have much of a choice.

She had never felt more out of place in her life. There was Draco sitting beside her, grey eyes warm, welcoming and smiling. Then there was Harry standing behind Andy, leaning against the huge mirror, arms across his chest, irritated and worn out. He didn’t respond when on their way in she suggested surreptitiously that he should get some sleep. Obviously, he was pissed. Just a couple of hours ago she refused to discuss Draco with him; one request from Draco she was attending the questioning. It wasn't always nice to know what he was thinking.

Draco had been happy to see her and she felt the same about seeing him; or maybe his exuberance was just infectious. Hermione had to temper her reaction as Harry was watching her and Draco with hawk-like intensity.

"I'm a civilian," she reminded him when she first sat down, concerned about wasting any opportunity for Draco to defend himself, "Wouldn't you rather have another lawyer here?"

"I can take care of the legal part. I'd rather have someone who I know really cares about me with me," Draco replied.

In one fluid motion Draco had taken her right hand from the table into his, seemingly content to hold on to it until kingdom come. Each unspoken second in the room that ticked away right after was an agonizing eternity. She somehow got the sense that it was some test and was deliberate, to find out what she would do with a disapproving friend looking on. Immediately trashing the thought of abruptly snatching her arm away from him, she brought her other hand onto his, fully intending to rescue the right one covertly, maybe with a teensy-weensy pat and some reassuring words.

"It's going to be fine," she said half heartedly.

Hermione didn't really know if it was going to be but that was what she usually said to patients.

"Thanks for coming," Draco answered back, his other hand swooped swiftly down and settled on top of hers.

She could only smile weakly at him before gazing upon the entanglement of hands and fingers before her, wondering how she got herself into such a complicated bind.

Now what?'

Harry shifted noisily and cleared his throat. She was sure that if looks could kill there would be dead people in that room by now. She didn't have the heart to look up, afraid of what she would see. Help! Someone? Anyone?

Andy came to her rescue.

"That's very sweet but touching between suspect and anyone else in the room is prohibited."

She probably made that rule up but Hermione didn't care. With relief, she gently reclaimed her hands and put them beyond easy reach.

Draco glared at Harry and questioned, "Is that right? I could have sworn one of you did more than touch me earlier."

"I tripped and I apologized," Harry gnarled at him, "Go on with your life already."

"Too bad the recorders malfunctioned at the same time you lost your balance. I would have loved to see a replay of how your fist ended up on my face."

"Touch her one more time and it most definitely will," Harry retorted plainly.

"Harry!" Hermione chastised, still processing what Draco had just accused him of.

"Is that a threat, Potter?"

"No. A warning. The only one you'll get."

As they continued to give each other evil looks, a glint in Draco's eye caught her attention. He wouldn't dare...

"Boys, please! Ease up on the testosterone and grow up a bit," Andy must have caught it too and tried to break the conversation up, "Just no one touch anyone anymore!"

Neither acknowledged Andy.

Harry conjured a swivel armchair beside Andy and motioned her there, sounding very official, "Healer Granger, why don't you sit here? It'll be more comfortable."

Recognizing it was not a good time to be messing with him Hermione did not say a word and was just about to move when Draco protested.

"No. I need her right beside me to confer with about the case. If you're moving her you're going to have to move me too."

Andy threw her arms up in frustration, "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"I really don’t mind where I sit..." she said to them as she remained in an awkward position, midway between standing and sitting.

Harry was adamant about getting her as far away from Draco as possible, "Then you can sit here. He can still confer with you from over there."

"It’s not only about being seated near enough to discuss the case,” Draco pointed out.

“Of course, it wouldn’t be,” came Andy’s snide remark.

Hermione got tired and decided to sit down.

Draco calmly explained to her, "It is important where you sit. They want me isolated. If you're on their side of the room then they'll have mental advantage. They want me to think and to feel that you're not with me."

"She's not with you,” Harry declared for her. “And your point is?"

Draco carried on, "She IS with me because I asked her to be here. She stays on my side of the line!"

"What fucking line? I don't see any line. There is no fucking line."

"Yes there is! It's right there!"

"Where?" Harry challenged and then asked Andy, "Do you see any line?"

"No, I don't see a line but I think he means..."

Harry got the answer he wanted and cut her off, "See. No line."

"Let it go, Harry. It's no big deal," Andy attempted to convince him.

Draco demonstrated for their benefit.

"It's the psychological line that cuts the room in half from there to there. How dense can you be? It's common sense. Line…my side…your side. I invited her; she's on my side."

"Sorry but I don't follow troll logic," Harry's voice was measured which both recognized as a harbinger of something they did not want to happen.

"I think you may have to deal with this," Andy said to Hermione.

"Good idea, Auror Marsh," Harry overheard Andy and he let go of his crankiness, "Let's let Healer Granger decide where she wants to sit."

Great…

"Okay," Draco agreed then asked her, "So which side of the line are you going to be?"

She didn't want to be there in the first place…

"There is no line," Harry sneaked the comment in, unable to let go.

"Enough," she admonished him.

"Yes, there is..."

"I said enough!"

Hermione gave Draco the same stern look. Both finally stopped.

"I don't care if there is or there isn't but there’s no need to bicker like a married couple. Here's the deal. I'll sit here," she took her chair and set it forcefully right on the imaginary line, the line Harry, she suspected, was merely pretending not to see, half of her body on Draco’s side and half on Harry's. She turned to Draco and said, "If you need to confer with me, we'll ask them to step out."

Both were about to say something and she nipped that in the bud.

"If I hear one complaint about where I'm sitting I'll side with the less whiny one."

An uneasy silent truce prevailed.

"Thank you, Switzerland," Andy acknowledged, "I couldn't have picked a better spot myself. We can finally get this going."

"Just a wait a sec,” Hermione interrupted. “I'm sorry but I have to ask.”

She addressed Harry first.

“I know why you want me here…"

Then she turned to Draco.

"But why do you?"

Draco thought for a moment then answered, "I don't know if you know what this inquiry is about but I figured you'd hear about it from someone else. I value your opinion, particularly your opinion of me. I want you to hear this first hand. Stories can be easily spun around and I don’t want to have to defend myself twice.”

Harry coughed out a word that sounded very much like, “Bullshit.”

“You probably don't want be here but I'd really appreciate it if you could stay,” Draco continued, “I hope that's not too much to ask."

She noted a fleeting regret in the apologetic tone of his voice and it tugged at her heartstrings. At the end of the day he was just like everyone else. Draco wanted what most people wanted. Acceptance; a sense of belonging. Many took it for granted but he had to fight tooth and nail for it since that unfortunate night on the tower at Hogwarts.

Satisfied by her unspoken response, Draco shifted his attention to Andy, "So, Auror Marsh. Where would you like to begin?"

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked in a patronizing tone, "Do you need a moment to compose yourself, maybe wipe the crocodile tears away?"

Hermione turned right into Harry's piercing inquiry, not expecting him to be looking at her. He was disappointed and hurt. He saw what she knew would be painful for him to see, the reason she did not want them to get into an argument about Draco. Line or no line, before the evidence was listed down before her, she had developed a sense of loyalty towards Draco Malfoy. Even if she physically sat on neutral ground she was partial to his innocence because she did care about him. She cared about how he felt, she cared about his future, she cared about him as a person, even if it was just as a friend. And Harry would have a hard time accepting that about her.

Harry was the first to break eye contact and it broke a part of her as he did. She was disappointed too. He didn't understand why and probably never would because he did not want to.

"No, I'm fine thanks," Draco replied bluntly.

Andy proceeded, opened the file and paraded before Draco pictures of a blond Tommy Waterman.

"Tell us everything you know about him."

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean listened as background information on Neville was being discussed. This was all surreal. He felt hollow as Kingsley talked about Neville like he was some common criminal and felt bad knowing that it was him who found Neville through Snape’s notes.

The book was revealing. There were pages upon pages of entries which told of how NL and Snape were working on cutting edge plant and potion research. Snape had tapped NL’s herbology knowledge after breaking off ties with another collaborator, TT, months ago. While intricately described by Snape, to the layman that he was, the goal of their study was basically to create a new species of plants from animals. Why they would want to do that was a head-scratcher but even without the book saying so, the green monster he fought with was proof that they had succeeded. It apparently was modeled after a nasty giant octopus.

The role of potions in the experiment was vague and still being investigated by the Unspeakables. But of interest was Snape’s mention of NL expressing an unremitting desire to learn more about potion making and threatening to cease collaboration if Snape did not tutor him to become better at it. NL picked up so many potion making tips from his former Professor that he had become adept so much so that during the latter part of the tests, NL was doing pretty much everything related to potions. Snape nicknamed him the Potion Master and the entries into his journal ended soon after that.

He ran the initials so many times but Snape’s allusion that NL was into Herbology and was a former student narrowed the list to pretty much just Neville. Even with that, Dean was not entirely convinced until he saw what he saw at the Longbottom residence in London. It was pretty hard not to recognize a scaled down replica of Snape’s underground lab and greenhouse. The preserved magical being tissues were the most damning evidence of all.

Neville had a lot of explaining to do.

The booming voice of Kingsley’s Canadian counterpart broke his train of thought. Dean looked around the Briefing Room hoping to see a familiar face but didn’t. He really should have called Harry to warn him about this. Maybe he could have done a better job of influencing Kingsley to keep the Canucks off the initial investigation.

XXXXXXXXXX

At around the same time, just outside Grant PS, three teenagers were animatedly discussing the questions and answers on their just concluded Calculus exam. It was their last test for the week and they were walking towards the nearby mall to hang out the rest of the day.

A horn from a white van honked at them. The window on the passenger’s side of the cab rolled down as the tallest of the three approached it. A man with slick black hair and grey eyes sitting up front addressed the teen in a friendly tone.

“Hey kid, how’s it going?”

“It’s going. Everything okay, Mr. Floyd?”

“Well, I need more volunteers to test the fresh batch of potion I have.”

The blonde boy with spiked hair peered inside and saw a couple of teenagers he knew to be Squibs. One of them, Griffin, a kid in the same year as he was, tried to persuade him.

“Come on, Julius. It’ll be fun.”

Julius waffled, “I don’t know, I mean, I’d like to but I’m kind of grounded…”

“Two hours tops,” Mr. Floyd added, “You’ll be home in no time.”

The side door of the van slid open and he got in, ignoring the disapproving look of his two best friends. The kid did not need convincing. He would do just about anything to have the ability to perform magic.

55. A Knight’s Final Act

Chapter 55 – A Knight’s Final Act

Dean stood back as the Canadian Aurors took point. They had arrived at Neville's hotel five minutes ago. Five men, him included. Kingsley batted for him to be part of the arrest squad to make sure unnecessary force would not be used. Personal attempts to get in touch with Neville had failed but those of them who had known him for years could not imagine him being dangerous.

Reception confirmed that he was in his room; at least he was there to receive delivery of a crate from the Ministry Quarantine about an hour ago. Two were stationed at the window exit as he joined the other two at the door. One of them knocked on it loudly.

"Mr. Longbottom! MLE! Open up!"

They waited. For a second or two there was activity within and then silence.

The Auror knocked a second time.

"Mr. Longbottom!"

Crash!

“Aaagh!”

The sound of breaking glass followed by immediate human cries for help was enough reason to blast their way in. He was thinking the worst; that something had happened to Neville. A single hex from his wand blew the door off its hinges as the three of them filed in and spread out. The blinds were drawn in but his attention was immediately pulled by part of it flapping inwardly from the outside breeze that was coming in through the broken window adjacent to the fire escape. Two very dead bodies were sprawled across the shard sprinkled floor.

Lights from wands filled the room. Another yelp was followed by a heavy thud as a familiar noise was in the air.

Swoosh!

He lost footing and was upside down. Not again.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ginny's piece on Sir Isaac Umber and the Gringott's robbery made the Prophet's headlines but that was old news. What a difference 24 hours made. Bruin potion, Lestrange involved, magical beings murdered, Filch killed, Dennis missing, Snape dead, Neville a suspect. The chaos of her world was starting earlier than everybody else's.

Dean suggested to her to stay away but she always had difficulty taking sound advice. Her biggest lead was Umber and wondered what he was up to. His secretary said he was away on holidays, his return unclear.

Thinking it unlikely that Umber went into hiding, she acted on a hunch and called a contact at International Transport. She was right. Umber was in Toronto.

Harry, Hermione, Malfoy, Neville, Dean…everyone was in Toronto. Ginny was feeling a bit left out. She grabbed her stuff and rapped on the Chief's open door.

"Yeah?" the arse didn't even look up.

"I’ve got a lead on the Bruins. I'm off to Toronto."

XXXXXXXXXX

"That's great news, Crummy!"

Sir Isaac Umber exclaimed after they heard news that with Unspeakable Bellow's Toronto Hospital admission, the potion confirmation was definitely going to be delayed. They were at his Toronto home on Bridle Path just off Post.

"It's about time we caught a break," Ecruminus Brown replied, "They've pushed it back at least a week to allow her to recover completely."

They both looked at her in anticipation. Pia nodded.

"Consider it done."

"Good. That's one less thing we should be concerned about. I have to go but there's another thing," Uncle Crummy said to them, "Healer Granger asked me if I was a Bruin."

"Was she fishing?" she asked.

"No. I think she knows. She's looking for the traitor."

"What did you tell her?" Sir Isaac inquired.

"I told her not to look anymore. I don't think she's going to listen."

After Uncle Crummy said goodbye and left, Sir Isaac said to her, "He's right. Her intense loyalty to her close friends will not let her put this to rest."

"What should we do?"

"She needs to know that he's not worth looking for," he answered her plainly, "Make contact with her again. Tell her as much of the truth about Creevey as you can."

"She's going to be livid at us for killing him."

"She will find out anyway. Better she hears it from us than from someone else. Just show her proof of the money transfers from Lestrange but don't tell her why we think Lestrange hired a spy to watch her."

Pia understood that he meant it was not time to tell her she was a Bruin.

Magical alarms suddenly screamed all around her. Before she knew it she was lying motionless on the floor petrified by a total body binding curse.

"I'm sorry, but it's time," Sir Isaac said to her solemnly with determination in his eyes, "Follow your heart. See this through."

Hers would have communicated shock and confusion. Why did he hex her? And what did he mean that it was time?

She saw him open a magically concealed compartment adjacent to his study and felt herself being levitated into it. He slipped off his Elder Bruin pendant and left it inside the palm of her hand, shutting the door as her heart raced a million miles a minute. It was completely dark save for the sliver of light that came from where the cold stone ground met the hidden door. Seconds passed, the sirens died down, and she could now hear voices filtering in from the other room.

"Bellatrix Black," Sir Isaac greeted his visitor, "This is a pleasant surprise."

The chilly response from the Death Eater leader sent shivers up her spine, "Pleasant? Let me rectify that. Crucio!"

Her body would have flinched if it could move. She wanted it to do more than just that. She wanted to help. Lestrange was going to kill him.

Pia heard her Uncle's sharp gasp of air.

"Bella, is that how you treat old Hogwarts classmates?”

"Crucio!"

Warm tears spilled down her face.

"Fellow prefects?"

"Crucio!"

Please, stop!

"Your…fi…first kiss?" his voice was weak but by his tone she could imagine that he was smiling.

"Crucio!"

Lestrange laughed madly.

"Thanks for the brief trek down memory lane. I didn't think you would remember."

"Hah! How could I forget? It was…to my recollection…the worst in my entire life I've ever…"

"Crucio!"

No…

"Is that all you can take, Isaac? Tsk…I thought you were tougher."

"Just…pacing myself."

Why was he taunting her?

"Help him get up," she commanded to someone.

"Thanks. I'm…quite flattered you did not come on your own," Sir Isaac added then addressed one of his captors, "Are you the Potion Master? I must say, I've been dying…dying to meet you."

"No, he's not," another male voice answered. "The Master has other more important things to do today."

"Yeah," agreed another, "The Ministry…"

"Enough!"

Pia heard a curse fly across the room followed by a groan.

"So, Bella," Sir Isaac continued, "To what do I owe this personal visit?"

"I want to know how you convinced the goblins I robbed them and um…compliment you for the feat," she replied causing her minions to snigger.

"I just told them the truth."

"The truth?"

"The truth that you robbed them and framed me because I was a Bruin."

Lestrange laughed again and was joined by the others in the room.

"You told them you were a Bruin?!" she was rightfully surprised.

"It was the only way I could convince them I was sincere. The goblins have had previous bad experiences with us," Sir Isaac put it lightly, "They know us and I think I scared the pants off some of them."

"Ingenious but your lie about me is causing some inconvenience."

Lie? She thought for a moment just as Sir Isaac did not answer immediately. He laughed as if just suddenly realizing something amusing.

"What's so funny?" Lestrange asked annoyed.

"You didn't rob Gringott's," he continued to laugh.

"Why would I? I don't need galleons and the goblins have been allies for years," Lestrange answered, "What gave you the idea it was me?"

"You knew we were going to try and stop you. You were the only one with reason to get rid of me."

"If I wanted to get rid of you I would have made this visit sooner."

That's what they thought.

"You must know then that the person who robbed Gringotts is playing us to get rid of the other."

"Once I find out who's responsible he or she will be dealt with accordingly."

"You should look no further than Floyd."

"Floyd is an imbecile. He would not have the brains to think of this. Maybe it's a traitor from your camp."

"Maybe it's someone from both. It obviously has something to do with the potion. Stop this nonsense Bella. You don't want this either."

"As much as I would like for magic to stay with the magical, this has to happen. The Janus Prophecy says so."

"You think the Grey Warlock is one of yours?"

"I know he is. Once you go black you never go back. The Hufflepuff prophecies are about to come true."

"You're putting much stock on a yet unproven Seer."

"Believe me, it makes much more sense when you've read them all."

"You've seen them."

"It was amongst Healer Braun's documents. Sophie's daughter Helga knew what her sisters didn't or maybe did but refused to believe. She got it right. How do you think I found out about Granger? Granger is the One."

"She'll choose what's right," Sir Isaac said confidently.

"We won't give her a choice."

"And Creevey…"

"…had served his purpose. Thank you for doing him in and sparing me the mundane task,” Lestrange said, "Like this one is. Someone kill him for me…"

"Wait…"

"Don't listen to him!"

"I need to tell you something…"

"Kill him now!"

"It's supposed to be a secret…"

"What's the matter with you? Did you hear me?! What have you done to them?"

"I wasn't as proud of it before but I'm proud of it now…"

"Avada…"

"Expelliarmus!"

She heard something clank.

Lestrange sounded surprised, "How did you…"

The tears ran out a while back. She was coming to accept what her uncle had planned to do all along. It was simple really and all he had to do was get Lestrange to come to him to tell her a story. Pia Russet closed her eyes and listened to Sir Isaac Umber's voice with utmost respect and admiration.

"Sophie Bruin, my great grandmother, created a magic enabling potion."

Then there was complete stillness.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry stood back and let Malfoy talk, skeptic about how much of what he would say was true. Realizing how petty their previous exchange was, he could not help but express his ire on the one person in the room he absolutely did not have qualms venting on.

"I met Tommy Waterman when Mother and I moved to Michigan. He's a distant relative, a cousin," Malfoy told them what they already knew, "His mother, Aunt Sybilla, helped my Mom adjust."

"He was an asshole even then. Troubled youth, the bad seed, and all those clichés. A couple of years after we got there, he and his brother, Teddy, moved to California. They chose interesting careers in criminal work and I wouldn't hear from them or see them again until they needed legal representation."

"You must have had deep rooted interests in their welfare to accept them as clients," Andy pointed out.

"I did it for Aunt Sybilla. She couldn't stand the thought of them going to prison. I promised her at her deathbed I would do everything I legally could to prevent that."

"Hmm, touching," Andy said without emotion. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"Tommy Waterman?"

"Waterman, Floyd, however else you know him," Harry could not help but butt in.

"Last night at a pub on Bloor."

Andy gave him a quick look to tell him she was taking over the next set of questions.

"You knew he was wanted for murdering a beat cop. You didn't alert authorities."

"He's a very dangerous man. I didn't want to give him reason to kill me."

"Did you have your wand with you?"

"Yes I did."

"Why didn't you use it on him?"

"It's been a while since I've used it in combat. I wouldn't trust myself to Stun anyone."

"What did he want?"

"I told you already, I can't tell you that."

"His Waterman identity could have been hidden forever. Why reveal himself to you? Why blow that? Why now?"

"Telling you would be in violation of my oath..."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Harry interrupted, "Why are you here in Toronto?"

"Work."

"Can you tell us about that?"

"I can’t. It would be a violation..."

"Right. You can't answer questions pertaining to work," Andy summarized. "I guess that leaves us with no choice but to get a bit more personal. Harry?"

“You are related to the Death Eater, Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“Yes.”

“For the record, how are you related to her?”

“She’s my mother’s sister.”

"Do you meet with her regularly?"

"Considering she's an outlaw, I'm not supposed to."

"Just answer the question, Malfoy. Do you?"

"No. Not regularly."

"How often would you say?"

"Once, every two or three weeks."

"Who initiates contact?"

"She does."

"Every time?"

"Every time."

“Have you ever tried turning her in?”

“She makes sure I never have the opportunity to do that. She’s not stupid. Why do you think she remains at large?”

"When was the last time you saw Lestrange?"

"Yesterday. She came to see me at my London office."

"What did she want? Don't tell me. You can't tell us either because she has you on retainer too."

"It's a family matter."

"I love hearing about family secrets. I'm curious what conversation around the dinner table is like. Does Aunt Bella give cousin Tom pointers on how to kill?"

"I can't choose my family."

"But you can choose not to be involved with them."

"I don't go to them. They come to me. Tell me how I'm supposed to prevent that."

"What did you talk about?"

He hesitated, giving Hermione a quick glance. All throughout, Hermione silently watched and listened. Harry got the sense that all the answers were actually meant for her.

"It's embarrassing."

"We promise not to laugh."

"She retiring and wants me to give her grandchildren to play with."

Harry laughed, the thought of Lestrange bouncing a baby on her lap both ridiculous and scary.

"Seriously, now."

"Seriously. She wants someone to carry on the Black tradition."

"Oh yeah, one wouldn’t want bigoted Purebloods to die out. Have you ever discussed the Death Eater organization with her?"

"A couple of times."

"What about?"

"That she's retiring and she wants to leave the organization in the hands of someone in the family, someone she can trust."

"She wants to hand it over to you."

"I can’t deny that she asked. She wanted to but she knows I'm not interested. I'm done with that kind of life."

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"No."

"We're you ever one?"

"Yes."

"Tell us. How does one cancel Death Eater membership?"

"I'm not sure. I'll remember to ask Aunt Bella the next time I see her."

"You get the Mark when you first come in. Did yours come off now that you claim you're not one of them?"

"No. Once marked you’re marked forever."

"Once a Death Eater always a Death Eater," Harry paraphrased, "You are aware every time she summons through the mark."

"Yes."

“Have you tried enlisting the assistance of the Auror office to track her whereabouts when you get the summons?”

“As a matter of fact yes. You can ask Shacklebolt how unsuccessful it was and how many men he lost trying.”

He backed down a bit, surprised about that piece of information. He would need to confirm. Andy jumped in.

“Has Lestrange ever mentioned the Potion Master?”

“She told me that he is her successor.”

“Are you the Potion Master?”

"No, of course not."

"Have you ever met the Potion Master?"

"I know of only one Potion Master."

"Yes?"

"Severus Snape."

"You're saying that Lestrange's successor is Severus Snape."

"I'm saying that Severus Snape is the only Potion Master I know. I doubt that it's the Professor. Anyone can claim to be anyone in that business."

There was a rap on the door. Jack peered in and motioned both Andy and Harry to come. He had a very pissed off expression that neither said anything as they followed him into the hallway.

“So?” he asked them.

“We've gotten nowhere with him," Andy admitted. “If he’s lying, he’s way too glib to get caught with one.”

Harry was not giving up.

"He’s lying, all right. I know that for a fact. This whole show was obviously for her. He’s hiding stuff about Waterman. We can lean on him some more, force him talk about why Waterman saw him last night, and book him for obstruction if he doesn’t."

"We’ve been through a few of these before. The Legal department will not let you make him violate his Muggle lawyer oath,” Jack seemed sure of it, “It constitutes a potential threat to the Statute of Secrecy."

"This whole case is a definite threat to the Statute of Secrecy. We have to find out what Waterman is up to or it won’t exist."

"Good point but I want Andy to make the pitch,” he pointed a finger at him, “Legal wants your head for a lot of other things they'll be less inclined to say yes to you. If Legal goes for it then lean on him. If Malfoy still refuses to talk then arrest him and put him in the joint until he does."

"That should give us time. I'm telling you he's lying. He's the Potion Master."

"Maybe he isn't."

"What do you mean?"

Jack led them back into the observation booth where several other Aurors were gathered. He directed their attention to the room on the opposite side of where they had Malfoy.

"He walked in on his own about five minutes ago, surrendered his wand and asked to be arrested. He says he's the Potion Master."

Seated calmly in the centre of the room with both hands magically bound in front of him was Neville Longbottom.

A/N. His interview is up next.

I've made things a bit simpler by killing off Lestrange. Unfortunately, Sir Isaac had to die with her.

56. An Affirmation of Guilt

Chapter 56 – An Affirmation of Guilt

Hermione watched as both Harry and Andy left the interrogation room in silence. From the troubled expression on Jack Muller's face she sensed something unexpected had just happened.

"Listen," Draco got her attention, "This whole thing has wreaked a mini disaster on my schedule. I may have to take a rain check on that lunch we talked about."

"That should be the least of your worries," Hermione was more concerned for him than he was; "Their accusations are serious."

"They're wrong so I'm not worried. It's just a bloody inconvenience."

"I heard they found you in a trash bin. Are you okay?"

"Ego's a bit bruised and suit's a write off but physically I'm fine," he brushed the incident off and then added, "About Aunt Bella. There was more to her visit that I need to tell you about."

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about her here."

She really did not want him to get into any more trouble than he already was.

"I have nothing to hide," he replied. "I don't know when we can talk again and it's a matter of some urgency."

Hermione couldn't argue with him, not with the grave look he wore.

"What is it?"

He sighed and told her, "I don't know how else to tell you this. It's about Creevey."

Her heart froze for a second.

"What about Dennis?"

"You should fire him and stay away from him as far as you possibly can."

Talk about unsolicited advice...

"Why?"

"I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that," he joked but she couldn't find it funny, "Let me ask you something. Didn't you ever wonder why despite the long awful history between us you found my company tolerable?"

"What do you mean?"

She knew exactly what he meant but needed time to think of a good way to answer it. She'd be lying if she said the question never crossed her mind.

"Weasley hates me and let's not even talk about Potter. I would too if I were you."

"It wasn't easy. Everybody makes mistakes but I think we all deserve at least a second chance," she immediately thought about what she did to Ron and hoped she would listen to herself more. "What are you getting at?"

"Aunt Bella hired Creevey to poison you."

"Dennis?"

"Those smoothies he prepares for you were spiked with some undetectable love potion. I looked it up. Dennis has been in trouble with the law before. He has embedded some permanence charm to it that gets activated when...well...it's just good we haven't, you know...," his voice trailed off and she thought that needed no clarification.

She was astounded by his revelation.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I wish I wasn't but I can't think of why she would lie about that. And she has actually given her blessing for me to continue dating you."

Lestrange, unbothered by a Muggle-born going out with her Pureblood nephew?

"That's very hard to believe," she said to him.

"Disturbing, I agree."

"But why would she want us together?"

"I don't know."

"She must be up to something."

"Probably, or hoping that I'd wonder the same thing I would stop seeing you just to spite her."

There was indeed something distasteful about being given Lestrange's stamp of approval. It wasn't so much of a blessing but a curse. Draco continued.

"I'm not going to lie. I wish I never heard about the Creevey potion at all. It was kind of nice knowing you really thought I've changed."

"No, don't do that," Hermione could not let him conclude that immediately, "Even if what she says is true, that doesn't necessarily mean I never believed you."

"That's just the potion talking," he said to her, upsetting her more. "Look, I'm not saying you don't know yourself. I'm just saying it's okay if you regain that repulsion you had for me. I understand. It's human nature to look at someone's past and expect the same behaviour from them, a lot of times for good reason."

"Mia didn't," she let go of the first thought that came to mind.

"Mia wasn't at Hogwarts. She wasn't on the tower like Potter was and I never called her Mudblood or some other disparaging name. She never knew the old me."

He had a good point.

"So, this thing you have with Potter, how long has it been going on?

Answering that question directly would have led to one very complicated explanation.

"Thing?"

"I'm not blind,” he was jesting, “You've always liked Potter more than anyone else, even during Hogwarts."

"That obvious, huh."

"Uh-huh. It kind of surprised me when I heard you settled in with Weasley. I guess Potter finally got his head out of his ass to see it. I'm happy for you. I'm sure beyond his self absorption he cares about you a lot."

Utterly surprised at what she was hearing, she opened her mouth to say something but couldn't come up with anything to say. She had intended to tell him that she was seeing someone else and here he was telling her that he saw it coming.

He saved her from her struggles, "It's okay, I get it. Isn't it great you don't have to tell me you can't see me anymore?"

"Honestly, yes."

He chuckled and so did she.

"Well if things don't work out between you two and if you continue to be in this forgiving state potion free, call me. I'd love to hear how horribly he treated you and how being with him does not live up to all the hype."

It was amusing to her how similar Draco and Harry were in that regard; the two men would never be friends. Hermione was relieved that Draco was alright with it but felt bad for him at the same time.

"I hope you won't be a stranger," she said earnestly.

Draco remained skeptical.

“Tell me again in two weeks then I'll be convinced,” he answered back, “Now, about my little family problem. I think the next time she pushes for grandkids I’ll push back.”

“What? Demand she give you cousins?”

"Ugh! Thanks for putting a disgusting image in my mind. I was actually thinking of a more civilized approach.”

“Civilized? With her?”

“I’ll tell her exactly what I think. That I'd sooner castrate myself than have her involved in raising any child of mine."

He wasn't kidding about it either and she could not help but laugh at how serious he was. A smile crept up in his eyes.

"Well, what would you do if you were in my shoes?"

"I honestly don't know," she shrugged, "Maybe you should get one of those virtual babies."

"Those ones that do all the gross stuff?"

Grinning at his average single male reaction, she nodded.

"I think she'll know it's a fake."

"Of course she'll know it's a fake," she replied, "But see how she does with it for a day, Muggle rules apply and if she hasn't killed it by the end of the visit with Gran, tell her you'd seriously think about it."

"It wouldn't stand a chance."

"Exactly."

They slipped into a conversation about their favorite memories growing up. She brushed aside thoughts about potions and smoothies, finding it hard to believe that this friendship of sorts was all about that.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry couldn't believe his eyes or his ears. He had known this man for a very long time. This wasn't possible.

"He's been asking for you."

He made one step towards the door when Jack held his arm.

"Kingsley and I thought it best not to give him what he wants, at least not right away."

"We've been friends forever. There is a logical explanation for this."

"If there are we'll get to the bottom of it," Jack reassured him.

The door to Neville's right opened and in came Kingsley followed by a rookie Brit Auror he knew only by face.

"Kingsley!" Neville said surprised, "What are you doing here? I was expecting Harry."

"Harry's in the middle of something else right now. We're having difficulties getting him in here."

"I understand. He's a busy man," Neville nodded. "My cousin Tommy has been having too much fun with him."

"Your cousin Tommy?"

"Tommy Waterman."

"Tommy Waterman is your cousin?"

"His Mum was a Longbottom," Neville explained, "I've been trying to tell Tommy not to overdo it but he and Harry got off on the wrong foot. Tommy doesn't listen very well."

"Neville, before we continue, I'd like to remind you of your rights."

"They were read to me earlier. I know all about them. I don't want any lawyers in here. They make things unnecessarily complicated. I just want to confess."

"We sent Dean and a few men over to your hotel to bring you in," Kingsley said, worried. "We can't seem to get a hold of any of them."

"Uh-oh…"

"What is it?"

"Matilda, my plant. She doesn't like strangers," Neville explained, "You might want to send someone with half a dozen white mice; she loves those. Then maybe play a little Britney Speers music to calm her down. Just don't hurt her."

Kingsley nodded and glanced over across the two way mirror, "We'll try not to."

"Hillman!" Jack belted out, "Get on this. Grab ten HWs and tell them to expect a giant plant, the one Shacklebolt briefed us about."

"I like Dean. I hope he's okay," they heard Neville say.

Harry did too. He watched Neville closely and felt a disconnect between his affect and the words that just came out from his mouth. Underneath the familiar caring voice was a coldness and lack of compassion.

"Okay. Where do you want to start?"

"Hogwarts, of course. That's where it all began. Did you know I almost didn't make it to Hogwarts? My entire family thought I was a Squib."

Neville talked about his struggles as a student, how he was the worst in his class and how had it not been for Hermione helping him through first year he would have given up and flunked out. He spoke about how Harry gave him the confidence to believe in himself and that he owed Harry for that.

"I began teaching Herbology after Professor Sprouts retired. I love Herbology. I love plants and plants love me. It still continues to amaze me how they're so useful for many things. Having worked at a magical plant supplier for the St. Mungo Potions Lab prior to accepting the job offer from Professor McGonagall, Hermione and I would talk a lot about plant healing properties and how she used them for cures. Simply fascinating. Plants in potions became a hobby of mine," Neville laughed at himself, "Ironic really, considering I was a terrible Potions student."

Harry vaguely remembered talking with Neville about potion making a long time ago. He asked Harry for suggestions on how to be good at it. It was one of those forgettable party filler conversations, forgettable until something like this happens. He looked around him and noticed how everyone was hanging on Neville's every word as his friend started talking about the Watermans. No one would ever think of this as forgettable.

"I first met Teddy and Tommy Waterman when we were kids. I must have been seven or eight. Aunt Sybilla's father, my great uncle Harfang, had died and the Watermans came to London for the funeral. Gran insisted on them staying at the Longbottom manor."

"Then two years ago while I was here during one of these research conferences, I got a surprise call from Teddy," Neville continued, shifting slightly in his seat, "He heard from a relative that I was in town. He mentioned coming across a recipe for a magic enabling potion and asked me if I knew anyone in the family who could brew it. Teddy was a great pitchman. He talked about how they all had suffered as Squibs, how the potion could change all that for those less magically endowed and how much of an honor it would bring to the family who discovered it."

"I could not resist. Despite it's illegality I volunteered. They found me ingredients, thought it best not to ask where they came from. Teddy tried to make me not feel bad by telling me they were tissues from abandoned dead magical beings from the state morgue in Michigan, that they were contributing to science. I worked on it during the Hogwarts summer break and in two months it was done."

"But it wasn't very good. It made almost everyone sick. There were quite a few instantaneous deaths in test animals and I told them we shouldn't use it. Tommy would not listen. He had been using a lot and said there was nothing wrong with it. I got scared about what I had done I just ran away as far from them as I could, hoping that when they ran out of potion, the idea would fizzle out too."

Neville paused just as someone had come into the observation room reporting to Jack that the four Canadian Aurors they sent to Neville's hotel were dead and the Brit Auror was injured. Dean was taken to the Toronto Hospital. The collective tension in the room shot up through the roof. He understood the murderous look Andy and the rest of the people around him wore. She was shaking from extreme anger that she walked away from him. Unimaginable as it was, he too lost all sympathy for Neville and his part in all of this. He hoped Dean would be okay.

"I really wish Harry were here," Neville mentioned him again.

"He should be here soon," Kingsley lied, "So, where does Lestrange fit into all of this?"

"Lestrange found out about the potion's existence last year. She heard about what had happened in the Ghoul, how Teddy and Tommy tried to give some of the remaining potion from the small batch I made to Squibs. She was livid, rattling on about the Hufflepuff Prophecy, how it had to be her, that it was her destiny. She was crazy."

"Was that why she had everyone killed?"

"Yes. Except for Teddy and Tommy, I guess because they were family. Teddy took his own life in prison, but you already know that."

"What about the witch who worked with Tommy?"

"She supported Teddy and Tommy financially. I didn’t know her but I heard she died from the potion."

"So, what happened next?"

"Tommy told Lestrange I brewed the potion and, not wanting her enemies to find out, she came to me to brew the potion again. I refused. She tortured me and told me she would go to St.Mungo's and gladly do my parents again," Neville's face hardened, "I decided that it was time to exact revenge."

"Why didn't you ask for our help?"

"Aurors have been after her for years. I didn’t have reason to think you could catch her. I couldn't take that chance," he explained, "I was able to convince her that the potion wasn't good enough. That it would cause too many deaths amongst Purebloods. I reminded her that Purebloods were a dying breed and that the potion would wipe us all out."

"She bought it."

"It was the truth. She gave me a deadline to improve it. A year she said. And it was then when I realized that I needed the best potion maker I had ever known. I needed Severus Snape. He had come by to ask for help on some plant project of his and I took the opportunity to get him to teach me advanced potion making. He found out what I was up to. I had to kill him."

"And his organs?"

"He was dead. He couldn’t help me anymore. I needed to become the Potion Master that he was."

"You've been taking the potion?"

"Mixed with essence of Snape. How else could I make the potion better? I had to keep him alive longer to get the mix right. Here’s a potion making tip; fresher ingredients make better potions."

Neville seemed to think that was the natural thing to do. He wasn't thinking right.

"Who killed Firenze?"

"Tommy’s magical being contact in Michigan got arrested and the bitch made me get my own ingredients. After the Professor, killing was easier. I Stunned Firenze and had a couple of Thestrals stomp on him. The arrow was to point you to a suspect. Magorian was perfect until Hermione found what she found."

"Winky?"

"I didn't think anyone would question her death. With her drinking she was practically at death's door," Neville said nonchalantly, "Ragnok is also dead and I killed the transient half giant as Snape. I had to take Filch's life too because he knew it was me who led the robbery at Gringott's."

"But you wanted revenge. Why did you have to make the potion better or make it at all? You've killed almost everyone else. Why didn't you just kill her?" Kingsley asked a valid point.

"She was an experienced Legilimiens. I had to make a real attempt to improve the potion because I needed time to set her up. You of all people should know that you can't just kill Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“Lestrange didn’t know you wanted revenge?”

“She knew. I told her I would kill her if she gave me the opening," Neville said coldly. "She just laughed. She didn't think I could do it. Well, she's not laughing anymore. “

“What do you mean?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange is dead."

While Kingsley did not act surprised from the commotion in the observation room everyone else was. Kingsley asked one of the many burning questions in his mind.

"Did you kill her?"

"No. I would have loved to do the honors but she was too guarded around fellow Death Eaters, especially me."

"Who did it?"

"Sir Isaac Umber."

"When and where did this happen?"

"Just before I walked in. I'm not sure where but if I were you I would start with Sir Umber's place of residence here in Toronto."

"If you didn't see it happen then how do you know for sure she's dead?"

"This."

Neville slowly unbuttoned his shirt and on his chest just above his heart was the Death Eater Mark with a dead black rose embraced by the Slytherin serpent, faded petals disappearing and being replaced by a steaming cauldron filled with purple potion.

In the background Harry could hear Jack barking more orders. Troops were being dispatched to Sir Isaac Umber's Bridle path home.

"Why would Sir Umber kill her?"

"Precisely the point. That was why she never saw it coming. Am I a genius or what?" he patted himself on the back.

"How did you convince him to do it?"

"I never talked to him. Umber was an anti-potion Bruin and I knew he would do anything to stop Lestrange from releasing the potion to the public. I robbed Gringott's framed Umber as if Lestrange did it. They went after each other."

"No offence, Neville, but I'm still struggling with this idea that you are the Potion Master."

"What do I have to do to make you believe?"

"It's just that out of all her Death Eaters, why would Lestrange anoint you as her successor?"

"It was never her intention. She wanted Malfoy to rejoin the Death Eaters but when Malfoy turned her down she had no choice. She had to pick someone and seeing that I had gained the respect of her Death Eaters she had no choice but to pick me."

"But why Toronto?"

"The potion is not ready."

Kingsley was as confused as he was.

"Potions were shipped here from London. Waterman and his men are using it."

"I've managed to get rid of most of the lethal impurities caused by the breakdown of conventional phials by using the Romanian incasabil ones but it's still not perfect."

Neville stopped, calm, eerily waiting. It was a game for him. Something was not right. Harry reached into his robe and wrapped his fingers tightly around his wand.

What was in Toronto that would make the potion ready and perfect? As he thought it, Kingsley asked the same thing.

"Excellent inquiry. What indeed?" Neville asked back, lifting his brows up as a grotesque smile formed on his face, an expression he had never seen on Neville nor imagined he would ever in all his life. "Too bad Harry isn't here but it was nice talking with you."

Neville stood up slowly and raised his right arm towards Kingsley as if offering to shake his hand. What was he thinking?

Kingsley shook his head, pity for Neville obvious in his eyes and in the tone of his voice, “You can’t leave, Neville.”

“I’ve done horrible, unspeakable acts. Did you really think I would stay?”

Before Harry could react, the veteran Auror in the other room brought his hands up on his neck, choking sounds sputtering from his blue lips. He fell forward onto the floor face down and did not move.

57. Slaughter at the Ministry

Chapter 57 - Slaughter at the Ministry

The rookie Auror fell next.

Harry leapt into the two way mirror, getting rid of the glass just before he was to smash into it, his first offensive spell a body binding one, hitting Neville squarely on the chest, staggering him back a bit. As they had seen with Waterman, most of the spell's energy was absorbed.

Neville quickly recovered and merely smiled at him, "Harry. It's so good of you to drop in."

The Hogwarts herbology Professor flipped his wrist up sending Harry off his feet. He held on to his wand tightly, bracing for the impact on the room's tiled ceiling.

Crash!

He went through it just as he saw others fill into the interrogation room to restrain Neville. The momentum took him through the crawlspace supports before his body slammed hard on the unforgiving concrete partition and as it did, gravity pulled him back down towards the ground even faster. Harry levitated himself in time to land smoothly a few feet behind Neville and witnessed him dispose of Jack effortlessly.

It was discouraging to see that no one else aside from Neville was left standing. Disadvantaged by their lack of familiarity with the kind of magic on display, Neville had cleared the room swiftly in that short period of time Harry spent in the air. Out of the corner of his eye through the haze of debris he saw a slowly stirring Andy on the floor. He hoped she would be okay, but not well enough to get up at that particular moment.

Neville turned on him with the single-mindedness of inflicting injury. More for self preservation, Harry bombarded him with a series of Stunners, sending him far back with the last one, crumbling the wall behind him. Neville crumpled to the floor with a grunt. Before he could get up, Harry magically took him by the ankles, inverted him in the air and spun him around high-speed, to disorient him and buy some time. Harry had a huge problem. Despite what he had seen Neville do, he could not get himself to use what he knew was necessary force on the maniac who he still saw as his harmless fellow Gryffindor.

His hesitation cost him. Neville had somehow righted himself enough to direct a blow at Harry, causing him to fall back and release. The centrifugal force threw his foe straight into the other two way mirror and caused it to shatter. Harry quickly got back on his feet just as Neville was also getting up. Neville was already pointing at him, a couple of inch wide sharp pieces of glass embedded into his gut, purple blood oozing from it. By mere instinct, Harry conjured a protective spell. Whatever spell it was that Neville had intended for him rebounded and momentarily incapacitated his attacker, frustrating his opponent even more.

For lack of a solution to the conundrum he was faced with, Harry appealed to reason.

"Stop this Neville. It doesn't have to be this way," Harry said as he fended off another curse, that one finding the wooden partition to his right, pulverizing a huge chunk of it.

"Actually, it does."

Neville swept the air with two fingers and Harry's wand flew off into the same direction disappearing from sight. Harry tried to lunge at Neville but he couldn't move his feet. Without a doubt, he was under some sort of a restrictive hex. He swore in his head. What an idiot! He should have just cursed Neville with all that he had while he had the chance.

With confidence, Harry summoned his wand but as it came Neville grabbed it before he could.

"Not bad for someone who was written off as a Squib, huh?"

With Harry's movement limited, Neville recognized the opportunity to pluck the two obtrusive shards from his stomach, dropping them on the floor. Harry watched him lift his shirt up. The wounds healed. Only pinkish inch long scars remained.

"This isn't you. You're not like this."

"So, what am I like?" Neville asked him with brows raised, more daring him to give him a good answer than curious about what he thought.

"You're a caring person. You would never hurt anyone without good reason."

It wasn't in his nature to get all sappy and sentimental but it was the only thing he could think of and it was the truth. Was.

"What a crock of shit!" Neville cackled hysterically and looked around to exaggerate his assessment of the mayhem he had created. "I believe I just did!"

A small thin man had been shaking like a leaf behind one of the toppled over desks.

Neville pointed at the MLE documenter and commanded him, "You. Go fetch my wand."

The man left, eyes glazed over and definitely under an Imperius curse. Harry had to come up with something else. Plan C - stay alive until reinforcements come. He wondered who would be left. Jack was here and most of those on duty had been dispatched to their deaths or to find the dead.

"I heard what you said about Lestrange. I understand why you would take matters into your own hands," Harry said to him. "But she's gone. You did what you set out to do. You don't have to make the potion better."

"I disagree. The potion has to be made better or it will destroy all of us."

Harry could not argue with that but he was almost sure suggesting that Neville turn the experimenting over to someone more mentally stable would be met with resistance.

"How are you going to make it perfect?"

"I didn't come here to talk about potion making."

"So why did you come?"

He thought about Hermione in the other room and hoped she had the sense to stay away.

"Let me think," Neville replied pensively, as if he had a list, "To be recognized for taking the old hag down, to show my superior magic, have people finally take notice of me, even the playing field a bit...did I miss anything?"

Harry looked at Kingsley still slumped motionless on the floor and remembered the four other Aurors who died at the hotel. Then he thought of Firenze, Ragnok, Winky, that innocent giant transient, Filch who was a pest but a harmless one, and the injured. He couldn't contain the revulsion that formed within him.

"You killed a lot of good people! You killed innocent magical beings! Don't you get that at all?"

Neville shrugged, "A small sacrifice for the betterment of the potion."

It felt like he was talking to a wall. There was no one home. Frustration grew as he began to accept that this soulless and apathetic man in front of him was too far deep into the darkness of where he had to go to exact revenge there was little he could do to bring him back.

Neville's errand boy had come back with his wand and got an instant curse from it as a sign of gratitude. Reinforcements had not come; Plan C was a bust but it wasn't panic time yet. Maybe it was a false sense of bravado or utter stupidity but he thought that while it was true he was the one Neville wanted to be in the interrogation room and Neville cursed Kingsley without much fuss, the fact that he was still alive bolstered his belief that Neville did not want him dead; at least not yet.

"I'm here. I'm defenseless. What now, Neville?"

He stared straight into Neville's grey eyes, hard and challenging. A haughty smile crossed Neville's face.

"I'm not sure. I shouldn't kill you but it's very tempting," Neville replied, "I'd really hate myself if you ended up being the one to spoil everything."

"I definitely will if I'm able."

"Able? Hmm...I guess we should fix that."

Neville held both wands with his left hand, stretched his right arm out as he had many times earlier and directed his pointing finger at Harry. With his life in Neville's hands, Harry steeled himself in anticipation of what was to come. And it did; a hot, unpleasant burn, unhurriedly grinding deep from within his bone and out to the surrounding muscle. It was steady, relentless, and all encompassing. His knees buckled making him fall on all fours as he clenched his jaws and fists, screaming in his head, unwilling to give his rival the satisfaction of knowing just how much agony he was in.

After a very long time it stopped and the respite gave him a moment to breath. He could barely move anything without evoking the same torture he just went through, as if each and every cell in his body remembered and would not forget. His eyes were shut and he could hear diabolic laughter close by.

"I wanna hear you scream! I wanna hear you beg!"

Harry told himself pain was all relative. Already he could feel it coming. Just as he attempted to get up he was hit with another Cruciatus curse. The burn this second time was worse. It was as if flames had engulfed him, eating up his flesh, charring him to the bone. Arms unable to support him much longer, his entire body met the rubble riddled floor and arched involuntarily towards the curse's energy, traitorously submitting to it.

"You can end this. Just say the magic word," Neville said to him at the next pause.

He had two words in mind. With all the remaining strength he could muster and fighting against excruciating protest from his tortured muscles, Harry turned towards the direction of his voice and flipped him the finger.

"Fuck you," came his breathy barely audible response.

Neville sounded unaffected, countering, "No. That wasn't quite what I was looking for."

Harry cleared his mind and then he felt it come again; a vacuum of air being sucked away then the wave of magical force forming like a gentle burst of air escaping from a punctured balloon, filling the void as it approached him. The heat and sting came soon after and as much as he tried to hang on, he found himself flitting in and out of consciousness. His whole being was ablaze, throbbing with extreme tenderness during the few seconds he was with it before drifting off to nightmares that he was trapped in the fiery depths of hell.

At some point he awoke to an awareness that the cursing stopped and he heard a commotion. There was fighting. He pried his eyes open and during the brief time he was able to hold his lids up he saw two figures wrestling, Neville and another man obscured from his line of sight.

He dozed off again and dreamt. He had escaped from Hades and was literally on fire. A smoldering broomstick swept him away from the depths of the earth and took him to the familiar Hogwarts grounds. Grasping the broom handle, he tried but was in too much anguish to maneuver. He stopped trying to take control when he realized that his broomstick knew where he wanted to go. When he reached the spot, it dove down plunging him into the cold Hogwarts Lake, the soothing chill an instant relief. He was there for some time and when he resurfaced, he noticed someone sitting on the banks of the nearest shore. He swam toward the womanly figure. It was Hermione wearing clothes as soaking wet as his and a worn but relieved look that reflected exactly how he felt.

Harry woke up to the antiseptic smell of a hospital and the sound of Hermione's reassuring voice.

"It's going to be okay, Harry. You're going to be fine."

Good. Gone was the fire that lapped on him unremittingly. He now felt a gentle coolness and was numb all over, much better than how he felt mere moments before. At peace, he ceased all resistance and let his body and mind surrender to the necessity of total rest.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ginny walked up the long driveway after finding the front gate open and unattended. Her plan was to try and see Sir Isaac Umber, tell him about what she and Harry knew and then suggest that if he was a Bruin (which he was) to work with them to stop Floyd and Lestrange.

It may have been impulsive and was definitely dangerous to go to a house owned by a Bruin. She was unable to reach Harry, Hermione, Kingsley or Dean to tell them what she was up to and maybe she should have come with someone else but time was of the essence. Besides, Ginny could not think that Sir Isaac Umber would harm her and she was a pretty good judge of character.

She got to the porch and rang the bell. The musical tone carried far back into the huge house. She waited; not a stir. She rang the bell a second time and still there was nothing. Ginny didn't come all the way to Canada to turn back just because no one answered the door.

Taking one step closer, Ginny turned the knob clockwise and pushed the door in slightly. It was unlocked. At least technically she wasn't breaking and entering but merely trespassing. Now standing in the foyer she immediately knew something was wrong. There was sobbing coming from beyond the slightly ajar double doors to her left, the sound piercing an eerie quietness. The pungent smell of death was in the air.

Ginny had the prudence to take her wand out, to Disapparate immediately if not manage a defensive spell just in case, and walked slowly and unobtrusively towards the direction of the sound. Through the crack she could see a petite woman with short brown hair weeping over a figure of a man she recognized as Sir Isaac Umber. It could only mean that he was dead.

The woman stood up and put her spectacles on, not bothering to wipe her tear stained face. She then picked up a bundle of identical books which Ginny recognized were worn copies of the Story of the Magic Pill. Ginny could tell she was going to leave.

"Wait! Don't go!" she swung the door open and yelled out.

Startled and perhaps noticing the wand in her hand, the woman fired at Ginny who managed to duck and take cover behind a leather-upholstered wooden chair, badgers carved out for its arms. If she was a Bruin she wouldn't dare.

"My name is Weasley," she sputtered, then realizing that really would mean nothing to the woman, added, "I interviewed Sir Isaac yesterday."

"Weasley. From the Prophet."

From a reflection of the suit of armor on the left, Ginny was relieved that she lowered her wand.

"Yes," Ginny replied as she slowly got up, holding her weapon by her side, measuring the other woman's next move.

"My Uncle was grateful for your discretion. I thank you on behalf of the family."

"You're a Bruin, too. I just want to talk. I want to talk about the potion."

The brown haired woman said to her plainly, cautious with her words, "Be careful what you ask for. You could end up like her."

She motioned to what Ginny thought was a black area rug on the floor. Ginny took a closer look and recognized what could be best described as Bellatrix Lestrange ran over by a steamroller but without the gore of blood. On the Death Eater’s ashen two-dimensional face was a mixed expression of horror and suffering.

A stupid question came to mind but she had to ask it to confirm.

"Is she dead?"

"As is my Uncle," the woman answered grimly.

Ginny nodded understanding. She finally got verification of one of the many questionable legends regarding Sophie Bruin and the magical potion. The deathbed curse did exist and the Bruins were tight lipped for good reason.

"We should work together," Ginny proposed.

It was brushed off.

"The authorities will be here soon. I suggest that you leave before they come."

"We want the same thing," she appealed again.

The woman pursed her lips and Ginny could tell she was at least thinking about it.

"I'll be in touch."

She Disapparated before Ginny could get her to commit to a time and place.

Ginny just stood there for a bit, unmoving, studying and mentally recording details of the picture before her as she was surrounded by the dead. It was really too much to ask a reporter to leave the scene of a crime. She put a call into the Ministry to inform them of her discovery.

Not ten seconds after, Ginny had been hexed, bound and wrongfully accused of being in cahoots with the Auror murderer Neville Longbottom.

XXXXXXXXXX

For the second time in as many years, Hermione had acted beyond what was expected or proper, drew ire from the local Healers and she couldn't care any less. At least Andy had been there to do the threatening this time around. Finally satisfied with his Healer's treatment plan, Hermione left Harry in the hospital. A banged up but otherwise healthy Dean would stay with him the rest of the day and night. Harry would be in a dreamless draught induced sleep for a few hours to allow the nerve restorative potion time to heal the many nerve endings damaged by the repeated Cruciatus he had been subjected to by Neville.

Neville. She would not have believed it had she not witnessed the slaughter with her own eyes. The running Ministry tally was six dead, five seriously injured and some fifteen or so walking wounded. She would hopefully hear the details of Neville's interview later but she got the gist of it now, talking with Andy as they made their way back to the Queen Street Auror Office. Andy got blasted by a spell and lost consciousness, regaining it just as Neville left killing more on his way out before Disapparating just past the visitor entrance.

They got to the Command Centre and the mood was understandably somber. The people in the room had just lost friends and the wizard responsible literally walked into their house and made a mockery of the Ministry. The British Aurors were huddled at one corner, reeling form the loss of their leader. It had not fully sunk in that Kingsley was dead; she had always thought that Kingsley would die of old age and never imagined it would be by the hand of someone like Neville.

Sitting with Andy in the back, Hermione listened as Muller recounted the events of the past few hours. He mentioned that a person of interest had been discovered at the Bridle Path crime scene and that she was currently being questioned at an undisclosed location.

He then introduced a deputy Unspeakable to talk about the potion. Just as the 'potion expert' began speaking, a tawny owl passed security and dropped a letter on her lap. It was from Ron.

The Courthouses 3pm.

Hermione glanced at the time teller on the wall above Muller. It was almost three. She showed the note to Andy who had been scoffing at the speaker’s attempts to give them tips on how to counter the uncommon magic they were sure to witness again.

Andy hissed at her, trying not to disrupt the speaker, "Do you really have to?"

She nodded.

Noting how depleted the Auror ranks were, Hermione offered, "I can go by myself."

The Auror gave her the are-you-crazy look.

"Let's not kid ourselves here," Hermione whispered back, "They could take me anytime they want. The less protection I have the less injured you'll have, the less people you'll lose."

The Unspeakable had finished his short list of dubious suggestions and Andy motioned her to step out as many remained to ask questions.

In the hallway, Andy reminded her, "You're bait. We want them to come after you so we can catch them."

"Maybe we should all rethink that plan," she said to her. "I don't want to cause anymore deaths."

"Okay, stop. Here's the big picture. You're not causing deaths, they are. We need to prevent them from causing more deaths. You are helping us do that. So, unless you expect us to avoid confrontation with them because we're scared shitless, stop insulting us and just let us do our job."

Hermione nodded, understanding but still not liking the idea. Andy peeked back in the Command Centre and tapped four others to join them. They walked down to the Ministry lobby and took a Portkey straight to the Courthouses on University Avenue.

Once they got there they had no problem finding where to go. They followed the trail of transparent floating figures to the main courtroom, the largest according to Andy. They entered the vast proceeding room, white noise of simultaneous conversation greeting them and she quickly scanned for Ron. Finding one particular ghost out of the hundreds in the already crowded galley was easier said than done. From what she could see, they were the only non ghosts aside from the bailiff and the court clerk who were setting up behind the bar.

A flyer had fallen from the second floor audience and something on it caught her attention. It was information about what the proceedings were about.

Fight for ghost rights!

Say no to designation!

Abolish crossing over deadlines!

Be heard!

Come and support!

Waslib vs the International Magical Being Regulations Commission

The Main Court

University Ave. Courthouses

9 February 2007, 3 p.m.

Ron was taking on the IMBRC?!

Not yet recovered from the shock, Andy nudged her and motioned to the front where Ron had appeared at plaintiff’s table, rousing loud applause from the gallery. He was a wearing a bright orange suit, his Cannon colors, which accentuated the red Weasley hair, and he was waving to the crowd like some politician.

Hermione walked down to get Ron's attention. Andy followed closely while the rest of her guard stayed back.

“Hermione! I knew you would come!” he beamed at her as she got to the first row.

“This is a surprise.”

“That's why I invited you,” Ron replied as his attention was drawn by someone behind her and his demeanor drastically changed, “Well, well, well. This is an even better surprise! Miss Canadian Witch! Grrrr!”

Hermione wasn't sure if she would feel offended, angry or amused as Ron openly flirted with Andy. The Auror's face flushed; not a soft red embarrassed blush but crimson war red. Hermione decided it was more amusing.

“Ghost,” the Auror acknowledged, “Nice suit. Getting fashion advice from Liberace?”

Ron faked a laugh, “Funny...so, you never answered me, darling. Are those hooters for real?”

“Ronald!” Hermione admonished, shocked by his audacity.

“What?” he lifted his shoulders, as if he really did not realize he was doing something wrong, “I'm just asking!”

“Show some fucking balls and admit it. You did more than ask the first time we met,” Andy retorted as Hermione couldn’t help but glare at him even more.

Ron explained to her, “I was just having fun with her and Harry, honey. You don’t have to be jealous.”

“Jealous? I’m not jealous!”

“If you say so. By the way,” he continued to tease Andy, “I love it when you talk dirty.”

“I’m appalled at how rude you’ve become…”

“Honey, I’m dead…”

“Absolutely not an excuse. You should apologize,” she said to him firmly.

“But honey…” he protested.

“Apologize!”

Ron turned to Andy, lips pouted and made a feeble attempt, “Sorry Blondie. I promise I won’t touch your boobies again.”

“You better not.”

“But can I touch yours?” Ron turned to Hermione, “I miss them.”

Before she could get angry he was already laughing.

“I was just hoping…no…kidding, I’m kidding! So where's Harry? Scared him off already?”

Andy deferred to her to answer.

“He’s tied up at the moment.”

“Hmm…that reminds me. Did you have sex with him last night?”

She couldn’t believe he was really asking this at a public place. And what was it about being tied up...oh.

“I guess that’s a yes. Ouch,” he put both hands on his chest, “That hurts. Was it better…no, don’t answer that…that’s going to hurt even more.”

“Stop the fucking guilt act and let her be,” Andy spat at him, “She lived with you for years. I think she’s paid her dues and suffered enough.”

“I will if you get naked with me behind the bench,” he propositioned, motioning to the raised semicircular counter behind him.

“Dream on, Ghost. Do us all a favor. Go hide in a closet and blow yourself,” she retorted, then wisely shifted them to more productive conversation, “So is this thing against the IMBRC for real or is this an act too?”

“Time got bumped to 3:30,” Ron answered. “My lawyer asked for the change last minute. He got this hotshot to help us with the case but the bloke had a personal emergency this morning and would be delayed. They should be here any minute.”

Just as Ron said that, the doors to the courtroom opened and two men walked in. She instantly recognized one of them.

“This is going to be interesting,” Andy commented, echoing Hermione's thoughts.

Ron was less positive.

“What the fuck is that git doing here?!”

58. Clear Objections and Noble Intentions

Chapter 58 – Clear Objections and Noble Intentions

Draco walked down the middle aisle and saw her as he got closer to the front row. He had on him as perplexed a look as she probably had. The gash on his cheek was now gone and it appeared like the Healers at the Toronto Hospital had fixed his dislocated shoulder too.

It happened very fast. One second they were chatting, waiting for Harry and Andy to finish the interrogation and the next second, someone had crashed head first into the mirror in front of them. As she helped the fallen MLE, Draco ran off wandless into the fight. The physical jostle that ensued was hard to observe from where she was. Draco was no match. Then she witnessed the last bit of torture Harry endured while already semi-conscious and watched Neville's composure whittled away by the fact that Harry would not break. Neville was muttering to himself like a madman, debating whether to kill or not until finally deciding to, raising his arm and pointing a finger at Harry's still figure. Hermione screamed in horror as Neville said the incantation and a faint green light struck Harry. Thankfully the spell did not work as intended and Neville became even more livid that he had to use his wand to finish the deed.

She tried to talk to him but he ignored her. The double take and the distraction did give Draco the opening to tackle Neville down just as the latter was about to conjure another Killing Curse. Reinforcements trickled in. Outnumbered and showing signs that his artificial magical ability was waning, Neville left.

"What are you doing here?" she asked Draco after he set down his briefcase on the desk where Ron was at, the waist-high bar separating them, both oblivious to the murderous expression on the ghost's face.

"Working. What are you doing here?" Draco replied smiling, pleasantly surprised at the sight of a friendly face.

"I invited her. Who invited you and why is your stuff on my table?!" Ron demanded, arms crossed across his chest, his transparent body straddling the wooden partition.

That quickly erased the jovial atmosphere.

"Weasley. Jake asked me to help," Draco answered calmly as if expecting the hostility, referring to the balding man who had walked in with him.

"Why didn't you tell me you brought Malfoy in on the case?!" Ron confronted his lawyer.

"I asked you. You said you didn't care who but to get the best there was," Jake the lawyer reasoned.

"And he's the best?" Ron scoffed, "I'm losing confidence here!"

"The Council of Ghosts wants him on the case too," his lawyer added.

"Weasley, look," Draco got his attention, "I'm here to help."

"You must think I'm an idiot if you expect me to believe that."

Inasmuch as Hermione wanted to, she knew it wasn't her place to intervene. This was Ron's call.

Draco appealed to Ron’s wafer thin common sense, "These regulations should be abolished and we have a good chance of winning this class action suit if we work together."

"Us? Work together? I'll have some of that stuff you're tripping on. Did you really expect me to let you do this?"

"Yes I did," Draco answered him straight, "What happened was a long time ago and this isn't all about you, Weasley. You'll work with me for the ten thousand others listed on the motion with you."

Draco motioned to the green binder on the desk as he said this. Ron did not seem to have a reply to that and he was simmering from the fact that Draco had a point.

"Whoa...cunning and manipulative. I think he's got you there, Ghost," Andy pointed out the obvious.

"Blondie, you have so little faith. I'll make you a believer before this is all over."

The other lawyer asked Ron, "So, are we okay to go on?"

"For now," Ron replied frostily and then turned to Draco, "But I'm onto you, Malfoy. You're a snake and I'm onto you."

"Healer Granger, Jake VanNeusen," the man held out his hand and she took it, slightly taken aback that he knew her. "A pleasure. It's great that you could come here today and show support."

She nodded and introduced Andy.

The older man continued, "I've worked with Draco before and he always performed best with his woman behind him."

Hermione started to protest more against the general notion of her being someone’s anything just as Ron and Draco did.

"I'm not..." she sputtered.

"Jake, she's not..." Draco stammered.

Ron's more expressive query drowned their voices, "What do you mean she's his woman?!"

"We're just friends," Draco tried to tell Ron.

"Friends?! That's even worse!"

Hermione knew enough about Ron to know that one word from her would only fuel his tantrum.

Jake the lawyer was embarrassed too, "I'm so sorry, Draco. I assumed because the paper said you're going to Mexico with her..."

Yup. Perfect timing for Mexico.

"What? I die, you make friends with the ferret and you're going to Mexico with him?! Tell me this isn't true!"

All their faces were red, even Andy's who was trying to suppress the amusement she was getting from Hermione's predicament.

"I am so glad I'm here to see this," Hermione heard her say to no one in particular.

Recognizing the more personal nature of the conversation and the damage he had done, Jake the lawyer wisely stepped back and busied himself with something else.

"We were but we're not going to Mexico anymore," Draco answered.

"Hah! So it is true!"

"Was true," she clarified.

"Whatever!"

"But so what if we were. You're dead, Ron. I was trying to move on."

"Obviously you weren't trying hard enough! How can you move on with this git? Geez, no wonder I can't crossover!" Ron concluded which she thought was preposterous, "Does Harry know about this? That you went from me to traitorous bastard to pure evil?"

"He knows about you and Potter?"

"You told him about Harry?!" Ron shrieked, "Don't tell me this git knows you broke off our engagement because you were sleeping with him!"

Andy must have noted the astonishment on Draco's face, answering Ron for her, "If he didn't before then he definitely knows now."

Draco was speechless from the awkward state; Ron from rage. Feeling faint, Hermione sat back on the front row pew, her head spinning. This could not get any worse.

That observation was immediately dispelled by Andy who leaned sideways and said so only she could hear, "Look on the bright side. Imagine Harry being here for all of this."

She could imagine it indeed. Taking a step away, she chuckled at the hilarity of the complicated relationships she managed to get herself into, annoying Ron even more. The ghost occupied the seat beside her, armed and prepared for an argument.

"We have to talk."

"Not about this, we don't," she replied, still laughing at herself.

A door behind the bench swung inward and five people came through it one after the other.

"All rise!" the bailiff announced.

They all obediently stood up. Hermione saw the human lawyers for the defense for the first time as Draco and Ron took their places at the plaintiff's desk with Jake and the bailiff rattled off the names of the five-member Magical Being Regulations Review Committee. There were four wizards and a witch. The wizard who sat in the middle of the bench was a man with long silvery white hair and a matching beard. He was the head of the review panel.

"This review is now in session!" bellowed the bailiff, signaling them to take their seats.

The head wizard spoke in a soft voice, "We're here to determine whether the Ghost regulations of house designation and crossover deadlines are in fact an infringement of magical being rights. Are the plaintiffs ready?"

Draco got on his feet.

"Draco Malfoy and Jacob VanNeusen representing the plaintiffs, Roonil Waslib and ten thousand, five hundred fifty five other ghosts from the northeastern US and Canada..."

Ron suddenly bolted from his seat, his feet hovering a few inches above ground.

"Your Honours, I object!"

Huh?

A collective gasp and rumbling from the crowd filled the room.

"Identify yourself," the head wizard commanded.

"My name is Roonil Waslib, the principal plaintiff."

There was wild applause, cheering as if they were watching a Cannon game, some chanting the Weasley song. Most of the ghosts knew who Roonil Waslib really was.

One of the wizards on the bench recognized him, "You're Ron Weasley, that Cannon keeper who died last year!"

Ron acknowledged faking bashfulness, "Guilty as charged, although I'd really appreciate it if the fact that I'm a ghost doesn't reach my family. That's why I used the alias."

The galley was becoming rambunctious.

"Order...order!" the head wizard pounded the gavel, "You had an objection?"

"Yes, yes," Ron almost forgot, "I object to er...um…this git Mr. Malfoy representing me."

The head wizard's heavy brows met and became one. They obviously didn't know Ron and was taking his objection seriously.

"You want to fire him?"

"That depends. Is he really the best?"

The witch on the right replied, "Mr. Malfoy is internationally known as a champion of magical beings. He is the best at what he does."

"Damn! Pardon me. Then I don't want to fire him. I'm just um…objecting to him representing me…um…in principle and I want that on the record," Ron said proudly to sparse applause, identifying diehard Weasley fans in the gathering.

"Okay...duly noted," the Head wizard struggled with the idea, tentatively nodded at the court clerk and conferred with his fellow reviewers who all shrugged at the off the wall request. "The Defense is ready? Yes. Nothing to add to this er...motion? Okay. Can Mr. Malfoy proceed with his opening statement, Mr. Waslib?"

Ron waved his hand dismissively and Draco continued, trying to regain his broken stride.

"The numbers are astounding. More than ten thousand affected souls in Northeastern US and Canada alone."

Ron inched from the plaintiff's chair slowly back across the bar and hovered beside her.

"So, tell me about this friendship with the ferret," he persisted, tone heavy with sarcasm.

"We will prove without a doubt that not only are these regulations oppressive..."

"No," she replied in a whisper, holding her ground, straining to listen to what Draco was saying.

"...they were passed with the required two thirds approval of the affected magical community only because they were misrepresented as being by ghosts and for ghosts."

"Malfoy's an asshole. How on earth did you end up being friends with him?"

"Sssh!"

"I've pointed out many times before and not to mean disrespect to the members of this review panel..."

"Why won't you talk about him?"

"Magical beings continue to be unrepresented in committees that make important decisions involving them. This has to change."

"I've had this conversation way too many times. I'm tired of it."

"Mr. Roonil Waslib wants to crossover but something is holding him back..."

"Embarrassed about it?"

"Of course not!"

"Why must he be condemned to an eternity walking the earth as a ghost, holding him prisoner by limiting where he can go, when he clearly does not wish to do so? And there are thousands who are in the same boat he is."

"What the...?! Why is he looking at you like that?!"

She rolled her eyes up.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with how he's looking at me."

"Nothing? He's undressing you, peeling you one layer at a time, and you're just letting him!"

Not again.

"Your Honours, I object!"

"Mr. Waslib..."

"He's leering at my fiancée!"

Ex-fiancée.

"Tell him to stop doing that."

The head of the review committee answered, weary of the interruptions, "Mr. Waslib, I should tell you objections are not usually permitted during opening statements and unheard of from someone on the same team. But perhaps Mr. Malfoy would be kind enough to indulge the court and refrain from looking down that way."

"I'll try, Sir," Draco was showing signs of righteous annoyance as well.

"You're being childish, Ron," Hermione had to tell him as soon as he settled back beside her, "Let the man do his job."

"You actually like him!"

"Keep your voice down. Just give him a chance."

"What? To stab me and thousands others in the back!? Wait a sec. You're nice to him. You're his 'woman'. You were going to Mexico with him. Has he had any of his appendages poking in and around places they shouldn't be?!"

She groaned. Some ghosts behind them were taking notice. Ron went off firing questions and non questions without giving her the chance to answer.

"Not the double backed monster! Does he know you in the biblical sense?! Have you and he...? Why aren't you denying all this?! I think I'm going to be sick…," Ron floated up close to the ceiling and now had everyone's attention.

"Another objection, Mr. Waslib?" the head wizard inquired.

"A most definite objection, your Honours," Ron was turning pale. "Can we take a break?"

"You mean a recess."

"Break, recess, tea time whatever."

"We just started."

"I don't feel too good. I can't get this sordid image off my mind. I need an Obliviator," Ron feigned nausea.

Hermione was about to suggest tranquilizer. She was tempted and so close to using the hex Harry used the night before to shut him up.

"I beg someone to take these revolting thoughts away!" Ron screamed holding his head with both hands.

"Ronald! This is ridiculous! Stop being so melodramatic!"

As she said that his chest started heaving. Ron pursed his lips together and his cheeks puffed out. She caught a naughty glint in his eyes just before he opened his mouth and let go of one long most disgusting, foul smelling belch that immediately dispersed throughout the room.

The effect was instantaneous. A few weak stomached poltergeists vomited the wet and physical version of what Ron just released, causing a domino effect throughout the galley. There was more retching all over. Three panel members, the bailiff, the court reporter, old Jake and the lawyers for the defense were turning green. Andy wasn't looking well either and motioned that she was going out.

The lead wizard pinched his nose as he banged the gavel so hard it flew off and hit him on the head. He must have finally called for a recess and the committee left the bench. Most of the ghosts departed through the walls, floors and ceilings and Ron had floated back to her with a grin on his face.

"Get my point?"

"Yes. Happy now?" she snapped, casting an odour repelling charm on her olfactory senses.

"Most satisfied," he admitted. "Where is that git? I'm going to freeze his marbles for jiggling them near you and crossing the line."

Ron was dead serious. They both scanned the room and found Draco fighting the transparent crowd for space trying to move down the right aisle. He was a few feet from the courtroom entrance going past and partially through ghosts as he was obviously in a hurry. Hermione followed the direction of his gaze and saw a petite woman, a ghost with long flowing blonde hair, a stark contrast to the dark blue robes she wore. The phantom was standing at the corner and seemed to be one of the few not in a hurry to leave. She was watching Draco approach with a mix of tenderness and regret in her eyes.

Then as Draco drew closer the ghost took a hold of her hood, covered her head and face, stepped back and dissolved into the room's wooden panels. Draco reached the spot and touched the wall where her face disappeared into, his shoulders slumped down, visibly disappointed realizing that she was gone. Hermione looked away, feeling sadness for Draco and guilt that she had witnessed something deeply personal of his.

"Who was that?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," she answered quickly, although her gut told her that the ghost Draco had been trying to reach was Mia.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was almost midnight. Harry took a very short cab ride from the hospital and paid the driver as he got off in front of Hermione's hotel. The use of the cab was more for show. Walking gingerly past reception and down where the elevators were, he thought about how he woke up somewhat recovered from the ordeal of the morning then convinced Dean and Ginny to leave him not twenty minutes ago, getting into a taxi, promising them he would go home, turn his alarms on and get some rest. He had every intention of keeping his word but not just yet. Harry had to see her tonight.

As the lift ascended to twenty four, he called Andy to tell her he was on his way. She was not happy to hear from him but knew there was nothing she could do to keep him away. He gave her a choice; allow them to be in her room unwatched and trust him to alert them next door if needed or he would take Hermione back to his more unsecure house. It was late, they were all tired and Andy did not even put up a fight.

Hermione was still awake, Andy said to him. He knew that because she was expecting him. She called just moments before after Dean ratted on him that he was leaving the hospital against healer advice and guessed he would. Harry had not seen her all day, not since the interview with Malfoy. Having spent most of it drugged and unconscious, he had not spoken with her either until the brief call minutes ago.

Harry refused to ingest the numbing and muscle strengthening potions at the hospital and deliberately 'forgot' to take with him the prescription he received from his Healer. He woke up still sore and weak and this trek up to her room was draining. It was too late to back out on that decision now but it was for good reason that he wanted to heal as naturally as possible. He wanted to be as potion-clean as he could be.

There was no hesitation to go straight to her. She opened after half a knock and gently pulled him in by the hand, closing the door behind him.

"How do you feel?" she asked, slowly helping him off his coat, setting it on a chair.

"Better already."

That was the truth.

"You should be in the hospital," she said to him frankly. "They can take care of the pain better."

"The pain's not so bad."

That wasn't.

“You discharged yourself from care against Healer advice.”

“My Healer was a quack anyway,” he jibed, hearing about Hermione’s run in with her.

"She was but refusing to take the strengthening and numbing potion?" she raised a brow, questioning his decision.

"Can't feel a thing while I'm on it."

"That's the point."

"I don't want to feel numb," he took a step closer, leaned in and kissed her, confirming that his decision not to take the potion was the right one.

Recognizing her hesitation to touch him, he reassured her, "I'm fine, really."

He pulled her closer and kissed her more deeply until she was convinced and she softened into him, her arms coming up around his neck, kissing him back with the same longing he had.

"You're in no condition to be out of bed," the Healer in her told him as they pulled away.

He managed a weak grin, "No arguments here."

"You're in no condition to think what you're thinking either," she smirked, warming his heart.

"Thinking about what I'm thinking is easy. It's the doing part that's going to be difficult," he admitted then added half jokingly, "Maybe I should have taken that muscle strengthening potion after all."

She laughed with him as he kissed her again. In no time they had the lights off and he slipped into bed beside her in his boxers and white t-shirt. It was not hard to convince her that Andy and Leo were not watching, understood and would be discreet.

Aware of his depleted physical state, Hermione wanted no part in encouraging his thoughts any further and prudently kept her light blue silk pajamas on. They held each other in the dark, eyes shut, bodies entwined and warm under the covers, lulling them that for that moment in time everything was okay. It was a glimpse of possible normalcy, what it could be when all this was over.

Sleep was slow in coming. The events of the day only stressed the uncertainties facing them. His confidence to keep her safe was at an all time low and every second with her that night seemed like borrowed time, that it was running out.

"Are you still awake," he spoke softly.

She was.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said at first then sighed, "Almost everything."

"Neville and Waterman."

"Neville's magic. Kingsley."

"Lestrange, Umber and the Bruins."

Not knowing where their conversation was going, he took his wand and Impertubed their surroundings, uncomfortable about something unedited making it onto official Auror documents even if Andy said they were shutting down all audio and video feeds from within the room.

"I feel somewhat responsible for Neville," he said to her.

"I do, too and so does Ginny. How could we, his supposed friends, not have seen that he was in trouble?" Hermione replied. "It still seems surreal."

Harry told her how he froze and made the mistake not to take Neville down when he had the opportunity.

"I'm still unsure if I would curse him to oblivion the next time we meet," he confessed.

"Even after what he did to you?''

"Something's seriously wrong with me, I know. There could have been less deaths today..."

"You don't know that for a fact so don't second guess yourself," she interrupted, planting a kiss on his cheek, "And there's nothing wrong with you."

He embraced her tighter, "You saw what he can do."

Even as he left the thought hanging she understood what he meant.

"You'll find a way, Harry."

"If he gets to you…"

"Don't worry. Neville would never hurt me."

Harry bit his lip, thinking about Kingsley, hoping she was right but if possible would rather not put that theory to the test.

"Have you given more thought about how you can help improve the potion?" he asked and when Hermione did not answer right away, he chuckled, "I should have known the answer to that."

"It's kind of obvious really."

"Of course it is."

“I should have thought of it before,” she said displeased that she hadn't. "What's the one aspect of this potion that's absolutely horrifying?"

"Aside from its hideous colour, I guess that would be what it takes to make it."

"Wouldn't it be great if you didn't have to go hunting for magical creatures to create magic enabling potion?"

Harry got her point. Hermione's latest successes were in using substitute potion ingredients.

"Do you think he's found replacements?"

"I don't know but part of me hopes that he has. If Neville's idea of potion improvement is to find other substrates I'm finding myself rooting for the bad guy."

He gave her another tight hug and she returned in kind, snuggling closer. They both wished the lines were less ill-defined. It was easier fighting against someone totally black like Voldemort and Lestrange.

"Try not to be too brilliant too fast about this, okay? Maybe Neville has less than noble intentions," he said to her, "Speaking of less than noble intentions…"

He had lost the battle against the effects of her proximity, her scent and her touch. His fingers had acquired minds of their own, one set unlatching the front buttons of her top as the other lightly grazed gradually uncovered skin.

"Mr. Potter, are you sure this thing you're starting is something you can finish?" he felt her soft lips nipping and leaving burning of the pleasant kind along his neck up towards his chin.

"No promises," he turned his head down and met her kiss, deep and languid, as he slipped her pajamas off her shoulders, "But I trust…you…to make sure…I follow through…"

"I might hurt you more," she said, still concerned about provoking his aches and pains.

"I’m pretty sure it's going to hurt more if we don't," his hands pressed and wandered down her bare back, sliding them in the fringe of her lace underwear and tracing them to the front.

"You know," she said as she took his shirt off, "I've read somewhere…that physical contact does help lessen the…aftereffects of the Cruciatus."

He tugged on her pajama cords, loosening it, helping her out of it and out of her knickers, smiling at what she said as they continued to make out.

"Is that right?" his voice trailed off.

She rid him of his boxers, an impish grin forming on her face.

"Totally made that one up."

Harry felt every inch of her nakedness press on his highly sensitized body, warm, soft and gentle. Her concern that her touch would provoke disagreeable memories of earlier that day was unfounded. They made love, and the euphoric emotions that he felt then were nothing like the painful ones that he endured earlier. In fact, right after as he held her in his arms, he could swear that there was some truth to Hermione's made up theory about physical intimacy and the torture curse.

59. The Invitation

Chapter 59 - The Invitation

Ginny and Dean got off the Pape subway station and followed a sparse crowd from the train onto the street. They walked south and turned left onto busy Danforth Avenue, where bars and clubs were abuzz with twenty and thirty-somethings having a good time that Friday night.

"Are you sure this is where we're supposed to go?" Dean asked her, his head doing one eighties as they entered a jam-packed Muggle nightspot called the Howler.

"Pretty sure," she replied over the music as they made their way over to the bar, noticing the many Bruin emblem influenced décor within.

They sat at the end of the long counter and ordered a couple of beers. She tried to sit still, waiting and straining at the club patrons to see if she could recognize the woman she saw at Sir Isaac's home earlier that day.

After getting so much grief from the Canadian MLE about being, in their words, in the wrong place at the wrong time, they finally gave her access to a phone around seven o'clock. The first person she called was Harry and was surprised when Hermione answered. They were in a hospital with Dean, who had been trying to get in touch with her all afternoon. Neville had killed Kingsley, almost killed Harry and had walked out of the Ministry taking more lives and injuring others without much challenge. And she thought she was having a bad day.

But Neville? Really? The past few hours was like living in some twilight zone. Just last night she was convinced it was Malfoy. She was still thinking, maybe hoping, Malfoy was involved in all this but Neville, a murderer and the Potion Master?

Harry's partner got her out of interrogation and she joined her, Hermione and Dean discuss the case over take out dinner at the bedside of the still unconscious but clinically stable Harry. They went around the table with their stories of the day.

Ginny elaborated on the pro-potion Bruin family tree that highlighted daughters born to Squib parents, the one she had sent Harry late last night, told them how the Bruin Council of Elders came into being a century ago and how the anti-potion zealots persecuted the same Bruin women of Squib parentage their pro-potion relatives put on a pedestal. Then she recounted for them what she saw at Sir Isaac Umber's, including the part about talking with the Bruin woman she may have forgotten to mention to the MLE. From their descriptions, they figured that her Bruin woman was the same one Hermione and Harry met in the alley yesterday.

Dean talked about his second run in with a giant plant in the last twenty four hours, Hermione about their discovery that the potion was being smuggled into the country through the Ministry and about the mishap at the potion labs, and Andy about the Malfoy interview, including the fact that Legal was still mulling over whether or not to lean on him about Waterman, particularly after his 'heroic' efforts against Neville. Andy also recounted Kingsley's last interview. They were still in shock, finding Neville's story tragic it was hard to swallow but at the same time difficult to negate and justify. The disturbing thing was Ginny could still imagine herself taking Neville aside and talking with him about this, trying to convince him to do the right thing. So did Hermione for that matter. Andy thought them both crazy.

She did hear some good news that night; Hermione had patched things up with Harry and things between them were, in Hermione's words, 'promising'. She wanted details and by the sound of giddiness in Hermione's voice the latter wanted to talk about it too. But it was late and she knew the uncensored and unabridged version she would get if they were by themselves would be worth the wait.

The Canadian Auror took the Bruin parchment with her to compare with the list of conference attendees and left with Hermione about an hour before Harry woke up. Harry was understandably in a foul mood and insisted on leaving. The Healer came in, tried to talk him out of it and had as much success as she, Dean and Hermione had. That was when she received a text message, a Bruin invite to meet.

She was told to come alone. Dean read it and immediately thought it a stupid idea to do as she was asked. Had Harry been in better shape she would have mentioned it to him too and probably dragged him along. Dean was having difficulty getting a hold of someone to replace him for a few hours so when Harry told them to bugger off, they put up minimal resistance.

They must have been sitting and drinking at the bar a good thirty minutes when she got another message. It was a note passed on by the barkeep.

Muller's tagged you. Lose the boyfriend.

Ginny took out a twenty dollar bill and waved the bartender over. She leaned in and spoke in his ear as she put the cash in his hand, hoping the MLE who was watching them would think she was ordering more drinks.

"The boyfriend stays or we both walk out."

It was a gamble but Ginny thought the Bruins must need something from her too to make contact.

The man nodded and left them. Five minutes passed, ten, thirty. They were about to give up when the bartender came back with a couple of ales. There was another handwritten note.

"Let's dance!" she yelled over the blaring sound of a fast beat, pulling Dean with her as she waded through the sea of bodies and marched to the centre of the dance floor.

There was really no room to dance; there was no room to move. She faced Dean and they instantly pressed up against each other, pushed by others around them. Dean wrapped his arms around her protectively and pulled her closer.

Halfway through the catchy Shakira tune, a familiar female voice came from the hooded figure to her immediate right. In the strobe lighting she recognized the Bruin woman as the latter held out a thick red scarf.

"Grab it."

They obeyed. Not five seconds later they were spinning, the dance floor and the music faded away, and they thudded onto the wooden floor of a quiet dimly lit living room. Dean helped her up and shielded her with his body from the four hooded figures in front of them.

Ginny stepped out from behind him and guided his raised wand down onto his side as the woman revealed herself. The room was too silent and too tense. One of the hooded figures opened a door.

"Mr. Thomas can wait outside," the woman said.

"If you trust me you can trust him," Ginny answered.

"He would not be here if we didn't," she replied, then explained why she was asking Dean to leave, "I've never done what I'm about to do. I might misspeak and I'd rather only kill one of you."

Dean was already objecting but Ginny recalled the pancaked version of Lestrange, she convinced him to leave. The other Bruins followed him out.

"What's your name?" Ginny asked once they were alone.

"Not important."

I guess 'short Bruin woman' would have to do.

She looked around to gather more information. Atop the fireplace mantle, Ginny could make out dated pictures of two young girls. The Bruin woman followed her gaze.

"You and your sister?" she asked.

Ginny was close enough to see the sadness that flitted across her hostess' face as her eyes came upon another picture of a woman about their age with long flowing blond hair and a radiant smile that shone from deep within. Most likely deceased sister. The Bruin recovered and the comment was ignored.

"It's late. We are treading dangerous waters here," the woman was visibly nervous, making Ginny nervous too.

"Then you better think hard before you say anything," Ginny said lightheartedly.

"We should get to the point. All off the record," the bespectacled woman set some ground rules. "Give me your word that you will print none of this."

"You have it," Ginny did not hesitate, figuring she would deal with the Chief's wrath if it came to that.

The Bruin was satisfied. They sat across from the other.

"I have a message for Healer Granger," she said tentatively, "Mr. Creevey is...no longer with us. We'd appreciate it if she stopped looking for him."

It was not what she said but how she said it. Ginny read between the lines.

"You killed Dennis?!"

"Not me personally but one of us."

"Why?!"

Ginny was handed a folder and her fingers instantly flew over the documents; Gringott's records, Muggle bank transactions, money transfers, from Lestrange to Dennis for months. The phone records were not planted after all. She felt faint.

"He brought his death upon himself when he chose to work for Lestrange."

"Doing what?"

"We don't know exactly but I overheard Lestrange and my Uncle talking today. She was deep into Hufflepuff's prophecies. She mentioned Janus and claimed she had copies of all the predictions."

"Including the corollaries?"

"Yes. She said that was how she found Healer Granger. We think Lestrange hired Creevey to spy for her because she believed that Healer Granger is the One."

"She can't be," Ginny spoke without even thinking, "Her parents aren't Squibs. She's a Muggleborn."

"No, she isn't."

It felt like she was transported from the twilight zone to a twilight zone parallel universe. Ginny sat in silence as she listened to how the heroic Sir Isaac tried to do his part in saving over a dozen Cursed Bruins from the fanatics of the Council and how he followed their lives through enchanted books. In the end she had so many questions she didn't know where to start.

"If Hermione is one of you then why can she talk so freely about things that you can't?"

"I could change that very quickly. Why do you think I'm talking to you instead of her?"

"I don't follow."

"The spell is invoked by the act of receiving information from a blood relative," she struggled with her wording and cautioned, "I don't think I should say much more. Right now, it's better for everyone that she's able to communicate freely."

"But all those children placed in your families by Sir Isaac. They didn't have Bruin blood. What if..."

"The parents knew not to tell them. My uncle was very good at mind altering charms. He made sure there was no risk," the Bruin woman said and then continued, "You have to understand. Not all of us pass the legacy onto our children; many don't want to. Some don't care and most that do care are ashamed of it. If not for the need to make sure there will be others to succeed us in our task to prevent the prophecy, we wouldn't tell anyone. It is a curse and nothing more than a cross that we must bear because of what we have in our blood."

Ginny felt her resentment and could not help but compare that to the pride and honor her pro-potion counterparts felt about being a Bruin.

"I'm so sorry you feel that way. But maybe you're wrong. Maybe it's all for good."

"My sister died because of it. No matter the outcome, forgive me for not seeing the good."

Ginny nodded, understanding that part but still confused about the rest. So, she was the go between, but what did the Bruins hope to achieve by involving her?

"You want me to tell Hermione what you'd rather not tell her yourself."

"I only ask that you tell her about Creevey."

"And what about the other little thing, you know, that she could be the One generations of your family have been waiting to kill and celebrate at the same time?"

"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't. My Uncle thought the idea premature and so far your friend has decided well. The less she knows the less pressured she'll feel, the more true she will be to the difficult decisions she will be faced with."

Hiding something this big and important from Hermione was easier said than done. It also had strategic implications. If it was indeed Hermione who Lestrange was after then the team shouldn't waste their time looking for another Bruin. On the other hand, she was already under protection. There was nothing else they could do except pull her from the case, which Hermione would never allow. There was tremendous temptation to do as the Bruin suggested. This truth, beyond the immediate realities that faced Hermione, would turn her life upside down.

But it still didn't make sense.

"What is it?" the Bruin asked, breaking her concentration.

"Why Toronto and why now?"

The pestering question resurfaced. Lestrange and Neville came over to join forces with the garden variety dispensable crook that Waterman was. Why?

"I can only think that in destiny there is always a place and time for everything. They must know something we don't. If you find the answer to your question, let me know."

She'll remember to ask Neville the next time they bumped into each other. The Bruin's last statement was seemingly dismissive and she had a lot more questions to go through. One particularly one she probably wasn't going to get a straight answer for. She reminded herself that the woman before her was anti-potion and mandated to do everything necessary to prevent the prophecy from happening.

"If she is the One, are you going to kill her?"

"If we were I'd never admit that to you," the woman answered.

The fact that Hermione was still alive meant that the Council was unaware but once they found out they would want her dead. One person kept the precarious but preferred status quo together.

"You're obviously acting on your own," Ginny said to her, the jury was still out on whether or not that was a good or a bad thing, "You haven't told the Council about her but why did you tell me?"

"I had to tell someone outside the family and you know us better than anyone else. My position is delicate. We have a traitor on the loose and I suspect there's more to this than meets the eye."

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry and Hermione lay in bed in silence, content at their nearness. While he had been with more 'skillful' women before, this burgeoning intimacy with her continued to amaze and challenge him. Their lovemaking had revealed to him an entire side to her that he never imagined existed. He never thought of Hermione as lacking in confidence but it was as if she was discovering things about herself at the same time he was.

She was as giving and as undemanding a lover as she was a friend, and even though she knew how to please and when, he sensed her lack of mindfulness about what it was that she wanted, that it was pleasing him that pleased her. It was refreshing for him to be with someone like that and while how she was wasn't entirely a bad thing, he wanted her to take more, as she somewhat had when she thought he was Roy, and he wasn't entirely sure how to make her do that.

He paused at that thought as he gazed down on her, watching her, smiling, plotting, and then frowning, questioning if she was that way only with him. Ron never talked about it and thinking about who else she could have been with just ruined the moment.

Hermione was still awake.

"Do you plan on staring at me every time we do this?"

"I don't really plan these things."

"It's kind of freaking me out," she said in a good way.

"Why?"

"I'm starting to really get used to it and if you stop I'll think something is horribly wrong."

"You think too much."

"You should know that about me by now."

"True."

She had her eyes shut and he found her smirk disarming. He pressed his mouth on hers and they kissed unhurriedly, blowing his mind away. He looked into her bliss-filled brown eyes after and the question bugged him again. It would not give him a rest.

"About Malfoy," he started to say then faded, realizing he had not really thought about a good way to ask this.

Hermione winced.

"I take it we're still not talking about him?"

"Still not."

"Won't ever?"

"We'll never see eye to eye about him. It's pointless."

"Can we talk about him anyway?"

"Is this another thing of yours?"

"What thing?"

"Talking about the other men in my life while we're in bed."

She was probably referring to the fact that he kept on wanting to talk about Ron. Ron's case was different, very different. At least she gave him the opening to pursue the topic.

"So you're admitting that Malfoy is another man in your life."

"It's a very short list and we're really scraping the bottom of the barrel here," she laughed. "I do have to tell you I'm not keen to talk about your ex's, especially not while we're in bed."

"Well, it's not a thing."

"Good. You had me worried for a while."

"I just want to know how um…close you are to him."

He faltered and she guessed.

"You want to know if we've slept together."

"Among other things."

"What other things?" she asked, challenging.

It was probably too much to expect her to just tell him if they had or they hadn't.

"I admit, I can't think of any other question more important than that."

"Why does it matter to you so much?"

"The thought bothers me," Harry replied, suppressing the stronger adjectives that would have been counterproductive.

"I've slept with Ron. Does that bother you?"

"No."

That was not entirely true. He could not admit to something so foolish and nonsensical although he suspected it had something to do with the regrets he had about stepping aside for his friend years ago. The thought of her being with Ron also disturbed him, just not as much.

"Then why would it bother you if I had sex with Draco? You've had sex with countless other women. I would think you'd be more understanding."

He should have just said 'yes' to the Ron question. Don't let her make this be about you. Focus.

"He's different. He's not nameless and he's not faceless, he's...you know a Slytherin, the enemy, he's..."

Evil…evil...what's a better sounding word than that…

"Evil?"

"Unworthy."

She raised her eyebrows.

"What?"

"You're not being honest and I don't think you realize it yet."

"What?"

"Tell me. Would you think less of me if I did sleep with him?"

"Of course not," he said quickly, maybe too quickly to be believable.

"Maybe make me as unworthy as he is?"

"You're upset."

"No I'm not," she said, he thought honesty, "I'm just helping you sort out what you really should have sorted out by now."

"That being?"

"How important is it to you? This is all wonderful but when we get back to London can you put up with me still being friends with him? Or will this be the deal breaker?"

"I'm confident that it won't be."

"Are you thinking I'll give it up for you knowing how much you despise him? What if I don't? Are you going to ask me?"

He hated it sometimes that she knew him too well.

"I'll never be friends with him, Hermione, even if he did save my life."

That was so difficult to get out. His heart was heavy with the thought. Neville said he didn't come to the Ministry to do him in and now he had to thank Malfoy for an afterthought. He still hadn't. And if he didn't know any better he would have allowed himself to blurt out that the only reason Malfoy did that was because he knew Harry would rather die than owe his life and all that was in it to a git like him. It was a terrible thing to think but he could not help it.

"I know and I would never ask that of you. I have no problem with you not wanting to be friends with him. The question is how much of a problem will it be for you if I continue to be friends with him?"

She was right. He had not sorted this out yet. Taking his silence as a sign that their talk about Malfoy was over, she rested her head on his chest and nestled closer.

"I never slept with him, Harry," she said, finally answering his question.

Deep down inside it was the only answer he was prepared to get. He had not even thought how he would have felt had it been otherwise.

"There was Ron, there was Roy and then you."

"And the kiss?"

"Was just a kiss."

"What about Mexico?"

"I'm not saying I didn't think about it."

It seemed like she was about to say something but changed her mind.

"You're really better off not getting it on with him," he said to her, pleased when he heard her unsuccessfully suppress a snort.

"I'm sure you're about to tell me why."

"Things would never work between you two."

"Because?"

"Imagine the arguments you'll have. I mean, we both know you're right all the time."

"Patronizing but not true," she corrected, "I'm right almost all the time."

"Almost all the time," he repeated after her, correcting himself, "Being a lawyer, Malfoy can make anything wrong sound right. It'll be like arguing with Ron, except, and I hate to admit this, the lawyer would actually make more sense."

She found that very funny; he was glad that she did.

"And frankly speaking I don't know if anyone can put up with him for so long. You heard him talk emphatically about his imaginary lines."

He could already feel her shaking.

"There'll be a bathroom line, food on the plate line, a bed line...you don't want to be caught on the wrong side of any line."

She lifted her head up as she laughed with him, her eyes sparkling as they exchanged meaningless banter. For a moment they forgot what it was they were faced with and while that question about Malfoy festered it was not as urgent anymore.

As the laughter tapered off into wide grins Harry felt a bit nostalgic and wondered out loud, "Had I asked you to go out with me before you and Ron became a couple, what would you have said?"

"I had a crush on you since first year. What do you think?"

Harry shifted on his side and they faced each other, open and transparent. He, and likely Hermione, thought about what could have been. It was a certainty that his life would have been much different; he probably would have stayed in Quidditch, definitely moved to play closer to where she was and probably married her a long time ago. She was way ahead of him in the what-if exercise.

"We'd have broken up by now."

It was a surprise that she came to that conclusion but she had this tinge of playfulness in her voice he couldn't think she actually believed it or was totally serious. He decided to play along.

"You don't think it would have worked out between us either?"

"Not a chance. I would have driven you mad with my fussing and you would have driven me mad by the way you lull me into believing you'll take my advice and do what you want anyway."

He didn't know he was that obvious.

"But you still fuss and I still don't listen well."

"Three years, five tops."

"It's reassuring you have confidence in us making it."

"Mad. As in running-in-the-opposite-direction mad."

She was exaggerating and definitely not serious, she couldn't be with that straight face.

"So if we're doomed to fail, why are you even doing this?"

"Let me see," she said feigning deep thought, "We're older, both jaded about relationships and I figure five great years is better than none."

"Better to have loved and lost?"

"Than never to have loved at all. Precisely," she finished for him, "And making out with you has been most amazing I'd have to be certifiable to pass this up."

They chuckled.

"I kind of missed your fussing this past year," he admitted.

"And I missed fussing over you. Fine. Maybe our odds are a bit better."

As Hermione said that he thought he caught a momentary look of concern in her eyes but before he could ask her about it she had him in a deep kiss that was filled with a mix of love, longing, and regret. He felt the same and had been wondering about what to do with his misgivings of what they could never get back.

"I've been thinking. After all this and we're back in London, I was wondering...if it's okay with you...I'd hate for us to waste anymore time..." he stumbled all over what he was about to ask and had to pause to gather himself.

Geez Potter, get to the point.

She interrupted, and very solemnly said to him, "There's no rush. This is good for now. We can talk about it when we get back."

He nodded, relieved but somewhat puzzled at that moment, questioning if there was more to her suggestion to postpone talking about their future that he should be aware of. He had never known her to procrastinate and thought she would actually be happy about getting all that settled.

At some point he felt her fall asleep, the slow and rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and the sensation of her quiet breathing so familiar now. He heard it had been a very long day for her and it was only then that he realized they didn't get a chance to talk about it and about the case. Both would have to wait.

Harry's mind drifted off to the events of the day. Dean and Ginny filled him in the best they could. So, Neville changed his mind and maybe out of frustration decided to kill him. But his actions did not make total sense.

Why come to the Ministry and admit everything if he never intended to turn himself in? There were other ways to take credit for Lestrange's death. Why take the risk of incarceration before he could improve the potion if that was really his objective? And what was in Toronto that was necessary for him to be able to do that?

XXXXXXXXXX

The hotel alarm clock sounded at 5am. Hermione turned it off. She had been awake for some time, knew she had to get up, but didn't really want to. Harry had her in the comfort and security of his warm embrace and she wanted to stay there forever.

Of course that was not realistic. There were very few things in life that did not end. She looked at Harry's sleeping form and felt a swell of emotions. That probably was one of them. The rest of it was beyond her and she wasn't as optimistic.

Last night, she was struck by a feeling of inadequacy as they made love and woke up to a sinking feeling that Harry was thinking the same. The glaring contrast of his vast experience compared to hers made her wonder if she was good enough in bed. Would he tell her if she wasn't? Was that question about Draco really about that or was it his way of pointing out the obvious?

Alright…breath…calm down…he's still here.

Yeah but for how long? He agreed with you when you told him that this wouldn't last.

He thought I was joking.

Even if you were, he should have known better than add to your insecurities. And he definitely failed on how he handled your what if you wanted to remain friends with Draco question.

He was being honest.

He thinks only about himself. And you could tell from his babbling about your future he is so not ready to be in a relationship with you.

He hasn't had one in a long while, not a real one.

He doesn't even know what he wants. It was painful to watch and you bailed him out again.

She sighed and shut her eyes for a moment, resigning herself to the thought that not everything lasts forever. If this thing with Harry did, then great; if it didn't then at least it wouldn't be a surprise. Then she heard Harry's voice.

"You think too much."

Harry was right. She kissed him and woke him up.

"Good morning," she greeted after he responded.

"Good morning," he answered, smiling back.

Hermione saw that he was happy, happier than she'd ever seen him at any point in their lives and that was all she needed. Forever would be great but right now, she was perfectly fine with one day at a time.

It took some doing before she successfully extricated herself from his arms. She made her way to the shower, as he dressed and said he was going over to talk with Andy and Leo in the other room.

As warm water soothed her body she closed her eyes and focused on nothingness. It was a calming white and she lost herself in it, cherished it until...

"Hey, honey. You lost a bit of weight. It's kind of nice."

Ron's beaming face was halfway in the shower stall and he was unabashedly checking her out from top to bottom.

"Ron! You're not supposed to be in here!"

"Why not? We won the case. We can go anywhere we want."

Yesterday, the trial was reconvened after the courtroom was cleaned up. With Ron well behaved and cooperative, it took less than an hour for the review panel to repeal the laws on ghost designation and crossing over deadlines.

"Designation may have been abolished but that doesn't give you the excuse to be a peeping Tom!"

"Really?" he showed genuine disappointment, "I should get Malfoy to work on that one. I thought Harry was in here with you. Where's the traitorous bastard this morning?"

"Next door," she replied.

"Is Ginny in there?"

He must have somehow heard Ginny was in town. She tried to convince him that talking with Ginny wouldn't be a bad thing but he still didn't want any of the Weasleys to find out that he was a ghost.

"I don't think so," she told him.

Ron disappeared as quickly as he appeared. He still couldn't crossover but at least there was no longer a deadline. They talked about it yesterday and Ron was convinced bringing Waterman into custody would do the trick.

Hermione finished up, stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her and grabbed another off the hook to dry her hair. As she did that, Andy's muffled shriek filtered through the wall of the adjacent bathroom.

"Get the fuck out of here, Ghost!"

She shook her head. Ron. He was totally out of control. Deciding to use her wand to dry her hair completely, she searched for it on the bathroom counter and instead saw and picked up her phone. Hermione mindlessly checked for messages as she used the towel in her hand to clear the steam off the mirror.

There was one from Ginny. Two a.m. and she sounded like she was high on sugar. The Bruins had made contact and there was a message for her about Dennis. Dennis was dead, murdered by the Bruins because he was working for Lestrange. That confirmed what Draco told her. Ginny ended the message saying she'd call back in the morning.

Hermione speed dialed her and a man picked up after three rings.

“Dean?”

“Hang on.”

She waited then she heard Ginny's still sleepy voice come on.

“Short Bruin woman invited me into her living room last night.”

“How did it go?”

“She didn't kill us inadvertently. I would rate that as `great'. Met a few of her Bruin family, hooded robes with the emblem are kind of their thing, reminds me of Death Eaters. Anyway, she was really nice but totally into it. She had a sister die because of the potion. You got the message?”

“Yes. I can't believe it.”

“They showed me proof, monies changing hands. I'm so sorry but next time run a check on people you hire. So, Bruin woman said Lestrange was into the prophecies and has copies of each and everyone one of them. I don't know why she hired Dennis…”

“Draco told me why,” she interrupted and told her.

“Uh-huh…uh-huh…really…and the ferret told you that…”

Ginny was more awake now but Hermione sensed she was holding back.

“What is it?”

“Things don't fit.”

Ginny said they would be over in half an hour. She set the phone and towel on the counter. The news effectively dampened her earlier upbeat mood. Her jaw tightened and she felt warm tears stream down her cheeks. She wept silently. It was overwhelming; not only the deaths but the circumstances surrounding them.

Hermione looked up at her reflection, brushed the tears away and steeled herself for the day she was about to face. She wondered how many more of her friends were going to die or turn into bad guys before this was over.

"Why so sad?" a voice asked sincerely.

She froze, for a moment thinking it was Ron intruding again. The voice was familiar and her heart raced a million times faster than usual as another reflection appeared on the mirror beside her, pleasant, kind and innocent as she had known him all these years. Neville's.

"If it's about yesterday, I'm sorry. I wasn't myself,” he spoke to her as if nothing was amiss, “I don't want to hurt anyone else but there's this potion I'm dying to make and I really need your help."

-->

60. The Mystery Witch

Chapter 60 – The Mystery Witch

Harry found Andy in front of the computer feeding parchments of information into the modified processor, a couple of empty paper cups with coffee rings strewn about her. Leo was asleep on a conjured cot off to the side, drooling a large lake onto the pillow, appearing to snore without a sound.

"Hey, stud muffin," Andy greeted as he stepped into the room.

She did so without looking up as she manipulated the data that appeared on the screen.

"Hi," he replied, deciding to let that one slide, "Where's everybody else?"

Andy had this look that she didn't want to answer.

"We're it. After what happened yesterday and what's going on today, Muller couldn't afford to give us more men and Auror Shacklebolt's deputy did not share your friend's eagerness to help. I sent Holly home to get real rest. Sorry."

He shook his head, too frustrated to speak. There was no sense dwelling on something he could not change. Standing behind her, he looked over her shoulder and tried to figure out what it was she was doing.

"Ginny's list?"

Andy mumbled the affirmative while she sipped from her third cup and handed him a warm full one, "Is she up?"

"Shower," he answered then absentmindedly drank some of the strong bitter stuff, "Did you get any sleep at all?"

Andy nodded as she cast a spell on the surveillance equipment and the video and audio feeds came back alive.

"Some. Leo took the first shift but then he must have been so tired he dozed off too. It was a good thing he started snoring. That woke me up. I did have to cast a silencing charm on him so I could get some work done," she answered, "How do you feel?"

"Still sore but much better."

"The hospital called, said you left your prescription and they couldn't reach you. I asked Leo to pick it up last night," she picked up the small pouch on the desk and tossed him the numbing and muscle strengthening potions.

"Thanks."

He caught and pocketed the phials with his free hand, thinking about disposing of it later.

Harry motioned to the screen before her.

"So, what do you have?"

"Two lists; the last three generations of pro-potion Bruin women from Ginny's incomplete family tree and the three hundred twenty five female registrants and presenters in this year's conference. I've been running queries, trying to find one friggin' match or partial match all night."

"Why just three generations?"

"I had to start somewhere. I figure that if there is a pro-potion Bruin attending the conference she will be one of if not related to someone on the three generation list of seventy seven."

"Anything?"

"Not on last names, not on maiden names, but I just got forty given name matches, most of them Helga. I pulled civilian info from all the sources I could find and I'm cross matching birthdays, places of birth, schools attended, profession, pet names, favorite colors, perfume preferences and whatever else is available. It's a long shot. I just fed the last of the data in. It shouldn't take long."

It was a long shot, a very long shot, but at least it was something. Andy downed the last drop of her coffee and stretched.

"Someone dropped off a package for you at the Ministry yesterday. Leo picked it up while he was doing errands last night. It's over there."

Andy pointed to the desk where he worked the other night. An orange colored parcel with his name on it lay atop the file folders. His partner got up and headed for the shower. Harry left the computer to do its thing and walked towards the other desk, glancing over into Hermione's room on his way there. She was still in the bathroom. He remembered that Ron had resorted to using code the other night which meant that whatever it was, Ron did not want Hermione to know.

Using his wand to break the seal, he wasted no time unpacking the parcel he had been expecting from Ron's former Cannon teammate, Pfaff. There was a note up on top of the box contents, an open invitation from Pfaff to have a few drinks. He put the note aside and pulled out the well used dragon hide gloves he had given Ron back in Hogwarts.

They were reddish brown, treated with weeks of immersion in a softening potion and hand sewn using giant hair twine. Ron loved the pair and used them during their first year as Cannons. He probably would have continued to use them if not for the large tear on the right one caused by an over zealous but blind Beater who, mistaking it for the Bludger, whacked the Quaffle off of Ron's hand during a practice game.

All right, Ron. Where would you hide our non existent secret plays?

It would have helped had he had a better idea what it was exactly he was looking for. Envisioning it as maybe some sort of a letter or actual writing, he checked the most obvious spots first. There were no markings or notes inside out. He even checked within the tear and there was nothing.

Just what he needed; one more thing to figure out. He pondered getting in touch with the Ghost and asking him pointedly what this was all about. Without thought, he put the gloves on both hands. That didn't feel right.

He took them off and examined them more closely and this time noticed the relatively new stitching on both.

Diffindo!

The stitches broke off easily confirming they weren't made of the original giant hair twine. He took the gloves apart and found what he was looking for. In between the inner linings and the outer dragon hide coverings were pictures, moving magical images of two familiar figures in a clearly compromising position. He knew exactly when and where they were taken and after reading an unsigned note bundled within the snapshots, had a good idea of who gave them to Ron. There was a letter addressed to him in his friend's handwriting which confirmed his suspicion.

As Harry recalled the events that happened just before Ron's death, everything was coming together now. The Beavers were favorites heading in then lost their Seeker days before the match. He could bet a million galleons that the Seeker's injury was not accidental. With that, the Cannons became heavy favorites. Waterman took advantage of the situation and tried to make easy money by betting heavily on a Beavers win knowing he had the other team's best player under control. Ron was asked to sell the team out or the pictures would leak out and damage Hermione's reputation. It explained his performance that night, until Ron did the unthinkable and led his team to a come from behind victory. He pissed a lot of people off. It was obvious Ron was murdered because of it.

He sat back and felt his hatred for Waterman resurface and percolate. That bastard must have had someone spying on him as Roy that night at St. Mungo's when he and Hermione were in that exam room. He was livid at himself for the entire thing; for the indiscretion, for the lack of awareness and for putting Ron in a hellish situation. Harry imagined what Ron went through actually seeing the woman he was about to marry with another man as opposed to just knowing of it. And not only that, he was giving up his dream of a Queen's cup championship ring. In his opinion, Ron exercised extraordinary restrain for he would have done more than what Ron did to him if it was the other way around.

Repairing the gloves, the air was suddenly pierced by a commotion in the shower.

"Get the fuck out of here, Ghost!"

Ron's transparent body appeared through the bathroom door and he was laughing.

"I love being a ghost!" Ron said to him as he got closer, "Oh, good. You got it from Pfaff. If you don't mind. They kind of bring back painful memories."

Ron eyed the pictures with disgust as Harry destroyed them.

"Why didn't you tell me he was blackmailing you?"

"I just found out about what you did. I wanted to kill you, I was doing you a favor," he replied, "It wasn't an option. And I really thought I could handle it on my own."

"He would not have kept the end of his bargain."

"Probably not."

"You should have told someone."

"Who? Kingsley? Get the entire Auror team to hunt the man down?" Ron asked, "She would have gotten into trouble. I couldn't do that to her. She would have lost everything, Harry. Her job, her license to heal. We both know healing is her life. It would have killed her."

Harry was speechless. Ron had very good points and he had to admit, he would have probably done the same thing.

Ron added, "It was okay. I kind of accepted that we were going to lose the Cup until Socrates got Killdeer warming up and threatened to pull me out of the game. He's been around a long time and knew someone got to me. He told me that he didn't care what it was but called it as you just said. Deliberately losing was not a guarantee. I realized I couldn't help her and I just lost it."

Harry nodded, "What really happened up there Ron?"

As if waiting for that question for a long time he answered quickly, "I saw that man's face, got hit by a green light and blacked out."

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

"The same reason I didn't tell anyone when I was alive. And besides, Ghosts aren't allowed to be witnesses against gits like him."

It wasn't so much as a relief but a feeling of vindication washed over him. He had been right all along but there was hollowness to the story that needed filling. The first gap was the fact that the MLE crime lab found no traces of magical foul play on Ron's body. He could only think that the current methods of magical detection could not pick up the type of magic Waterman was using. The second was less easy to explain.

"Waterman is a vile excuse for a human being. Why didn't he let the pictures out after you died?"

"I don't know. That was why I gave the pictures to Pfaff for safekeeping. If Hermione got in trouble, he was supposed to give that to you and to you only, and I was hoping you could do something to help her. And who cares if he didn't? I want him to never be able to. That was what I was worried about when I died and continue to be worried about. That's the real reason why I can't cross over. I can't rest until that guy Floyd or Waterman or whatever his name is is dead, my preference, or unable to recall the past. Until then Hermione will not be safe."

"You don't want him to face charges for your death?"

"There will be too much digging around the truth if that happened. No circus," he said emphatically, "And she can't know about this. Okay?"

He nodded in agreement. It would be one more thing she would feel guilty about. It was a good thing that the orders for Waterman were curse-first-ask-questions-later. He did not have to make excuses. But it still bugged him that Waterman chose not to make Hermione and him suffer more. Did Neville know about St. Mungo's too? Was he the one who asked Waterman not to release the pictures or was it Lestrange?

Judging that last thought preposterous and the former more likely, he barely heard Ron hurriedly giving him last minute reminders about Waterman. The Ghost wisely exited because Andy was coming out of the shower.

Harry looked up. The sight of Hermione's still empty room jarred him. Hermione had not come out yet.

XXXXXXXXXX

Not long before that, the eerie silence between Hermione and Neville was as unusual as how terrified she was of him at that moment. Hermione stared into the mirror at the image of Neville's friendly grey eyes, feeling naked without her wand, more naked than if she did not have the towel wrapped around her. The air in her vicinity dissipated and she could hear her heart beating wildly knowing that her weapon was on the counter within arms reach. Her vision blurred and she blinked off tears as her hands shook.

"I wouldn't do it," Neville advised, calm and confident as she had never seen him, "You can't curse me even if you wanted to. You'll just raise the alarm and get a lot of people killed unnecessarily. The way I see it, you can either do that or come with me quietly."

He was right. No more deaths.

"It didn't have to be this way, Neville," she had to tell him, "You should have come to us for help."

"Unfortunately that's all water under the bridge."

"It's not too late. It's never too late."

"There are things I cannot change anymore. It's already out there and I have to see this through," he replied with a morsel of regret.

"Do you really expect me to willingly help you after what you've done?"

"I'm hoping you will once you hear what it is that I need your help with. I won't even have to convince you," he remarked confidently, "Creating the potion that Sophie Bruin intended is the right thing to do."

"The end does not justify the means."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Neville said to her as he wandlessly conjured clothes for her to wear, "We should get going. You and I have a lot to learn from each other."

As Hermione dressed she thought about Harry and what would happen once he found out she was missing. She was weighing what she wanted him to do, then, thinking about how he had not totally recovered from what happened at the Ministry yesterday, decided and made a request.

"I'd like to leave a note, for Harry."

"You don't want him to worry?"

She nodded. Neville handed her wand over. Transfiguring paper towel into stationary, she used her wand to make markings on it.

Harry,

I need some space and some time to think. I hope you understand.

Love,

Hermione

Hermione was about to fold it when he stopped her. He saw what she wrote.

"It's not very convincing."

He was right but it was the best she could do.

"Here, let me help you."

Neville took the letter from her and added his writing at the bottom of the page.

P.S.

Don't worry. I'll take good care of her. See you around.

"That's better. Don't you think?"

Tears of every imaginable negative emotion sprung from her eyes. He pinned the note on the mirror with a sticking charm, produced a phial from his robe pocket and offered it to her.

"No thanks," she declined as she told herself to act braver and stop being so emotional, "I prefer drinking my own concoctions."

He chuckled, "So do I, actually. But I insist you make an exception in this case."

Hermione took it from him trying to figure out what the potion in it was. Neville guessed the question in her mind and answered.

"It's cranberry juice with a few drops of essence of house elf, in this case, spleen, just enough to be able to go through the wards undetected, you know, like house elves are able to. It's good to have a few minutes head start."

She uncorked the phial and drank the entire lot quickly. There was an immediate involuntary revulsion from deep within her and she could feel her stomach wanting to expel it she instinctively bent over the sink. It wasn't so much because of the taste but it was as if it was something foreign that just had to be churned up, much like food or water inadvertently finding its way into the wrong pipe.

"Yeah, it's awful especially the first time but believe it or not a lot better with cranberry juice," he said as she retched. "Try to hold it in. It'll pass."

True enough it did pass soon after but left her feeling hot all over. Flinching instinctively at his touch, she began thinking of what she could do about the situation she was in. He held her arm gently and reminded her not to resist.

A second later they Disapparated.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jack Muller sat at his desk and was looking at reports of more than usual Squib travel across the Canada US border for a Squib research conference in Toronto.

What Squib conference?

XXXXXXXXXX

A white van stopped at the corner of Avenue and Davenport. A young man with spiked blond hair got on through the side door and joined the two other boys in the back.

"Good morning, kid."

"Good morning, Mr. Floyd."

"Sleep well?"

"Not really. Too excited."

"You'll do fine," Waterman replied, "Things okay at home?"

"Yeah. I told my sister I was going on a field trip with some friends," the boy answered, slightly embarrassed about admitting a lie.

Waterman laughed with the other boys.

"That's actually kind of true."

"Where to, Boss?" the driver asked.

"First, breakfast; the most important meal of the day."

XXXXXXXXXX

She could hardly contain her excitement. The day she had been waiting for all her life had finally arrived. Grandma Sophie would be so proud and she'd have proven both her pro-potion father and her anti-potion mother wrong.

It was cruel fate that brought her Norwegian father and American mother to meet while on holidays in the French Riviera, falling in love and getting married, neither knowing they were distantly related and on opposing sides of the Bruin controversy until after she born. She read that in her mom's diary. They fell out of love quickly and separated.

The Bruin spent most of her young life with her mother. Neither her parents told her about the prophecy, about who she was, her heritage, her great grandmother but she grew curious about the similarities of her mom's and dad's family emblems she researched, discovered and read on Sophie Bruin she was knew she was a Bruin by the time she was a Healer. She always got the feeling that her magical father was disappointed with her and later on she realized that this was because she did not turn out to be a Squib who could be mother to the One. She decided that even though she was not the Bruin granddaughter prophesied to create it, she was going to help realize Grandma Sophie's dream.

Ted Waxball and his men were hired to help her find Bruin potion makers and any underground studies related to magical potions. She let Ted make more money by stealing other research ideas. Then they found Healer Braun two years ago and the rest was history.

It was unfortunate that Lestrange got involved last year and made it about the Janus prophecy but, as planned, Lestrange and Umber were out of the picture. There was one minor wrinkle that had to be ironed out about that. It had to do with the fact that Umber's Elder Bruin medallion was not found on him or on the Prophet reporter who discovered the bodies.

Somebody had it; somebody who most likely witnessed the entire Umber-Lestrange exchange. And if that somebody witnessed it and was able to get out of the house alive, then chances were that somebody was a Bruin.

She had a pretty good idea who that somebody was. They needed to eliminate loose ends as quickly as possible. She had sent out Quincy and Hughes to find Pia Russet.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry quickly went across the imaginary wall into Hermione's room and knocked urgently on the bathroom door.

"Hermione!"

He did not wait for a response. Harry turned the knob and pushed the door in. Hermione was gone. He scanned quickly, the used white hotel towels on the floor, an empty phial and her phone on the sink counter, a note on the mirror.

Andy and Leo were beside him as he summoned it and read it. He was already silently berating himself for losing her.

"Fuck!"

Andy stepped out and was already on the phone to MLE dispatch. Usual procedure was to try and find any unusual magical activity in the area. Even Harry knew that was pointless. Neville was long gone.

He brushed past Leo as he stormed out of the bathroom, suddenly overcome by need for air. Thoughts about what could have happened flooded his mind. By the time Andy got off the phone with Jack he had settled on a version he was comfortable with.

"Nothing from the MLE," Andy reported what he already knew, "How did he get in?"

Leo had joined them and answered, "I found traces of Apparition and Disapparition."

"Our sensors didn't pick anything up," Andy pointed.

"We're obviously not dealing with the usual here," Harry said to them, "There was a phial on the counter. Get it to the Department of Mysteries. The answer is in there."

"What now?" Andy asked as Leo retrieved the phial.

"She wrote the note with her wand and she has it with her. There were no signs of a struggle. I think physically she's okay and will be a least until Neville gets what he wants from her."

Andy agreed, "She chose to come with him quietly."

"It would not have taken a lot to convince her not to fight him."

"So, how do we find them?"

He couldn't explain it but when he read Neville's post script he had a feeling that at some point Neville would come and find him.

"The conference starts today," he answered, "He could have easily taken her any other time while she was in London. It's not coincidence that she was here in Toronto."

"So we're back to Waterman," Andy touched his arm and apologized, "I'm so sorry, Harry."

"Forget it. It was my fault."

A beeping sound came from a portable monitor Andy had with her.

"Ginny and Dean," she said to him.

In a couple minutes the four of them were huddled inside the Auror room as Ginny told them about what she told Hermione that morning.

"It must have happened just as we got off the phone," Ginny said after, visibly concerned about Hermione.

"So Lestrange hired Creevey to keep an eye on her months ago?" Andy clarified.

"Yes."

Harry added, "Hermione thinks Neville's trying to make the potion better by replacing ingredients and that's why he needs her help. We were wondering if he had found the substitutes and that kind of explains the wait."

"You're probably right. He wouldn't need Hermione until he had that for her to work on," Ginny concurred, "It still bugs me that we're all here in Toronto."

“He said the potion is not ready," Andy replied, remembering what Neville said during the interview, "Maybe he needs something else from Toronto. Or someone else."

Dean spoke his mind, "If I was Neville and thinking about replacement ingredients I would think plants. He and Snape did a lot of weird shit with plants. I'm not sure if this is relevant but there was another person mentioned on Snape's diary, someone he also did some work with just before he started meeting regularly with Neville. Kingsley and I couldn't find him or her and when evidence against Neville became overwhelming, we thought the person unimportant. Snape referred to him as TT.

"Tilden Toots," Harry and Andy said in unison.

"Who?" Dean asked.

"I've heard that name before," Ginny remarked, trying to place it.

"I'm guessing you guys don't garden much," Andy commented, "Tilden Toots, the man with three green thumbs? He's this year's conference keynote speaker."

"The hermit who tames Devil's snare," Ginny remembered, "Neville talked about him like he was some god. He said he wouldn't miss it for the world."

Harry was already looking at his partner who guessed what he was going to ask her.

"We have to tell Jack, Harry."

"Do we really? He's already got Toots covered with protection from head to toe."

"The man will be in grave danger. At least give them the option to back out."

Harry pointed out, "They will. You know that. And what do you think Neville will do to Hermione once Toots cancels his talk and goes underground for the rest of his life? He's not going to apologize and let her go."

Dean answered, "What about getting someone else to be Toots?"

"That would involve a lot more people and Neville will likely be tipped off," Harry shot the idea down.

Ginny agreed, "The Bruin woman admitted last night they had eyes and ears at the Ministry. The problem is they have a traitor high up who has access to their spies."

"What does she mean by traitor?" Andy asked.

"An active anti-potion pretender working with Neville and Waterman, a Bruin who knows a lot about the members of the Council of Elders. Each Elder received a note from the Potion Master telling them about Dennis being a traitor and not very many people know who the Elders are except for the Elders themselves."

"Fine," Andy caved in, "But we never talked about TT or Tilden Toots today. So we're up against Longbottom, Waterman, and the Bruin traitor."

"Would that be our Mystery witch?" Dean wondered out loud.

"Longbottom said the Mystery witch was dead," Andy reminded them.

"He could be lying," Ginny postulated. "He could be protecting her."

"Okay, so she's possibly the Mystery witch," Andy conceded, "But that can also mean Longbottom may not have been entirely truthful during the interview."

"She could also possibly be the Bruin granddaughter," Dean added.

"What makes you think that?" Ginny asked.

"Lestrange was into the prophecy and so are these crazy Bruins. But the prediction says a Bruin granddaughter with Squib parents will create it. We're saying that everybody is here and everything is ready. Tilden Toots, Waterman and Neville are definitely not her and neither is Hermione. So that leaves Mystery witch unless there's some other player we don't know about."

Harry met Ginny's eye and knew there was more to the Bruin meeting than she was telling them. He would ask her later.

A bell sounded from Andy's computer close by, interrupting their conversation. They all looked over to the screen, a message in bold letters was flashing.

MATCH FOUND...

There were two pictures, one on each half of the monitor. The one on the left was that of a four or five year old girl who bore little resemblance to the one of an older woman on the right. He knew the latter, having met the witch a few times in the past few days.

Andy said to Ginny, "She doesn’t have Squib parents but she is kind of ‘high up there’. You can tell your Bruin friend that we may have found their traitor."

"Who is she?"

"According to your list she's Helga Lana Michelsen of Norway," Andy answered Ginny's question, "We know her as Healer Lana Hama, the Potionmaker Registry Headmistress. She also organizes the annual Toronto research conference."

61. A Logical Proposal

Chapter 61 - A Logical Proposal

Ginny stepped out of the huddle and into the quiet of Hermione's room as the three Aurors animatedly discussed battle strategy. They had just talked about next steps and it was clear that they had to get some of the Bruins on their side, to inform them of what they knew of Healer Hama and maybe have confirmation that she was indeed the traitor they were looking for. There was also the possibility of having them help fight as it was apparent they would need all the wands they could mobilize to counteract the kind of magic they were up against.

Getting the Bruins on board was obviously her job. She took her phone out and did the logical.

Messages...reply...shoot...number does not exist. Well, it couldn't have been that easy.

She dialed Sir Isaac's office and got an out of office recording. It was the same message that greeted her at Ecruminus Brown's line at the Association for the Protection of Squibs Headquarters. Pacing and thinking how else she could get in touch with the right set of Bruins as quickly as possible, she phoned a London number.

A friendly tone greeted her, "Gringott's, how may I help you?"

She asked to speak with her Goblin contact.

"One moment please."

The voice that came on after was understandably not half as pleasant.

"You have the wrong number."

"It's urgent."

"I'm hanging up."

The line went dead. He sounded like he was under a lot of pressure and she had never known him to be so spooked. Was he calling back? What if he didn't?

Maybe the Bruin would get in touch with her again but the woman did say she was in a delicate position. The fact that she wasn't totally honest with the Council meant Council was against what it was she was trying to do. She and her crew tried to help Hermione and Harry in the alley and Ginny doubted very much that Council approved of that. What if Council found out about what she was hiding and shut her down for good?

After a minute Ginny decided the goblin wouldn't call her back. She scrolled down her list of contacts, trying to see who else could help her. Almost at the end and losing hope, she was resigned to the fact that they were on their own and began considering the notion of telling Harry, Dean and Andy the entire truth about her conversation with the Bruin woman.

What complicated things was that she could not in good conscience tell Harry and the rest of them exactly what the Bruin and Lestrange said about Hermione. For one she had promised the Bruin woman she wouldn't tell a soul unless it was absolutely necessary. And secondly, it didn't really matter if Hermione was or wasn't the Bruin granddaughter. The urgency to get her back from Neville was not going to change. Following the discovery of the Bruin traitor and the Toronto target, all efforts were now focused on how to use the information to rescue Hermione and disrupt whatever evil plan was in the works. And lastly, if she had to tell someone she would prefer telling Hermione first. If she were Hermione, she would definitely want that.

Buzz!

Her phone vibrated suddenly startling her she almost dropped it. Caller ID was blocked off.

"Ginny Weasley," she answered.

Relief washed over her as her Gringott's contact's voice came over the receiver, even though it was chastising.

"I thought you understood. That Muggle line is not secure and with what's happened everything is being monitored."

"I had no choice. I'm in Toronto and I needed to talk to you urgently. It's about the Bruins."

"Never mention that name to me."

"Sir Isaac is dead!"

"I read your article about finding their bodies. You left out some salient parts. He would have been grateful."

It wasn't the time to celebrate her ability to filter what and what not to print.

"I need to find one of them, to deliver an important message as soon as possible. There are no words to describe how vital it is."

There was silence on the other line and then a reply, "The one you seek has gone underground. She is in possession of something that isn't rightfully hers and their Council has questioned her presence at the scene of the crime. They are looking for her too."

"I need to find her or her superior."

"Her superior and the rest of the Council have been compromised. With Isaac gone they will hinder rather than assist."

"Tell me something I can work with," she said almost begging.

Sensing her desperation, the goblin answered, "There is a funeral service, a private one in an hour. She has safe passage to pay her last respects. She may or may not show up."

"Thank you. Where?"

"The London National Memorial Park, but you will need appropriate apparel to attend."

"Do you have her name?" she asked, taking a chance.

"No. I'll see if I can find one for you."

He said he'd send suitable attire to her office. She thanked him again and hung up. An hour. There wasn't much time. She set her phone to ring and just as she did, something rang. Following the tone she got to the bathroom, her eyes searching for what she knew was Hermione's phone ringing.

Ginny picked it up and by habit glanced at caller ID. It was from Detroit. Thinking that it was about the Watermans and how it was possibly important to the case, she answered without second thought.

XXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile in the other room, the Aurors were going over possible scenarios at the Tilden Toots talk. They agreed that Toots would likely be abducted just as Hermione was but with more firepower.

"Toots is coming directly into the meeting hall and will be most exposed the moment he gets there until he leaves about half an hour later," Andy told them what the plan was.

"Apparition and Disapparition," Dean mentioned the most obvious method of abduction that could be used.

"Likely, or use of a Portkey," Andy replied.

"Wouldn't Neville need the wards down for either?" Dean asked.

"He and Hermione went through ours as if it didn't exist," Harry answered back. "The alternative is to drag Toots out of the hall to get past the wards. We don't want that."

"Civilian roadkill," Andy knew what he was getting at.

"Unarmed wizards and witches caught in crossfire. Toots' security detail won't be as restrained as the MLE," Dean chimed in.

Andy recapped, "So we want them to come in and get out quickly but give us enough time to tag them and come with them to where they’re going."

"Which would most likely be where Neville has taken Hermione," Dean added.

For that plan they needed to be really close to Toots and that meant getting Jack to assign them as his primary protection. That wasn't going to be a problem for Andy and Harry. Dean, on the other hand, had already received countless voicemails and inter-Ministry mail that Gumboil wanted him back in London.

As they weighed Dean's problem, Harry's phone rang.

"Luna?"

"Hey, Harry," Luna's cheery greeting was always a surprise. "How's it going?"

"It's crazy."

"I bet. I tried Hermione's phone but I'm getting her voice mail. Is she around? It's rather urgent."

Harry told her what happened.

"Oh no! That's not good. That's not good at all," Luna expressed her concern, "Kingsley's gone and now Hermione. It's very hard to believe that Neville is doing this."

"It is," he agreed then asked, "Does this urgent thing you're calling about have anything to do with the case?"

"No, it doesn't," Luna replied, "Wait a sec."

Loud harsh crackling came over the receiver forced Harry to distance the phone from his ear.

"I had to debug your end; too many people listening in," she explained, "I’m calling about the potion she sent me the other day."

"She sent you potion?"

"The class F one you found on the underground train; some of it anyway. I could have done much more had I had more than the eighth of a phial she sent me but she said she had to give the rest of it to some very important people so you wouldn't get in trouble."

And Hermione never thought about telling him?

"What do you have?"

"Aside from confirming what's in it, I'm afraid not much."

It took Luna about three minutes to explain what she did, how she did it and what she found; most of it was not in English he understood they kind of blew over his head. Then she said something that piqued his interest he put her on speakerphone so Andy and Dean could listen in.

"You had a Squib drink it?"

"I wanted to know what it does and how it does it," she answered plainly.

Luna went on to explain that she made sure it was non toxic to her subject and wiped the subject's memory right after, with his permission of course. Andy, who didn't know Luna, had to say it.

"You do know that you broke about half a dozen international laws by doing what you did."

"I don't know you but thank you for your concern. Of course I know I broke some rules; eight to be exact."

"You're a Ministry employee but you don't sound...disturbed."

"Unspeakables break rules all the time. How else do you think we discover new cool stuff?"

Harry asked, "Did you find anything we can use?"

"As you already guessed, the drinker gains the traits of the magical beings contained in the potion. The key magical component is the elfin tissue and the effects are temporal, its half life proportional to the concentration of the ingredient in the potion and to the frequency and extent of magical use."

"How concentrated was the one we sent to you?"

"Based on my estimation a full phial would give its drinker magical properties for about four hours before he has to replenish, sooner if he uses it to do magic. The more complex magic he uses the faster it wears out."

"Complex meaning?"

"In your situation, offensive spells."

"So, you're saying that if we can fight them magically for a couple of hours without getting killed and prevent them from drinking more potion we should be fine," Andy caught the gist. "Piece of cake."

"The second part should be easy," Luna offered. "All you have to do is destroy the phials."

"Luna, they're unbreakable," Harry reminded her.

"I built them, Harry. I know that," Luna said what he didn't want to, "They're unbreakable, not indestructible. Do you really think me irresponsible to invent something totally non-environmentally friendly? There is a spell."

Ginny walked in with a frown on her face just as Luna finished telling them what the spell was and was saying goodbye.

"I'm on my way back," Ginny said to Luna, "Can I see you as soon as I get in?"

"I'll be here," their friend replied and hung up.

Dean asked the question, "Why do you have to go back?"

"Funeral," she answered, telling him more about what her contact said, "It may be my one chance to get in touch with her. I take it you're staying."

"Be careful, okay?"

There was an unfamiliar affection in Dean's voice and when Harry saw how he and Ginny were looking at each other, he tried not to be too surprised. When did this happen?

"You too," Ginny replied with the same gentleness.

"Geez," Andy sighed with some impatience, "It's okay. Don't mind Harry and me. This is a life or death thing, huge potential for regret. What is it about you Brits and showing affection in front of others or is it just you Brits I know?"

Ginny and Dean kissed and embraced, as Andy's words about life or death and regret lingered in the air for Harry to use for himself. He pictured Hermione as he remembered their last kiss that same morning, how it was filled with tenderness and a regret that it took them so long to discover each other and finally be together. Then this happened. He could not keep himself from wondering if that was their last moment for all of eternity. A gut-wrenching pang of helplessness hit him as he thought how that was possible.

Focusing on his friends, he was happy for them, for Dean who had so much bad luck with women he fell in love with in the past and for Ginny who he knew was taking a huge leap by trusting a man with her heart again. It was amusing how things had a way of coming around. Pertinent questions would have to be asked at a much later time and it seemed the couple was not really ready to say anything either.

Just before Ginny left, she took Harry aside and said to him, "When you get Hermione back, in case she asks, tell her I've taken some of her stuff with me."

"What's going on, Gin?" he asked her as Dean and Andy were discussing Luna’s suggestion, "What else did that Bruin woman say to you?"

"You know I'd tell you if I could," Ginny answered, looking him in the eye as she did, "Just find her and keep her safe."

Ginny left leaving Harry with more answers than she may have wanted him to have. How she reacted to what Dean said about why he thought their Mystery witch could be the Bruin granddaughter did not escape him. From the beginning the whole thing kept on coming back to Hermione and Lestrange hiring Dennis months before to keep an eye on her was suspect. Harry thought at first that maybe Dennis was put in place to learn what it was that she did that would help create the potion but it was apparent that it wasn't the case. It was a hunch but it grew stronger by the minute and if he was right then Ginny's secrecy was not totally unwarranted.

As far as Harry was concerned, all the players needed to make this Bruin potion were in Toronto.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione stood beside Neville inside a Level 5 potions lab, everything around her familiar. She was there with Harry two days ago taking the potion apart. The galloping horses inside her chest had settled down, replaced by a slow cadence of a powerful drumbeat that echoed her feeling of impending doom. She still had not come up with anything remotely resembling a plan. It wasn't her life that she was most concerned about; it was what she could do and what she could contribute that would either kill more people or make more lives miserable.

"Our host had to be at a funeral. Professor Tan extends his regrets he's not here to welcome you personally."

The quirky professor was in on this all along but nothing surprised her anymore.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

Neville was annoyingly chatty, his intrusions breaking her stream of thought. Did he really think they could have normal conversation?

"I guess you're not hungry."

She remained silent, worried about what was about to happen and plotting how to get herself out of it. It was obvious that he could have abducted her anytime even while she was still in London but he chose to do so that particular morning for a particular reason. Having no inclination to encourage communication she didn't think to ask. Whatever that reason was she would find out soon anyway.

Hermione thought about escaping but the more she did the more she realized it was not a good idea. If she were to Disapparate right now, even if she could, where would she go that he wouldn't find her? And if he couldn't find her to what lengths would he go through to get her back? It was not a difficult conclusion to make. To end this, she would have to stay. Leaving was not an option and knowing that she had to hang around simplified things a bit.

"Aren't you curious at all why I need you?"

Curious wasn't on the list of emotions she was feeling right now. She bit her lip as she tried to mask her innermost fears. It wasn't fooling Neville one bit.

"You're scared. I understand. Believe me, I mean you no harm and I don’t want to hurt anyone else."

She couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

"How can I believe you? All those people and beings..."

"Are already dead," he finished for her, "There's nothing you and I can do about that but we can prevent more beings from dying."

"Is that how you think you'll get me to agree to help you? Kill more if I don't?"

"That's Plan B which I hope you're not going to force me to go to."

She could only wish Plan A was something she could live with because if he got to Plan B, she already knew he wouldn't need a Plan C. But it angered her that he could nonchalantly talk about killing more people she couldn't keep the disgust she felt to herself.

"Do you even know what you’ve done? How can you just brush off all the life you took away? Kingsley was about to become a grandfather for the first time! One of the other Aurors was breadwinner for his seven younger brothers and sisters! Those men, women and beings you murdered were fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, friends who won't be anymore because of what you did! And you think that's justified because their deaths were a means to an end!? Nobody had to die yesterday so don't fool yourself that it was all right! And don't fool yourself that if I don't help you and you kill more beings you won't have their blood on your hands."

Her diatribe hit Neville hard. Gone were the friendly demeanor and the easy smile. In its place seriousness with such depth Hermione was taken aback. The only time she'd seen this side of Neville was a long time ago, when as a kid he first talked about what happened to his parents. It was maddening how that memory made her feel bad about the biting words she just let loose and she felt even worse when he started talking.

"I accept responsibility for each and every being who died by my hand," Neville said with a piercing sincerity she had absolutely no doubt he meant it, "I agree. Yesterday's deaths were unnecessary and so were the deaths of Firenze, Winky, Ragnok and all the nameless, faceless, countless magical beings who became part of many versions of this imperfect potion. I could even argue that that goes the same for the hundreds of Bruins who lost their lives testing and trying to create it and the countless others murdered by deranged blood relative zealots blinded by fear of some prophecy.

"But the flawed potion is out there, has been even before you and I were born. Many have already lost their lives to it, many we don't know about. How much more Bruin and magical blood have to be spilled before outsiders intervene? So as selfish as their motive was, it was actually a good thing that Ted and Tom let the Bruin secret out because now that it has the potential to kill others, more people will give a damn.

"I've done what I can. I did the necessary parts that were illegal and immoral. My hands and my heart are permanently stained by the blood of those who died and I'll live with that for the rest of my life. But replacing the existent potion with a better one is the only way to stop and prevent more deaths. I can't do it on my own. Help me put an end to this."

He took his wand out, conjured a bound inch thick manuscript and gently set it in front of her.

"Read it and if after reading what I propose you still don't want to help me, be prepared to walk away knowing that each being who dies because of the potion you chose not to improve was preventable."

Neville turned away from her and left through the door to the observation booth as one of his followers went into the lab to watch her.

His words left her speechless. She sensed his pain about having to do what he did and she disliked how his impassioned soliloquy made her feel. Hermione had to remind herself that no matter what he said nothing could justify taking another's life, that he was a cold hearted murderer and that he did not deserve sympathy for being one. She had not forgotten that Neville tried to kill Harry who had been nothing but a friend to him. She didn't forget; she just couldn't get herself to bring it up.

But she saw his point. Murders aside, the potion was already out in the open. If Neville did not agree to make it, Lestrange would have killed him and moved on to offer the next Potion Master wannabe the job. And if Neville failed to create better potion this time, there were many other potion makers in waiting, ready to unleash this defective version for whatever reason, money, power, prestige. The anti-potion Bruins had been sweeping its existence under a rug and having the few non Bruins who knew about it do the same would not work. It had come to a point when there was no room under the rug anymore. As much as she hated to admit it, she could not think of any other way to end this other than coming up with an alternative potion as Neville proposed.

Hermione looked at what he left in front of her and read the heading.

Sophie Bruin's Purple Potion

Turning the page over, her eyes flew over words on the parchments, guilty of wanting to find out what it was that he was proposing, hoping his idea was rubbish so she could dismiss it and at the same time ingenious so the mess could be fixed. The public release of a magic enabling potion seemed to be a foregone conclusion; the unwanted aftermath seemingly inevitable. Neville's proposal to give the public a better version of it was enticing particularly because the current one was just too horrifying anything else would be better.

Needless to say, she despised his Plan A because his appealing to logic and reason was working on her like a charm.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was 8:28.

Attendees were still making their way into their seats in the main conference hall. The vast space was generously peppered with bright lights, none brighter than the ones aimed on centre stage where a solitary three foot high green plant in a transparent pot had just been brought in for a demonstration. In two short minutes, celebrity and Herbologist extraordinaire Tilden Toots was going to make a rare public appearance to speak on the present and future state of his favorite subject, plants.

Tensions were high as MLE checked wands in at the door, security unequivocally as stringent as what would have been afforded any Minister of Magic. Harry and Andy were positioned with five other Aurors stage right where Toots was supposed to appear. They were to walk with him onto the stage, stand about five feet away and stay until he was done with his fifteen minute keynote presentation and the ten minutes allotted for answering audience questions. After which, Toots would Portkey back into seclusion.

Twenty five minutes. That was the window of opportunity. They discussed with Jack hypothetically when and how they thought Neville and/or Waterman would make a move if Toots was their target, agreeing that it was enough that Jack thought the possibility very likely. As protocol and as promised to Toots' personal security, all magical wards and protective spells were to be turned on except during the brief moments of the Toots arrival and departure. Jack was aware of the possibility that the wards wouldn't work but still thought that was better than nothing. The Head Auror would take them down at the first sign of trouble from Waterman or Neville so they could safely take Toots out or allow the wizard use of the emergency Portkey he had near him.

Harry glanced at the swelling crowd, white conversational noise filling the hall. There were at least seven hundred, all of them conference registered and card carrying members of the Congregation of International Magical Researchers.

On the first row, a beaming Healer Lana Hama sat as thrilled as everyone else in the room was, unaware of what they knew about her. They told Jack but got nowhere with it. There were no legal grounds to pick her up for questioning. It wasn't a crime to be a Bruin but oddly a crime to accuse one of being one, and how they found out was not exactly something they could tell Legal about. It would be difficult to explain why they had a Bruin list if it was indeed one and it was impossible to verify authenticity without dragging their source into it. Instead, they decided to have Dean sit directly behind the Witch, watchful and ready for any scenario that may arise.

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

A series of pops came as expected and they drew their wands out. Jack appeared beside them with Tilden Toots and his men, and the Chief Auror immediately put the wards up. The entrance was sealed and the noise of the chatting audience died down to complete stillness.

A wizard was at the podium introducing Toots and it gave Harry the opportunity to appraise their protectee. He was huge in every sense of the word, more than six and a half feet tall and almost as wide.

We are blessed to have with us today a most distinguished and accomplished individual...

He looked ancient. The small tuft of silvery hair on his forehead, the only hair he had left, fell on his wrinkled face and was as distinctive as his three green thumbs currently concealed by a pair of gardening gloves.

His contributions to the science and art of Herbology are numerous and well known to you all, trying to list them would not do justice. Join me in welcoming our Keynote Speaker for the conference, Mr. Tilden Toots.

Tilden Toots took energetic steps onto the centre stage spotlight, causing mini-earthquakes at each step, and stood right beside the plant amidst thundering applause and a standing ovation. The Aurors and Toots' security spaced themselves and stayed in the shadows just beyond the bright lights as multiple live images of the wizard sprang up in large screens throughout the hall. He was blushing and bowing to the crowd.

As this went on every so often a disturbance in the hall would attract their attention only to be given an all clear sign. The MLE were all on edge and pounced on every suspicious movement. After a couple of minutes the applause finally died down and the multitude of eager researchers took their seats.

“I was invited today to talk about plants. I love plants. I can talk about plants all day. You don't want me to do that. Just ask my wife.”

That drew laughter from his audience.

“So, what I thought I'd do today was show you what I've recently worked on. This I hope will cover the present state of the study of plants. As for the future, I am no Seer, so your guess will be as good as mine.”

All eyes and ears were on Toots. He took out his wand, conjured a work stool, a table and some gardening tools.

Harry's eyes swept the crowd as well as the bodies on stage and off, trying to detect anything out of place. He observed Andy on the opposite side of the stage doing the same; she briefly nodded in his direction, signaling all was in the clear. So far.

“What drives us to invent and discover?” he asked rhetorically as he sat and levitated the plant onto the table. “For those of you who are in research and development, there are many different answers to this. Reasons vary even among purists who don't do it for money or fame. This particular discovery that I am about to demonstrate I cannot claim to be wholly my own for the idea wasn’t mine to begin with.”

Toots glanced offstage to his left and an assistant came out with an apple.

Thud!

Harry swung around. One of Toots' men waved him off, indicating he had knocked over a chair. The wizard on centre stage carried on.

“This is Muggle and I've altered it a bit but who can tell me what plant this is?” Toots asked the audience.

“A rose bush!” someone from the crowd shouted out quickly in a voice that Harry thought sounded very much like Waterman's.

Harry squinted in the direction of where the answer came from and saw a freckled red-head grinning from ear to ear. Not Waterman. Harry was losing it.

“Yes, thank you, young man. A rose bush, de-thorned for obvious reasons; chosen simply because we have so many at home,” he explained, “This endeavor started with a frustration, not mine, but that of someone much younger and wiser than I am. I had hoped he would be here today to share this talk but he declined. He is well known for his potion work, is arguably the best potion maker of this century, and I'm certain most of you know who he is. Professor Severus Snape.”

The crowd started talking amongst themselves, excited about what the best gardener and brewer had come up with, their rumbling interrupted by the grinding sound of a blender cutting up the red fruit that the gardener put in it. Toots sounded like he did not know that Snape was dead and that fit because the Ministry had not announced it.

“Professor Snape makes perfect potions but what he finds most frustrating in potionmaking is not having the rarest ingredients he needs when he needs them. He had struggled with the usual supplier excuses; plants not maturing fast enough, scarcity of unicorn hair or dragon scales, civil unrest disrupting the source of whatever it was he had to have. More than a year ago, he came to me with this crazy idea. What if we could take what it was that was desirable from something rare and be able to reproduce it ubiquitously? Not exactly original but we think we have finally come up with a positive answer to that challenge.”

There was gasping from the crowd. It this was true then it was definitely groundbreaking. Toots took the now liquefied apple and poured it into another potion, mumbled a spell and decanted the bubbly thickened concoction into the transparent pot of the rose bush. The large monitors in the hall focused on the see-through container and his audience watched as the roots absorbed the gel.

“Red delicious apples are obviously not rare but I'd rather have them instead of flowers on most days.”

Toots waved his wand on the plant, his face in total concentration.

Thud!

The same falling chair sound came from behind him. He didn't turn, entranced as everyone else at what was unraveling before their eyes. At the tips of branches where flower buds should have sprouted were apples. There were three, four of them, growing in size by the second, their increasing weight causing the plant to bend to the pull of gravity. Unbelievable…

Thud!

Harry glanced back in time to duck out of the way of a curse that was flying in his direction. It missed his head by inches and hit someone else.

“Stupefy!”

The man got a facial, the force of the spell causing his opponent to fall back into darkness as the crowd screamed and panicked in the background. He blocked out the mayhem around him, knowing the prick would be back on his feet. Jack was bellowing instructions. Harry scanned for Waterman and Neville, sure that either would be there.

“Get out! Now!” Toots’ handler and chief security officer yelled at his employer before he got hit by a spell and joined another MLE on the stage floor.

“Harry!”

Andy. She was standing beside Toots, the transparent pot glowing in the absolutely frightened gardener’s hand. It had to be his emergency Portkey, designed to take him to safety except Harry had a previous bad experience he would rather not rely on that premise. Andy had just laid a hand on it as she fired curses at someone behind him and then at another who was closing in from her flank. Harry hurriedly made his way to them knowing Andy had his back.

Pop!

Without warning, Waterman appeared behind Toots and held the wizard’s trembling hand in place. From afar, Harry saw the Portkey momentarily change hues, its destination altered. His partner did not let go of the pot but was unable to fire at their adversary who was effectively using the building size Toots as a shield.

“I’m sorry but you’re not invited,” Waterman said to the Auror.

The asshole was about to raise a finger at Andy. Thinking fast, Harry hexed the git’s arm.

“Bracchium Glacius!”

At that point, Harry was so close it had to hit the mark. The limb froze midway up as he grabbed the lip of the Portkey with his free hand. He preferred Toots to stay but with Waterman's death grip on the gardener and the Portkey, they could not risk leaving the murderer behind. A fraction of a second later they were spinning. Waterman's smug expression kept flashing before him, working his temper up to a steady boil. Harry held onto his wand tight, already thinking what he would do the moment they arrived at their destination.

62. Peace and Violence

Chapter 62 – Peace and Violence

Pia Russet left as Sir Isaac Umber's body was being covered with earth. After a short distance, she glanced over her shoulder. Two robed figures had broken off from the pack to follow her. Even under the hooded Bruin robes there was no mistaking the pair; Hughes and Quincy. Council had set the mad dogs loose and that meant Council wanted her dead.

She quickened her pace and as she turned the corner broke out into a sprint, blurry white and gray graves went past her. She ran as fast as her legs would take her, icy blades of grass crunching beneath her feet, her lungs screaming for rarefied air. Echoes of heavier footsteps closing in egged her on. Just a few more feet beyond the rear cemetery exit and she could Disapparate.

As she got to the steel gates the half giant Hughes, with his longer strides, caught up to her and held her by the scruff of her robes, abruptly halting her forward motion. He grabbed both her arms and held them behind her back before she could reach for her wand. The older and much winded Quincy was beside them shortly and they escorted her to a spot behind an enormous tombstone marked with a one word epitaph.

PEACE

"I have safe passage," she said to them, still breathless, heart pounding against her chest like crazy.

"From the Council, yes," Quincy replied, their hoods had long come off during the chase and it was no longer covering their faces. "This particular order is not from them."

Hughes took her wand from her robes pocket and broke it in half.

"Council will find out," she bluffed.

"None of us here care about the Council."

"Where is your pride? Spying and taking orders from an outsider like Longbottom? For how much did you sell our family out?"

Whack!

The biting remark drew a physical retort from Quincy who was well known for his easy to incite temper.

"What's the matter? Can't handle the truth?"

Whack!

The second one stung so much Pia could not stop the tears no matter how much she tried. The back of the wizard's hand left a mark on her face and she tasted blood.

"We don't work for anybody and we're doing this for the family just like you are. You don't know what you're talking about so shut up!"

The look on Quincy's eyes was murderous as she spat in his face, but she didn't care. It was coming anyway and she was going to get her shots in before it did.

"Will you stop? Please!" Hughes intervened. He was the kinder of the two and his behaviour was showing the conflict brewing within him, "Let's not make this any harder than it already is!"

"Let her run her mouth off. That will make it easier!" the other dared her.

"She's her sister, for Merlin's sake!" Hughes pleaded with Quincy.

That was a surprise. She never thought they would and it made her wonder in what way they did.

"You knew my sister?"

Quincy chose not to answer and told off his partner instead, "If she cared about her sister then she would understand what we're trying to do."

"How did you know my sister?" she asked Hughes knowing he would be more apt to respond.

"Your sister was the bravest and kindest person I ever met," the half giant revealed somewhat teary eyed. "She was too young and too good to die."

That was true. It was obvious that Hughes knew her sister well. It bothered Pia that not once did her sibling mention knowing Bruin muscle. She took a wild guess.

"She wouldn't have died if she didn't take the potion. Was it you who gave it to her?"

Hughes was about to deny it when Quincy interrupted.

"This is pointless. You can chat with your dead sister in a few minutes and ask her yourself. We, on the other hand, have to be someplace else."

"Maybe we don't have to kill her, Quince," the half giant suggested tentatively. "She has been helping us."

"Don't be changing the plan on me," the other man responded harshly.

"But we have Healer Granger. Toots will join her soon and this will be over in a few hours..."

"You don't know that."

"Maybe a few days at the most. We can keep her quiet until then..."

"And if she screws it up? We've gone this far. She knows too much we can't take this risk, not after waiting for so long and being this close. Do you want to be responsible for that?"

"Fine. Make it quick then," Hughes aborted his attempt to spare her life as easily as he took it up. He then apologized meekly, "I'm so sorry."

Pia took a deep calming breath in and exhaled purposely to steady her nerves, her heart slowing down as she accepted her fate. So this was it, the end, the one she said she was prepared for when she signed up to be an active Bruin. She didn't struggle, finding no good reason to. She always thought that if she were to die it would be more unexpected and in the heat of a duel. The truth was that being a non supporter of the potion she was supposed to be the more violent one and being executed by a pro potion blood relative never crossed her mind. It was a let down. It seemed now that just like that of many Bruins who died because of the potion, her death would be futile and her efforts leading to it meaningless. They could not prevent the potion from becoming public.

Quincy took his wand out and aimed it at her chest. Clenching her jaw, Pia looked at Quincy defiant, steadfast in her belief that even though they were going to fail she was on the right. A red flash reflected off his eyes.

Nothing. She felt nothing. For a split second she wondered if that was how dying prepared was, an overwhelming surreal feeling it numbed her senses. But that was before she saw the look of surprise on Quincy's face as his wand flew off his hand towards the direction of a figure who had seemingly appeared from nowhere.

"What the...?"

They were all surprised by the unexpected presence of a Bruin robe clad witch who disarmed Quincy and just now did the same to Hughes. The hood concealed the woman's face but Pia had a good idea who she was.

"Is that you, Sienna?" Quincy taunted, "Where is that twin of yours? Is he lurking around?"

He was mistaken. Sienna and Rusty had stayed back in Toronto with Bruno to complete what had to be done.

The witch was bright enough to know not to answer so she wouldn't reveal herself. Quincy took a step forward and immediately received a nasty bat bogey hex for his mistake. Two identical jinxes later, the reporter Weasley handed her Hughes' and Quincy's wands as they walked away, calmly, trying not to draw attention, ignoring the protests from the wizards left shivering behind the tombstone. They would not be able to follow.

"How did you get them undressed completely so quickly?" Pia curiously asked her rescuer once they were out of earshot.

"Years of practice," the red head replied pokerfaced, then mumbled to herself, "Never imagined that would ever come in handy."

They both had to get back to Toronto but Weasley invited her to drop by the Prophet offices first. Without hesitation she agreed. How could she refuse? Weasley just saved her life.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean saw the entire episode unfold on stage but, as instructed, kept his eye on the Healer. Hama dove under her seat as most of the terrified crowd tried to exit through the entrance they came into. She appeared way too calm, completely unsurprised and evidently guilty of knowing it was going to happen. After Toots disappeared with Harry, Andy and Waterman, the rest of Waterman's men Disapparated and the dust settled.

The MLE was roughed up but at least there were no casualties. There were, however, eyewitness reports of more abductions by Waterman's men, about fifty others so far and counting. As Muller divvied up assignments and dealt with finger pointing from Toots security detail, Healer Hama gave a performance, expressing her disappointment and frustration. She got on the phone and an announcement came over the PA system. The rest of the meeting had been cancelled due to safety and security concerns. Healer Hama then stormed out of the hall.

Muller gave the signal. Leo walked out and stayed a safe distance behind the Healer while Dean and Holly headed her off. A quick disguise later they deliberately bumped into Hama and planted two tracking devices, one inside her robe and the other in her purse.

They hung back and followed her to the conference organizer's office. From the outside Dean could tell there was chaos within. They sat at the coffee shop across from the office entrance and Dean took out the monitor, his familiarity with Muggle tracking devices fortuitous. He tossed the Aurors a couple of wireless buds and stuck one in his ear. Leo and Holly followed suit. She was still in there, in her office according to their enhanced GPS which was able to tap into and display targets within detailed building plans. The red dots blinked and one of them moved within the walled off windowless room as Hama's voice came over the earphones.

"It's done. He should be there with Toots by now."

There was silence as she listened to a response. Hama was obviously on the phone with someone else.

"He must be having trouble with Potter and Marsh," the witch replied with concern, "I know you'd rather keep away from Potter but Tom might need help."

Neville. So, Neville did not want another confrontation with Harry; curious.

"I need to stay a bit to keep up appearances. I'll be there in half an hour," she added, "Tom may be an arrogant prick and may not want your help but help him anyway. We need him."

Hama stopped pacing and stopped talking. Leo was on the phone with Muller and Holly was on her way to the counter to order lattes. Dean hated the next part, hoping something else had or would come up.

"So?" Dean asked Leo after the latter got off the phone with his orders.

The other wizard looked as upset as he felt.

"We wait."

Just as he thought, half an hour of sitting on their arses hoping for the witch to leave and lead them to ground zero. Thirty minutes of Harry and Andy battling two very dangerous magical individuals. He tried not to think what the odds were that they'd survive or what state they'd be in if they did.

XXXXXXXXXX

The arteries and veins in her head were pulsating. Eyes weary from reading the tremendous amount of information over a short period of time she shut them and watched as the darkness she plunged into became infiltrated with the words and images of the document before her.

The idea wasn't overwhelming nor novel. It had been studied before, albeit not on magical creatures because it was fundamentally illegal and not with any significant success. It was obvious, in fact too obvious many had tried. Altering a plant's natural structure and characteristics to incorporate a species trait from a non-plant was a biological improbability.

But the paper claimed that it could be and that it had been done. The mention of unpublished experiments by Professor Snape and a certain gifted Herbologist made her realize why they were in Toronto and who it was from the research conference that Waterman had in his sights. Tilden Toots was key in the plan.

It was ten to nine. They probably already had Toots in the building somewhere. Hermione asked herself what she knew Neville would ask her the next time they spoke.

Are you going to help make this potion better?

Prove that the potion can be made using plants or let others continue using magical beings to make it. The answer seemed so clear but it wasn't as simple a decision to make.

It would have been easy to hide behind laws but unluckily, that ban on experimenting with magic enabling potions and artifacts had just been lifted by the International Confederation of Warlocks. The economic and social implications that were so disadvantageous and made her unwaveringly against the existence of such a potion in the past faded in the background. Maybe they could make the ingredients commonplace and the process to create it idiot proof that it would be available for anyone who wanted it.

And the statute of secrecy?

Hermione sighed. She desperately wished she had an answer for that one. There were just too many things to consider if that were to be broken. Could she live with being partly responsible for the enormous universal implications of an undivided world?

Minutes later she had come back to the question without a definite answer. She had three choices; not help no matter what, help because she had no choice, or help because she believed it was the right thing to do.

Is this the right thing to do?

She heard the door behind her open and someone come in. That would be Neville. He walked around the desk and faced her.

"So? What do you think?"

She had to be honest.

"It might work."

"Might? Not much confidence in our collective abilities?"

"You don't know if Mr. Toots can make the plants and I don't know that I can work them into the potion."

"Mr. Toots can because he has and I know you can because I believe in you."

"Why me, Neville?" Hermione felt a bit childish after she asked the question. "You know how difficult this is for me. You could have found someone more willing to do this."

"I know it's difficult," he said with sympathy, "If I had a choice of someone better I wouldn't have involved you. I just know that if it can be done, it has to be you."

She struggled to find the words to fight him off, finally deciding on part of the problem.

"If you weren't a murderer this would be a slightly easier decision to make."

"So what if I'm the most evil Dark Wizard of all time? What I'm asking you to do is a good thing. The fact that I'm a bad guy shouldn't stop you from taking the opportunity to do something right."

That made too much sense and it disturbed her that it did. All morning she had been wondering. Since when did Neville talk and act like this, with so much confidence and maturity? Guiltily, she thought it was likely just one other change in him that they, his supposed friends, never noticed. He actually understood what struggles she was going through and she found herself being drawn into asking him the questions bouncing around in her head.

"It's not only that. What about after?"

"I'm sure you've already realized that the fate of the statute of secrecy is beyond our control and there is no way to prevent what nefarious minds might do with your work. But if it makes a difference, I meant what I wrote in the end. Once we prove it can be done we're handing it over to the Canadian and British Ministries. They can form whatever committee they want and do whatever they think is best with it. All I want is to let the Bruins know that it has been done and they can stop killing themselves and each other. They can destroy the original potion recipe before magical beings get wind of what's been happening, and prevent future Lestranges and Watermans from doing what Lestrange, Ted and Tom did with it."

She couldn't disagree with that either.

"Why do you care so much? You got your revenge."

"If you created this potion would you leave it the way it is?"

It was so strange looking at Neville at that moment thinking how he duped Lestrange into her own death and was now trying to fix his mistake of making the potion in the first place. It seemed she had run out of reasons not to help. Almost.

"The Hufflepuff prophecy says a Bruin granddaughter will create the potion. You're missing one more person in this mix," she pointed out.

"You can talk about potions but you really shouldn't talk about predictions. From my recollection you flunked divination."

Was that supposed to be a joke?

"I didn't flunk," she corrected his erroneous memory, "I dropped out."

"Since when did you start believing in prophecies?

"I don't."

"Good. Then what Hufflepuff said shouldn't matter. I take it we're a go?"

Were they? There was one other major thing.

"Even if Mr. Toots is able to do what you say he can, to replace something in a potion I need to know how it's originally brewed. That will be a problem."

"Got that covered," he replied, summoning a video player from the table near the entrance, "I didn't think you'd agree to an actual live demonstration so I've taken the liberty of documenting the last batch I did. I can go over the steps with you if you want and we can do mock potions to give you the hang of it..."

He was interrupted by his ringing phone and motioned to her that he had to take it.

"Yes...haven't seen him yet..."

It was a woman's voice on the other line, someone with a voice of authority. If the Mystery witch was dead as Neville said then who was this? The Bruin traitor?

"Tom's an arrogant prick he can deal with it himself..."

Neville was visibly annoyed at Waterman for something that wasn't going according to plan. She immediately thought about Harry and worried.

"Let me think about it."

Neville put the phone away.

"It seems my presence is needed elsewhere."

"Is it Harry?" she asked trying to read his face as he answered.

"I don't know. Maybe."

The fact that Waterman wasn't where he was supposed to be was a good sign but she couldn't help herself from wanting to know if Harry was okay.

"Promise me, Neville. No more deaths."

In desperation, she took a chance and appealed to this seemingly normal Neville, believing that the old him was still somewhere inside the one who killed all those beings. The outcomes would be much better if they could get the old Neville back.

"I'm done killing but I can only be responsible for my own actions," he said, apologizing already for the deaths that were sure to come. "I'll be back shortly."

As Neville left he gave instructions to the wizard watching her to get her coffee and something to eat. She wasn't hungry. She felt sick from recalling the many images of Harry and Neville dueling yesterday and how that didn't go well for Harry. When she said to him he'd figure things out she had thought he'd have more time to do so.

Hermione turned the video on and played the scene on it, watched a close up of the potion in the process of being created. She couldn't fight in the physical sense, that much she knew, but if she worked with the potion intimately then she might discover something about it that would be of use.

XXXXXXXXXX

Short of time, Harry jinxed both Andy and Toots before they were on solid ground, throwing both of them in momentary darkness. Thinking it was Waterman, Andy got sufficiently irked and verbally inspired creating the distraction he needed. His feet touched ground slightly ahead of the rest and he aimed his wand directly at Waterman's face, closing his eyelids shut.

Lumos Maximus!

The brightest white light poured out from the tip of his wand and shone straight into his foe's line of sight.

"Aaargh!"

Waterman screamed and spontaneously brought both his hands up to his eyes, releasing Toots in the process. The potted plant smashed into pieces on the hard stone floor. As the git backpedaled and tried to make sense of what was going on, Harry took the magical blindfolds off Andy and Toots, and pulled the big wizard towards his partner, almost knocking her over.

"Take him out!"

"Potter! You son of a hag!" Waterman yelled at him, still unable to see anything.

Andy protested, "I can't leave you here by yourself!"

They didn't know where they were; there would be no way for her to Disapparate back. Waterman was starting to find his bearings and both Aurors began hitting him with Stunners and binding spells, all of which only temporarily effective.

"There's no time! I'll find out and let you know!"

"No!"

"Please, I don't want to be here," Toots whimpered behind them.

Waterman sent a curse flying in their direction, almost hitting the now hysterical Toots. He still could not make them out but was sufficiently peeved he was shooting indiscriminately at any sound or movement.

They had taken cover behind the base of marble countertop at one end of a very long but relatively narrow room. Crouched low with their backs against the cold stone, they tried not to make any noise. Toots was going to get them killed and would have already had Andy not had the presence of mind to put a silencing charm on him.

The Squib spoke to Toots forebodingly, "You'll die if you stay with them, Mr. Toots. They can't protect you."

CRASH!

Cupboards above them splintered as their opponent sent another flurry of curses in their general direction. Persuaded by Waterman, the big man tried to get up to surrender but both instantly forced him back.

Andy got into his already horrified face, glared menacingly and mouthed the words soundlessly, "SIT THE FUCK DOWN!"

Waterman was laughing hysterically. His voice getting closer they knew he was walking towards them.

"You can't hide forever, Potter. I know where you are."

CRASH!

A huge chunk of the countertop turned into fine powder. The urgent became emergent.

"You have to go!" Harry motioned to Andy.

Andy reluctantly relented, cursing under her breath as she grabbed the gardener, gave him short one word instructions and made sure he was clear where they were going. Andy knew he had to stay to at least get Hermione out.

Harry conjured a mirror and found Waterman about fifteen feet away, closer to his side, still blinking off remnant effects of the burst of bright light. Andy nodded at Harry. They were ready.

He moved first, rolling to the right of the counter and out into the open, immediately catching Waterman's attention. The latter raised his arm and went for him. Off the corner of his eye he saw Andy help Toots off the floor with some difficulty.

Impedimenta!

Waterman lost his footing, fell face down and the curse intended for him missed by a mile.

Crack!!

With Andy and Toots Disapparating, he wouldn't be worried about them getting caught in the crossfire. Greasy was getting up, cackling hard, mocking. Harry was already standing, ready for the next round. Having made the mistake several times before, Harry was not going to underestimate him again. He remembered what Luna said.

Accio!

A ripping sound came from Waterman's waist and a belt-full of unbreakable phials filled with purple potion zoomed in his direction, tearing through Waterman's clothes as it did. He caught it but could not break them or decant them that very second. Waterman had stopped laughing, finger pointing at him again.

Having been on the receiving end of it many times the day before, Harry knew exactly when to repel the incoming curse. There was a vacuum of air sucked out and gradually filled in by the propagating wave of the spell.

Cursio rebundo!

His opponent was as quick, fending it off to the side like swatting a fly. It found and smashed a now unrecognizable piece of furniture. Waterman fired again. Without thinking twice, he jumped and levitated himself over it. Streams of light followed his trajectory, finding other endpoints and scattering debris behind him, deafening explosions reverberating throughout the storage room. Mid air, he summoned a large metal cabinet and sent it hard at the evil git.

Screeeech!!

The Squib stopped his attack when he heard metal grating on stone. He turned, surprised as the careening object hit and pushed him some distance, squashing him against the concrete firewall.

"Ugh!" Waterman could only grunt.

Harry landed on his feet, one hand with his wand the other with the belt of phials, but there was no time to celebrate. Greasy lifted the entire thing and with a yawp heaved it in his direction. Instinctively, Harry dove to his left.

Pop! Pop!

Andy and Toots suddenly reappeared where Harry stood a second ago!

"Get out of the way!!" he yelled.

SMASH!!

Did they make it? Harry swiftly got up, his heart not beating. Waterman was crestfallen, his face ashen as both of them waited for the dust to clear. The edge of the metal frame pierced through the broken floor and right beside it stood Andy and a very pale Tilden Toots.

"You almost made me kill him!" Waterman exclaimed, irked.

Harry knew that would have been a most unfortunately thing for everyone, most especially Tilden Toots. That proved to be too much excitement for the old wizard. The gardener fainted and flopped on the ground, taking and partially pinning down a pissed off Andy beneath him.

"Get off me!"

He would have helped her except...

Protego!

Harry parried off the first few of the barrage of hexes directed at him but Waterman had him on his heels. The Squib's final burst of offensive magic pierced through his defenses and hit him directly on the chest, throwing him off his feet. Explosive pain erupted from the core of the hit and immediately radiated in every direction, his fall thankfully cushioned by empty carton boxes. He coughed a breath and did that a couple more times to wake his stunned lungs into action. The rest of his body, however, was not as compliant.

Opening his eyes he saw Andy cursing Waterman her all but her spells were absorbed by the Squib without a problem.

"Marsh," Waterman taunted, "Let me deal with Potter first. We'll play later, okay?"

Greasy leered at Andy disgustingly before hexing her with the same spell Harry just received.

Thud!

Unable to elude it, Andy fell back the same way Harry did. Even he knew she wasn't joining the fray anytime soon. Assured of that, Waterman turned his attention back to Harry. As much as Harry tried, the last hit got to him so badly he was slow to get up and after he did, realized too late that his hands were empty. He had lost his wand on impact. Concentrating hard he attempted to summon it but it was too late. Wickedness was written all over the Squib's face.

"Crucio!"

He was hit. A flash of heat? That was it? He was expecting the familiar pain of torture. Sensing what had happened, a flustered Greasy did it again.

"Crucio!"

Still nothing. Gone was the air disturbance associated with use of the uncommon magic. The potion effects were waning just as Luna said they would! They finally caught a break!

A spark glinted off Greasy's grey eyes and Harry followed his anxious gaze to the floor halfway between them. Shit! The phials!

Adrenaline surged through him and his abused body had no choice but to obey his command. Harry took a couple of steps and lunged forward as

Greasy made for the potion at the same time.

Crunch!

Their bodies collided, Harry's momentum and his cancelling each other out they fell almost on top of the phials. Greasy swung his legs and gained the upper position, right forearm against Harry's windpipe, choking and keeping the Auror on his back with his weight while he tried to reach for the belt with his left, his long fingers already touching the tip of one phial.

Seeing this and struggling for air, Harry swung a hard right and caught the Squib on the side of his head. The blow temporary loosened Waterman's hold and gave him space to get leverage. A split second was all it took and he sent his foe flying up and over his head.

Thump!

Waterman landed loudly on his back, disturbed dust billowing around him. Harry hurriedly got on his feet and saw that the villain had the belt of phials in his hand. He charged at his still recovering opponent, his forward motion taking them up against a shelf of dirty empty flasks and test tubes, most of them breaking as they did. Waterman threw his trademark girly punch. Harry easily ducked under it and replied with a left hook across his face knocking a tooth off and out of his mouth. As Greasy's head recoiled back in position Harry followed it up with a right uppercut, causing it to snap the other way. The Squib's arms were now limp on his side, unable to defend or attack.

Under normal circumstances Harry would stop then, but what Waterman did was personal. The man killed his best friend and took advantage of his and Hermione's mistake. Ron's words echoed in his head and hatred filled his heart.

Harry fell into a trance as he held Waterman up by his shirt collar, his fist pummeling the Squib's bloody face over and over again, not noticing that he was shedding tears as he did.

"Harry...Harry!"

Andy voice broke it. Harry gathered himself one last time, cocked his right arm back and put his entire weight and emotion behind a straight right that found the center of the git's ugly bleeding face. As Waterman slumped down, Harry grabbed a handful of black greasy hair and gave him the business end of his knee.

The Squib keeled over to his right. He was done.

Andy walked gingerly to a spot beside him, the belt of phials in her hand. Greasy moaned listlessly on the floor and made a feeble attempt to reach for it. Her foot found his midsection.

“Ooompfh!”

She put him in a full body bind and made sure he would see what she was about to do.

"Recyclus phialum!"

The phials inverted and crumbled into itself, its contents forcefully leaking out and evaporating into purple smoke before vanishing into the atmosphere. Left of them were pellet sized glass beads indistinct from the broken ones on the floor.

"Why did you come back?" Harry asked as he summoned his wand from the mess of empty cardboards.

"We never left. Wards," Andy explained, "We were stuck against a wall of some sort and all I could do was Disapparate back."

Harry reached into his pocket and took out his phone.

"Dead," he announced.

"So is mine," his partner replied.

"Toots?"

Andy pointed to the still unconscious gardener on the floor opposite where they ended up with Waterman. Without another word, they looked around the room they were trapped in, searching for some way to get out. It was one big storage space, windowless and doorless, walls lined with boxes and shelves in places without fixed cupboards.

His partner spoke her mind out, "There must be an entrance or exit from this dump somewhere."

An answer came from the farthest corner of the room.

"I'm afraid this dump does not have a usual entrance or exit."

Neville emerged from the shadows, hands in his trouser pockets, as if he was out for a stroll in the park. Both Harry and Andy aimed their wands at him, thinking alike. The memory of friends dying and being hurt yesterday still fresh on their minds, they moved forward and attacked, both firing a number of Stunners.

It did nothing to Neville. He put his hands up and Harry couldn’t go on; something about the impropriety of continuing to curse someone who wasn’t fighting back and gesturing truce. Too bad Neville was not in the same category as Floyd was in his books. Andy did the same after a while.

"I don't want to fight you and you’re ill equipped to fight me. Let's not waste time and energy," Neville reasoned with them calmly, not even bothered by their rude greeting.

Harry could not figure him out. Neville was playing mind games with them.

"Let Hermione go," he demanded.

"She has some studying to do," Neville replied dryly.

Harry took that as a 'no'.

“You’re not getting away with this,” Harry pointed out, “This isn’t going to end well.”

“Obviously not,” he agreed then got distracted by the petrified figure on the floor, “Hmm…Tom’s going to be pissed out of his mind. As much as I think he deserves some time out I'm going to have to ask that you free him."

"Can't do that. The asshole is under arrest," Andy answered.

"You really don't have a choice in the matter."

"Do something about it, sport,” she challenged.

“Too much violence, Miss Marsh. We’re not setting a good example for our youth.”

Neville took his wand and waved it in the air in front of them. The air got sucked out of the room as an image of a young man with spiked blond hair appeared.

“Julius is here with us. Nice kid, hat's off to you for raising him well.”

Harry had to restrain Andy from charging at Neville. The boys were her one weakness. Without looking at her, he could tell her explosive rage needed some release but first, they had to think about Julius and how to make him safe.

“To set the record straight, this wasn’t my idea. I know it’s low and unfair; he is only a kid. It’ll be tragic if something bad were to happen to him. Now, do I have to make that request again?”

63. Double Cross

Chapter 63 – Double Cross

Composed on the outside and seething on the inside, Harry saw shadows the brief moment he looked into her eyes. He had never seen her like this.

"Is this the fucking genius who came up with it?" Andy kicked the petrified figure on the floor as she asked.

"Uh-huh."

"I thought so," she replied, jaws clenched, nodding.

At some point in the limited remainder of his life, Greasy would get what he deserved.

Crack!

Harry turned and she was gone. He waited, ready to back her up whatever she chose to do. This was going to be interesting.

"Where does she think she's going?" Neville threw his arms up in the air, his tone mocking, making the mistake of underestimating her.

Pop!

Andy reappeared beside Toots and zapped him with a jinx that gave him incentive to wake and get up. Her wand tip was now half an inch lost within Toot's thick neck.

"What's going on?" Toots asked somewhat disoriented.

"So here's a choice for you, Longbottom," Andy stared icily at Neville who was but a few feet away, "Which version of Toots do you prefer? Gardener, vegetable or fertilizer?"

"Seriously now," Neville deferred to Harry, certain that Andy was bluffing.

"W…what does she m…mean by that?"

An ashen Toots looked at Harry nervously. If the gardener fainted again, he hoped Andy would be better prepared than the last time. Harry glanced back and their eyes met. Andy was with it now. She had this look that she knew what she was doing. It was a brilliant move but what if Neville called her bluff?

"I wouldn't test her," Harry advised, meaning it. "She may not kill him but she can mess with his memory."

That would be more believable.

"My what!" Toots exclaimed.

Andy stepped back, aimed her wand at the base of Toots' head and extracted a silvery white threadlike substance. She let it lose and they watched its to and fro motion as it floated like a feather in the air. Toots momentarily lost the black of his eyes up in his head.

"Evanesco!"

Uh-oh...

"Did she just make that memory vanish?" Neville asked shrilly, sharing in his disbelief.

"Who are you people? Why am I here?"

Yup. That was his memory alright.

"Oops! My bad. I didn't want that one," Andy apologized insincerely and continued nonchalantly, "I'm a bit rusty with my memory spells and quite stressed out because my kid brother is in danger. But not to worry, I'll get the next one right."

"You really shouldn't have involved her family," Harry commented, trying to hide his surprise that she had gone that far.

"Fine," Neville recovered his composure, "I'm a reasonable man. We can trade. Your brother for Mr. Toots, and you can take the kid home yourself."

"I'm Mr. Toots. Why are you pointing your wand at me?"

Totally ignoring the gardener, Andy hesitated, torn between wanting to stay to help him and wanting to take Julius home safely. While Neville did not have much use for Julius, he needed both Hermione and Toots, and Andy knew fully well that Harry wasn't leaving without her.

"Is it a deal?" Neville enquired calmly, putting on the pressure.

In Harry's opinion it was a good one.

"She'll take it."

"No she won't," Andy immediately recanted Harry's answer already deciding to stay, "Send my brother to the Ministry and I want confirmation from the Head Auror that he's there."

"It would be wiser to take Julius there yourself. I insist..."

Neville stopped talking. Andy had her wand pointed at Toots' head again.

His fellow Gryffindor persisted, pointing to Harry,"He has to stay because of Hermione. You don't have to be here. I'm saving your life."

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Jesus Christ?" she retorted, "I don't need saving! Just do it!"

To show that she meant it Andy began pulling another memory out of Toots' brain.

"Fine," Neville finally relented, "Fine. It's your funeral."

He was quite annoyed when he got on his phone, watching them like a hawk as he spoke with someone. Harry slowly walked closer to where Toots and Andy were. His eyes met with Andy's fleetingly. Having worked with her for some time he knew she had a plan thought out already. Hopefully they would be on the same page.

It wasn't a question of if or when they were going to fight him but how. The Hogwarts professor seemed sincere about letting Julius go it would have been foolish not to take advantage of his generosity before confronting him. As much as Neville was right about them being ill equipped, it was inevitable.Dueling him would be the only way to end this.

He regarded his former friend and reminded himself that the man before them was not the same man he knew. Neville had to be taken down and with Waterman tied up it was as good a moment as any.

After a couple of minutes, Neville put Jack Muller on amplified speakerphone. With Toots on the brink of tears, the two other wizards stared each other down as Andy spoke with Jack. If Neville was going to make a move now was the time to do that.

"Jack?"

"Marsh, is Toots okay?"

"He's alive."

"Help me! Please!"

Andy put another silencing charm on the gardener.

"And Potter?"

"The same. What's the weather like today?"

It was a test question to verify identity, random from a list of a dozen ones Jack worked out between each Auror he had under him. Even Harry did not know what the correct answer was.

"As frigid as my hag of a wife," Jack replied, and only she and Jack would have come up with something like that, "Julius is with me and Colin is with Ian and Karl. They're safe."

"Put Julius on."

Julius was beside himself as his voice came over the speaker. Harry could tell he had been crying.

"I'm so sorry Andy, I didn't know...I just wanted to try it and see what it's like..."

"Julius, I know, it's okay, I understand," Andy said reassuringly over Julius' repeated apologies, "Jules, Jules, listen. Can you answer a few questions for me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you like playing hockey?"

"You know I love playing hockey."

"Why?"

"Andy..."

"It's very important. I need to know it's you."

After a moment, the young man replied somewhat meekly as if embarrassed, "It's fast and exciting..."

"And..."

"Being on skates and playing it is the closest thing to being on a broom and playing Quidditch I'll ever get."

It took some time before Andy could respond to her brother's heartbreaking reply. She had intimated to Harry some time ago what she knew was the root cause behind Julius' acting out and how she felt helpless about the fact that he wasn't magical.

"Thanks, Jules. I'll see you later," Andy tried to sound upbeat.

"I'm really sorry, Andy."

"You did nothing wrong, Jules."

"Take care, man. It was nice meeting you," Neville said pleasantly, hung up. He continued to look at Andy, disinterested with what had been going on until Julius got off the phone, "Now, about your end of the deal."

With Julius safe at the Ministry with Jack, the old Andy was back. She feigned a frown.

"Wait a sec, I don't remember ever making a deal," she conferred with Harry, "Did I make a deal?"

"Hmm...now that you mention it..."

Neville cut them off, speaking with a hint of frustration, "Need I remind you that I'm the bad guy here and if there's any double crossing that's going to happen, I'm supposed to be the one doing it?"

"That's actually a good point," Andy agreed, to annoy Neville.

"We should be ashamed of ourselves," Harry did the same.

"You try to be nice and this happens," Neville was shaking his head as he commented to Toots, who was the one person in the room he could possibly get sympathy from.

"You have Toots."

"No, you have Toots."

Crack! Crack!

As they turfed the babysitting job to the other Neville beat them to the punch. He disappeared with the intent to reclaim the gardener and Andy had no choice but to take Toots with her and do the same!

Pop! Pop!

Neville was going to reappear somewhere close and Harry was expecting him when he did. He stuck his wand against Neville's chest.

Incendio!

The flames that engulfed his clothes were quickly extinguished by the wave of a hand. Harry choked as smoke and the pungent smell of burnt flesh filled his lungs, noticing the charred garment repair itself instantaneously over regenerating skin.

"I don't want to fight you," his fellow Gryffindor declared.

While protecting himself from an onslaught of curses from Andy with the right hand, Neville flicked his left wrist in the air and sent Harry soaring. Harry fell and skidded, his back burning from friction as he cleared a strip of area on the floor. He fired at Neville.

Bombarda!

Crack! Crack!

Smash!

He missed. The coward disappeared again and so did Andy and Toots, gone even before Harry got off the floor. He concentrated at the spot where Toots and Andy stood moments before.

Crack!

Pop! Pop!

"Please! Stop! You're going to splinch me!"

"Better listen to him Longbottom!"

The silencing charm on Toots had broken. Ghostly sounds of Toots' concern and Andy's reply could be heard intra-Apparition.

Pop!

This time, it was Neville who was ready for him. At Neville's touch, a knifelike pain shot right through muscle and bone, so much so when he looked down he was almost sure he had been physically gored. It hurt when his heart beat and it hurt when he breathed.

Revulso!

The repulsion charm caused Neville to release him. As Harry gasped for air, Neville drew out his wand and deflected hexes from Andy. There was no rest for the injured; he could continue to gasp while curse at the same time. The hum of destruction and devastation was ear shattering as they both attacked.Neville used his wand and hands to defend himself. They spaced themselves at a hundred and thirty five degree angle from the other to get their opponent to cover a wider area. It was mayhem. Spells were flying everywhere, hitting everything, turning the room into something comparable to a tornado disaster area.

Neville turned on the offense.

"Incarcerous!"

Magical ropes appeared out of nowhere and tied Andy up. While Harry blasted them off to release her, the break in the assault gave Neville the opportunity to free up Waterman with his hand and conjure a Patronus with his wand. Harry could only watch as the messenger slithered away and out of sight, undoubtedly to shore up reinforcements. The Squib was attempting to get up. They didn't have much time.

"Keep him busy!" he yelled to her over the noise, training his eye on the space behind Neville.

Crack! Pop!

Harry Disapparated while Andy kept Neville preoccupied. Conjuring an aluminum baseball bat intra-Apparition and back-pocketing his wand as he reappeared, he grasped the object's handle with both hands tightly and immediately hammered the outstretched arm nearest him.

Wham! Clang!

One forearm bent out of shape and one weapon on the floor.

"Protego!"

Andy successfully blocked Neville's attempt to curse Harry with his free hand, leaving Toots cowering in the corner as she hurriedly moved closer to the action. Harry took the bat back, stepped through his swing and aimed for the fences.

Whomp!

The blow caught Neville in the midsection. He winced and doubled over. Harry lifted the bat overhead and swung a third time.

Whack!

The metal rod rapidly descended upon Neville's back forcing their foe to fall on one knee. Judging from the yelp and the expression on Neville's face his augmented magical power was wearing off. They had their chance!

The bat hit the ground as Harry discarded it and pulled his weapon out in one smooth motion. He aimed his wand at Neville's body and Andy did the same.

Confringo!

The curse detonated and that combined with whatever explosive hex Andy conjured hit Neville at full force from a very close distance all three of them where thrown back.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

Harry didn't have to look to know what was happening. He stood and helped Andy, who ended up lying close to where he was.

Plink! Plink!

Two unbreakable phials hit the stone floor in succession. Waterman was on his feet, his bloodied face less bloody, more recognizable and understandably livid. He was flanked by a small army of wand wielding trigger happy Squibs.

"Fuck…," Andy breathed through gritted teeth and only for him to hear.

"You should have taken the deal," he said to her, neither taking their eyes off the crowd in front of them.

"What? And miss all this fun?" she replied facetiously.

A pale and shaken Neville came out gingerly from behind Waterman gimpy and favoring his right arm. He gave his troops instructions.

"Don't kill him, yet."

"And her?" Waterman asked, leering at Andy.

"I don't care one way or the other," Neville replied.

The Squib sneered at Andy and announced, "Nobody touch her. She's mine."

“Oooh, I'm so scared,” Andy mocked and taunted, “Careful what you ask for, dufus. You fight like a girl and you're going to get beaten by one.”

“Shut up!”

"I have a lot to do. Do you think you can manage this without my help?" Neville remarked derisively.

"Go play with your little potion set," Waterman answered in kind.

There was definite animosity there. Toots drank the concoction Neville offered him and they Disapparated as Waterman set his guys lose.

Can't stun them; can't bind them; can't make any spell penetrate the protection afforded by giant magical tissue. They were going to have to be creative, at least for a few minutes. Harry destroyed the unbreakable phials they had with them the same time Andy waved her wand over the lot as they moved forward.

"Whoa!"

Thud!

Crash!

"Oomph!"

"Ow!"

"Get off me!"

She had transformed all their footwear into four inch stiletto heels. Andy was right. This was fun.

"Good one."

"Thanks. You take the six morons on the right and I'll take the six imbeciles on the left, including the biggest dimwit of them all."

"Are you sure you don't want my help with Waterman?"

"Why disappoint the asshole? You heard him. He wants me."

XXXXXXXXXX

Tilden Toots was shaking to the core as the man called Longbottom took him out of the battle zone and brought him to a place of peace. He looked around. He was in a well equipped and well stocked herbology research lab, surrounded by the sight of calming green and the smell of brown earth. Being in such space usually brought about inner tranquility but today there was no calming his frayed nerves down.

What they wanted from him was obvious. Potted thorn-less rose bushes were lined up in rows at the very end of the greenhouse and various tissue specimens of different shapes and sized were stocked in the shelves before him. His eyes widened in horror and with revulsion as he read the labels on them.

“N...no. A...absolutely not!” He stammered.

“It's for a good cause.”

“I don't c...care. Why do you think Professor Snape and I parted ways?” he babbled nervously, “It is one thing having roses bear apples. This was precisely what he wanted to do and I drew the line right there. It is illegal to experiment on magical beings and magical enabling artifacts. What of my legacy; my reputation? I won't do it!”

“The tissues you will be using are already from the dead and the ban against work on magic enablers was lifted two days ago,” the man explained, “You are being coerced. You will never be subjected to reprimand by what you are about to do today.”

“I want no part in using magical creature tissue, regardless of how they were procured.”

Longbottom heaved a deep sigh.

“Mr. Toots, it has been a very long morning and I've ran out of patience.”

He motioned to the control room and two others escorted a hysterical middle aged wizard into the lab. Toots recognized him instantly.

“I believe you know Professor Hilter.”

“Tilden! They are going to kill me!”

Jim Hilter worked and studied under him a long time ago and was one of his best students. He was one of the few people Toots corresponded with.

“His life is in your hands.”

“Tilden! I don’t want to die!”

“I c...can't…”

Longbottom nodded to one of his underlings.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“No!”

Jim was dead before his body hit the floor. Toots stared at the lifeless figure, speechless from shock and disbelief, wailing on the inside, hoping he would wake up from the nightmare he was living.

The two others walked off leaving the dead man where he fell as Longbottom sat on a three legged stool and set a large minute sandglass before him, contents trickling down its narrow neck as time ticked away.

“Fifty of the world’s best Herbologists are relying on you to keep them and the future of plant study alive. I'll ask again in sixty seconds and I'll continue to ask until you get the answer right.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“She's on the move,” Dean pointed at the figure that just left the offices across the coffee shop he, Leo and Holly had been sitting at for the last half hour.

The three of them spread out and followed Healer Hama as unobtrusively as they could. She exited onto the less busy Gerrard Street and hung a left into a hidden alley between two buildings. It was there where the red blinking dots on Dean's GPS, the ones that that corresponded to the two tracking devices they planted on Hama, disappeared.

Patiently they waited, refreshing the search every few seconds. She was bound to reappear somewhere unless the act of Apparition damaged the Muggle made bugs.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Scratch that worry; they had a signal.

“Here we go,” he said more to himself.

Dean zoomed into the map street level, the two red blinking dots at its centre.

“That's in York U,” Holly said out loud, identifying the location.

“Deng Tan's Level Five Potions Lab,” Leo added. “I'll call it in.”

“Wait!” Dean exclaimed before Leo could take his phone out and motioned to the screen in his hand.

Where there were two red dots just seconds ago there remained only one.

XXXXXXXXXX

Pia Russet sat at one of the computers in a workroom at the Daily Prophet reading about Lana Hama. While she did not know the Healer personally and had never seen her participate actively in anti-potion or pro-potion activity, Hama's mother was a ‘Quincy’ and Pia suspected that she was a close relative of the Bruin muscle who reported to the Council.

Raised by her mother and stepfather, Hama grew up in the States and had been Healer and researcher for hospitals in San Francisco and Detroit. She was well respected by her peers and the appointment to Headmistress of the Potion Registry was fairly recent. She had obviously been using the conferences to find the Bruin granddaughter and had chosen Toronto because of the Watermans. Hama's stepdad was an uncle of the Squibs' father.

In front of her was a list of close Hama associates. Several Bruin names stood out; two of them she knew as Bruin elders. As she thought about how Hama could have influenced any of them, Weasley came into the room followed by a woman with large silvery grey eyes and dirty blonde hair that was pulled back into a bun.

“Luna Lovegood, Pia Russet.”

They shook hands. Lovegood looked down upon her from above her upturned nose, back as stiff as a board, and expression grave and severe.

“Miss Russet,” she spoke with a fixed upper lip, “I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances although I doubt it very much if we would have ever had this opportunity had it not been for the unfortunate events of the past few hours.”

Weasley stifled a laugh as Lovegood gave her an admonishing look.

Pia could only nod, agreeing although she would have never put it that way. Weasley was still trying to keep herself from laughing.

“Luna is a friend of ours from Hogwarts. She's an Unspeakable. Hermione sent her some of the stuff that Waterman lost in your underground. Luna has been experimenting with it.”

Lovegood did not break a smile, “What we are engaging in is highly illicit and we are likely going to be punished for it. But more importantly, being from Toronto, how sure are you that you are not a vector of the potentially infective Ontario maple tree bug lice?”

“The what?”

“Never mind,” Lovegood dismissed hastily, turning her ire at Weasley who was now cackling, “Ginny, it is quite impolite to laugh at someone right in their faces particularly when they are trying to assist. This is unacceptable and very unladylike. You should be ashamed of yourself! Ten points from Gryffindor!”

“I'm so sorry Luna,”Weasley apologized, “I'm sure you'll find it funny after you've recovered from the side effects."

“Side effects?” Pia asked.

“Unwanted but necessary. I concocted potion that can neutralize your Toronto difficulties. I tested it myself and it works perfectly,” Lovegood declared then turned to Weasley, “And here's that other thing you wanted done.”

Lovegood handed Weasley a thick binder. The red head eagerly took it and began reading, oblivious to the awkward silence that fell in the room. After watching Weasley flip enthusiastically through a few pages, Pia couldn't stand it anymore.

“About Hama,” Pia said, “All the connections make sense."

“Uh-huh,” came Weasley's token reply.

“The Hamas, the Quincies, the Watermans, some high ranking Bruins and even your Mr. Creevey. It is a small world.”

Weasley slapped the binder shut startling both her and Lovegood. Her brows were furrowed many times over.

“What did you just say?” Weasley asked.

“I said ‘it is a small world’.”

“What’s the matter?” Lovegood enquired.

Weasley replied, “I think the world is about to get smaller.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione had been going over the potion making process with Neville. When he came back from wherever it was he came from his mood was evidently more downcast. She noticed the limp he came in with and the wince when their arms inadvertently got in each other's way as they reached for the same test ingredient. It did not take a genius to guess what happened.

“Is he okay?” she asked quietly without looking at Neville.

“You care about him a lot,” he didn’t look either; they continued to work.

“You know I do.”

“You stayed away from him for a long time. That was a waste.”

“It was complicated.”

“About Weasley's fall; it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.”

“Whatever it was, I'm just telling you. It wasn’t your fault.”

She nodded;she heard him the first time, then asked about Harry again, “I want to know if Harry is okay. Tell me he's okay.”

“He is okay.”

“Can I see him?”

“Not now. Maybe when we're done.”

She steeled herself, trying to block off that Harry was captive somewhere, probably more injured than Neville was. She couldn't help him; not yet. Maybe Neville was wrong, maybe she was wrong.

They practiced. Neville showed her how it was done and she mimicked what he taught. It wasn't difficult. If she had been making the real Bruin potion the toughest part would have been to get over the fact that magical organs were being used to brew it. Neville said Toots was on board and close to completing his part. After that, it would be their turn.

Admittedly, she was impressed with Neville's improvement in potion making. Working with and learning from him, she would have never guessed that the student who struggled to pass Potions at Hogwarts would blossom into one fine potion maker. There was precision, decisiveness and confidence in him Hermione never imagined he could ever develop.

Neville did intimate having to use Professor Snape's tissues to augment his skill. As horrible as that act was it was also an amazing transformation. Neville was not the Neville she knew, not even in how his grey eyes connected with hers when he spoke. There it was again, her forgetting that he was a monster, had tried to and probably still intended to kill Harry, and had gone beyond the reasonable and sane to meet an end.

She lost track of time and did not stop until Neville did to take a phone call. He asked for a break and then left. Hermione shut her eyes to rest. Not thinking of anything, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck suddenly tingled. It felt eerie, as if someone was watching her from behind.

It was probably her imagination like the two other times she felt the same weirdness earlier that day, but like those times Hermione just had to look back.

64. The Nutty Professor

Chapter 64 - The Nutty Professor

Harry woke up coughing as a bucket of ice cold water splashed on his face, the throbbing on it worse now than before he lost consciousness. Blinding bright lights blazed upon him he couldn't keep his eyes open. He felt rough chilly wall on his back and warm dampness began trickling down the side of his head onto his burning bare shoulders. He was suspended and pulled up by the wrists, feet grazing ground, his entire weight stretching his arms fully and quite painfully. Ignoring the shooting discomfort that came from every single muscle and nerve in his body, he managed to get on his feet and immediately felt the relief on his arms.

"Crucio!"

Ugh!

He gritted his teeth and grunted to himself as the pain washed over him. Caught totally unprepared for it, his legs gave way and he hung by his arms again.

"Like that," one of Waterman's men pointed out, "That's how you do it."

He got back on his feet, peered through the bright lights and counted. There were about ten of them who had joined this how-to-torture clinic of which he was the lucky guinea pig. No sight of Andy.

"Crucio!"

Oomph!

The chains above him rattled and tightened as his body folded inward. His breath was shallower and faster when the pain abated.

"That's it! That's what I mean!" the teacher encouraged.

Harry had no concept of how much time had passed but they were getting pretty good at inflicting suffering. The group of magical Squibs finally overpowered them after half an hour of unconventional fighting. The defeat itself wasn't too bad. It was the physical beating that he got from Waterman after that was worse. With two others holding him down it wasn't much of a match but the Squib got his licks in anyway and regained some of the dignity he lost earlier. Waterman was definitely not in the room with them or he would be teaching this class himself.

"Next!" the teacher called out.

"He looks pretty banged up," he heard the student say, "Maybe I can practice on the witch instead."

"You heard Tom. He doesn't want us touching her."

That meant Andy was not dead. The git obviously had something more malicious planned for his partner. Harry really should have done what Ron asked him to do to the asshole when he had the chance.

"But the Potion Master wants this one alive. We might accidentally kill him or turn him into the Nutty Professor."

There was laughter from the crowd. Nutty Professor…must have been some inside joke.

"Hmm…good point."

"Why don't you practice on each other?" Harry suggested, laughing.

"Crucio!"

His limbs writhed and his muscles convulsed from the burning agony, the metal bonds cutting fresh marks into his wrists. The teacher stopped cursing just as he was about to lose consciousness again.

"Bring in the Professor," the teacher commanded. "We can use him until Potter recovers."

Harry listened as a couple of men left, the remaining grumbling about not liking the idea of practicing on the 'Professor'. He tried to scan for his wand but could not feel its presence within the vicinity. Summoning it, he came up with nothing. Shuffling feet noise precluded further attempts.

"Professor," the teacher acknowledged.

"Yes, I am," the Professor replied, lively and alert, misunderstanding that the greeting was a question.

The voice was familiar, too familiar that it did not make any sense. It couldn't belong to the person Harry had in mind but then he had been through a lot that morning. Maybe he was beginning to hear things.

"I teach Herbology at Hogwarts, the most illustrious school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Today, we will be learning about an extra-ordinary plant, the Mimbulous Mimbletonia."

Too weird...

As the Professor spoke Harry fought through the lights a second time, needing to see the man with his own eyes. It was a definite surprise to see him, both pleasant and disconcerting. It was also reassuring to know that he was not hearing things and that he had not lost his mind.

The Nutty Professor was indeed Neville Longbottom.

XXXXXXXXXX

A transparent figure with blonde hair and blue eyes hovered a short distance away. It was her, the ghost of her. Her pale presence contrasted against the deep navy blue robes she had on and they looked at each other waiting for the other to say something first.

What was she doing here?

The hastily composed answers Hermione came up with kept coming back to one thing. It was obvious there was simply no ignoring it. That is, if she was indeed the woman Hermione thought she was.

"You're Mia," she said, breaking the awkward silence.

"And you're Hermione," the phantom answered simply.

With that proper confirmation Hermione's mind went into overdrive and spun in place. His family ties to Lestrange and the Watermans, his return to London, his presence in Toronto, and now Mia's appearance in the midst of the chaos where all of this was coming down. Horrible as it was to think especially after defending him so staunchly against all sensibility but she could not help herself. Things did not fit right from the beginning. It still didn't fit. She kept on thinking about the difference in the Neville of three days ago, to the Neville of yesterday and the Neville of today. She had so many questions she never thought would come up and it angered her how naïve, well, actually stupid, she was to fall for all that. How many lives had she affected by ignoring the warning signs?

"Don't judge him yet," the ghost requested, "Not until you know the story."

"What he has done is beyond despicable. I don't care about the story."

She really didn't, although her inquisitive nature wanted to know what happened.

"It was my fault," Mia's face hardened as she tried not to cry, "I need your help to pull him back."

What? Did she really just say that?

"Are you serious?!" she exclaimed with incredulity.

"Desperately so. I can't let him go through with this. It will ruin him forever."

"It already has."

"Maybe if you talk to him..."

"Why don't you talk to him?"

"He won't listen to me."

"If he won't listen to you what makes you think he'll listen to me or anyone else?"

There was a rustle in the other room that distracted them both. Someone was about to join them. Mia looked over Hermione's shoulders and frowned in disappointment.

"I can't think of what else to do and there isn't much time. Please," she pleaded and then vanished with reluctance.

"Wait!"

Befuddled and seeking clarity to piece it all together, Hermione tried to stop her from leaving but Mia was gone. The doors to the control room behind her swung open and Tom Waterman walked in, filling the room with haughtiness, gloating at some victory.

"Miss Granger, we meet again," he greeted.

Waterman's cold voice made her heart skip a beat.

Let him be okay.

XXXXXXXXXX

Luna and the Bruin waited for her to expound on what she just said. Moments before, Ginny read the illicit Healer notes about Clay Roofdam's treatment at a Detroit hospital. The Healer who sent it to Hermione had called her mobile phone just after Neville kidnapped her and there was considerable anxiety about news that the patient referred to on the file was being looked into by the Toronto MLE. Their Detroit counterparts were snooping around.

While perhaps Ginny shouldn't have misled the caller about her identity, Ginny took the panicked request to immediately destroy the copy and decided there was no urgency. Call it gut instinct or just plain ole Malfoy witch hunt but despite all the evidence diverging from their Hogwarts nemesis, she had to look at the file that Hermione illegally procured, curious why her friend hid it from her.

So, instead of destroying it as requested, she took it with her to London and asked Luna to break the code. Hermione's password was no match for their flighty Ravenclaw friend and as Ginny read it, she came across a name she had just read earlier when she studied a dossier on the Bruin Pia Russet; a sister, Mia, Detroit lawyer, suddenly dead at a young age. Coincidence? She thought not.

Distrust grew and she grasped her wand inside her robes. Ginny looked at Pia Russet straight in the eye, ready to hex at a hint of a fib.

"Do you know Draco Malfoy?"

"Of course I do," Pia Russet answered, the strain in her voice unmistakable, "He was my sister's boyfriend."

Luna was singing the chorus to a popular Muggle song, her mind drifting off somewhere else, "It's a small world after all…"

"Don't you think it odd that he's related to all these people who are murderers, are dead or both?"

"Odd, no. Worrisome, yes. I told Mia something very similar a long time ago," she replied, the memory of her dead sister visibly upset her, "But he's not the potion master. Longbottom is."

Ginny was about to say her thoughts out loud and wouldn't have sounded sane so she stopped herself in time.

"Okay," she drew at deep breath in, trying for some patience, "But didn't you ever wonder if Malfoy was the potion master?"

"Of course, I did. The Bruin Council did. I looked into it myself and found nothing. So did Uncle Isaac and the Bruins here in London. Uncle Isaac vouched for him and Council cleared him."

"Sir Isaac wasn't exactly a straight shooter and two of your Council members could be pro-potion," Ginny pointed out.

"Believe me, I'll be the first to cast a stone if you have any proof. My sister died because of all this. She swore to me on her deathbed that he had nothing to do with it. Mia would never lie about something like that. And as much as I disapproved of my sister's choice to be involved with him, Draco Malfoy did love her."

"You did confront him about it, didn't you?"

"The thought of killing him did cross my mind a few times," she said, reminding Ginny of the limitations the Bruins were faced with.

Ginny paused and thought. On the one hand there was all this Ministry information about Neville and Waterman, and then there was the Bruin story and Malfoy on the other. While they did not contradict each other it was like forcing ill fitting pieces into the jigsaw puzzle and finding extraneous ones.

Luna had finished her song and interrupted them, "I realize how this must be fascinating but perhaps we should get going before it's too late."

The Unspeakable was right. Ginny destroyed the file beyond recognition and made it disappear. They left for Toronto, a monstrous suspicion growing within her that this was, after all, about the Janus Prophecy and that the Bruins and everyone else had been hoodwinked by a Grey Warlock wannabe.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean, Leo, Holly and a handful of other Canadian MLE were outside Professor Tan's York U lab freezing their arses off, waiting for reinforcements. Jack Muller brought the Minister up to speed on the situation. The uncertainty was daunting and because the enemy numbers was an unknown, the responsible Canadian leader did what he had to, pull all of Canada's most experienced crime fighters together.

That was taking time and bringing them up to snuff was going to take more time. Time was something they did not have much of. He stared at his GPS monitor. One red blinking dot stationary for more than an hour.

Did Hama find the other one and destroy it?

If she did then why didn't she destroy the other?

It wasn't moving. It could be a trap.

Or maybe…

They had to know what happened to it.

Fuck this…

He defrosted himself from the fixed iced position he was in thinking he could always say he lost his marbles under the pressure of Canadian winter.

Crack! Pop!

Dean Disapparated and reappeared right into the lobby. He Petrified the shocked receptionist and the two Muggles in the immediate vicinity as the others joined him in. Well, they were not left with much choice.

Following the signal on the screen in his hand he blasted his way through the more secure compartments of the Muggle Lab, generously hexing everyone he met along the way, finally stopping at the door to the room where the red dot resided.

Bombarda!

The entrance blew inward off its hinges smashing against the far wall. Dean quickly scanned, prepared for anything.

Desk…computer…chairs…no plants trying to take his head off…whew…

The rest of the MLE were behind him as he picked up a garment off the arm of the swivel chair. Robe with tracking device. Hama had taken it off and Disapparated, destination unknown.

The others left to do more searching but Dean knew they would not find anything. Judging from the lack of security response to what they just did they were in the wrong place. He magically fired up the computer and linked his GPS device to a Ministry satellite.

"What are you doing?" Holly finally asked.

"Looking for the other tracking device, hoping it's still live."

Nothing in Toronto. He could start grid searches but it would take too long. What he needed was a place to start.

His phone rang. It was Ginny. She was at the Ministry with Luna and the Bruin Russet. He told her what happened and what his problem was. Ginny put the Bruin on the phone and he listened, entering the location the woman suggested trying out, a Canadian bordertown adjacent to Detroit.

"Got it!" he exclaimed as a flashing red dot appeared on the centre of the screen. He turned to his fellow law enforcers, the same ones he just endangered, asked, "Is there any chance one of you could take me to Windsor?"

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione ignored the Squib, hoping he would just go away.

"Where is the Potion Master?" he asked with derision as he walked over, "I wanted to show him how to teach arrogant pricks like Potter a lesson."

He's okay. Harry always finds a way.

Hermione tried to keep the welled up tears from falling but couldn't. While she would not give him the satisfaction of her desperate reply her uncontrollable overflowing concern betrayed her. Seeing this, the man laughed.

"If you were hoping to be saved you can scratch that thought," he taunted in her face, his breath disgustingly falling upon her skin, "Where's your hero now?"

Tasting bile in her throat she had to say something. She blinked off the tears as she fought him off the only way she could right now, as lame as she thought it was compared to what he claimed he did.

"I know what happened! I know it was you!"

That wiped the grin off Waterman's face and in its place, curiosity. He pulled back and listened as Hermione couldn't stop.

"It was you at the Ministry yesterday! It was you who killed all those people!" she accused, knowing if there was one person who wanted to admit to that it would be him, "Your little act with Malfoy is over!"

"Oh my!" he exclaimed, a bit taken aback by what she just said, "When they said you were the bright one they weren't kidding. I thought I did an awesome Longbottom despite the fact that my dear distant cousin is more boring and disinteresting than anyone else I've ever portrayed. I even amazed myself at the sordid details I was able to remember."

She had to agree the Squib was convincing. While all of them couldn't think Neville would be capable of doing what Waterman said he did, seeing his image kill and maim at the Ministry forced it upon them. It did not go past her that he referred to Neville in the present which meant that the Hogwarts Professor was, at least, alive.

"What I can't understand is why an accomplished and powerful Squib like you would take orders from an egomaniac like Malfoy," she challenged, sensing that was the way to go.

"I do not take orders from him!"

Her words sufficiently grated on the man with the short fuse, his ugliness now plainly visible. She pressed on.

"I guess he's making you pay him back for saving your hide so many times in court. What's the matter? Can't beat him up anymore like you did years ago?"

"I can beat him up anytime I want!"

"Don't kid yourself. You and I know you want to but you can't."

"How do you know that?!"

"I know what you're thinking. He has you hooked on a potion that only he can make. If someone else makes it, you can be rid of him forever," she carried on, the look in his eyes giving away the truth he was trying to hide, "He has all the control. He's too greedy and too smart to give that up."

"He has no choice! It is happening!"

"He's making you believe that this new potion is going to free Squibs from non-magical existence. He's using you to do dirty work, laughing behind your back because you're helping him create potion that will let him become even more influential. You are never going to be free, not with what he's intending to make. Do you really think he will give you something that will make you more powerful and magical than he is without any strings attached?"

"What do you mean?!"

"He's playing you."

"What do you mean?!" he repeated, screaming in her face.

She had taken him as far as she could and she could only hope it was far enough.

"Release Harry, help us put Malfoy away and I'll tell you."

Waterman suddenly grabbed her by the throat, his grey eyes filled with rage and began squeezing. Reflexively she held onto his wrist and arms, and tried to fight him off but his grip was too strong.

"Listen bitch. Don't play games with me. If not for Aunt Bella convincing me there was more to be gained by not ruining your life and Potter's, evidence of your indiscretion with him and how you besmirched the Healer robes of St. Mungo would have gone directly to the Healer's Registry."

She imagined her neck vessels being impinged beneath his fingers. Her face began to flush, oxygen-depleted blood pooled back as he cut off circulation.

"Had that happened you would never be allowed to touch patients anymore."

Hermione was choking, his grasp continued to tighten around her neck and she couldn't get air in!

"So, the way I see it, you owe me. Tell me what he's up to or I'll break your pretty neck in two."

Waterman was forcing her to look at him, to give him the answer to his question but she couldn't focus.

"Let her go!" she heard a man's voice command.

The constrictive sensation around her throat stopped progressing and the hand that was doing it started shaking ever so slightly.

"I said, let her go!"

It was Neville. Well, Neville's face and Neville's voice. She saw the annoyance in Waterman's eyes as he obeyed Malfoy's order. Hermione was right about that one and it was a good thing. As she touched her neck and took breaths in, she saw Malfoy toss over to Waterman a belt of phials with purple potion.

"I told you to stay away from her!" Malfoy scolded.

"I didn't do anything. You can have your little plaything back," Waterman's comment was like a slap across her face. Ginny had been right. It was foolish to fall for it hook, line and sinker, "But I should tell you she will not want you back. The game is over, Drakey. Your cover is blown and unfortunately for her, she's too smart for her own good."

"Just take the potion and watch Potter. I'll call you when we're ready," Malfoy said to Waterman.

The Squib, however, wasn't quite done. He turned to her and in a chilly, mean tone asked a non-question, "While we're being honest, would you like to know what really happened to your fiancé at the Quidditch match?"

Waterman wanted to get more recognition.

"I know."

At least she had an idea.

"Did the ghost tell you? What did he say? That he got hit by green light and fell?"

"Tom!" Malfoy shot him a warning, his words to her earlier echoing in her head.

Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault.

The Squib merely smiled and looked her in the eye on his way out. Without speaking, his voice registered in her thoughts with piercing clarity, taunting her, calling her in a sing song manner...Murderess...

A/N. To those who like Draco, forgive me. This was the reason for the Dramione. I wouldn't have been able to do this if that character wasn't Draco.

65. Master and Slave

Chapter 65 - Master and Slave

Hermione clenched her jaw and swallowed the lump in her throat. She did not know how he did it but she heard him in her head. Waterman's melodic barb lingered.

Murderess...

While the Squib said it out of spite she could not imagine that he would lie about that. There was no logical reason to disown Ron's murder. The insinuation was the truth as was what he said about the evidence of her indiscretion. Ron's actions at his last match and the words Ron said to her that afternoon made more sense now.

I figured it would happen even if we lost the game. I can't fix it.

Ron wasn't talking about them; he was talking about what Waterman was doing. The Squib was blackmailing him to throw the championship away and Ron intended to until the coach threatened to take him out. He apologized too. He apologized for being unable to handle a situation that was a result of something she did wrong. A disheartening feeling overcame her as she realized that his final act was to protect her reputation to keep her from losing a job he knew she loved in spite her and Harry's infidelity. And then he died. The Squib must have seen it happen.

Murderess...

Having gone through a year of believing that was the case one would think it would be easier. It wasn't and the circumstances surrounding the event made it worse. For a moment she wanted to curl up and not exist but there were more pressing matters before her that self loathing would have to take a back seat. There would be lots of time for that after they got rid of the bad guys.

She could only hope that the distrust she planted in Waterman would fester and work in their favour in the long run. Right now she had to deal with Malfoy. Being in the same room with him was making her queasy from a potent emotional mix of anger and disgust. Some of that emotion was not really meant for him.

"It was his choice. It wasn't your fault," Malfoy said, his tone a seemingly sincere attempt to give her rational perspective.

It annoyed her that he had the nerve to give her words of comfort and that what he said matched her ego's feeble attempt to do the same. Agreeing with him only made her feel worse.

"Nobody asked you," she replied coldly.

Malfoy bit his lip, deciding not to respond. He took out a phial from his pocket, drank its contents and the anti-Polyjuice potion transformed him back instantly to his likeness. This was much better; an easier to hate image. It would be perfect if he would talk to her with bigoted malice like he used to in Hogwarts. She would not have qualms whatsoever about being part of the cause of his suffering and death.

"I really hoped you wouldn't find out about this," he said as if an unwanted burden had been placed on his shoulders. "I should apologize."

"Don't bother. I should have seen it coming."

"It was kind of surprising to me that you didn't. You've got to hand it to Creevey; he knew what he was doing. So, what do you think? Is it unforgivable or just very hard to forgive?"

It was a great way to drub her bad judgment right in her face. There was no point in getting flustered and upset. She had a lot of work to do to get even.

"Where's Neville, Malfoy?"

"Malfoy..." he smiled and said to himself, "I guess that would be 'unforgivable'."

"Where's Neville?!"

"Does it matter? You can't do much about your friends' fates. Focus on what you need to do. The sooner it's done the better."

They already had the conversation about what could happen if she refused. Malfoy was smart for while he recognized she was prepared to die, he knew she would not want to see others lose their lives because of her. Then it hit her.

"You wanted Harry alive. You wanted him to come."

His silence answered her question. At the alley and at the Ministry, Waterman had opportunities to kill Harry but he didn't and this morning, on her note, Malfoy made sure Harry would try and find her. Harry was part of his plan all along, leverage to keep her in place, to make sure she would do as he asked.

Tears welled up in her eyes, furious at him for being good at what he was doing and her for not seeing the deception a mile away. What would make his old Hogwarts self fully break out for that one she had more confidence dealing with? She thought about Mia and what she said. Mia's desperation was somewhat becoming her own but for different reasons. It wouldn't hurt to try.

"Mia doesn't want you going through with this."

"How do you know that?"

"She told me."

"She showed herself and spoke to you?" Malfoy raised a brow, surprised at the start, curious at the end.

"Yes," Hermione kept her voice even, her wits about her, "She said she needed help to convince you not to continue."

"Did you tell her that was pointless?"

"More or less."

"Good."

"She seems to think it's possible."

"It's too late to stop. She knows that."

"Why is it too late? It can't be that difficult to let everyone go and turn yourself in," came her stoic reply.

He found that funny.

"After all that I've done, I can't stop now. I have nothing to show for."

"What do you want out of this?"

"The better potion; is it not obvious?"

The answer came too quickly. It was clearly a lie.

"If I make the potion better will you turn yourself in?"

Malfoy couldn't reply.

"I didn't think so. Because if it were about the potion you wouldn't have gone through all of this to make everyone think Neville's the Potion Master. If it were about the potion you wouldn't care if people knew it was you and you wouldn't care if you were sent to Azkaban for it."

"So, what do you think this is about for me?" he lifted his brows up and challenged.

Malfoy summoned a stool for himself, sat on it and slid one close to her. She didn't take it, intending to spurn any and every thing that came from him. Hermione wasn't expecting to be put on the spot and had not had the chance to think Ginny's now very plausible theory through. She'd have to do it on the fly.

"The Janus Prophecy."

"You don't believe in prophecies," he pointed out for the second time that day.

"Lestrange did and my guess is you do too," Hermione thought about the Grey Warlock and how he would fit right into it, "The Bruin potion whatever state it is in will result in social upheaval once the public gets a hold of it and the Grey Warlock, according to the prophecy, will be the calming voice of reason who will fix the mess. You can't be the Grey Warlock if you're caught with your hands in the same chaos inducing cookie jar."

"True, except I don't believe in prophecies either."

"Prophecy or not with this potion you can have what the Grey Warlock is supposed to have. It's about power. It always is with you evil gits."

"That and world domination," he let out a fake diabolical laugh, mocking or joking, she wasn't quite sure, "I've been typecast. How unfortunate."

"The potion is a means to an end."

"Go on, I'm listening," he egged her on, his expression unreadable, but she felt as if she was being giving slack to hang herself with.

"The magic enabling properties of Sophie Bruin's potion is mostly derived from elfin tissue. The rest are stabilizers and add-ons to negate the weaknesses inherent in the being from which the powers are taken from. House elves will always obey what their master asks of them."

"You figured that out so quickly. I'm impressed."

"You have Waterman under control and he's so dense he doesn't even know why. Once you have a more socially acceptable magical potion you'll have millions of unsuspecting slaves. I doubt it very much that your have to look like and sound like Neville to be able to do it. I'm guessing you're taking some variant of the Polyjuice, something of Neville's turned into potion."

"Essence of Longbottom. Not very tasty."

"Is that why you chose Neville? Because of Winky?"

"That was a bonus. I went with Longbottom months ago because he had been working on plant modifications with Professor Snape. I needed his expertise."

"Neville would never..."

"Experiment with something illegal?" he scoffed, "I was surprised too but Longbottom had a lot of time in his hands and I think he could not pass up working on something Tilden Toots had been working on. I checked up on Longbottom periodically but they weren't gaining ground fast enough. They could not replicate the success that Toots and Snape had. The closest they got to it was the monstrosity of the plant Matilda, the one Thomas met. We needed the real deal. Snape broke off his partnership with Longbottom, and being the unfair ass that he always was, Obliviated Longbottom before sending him away."

"And you killed Professor Snape because he found out," she retorted knowingly.

"He found out and knew too much. He also did not want to share what he and Toots worked on. I had to do what I had to do," Malfoy confirmed plainly as if he had no choice on the matter.

Hermione thought about Dean's description of the state in which the Potions Professor was discovered and felt sick.

"So you mutilated and killed the Professor for his knowledge, kidnapped Tilden Toots for his skill and framed Neville for everything."

"I needed a scapegoat. Longbottom was perfect."

"Not man enough to face the consequences of your actions, huh. You've always been a coward."

She saw a definite flinch and a flash of anger briefly escape his calm exterior but he was able to gather himself in time, saying matter-of-factly, "I prefer cunningly creative. The opportunity to have another Longbottom suffer in the hands of my family was too good to pass up. Aunt Bella referred to it as 'poetic injustice'."

That was the only reason for Waterman being Neville at the Ministry. Renewed revulsion filled Hermione as she realized the next thought.

"All those deaths yesterday, all of it just to make the MLE look the other way so you can save your hide. And saving Harry's life? Nice touch. That clinched it for a lot of skeptics."

"That did not go down the way it was supposed to," Malfoy reflexively became defensive. "Tom was to rough people up and make Neville's transformation believable but he got carried away. He's vile enough without the potion and being on it makes him even more so."

"How did he know what to say? He knew Kingsley, Dean and everything about Neville."

"Tommy is a talented con man among other things. He is very good at lying. He studied Longbottom like he would any target and we made up a good story that he could sell," he explained, "As you know by now, a lot of it was somewhat true."

"Somewhat true?" she repeated, trying her best to keep just indignation at bay but did not have much success, "They were baseless lies! You framed an innocent man for horrible crimes and his life may never be the same again! You brought about so much death and this isn't over yet! The talk about wanting a perfect potion to prevent chaos and to stop the Bruins from killing each other, of turning it over to the Ministry for it to do as it pleased, lies just to get sympathy from idiots like me…"

"I guess that's one way of seeing it…" he interrupted but she wasn't done.

"You're a sick bastard! You are every bit like your father was and you deserve what he got!" she spat at him, hoping the biting words would hurt him.

"I'm not like my father."

She hit another sore spot.

"Oh yes, you did get rid of the boss. I guess you're smarter, I'll give you that," she retorted, her words dripping with animosity, "Was it a right of passage to kill your aunt? Was her retirement not good enough for you or did she change her mind you had to rub her off the picture?"

"I did everyone a favor. She wasn't a very good person, wouldn't you agree?" he asked her pointedly.

Hermione was about to reply when she noticed Malfoy's expression softening. Someone had just joined them and answered for her.

"No, Bellatrix wasn't the best human being, but that's not an excuse for murder."

It was Mia, the look of disappointment etched deeply within her eyes it looked like nothing could take it away.

"Technically, I didn't kill her," Malfoy stressed, his attention all on the ghost. "Are you finally talking to me again?"

Mia answered, "That depends. Are you ready to listen? If you still aren't then there's no point."

"You should stay out of this. Ghosts aren't supposed to meddle in things concerning the living."

"I don't care about being reprimanded by Council," the phantom declared.

That seemed to exasperate Malfoy, evidenced by an increased strain in his voice, "It can prevent you from crossing over!"

"What you're doing is what's preventing me from crossing over!" her voice broke and then she pleaded with him, "Tell her why you're really doing this. It's not too late. Maybe she can help."

Hermione did not want Mia to get the wrong message and had to put an end to that wishful thinking.

"He knows not to waste his breath."

As she responded, she felt sorry for the ghost for falling for the wrong guy. While she did not know Mia well it galled her how Malfoy had managed to get Mia to believe that all this was her fault.

"Granger knows what I'm capable of. I'm the Grey Warlock, I've walked both light and dark and I'll use the potion to gain Muggle and magical control," he turned to Hermione, using her to get Mia riled up, "She doesn't know me like you do."

"Will you stop it?! This is exactly the same dismissive tone he used when Bellatrix first told him about the Prophecy just to make her go away."

"I didn't do a very good job, did I?"

"He told her to leave him alone but she wouldn't, especially after I died."

"I think it's safe to say I finally got her to do that," Malfoy said without remorse.

Mia continued to address Hermione, coming to Malfoy's defense, "Think it through, Hermione. He picked a free elf, a reasonable goblin and a centaur who could work with wizards to immortalize through plants. If he wanted control he would have picked one of their family elves. He thought a free elf would not be as susceptible to becoming someone's slave. That's why he chose Winky."

That did make sense or...

"Maybe he planned poorly. You can't expect him to get brownie points for that. Murder is still murder."

"It's a lost cause, Mia. Give it up. I'm the Grey Warlock. Slytherin and Gryffindor were nobodies compared to me."

Malfoy was laughing as if the idea was ridiculously funny. It was.

"He's doing this because of what happened to me."

Should Hermione point out that it didn't matter?

"He blames himself that I died and he's trying to make up for it. He wants my death to mean something. He thinks he can do that by finishing what I started."

Those last words sent a red flag up. What did she start? This whole thing stemmed from the Bruin concoction. Was she talking about that first batch of magic enabling potion? Malfoy had quieted down, the residual grin on his expression incongruent with the tone of his rebuttal to what Mia just said.

"Correction. I'm finishing what my family started and getting rid of some of them in the process."

"You made the potion first?" Hermione asked Mia, needing clarification.

"Yes, although disappointingly not very well. I killed a lot of people," Mia admitted with regret, "Potion making was a hobby Draco and I shared. I knew my potions but it was arrogant to think I could do it considering I knew for a fact I wasn't the one prophesied to. I should have declined when Teddy pitched the idea but it was just difficult to resist."

The ghost paused, the remorse on her face so deep that Hermione knew she was remembering the ones who died. So she was the one who made the potion showcased at the Ghoul last year. Her not Malfoy and Malfoy had picked up where she left off to get revenge. But Lestrange was dead. That begged the question, if this was really about retribution then what were they still doing here?

"Draco didn't know I had agreed to do it and he feels it's his fault that I got mixed up with Teddy and Tommy. Teddy asked him first and when he said 'no' Teddy went behind his back and asked me."

Hermione got a sense that it was the first time Malfoy was hearing this and although Mia was trying to convince her, the ghost was looking at him. It must have been easier for Mia to tell him through her. There were no rebuttals from Malfoy this time. At that moment, both forgot she was there.

"He wouldn't have had I just brewed the bloody thing for him in the first place."

"It was fate."

"There is no such thing as fate,” he disagreed. “If he hadn't told you about the prophecy and what it had done to the Bruins you would have never done it. He knew exactly which buttons to push."

"Teddy had a good point about how making it would put a stop to the clandestine potion-making and end centuries of Bruins murders."

She remembered Malfoy mentioning that Mia was a do-gooder.

"Teddy was a manipulative bastard who would have said anything to get you on board. As far as I'm concerned he deserved what he got for using you."

"We were killing each other. I did it for my family."

Bruins…family…difficult to resist…she was a Bruin…

"You did it for me."

"Why do you men always think it's about you?" she answered Draco, somewhat in frustration.

"Honestly Mia. You never could lie well enough."

"What I did had nothing to do with you. Why would I do it for you? We were done, remember?" Mia turned to Hermione and said, "He's vain not to mention as stubborn as a mule."

'Done' as in 'finished'?

"My family set you up. They used what we had so you couldn't refuse."

"And he has such a low opinion of them too."

"That's because I know how rotten they are. Do you know what Aunt Bella said when she found out who your family was? She said had she and my Mum known before you died they wouldn't have been against our engagement."

"I wasn't good enough for him," Mia answered her unspoken question about why the Blacks were not fond of her.

"I told you I didn't care that you were a Squib and I didn't care that they didn't approve."

Did he just say what she heard him say?

"I guess that wasn't the reason why you broke up with me," Mia smiled a forced one, not doing a good job of masking the hurt and resentment she felt.

"I was stupid and spineless," Malfoy finally said something Hermione agreed with, "I should have stood up to them about you and put my foot down sooner. But you wouldn't take me back after I finally did and after I begged you to. You did this instead. You wanted to be magical to please me and my family who treated you like dirt. They all should have left us alone like I asked them to."

"Your Mum and Aunt just wanted you to be happy."

"We were happy without them."

"Yeah, we were," Mia concurred in a whisper, nodding her head slightly. "But that wouldn't have lasted if they weren't. It's too bad we can't choose our family."

As Malfoy and Mia talked Hermione was feeling immensely out of place but so drawn to the conversation she wanted to find out more. Hermione tried to piece the sequence of events together.

The ferret broke up with Mia because Mummy and Aunt Bella did not want him marrying a Squib. At some point after that Teddy and Tommy stumbled upon the Bruin potion recipe and asked their potion-making cousin to make it for them. Malfoy turned them down so Teddy pitched the idea to Mia by appealing to her helpful nature, highlighting tragic Bruin stories.

While Mia did not admit to it, she did not deny it either. From the sounds of it, Malfoy was accurate in his assessment that in addition to that, Mia made and took magic enabling potion so she could be good enough for the Black sisters. She fell ill, died, maybe in and around the time the Watermans revealed the potion at the Ghoul last year, at which point Lestrange found out and took over.

The Dark Witch wasn't in on the potion-making thing until after Teddy died and according to Malfoy did not know Mia was a Bruin until after Mia died. Squib or not, how did Teddy know Mia was a Bruin? Who told Lestrange? How did Malfoy find out? Wasn't that supposed to be something only a fellow Bruin would know? She glanced at Malfoy and Mia and did not think they would be inclined to answer if she asked.

Malfoy and the ghost ended their exchange heavy hearted and it weighed her down too. It may have been the potion that killed her but Malfoy blamed himself for putting her in a situation where she had no choice. Between the Bruins and Malfoy, how could she refuse?

Finally, Mia said to him.

"Teddy is dead, your Mum is dead, Bellatrix is dead, and Tommy is as good as dead. By having Section 55 repealed you have given the research world freedom to learn more about magic enablers. It won't be long before someone comes up with a better potion. You don't have to go through with this."

"I do," Malfoy disagreed, "It killed you to make this potion better. I have to finish what you started. We're very close."

"This is not the right way," the Ghost tried to inject sense into him, "It can't be."

"I can end this. Your family can stop hiding. After I'm done no other Bruin has to die," Malfoy explained his side.

"I died, Draco and no matter what you do you can't bring me back from the dead."

That was it, the hard truth that had to be told. Malfoy just stood there, stunned by the reality that was just thrust in his face.

You can't bring me back from the dead.

Mia spoke. It was a request.

"It's over, Draco. Let me go."

"I can't," he replied, uncompromising, "I have to do this so I can live with myself. I want you to leave. You shouldn’t witness what I'm about to do."

"Please..." Mia's voice quivered, transparent tears flowing down her cheeks, disappearing as they fell off her face.

"I'm sorry, about everything."

Defeated by the finality of his decision, Mia did as she was asked. Malfoy gazed vacantly at the wall where the dejected ghost disappeared for the second time, resolute that there was no ending it the way Mia hoped it still could.

Hermione saw Malfoy as she had never seen before, vulnerable. For a second she felt as he did. She did not agree with his methods but scarily enough she understood him.

He let out a big sigh, waved his hand in the air and simply said, "Now that we have all of that out of our systems we can get some work done."

The solid partition to her left dissolved into thin air revealing the adjacent plant lab, well equipped with a time pressure greenhouse and sunroof that directed natural light in. Her eyes were immediately drawn center stage where strange looking potted plants were actively growing and sprouting equally unusual flowers and fruits. The mere sight gave her goose bumps.

In the midst of the shrubbery was an exhausted Tilden Toots, his three thumbs reflecting a dark forest green, his right hand brandishing his wand with such flourish that reminded her of a conductor in an orchestra. Then the Herbologist stopped, looked at Malfoy and announced.

"Tell Longbottom it's done."

Malfoy turned to her.

"You're up."

XXXXXXXXXX

Neville was the Nutty Professor. If he was here all along and 'nutty', who was the Neville imposter who cursed everyone at the Ministry and came to Waterman's aid earlier?

It was without a doubt an elaborate scheme to get everyone to believe that Neville was the Potion Master. The only reason why someone would do that was if the real Potion Master was an obvious suspect. His gut had already picked his favorite one and the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place.

"The Mimbulous Mimbletonia is classified as a pet plant in that it behaves and acts just like any Muggle pet would..."

Still fighting off the bright lights, Harry could see through the slits of his eyelids that one of the students was aiming at Neville. He instinctively winced for his friend who seemed to be in an intellectual trance. He either did not recognize he was about to be cursed or didn't care.

"Crucio!"

"It has feelings and emotions just like any magical being..."

"Crucio!"

"It goes through the same phases as most beings do, infancy, childhood, pubescent, adolescent, young adulthood..."

"The spell just doesn't work on him," Harry heard one of the students grumbling in frustration. "He's downright mad."

While at another time he would have wished Neville would stop his plant rant, he was quite happy to hear it today. He'd have to ask Neville how he had been able to block out the pain of the Cruciatus. The group began trying the Imperius curse without much success either.

The distraction was good for at least he could plan what to do next. From his perspective it was simple really. Get himself lose, secure a wand, and put down this band of misfits before him. Then there was getting out of where they were. He didn't know if Neville was with it enough to contact the Ministry and let someone know where to find them. He also had to get to Hermione and Andy in whatever order it presented itself. The only question was would there be enough time before Waterman or Malfoy returned.

Whack!

A nasty blow connected to the side of his head momentarily making him hear birds tweeting. He did not have to open his eyes to know who it was.

"Done with your little nap, Potter?"

Sniggering voices in the background suggested that the class had stopped to witness Waterman humiliate him further.

"Why don't you show some balls and let me fight you fair and square?" he goaded.

"Maybe later," the Squib replied, "After I give Marsh what she deserves."

The sniggering resumed.

Then he overheard the teacher, "She's been out the whole time you were gone."

"Good. She'll be feisty. Just the way I want her," Waterman replied, "I'll be an hour, maybe more. Nobody disturb me unless the Potion Master asks for Potter."

"Gotcha Boss."

Harry peered through the lights again just in time to witness him drink the contents of a phial bottoms up and go through a door that led into sleeping quarters. He definitely had to move the plan along.

"Gotcha Boss? Kiss ass piece of dung," he said loud enough to hear but just barely.

"What did you say?!"

Getting the teacher's attention was the easy part.

"Does he make you do his laundry too? It's a wonder you get respect," he murmured.

From what Harry could hear and sense the teacher was moving closer. Yes, just a bit more. He reached up as far as he could and grasped the metal chains in his hands tightly, bracing himself.

Whack!

Harry felt another blow to the same side of his face, tasted blood and spat right into the teacher's face.

"Not surprising. You hit like a schoolgirl just like your boss does."

Timing the next blow, he opened his lids slightly, just in time to see it unfold. With all the strength he could muster, he pulled and hoisted his body up by his arms, swung his legs over the teacher's shoulders and gripped his opponent's head between his knees. In the same motion, he wrapped a slack of chain around the shocked man's neck and as the latter tried to grab and hold him, Harry wrestled and won his wand. Harry wasted no time sweeping, aiming and discharging spells at specific points around him.

Relashio! Relashio! Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!

Click! Click! Chink! Chink! Chink!

The bonds on his wrists released and the three bright hot spotlights on him broke, glass shattering into pieces. He dismounted the teacher who was instantaneously pulled up by the shortened chains, the latter’s hands struggling to free himself as he began choking. Harry was able to open his eyes and adjust fully before his feet touched ground, parrying a weak curse from a confident upstart student.

Accio incasabils! Recyclus phialus!

Light purple smoke replaced the phials mid air between him and his foes, the panicked and distressed look he saw on their faces replacing surprised ones earlier. One of them was shaking so much he dropped his wand and it rolled off to the side, stopping at Neville's feet.

Neville picked it up and asked, "Do you need some help, Harry?"

Harry saw that he had it pointed at the students, pissed as he should have been.

"Most definitely. Fire away, Professor."

66. The Potion

A/N. Here's the penultimate chapter...

Chapter 66 – The Potion

Malfoy remained unemotional and detached as they studied Tilden Toots' modified plants. If it was possible at all to convince him to not go through with his plans before his conversation with Mia, it was definitely not possible now. Malfoy-the-good, real or fake, was gone, at least for the moment.

It was very disturbing seeing the altered plants. As she walked by she thought she heard voices, some sad some angry, asking her, pleading her, demanding for justice. But judging from the non-reaction of Toots and Malfoy it was likely all her imagination. She felt a mix of grief, guilt and sorrow knowing that pieces of Firenze, Winky and Ragnok were now part of them, immortalized without consent. It would be incorrect to assume that all of them would want this distinction.

Make the potion or watch others die; watch Harry die. She had clear choices; unpopular, undesirable, but clear. The answer to that was a no-brainer and not the conundrum troubling her at the moment.

Disquiet was raging within Hermione and she realized that it was because she never got to answer her question about what she thought of the potion Malfoy wanted her to create. If she was asked to do this without coercion would she? It would have been easy to hide behind his veiled threats and not think further but now that she was 'up', she needed an honest answer for herself. Could she really do this? Was this the right thing to do? Did she agree that the potion had to be made?

Her anxiety about the outcome of what she was about to do had quadrupled since she found out Malfoy was involved. It did not escape her that Malfoy gave her the same Bruin sob story Ted Waterman gave Mia to get her involved and, earnest or not, there was no way she was going to trust him ever again. What made it complicated was the fact that distrust aside she agreed with Malfoy; the potion in its current state would kill far more beings and cause more chaos than the one he intended to make.

But being in this garden of death made her realize just now how immoral it would be to proceed. Malfoy was in the wrong and she agreed with Mia. This wasn't the way to go; nothing good could ever result from the evil that it took to get them to where they were. The means did not justify the end no matter how pretty a picture it painted. In a few minutes she would be brewing this version of the Bruin magic enabling potion not because she believed it to be the right thing to do but because she had to and if she was unlucky enough to survive she would have to live with its consequences until the day she died.

"Mr. Toots, Healer Granger. Hermione, this is Mr. Toots."

Toots was listless as they were briefly introduced. It was as if the life had been sucked out of him. He was staring blankly at his three green thumbs, darkening in hue by the minute, muttering apologies for invoking dark magic that Snape had developed to fuse animal and plant genes into one. As instructed by the Potion Master, Toots had created for them several iterations of the magical being plants differing in the organ used. While the original Sophie Bruin recipe did not specify which tissues were most suitable, as Malfoy documented in the experiment methodology, her potion substitute rule of purity stated that the more distinct the proxy's properties were, the less compatibility issues they would encounter. The fact that they were attempting to replace all the original ingredients was going to be a challenge and Malfoy theorized that using singular organ plants was going to negate some of that. Hermione thought that made sense.

Part of their task was to find the right mix to make the most potent potion they could. He had decided on Winky's elfin heart because from Helga Braun's notes the organ had been anecdotally identified as the most packed with magical powers. But first they had to create a stable base. Firenze's brain and the half-giant's skin seemed like the most natural picks. Malfoy did not have to ask her expertise.

After Malfoy harvested small amounts of select plant parts, they went back into the potions lab and he stood beside her behind a protective barrier, the both of them facing the transparent glass chamber in which a medium sized cauldron was perched serenely in the centre. Time passed quickly and before she knew it she was slowly adding crushed wood chunks of the giant tree into the steaming cauldron of grey liquid extracted from the fluid fruit pulp of the centaur bush and stirring it clockwise six times. She checked potion color before adding the next bit. Malfoy was keeping track of how much they were putting in although they were watching for the same marker Sophie Bruin had been when she made hers. After several additions, they noticed red sparks jumping off the surface of the boiling concoction.

"Your potion has a lot more visible energy than what I had with mine. Do you think it's stable or should we scale down the giant portion a touch?" Malfoy asked, his attention to detail about the making of the potion at obsessive levels.

Annoyed at the fact that she had chosen to work with him and annoyed at him in general she snapped, "Why are you asking me? How would I know?"

"Aren't you the expert?" he pointed out derisively.

"Aren't you the Potion Master? Unlike you I've never made this potion before!"

"Best educated guess, that's all I'm asking," he backed down.

"It hasn't exploded on us. What's your best educated guess?"

Malfoy did not take her bait of sarcasm, "Each end point is crucial..."

"I know how bloody crucial it is!" she bit off his head again, then tied her now bushier mane back and examined the bubbling from the cauldron more closely.

He was right, there was a lot more going on than what she saw with his version but he had mass produced and used a mixture of centaur organs to have enough potion base. She decided to go with her gut instinct.

"It's stable enough."

If her gut was wrong adding the goblin tissue derivative into it could be catastrophic as what at least fifteen Bruins of the past found out. Malfoy lifted an empty cauldron and was about to introduce it into the glass vacuum containing their potion-in-progress when there was a noticeable increase in concoction activity of the disruptive kind. When he stopped, the unrest mellowed a bit. As he resumed, it acted up again.

Curious, she took the cauldron from him and did as he intended to do. No untoward reaction. Interesting…

"You picky bastard," Malfoy whispered over her shoulder, amused, "You want Mummy to do it."

"Don't call it a bastard," she chastised.

Hermione did not know what irritated her more, her discovery that like her he also talked to potion as if it was a living thing or his reference to it as a bastard. If she was Mummy she had a guess who he thought Daddy was. She could already see how historians would write about them.

The Father and Mother of Magic Enabling Potion.

Ew...the idea was...ew...a definite disincentive to collaborate.

"Sorry bud," he apologized to the potion, irking her even more.

As he had planned, she decanted most of their centaur-giant potion base into the other cauldron and set it aside under the counter, well protected from any subsequent dangers the next additions would subject all of them to. She saw from the video and Malfoy warned her too that the addition of goblin tissue was going to be tricky. This step was likely where they were going to spend a lot of time. That was not surprising considering how difficult goblins naturally were in real life. She concluded that this was the reason Malfoy chose Ragnok. Ragnok was level-headed and easier to work with than most goblins as Firenze was for a centaur.

Malfoy handed her a pinch of crushed leaves.

"Liver," he told her.

She took it, deciding not to ask why he picked that to start with.

"You better stand back," she said automatically, having done so with assistants countless times before.

"You're not thinking straight. This is actually a good opportunity for you to get rid of me."

Tempting...

"Oh, right," she replied, "In that case, move closer."

He actually did with an irritating smugness she chose to disregard. She prepared herself. The mere introduction of the goblin tissue into the chamber caused unrest. Her gut told her not to proceed.

"We should try something else," she expressed her concern.

Malfoy thought otherwise, "The reaction is expected. According to Helga Braun's notes use of goblin liver had the highest success and stability rate."

"That may be so but I'm telling you it doesn't feel right."

"Then it won't work and I'll let you pick the next one," Malfoy said pointedly.

It was an order; likely more a show of who the boss was than a belief that liver leaves would work best. She bit her lower lip and decided not to fight this battle. Floating the crushed greens above the mouth of the cauldron, she gradually dropped them in. The frenzied bubbling from within the potion stopped completely and they both moved in closer to take a look. The lack of reaction was not what they were looking for.

"It looks like the goblin neutralized the potion," Malfoy aired his thoughts out loud.

"Cauldron and intra-chamber temperatures haven't dropped off," she noted, examining, thinking, "The potion still has energy."

Malfoy recalibrated the measuring tools then after a few minutes of fiddling declared, "The indicators are wrong. The potion is dead."

No, it wasn't.

She waited. After sufficient time had elapsed for any untoward incident to occur (or so she thought), she put the protective magical barrier down to get a better view. She moved right up against the glass vacuum container.

"Discard it. Let's not waste time," Malfoy told her.

She ignored what he said and continued to study the potion. While it lacked the rainbow colored emissions they were expecting it was definitely not dead. The potion level was rising and falling ever so slightly as if it was breathing.

Malfoy noticed and inched even closer. The second he stepped up front and had unobstructed view of the cauldron the whole thing erupted.

Boom!

The flash of orange red and the thunderous sound of the explosion made her instinctively close her eyes. It was as if she had been standing on the verge of a dormant volcano looking in just before it had woken up unexpectedly, although nobody ever came back from that to describe what it was like. Unable to conjure any defensive spell, the disturbance lifted her off her feet and she felt her body going down. Hard stone floor broke her fall but before she could fully appreciate the pain of the impact it was followed by a crushing heaviness on top of her.

The building shook as the singular blast ricocheted off the walls, ceiling and floor and a series of crashing noises sounded in succession around her. If she could hear this, feel this and think this then she wasn't dead. She opened her eyes and was surprised at the set of grey ones looking down upon her. It took a moment for her to realize what had happened. Malfoy must have grabbed her and pulled her down just as the potion exploded and the weight on her was his body shielding hers from the continuing damage about them. Between that and the haze of debris building up, she could hardly breathe. In their tiny makeshift cocoon there was not much she could do except breathe the same air Malfoy took in and return Malfoy's piercing gaze. She really was averse to doing that.

She shut her eyes again to concentrate on breathing. Her heart pounded like crazy while she prayed for the destruction around them to end. She could feel his arms in a losing battle to keep rubble off their heads tighten every now and then in reaction to something smashing near them, not to mention the fast thumping against her chest that she knew wasn't hers. It was confirmation that contrary to how she saw him at the moment Malfoy actually had a heart just like everybody else.

Finally, everything was still. He got up and helped her on her feet. Both quickly walked over to the broken almost unrecognizable experimental glass chamber and did not find a trace of the potion nor the cauldron that held it.

Malfoy accused her, "Were you taking my advice and trying to kill me?"

Hermione had no objection to him believing that. She actually suspected that it was the potion which was trying to do them in.

"You said it was dead," she reminded him.

"I was wrong."

"You think?" she replied back angrily as he winced, noticing just then that he wasn't fine. "You're bleeding."

Hermione pointed to the bright red pool of blood expanding on the floor. They both traced it up to its origins and saw a foot-long half-inch thick metal rod, a part of smashed shelving, protruding from his right side.

"No wonder it hurts," Malfoy commented dryly.

"It's lodged in your kidney and from the looks of it nicked a major artery. You need to go to a hospital," she answered, trying hard not to show the reflexive Healer concern that he was leaking out too fast.

It was good advice. If he didn't take it, it wasn't her problem. Fine, it actually would be because had he not been where he was the projectile that injured him could have easily found her. Really, he could have Disapparated to save himself.

"It'll heal on its own."

Waterman as Neville spontaneously healed without intervention when he was injured at the Ministry yesterday. Malfoy pulled the object out but the blood kept oozing from the gaping hole. The potion, at least its self regenerative property, wasn't working anymore.

"Shit!" Malfoy cursed under his breath then instructed someone at the control panel, "I need some potion here!"

Hermione could not just stand there and do nothing. She pointed her wand at his flank and scanned. She was right; artery tear. Visualizing the injury, she fired a blood vessel repairing and a clotting spell into the gash.

Reparo arterioso…Thrombocorpusculus…

"What are you doing?" he asked as one of his minions appeared beside him with a belt of potion-filled phials.

There was less red fluid coming out but it wasn't quite healed. She sent another one into the wound.

Thrombocorpusculus!

The bleeding finally stopped. As she was about to scan it again, Malfoy shoved her wand arm away and drank the phial of potion in his hand. Skin crept up from the edges and closed the gap leaving a pink scar where the wound was. He looked angry that she did what she just did.

"You passed up a chance to curse me!"

That's what he's upset about?

"I just hate it when that happens. I'll remember to never to do that again," she answered with equal irritation but had to thank him for his chivalrous behaviour, "It would have been me had you not…pulled me down. Thanks for being rude."

She couldn't express gratitude properly but she figured that was better than not expressing it at all.

"Next time don't put the barrier down! I'm not Potter! Don't expect me to look out for you!"

He was shouting so she screamed back.

"I didn't ask you to look out for me!"

"You can be reckless with your life after you make the potion! Is that understood?"

It was all about the potion. He was huffing and puffing hard like this was a big deal to him, glaring at her. She returned the stare in kind.

"Understood!"

"Good," he calmed down somewhat then added, "And don't do me any more favors or try to save my life again. I'd rather not be a part of yet another thing you'll regret having done."

He was infuriating! Should she point out that he already was? Why did he even bring that up again? Admittedly, he had a good point about the missed opportunity. She should have hexed him or tried to escape. But the Healer in her took over and she couldn't, not while he was bleeding…that much!

Before they could resume the potion creation the lab had to be put back together. As Malfoy went off to do that she headed in the opposite direction to walk off her rage. Yes, she was mad at him for betraying her trust, for the murders, for what he had done and was planning to do with Harry and for proving her wrong that someone like him could change. But she was madder at herself for not being mad at him enough. Hard as she tried to think of him as someone she had utmost disgust for, that resolve had been waning since hearing him and Mia talk and more so after his reflexive albeit selfish act of shielding her from death by impaling.

She was not about to kid herself that her paucity of repugnance for him was because of Dennis' potion although she was hoping this was merely the classic transference described of what happens between abductor and abducted over a period of time. The truth was a part of her pitied him for his inability to escape his family's legacy. A part of her identified with his desire to make up for a past mistake. A part of her understood the difficulty of living with oneself knowing someone was dead because of what one did or didn't do. And because of all these parts of hers acting on their own, there was not much of her left to detest him the way she wanted to.

They had an unspoken kinship borne out of walking in the same path the other had and Malfoy's unsolicited advice about Ron was as much for him as it was for her. For like her with Ron, he could not forgive himself for what happened to Mia.

It was his choice. It wasn't your fault.

It was Mia's choice and not his fault that she died. Malfoy knew as Hermione did that it was logically true but emotionally meaningless. There was no comfort there except in knowing that they did not have the market on that crazy emotion.

Consequence, remorse, penance. Forgiveness and eternal damnation. Life sentence…

Malfoy had chosen this to atone for Mia's death, to finish what Mia started. As wrong as his methods were at least he was trying to do something which he thought was good, to help him make sense of what happened. What about her? What did she ever do to make up for her transgression? She shut out her accomplice and ran away from the haunting nightmares. How pathetic was that?

And to add to this there was her stupidity to forgive Malfoy so easily. That would not have happened years ago but after what Harry did to her and what she did to Ron, forgiving Malfoy was surprisingly easy. It was reassuring at the time for if she could forgive Malfoy then there was hope that she could forgive herself. Her hideous act had made her vulnerable which in turn made her lose perspective. It was her fault Malfoy had gotten as far as he had and her responsibility to thwart him from getting farther.

Her emotions significantly quieted down with that sobering thought and her surroundings came into focus. She had to remember this wasn't about her but about those who lived and died by the potion. It was about preventing more beings from being hurt.

Hermione had to focus on the dastardly deeds and not the tragic human mitigating circumstances behind them or the 'altruistic' end he had in mind. He deceived, maimed and killed. Even though between the two of them she thought him the better, Malfoy was a murderer, is a murderer and had to be stopped.

She looked over to where he was. Malfoy was behind her some distance away, trying to reach someone on the phone, seemingly unsuccessfully. Taking out the cauldron of centaur-giant base she had set aside earlier, she quickly filled an unbreakable phial with it and slipped the container into her robes pocket. As cover, she decanted some potion into a fresh pot.

Thinking ahead, she took out a tray of test tissues. It was a platter of twenty-four cube inch compartments, each one with simulated biological material representing major human organs. Test tissues were the closest thing to checking for human toxicity besides having someone actually drink the potion. Soaking each compartment with the half finished brew, the immediate results were heartening. Hermione was about to wave her wand to hasten the process when Malfoy called out from behind her.

Malfoy's gaze fell from counter to her, eyeing her suspiciously, "Didn't we agree to test for toxicity after we successfully add the goblin factor in?"

She looked him in the eye, steeled her nerves and blew him off, "I never agreed to your stupid idea. It makes more sense to check at each stage. If this base potion damages tissue, then what's the point in adding the rest? Nobody will drink your potion if it kills."

Hermione knew she was right about that. Malfoy approached, took the tray of test tissues and examined it.

"Have you done the hastening charm?" he asked, no doubt examining her for any sign of treachery.

"I was about to."

Malfoy waved his right hand over it and watched the contents intently, handing it to her after a few seconds.

"It's all good. Happy now?"

As Malfoy walked away she looked it over and was buoyed by the outcome.

You have no idea.

Should she push for actual human testing? It may not be lethal but it may also not work. She decided against it, thinking it might raise more suspicion. There would be other ways to test efficacy.

It took a few more minutes for the lab to be ready and as that was being done they had decided on a few goblin alternatives. For another half an hour they toiled over the inclusion of the goblin component. Admittedly, she wasn't trying very hard, hoping it wasn't obvious that she was trying to delay the process as long as she could in the hope that would give MLE time to find them and possibly mount a rescue. With growing frustration Malfoy took a break, walked away and got on the phone again. Not one minute after he hung up, a loud noise startled them.

Blag!

The door to the control booth swung open forcefully backstopped by the adjacent wall. Out came one very angry hag not unfamiliar to Hermione. So, she was a Malfoy accomplice. Yet another traitor. Malfoy resourcefulness was unfortunately impressive.

"I believe you know each other."

Hermione could not kick herself enough about not suspecting Lana Hama at all.

"This is not what we planned! She's not supposed to know who we are!" a very upset Hama hissed at Malfoy.

"I did warn you this could happen," Malfoy replied calmly.

"You know what this means," the witch said to him as she eyed Hermione with annoyance.

"That you have to kill me after?" Hermione joined in, "He knows."

"It's nothing personal," Malfoy attempted an apology.

"I feel so much better about being murdered already," she retorted, the full meaning of it not sinking in.

There was no sense of urgency, at least not yet because the potion was not finished. They still needed her for that and she wasn't going to die without a fight. In the meantime, she thought she'd work on the Healer.

"Nice racket you had going with Ted Waterman stealing research ideas. Makes one wonder which ones you're credited with really are your own."

"I'm not a common thief!" the Healer replied with indignation, "I was looking for Sophie's granddaughter and anything related to Sophie's work. It was about making the potion. It was about giving others the opportunity to make it better."

Mystery Witch confirmed. Loony mystery witch. Something about what she just said reminded her of what Mia mentioned to Malfoy earlier. During that big meeting with the Mugwump, she was against the Unspeakables taking the potion apart. She was the voice of reason in that meeting and she not only diverted suspicion away from her, she caused a deep-rooted law to be changed. Ingenious...

"Those phials Waterman lost in the underground were meant to be found," Hermione realized, "You made sure the Unspeakables wouldn't touch the potion that day so the Supreme Mugwump would recommend Section 55 to be abolished. You wanted it repealed all along."

"It's a stupid rule anyway," Malfoy added, "Experimenting on magical potions will be safer now that it can be done out in the open."

Hoping to figure out pecking order or get divergent answers, Hermione asked Hama, "So tell me. Do you work for him or does he work for you?"

"We're equal partners," the older Healer replied.

Hermione laughed derisively, "And you're convinced of that? Good one, Malfoy."

"What's so funny?" the other witch asked her.

"Your equal partner here killed Cousin Teddy because he blames your operation for his girlfriend's death," Hermione pointed out.

"Healer Hama knows that," Malfoy admitted to another murder without hesitation.

"Does she now?" Hermione looked straight at the expressionless healer and continued, "What exactly is your share in the partnership? I guess bringing Tilden Toots out of hiding was one. Great job on that one. And Dennis worked for you while he was in Detroit. You really didn’t need him anymore that’s why you set him up to be murdered. Do you have anything else to do or was that it?"

"Don't listen to her," Malfoy cautioned, "She's playing with your mind."

"Malfoy may not have killed you yet but unless you're the Bruin granddaughter I would start worrying if I were you."

The Healer answered back heatedly, "If I were the Bruin granddaughter then you wouldn't have to be here right now, would you?"

The blindside effectively silenced her. Malfoy gave Hama an admonishing look which the latter just shrugged off.

"I don't care if you think you're immune to the deathbed curse but I don't want you talking to her about family," he snapped at Hama.

"You think I'm the Bruin granddaughter?" she looked at Hama incredulously.

He replied, "We know you are."

"You're out of your mind!"

"But that's not the reason why you can make this potion," Malfoy brushed it off. "Bruin or not you know your stuff. The fact that you are is merely a coincidence."

"No it isn't," Hama disagreed. "The Prophecy…"

"I don't care about the bloody prophecy!" Hermione cut her off, "How did you come to this bizarre conclusion?!"

"Healer Braun had a magical document of Sophie Bruin's family tree that night Tommy killed her," Malfoy explained. "Aside from finding Mia on it, Teddy found supposedly dead granddaughters on the anti-potion Bruin side having children and figured that there were other Bruin cursed who escaped the Elder Council's deadly mandate. Healer Hama took the Braun information and used the potionmakers registry data to match ranges of dates of birth with that of its members and came up with a list of names. Yours was on it."

"Well it's clearly not me!"

"She thought so too. She set the list aside thinking it was a dead end," Malfoy replied for Hama before the witch could. "When Aunt Bella took over operations after Teddy died she went back to it and did a more meticulous search into your and your parents' lives. There is indisputable medical proof that you're not your parents' daughter. You're not Muggleborn. I'm so sorry. I know you were so proud about being one."

It actually answered the question she had asked herself a few times since she got to Toronto. Why her?Lestrange had intended for Hermione to brew the potion all along. If the Dark Witch was indeed into the Hufflepuff prophecies as these Bruins were then by simple logic Lestrange believed her to be the Bruin granddaughter prophesied to make the potion.

But just because they thought she was didn't mean that she really was. She had to see the evidence herself to believe it. Her mental to-do list just got longer.

"She doesn't believe us," Hama noted the obvious.

"Why would I? He's a murderer and you're a Bruin traitor."

"We should at least show her proof."

"Forget that. She won't believe it unless it's proof she dug up herself," Malfoy surprised her with that accurate insight.

"So you think I'm a Bruin. That's why you stopped calling me Mudblood. It makes more sense now," she said acidly.

"Good," Malfoy answered, unaffected, annoying her more, "We can get back to work."

He took his phone out again and pressed redial. It rang and rang until voicemail kicked in.

"Tom's ignoring his phone," he commented angrily. "I already told him he could play with Marsh after we're done. He has no patience."

Andy was tough; Hermione hoped she would be alright.

"Speaking of patience, don't you think it's too soon?" Hama asked Malfoy.

What was too soon?

"She's holding back. She needs motivation."

They were looking at and talking about her. She was busted and she had a good guess what they were going to do to about it. Malfoy wanted Waterman to bring Harry to the lab.

Think fast…think faster…

"I can send someone down," Hama offered.

"Watch her. I'll go get them myself."

"No need, I'm here!" Waterman announced his presence.

"Where the hell were you?!" Malfoy vented his ire at the Squib.

"I was busy. We had a bit of trouble with Potter and the Professor," Waterman said to him quite peeved of the inquisition.

Her heart hitched when another Malfoy accomplice towed in a hovering and struggling Harry into the room, face bloodied and beaten up. He was magically gagged, bound at the wrists and ankles, trying to fight and speak in futility. They left him to float a few feet in front of her. She tried to get to him but was restrained from behind by Malfoy. Harry did not seem to see her at all, as he was busy trying to get Malfoy's attention who was still going at it with Waterman.

"Why didn't you tell me you were having trouble?!"

"What for?! It wasn't a problem and I've managed not to kill him."

"You and your men keep on screwing up! We're in the middle of creating history here!"

"I don't fucking care!"

"Stop acting like children," Hama scolded, physically getting in between them, "Let's just do this."

Malfoy and Waterman glared at each other but buckled down. The Slytherin turned to her still furious.

"So what will it be?"

Hermione caught Harry looking, his head shaking, his emerald eyes protesting.

Smack!

“Let her decide on her own!” Waterman bellowed at him after hitting him in the face with a clenched fist.

Hermione answered, figuring Harry would not want her to give in, "Ho…honestly, I'm trying…but it's harder than we thought."

Malfoy gave Waterman a nod, “Do it.”

Waterman obeyed with pleasure.

"Crucio!"

She watched as Harry screamed silently, his face and body contorting in agony she muffled a cry and had to turn away.

"Hmm, something's missing," Waterman commented pensively, "I know."

"Finite incantatem."

"Go to he..."

"Crucio!"

"Arrgh!!"

She looked at the painful sight of torture again but was unable to connect with Harry a second time. His consciousness was fading.

Please...someone...anyone...help...

"Much better. Crucio!"

"Arrgh!!"

"Please..." she managed to say in between sobs but they didn't hear her.

"Watch. Listen," Malfoy said coldly, "He doesn't have to suffer."

"You can end this," Hama reminded her.

Harry will understand. He knows you had no choice...

"This is so much fun. Cru...!"

Hermione bellowed, "Enough! Stop!"

"Stop?"

"I'll do it," she said to Malfoy, her voice cracking. "Just don't hurt him anymore."

"How sweet," Waterman mocked as he dropped his wand arm down to his side. "Fuck! And I was just getting warmed up."

She looked at Harry's writhing figure as Waterman set him free down on the ground. Malfoy was still holding her back, his grip tightening as her body leaned towards Harry. Even if she managed to get him the potion base, he was in no condition to use it effectively.

They had been in danger so many times and this was the first instance she had no good ideas. She not only got him into this, she was failing to get him out.

"Wise decision," Malfoy patted her on the back and instructed the rest to get behind the magical protective barrier. He asked her, "What should we try next? Keep in mind that each time you're wrong you'll get a piece of Potter as prize."

"Can we start with his eyeballs. I've always hated his eyes," Waterman suggested.

Hermione gritted her teeth, dark thoughts in her mind seeking relief. There was only one way out of this.

Staring angrily at Malfoy, she answered, "Bone."

"Why?" he was curious.

"It's the most inert part of the body."

"That makes perfect sense," Malfoy had a Eureka moment.

He gave her root shavings to introduce into the potion and the instant the goblin derivative hit the concoction it turned the rich deep blue it was supposed to.

"See what a little motivation can do? You're a genius!" Malfoy commented as he took out the test tissues.

The interim brew cleared toxicity screens as the previous stage did. Malfoy was smiling when he handed her the minced fiery red fruit of the elfin heart.

This was it. The last step of the Bruin magic enabling potion. History would judge them but she had already damned herself for doing it. Hermione glanced over to Harry one last time. She was doing this for him but hoped he would not feel responsible for its creation.

As expected, addition of the elfin portion went smoothly. Each drop of the plant’s fruit juice began turning the bluish substrate into progressive shades of purple going from light to dark. She kept on adding until its shade changed no more.

The purple potion was complete.

She heard rejoicing in the background. Malfoy had relief and happiness on his face. Even before Malfoy filled the tray of test tissues with it Hermione already knew it would pass with flying colours. He decanted some potion into an unbreakable phial, corked it and took it out of the chamber.

By that time all magical protective barriers had been disengaged. Hama and Waterman gathered around the potion with Malfoy, leaving Harry with two guards. The one on his left in the Bruin robes had just put another silencing charm on him and kicked him in the gut. The assistant who had given Malfoy the belt of phials was on his right and he too took a cheap shot.

“Take it,” Malfoy ordered Waterman, handing him the phial.

“Fuck no! I’m not going to be the first to drink it,” the Squib replied, stunning Malfoy as much as Hama and her. If he was able to resist the order then the potion within him must have been waning in strength. Waterman pointed at Hermione, “She could have put poison in there. Have her drink it first.”

Hermione waited. If they let her, she would. The elfin tissue was a risk but it might give her additional magical traits to fight them.

Hama interjected, motioning to Harry’s captors, “What about one of them?”

But Malfoy had already decided. He left Waterman and Hama instructions.

“If something bad happens to me just kill them all.”

Malfoy looked at Hermione straight in the eye with the openness she had seen days ago. In him she saw not malice, not wickedness, not intent to harm, but gratitude.

“Cheers…”

He uncorked the phial and drank the purple potion.

67. In the Garden of Death Part 1

A.N. Liar, liar, pants on fire…

If you have read the title then you already know that once again I have made a liar out of myself (not the first time in this story). Well, I really wanted this to be the last chapter until the bloody characters just took over. Don’t you just hate it when they do that?

I lost the muse for a couple of weeks (I couldn’t figure out how to get rid of Malfoy) and when I found it yesterday it would not let me pare it down to one chapter.

But, to save face (LOL!) and not totally lose respect for myself I am considering this and what is to follow soon (muse permitting) as one – In the Garden of Death.

Please accept my apologies and hope I am forgiven.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 67 - In the Garden of Death Part 1

Gratitude?! Harry had been tortured right before her very eyes! She just witnessed first hand the absoluteness of Malfoy's wickedness and she couldn't read anything more into him other than appreciation?!

Hermione seethed from within absolutely miffed at herself for continuing to think that Malfoy would eventually do the right thing! Malfoy was glaringly a malevolent manipulative prick! He knew what she had been going through and was playing her. How could she mistake him, and she obviously was mistaken, for being grateful?!

Plink! Plink! Plink!

The just emptied unbreakable phial bounced a few times on the stone floor after Malfoy let go of it. Standing about a metre away she saw him grimace, his eyes watering from the experience and he looked like he was going to keel over and die.

But Malfoy recovered and spoke, "Nasty. We have to improve palatability. Now, let's see if it works."

So much for wishful thinking.

Extending his right arm and index finger in the air, Malfoy conjured a brilliant silvery serpentine Patronus which slithered and hissed merrily around the room before it turned into mist. It was just too bad she made the potion right.

"Happy thoughts?" Waterman, who stood between them and Harry, mocked. "Turning mushy on us, O Potion Master? And you're supposed to be a Dark wizard!"

Malfoy took the challenge, his grey eyes narrowing as they fell on Harry.

"Not him!" she yelled, hard, a threat that she meant but for sure was heard hollow.

Waterman laughed at Malfoy again, "What's the matter Drakey? Worried she'd finally recognize you for the evil bastard you really are?"

"Leave him alone! I made your potion!"

Of course fate might actually think it amusing if Harry were the first person it was used on; kismet with a cruel and sick sense of humour.

"Yes, you did. But as you said, it is my potion," Malfoy retorted.

"It's done! You finished what Mia started! You've made her life and her death mean something!" her impassioned cry to make him see reason was falling on deaf ears, "You don't have to do this!"

"She's still dead."

"Nothing you do can undo that!"

"I know but I thought I would at least feel better. So, in case you were wondering, there is no such thing as redemption. There's only regret, a lifetime of penance, hell," he responded, then frostily added. "And there is no coming back from it."

He conjured a red ball of flame, palmed it and without hesitation shot it at Harry.

Protego!

Smash!

Hermione blocked Malfoy's curse the second it left his hand and sent it wayward. Waterman tittered as Malfoy flushed in embarrassment.

Stupefy!

"Now, we all know that is pointless," Malfoy said controlling his anger as her hex hit him but got absorbed.

Having real reason to, Hermione continued to curse him even though she knew Malfoy was right. He took a step closer, confiscated her still actively firing wand and gave it to Hama. He then re-casted the hex intended for Harry, channelling his rage. This time the curse found its mark, the distortion of Harry's body language and the suffering on Harry's face satisfying Waterman's appetite for cruelty. A few other Squibs were applauding the show. She had not noticed that they were there until now.

"Welcome to my hell!" Malfoy announced to his growing crowd of supporters.

The Slytherin let out a bone chilling diabolical laugh then turned towards her with a despicable haughty expression daring her to do something heroic about it. Tears streamed down her face as anger and frustration filled her. The hatred for him that had been exasperatingly absent finally broke through and it was not only hatred for what he was doing but hatred for the person he was.

"We won't need your services anymore. Take her away," he finally said to Hama, "I'll deal with her later."

"Are you sure? I can have Quincy kill her," Hama suggested as the Bruin robe clad wizard who was beside Harry approached and grabbed her right arm.

Hermione spat, "Do that you gutless wonder! Let someone else do you dirty work!"

Devoid of emotion, he replied to Hama, "No. I owe her the special treatment that she wants. I'll take care of her myself."

The underling grasped her arm even tighter, his strength overpowering her own as she was dragged against her will towards the control room entrance.

"Try killing me now, you coward!" she screamed, but Malfoy ignored her, "Look at me!"

Malfoy paid her no attention. He got on the phone and she caught the annoyance he felt as he hung up.

"We have company!" he said to his captive audience. Even the wizard who was pulling her away stopped to listen. Hermione guessed that would be the MLE, "We're in lockdown! You all know what has to be done!"

Crack! Crack! Crack! Cra Crack!

The Squib army left and she was lifted off her feet, her body forcibly draped over her abductor's shoulders.

"Put me down!"

Her legs were kicking in the air, her arms flailing but the goon quickly clamped down on that. Hama was not enthusiastic to leave but followed them anyway. They were moving away from Malfoy and Waterman, from Harry. Wetness poured down her cheeks.

"Harry!" she tried to get his attention but when he stirred Waterman cursed him again, "Harry!"

Hermione saw Malfoy create a transparent plastic tent around Harry and hand Waterman an autopsy saw.

Malfoy gave the Squib his orders, "You might want him dead before you start. Clean up will be a bitch."

"The more he suffers the better," Waterman replied and conjured full pandemic personal protective wear.

"Suit yourself," Malfoy retorted as he prepared unbreakable phials beside the vacuum chamber, intending to fill them with freshly brewed purple potion , "Harvest everything. After Toots is done with Potter we'll do Longbottom next. Do hurry up. We don't have much time. "

Harvest?! Toots?! The sick son of a hag!

Whrrrrrrr!

The sound of the saw's whirring motor drowned her continuing protests and just as she was brought over the threshold, the teeth of the cutting tool tip in Waterman's hand edged closer and was now barely touching Harry's chest wall.

No!!!

Hermione reached for the phial containing the giant-centaur base from within her robes pocket but the crook on whose shoulders she was on saw it and wrestled it away from her! She was screaming at the top of her lungs, loud and incoherent! She wanted them to stop!

She lost her voice. The door shut, muffling the sound of saw cutting through something hard, saw through bone, Harry's bone. She could not see anything through the observation window and felt utterly helpless, agonizing over the thought of Harry agonizing. Her fault...if only she'd listened...if only she treated Malfoy for the vile person he was and always would be…

Can't breathe....

The Bruin robe clad minion set her down, blocking her view, asking her if she was okay. She strained over his right shoulder, fighting him, needing to see the cost of her stubbornness and idiocy, the price for her desperation to believe that there was no such thing as unforgivable and that every sin was redeemable.

Never forget…this is your fault...

The door opened and shut. Hama joined them. Someone had put the window blinds down while she wailed soundlessly as she lost sight of Harry…

Can't breathe....

Murderers don't deserve to anyway…

Can't breathe....

Hopelessness had set in…

Can't breathe....

It was smothering, overwhelmingly suffocating…

"Give her room!" Hama commanded, "Breathe, you fool!"

The space did not help. Tried as she did her memory on how to get air into her lungs failed her. She couldn't. That and it didn't matter…

There was more talking about her…a spell had been cast…a hazy figure approached her…nothing mattered anymore…

She crumpled to the floor nauseated by the spinning about her, knowing her body would eventually betray her and succumb to need. Someone caught her and held her, she was in someone's arms, someone was speaking, gently coaxing…

"It's okay...just breathe...I'm here…"

His voice…his embrace…

Hermione looked up and saw a pair of worried emerald green eyes upon her. It was him...

Breathe…

XXXXXXXXXXX

Moments ago, in the bowels of the same building...

"Stupefy! " Neville hexed with anger and conviction.

A thick red ray emanated from the Professor's wand, the curse finding the face of the Squib closest him and was blown off in an instant. Mayhem ensued as everyone with a weapon fired at will. Several beams whizzed past him and Neville and the ones that found them they were able to easily deflect.

Having used up much of their magical energies and protection during practice, the Squibs were short work for Harry and Neville. Of the last three foes left standing two dropped their wands to surrender and the third relinquished his weapon after Harry convinced him, physically.

All throughout the fight Harry kept on glancing at the entrance to the sleeping quarters expecting Waterman to appear in the doorway to join the fray. It was strange and worrisome that the ruckus did not draw the Squib out. The second they secured their situation he turned to check on his Gryffindor classmate.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. But your partner..."

"Stay here and hex anything that moves!" he instructed Neville, walking away as he did, "See if you can find out where we are and try to get help!"

"Got it!" Neville replied.

Harry sprinted and aimed his wand at the wooden entrance to the room Waterman disappeared into.

Deprimo!

The door exploded into smithereens. Harry went through the jagged edged hole he just created even before the dust settled, prepared for anything. Almost anything.

"Avada Ke..."

Expelliarmus!

The two spells were conjured almost simultaneously, his inching out Andy's by a hair and causing her to lose grip of her weapon.

"What the fuck did you do that for?"

She was pissed, livid as she went over to retrieve her wand and with a quick flick of her wrist righted the state of near undress she was at. A conscious but frightened Waterman slumped to the floor sobbing like an infant. For a moment he asked himself the same question Andy just did.

"Not this way."

"Fuck off you hypocrite! So it's okay for you to pummel him to death but it's not if I do?! "

She had a good point there. It was perfectly legal in Canada for an Auror to use the killing curse. In fact, in Waterman's case, it was encouraged. But from past experience there was something cowardly about that hex that he would always disapprove of. That and they needed the asshole.

"Not yet."

"Are you mad?! He's a piece of shit!" she yelled.

"You're giving him an easy way out!"

"He took my brother and used Julius to get to me!"

"Julius is safe! Killing Waterman like this won't make him suffer half as much as he should!" Harry tried to persuade her, "And executing him cold blooded makes us no better than he is."

"Fuck! Ugh!"

Andy let out a prehistoric yawp. She turned away, upset because she knew he was right. She needed only a moment to calm herself down enough to say something coherent.

"He was Longbottom at the Ministry and Malfoy impersonated the Professor this morning."

"I know."

"And you were right. Malfoy is the Potion Master. They think Hermione is the Bruin granddaughter."

"I figured as much. How did you find out?"

"Veritaserum," she replied, motioning to the broken phial on the floor. "I know where they have Toots and Hermione and how to get there."

"But how did you ... do this?"

He couldn't describe exactly what he wanted to ask as he looked at Waterman and the state Andy left him at. They had not been able to defeat the magical version of the Squib with their wands so how Andy did so without one would be nice to know.

Andy blushed somewhat, embarrassed and evasive as Harry had never seen her before.

"I can't tell you."

"What do you mean you can't tell me?"

"Suffice it to say that he should not have messed with Veela."

"And you couldn't do this before?!"

"It's not something I can do at will...or in public," she reasoned, then added in response to the perplexed expression on Harry's face, "It exposes a lot more of me than one could ever be exposed...stop looking at me like that!"

"Sorry," he apologized as he tried to bury the details of her confession, making a mental note that while its timeliness was great he could not count on her unharnessed Veela powers. Moving on, "Well, it's a good thing you didn't kill him. We're going to need his assistance. Where's your stuff?"

If she had Veritaserum then she would have more. Andy always came prepared.

"I gave up rubbing him off. Your plan better be good," Andy tossed him the small mooseskin pouch she retrieved from her pocket.

Harry opened it, took out the Auror stealth kit and retrieved the small flask of Polyjuice. It wasn't much but they could halve it and hope the effects would last long enough for their purpose. Malfoy was also taking the potion. They already had a sample of what to expect. They needed to get as close to Malfoy and Hermione to get her out.

"They tricked us by Polyjuice, let's do the same."

They also needed another potion vessel. He dug in his pocket and retrieved the hospital prescribed numbing potion which, with the muscle strengthening brew, miraculously survived his recent adventures. He gave it to Andy.

"Drink this," he told her, "You look like you could use it."

Andy didn't argue and emptied the container into her mouth.

"Thanks," she said as she handed back the potion-less container to Harry.

He decanted half the Polyjuice into it, plucked a couple of greasy hairs from Waterman's head and added it in, then, took some of his locks and did the same to the remaining Polyjuice in the other flask.

"You want Waterman to be you."

"Right. And I'll be him. You can hide under one of those hooded Bruin robes and stay a..."

"I want to be him," Andy blurted out.

"Huh? But you're a woman."

"Since when did you become a sexist pig."

"I mean…I'm just thinking...you don't really want...and you might..."

"Grow a fucking penis? I don't care about the dick. It would be so worth it. They plan to torture you in front of Hermione. If I can't kill the motherfucker let me at least do that."

Waterman's phone was ringing. Harry summoned it. Malfoy.

They didn't have much time and it would take forever to talk Andy out of this. He gave her the Waterman Polyjuice and forced the other mixture into the Squib.

"Quid pro quo, asshole."

XXXXXXXXXX

Ginny was pacing inside a Mom and Pop Diner, every now and again, looking through the large window at the building across the street which housed Professor Tan's private lab. Muller and a few other Canadian Ministry officials were in there. The Diner was the temporary MLE headquarters.

At a corner booth, Luna was keeping Andy's family entertained, including their Aunt who was buried underneath a stack of empty lemon meringue pie plates. Hopefully the Unspeakable's stories were harmless and not entirely true ones.

The deployment into the enemy lair started a couple of minutes ago. Small red maple leaf flags were continuing to appear within the enlarged building floor plans displayed behind the counter, each flag representing an Auror or Hit Wizard. Andy's brother, Julius, had been in the edifice a couple of times and had assisted with some of the details.

Dean was among the first who went in and was the lone British flag blinking on display. Unbeknownst to the Canadian officials, Luna found a way to live feed the information the MLE had to Pia Russet. She and her Bruin cousins had a ten minute head start and were attempting to control and possible avert universal social catastrophe.

Pop! Pop! Po po pop!

A commotion broke out within the Apparition area. The sound of angry accusatory and hostile Canadians speaking with stiff British accents broke the tension filled atmosphere. Muller had agreed to have his men ingest Luna's essence of McGonagall. It was odd hearing them sound like the Hogwarts Headmistress and Ginny would have found it more amusing had the situation been less dire.

"We have the bastard!"

"Watch him!"

"Auror killer!"

"Don't hex me! It wasn't me!"

Neville?

Po po po pop! Pop! Pop!

"Sorry excuse for a wizard!"

"It's a trick!"

"Hurt the git!"

"Just wait!" Ginny recognized Dean's voice and his towering figure shielding Neville's, "Hear him out!"

"It wasn't me!" Neville vehemently asserted as the angry mob around him grew by the second. "They used Polyjuice to frame me!"

"Who used Polyjuice?!" Muller took over.

"Waterman and Malfoy!"

"Malfoy?!"

"Yes, Malfoy! Malfoy is the Potion Master!"

Ginny felt a bit better. There was normalcy. Things were beginning to finally make sense.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry hugged Hermione as tight as she clung onto him. She was sobbing into his chest and trying to apologize for trusting Malfoy, at least that was how it sounded.

A short while ago, Harry watched Malfoy take Hermione's magic enabling potion but was unable to do much else. The ferret had kept Hermione close to him. A couple of openings came but went away as quickly as they presented themselves and Harry waved Andy off from taking the potion when it was offered to her. They had no idea if Hermione did indeed spike the potion with an extraneous poisonous ingredient.

Harry was sorry too for having her go through what she just did but they had to find out what they were up against and had to make sure they could do this. Tipping her off would have put them all in more danger.

When she finally pulled away, he cupped her face with both hands, hating that he had to interrupt. Andy was still with Malfoy, Waterman and one other bad guy they had not counted on being there. He wasn't sure how much longer before Andy's cover was blown. He had to go.

"Listen…"

"I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay…"

"No, it's not…that could have been you…"

"But it wasn't…"

"This is all my fault…"

There was really no time for talking.

"Listen…Hermione…listen!" he said more emphatically, finally settling Hermione down, putting her wand in her hand as he explained, "Out those set of doors is a long hallway that leads to what appears like a dead end. There's a life size portrait of Sophie Bruin on the wall. She will ask for what's most important. 'Family loyalty above all else'. Go though the portrait hole and you will find yourself in an anteroom that is right next to reception. From there you can Disapparate to the Ministry. Do you understand?"

Harry had to ask as Hermione still appeared to be in a daze. That immediately was replaced by one of protest.

"I'm not leaving. I'm going back in there with you."

He told Andy they had to hold off attacking until they got her out of harm's way. And she wanted back in there? No, she definitely did not understand.

"You can't."

"Malfoy has to be stopped."

"Leave that to us."

"I have to destroy the potion. I have to get rid of Helga Braun's notes. And those plants, they can't continue to exist. They need to be put to rest."

"That can be done after."

If there was going to be an after...

"The sooner it's done the less people will know and the less people who know of it the better."

While she was right Harry couldn't believe they were arguing about this right at that moment. Actually, now that he thought about it, he should have expected no less. It was foolish to even ask her much less expect her to agree.

"I have to do this, Harry. I promise I won't get in your way."

"That's not the point. I don't think I can fight and protect you at the same time."

"Then just fight!"

Did he really have to point out that that was easier said than done? Having known her for quite some time he knew he would not win this argument and she interpreted his delay as a sign of giving in.

"That potion that you took from me, I don't know if it works but it's the giant-centaur potion base that theoretically should give you as much strength and ability to withstand spells as Malfoy. Whatever you do, do not take the final potion. It has Winky's elfin component that Malfoy has found a way to harness so he can control the potion taker. I'm almost sure the essence of Neville Malfoy has been taking will counteract Winky's that is contained in the potion. That's not Neville in there with Andy, is it?"

"We sent Neville out to get …"

"Neville should be able to control Waterman and his Squib army but that would put Neville at risk…"

Hermione was on a roll and there was only one way he could think of to get her out.

"We’re not going to bring Neville back. Look, I can't force you to go," he admitted. "And I'm really tempted to hex you right now."

He was still considering it.

"I'm staying," she had decided.

As much as he had a feeling he was going to regret it, Harry had to let her. The potion. If she thought it was safe enough for him to take then it would be. He gave her back the phial containing the giant-centaur base.

"No arguments. Drink it."

She begrudgingly took a sip, her face crumpling from bad taste as she did, and gave three-quarters of the potion back, "You and Andy will need it. Once I get in there I'll see about bottling a couple of more."

"Give us a few minutes with them before going in. Stay away from Malfoy," Harry warned her.

As she was about to reassure him, the escape exit he just pointed at suddenly swung open, blown off but the explosion must have been muffled by a silencing charm. Wands were already drawn and were pointed at each other.

"Wait. Don't shoot," a woman commanded urgently but softly, her hushed voice familiar.

The Bruin they met in the alley a few days back came to the forefront flanked by three other Bruin robed figures. He saw that they had Toots with them.

"We're taking Mr. Toots out. Who wants to come?" she asked him.

Harry pointed at the magically bound Bruin traitor he had hexed earlier.

"Hama is with them."

"She'll get the justice she deserves," the Bruin woman assured him and he knew not to ask what that meant.

As a couple of them left with the two Harry said to the Bruin woman, "You might want to change into something else. There are a few Bruin traitors here. I don't want to accidentally curse you."

The woman nodded and transformed her robes and the ones on the two who remained with her into Gryffindor red, leaving their Bruin coat of arms as is. He nodded.

"The MLE are coming in," Bruin woman said to them, "I'm sorry but we cannot help you fight until we do what we need to do. We have little time to destroy what needs to be destroyed, including the potion you just made."

"How did you know?" Harry was puzzled how they found out so quickly.

"Not important. We have to retrieve the Braun documents from Malfoy and we can't allow the MLE to find any trace of the plants ever existing."

"You can't kill the plants," Hermione interrupted, "The plants have to go back to Britain. The beings trapped within them will never rest in peace if we leave them here."

"Even if there was time..." the Bruin woman began to disagree.

"We have to make time! It's the least we can do!"

Harry suggested, "You can help Hermione start moving the plants while Andy and I work on Malfoy."

He waited for a response to the compromise. Every precious second they wasted was putting Andy's life on the balance.

"It's the right thing to do!" Hermione pleaded.

The Bruin finally nodded and hurriedly left with the others for the plant lab. Harry and Hermione turned and faced each other at the same time.

"Don't do anything crazy," he said to her and kissed her more hurriedly than he would have wanted.

"Be careful," came her worried reply.

Boom!

Crash!!!

All that disturbance was coming from within the Potions Lab.

Andy.

"Dinner tonight. I'll pick you up at seven," he said with confidence, intending to keep his word.

She smiled weakly and answered, "Don't be late."

Harry Disapparated and reappeared beside an Andy-looking Andy, who immediately pulled him behind a large marble statue he recognized to be the narcissistic Professor Tan.

"What the fuck took you so long?" Andy greeted him.

There was a break in the fighting as Malfoy had moved Waterman to take cover and Andy nursed wounds of her own. They both checked out the scout mirror Andy had deployed, watching Malfoy fix the injured Waterman up.

"It took some time convincing her to leave," he answered her.

"She's staying, isn't she," Andy replied knowingly.

"Don't tell me you said so."

"I won't. Where is she?"

"Plant lab with red robed Bruins. Try not to hex them. They're with us. Waterman's still alive?"

"The idiot kept on healing I couldn't finish him off. Malfoy left for a couple of minutes and came back to fill phials when he finally clued in. Then the Polyjuice started waning."

The sight of Andy favoring her arm made him remember Hermione's potion. He gave it to her.

"Giant-centaur base. That should heal it and protect you from the curses," he explained.

"What about you?" Andy inquired.

"I already took some," he lied knowing she would need it more.

As Andy shuddered after downing the remaining potion, Harry noticed the wide eyed and very dead henchman on the floor beside them and asked, "Did you do that?"

"Malfoy. He thought that was you."

Andy tested her shoulder through its full range of motion.

"Are you good?" he asked, antsy for action.

"Well, we could wait a few more minutes so Waterman can be a hundred percent, you know, just to be fair."

She was being sarcastic. They looked at the scouts again. Waterman was up and he had come back out with Malfoy.

"Looks like you got your wish," he said under his breath but Andy heard him.

"Hey, if it were up to me he'd be dead already," she countered, pulling her back-up wand from her bag of goodies.

"But then you would have missed making him suffer," he reminded her.

"True."

Needing the extra firepower himself, Harry summoned the idle wand beside the dead Squib. Sparks of the positive kind came off its tip. Good enough.

"Come to Papa, my little Veela woman!" Waterman taunted.

Harry and Andy stepped out into the open with just a few feet of air between them and their foes, clear about who was to fight whom.

Andy mocked, "Little Veela woman?! I guess you'd find that reassuring considering how 'little' of a man you are down there."

Angered, Waterman fired the first shot, a Stunner that hit Andy right on the chest. She staggered back but remained on her feet and she had on her a most satisfied smile as she saw the concern on Waterman's.

"I just love a fair and square fight, don't you Tommy Boy?"

Bang!

Crash!

Their attention was briefly diverted by the breakage of the observation window and fighting inside the control room, several Squibs and Bruin traitors retreated into the Potion Lab as MLE robed figures filtered in from the main hallway and was forcing them back.

Alarms went off, urgent red revolving lights pulsated through the lab and an announcement came on.

Inner lab breach. Inner lab breach. Self destruct sequence activated. You have five minutes to evacuate. This is not a drill.

Five minutes. The urgency was not reflected in the announcer's voice at all.

"Keep them busy," Malfoy said to his Waterman as he picked up a rucksack that was on the floor beside him.

The git was leaving!

Harry was determined not to let Malfoy escape. He skillfully dodged and deflected the beams of curses that were meant for him.

Crack! Pop! Crraaacckkk!

Quickly, he Disapparated and Apparated next to Malfoy! With all the strength that he had, Harry aimed for his heart and swung hard, stabbing the ferret in the chest with the spare wand he had sharpened on his way to the git! The piece of wood sunk a couple of inches in, blood oozed and soaked his hand but he could tell he missed his target!

The asshole Dissapparated at the same time, taking Harry along for the ride! They spun together, Harry hexing him intra-Apparition with both wands in the hope that the curses would eat away at the potency of the potion Malfoy had on board! Malfoy seemed concentrated on holding on to the package he had with him and was trying to pull out the securely buried stake.

"Oompf!"

Brick wall. Still intra-apparition, Harry literally slammed into one sending a shock of pain into his entire body. This must be the Wards Andy was speaking of when she tried to Disapparate with Toots. Malfoy was just about to go through.

Gripping the piece of wood tightly as if he was hanging on for dear life, he aimed his own wand at the rucksack in Malfoy's hand.

Diffindo!

"No!"

Papers, phials, plants spilled out from the ragged tear Harry had created, the distant sound of paper rustling, pots crashing and unbreakable phials hitting the ground was drowned by Malfoy's frustrated yelp.

Malfoy's entirety had disappeared into the wall, his momentum taking him across. The only thing left holding Malfoy back was the wand in his chest that Harry was pulling back with all his might.

"Come back and fight, you bastard!" he screamed out after the ferret.

His hand pressed against the solid wall of the Wards, bleeding from the contact, but his resolve was unwavering. He would not let go even with the warning pains of imminent Splinching. His thinking was if he sensed this, Malfoy would too and it was a game of chicken. A pale hand reached back, its long fingers jabbed at his ribs.

Snnnaappp!

"Avada Kedavra!"

XXXXXXXXXX

68. In the Garden of Death Part 2

A/N. Here’s the end of this very long fic. Thanks to all who contributed to what it became.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 68 - In the Garden of Death Part 2

Andy saw Harry disappear with Malfoy just as her fellow MLE came into the Potions Lab with all guns blazing.

"Halt!"

"MLE!"

"Drop your wands!"

Maybe it was just her but all of a sudden she felt like she was in the midst of some British cop show with really bad Canadian actors. Weird.

She refocused her energies on the task before her. In her opinion, she had wasted way too much time on Tom Waterman and, as much as she wanted to inflict and prolong his agony, her services were needed elsewhere. Walking through his rain of ineffective spells it became suddenly clear to her what to do. She pocketed her spare wand and summoned her weapon of choice.

Accio!

The autopsy saw zoomed into her hand feeling way too light and too tiny for the big asshole of a job she was going to have it put an end to.

Elongo! Engorgio!

The sharp blade lengthened and the contraption enlarged to a size and weight she would have had difficulties with had it not been for the same potion that was giving her protection. Waterman, the idiot that he was, didn't know what was coming.

"Must we go through this again?!" he asked as she got close, rolling his eyes up. "Although I must say I enjoy seeing you like this. I find this fiery side of yours…um…very disarming."

"Disarming, huh? It's funny you would say that."

Whhhrrrrr!!!!

Whhhrrrrr!!!!

A quick up and down motion of the bigger and better man tool cut off Waterman's arms at his shoulders. The horror and shock on Waterman's face only grew as he saw both stumps magically heal so quickly the procedure was almost bloodless. This self healing wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"I guess you're right. I am disarming."

The moron was wide eyed and speechless, not to mention armless. For a brief moment Andy felt pity. It was very brief.

Whhhrrrrr!!!!

Andy lifted the saw and swung it neck level from left to right. It took a fraction of a second longer but the deed was done. Greasy's head rolled on the floor. Without reservation and in her best Mia Hamm impersonation, Andy lined up her shot and kicked his still rolling noggin in the face solidly, sending it soaring and crashing out through the window far away from the rest of him.

Goal! Goal! Goal!

It was a shame there was no time for a celebratory dance. She watched his twitching but still standing remains lose balance.

Thud!

Next?

XXXXXXXXX

Harry was falling back. Seconds ago a green beam of light exited Malfoy's fingertip and it followed him on his downward trajectory. He reappeared in the physical world and landed onto moist soft ground, holding in his hand part of the broken wand still lodged in Malfoy's chest. The curse, thankfully, had not made it across.

He was in the greenhouse of what he figured was the Plant Lab. Several tall, long and multi-branched odd looking plants were bent over his still supine figure as if looking at him and judging. He sensed trouble.

Swoosh!

Dean's favorite one. He instinctively rolled to his right and got up in one fluid motion as one mean appendage whipped down upon him.

Whack!

Soil parted on impact and cleaved an innocent bystander shrub in half. There were quite a few of the arm swinging plants and he really had no time to mess around. Without second thought, he stepped and stood on a thick part of the recoiling branch, balancing on it and riding it on its way up.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

There were limbs coming from all angles. He dodged and cursed as many as he could but there were too many he wasn't sure how long he could stay on. He jumped off sooner than he wanted to and crashed through the glass wall of the greenhouse, unwelcoming stone floor breaking his fall.

Four minutes until self destruction. Thank you for your orderly evacuation. This is not a drill.

Harry swore in his head. He scanned the huge plant lab. It was at least three stories high and Quidditch pitch huge. Malfoy was nowhere in sight. He lost the git!

He thought of Hermione and not seeing her or the Bruin woman there he could only think that they had heeded the pesky warnings and left. He would have to check up on Andy and then find them and the rest of the MLE in the Potions lab a way out.

Thinking about escape plans, an old wooden tool shed on the right side of the greenhouse entrance caught his eye just before Disapparating. Harry busted the locks and ripped the door off its hinges. He was right. Just by the sheer size of the atrium and some of its long term inhabitants, the lab had to have some. Propped up against the wall was a long row of worn down broomsticks, a least five of them, used by the lab caretakers to look after the taller, more difficult to reach specimens. While he had not been on a broom in ages and was unsure of his ability to be on one, he figured he did not have the luxury to be picky right now.

Before he could reach for one a noise made him turn around.

“Pale blond hair, ugly face, stake in the chest," Harry described the man who had Apparated before him, already wondering why the git came back, "Welcome back, ferret. Forget something?"

"Actually, yes."

The jagged splinters of the broken wood that jutted out from his bleeding chest did not look healthy but he seemed unperturbed about that. His eyes scanned around and stopped on the stone floor a few feet to Harry's left. Harry followed his gaze and saw the mess of documents, broken pots, and intact phials that had been in the stash Malfoy wanted to take. That was what he came back for.

Harry was closer. He summoned one phial and pointed his wand at the rest.

Recyclus phialus!

Puffs of purple smoke evaporate in the air with a hiss.

"Oops! Did you want that?"

"You just wasted perfectly good potion."

"Sorry," Harry apologized insincerely.

"But you left one phial intact," Malfoy noted motioning to the one Harry had, "I guess it would only be fair. I'd hate to win in an obvious mismatch."

Harry merely smiled, remembering Hermione's warning, put the phial in his pocket and thought he should clarify.

"No asswipe. I don't need the potion to kick your butt."

"Your confidence in your ability is pathetic but then you have always been a delusional fool."

Ha!Ha!Ha!Ha

"What's so fucking funny, Potter?"

"You, O most Revered Grey Warlock," Harry replied, still sniggering, "All this so you can squirm your way to become popular? Surely, even you can appreciate that if there's someone who's delusional that would be you."

Malfoy attacked. Harry was prepared for it, immediately shutting the curse out with a protective spell, electing to counter for the moment. His senses were so tuned into detecting wandless magic now. With intent to maim, harm and kill, Malfoy fired nonverbal curses in a row from both arms, giving Harry a good workout.

"Sectumsempra!"

In frustration, Malfoy uttered the last one, giving him time to redirect.

Cursio rebundo!

"Argh!"

Fresh cuts bled and healed on Malfoy's arm. The Slytherin's rage boiled over and Malfoy shortened the gap between them throwing curse after curse, challenging Harry's reflexes to the hilt. After another unsuccessful cascade of hexes Malfoy took his wand out. Harry suspected that his extra powers were fading.

Three minutes until self destruction. This is not a drill.

Petrificus totalus!

That grazed Malfoy and he stopped the curse from spreading.

"Come on! I strung your woman along! I tried to make plant versions of you! You can do better than that!"

What was he thinking?! Geez! Harry calmed down and shook off the moment of weakness. He was over it now.

Harry conjured the most powerful Stunner he could and forced it upon the ferret. Malfoy took it on the torso and landed on his back a few feet away. He got up laughing, taunting, getting what he wanted from Harry.

"That's the spirit! Know this Potter! If you let me live I will kill Granger!" Malfoy continued, "And I'll be doing her a favour. She's better off dead than spending her life with a lying traitorous bastard!"

"You bad guys talk way too much!"

In slow motion, Harry saw Malfoy's wand let out an all too familiar green beam of light.

Protego!

Harry was in no real danger even though he was only a couple meters away. He aimed for the splinter in Malfoy's chest.

Geminio maximo!

A piercing scream of agony echoed through the Lab as a couple of identical fragments erupted close to the original inside Malfoy's upper body cavity. The visibly irked Slytherin moved suddenly and before Harry could react, grabbed and lifted him without effort, body slamming him on the now so familiar stone floor.

An involuntary grunt escaped Harry's lips, cursing that he had to be reminded so harshly about the giant strength his foe was temporarily blessed with. Still on his back and trying his best to peel himself off the indentation on the floor, Malfoy connected with a fist. It stung like hell and almost knocked him out, making him regret not taking a sip of that centaur-giant potion Hermione had given him. Harry's head had barely snapped back in place but out of the corner of his eye he saw an incoming right fist and was able to move in time.

The punch missed him completely, the impact pulverizing the ground Harry had his head on and Malfoy let out another cry. The ferret got off him and gingerly carried off his mangled right hand, broken bone exposed and all. There was no self healing there. Instinctively he aimed at Malfoy only to find out he had lost possession of his wand just moments before.

Another announcement. Two minutes. Harry really had no desire to stick around for much longer. He took determined strides towards his opponent.

Wandless and out of time he had to take a chance. He got on his feet, closed the gap between them quickly and before Malfoy could face him, he tightened his fist into a ball and punched the ferret in the face, unleashing upon the despicable prick a combination of jabs, hooks, uppercuts and yet to be named blows; rapid and ruthless, not caring whether the hits were effective or not. Harry was encouraged by Malfoy's lack of retaliation and his continued backpedalling. The couple of times Malfoy tried to point at him he was able to deflect Malfoy's evil finger elsewhere.

At the end of the string of blows, when his arms could not be coaxed to swing anymore, Harry looked at Malfoy's limp expression, grabbed Malfoy's collar and steadied him, hissing in his face, "You should have stayed away from her and picked on someone else!"

Harry let go and with one concluding outburst hit Malfoy with a roundhouse kick squarely on the chest, burying the remaining fragments of wood deeper beyond skin and sending his enemy up into the air and back. Malfoy's body went through the lower roof of the greenhouse, smashing it, shards following him in. Harry had to finish him off.

Accio wand! Bombarda!

He shut his eyes for a second and felt the gush of air displaced by the blast of his curse. The glass wall before him crumbled into tiny little pieces and the deafening sound of the initial detonation shattered more of the same. Harry saw that Malfoy had landed on a clearing of soil but was not alone.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

A solitary green plant about seven feet tall with several monstrous limbs scooped Malfoy up by his arms, took him up in the air and then lowered him into the waiting cavernous cavity within its thick trunk. Three quarters of the way Malfoy got stuck and tried as the git did with all his might, he could not get out. Harry approached. He wanted to see Malfoy die.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

Harry cut off the obnoxious branches with the Sectumsempra spell as Malfoy continued to sink into the plant.

"Come close," Malfoy was fading and weakening, "I want to tell you something."

"Can the confession. I'm not a priest," Harry told him pointedly, eyes as cold as ice.

"I didn't know Creevey was poisoning her. I was being poisoned too. I was pissed when Aunt Bella told me a couple of days ago. Don't you think it curious that my evil aunt wanted me permanently hitched to Granger?"

"Go to hell, Malfoy!"

He was obviously lying and playing with Harry's mind. He was in up to his shoulders, his arms propping him up, preventing him from being sucked down any faster.

"There's more to who she is that she would want to know about," Malfoy said with an evil grin, "The Last Corollary, the one that eternally binds the Bruin granddaughter and the Grey Warlock..."

"Blow it out your ass."

"She is the Cursed One and she's choosing you. That makes you the Grey Warlock, the next Dark Lord. If she finds out, she won't want to be with you anymore."

Malfoy laughed. Harry was curious about the convoluted prediction but it was hogwash. He wasn't falling for that one.

"Get a grip. It's only a prophecy. Seriously, me, a Dark Lord?" Harry scoffed, already thinking how to expedite matters.

"Help me. If you save my life that'll prove to her and everybody else that you don't have what it takes to be one."

One minute until self destruction. Have a nice day!

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione had to find Harry. Andy said he Disapparated with Malfoy and as the MLE began evacuation she heard loud thunderous crashes she broke off from the pack and followed the noise to the adjacent Plant Lab.

Her relief of finding him there alive was quickly erased when she saw him pocket his wand, grab Malfoy by the arms, and attempt to pull Malfoy out of the plant trap. From across the way she watched Harry struggle with the amused Malfoy in a tug of war against the monster plant. The humans were losing.

"Don't make me regret this!" she heard Harry yell.

Malfoy let out a hideous barbaric yawp, grabbed and abruptly pulled Harry's arms down into the plant as he did, "There are no regrets where we're going!"

The bastard!

Harry was trying but couldn't move his arms. It was obvious he didn't take the giant-centaur potion she had given him. Malfoy continued to sink into the plant's wide open trap and was taking Harry in. Harry drew blood with a head butt but also additional mocking laughter. Malfoy continued to hang on.

"You're so predictably noble!"

Swoosh!

Whiiippp!

A young freshly grown branch got a hold of Harry's legs and lifted him up, feeding him in! She had to do something!

Crack! Pop!

Hermione reappeared beside the unfriendly green growth which seemed to sprout arms by the second, her wand drawn out.

Swoosh!

Contracta!

One branch shortened, missed her by a mile.

Swoosh! Swoosh!

Entanglo!

Two branches entangled and entwined.

Relashio! Confringo!

The limb which had Harry captive released his legs and got blasted off.

Malfoy said to her, "There's room in here for three. Would you like to join us?"

"Harry, we have to go!"

"Hmm, that's a no, huh?"

"I need some help."

"Did you really have to save him?!"

"That's a mean thing to say!"

"Must I answer that right now?!" Harry replied as urgently.

More emergent alarms just started and the countdown blared over the speakers.

Thirty, twenty nine, twenty eight...

Harry looked at her, then her wand, then Malfoy. She pointed it at the git and cursed.

"Stupefy!"

"Ouch." Malfoy mocked dryly.

That didn't work. There was one that might although she doubted just how effective hers would be. It was one she had never used in her life.

"Kill me, save Potter, a no brainer" Malfoy said matter-of-factly exactly what she was thinking.

She swore in her head and looked at Harry. Could she do it for him? She had to. It was either that or all of them perishing for there was no way she was leaving him there. She lifted her wand again, the one she swore to save lives with...

Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…

"No!" Harry stopped her, "In my pocket! The Purple Potion, let me take it!"

"Let her decide!" Malfoy whined as Hermione reached inside Harry's pocket, contemplating the effects, the possibility of being controlled by the vindictive wicked wizard before them…

Hermione was perplexed when she found herself holding two phials. In a split second she decided.

"Misery loves co..."

She rammed the one containing muscle strengthening potion inside Malfoy's still yapping mouth and touched it with the tip of her wand.

Reducto! Effectus instantus!

Blood caused by the broken phial stained her weapon as she withdrew it from his mouth. Malfoy's eyes glazed over as the highly reactive muscle strengthening potion mixed with all the other different brews Hermione knew Malfoy had in his system, the Anti-Polyjuice among them, and produced an immediate deadly reaction. She watched the spark in his eyes go away and his face sink deeper into the flesh eating tree.

Malfoy was dead and she killed him.

Ten, nine…

Swooosh!

Harry had regained use of his arms, knocked her down to avoid the hit and blew the limb off. Less than five seconds. They got up. They had to hurry. They could Disapparate if they both drank the Purple Potion. She uncorked it but before she could take some successive explosions jolted the structure, catapulting them off into different directions. Fires broke out everywhere and all of a sudden things got very hot. The smoke was unbearable. She couldn't see Harry.

"Hermione!" he called out from somewhere close.

"Harry! I'm here!"

She was coughing, choking from the fumes and the diminishing supply of oxygen. A bubble head charm came to mind but the explosions had caused her to lose her wand and the potion. All she could see was grey and red.

Zoom!

Someone caught her arm. It was Harry.

"Hold on tight!" he instructed as he swung her behind him and maneuvered the broomstick through the murderous branches of the evil tree.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

The limbs were swiping and grasping. Harry bobbed and weaved through them.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

Smash!

Hermione screamed and looked back. Half the broom's tail was gone and Harry was having difficulties steering.

Boom! Boom!

"Just hold on!" he repeated through the noise of the blasts.

Shattered glass from the transparent roof rained upon them. He had them going straight up towards that opening into the sky.

Swoooooshhh!

The flying broom suddenly lost momentum and their ascent ceased. They were suspended between that hole to the heavens and the nasty sinewy tree extension that had wrapped itself around the tail of their broomstick, intent to bring them back.

Harry handed her his wand, "Zap it!"

She took the weapon, reached back and aimed.

"Stupefy!"

A stem materialized from a stump, wrapped around her wrist and tugged violently. Her shoulder burned and they lost some ground!

"Sectumsempra!"

Wrist freed, reddish purple sap exsanguinated from the amputated ends before disappearing into the fiery core below. She aimed for the one that was holding onto their broom but before she could fire, it let go. They were finally on their way!

Her heart still raced from what just happened. Their battle scarred vehicle sputtered through the aperture accompanied by billowing smoke, the cold chill on her face welcoming like a breath of fresh air.

In no time they were far from danger. Harry glanced back, smiling, relieved that it was over. Then, with a mischievous grin, he swung to his left and fell off the broom, scaring the life out of her before coming back up on the right. He was facing her now and way too happy the thought of scolding him for frightening her went away quickly. He was flying again for the first time in a long while and they had both survived.

He was flying again and she was with him...she looked down...tiny lights from the small town contrasting with the large red area burning below them...the distant sound of sirens and flashing from the fire trucks responding to the emergency… a full moon fuller than she had ever seen...air all around them...far from solid ground... a complicated past threatening an uncertain future...

"It'll be fine," she heard him say.

It was a moment she would never forget. He knew what she was thinking. She met his loving and reassuring gaze and felt her fears go away.

"Trust me. It'll be fine," he repeated calmly.

Harry was sure of it; his certainty soothing. And if there was one person in the world she could trust with everything, after what they had gone through the past year, that person would be him.

She answered with a smile and a slight nod, appreciative of his reassurance.

"I love you," Harry said to her, his words reaching deep into her soul and warming her through out.

"I love you, too," she replied.

He leaned in closer and the rest of the world blurred away. Their lips touched, softly, sweetly, reassuringly, and as they deepened their kiss nothing else mattered. She was with Harry. She loved him and he loved her. The rest they could figure out together.

Perfectly content and for the first time unrushed by impending doom or death, they enjoyed each and every second of their intimate kiss. It may have lasted an eternity and they wouldn't have noticed until turbulence jogged them both back to reality, more so her than him, and broke off their contact. It was a bugger that her fear of heights had returned at such an importune moment.

"We should get back," Harry said to her, sensing the change and her growing apprehension.

Harry went back right side on the driver's seat and steered towards the earth. Hermione tucked Harry's wand into his back pocket and held onto his waist...tight.

The fiery blaze that hungrily ate up what used to be Professor Tan's lab reflected in their eyes as they passed on the fringe of the burning building. Earlier, the Bruin woman and her cousins helped her move the magically altered plants to an undisclosed location where Tilden Toots would reverse the gene altering magical process. Through Ginny’s list, they would eventually track down their pro potion cousins and convince them that while Sophie's potion could be made and had been made, it was not the lasting solution to their grandmother's quest to make Squibs magical.

Her immediate future flashed before her eyes. She thought about the questioning from both Canadian and British MLE and Unspeakables and about facing Dennis' family and not having words that would make sense or even be right. She had been very wrong about Malfoy and unnecessarily endangered so many people because of it; a lot of them did not survive. Warranted and all, she took Malfoy's life and at the moment she was too numb to think how she felt about that. There was the search for the truth about her identity, confronting her parents if they knew, her mother. The list was long. The most daunting of all was living with the reality that she was right about what Ron did that night on the pitch, of coming to the realization that even though it wasn't her fault, she would always feel as if it were.

Then there was Harry. Knowing what she knew now could she be happy enough on her own so they could be happy with each other? Right that minute, happily ever after was unthinkable. She felt undeserving of that redemption.

It'll be fine.

Harry's words echoed in her mind. She was thinking too much again.

Boom!

The building imploded and collapsed inward onto itself, startling them both with that finishing explosion. Harry turned away from it and as he did, she loosened her grip to look down at the hell below them. What was it that Malfoy said?

There is no such thing as redemption. Just hell...

What if Malfoy was right?

It'll be fine.

Swooosh! Swoosh! Swooosh! Swooosh!

It happened without warning. Several branches appeared out of nowhere and effortlessly took her off the broom. The limbs spun her so fast and they had her entirely cocooned in an instant, unable to move, unable to speak, and unable to see. She was falling back into the raging inferno she thought she could escape from.

Harry was calling out her name and that was the last thing she remembered before blacking out.

XXXXXXXXXX

Pia thanked her cousins Bruno, Rusty and Sienna as they left her at her house. They had helped tie up loose ends. All the Bruin traitors involved, including Healer Hama and Professor Tan, had been debriefed and disposed of, the plants transformed back to normal, the residual organs sent to Weasley's contact at the Society for the Protection of Magical Beings, Toots Obliviated, the remaining phials at the Ministry replaced by muscle strengthening potion brewed to have the same hue as the magic enabling ones. Those confiscated phials were going to be used to convince their pro-potion Bruin cousins that Grandma Sophie's potion had been concocted and clearly not the way to go. In the morning, with clearance from Uncle Crummy and the new Bruin Council, the four of them would leave and meet with the Bruins on Weasley's list to tell them of the news. And it was closure when she read in the Granger book that Draco Malfoy was dead.

She gathered the stuff Uncle Isaac left her, put them in a safe and sealed it, except for one story she was awaiting an update on. Healer Granger was either unconscious or dead and Pia was rooting for her.

But it made her wonder. None of the books said ‘The End’.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione looked around and recognized where she was. The Hogwarts library. Strange. How did she get there? Her last recollection of being was a sensation of falling and then losing consciousness.

A hazy reflection of a sixteen year old version of herself stared back at her off the glass pane to her side. She was in Gryffindor house robes and the sight was worrisome. She remembered the scene. Professor Dumbledore had just died and she had just found out that Severus Snape was the Half Blood Prince. That wasn't a time she wanted to remember. She had come to the deserted library for solace, translated as gather information on how to get rid of the evil wizard who was trying to destroy everything that was good in the magical world, the universe that welcomed her with open arms and made an eleven year old 'Muggle born' witch belong.

It was also during that school year when she had the epiphany about Harry, her reality check that they would never be more than best friends (she had been obviously wrong) or that if by some fluke they became romantically involved, she would drive him nuts like she did that year it would never work out (that remained to be seen). The memory of the heartache from years ago resurfaced. Silly school crush, she thought. She closed her eyes thinking about the smile on his face that night, how he looked at her just before they last kissed, and the lingering feeling of his lips on hers, wondering if she would see him again.

But why was she here? Was she dead?

Bang!

Her eyes flung wide open as the loud noise broke the quiet and startled her. Curious, she walked further down the hall past the shelves of periodicals and magazines. Inside the walled off Restricted Area was a girl, not more than twelve, in Hufflepuff robes, her large brown eyes peering through the curtains of wavy brown hair, pouring over a thick dust covered book on Potions.

Hermione called out, "Hello."

The young girl looked up from her reading and spoke in an eerily much older woman's tone, "Oh. You must be my replacement. It's about time you came."

The girl started to magically put away the books back on the shelves.

"Replacement?"

"You're Hermione, right?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then you're it," the girl took out a huge book. "Read this. It will help you get started."

The book's title was clearly stamped across its front cover.

To Live a Death of Regret

Okay.

Hermione took a breath in and exhaled. The girl was putting on a coat and stuffing a book-filled, Hufflepuff-yellow backpack with a few more reading materials. The bag had the owner's name embroidered on it. It surprised Hermione.

"You're Sophie Bruin."

"Yes, Grandma Sophie to you," the young girl told her with an admonishing but not-too-serious look.

"But..." Hermione faltered, the flood of questions that suddenly came to her difficult to sort out.

"Hermione dear, just ask me one question at a time and I'll answer them as best as I can."

"You're dead."

"Not a question but yes, I am, been so for hundreds of years. Killed by the potion I created."

"Is this heaven?"

"Not sure. Most times I think it is. It is a wonderful library where knowledge knows no limits but sometimes it feels like hell."

"Why?"

"Because having passed on there's not much I can do with what I learn."

"Am I dead?"

"I'm dead but just because you're here doesn't mean that you are. It doesn't mean you aren't either."

Helpful…

"What am I doing here?"

"For years I've waited for the one who would finally free me from ignorance and overwhelming guilt, and allow me to let go," Hermione was perplexed and looked every bit so Grandma Sophie continued, "The potion. My potion. You've made it and proven that it's really not good enough."

"I'm sorry but it was quite flawed even from inception."

"You're annoyingly direct. I've known that for a long time but was too obstinate to admit it. It was my life's work, you know."

"You mentioned overwhelming guilt?"

Sophie showed Hermione the palms of her hands.

"Do you see what you've done?"

Hermione shook her head, "I don't see anything."

"Precisely. There's no longer blood on my hands that I have to keep on washing off. My harebrained idea of using magical beings to create magic enabling potion, the deathbed curse, that killed a lot, including our flesh and blood. It was worse after Professor Hufflepuff made the predictions. The guilt was crippling but I couldn't do anything to change what happened, especially after I died. I'm sure you can relate. You should see my entries into that book," she pointed to the tome in front of Hermione then continued, "But I digress. Thanks to you and your friends I'm past that now and I can let go knowing that even though I was wrong about creating the potion it's not the end of the world as Professor Hufflepuff predicted."

The young Sophie snapped her fingers and they switched places. Her grandmother's motion to exit caused a panic attack.

"I still don't understand."

"Hermione, you're in a library. Surely, you can find the answers."

"The answer to what? How to make better potion?"

Sophie Bruin laughed, "If that's what you're interested in, sure, go for it. But that's not the burning question in your heart, is it?"

Hermione shook her head and continued to frown, "I don't think I'll find my answers here."

"Of course you will. It's right in front of you," she pointed to the bound book she gave her. "At least that's where I found mine. It contains each and every sincere regret ever experienced by being-kind."

She took one look and doubted that very much.

"It can't be. It's not thick enough."

Sophie laughed again.

"Maybe you're right but the ones listed were enough to make me realize one important thing."

"What's that, Grandma Sophie?"

"You'll find that no matter who and how many others forgive you, you'll have most trouble with forgiving yourself. I may not have to wash blood off my hands but I'll never forget the image. I doubt that complete self absolution exists. And without true forgiveness you will never find redemption, not when you're alive and most definitely not when you're dead."

"That's not the answer I want."

"You're stubborn. But what do I know? Good luck finding the one you do want but be prepared that this may very well be the only answer you'll get. And I hope once you accept this, you can figure out what you need to do."

Sophie Bruin started walking away and just before turning the corner she looked back at Hermione, transformed into her adult self and said, "I never got to be a one in real life but here's some grandmotherly advice. Don't let it kill you before you're actually dead. That would be such a waste of life."

XXXXXXXXXX

Ginny sat in the back, tense and worried about her friends. She was with Andy, Neville, Dean and Luna in a black van going against the flow of fire trucks which were on their way to the building on fire. The lab had just imploded and collapsed. Everyone from the MLE had been accounted for except for Harry and Hermione. Malfoy was also at large.

The Canadian Auror was driving while Dean navigated beside her. He was keeping an eye on the tracking device that had a beat on Harry's cell phone. The signal suddenly reappeared shortly after the MLE pulled out of the diner and they quickly determined that Harry, or his cell phone at least, was moving way too fast to be on any Muggle transport on land. Definitely broom. They tried calling him but couldn't get through. The signal had just stopped moving a few kilometers east of the Potions Lab and they were on the way to it.

"Left at the lights," Dean instructed.

Andy followed without comment, the van jolting as it hit a pothole. They had veered off onto a less travelled path and Andy had to switch from the half busted low beam headlight to high, revealing a narrow asphalt strip in the middle and deep trenches on either side. The mood within the group was somber, having no idea as to what happened to Harry or Hermione or if they were even together. They just hoped, some prayed, that the dot they were on their way to was Harry and that Hermione was with him, for the alternative was too difficult to consider.

"We're beside it," Dean announced, motioning to their left.

"There!" Neville excitedly pointed to a spot a few meters into the empty field.

A figure was cutting across the plain, outlined by faint light from the smoldering part of the broomstick behind him and the object he was trying to get to. It was Harry.

Andy swerved the van into the shoulder and managed to get them over a shallow part of the ditch. She was already on the phone.

"Medic and Portkey transport twenty meters left of my location! Hurry!"

They got off the van even before it came to a complete stop, its headlights on Harry who had just slumped to the ground on his knees. He was trying to pry off partially burnt tree branches from an object with his bare hands.

"Help!" he said to them urgently as they gathered around him.

Ginny looked at the cuts and burns on his hands and fingers as he continued what he was trying to do. Beyond them she saw Hermione's pale face still partially covered by wood. Even as she heard Luna mutter a spell, Ginny was quite worried that in all the years of knowing her, she had never seen Hermione as tranquil as right now.

Then Hermione stirred.

XXXXXXXXXX

Her eyes fluttered open and it took no time for them to adjust in the dimly lit room she was in. She was in a hospital, St. Mungo's, in a particular patient room that flooded her with predominantly good memories. She turned to her left and a relieved smile grew on her face. Sleeping soundly on their recliner was just the person she wanted to see there. Harry.

The sight of him opened a floodgate of thoughts and emotions. She recalled what came up in her mind on the broom just before she fell and her 'conversation' with Grandma Sophie in her dream. She had a lot of healing to do and some of it she had to do on her own. She had to have that talk with Harry, tell him that she needed space and he would not approve. The sooner she had that with him, the easier it would be.

She got up, tried to anyway, but suddenly felt dizzy she noisily flopped back onto her bed, waking Harry up.

"Hey," he was beside her quickly, his calm exterior unsuccessfully masking the concern in his green eyes. "Welcome back."

No, she couldn't tell him. Not right now.

"Darn," she found her voice and swore weakly.

"What?" Harry asked, not hiding his worry anymore.

"I missed dinner, didn't I?"

She smirked at how he bit into that. They shared a chuckle and he instantly punished her with a much needed kiss. No complaints here.

"You know," Harry said as he joined her in bed and continued to nibble on her lips, "It's seven o'clock somewhere...we can go now...have dinner..."

"I am famished," she fibbed; food was the farthest thing from her mind.

"So am I," the smile that she felt on his mouth told her he meant something else too. "Or...we could skip dinner altogether."

Hermione suppressed the guilt she felt that she was enjoying this way too much. She really had to get away.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You made me a list?" Ron was amused as Hermione showed him in bullet point form possibilities of why he still had not crossed over, "I'm a project."

"No, you're not."

Fleeting eye contact...definite lie. He was a project.

She continued, "We need to be more organized. It'll help us keep track of what doesn't work and give us a road map of what to try out next."

He should have expected this when he decided to pay her a visit. It was a day before Ginny's wedding and he was on a mission to make sure Hermione was going to be in attendance. Now she was making his inability to crossover into a convenient excuse.

"We?"

"You did ask me to help."

"I asked Harry to help too. Why isn't he here? In fact, why aren't you with him?"

Hermione grew uncomfortable with the pointed questions but he pressed on. "I think you should work on that rather than this."

"This is easier."

"But that is more important. I'm already dead; you are both dying. Let me put this in perspective for you. I was too chicken to jump on my own but I got my wish to die that day anyway. That was my choice. You shouldn't feel hostage to my stupidity. You can't be responsible for every asinine thing people do because they can't handle the cards that are handed them."

"Even if I dealt them?"

"You're not responsible for my happiness. And you told me in so many ways you wanted out."

"I should have..."

"You can't change the past just like I can't."

"I feel horrible when I think about what happened," Hermione shared.

"You have to move on."

"Move on. Just like that?" she asked as if it was a strange concept.

"Well, what else are you going to do?" Ron asked a rhetorical question.

Hermione had no answer but the furrow on her forehead told him she remained unconvinced. He had to come clean, to wake her up and give her the shock she needed.

"Okay. Confession time. The path to the other side has always been open for me. There is no reason why I can't crossover."

"So why are you still here?"

"Because I can't leave you like this," Ron explained, "I was so mad that night. I wanted you to feel guilty forever and even became a ghost to see that through. It took me all of three days after I died to get over that. What was I thinking!

"By then it was too late. The damage had been done. I had to find Harry to fix it. I thought for sure Floyd or whatever his name was would blackmail you or him or both. I couldn't let that git tell you exactly what happened. But with designation it took a long time to get to where Harry was.

"I may have been a spiteful SOH with not much to live for but as I said, I can't leave you like this."

"What do you want me to do, Ron?"

Ron thought she’d never ask.

"Let's face it. If I didn't die you would be with Harry or you'd at least try it out. This is my fault. All I ask is for you to give yourself a chance to be happy with him. Start forgiving yourself because really, I won't be able to forgive myself if you don't."

XXXXXXXXXX

Choo! Choo!

"All aboard!"

It was the last weekend in March. The Hogwarts Express was pulling out of Platform nine and three quarters on a special run for a special occasion. There were last minute travel changes and some seventy guests were on the train with him on their way to a wedding on the Hogwarts grounds. Ginny and Dean were tying the knot.

Harry ran alongside the train and hopped on the last car, surveying the almost empty platform, waiting as long as he could. He was disappointed. He thought for sure Hermione would be there. The last time he saw her was about a month ago, the night after the Weasley gathering on Ron's first Death Day. It was when they had that dreaded conversation he sensed was coming. After Hermione's stay at the hospital things between them were not entirely right.

"Where?"

"My Mum's for a time. Maybe my Dad's."

"Why can't I come with you?"

"Because you complicate things," her voice cracked, "I'm sorry. I can't do this with you, not all of it."

He didn't totally understand but got the point. She wanted space. She was crying. He was angry why she couldn't move on.

"If it's about the Prophecy, about you choosing the Grey Warlock..."

She cut him off, "It's not. I don't believe in predictions, you know that."

"Then what? Tell me what's changed since Toronto."

She couldn't, didn't want to answer.

"Is it about Ron?"

Andy told him what she saw in Waterman's foul mind, what really happened that night, how Waterman did try to use the Killing Curse on Ron but it wasn't what killed Ron. Ron coached Waterman to make his broom vanish. That conversation they already had a few days ago.

She still did not answer. It was frustrating.

"I want to help."

"This is how you can help."

"You need me to stay away."

"Yes."

Some help.

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

"And what about us?"

Hermione looked down, and murmured, "I don't know. I just know that if I don't do this now we won't last."

Harry couldn't stay mad. He pulled her close and embraced her. She cried more and he could tell this had been difficult. It took her almost two weeks to finally tell him. She didn't want to go but she felt she had to.

Harry whispered in her hair, "I'll be waiting."

"But..."

She was going to tell him not to. Harry would have none of that. He pulled back, tipped her chin up and looked into her puffy brown eyes.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. And I'm not letting you get rid of me that easily this time around."

He would give her as much time as she needed and trusted her to let him know as soon as she decided. But it had been a month and he could not imagine her dragging this on for much longer. The fact that it had dragged on couldn't be a good thing. Not one phone call, not one note.

Harry found the last compartment empty and slid into it to avoid other guests, finding his foul mood of late quite inappropriate for the upcoming festivities. He sat close to and looked out the window, mindlessly watching trees go by, remembering that last night, after their talk. They made love, slow, passionate, bittersweet, prolonging the inevitable climax that they knew they would bring themselves to. Neither wanted that night to end for the morning would be that start of their uncertain future. She left before he woke up.

For days he sleepwalked, finding work to fill his time and his mind. After ten he stopped counting the days, he stopped checking messages that wouldn't be there, he stopped getting his hopes up each time an Owl headed his way. Waiting was difficult and he wasn't a very patient man to start with.

So when Ginny and Dean announced their marriage a couple of weeks ago Harry was excited. While the two had opted for the ultra short almost Vegas-spur-of-the-moment-like engagement and a simple no frills ceremony (Ginny believed that waiting longer would drive her nuts and she would back out for sure), Harry was sure Hermione would be around and be involved. But he had not seen her at all. Ginny had admitted to being in touch with her and assured him that Hermione was doing fine, adding that Hermione asked how he was doing. And she couldn't pick up the phone ask him herself?

And she wasn't on the train or at least if she was she didn't want him to know. He kept coming back to wanting that closure if it was indeed over.

"Hey mate! There you are! How's it hanging?" Ron appeared beside him with what looked like ghostly versions of chocolate frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour beans.

When Ron heard about the train ride he thought it would be fun to be on it. He outed himself during his Death Day party and caused a few relatives to faint, his Mum included. Harry suspected that Ron missed them all.

"Just fine," Harry lied, "Still not seeing that door to crossover?"

"It's a work in progress," the Ghost answered vaguely, "I still can't believe my sister's getting married, and to Dean who's been around forever. Go figure. Have you seen Hermione around?"

He had to hold his breath, "No...haven't."

"Strange, she wouldn't miss Ginny's wedding for anything."

Exhaling, Harry looked out the window again just as the compartment door slid open. He didn't want company.

Harry turned quite ready to deploy a scowl on his face until he saw that the person standing at the still open entrance was the last person he thought he would see. It was her. Brown bushy hair tied back neatly, already wearing the red Gryffindor robes the wedding guests were asked to wear, her brown eyes on him with a tentative look of anticipation on her face. He was stunned, half expecting her to come running in to give him her patented bone breaking hug, an image he would never forget. When he didn't say anything, she closed the door and frowned fleetingly.

"One of the guests a few compartments down lost their pet toad. I'm helping him find it. Did you happen to see it?"

Ron laughed and headed for the closed door, telling Hermione as he was halfway out, "That is so lame!"

She blushed and chuckled in agreement, her eyes never leaving Harry's, who could not help but smile too. Ron left, wishing her luck. Harry was up on his feet but had to stop himself from crowding her.

"You're Harry Potter," she said as she walked towards him, reminiscent of the first time they met on the same train in the same compartment.

He nodded, meeting her halfway, lifting his messy hair up as he approached, "Scar and all."

"I see."

She squinted. She was so close to him, the few freckles on her nose were visible and he could smell her hair and her perfume. And her mouth was about to break out into that adorable smirk he missed so much. Her warm breath fell on his lips. He missed her.

"You don't look impressed."

"I'm way past impressed, although I thought you'd be a bit cuter. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

"I know who you are."

"Good. Maybe you can tell me because lately who I am has been sketchy at best.'"

"I know you wear different hats and are wonderful at everything you do but what I really want to tell you right now is who you are to me."

"I'm listening," her brown eyes suddenly grew more serious.

He took her hands in his and squeezed them lightly.

"You're my best friend and the love of my life. It took me a long time to see that and I messed it all up but you gave me a chance to redeem myself. Those days were great until I realized they weren't as great for you. And I feel powerless because no matter how much I try, your happiness is not entirely up to me. I just want you to be happy and if that means not being with me..."

"Harry..."

"No, please let me finish. So if you're happier not being with me then just tell me straight up. I'll have a hissy fit at first but I'll eventually get over it, maybe after a long time..."

"Harry..."

"But...but just in case you were thinking of telling me today of all days, Ginny is going to be really upset at me because I won't be able to stay to make sure she gets the ring. But she'll probably be more upset at you. So, you shouldn't do it toumpf..."

He stopped talking, he had to. Hermione silenced his verbal spillage and had her mouth on his. Her arms were around his neck pulling him down as she pressed her body up against him, as if knowing this was exactly what he wanted. His arms came up behind her and pulled her even closer, quickly finding that physical grove they had grown accustomed to. Their lips melted, moved, and opened up, her tongue welcoming his with familiarity. Locked in the heady sensation and the infinite tugging in his gut, he lost all concept of time and being. All his insecurities of the past few days were erased by that singular act from her. She was as breathless as he was when she stepped away, pushing him back slightly.

"I'm sorry I just had to interrupt. Were you done with your speech?" her brows were up, her lips curving into smile, she was teasing.

"That depends. Does this mean you're not breaking up with me today?"

"Seriously, Harry. I wouldn't do that to Ginny."

He feigned a protest and after the laughter died down, she added, "I figured I couldn't break up with you even if I tried."

"And it took you a month to realize that?" his confidence drew a smile.

"That one I knew even before I left, smart mouth," she looked down at their entwined fingers and continued in more serious tone, "It took me a month to accept that there's nothing I can do to change the past and that I will always feel responsible for what happened. Ron, Malfoy, all those who died. No, I still can't forgive myself and I might not ever be able to.

"What I'm trying to say is, and you can say no and run away as far as you possibly can, I'm on this train with a lot of baggage, some I can't easily get rid of, and I'm just learning to travel with them.

"And there's you, who I really would like to go on this trip with me but it would be so unfair to have you come with me and deal with so much luggage around. I have to ask because I can't put us through that without knowing what we're in for and I wouldn't even bother but I keep on hearing what you said that night. You said 'it'll be fine' and I finally believe that it can be. So, will you take this trip with me?"

She had this really worried look on her face he found so endearing. How could she even think it possible that he wouldn't?

"I wouldn't miss going on this trip with you for the world," he pulled her closer again, and pointed out, "You, my luv, think too much."

"I'm afraid that comes with the territory."

"I can live with that. Now, this trip, you do know that I have, um, significant baggage of my own."

She echoed his earlier thought, "I can live with that."

“My therapist, AJ Hyde, did say once that baggage is not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Your therapist? The one who doesn’t exist?”

“You looked him up.”

“I was desperate and he was so good.”

They were laughing. Speaking of desperate…

"What do you say we get started on this trip of ours right this very second?"

Secure door and lock...check.

"Harry..."

She put up token resistance but kissed him back when he claimed her lips with his.

"What?"

Sound muffling and anti spying charms activated...check.

He left her mouth and nuzzled the length of her neck.

"We're on the Hogwarts express..."

Working on loss of apparel...check.

Hermione shuddered as the tip of his wand that was slowly undressing her touched her bare chest and was followed promptly by his more probing mouth. She smelled heavenly and she arched back to give him better access, the same time she was peeling off his shirt.

"I always wondered what it would be like on a train."

One uncomfortable seat transformed to more appropriate furniture…check.

He pulled her down and let her stay on top. Anybody who knew Hermione would have guessed that about her.

"You're incorrigible…"

She had him undressed completely and was checking him out in a very pleasing manner.

"Me?! Last minute change? You planned this train thing all along..."

He helped her out of her lace underwear, red, that was a surprise.

"I’m not admitting to anything as crazy as that."

Bare flesh touched and ignited.

"You are so busted..."

She laughed, her eyes full of cheer and warmth as she gazed upon him. She was happy. He was happy. This was going to be one interesting train ride.

Choo! Choo!

THE END