The Keeper

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world – JK Rowling’s. I’m just borrowing for fun.

A/N. I’m starting with the usual warnings –

The Keeper is a mystery/angst novel-length fic, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Epilogue and based on canon outcomes. This will not be pretty. (There go half of the readers.) I love AU and non-canon based stories but I needed to write one that dealt with the outcomes of the ships in the books without killing off major characters (translates as I am crazy and a glutton for punishment). It is a story that picks up four years after my post DH one-shot The Sacrifice (not Portkey compliant) but no worries if you didn’t read that. The necessary bits of it will be in this one.

There will be an HHr affair in this fic…it will be short (at least I think it will be). I know – I ask myself the same thing – if it will be short why even bother.

Angst – yes. If you never liked TCC and TPP, don’t waste your time.

Don’t ask me how long the story is. I’m terrible at chapter estimates but it’s safe to say it won’t be 68 chapters long – I hope not! LOL!

And as I am posting this in Portkey, it will be Portkey compliant. Much of it is unwritten and in my experience in two other novel length fics, reader reviews and opinions do influence what I write.

Enough chat – here’s The Keeper.

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Chapter 1 - Four Years Later

14 September 2021 - About 5 a.m., somewhere in Southeast Asia

A raging storm lashed angrily upon the small rural village, punishing it severely with howling winds and relentless rain. Lightning intermittently lit the flooded ground and thunder broke the monotonous sound of the downpour as a figure of a woman suddenly appeared in the middle of a rice paddy.

Immediately drenched from head to toe, she cast off the used magical transport device and paused to regain her bearings, trying to figure out which way to go. Unfortunately this was as far as the emergency Portkey could take her and she had to get to her ultimate destination on foot. Her only hope was that she wouldn't be too late. They now knew who she was, knew where she lived and would find her quickly.

Recognizing something familiar, she began to trudge barefoot through knee deep mud, slipping and sliding frequently, the sporadic electrical discharge from the sky the only thing illuminating her path home. She moved as fast as she could, ignoring the agonizing pain in her chest and legs and the need to stop to breath.

A zipping sound pierced the air and a sharp pain cut through her left shoulder from behind with such a force she lost her balance and fell forward. They found her. She had been shot, a flesh wound but it hurt and bled profusely nonetheless. Her pursuers were close and were gaining ground.

Another gunshot rang out and plunked into the bank of the rectangular plot, narrowly missing her head. She could hear them. There were two men arguing in some dialect, a language she was not familiar with. Transient hired muscle, she concluded. She crawled into the adjacent field and hid under the cover of yet to be harvested grain.

Contemplating her next move, she decided that using magic was not only unfair but potentially counterproductive. She groped around for something, anything that she could use as a weapon and she felt wood a couple of feet to her right. It was a three foot long four inch thick bamboo. That would suffice. Already poised to attack, she patiently waited.

As the second man passed she crept up from behind him and swung hard, hitting a targeted area at the back of his skull. The bamboo cracked on impact, vibrating in her hand before she let go of it as the burly man face-planted into the soft earth. The taller one heard and turned, gun aimed at her but she was quicker; her finger was already on the trigger of his partner's Glock 21. She squeezed it and the bullet punctured the goon's forearm, shattering bone, injuring nerve and muscle and forcing him to drop his weapon. His howl drowned by the continuous deluge, the man scampered away as she rapidly emptied the clip at his feet, discarding the .45 calibre pistol once it was empty.

A female voice crackled over the air, "Jose…come in…over…"

Somebody was trying to get in touch with the passed out 'Jose' through an antiquated Muggle device, a two way radio. There would be more armed Muggles soon and it was only a matter of time before a magical squad was sent to track her down. The woman got on the slick elevated man-made path and resumed her run. There was not a moment to lose. She had to get to her son.

In a couple more minutes she looked up ahead in the clearing and was heartened by the sight of what she had called home for about a year. She disengaged the protective wards long enough to get through and magically secured the usually unlocked front door wandlessly. A spare weapon was inside a nearby cupboard and she grabbed it, replacing the one she lost at the meeting. She cleaned up and dried herself up somewhat on her way to her son's room, reaching his bed just as he woke up.

"Mum?"

"It's that time," she was still trying to catch her breath, the gnawing pain on her shoulder now constant.

"What's happening?" the thirteen-year-old boy with a mess of raven hair and deep green eyes sprang up to a seated position. He grabbed his spectacles from the bedside table and put them on. There was alarm in his voice and expression as the singular lamp in his room shed light on her injured condition, "Mum, you're bleeding!"

"I'm fine. Listen to me," she took him by the shoulders and said with a gravity she had never spoken to him before, "There are evil men who are on their way as we speak. They must not find you here. We talked about this many times and you promised."

"But Mum…"

"You promised me you'd listen and you wouldn't argue."

Sensing the urgency in her voice, the young man got up and changed into faded jeans, a white shirt and runners while she summoned a rucksack prepared from long ago.

"What about you?" he asked, reluctantly taking the backpack from her, tears visibly streaming down his cheeks.

"I can't leave."

She had to stop them now. Running away would be futile for they would track her down.

"I can help…"

"NO! I need you safe!"

"Maybe Dad can help."

"The Ministry already chose to stay away. This is not your Dad's fight," she explained for the umpteenth time. The last thing she wanted was to get Ron involved. She appealed to him, "Promise me you won't tell him."

The boy hesitated.

"Promise me!"

"I promise," he resigned himself to her wishes as he brushed the wetness off his cheeks. He sniffed, the crying had stopped for now, "I'm going to Dad's then?"

She held up an old Air Jordan sneaker and transformed it into a Portkey. They should be home by now.

Swallowing the lump that was in her throat, the answer came out stiffly, almost apologetically, "You're going to your father's."

"My father's," he repeated. Resentment replaced the concern in the boy's eyes as he grasped the Portkey in his other hand, "Is he expecting me?"

She nodded. She called and talked with him and his wife before all hell broke loose when it became apparent it would. The thing was bigger than she thought it was.

"Stay with him...until I sort this out. He'll protect you."

"I don't want his protection. I don't need it," her son replied defiantly.

The sight made her heart ache. It reminded her so much of how his father was at his age questioning the wisdom of those older who had decided for him. Intuitively she knew that would be the wrong thing to say. He already hated it that physically he looked so much like Harry.

"You could be right but I disagree, so just humor me and stay with him until this is over, okay?"

Hugo was a good kid. He would do it because she asked.

"He doesn't even know I'm his. How sure are you he will protect me? Or do you want me to give him and Aunt Ginny your letters?"

He eyed her keenly. The letters were for when he decided that he was ready to let the truth out and she couldn't tell Harry and Ginny in person. It was not fair to have him deal with this on his own. On the other hand she needed Harry's help with Hugo and to help effectively Harry had to know. Experience had made Hugo more mature than his thirteen years and he saw her conflict. Hugo shrugged.

"I don't care," he deadpanned but the hurt showed in his eyes, "If you want I'll give them the letters and it'll be good because they'll send me away."

"They won't send you away," she reassured him, recognizing his fear of rejection despite the brave front, "And if you are ready to let everyone know I prefer that you wait for me and not face this alone."

Hugo nodded. It was her fault that he didn't know his father well, that he didn't want to know his father. Since telling him the truth two years ago conversations about his other biological parent were infrequent and, recently, testy at best. He was only eleven then and while she knew he would not fully understand why she did what she did, she thought it the appropriate moment. They had just moved for the third time in two years and he was in a new school. Hugo could start, at least physically, being himself.

He was hurt and mad at her then and rightfully so. Guilt filled her that day she robbed him of the remainder of his childhood. When she decided to have him, she knew that time would eventually come but she never thought it would be this horrible. And when Hugo got over being angry at her he directed his ire at his father despite her insistence that Harry was not at fault. The few times they went back to London to visit Hugo chose to stay clear of Harry. He kept to himself and had eventually withdrawn even from his sister Rose and his best friend and 'cousin' Lily. Hugo was miserable every time they visited and after their trip last year told her flat out he preferred not to visit anymore. Now she was asking him to live there with someone he disliked, maybe even despised.

Hugo brooded silently and she felt the storm within him. Like his father when he got this way it was best to leave him be to sort it out. It was heart wrenching to watch knowing that she did this to him and all the reasons why she thought this would be okay faded in the background. This was not okay and while she had been perfectly willing to make the sacrifice to buy time and keep the rest of her family happy, she did not realize she had signed him up and condemned him to the same lot, not until it was too late. Her sacrifice was now his for as much as he wanted to be free of the lie she started he understood from the get go how the truth could destroy the people he cared the most about. And the decision to tell Harry was no longer entirely up to her.

Since leaving London four years ago things had not turned out the way she envisioned they would. How did she ever think this would be the best thing to do for him? Had she known then that he would suffer this much she would have let the truth out a long time ago and spread the hurt evenly around.

She watched Hugo as he magically altered his hair and eyes to the brown colour he had grown up with and guised under since infancy. In the past, she had to help with the transformation but he was adept at doing this now. His greatest motivation to learn was his preference to look this way. She pulled the boy into her arms and hugged him tight. He hugged back as his tears fell on her shoulder and hers on his.

"I have every intention of coming back for you," she said with determination, "But in case I'm somewhat delayed look after Rose, okay?"

He nodded through his sobs understanding exactly what she meant. She kissed him on the forehead and pulled away just as the Portkey glowed a bluish hue.

"I love you, honey," she choked on the words. "Tell Rose I love her, too."

At the next clap of thunder the darkness took her son away. She was comforted by the thought that Harry and Ginny would do the right thing. As she removed all evidence of Hugo being in the room and extinguished the lamp beside her, she sensed that the perimeter had been breached. She was right. The Fidelus had been broken. The front entrance provided token resistance. Five men moved swiftly into the house, all heavily armed and needing no real reason to kill. There were voices from the outside and some under the raised floor. She summoned another concealed wand and aimed both weapons at the entrance, ready to fight.

Three...two...one...

The door to Hugo's room came off its hinges and a sudden burst of bright light blinded her momentarily. A cacophony of gunfire and curses ensued. Hermione Granger remained calm as she fought back, thinking of Rose and Hugo, and how she had to see them again.

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A/N. To the brave hearts who have returned to read more, bear with me while I introduce new characters and re-acquaint you with some of Jo’s.

Thanks to those who left notes of encouragement. I do confess that I will be making most of the story up as we go along and would appreciate feedback about story direction.

Here’s what Harry’s been up to. Note that I’ve pushed the story back fourteen hours prior to Chapter 1.

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Chapter 2 – Death in Knockturn Alley

Fourteen hours earlier, Knockturn Alley, London

It was just before 8 a.m. Harry Potter crouched down and ducked under the yellow magical veil that delineated the crime scene from public access. His black messy hair was messier that usual and his green eyes were tired and bloodshot. He did not get much sleep last night and a dead body first thing Monday morning was not his idea of a good start to the week.

"Harry, over here!" a middle aged wizard with sparse hair and a walrus mustache called out to him from amongst the group of white coated people from Forensics.

"Hank," he greeted as he got closer, "What do you have?"

Henry 'Hank' Trussel was his Deputy and was one of the first to arrive on the scene. From the brief conversation they had about fifteen minutes ago Harry was told that the Magical Law Enforcement got a distraught call from one of the shop employees about finding the owner "cold and stiff" behind the counter. Harry followed Hank's gaze over to the still figure on the floor currently surrounded by the lab rats. Definitely cold and stiff.

"Blutus Borgin, 92, shop owner. According to the smart pretty lady over here he probably croaked sometime Saturday night, likely from a death curse."

Harry met the annoyed look of the 'smart pretty lady' Hank was making a pass at and nodded with his apologies.

"Jessie."

"Harry."

Chief Forensics Officer Jessica Hewitt was about five foot five, of average built, a couple of years older than he was, had kind grey eyes and graying blonde shoulder length hair. They had worked together on many cases for many years. She was irritated at Hank for flirting and was warning Harry to keep the veteran Auror away from her.

"Anything interesting?"

"I'm not done. When I am you'll be the first to know."

Translated, she was telling him and his team to back off.

Harry nodded a second time and gave her some space. He turned towards his deputy, looked around the shop and immediately noticed the obvious. The shelves were bare.

"Another robbery," Harry concluded; there had been two already before he went away for the weekend.

Hank agreed, "Same m.o. The geezer lived above the store. He must have heard something and walked in on the thieves."

The door to the back where the stairs to the second floor were was indeed behind the counter. It was possible that he walked in while the crime was in progress, except Harry knew for a fact that old Blutus was as deaf as a doorknob. He knew the wizard, having cased him earlier in his career. Borgin was a paranoid ass who never went anywhere without a holstered wand. The guy showered with it, peed with it, fucked with it.

"Did he have a wand on him?" Harry asked.

"Crooks must have taken it."

Maybe, but Hank was sometimes sloppy.

"Check his room, left side table drawer."

Harry just scanned and already knew it was there. So the old man was roused from sleep intentionally, taken down here because they needed him for something. Maybe.

"Where's the store safe?"

"In the wooden panel behind the register. It was cleaned out."

The thieves must have needed Borgin to open the safe. Harry took his wand out and examined it, looking for any hint of sophisticated magical charms and protections. There were none. It was the same safe as the others that were robbed but those ones the thieves blasted the locks off and during those ones, there were no deaths. Why get the old man to open this one and then kill him?

"Do we know what was in it?"

"Employee who found him doesn't know. I've sent Lupin to inform Borgin's partner and ask."

They could ask Caractacus Burkes Jr. but that was no guarantee they would get an honest answer. The shop owner clearly would not admit to missing any illicit magical artifact and whatever was in the safe was likely to be against the law. It was a pain but they'd have get Legal on their side and drag the seventy year old in for interrogation. Great. The day was shaping up to be a humdinger.

There was a sudden crash near the entrance. A coat rack had been accidentally toppled over and shattered the glass display case it fell on. Beside it rookie Auror Ted Lupin was red as he apologized profusely, his usual teal hair matching the flushed color on his face. Harry laughed inwardly as Ted repaired the damage, remembering his godson's Mum and how clumsy she was too.

"Well?" Hank, who never knew Nymphadora Tonks Lupin because he joined the London Aurors after Voldemort, asked Ted impatiently.

"Old man said it was empty. He was obviously lying."

The kid was sharp for a rookie. Harry would have never accepted him into the force had he thought he did not have what it took to be a good Auror. Hank did not like smart rookies. They made him look bad.

"Get Legal to get his ass in for questioning," Hank ordered him.

"Done," the young man said plainly. His wife's uncle, Percy Weasley, was in Legal. "He's back at the office in room one. I figured you'd want to do it your..."

"Yeah, can it. Let's go."

Ted followed his senior partner after saying goodbye to Harry and Disapparated just outside the store.

“Harry,” Jessie called out, “I may have something for you.”

He went over to where the dead body was and watched the CFO as she lifted it up magically, rotating him while keeping him afloat in the air.

“What do you see?”

She asked and he looked. Jessie liked doing this, putting Aurors on the spot because often times evidence was second hand when they got to her office and an observant Auror could pick things up forensics might not. He liked it too because it made him think and he saw what she was seeing. The purplish red discoloration of lividity was present even in body parts that were in contact with the floor. They were noticeable absent around his wrists and ankles.

“He didn’t die on the floor but was bound at the wrists and ankles around the time he passed on,” Harry said to her.

She nodded, “I’ll check more closely once I’m in the lab and let you know what else I find. I suspect he was tied up before he was AK’d then moved here for show more than twelve hours after he was actually dead.”

“Interesting,” Harry muttered, questions that needed answers coming to mind.

“Interesting indeed.”

As Forensics carried on with the investigation he went back to the Ministry. Like the CFO, the Head Auror wasn’t expected to be personally working each case but he preferred field work to the more paper pushing, political and administrative functions that were now the bulk of his job.

He came out of the Apparition designated area and into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Without thought, he reached into his pocket, retrieved from it a golden coin and was about to hand it off when he was surprised to find himself at the end of a long line of displeased customers. Strange. Thinking it an essential part of his day, he waited patiently and when he got to the front, paid for the morning edition of the Daily Prophet.

"Here you go, Mr. Potter," the tall, thick-chested hairy man behind the counter recognized him and handed him the news, wiping the sweat off his brow with a white handkerchief.

"Thanks. Keep it," he replied and the man promptly pocketed the hefty tip. Harry took the news bud, stuck it in his right ear and asked, "Where's Phil?"

"He was feeling under the climate," the substitute answered, serving an annoyed regular who was used to getting quicker service. "He should be back in a couple of days."

The news man turned away as the other customers growled impatiently, bemoaning the fact that Phil never missed a day of work in twenty years. Harry thought that almost impossible even if elves never got sick but had no proof that wasn't true so he walked away without saying anything. Substitute guy was doomed and wouldn't last the morning.

Good morning, Mr. Potter, a witch from the Dept of Mysteries nodded.

"Good morning," he greeted back.

"Harry," another man said to him.

"Miles," he responded, vaguely remembering the guy from Communications.

This was the usual every day. On his way to the lifts he passed by the Fountain of Hope, the imposing structure made of gold, silver and bronze that occupied the centre of the Ministry of Magic Atrium. A couple of visitors were gawking at the impressive magnified lifelike statues of magical and non magical children gathered around that of a bespectacled boy wizard with a wand in his hand. The statue's uncanny resemblance to a certain kid who survived the murderous intentions of a most evil wizard some twenty five years ago was not incidental and time did not lessen his discomfort of and dislike for the darn fountain.

Moving on and getting into the elevator, Harry politely returned the greetings from more co-workers, some of whom he didn't really know, and started watching and listening to the Daily Prophet news video. By the time he walked into his office his entire attention was on the headlines. He had been away for a couple of days and this was what greeted him back to work.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter."

Somebody said as he got to his near empty desk. He looked up. A tall, reed thin woman in a plaid skirt and ornate blouse had followed him in and set down a steaming fresh cup of coffee on the table. She wore on her face her trademark bland expression.

"Good morning, Leila. Thanks."

Leila Gennaro was his admin assistant, had been since he got the job about five years ago. She was organized, bright and much older than he was; by how much he never dared to ask. Leila was very effective at what she did and most importantly was thick skinned and insensitive to his volatile temper.

"You're welcome. How was the trip?"

"It was good. Just got in late last night."

"Mrs. Potter?"

"She's fine."

"And did you actually spend time away from work?"

"I actually did," he emphasized actually.

He made sure of it. He and Ginny needed that time together.

"I've kept your schedule light today," Leila did the usual morning summary of where he had to be and when, "You have Hank in an hour…"

"An hour?" Harry protested.

He just met with Hank but after seeing the news that wasn’t going to be soon enough. A heads up from him this morning would have been nice. The Deputy he left in charge needed some ass kicking for bungling the investigation that was now all over the news.

"An hour, so you can settle down and he doesn't come out of your office threatening to resign."

"He should stop threatening and just do it."

Leila knew he would be harsh but calmer now he realized he didn’t want to pull Hank out of an interrogation because he was impatient about setting him straight.

"He's the only one interested in filling in for you when you're away. You need him so you can have a life," Leila reminded him.

"Leila, we all know this is my life," Harry said about himself condescendingly, half joking but it was not entirely untrue.

"A shame, Mr. Potter. A shame indeed," she reprimanded but knew it would fall on deaf ears, "The Minister has you for half an hour at eleven."

He listened and when Leila stopped talking he asked, "That's it?"

"You have a big fire to put out," Leila motioned to the news headline and closed the magical scheduler that linked to the one he had on his desk. "And an owl just came in from Hogwarts. I think it's from James."

Leila left his office and shut the door behind her. He walked over to the owl feeding station and retrieved the letter from the Hogwarts carrier. Parchment in hand, Harry sat on his chair and turned it around to look out the window, his gaze looking past the magnificent view of Muggle London. Thinking about his children made him think about Ginny. Unlike her, he wasn't sure if they had done the right thing.

He opened the note and recognized his fifteen year old son's handwriting.

Dad,

Had a bit of a spill during practice. My Racer had a most unfortunate encounter with the Whomping Willow. Can I get a Speedster5000? The Slytherin team got seven from the Malfoys. Mum says it's okay if you're okay with it.

Your broomless son,

James

Ginny already warned him. James was using divide and conquer to get what he wanted, throwing in the Malfoy name for good measure, because he had a feeling that they would not approve his use of the professional grade broomstick. He made a mental note to discuss the matter with Ginny again later but scribbled back.

James,

I'll send you another Racer. Fast brooms are for slow flyers who don't want to learn. And I already spoke with your Mum. Nice try.

Love,

Dad

The Hogwarts owl zoomed off. Harry took a sip of his coffee and immersed himself into work, entering the information and his impressions about the Borgin murder on file for Hank and Ted to check out.

Once that was done he settled down to his morning routine. Harry accessed the department active files to keep abreast of what his command of a seventy-five Aurors were up to the days before. He usually looked at the cases by team quadrants starting with the busiest central core and fanning out to the east, north and west divisions. The Auror Office was recently hit by a spate of retirements and deaths that it was one in transition. Of the four, the Ron Weasley led North team, despite the trend of increased dark arts activity in the area, was the only one running as it should. Hank ran the busy central core while two relatively new leads, George Bones and Barry Greengrass, ran the East and West teams, respectively.

He turned his attention back onto the news headlines.

Mysterious Robberies : Aurors Baffled

Since leaving for the Bahamas Friday morning eight more magical artifact stores, an auction house and two major private relic collectors had been robbed clean. Something was definitely up and he was pissed that his deputy failed to inform him of the other robberies. Browsing through the facts and data they had, he felt his temper rise even more. There was nothing. No stolen items list, no possible suspects, no interviews with persons of interest, nothing! And why did Hank admit to the press that it was baffling?!

Harry checked the interrogation room and found every one of them empty. The questioning should be over by now. He engaged the intercom on his desk and as the light went on tried his best to keep his voice under control.

"Get Hank in here! Now!"

There was silence.

"Please."

"Certainly, Mr. Potter," his assistant answered professionally.

"And no calls," he added, "Please."

"As you wish, Mr. Potter."

Two minutes later Hank was in his office sweating uncomfortably under his pointed interrogation and reprimand about how the case was being handled. The veteran Auror had been Deputy for the previous Head. Hank was unhappy about being bypassed for the top position, particularly because ex Head Auror Hosiah Humptail groomed and recommended him. He did express to Harry his desire to remain second in command, to help with 'transition'. Some help. Maybe Harry was being paranoid but time and time again he felt that Hank wanted to stick around to see him fail.

"But Harry, we don't have any witnesses, the owners are tight lipped because the stolen items are illegal, and we don't know what's really missing..."

He interrupted, "What did you get from Burkes?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Hank said cautiously. More bad news, “He pulled some strings. Someone from within yanked Legal’s approval and he was out of here before Lupin and I got back.”

“Who was it?!”

“I don’t have clearance…”

Harry slammed a fist on his desk, “I don't want excuses, I want answers! I'm calling an Auror meeting in an hour and you better have some good ones by then!"

They had similar conversations in the past and Hank knew that he was dismissed. As Hank left his desk phone started ringing.

The speakerphone went on and he barked into the receiver, "I said no calls!"

A woman's voice, not Leila's, came over the air

"Having a bad day already?"

He had no time for games. The caller's ID did not register.

"Who is this?"

The woman let out an amused chuckle. It was familiar and recognizable.

"I don't know if I should be embarrassed or insulted. I know it's been a while but I didn't think you would forget me so easily."

He calmed down, the scowl on his face changed into a cross between a smile and a frown as he imagined her grinning on the other line. The last time they spoke was at Christmas. He looked out the window. Had it really been that long?

"Hermione," saying her name, felt odd, having not spoken it for some time, "This is a surprise. How are you?"

"I'm good," she replied cheerfully, "And you?"

"I'm okay. It's been too long. Way too long. You’ve been avoiding me."

Again that easy laugh. He missed hearing her laugh.

"Of course not. I've been busy. I'm glad you liked the cloak."

She sent him an Asian Invisibility Cloak for his birthday. He left her messages thanking her for it but never got a reply.

"We missed you and Hugo at the party."

"It was a horrible summer for Hugo. He felt too ill to travel," she explained then steered the conversation away, "I see Hank is still making you look bad and angling for your job. Some things never change."

Some didn't and some did.

"Don't tell me you called just to warn me about backstabbing co-workers," he retorted.

"Well, there's that and I need a huge favour."

A favour. The last time Hermione asked him for a favour was, hell, it had either never happened or happened a long time ago he had no memory of it.

"What is it?"

"It's about Hugo. Can he stay with you for a week or so?"

His sixth sense tingled and he didn't say anything right away. The pause was awkward and pressured her to talk more.

"I spoke with Ginny and she's okay with it."

Really.

"Is everything okay?"

"Things are fine. We’re hoping to have the school ready in time for a June opening next year. We're in the final stages of planning and I'll be in a lot of meetings over the next few days. Hugo will be bored stiff here. And I didn't want to burden Ron what with Anne just having the twins. I thought Hugo would be better off with you guys."

It was hogwash and she knew it. Why was she shoveling crap into his face?

"Shouldn't Hugo be in school? Shouldn't you just tell me what this is really about? Who's insulting whom now?" he wasn't mad, just disappointed.

There was silence then he heard her let out a long sigh.

"Okay. I'm sorry. I just didn't want you and Ron to worry."

"The lying is worrisome," that and the fact they had not spoken to each other in nine months. She must be in a real bind to ask him, "What's going on, Hermione?"

There was a slight hesitation in her voice.

"I don't know."

"Stop bullshitting."

"I honestly don't know but I'll find out more tonight. I just have a bad feeling and I don't want Hugo here or at school where he'll be by himself."

"What kind of trouble are you in?"

"I'm not," she answered immediately, "Really."

“Are you being harassed by bigots and zealots again?”

Hermione had been when the first Integrated School for the Magical and Non-Magical opened its doors somewhere in North America more than two years ago.

“No more than usual.”

She was holding back and being stubborn about it. Harry put on a call tracer.

"I can be there..."

Sure he was in the middle of something but he could.

"I don't think that's necessary. It's just a precaution..."

Someone distracted Hermione on the other end, something about a meeting starting earlier than scheduled. Harry recognized the voice, tone and accent and immediately made him feel more unsettled. It was Warren. Ron did mention that she was working with him again.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I have to go," there was clearly increased anxiety in her tone, "So, can Hugo stay with you?"

"Of course..."

"Thanks a lot, Harry. I'll call you back later and we'll talk," her words gushed out of her mouth and she hung up.

The tracer came back. He swore while reading the information before him.

Head Auror’s Office, London Ministry of Magic.

Hermione knew he would try to trace her whereabouts and had made the precautions so he wouldn’t be able to. Worried, he was about to call Ron to ask him to get in touch with her quickly when he was buzzed by an emergency page.

There was another murder in Knockturn Alley. Caractacus Burkes Jr. was dead.

A/N. Thanks to those who read and reviewed.

Moving along now. First Harry at work then Ron and his personal life. I hope this answers some questions about what Hermione has been up to the past few years.

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Chapter 3 - One Troubled Teen

Knockturn Alley was a zoo when Harry got there. Several Aurors were on the scene and more were popping in, responding to the all-units call he activated as he left his office.

It was obvious that nobody had taken charge yet. He cast a civilian specific anti-Disapparition charm along the length of the lane, the stores, the shops and residences on it, and then bellowed out instructions randomly.

"Filtworth, Jiggs and Lintcoming, crowd control. Don't let anyone leave until I say so. Dunder, Wells, shut the alley entrance and keep the gawkers out. Peabody, Quank start polling for witnesses."

In the chaos he picked up Jessie Hewitt's distressed voice and approached the CFO. She was talking with one of his men and appeared shaken up. A couple of feet to her right just beside the store entrance was the lifeless body of Caractacus Burkes Jr.

"I had just told him he wasn’t welcome inside when two wizards in black robes appeared, disarmed us both, cursed him and Disapparated. Hank and Ted went after their magical signatures."

"Assemble teams of five and help pursue," Harry said to one of the other Aurors and then turned his attention to Jessie, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just trying to get my nerves settled down," she replied annoyed at herself as she put her unsteady hands together. "These wizards were confident and cocky, to do this right here right now…"

She didn’t finish but Harry knew what she meant. The brazen daylight attack on Burkes just outside his store while the place was still crawling with MLE indicated arrogance, desperation or both.

"Did Burkes know them?"

"I think so. One of them spoke and asked him ‘Where is it?’. He replied that he couldn't tell them, that he wasn't the Keeper. Then they murdered him."

"Is that all they said?"

"Yes," Jessie said with certainty, then repeated the exchange for him, "Where is it? I can't tell you. I'm not the Keeper."

"Anything else?"

"They had identical tattoos on the right wrist but I could only see part of it. Much was hidden under the sleeves of their robes. It was a letter. Maybe V or W. That's all I remember."

They would run it through the database. The hit was professional and organized. Chances were they were a known entity.

He asked for the sketch artist and had Jessie describe both wizards to him. As that was being done, he bent down on his knees beside Burkes, wondering what the man did to deserve this and why it couldn't wait.

Harry's gut told him that someone was spooked when the shop owner was picked up for questioning. The Ministry insider who pulled rank to set him free went from mere person of interest to prime suspect. It was possible that the intention underlying Burkes’ release was to send him straight to his death. If that were the case, did Burkes know it? And why would his 'friend' at the Ministry risk being implicated in something like this?

The Head Auror walked around and listened as the other eyewitnesses collaborated what Jessie had already told them. Ten minutes later the pursuit teams came back empty handed and a grim atmosphere hovered over them as each Auror Disapparated back to their beats. Harry left a senior Auror in charge of the crime scenes.

When he got to the Ministry a sudden impulsivity overcame him. Foremost on his mind was the identity of the insider who could be an accomplice to Burkes’ murder. The magical artifact robberies had been all over the news and this morning both the owners of Borgin and Burkes, arguably THE store for the darkest of dark relics, were dead. The question was who had the balls to mess around with an investigation of this magnitude? There were only two current Ministry employees who would dare mess with him.

He veered off track and instead of going to his office found himself barging into the Minister’s, not surprised to find the Minister of Magic with the Head of the Department of Mysteries.

“Harry, good timing,” Leonidas Jericho, incumbent Minister on his fifth and final year of term, said to him, “Come in and join us.”

“I’m not here for tea, Leo,” Harry said calmly but looked straight at the wizard to the Minister’s right. Head Unspeakable Cristo Maximus quickly masked his reflexive frown with a fake smile as Harry struggled to maintain self-control, “I just want to know which one of you is pissing all over my case.”

XXXXXXXXXX

It was close to midnight and Ron Weasley was in Neville Longbottom's Hogwarts office. Pacing the width of the plant adorned workspace he was red in the face from humiliation and anger and was trying to walk off a portion of it. As he did this he intermittently cast dagger looks at the pink-haired fifteen year old girl seated on the work stool who seemed unaffected by what the head of the House of Gryffindor just reported to him. She was stone faced and met his stare with indifference, daring him to lose it. He was so close if not for the reminder that the girl knew how to push his buttons. Rose Weasley was after all Hermione Granger's daughter.

He looked at his timeteller again. Mid-effing-night.

"Caught snogging in the prefect's bathroom?!" he finally blurted out, "When your Mum finds out…"

"Where is Mum, anyway?" the girl answered calmly as she crossed her arms across her chest. "I wanted to ask her if she'd ever done that."

He was right. As he suspected this show was for her mother.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!".

"I'm only ashamed because I got caught," her eyes narrowing at her cousin across the way, "If it weren't for the rat..."

Albus Potter defended himself, "I did it for your own good! Malfoy is bad news!"

"Who cares? He snogs well enough and we would have done more than snog had you not..."

"Enough! I don't want details!"

Ron interrupted just in time. It was bad enough thinking of his baby snogging a boy let alone Draco Malfoy's. Why oh why did it have to involve Ferret Jr.? The little twerp was definitely lucky that Neville had the presence of mind not to have him in the same room right now. And if the slimy brat ever as much as laid a finger on his Rosie again he would mince him into ground meat and feed him to piranhas! Argh!

He shot another fierce look at his daughter. Ron was ill equipped for this full blown female teenage crisis that he had in his hands. Where was her mother when he needed her?

"What's the matter, Dad? Can't stand the thought that I'm a scarlet woman? That I may not be a virg..."

"Rosie! Malfoy?!" her cousin exclaimed. "I think I'm going to barf."

Al was all flushed from disgust, Neville from awkwardness and him from rage. Rosie sat, watched their reactions and had a most satisfied look on her face.

"You are not seeing that boy again!"

"Honestly. What are you going to do if I do?" she asked with mocked sweetness with that smirk she inherited from her mother, "Pull me out of school? That would be great considering I've been trying to get myself expelled."

"Don't test me, Rose!"

"This is my fifth major offense in less than two weeks. If it were not for your and Mum's connections, I'd have been kicked out in the first week. How long do you think before you run out of favours to collect?"

It was then that Ron lost it. Pushing his buttons! He perfected pushing buttons into an art form even before she was conceived!

"Go ahead! Get yourself kicked out of school and continue to waste that brilliance that we all know you're blessed with. You're a bright kid and nothing will stand in the way of you getting what you want because you're just like your mother!"

"I am not like my mother!"

"Do you think the pink hair and all this acting out is fooling anyone? You can't cover up the obvious! You think you can skip school and go out there in the real world on your own because you're an arrogant know-it-all!"

"I am not a know-it-all!"

"And you're doing things your mother never did just to prove that you're not like her when in fact you are very much like her in this single-mindedness to prove that you're always right!"

Rose was crying from frustration, unable to say anything.

"If I am called here one more time because of your foolishness I will personally withdraw you from school and ground you at home until you become of age! Don't you come back to me crying if you end up flipping gurbers at McDougall's for the rest of your life!"

"You mean burgers at McDonald's, Uncle Ron," his nephew muttered, correcting him.

"Whatever! Do I make myself clear?!"

Rose nodded between her sobs.

"I didn't hear you!"

"Yes, Dad."

Ron tried everything to get through to her since this started at the beginning of the school year and this was how things usually ended up. It tore him up that he had to hurt her feelings to get her to listen. There had to be an easier way.

Hermione had tried too and although he wasn't around when she talked with Rose last week, Headmistress Septima Vector described the interaction as fire against hard metal. Metal won that round and Hermione retreated, telling him on the phone to keep her posted and let her know when Rose was ready to talk. Maybe Rose was ready now.

He looked at Neville and Al and said to them, "I'd like a moment with her alone."

After they left Ron's stance softened. When it came to Rose he was the easier parent.

"Rosie, you're smarter than this. I don't know why you're so angry at your Mum but whatever it was that happened when you visited her over the summer it's not worth ruining the rest of your life for. There are consequences for stupid behaviour. You are not a child anymore so stop acting like one."

Rose looked at him still with tears on her face, her voice cracking as she spoke, "All my life I hear people say that I'm just like her. Well I'm not like her, Dad. I just want everyone to realize that I'm not like her."

The declaration was punctuated with more sobbing. Ron was usually useless around crying girls but luckily paternal instincts came to the rescue. He took her in his arms and let her cry on his chest, stroking her colourful hair as he did.

He said to her softly, "Hush now. There is a difference between being her and being like her. You are not her but it's okay to be like her. Your Mum's a pretty amazing woman. You should be happy that people think you're alike."

"If she's pretty amazing then how come she's not married anymore and you have kids with another woman?"

Of all children to be had he got the one with the hard questions. He sighed, knowing that this was not really about his twin newborns or about her parents being divorced.

He pulled her back and told her, "I love your Mum and we tried our best to stay together. We tried many times but it just didn't work out. What happened between us was unfortunate but it had nothing to do with you or Hugo. And just because we broke up, that your Mum isn't with someone, doesn't make her less amazing."

His daughter was unconvinced. Unfortunately, his ex-wife had yet to tell him what transpired over the summer. She was always tight for time, always needing to be somewhere else. Ron surmised that Hermione was not really keen to talk because if she were she would have already done so. Really, since when did she ever have a problem fitting something into her schedule? Ron asked Hugo but the boy was tight lipped about it too. He had nothing to work on to soften Rose up.

"Rosie, you know you can talk to me about anything," he said to her, then remembered how he didn't want to hear about her snogging and losing her...

"Dad, honestly now," she said to him her brows raised and sounding so grown up as she thought the same thing.

"Okay, almost anything. If you can't tell me what's troubling you then talk with your Mum."

She's so much better at this than I am.

After a few seconds, Rose answered.

"Hogsmeade weekend is coming up. I'll owl her."

"Good girl," Ron tried not to show how ecstatic he was. Was he a genius or what?! "And you really should be thankful you take after her."

"Why is that?"

"How would you feel if people started saying you're like me?"

It was a joke but Rose replied seriously without batting an eyelash, "You're a great guy, Dad. I would be fine with that."

"Hairy chest, scruffy beard, deep voice? Are you sure?"

"Dad!"

He smiled and said nothing. Yes. Rose was so much like her mother. He considered telling her to lose the pink hair but thought he'd quit while he was ahead. That battle was for another day. Ron opened the door and let Neville and Al back in.

"Uncle Neville, can we go now?" she asked the Herbology Professor who nodded at her and her cousin.

"I'll see you both in the morning."

"And don't be too hard on, Al," Ron said after her, "He's just looking out for you."

"I suppose I can forgive him," Rose replied as they left. "Rat."

"Mule. Malfoy? What the hell's wrong with your brain?"

"It's called hormones, something you seem to have a shortage of."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You figure it out. I have something wrong with my brain, remember?"

Ron heard them exchange additional pleasantries. It felt odd seeing his pink haired Hermione-like daughter argue with Harry's look-a-like.

"Sometimes, they remind me of you and Hermione," Neville pointed out what he felt himself. "Did you get it sorted out?"

"Only Hermione can sort her out," Ron shared with Neville, "She did agree to talk with her Mum this weekend. Which reminds me, don't tell Hermione what I said about her, okay. She's going to kill me."

Neville laughed thinking Ron was joking around.

"It's too bad she couldn't be here tonight. How is Hermione?"

"Fine, busy with her projects, you know," Ron replied vaguely, hoping Neville wouldn't ask further.

It worried him that Hermione didn't reply to the message about Rose's latest antics, the one he sent through his timeteller. A while back she cast a bidirectional Protean charm on the face of his watch and linked it with the golden locket she had on her all the time.

"I hope she has time to drop by and visit an old friend. I haven't seen her in a while."

He hadn't either. A year. Hermione had not been home in a year and that was when her Mum died. And before then it had even been longer. Since resigning from the Ministry he had seen her maybe four or five times and talked with her sparingly, mostly about Rose, Hugo and school. When she told him she was moving years ago it never crossed his mind that this would happen.

"I'll let her know."

"Last I heard she was putting together another school with an integrated curriculum. There were many skeptics but the one in North America is being talked about as a huge success."

That depended on who one asked. It was a success because it finally got off the drawing sheets and became a reality. Hermione was the visionary behind it and one of the four founders of the school but in the process of breaking norms and putting magical and non magical children in one learning environment, she made a lot of enemies. Around the time the first school was set to open, she received constant death threats and escaped two assassination attempts by fanatics who thought the concept damaging to society's natural balance and a danger to the Statute of Secrecy.

Ron heard Neville continue, "The word on the street is that it offers the best academic and social education for leaders of tomorrow."

That was what the extremists were afraid of; the shift in thinking that could effect real and lasting change. Despite the danger to her life, Hermione being Hermione refused to be intimidated. The resistance only bolstered her belief that she was doing the right thing. Precautions were made to protect students and faculty. The school grounds, like Hogwarts, was unplottable and impenetrable, guarded by magic Ron could not even pretend to understand. That first year it took in fifty carefully selected students from a thousand applications, the following year a hundred more and this year another two hundred. Change was slowly happening.

"There does seem to be growing acceptance of the concept."

"Well, if someone can pull off putting magical and non magical children in the same school it would be Hermione," Neville added. “She must be happy about the results.”

Ron nodded.

Encouraged by the outcomes, Hermione decided to establish another school in Asia. With her and her family's safety a concern, she was now making it impossible for anyone to know exactly where she was. Why she thought it best to keep him and everyone else she knew uninformed about her exact whereabouts was beyond him.

"But you should know all about this. Hugo's a third year in the program."

"His best mate is a Squib werewolf."

"It must feel odd though that Hugo's not attending Hogwarts," Neville commented innocently.

"A bit," Ron admitted. "If Hugo were here he could have kept an eye on his sister."

Although he wasn't Hugo's biological father the boy was as good as his. Had Hermione asked him for his opinion he would have preferred Hugo at Hogwarts. She never did.

"Rosie's a good kid. She'll come around."

"Thanks for all this Neville."

"I would expect the same from you if I had children. How are Anne and the twins?"

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed, suddenly remembering something.

On cue his video phone began to ring and he quickly answered, "Hi dear…yes, we just finished with the meeting. Neville says hi…Rosie's settled, for now…no I didn't forget…right away…bye."

"Is everything okay?"

"Anne insists on doing everything concerning Sam and Brian the Muggle way," he groaned, "I'm on emergency diaper run."

"Seriously?"

Ron's eyes involuntarily rolled upwards, "I barely survived having one baby at a time. Anne has very high expectations. And I say this even though I was married to Hermione."

Neville commiserated with his pain, "Good luck, mate."

They walked down the aisle to Neville’s office fireplace. Ron thanked him again and just as he was about to Floo out, his Auror pager buzzed. It was the Minister.

He excused himself and called in. Dialing into the main Auror line and waiting to get connected, he was troubled. The Minister never called him directly. Any business went through the Head Auror. Merlin, had something bad happened to Harry?

"Ron, where are you?" Leonidas Jericho asked seriously.

"Hogwarts. Is everything okay, Mr. Minister?"

"See me in my office right away," the Minister replied solemnly, "And you might want to bring your daughter with you."

It was midnight. He had a sinking feeling about this.

"What's going on?"

"I'm afraid I have some bad news."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I have been warned.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 4 - Finding Out

The time teller behind the bar read 11:52. There were not that many patrons at Finnigan's that Monday night. The bartender was trying to appear busy, stacking liquor and supplies under the counter, hoping that he'd get lucky and the regulars would leave early. Finnigan's was a pub strategically situated along Diagon Alley around the bend from Knockturn Alley. It wasn't worth the money and effort serving drunks of dubious character who frequented the place at the late hour.

The bell at the entrance jingled. He looked up. Two hooded figures came in through the right side of the door and headed straight for the bar.

Shit!

The barkeep recognized one of them. He was usually more discrete. The man had reason to be pissed but surely not enough to get him killed!

Shit!

The older wizard sat on the stool right in front of him while the other leaned on the counter, facing the almost empty room, presumably to watch the Head Auror's back.

"Hey Dung. Firewhiskey, in a clean glass, please."

Mundungus Fletcher, less malodorous and more kempt than years before, took a dirt free towel, wiped down a shot glass, filled it and set it in front of him.

"What about your partner?" he asked anxiously.

Harry Potter looked calm enough. Maybe he wasn't so pissed.

"He's working," Harry emptied the glass in one motion, "Let's talk."

"I'm busy."

He filled the glass again.

"Let's talk anyway. Tell me about the burglaries."

"I told Teddy what I know," he replied and cast a furtive glance at the table of misfits in the corner of the pub.

"You told me didly squat, asshole," the other wizard cursed at him.

"I could get killed if someone sees me talking to you," he ignored the rookie's remark and hissed at the Chief hoping Harry would back off and they could take this conversation elsewhere.

"If you told Ted what I needed to know I wouldn't be here. You brought this onto yourself," Harry said to him matter-of-factly, "You know the drill. The sooner you tell me something I can work with the sooner I'm out of your face. So, what will it be?"

The Auror summoned the bottle of firewhiskey and poured more into the glass himself. If Harry Potter sat there long enough someone would definitely recognize him and come to the conclusion that the Head Auror wasn't there for the firewhiskey. This was the lengthiest he'd stayed in an honest job and he was too old to move or find something else.

"Fine," he relented, resigned to the fact that Harry would not leave him alone. "What do you want to know?"

"I want names. Good ones, not the crap you sent Ted on a wild goose chase on."

The barkeep looked around again before answering without moving his lips, "Bole, Montague."

"Which one?"

"Both."

"Both?"

"Both."

"You're telling me they've gotten much better than the bungling teenagers they were a couple of years ago."

"I'll be sure to tell them you said so."

"And?"

"That's all I know."

"Well I guess you'll have to make a third one up and lie. We both know those two are mediocre hired hand. Who's the brain?"

"Fuck, Harry. I swear to Merlin I don't know."

Harry's eyes bored straight through him and let it go, maybe deciding that he was telling the truth.

"Borgin and Burkes?"

"Part of the hit."

"And Borgin's murder?"

"If I told you what the word out on the street is you wouldn't believe me. I wouldn't believe me."

"That'll be no different for some of the stuff you tell me. What's the story?"

"You know Borgin and Burkes Sr. built the store from nothing. When Senior died years ago, Junior inherited everything but didn't have the stomach for the kind of business they were running. He wanted to buy ole Blutus out and go all legit but it wasn't until recently that he finally had the cash to make a decent offer.

"Anyway, Borgin's been blabbing in here to just about anyone who'd listen that his partner did not have half the balls his old man did. There was no way in hell he was selling or changing his business, not for all the money in the world. So the word is Junior killed his partner."

"Because he wanted to go legit?"

"Ironic, I know but maybe more for the dig on the weight of his bollocks than for anything else. A man's got to protect his privates."

"And he staged it to make it look like it happened during a robbery."

"It was by happy coincidence the place got robbed. That is if you believe in coincidence."

"Like I believe in Santa. And Burkes?"

His body stiffened and he started sweating like a pig. Mundungus heard about the execution in broad daylight. He didn't want to get involved.

"Nobody talks about that one, Harry. You get what I'm getting at?"

The Head Auror got up and slid a couple of galleons on the counter.

"Fair enough. Thanks Dung. Say hello to Seamus for me and you might want to reserve the watered down stuff to drunks."

Mundungus Fletcher blushed and watched Harry Potter leave Finnigan's. He was relieved but not by very much.

Shit!

He owed Harry for setting him up with the bar owner and for what was left of his life. As much as he wanted to avoid the man because he was reminded of what a coward he was, the Boy Who Vanquished would have his loyalty forever and would assist, albeit sometimes reluctantly, if need be. He and Dumbledore were two of a kind.

Shit!

Having the information beaten out of him was preferable to what he was feeling at that very moment.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry and Ted Disapparated back to the Ministry after visiting Mundungus Fletcher at Finnigan's. He did not like doing what he just did. He was more recognizable than anyone else on the force and any hint of someone being a snitch was as good as a death sentence. That was why he sent Ted in the first place.

But he was desperate and a bit peeved that Ted got shafted. While Dung Fletcher was a retired thief and recovered drunk, he lived vicariously through the lives of the lowlifes he served at Finnigan's. He knew stuff and always would. Harry needed him for this one and he came through.

"You believe the asshole?" the younger man asked

"He's telling us what he believes to be the truth."

"I've never heard of Bole and Montague," the younger Auror was skeptical.

The names weren’t brought up during Auror discussions. Bole and Montague were young, average skilled independents, not typical suspects for a job the size they were dealing with.

"Whoever planned this knew how we would start looking and it was quite ingenious to hire thieves we wouldn't even think about," Harry told Ted what he thought.

"The git was obviously holding back," Ted commented, miffed and out for more blood after he spent the day chasing the ghosts Dung sent him after, "I can come back at closing time and ask the question again. I promise to ask nicely."

Harry looked at his godson. It was past midnight and he was still high on adrenaline. He remembered the days when each and every case was like that for him.

"Maybe if it was someone else but not Dung," Harry had a point to make, "He knows what the questions are. He'll sleep on it and then he'll come forward if he thinks he can help."

Harry knew that didn't make sense but such things were always difficult to explain.

"I don't get it. He has information vital to the case."

"Probably but he's spooked. Remember informants are not suspects or witnesses. We need their help. If you get a reputation of burning your bridges with them you will have a harder time getting your job done," he explained, "Listen. It's late. We have debriefing in the morning. Go home to your wife."

Ted hesitated. Harry was familiar with what he was going through; long hours at work, pregnant wife waiting at home. He realized then that he needed to set his godson straight. Just not right now.

"I'll pass on the names to the on-duty and then I'll go home."

When they got to the second level offices they split paths and he headed for his office. Although she was probably still up waiting for Ted, it was too late to call Tory. He'd talk to her in the morning.

He went straight to his desk and sifted through the mess of parchments and documents on it. In a couple more minutes Harry stacked the last of the case files but was not quite ready to call it a day. He rubbed his tired eyes, got on his feet to stretch and gazed out the panorama of London lights outside his window. A nagging feeling of unease about the case plagued him.

While the conversation with Dung gave insight into the robbery and possibly Borgin's death, for him things were more befuddling. Before meeting with Dung his gut told him that Burkes' murder was connected to Borgin's death and the robberies. Dung was telling him they weren't and that didn’t feel right.

His confrontation with the Minister and his right hand man was spot on. Maximus admitted to being the git behind releasing Burkes earlier that day but seemed genuinely appalled by news of his death. Apparently, Caractacus Jr. was a classmate and close friend of the Head Unspeakable's from their days at Durmstrang, and Max (the name he preferred to be addressed as) thought it improper to hold an upstanding citizen who wasn't a flight risk against his will when he could be interviewed in the privacy of his home.

It was a good thing that the Minister's Office was designed to be Impertubed. The shouting match that occurred after between the Head Auror and Head Unspeakable was forgettable for the petty argument brought no new information to him. The Head Unspeakable was an untrustworthy, ambitious, nosy, control freak who dipped his hand into other people's businesses and meddled every chance he got. Harry discretely assigned a few senior Aurors to keep an eye on the Head Unspeakable.

I am not the Keeper.

The Keeper of what? A magical artifact perhaps?

I can't tell you. I'm not the Keeper.

Maybe a secret; a Fidelus.

Burkes' Ministry friend claimed that he did not know either.

He glanced at the file he just reviewed that was on the very top of the centre pile on his desk. Looking for a different angle, he pulled the closed case out of archive and read it to refresh his memory. Big bold letters were stamped across it.

Morpheus Gaunt

CLASSIFIED

Harry spent a good half hour going over the file and the case that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, his memory of how Caractacus Sr. died during that operation was not as vivid as he would have liked and in the end he was disappointed to find the documentation lacking.

Admittedly, he was unconvinced that Junior would kill Borgin for the lame reasons Dung said he had. Senior died more than fifteen years ago, a ‘civilian casualty’ of a Ministry action. Maybe Junior got wind that Borgin had something to do with it, perhaps through the very same Ministry friend who set him free. Maybe it was about revenge.

Then he got murdered for a different reason? Harry disliked coincidences. Typically Harry preferred these things wrapped up neat and tidy.

That brought him into thinking about Hermione again. Hermione worked that case with him. She would remember because she never forgot a thing and he made a note to ask her about it when she called.

Worried, he told Ron of the bizarre phone call earlier that day and her ex-husband promptly sent her a message through his Protean charmed time teller. Her immediately reply was the same thing, that she would call him back.

It would be almost seven in the morning where she was. She should have returned the call by now. He was about to contact Ron again when his pager buzzed. It was the night watchman.

"Rocco, what's going on?" Harry greeted over the phone.

"You are still in your office. We've got a situation here," the elderly wizard's voice came through the receiver, "We found an intruder past the third tier wards."

Third tier meant the lifts and into one of the non-public access areas. At this time of the night when the Ministry was closed, the security protocol called for Aurors to assess threat level. The fact that Rocco could make the phone call told him it wasn't much of one.

"Get the on-duty to deal with it."

"Um...I think you'd want to personally deal with this one."

Rocco hung up. Harry had a lot of respect for the wizard and knew he wouldn't bother him if it wasn't important. In a minute Harry found himself in the twelfth level barracks just outside the doors to a staff lounge where the trespasser was being kept.

"The kid says he was testing Ministry security as part of a Hogwarts assignment," Rocco said in a hushed voice, "Harry, it's your son."

Harry looked into the small window on the door and saw a scrawny teenager with dark hair pacing anxiously. Al would never do something like this. James, maybe, but Al?

"I'll leave you to sort this out," the wizard said to him, "He tried to hex me. I would have fried him had I not recognized him."

Harry thanked Rocco and went through the door, closing it behind him as the night watch man left. Al could have been seriously hurt and as frustrated as he was he wanted to hear Al's version of the story.

"You're supposed to be in school. This better be go…"

He stopped short of the table that separated them, recognizing instantly that something was amiss. The boy had his wand drawn out and was unsteadily pointing it at him. This wasn't Al. He was about an inch shorter, his hair a bit longer and his eyes a slightly deeper shade of green.

Hard shadows were etched on the child's face and for someone his age had a rare edginess that was carved out of experience, as if he had to grow up fast over a short period of time. It was like looking into a mirror twenty five years ago.

"My Mum needs your help!" the boy cried out, his eyes puffy and red, spent from crying, "You have to come!"

"Who are you?"

"There is no time! She says to trust only you!"

It was just what he needed at the end of today; some demented fan using a kid to meet him.

“Why do you look like my son? Who put you up to this?"

Frustrated, the stranger hesitated and then said to him, "I look like your son because I am your son!"

In one swoop of his wand, an orange hue fell over the boy and his appearance transformed right before Harry's eyes.

Hugo...

"Are you going to help my Mum or not?!"

Harry's jaw dropped and stayed there as a million tumultuous thoughts surged into his brain, paralyzing him.

Hugo was his son? Hermione's son was his son?

Are you just going to stand there and gape at him? Say something, preferably something that would make sense.

At the time of her pregnancy he considered it, maybe even hoped it, but the math didn't jive. Well, she obviously...

"She lied about when she got pregnant and she lied when she was due to deliver. It's all in the letter."

Hugo handed him a piece of parchment. Thankful for having something else to do, Harry almost ripped the thing in half as he opened and read it, acutely aware of the hard thumping against his chest that was intensified by the weight of Hugo's watchful eye on him.

He read fast, her neat writing on the paper contrasting with the rigmarole of emotions in his chest and brain. Her words gave him the facts that he craved for but left out why she did it. She ended with an apology that she had done what she had and that she wasn't around to tell him herself.

His face flushed as another set of emotions surfaced. He felt cheated, humiliated and angry. Folding the parchment back, he slipped it into his chest pocket and looked up. Harry met their son's cold stare, one thought in his mind.

Hermione, what have you done?

Hugo, business-like, gave him more letters.

"There's one for Aunt Ginny and one for my Dad. She wanted you to decide whether to tell them or not."

"She wanted me to ask you."

Leave it to Hermione to find a suitable icebreaker between him and the son he didn't know he had. What was she thinking? That she could hide this forever?

"I don't care one way or the other," Hugo said plainly, "She didn't want me to show you the letter. We can go with that. After we help her you can go back to the perfect life she wants you to have."

The sarcasm and resentment in his tone was obvious. Perfect life?

"She should have told me. She shouldn't have kept you a secret."

"I was just born into this. Take it up with her," his son snapped, leaving him with no doubt how Hugo felt all about this.

"Why didn't she send you to your Dad?"

"She said it wasn't his fight. She doesn't want him involved and made me promise not to tell him. I don't think she wants you to get involved either but you have to help her," Hugo answered rapidly, then stressed again, "We really don't have time for all this talk. She's in trouble."

"What trouble?"

"Something she didn't expect. She wouldn't have sent me to you if she had things under control. She came home wounded more than an hour ago and Portkeyed me to your house. The wards must have confused the Portkey and I just got there but no one was around so…"

"She's wounded?"

"Gunshot, her shoulder I think. There was so much blood," Harry imagined how that looked like and finally felt the boy's urgency become his own. "She said they were after her. She didn't want them to find out about me. We're wasting time. I've been trying to get to you forever. We should go back now!"

There were questions he wanted to ask but this wasn't the time. He pushed them aside.

"Hold on a minute."

Harry tried Hermione's number and got a not-in-service message. He saw the impatience in his son, reminding him of how he was a long time ago, how it was with Sirius.

"Do you have other means to get in touch with her?"

"I've tried her phone too and I've been trying the mirror but she's not answering," Hugo showed him the small reflector on the face of his wristwatch. It was dark, "She shuts it off sometimes when she's on assignment for the Ministry."

Harry pressed a button on his phone.

Ted answered, "Chief?"

"I'm down in the 12^th level staff lounge. I need you here right now."

He called Ginny after. It was her voice mail.

"Hey Gin. Hugo just got here. Something came up and I have to leave. I'll have Ted drop him off. I'll talk to you later."

As expected, Hugo was already protesting even before he hung up.

"No, you don't understand! Call Aunt Ginny back! I'm coming with you!"

"No, you don't understand. You Mum sent you to me because she sensed danger. You said she's in danger. What kind of an idiot do you think I am to take you back there?"

"You don't have a choice! The house is unplottable and protected by a Fidelus! You won't be able to get in! You need me to get there!"

He guessed that Hugo Portkeyed from within the premises and that breach was all he would need. Harry summoned the old sneaker that was hanging off Hugo's backpack. He was drawing the line on this one.

"No, I don't."

Hugo's eyes turned murderous, "I can fight!"

It was deja vu. Maybe karma was a better word.

"Of course you can."

"Don't patronize me! I really can! She taught me herself! I can prove it!"

The kid aimed his wand and fired off a couple of mean hexes a lesser skilled Auror would have had trouble parrying off. For a thirteen year old he was pretty good but now was not the time to compliment him and encourage him about that. Harry quickly approached and physically restrained him, deciding that hexing him would seriously negatively impact any possibility of...bonding. Right.

"Will you stop!? I have no doubt that you can fight and knowing your mother she probably taught you spells she shouldn't have! But let me clear the scene, find your mother then we'll come back and talk about this! Because if your mother didn't want you to stay there, I'm sure as hell not taking you back!"

Harry was out of breath. He had been Hugo's father less than half an hour and he had made his first parental decision about the boy who did not recognize his authority. Hugo glared at him, tears of anger streaming down his cheeks.

"You may be my father but you can't tell me what to do!"

"I just did. Start getting used to it."

"I should have just gone back on my own! I shouldn't have given you the letter!"

Harry let that one slide as someone entered the room.

"What's up Chief?" Ted Lupin asked as he strolled in. His godson noticed Hugo and greeted, "Hey Hughie! Is that you?"

Hugo was still pissed and did not acknowledge the greeting.

"Your Aunt Hermione is in a bind. Drop Hugo off with your Aunt Ginny. Stay there and don't let him out of your sight until I get back."

The furrow on Ted's forehead deepened as he nodded. He would do as he was told and ask questions later. Harry's phone rang and he quickly picked up thinking it was Ginny. But it wasn't. It was the Minister.

"Leo, I can't talk right now. Something's come up."

The Minister carried on in a grave tone, "I have Ron Weasley in my office. He said you should know."

The bottom of his gut fell off at the mention of Ron's name.

"Is this about Hermione Granger?"

"Yes. I just found out and it seems like a lot of others have. It's all over Wizard News."

What? He activated a switch and a three dimensional image of the news projected from above. He read the headlines even before the sound came on.

Hermione Granger is Dead.

The newscaster went on to elaborate.

"Hermione Jean Granger, former Undersecretary for Detection and Defense against the Dark Arts and one time adviser to the British Minister of Magic, was found dead in a small farming town close to where she had been setting up the first Asian Integrated School for the Magical and Non-Magical. Details regarding the cause of her death have not been released although there are unconfirmed reports that it was an assassination. There is no comment from the Ministry at this time. We will be updating you as information becomes available."

The rest of it faded in the background. Harry didn't notice that he had hung up on the Minister and that he was leaning on the table for support as everything spun around him. He could not believe it. There had to be some kind of mistake. The phone call, the strange request, the meeting she was to attend, Hugo's story about her coming home wounded and now this. It was all a mistake. She was too careful and too skillful. It had to be a mistake.

There was sobbing in the background and he remembered. Hugo was in the room. Hugo saw and heard it all, his mother dead where he left her.

"No... I should have stayed…" the boy was weeping, shaking and in anguish, "It's not true…she's alive…she's still there…she needs help… "

Harry was about to reach for him when Hugo summoned the sneaker that lay idle on the desk.

"Portus reversus!"

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I know I’m pushing limits but I have in all the stories I’ve written. I totally understand if some stop reading. All I can promise is that the story will be Portkey compliant.

A/N. Many thanks to those who have reviewed. I enjoy reading them and look to them for plot holes and ideas.

For the record, I prefer Jane but to keep it canon I’m using Jean.

A few have mentioned Ginny - I finally have her in here but I couldn’t write her the way I thought I would.

Heavy angst warning.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 5 - Jean Peverell

Ginny Potter woke up and instinctively reached across the other half of the bed. Her hands fell on the familiar cold unruffled pillow next to her. One would think that after seventeen years of experience as an Auror's wife she would be used to this. She really shouldn't feel so bad anymore.

She pulled the covers up to make herself warmer, causing a rustle somewhere nearby. That would be her notes falling onto the floor. For now, she decided to ignore them, still tired from their recent trip to the Bahamas and too tired from listening to hogwash at the Wizengamot courtrooms all day. She hoped the coziness she was felt at the moment would lull her back to sleep.

No such luck. After tossing and turning for a few minutes she was wide awake. She flipped the covers off her, freed up her long red locks from beneath her night gown and began magically gathering the parchments strewn on the floor. As weekly columnist for the Daily Prophet she had not yet decided if the next editorial would be about the rapidly declining relevance of the Wizengamot decisions and the need for an injection of progressive thinkers into the high court of Wizarding Law in Britain.

Writing about it would certainly stir things up a bit. M.A.Prewett, her pseudonym, started penning thought-provoking, bordering on incendiary, political insights by fluke. After Lily left for Hogwarts two years ago she needed something to fill the quasi-empty nest feeling she had, something more challenging than attending charities and galas, and writing about sports and Quidditch. As Mrs. Potter, she certainly dealt with politics almost every day, particularly because Harry refused to pay attention to anything remotely associated with it. She approached her editor-in-chief about being a guest columnist and gave him no choice but to say yes.

It eventually evolved into a regularly weekly and certainly kept her busier than she imagined it would. Today she spent hours researching at the Wizengamot gallery, listening to fuddy-duddies smite down any and all reasonable case that involved non-wizards. Nobody was saying it out loud but it was clear what was happening. The gains made in non-wizard relations, a focus of past administrations, were becoming undone and events were unraveling into one potentially volatile situation.

The first summarily dismissed was the suggestion to set up on British soil an Integrated School for the Magical and Non-Magical. Grawp the Giant, Winky the Free Elf and the Squib Brian Figg (a prominent Muggle barrister) made a valiant effort to point out that the idea had been embraced overseas and disallowing it was an infringement of equal rights to education. It was turned down for the third time in as many years citing that it was in violation of the Statute of Secrecy. The voting was too quick and too decisive. She knew for a fact that some Wizengamot members were even lobbying internationally to close the existing one in North America and to prevent the Asian branch from opening its doors, a reflection of the current state of politics in Britain that incensed much of the public nowadays.

It was sometime that morning during a court recess following Jurnuk’s violent reaction to the dissolution of the Brotherhood of Goblin’s legal status that she got an unexpected phone call from Hermione. Ginny thought Grawp had told Hermione she was in attendance and was calling about the Wizengamot decision on the Brit IMAN. Why she would even think that now seemed ridiculous but maybe it was because the last few times they talked their conversations had been about work and politics.

Hermione was calling about Hugo. She was asking if he could stay with them for a few days.

Ginny's anxiety level went up a significant notch and matched how Hermione was feeling. Hermione must have been desperate. It would have taken a lot for her just to make this phone call.

Upfront and honest, she told Ginny there was considerable tension in the air and she did not feel it safe for Hugo to be at school alone or at home with her. She also told Ginny what she was going to tell Harry and Ron. Co-conspiring to hoodwink the two wizards reminded Ginny of old times.

"I know it's a lot to ask," Hermione stated the obvious.

'Then why ask?' she groaned internally but instead replied, "Don't worry about it. I did agree to be his godmother."

"Thank you for doing this," Ginny heard her say, sensing her relief. "I'll pick him up in a week."

"Just be careful."

There was silence. Did she just say that out loud?

"I will. Thanks again."

Ginny hung up. That was weird. What stunned her was that she actually said it. Ginny had come a long ways from wishing Hermione dead to being concerned about her and now, letting her know she was.

The last time they spoke was during Hermione's Mum's funeral a year ago and they barely talked before that. Although it happened many years ago, appearances aside, it was still a sore point. It was hard finding something pleasant to talk about with her husband's ex-mistress even if said infidel used to be her closest friend.

Ginny had every right to be acidic and even vindictive but she was no longer angry. Time, maturity and a lot of counseling took care of that. Forgiveness did not come quickly either but it did after she stepped back and decided what was important. Maybe on some foolish level she actually understood. In the end she felt not hate for Hermione but an odd mix of pity and envy. And yes, when the anger subsided she missed the friendship but doubted very much that they could go back to the way things were.

She moved her notes onto her writing desk and found her phone amongst the clutter. There was a message from Harry from a few minutes ago, probably an apology for missing the St. Mungo Quidditch Match Charity event and the after-match party that followed.

Barely five seconds into the replay she got up, eyes wider and more alert than before. Something had gone wrong. Hugo was with him and he was sending Hermione's boy home with Ted. But they weren't expecting Hugo until midmorning, and Ted and Hugo should have arrived by now. She glanced up the wall and the special clock she inherited from her Mum indicated that Harry was out of the country.

Hurriedly, she called Harry back.

No answer.

Where are you? Answer dammit!

Her mind racing, Ginny gave up and scrolled down the list of contacts on her phone looking for Ted's name when it rang.

It was Ron.

XXXXXXXXXX

Just moments before at the 12th Level Ministry staff lounge, the reactivated Portkey turned blue and warped space. Harry held on to the laces, still stunned by the news about Hermione and miffed at himself for underestimating the kid's magical capabilities. The quick thinking Ted Lupin was able to grab the sneaker too. Within a few seconds, they were taken halfway across the world to the exact same place where the Portkey originated.

As per standard operating procedure, both Aurors had their wands drawn out even before they fully arrived at their destination but, surprisingly, the house was already deserted. Recognizing the absence of immediate danger, he nodded over to Ted who understood to step out and secure their perimeter.

Harry surveyed the eight by ten square foot space, the fast thumping against his chest not easing up one bit. The room was brightly lit, not only from the rays of the rising sun coming through the east facing window but also from the ones that seeped through the many bullet holes that punctured the thin wooden walls and ceilings. The gaps were formed by the snaking pattern of an automatic firearm discharged in a random fashion, as if a couple of gunmen stood by the doorway and strafed the confined space. Chunks of the room were also missing, blown off by magic, and an unmistakable stench of gunpowder intermixed with human blood lingered in the moist muggy air. The room smelled of death.

Hugo had done the same thing he just did but the panic and concern in his son's expression was a more accurate reflection of how Harry felt. The scene before them was troubling knowing that Hermione was there a couple of hours ago and even more so that it only told half of what the real story was. There was no body but Hugo was standing near the head of the bed beside a thick dark red pool that was slowly expanding on the floor, blood soaked mattress dripping into it. Bordering and overlapping the stain, a tracing of a human form was outlined with a white magical marker. It would be that of the victim's as found lying on his or her left side.

"She's not dead," Hugo insisted, tears welling up in his eyes again. Harry could tell he was trying to be 'brave' and not cry, "We have to find her."

"We will."

That being a given Harry reassured him but did not mention the obvious implication of the human outline. He hoped that wasn't hers and that the rouge liquid on the scene wasn't hers either. In his estimation, it was too much blood for one person to lose and still survive.

But something about the scene did not feel right. For a crime that happened less than two hours ago it was curious how quickly the property was processed and left alone without protection, particularly considering that a somewhat famous and influential figure was involved. The room was devoid of personal items and room furnishings to suggest who if anyone lived there. What exactly did the Minister know and how did he find out? How did the news leak out so fast and why was it so sure that it was Hermione who died?

While he had been an Auror long enough to deduce what had likely happened in the room, there was a need to be organized and not jump to conclusions. As he already said to himself, Hermione was too smart and too cautious a witch to be blindsided by something like this. But if she wasn't dead, then where was she?

As question begat question he fumbled through his pockets only to realize that he dropped his phone in the lounge as he was rushing to get to Hugo earlier. It was then when Teddy rejoined them.

"We're secure. I've set up temporary wards."

"Good. I need your phone."

He found Ron's number and connected. He told Ron where he was.

Ron's voice cracked, "Tell me it's not true."

"I don't know, Ron," Harry looked around as if grasping for an acceptable answer, "The place is smashed but she's not here. Nobody's here."

"I called the IMAN," Ron replied in a panic, referring to Hugo's school, "The Headmaster said Hugo was with Hermione..."

"Hugo is with me."

"Is he okay?"

"He isn't hurt," at least not physically, Harry added in his mind catching Hugo's eye as the latter anxiously listened in, probably wondering if he was going to tell Ron their little secret, "He wasn't here when it happened."

"Thank goodness," he heard Ron sigh with relief, "He knows?"

"He saw the news."

"How's he taking it?"

"He's taking it as badly as you can imagine."

Harry replied honestly but didn't want to add to Ron's distress and withheld much of what Hugo told him about Hermione's state when the boy saw her last. That and how Hugo ended up with him were not conversations for right now.

Ron had asked to speak with Hugo but the boy shook his head and walked away. He wasn’t ready. Ted went off to follow him as Harry made some forgettable excuse, reassured Ron that he'd look after Hugo and asked him about the Minister.

He told Harry what the Minister told him. That the Malay Ambassador's office received word from the South Asian Magical Police that a Brit civilian being found dead in her house and there was overwhelming evidence of foul play. The house was registered under Hermione's name and local forensics confirmed that the woman found lifeless on the scene was her. The SAMP was following protocol, asking for a liaison officer to help with family and media. Upon receipt of the request, the Ambassador contacted the Minister's office for direction and, as Ron was brought in to be informed, the news leaked out to the press.

Red flags kept popping up as Ron told him the story. Granting that Hermione was a controversial figure, he found it odd that the Minister would allow himself to be bothered about news from across the world at such an unholy hour. Leo found out too quickly, the crime scene was cleared too expediently and the story got to the news too swiftly. Maybe Hugo was telling the truth, that she had gone back to work for the Ministry. But he did not have enough facts and his thoughts kept spinning in place. He couldn't think like an Auror at the moment, especially not when he still didn't know what happened to her.

"Where was the body taken?" he asked, hanging on to the possibility that, despite what the Minister said, the corpse found was not her.

"The Morgue at the SAMP HQ. They asked me to come and identify her," Ron relayed, "I don't think I..."

Ron started bawling again and Harry felt for him. They had accompanied families to ID dead loved ones countless times and they knew what it was like. It was always painful to watch and irrefutably more painful to be on the other side of the fence. Hermione's parents were gone and Rosie and Hugo weren't of age. The task fell upon Ron by default.

"I'm here. I'll do it," Harry offered, not thinking twice.

Ron thanked him and said that he'd send word to the SAMP that he was on his way. They would go there next to do that and perhaps get some answers.

"He'd want to see the body, too," Ron said of Hugo, "I want you to look first and if it is her, I want you to think what Hermione would want for him, okay?"

Harry felt guilt eat him up as he mumbled something affirmative. That never crossed his mind and the realization that it should have left him annoyed at himself. It still had not sunk in that Hugo was his flesh and blood. Switching from caring uncle to estranged father was slow in coming, particularly now that Hermione was 'missing' and that Hugo had chosen to remain as his unnatural self. It was as if he was waiting for Hermione to tell him and for them to talk about Hugo for it to be real.

Ron, on the other hand, thought about Hugo first and Harry felt an inadequacy he had never felt ever in his life. He had always been a good parent to James, Al and Lily, but with them he had the advantage of being so from the very beginning. He had never been that for Hugo and he had no idea how to begin being one to a thirteen year old under such strained circumstances.

Judging from Hugo's reaction, his son preferred not to have anything to do with him. What was the term he used? The 'perfect life'." Harry didn't know how much Hermione told Hugo about what happened but could not imagine her deliberately badmouthing him to their son. This animosity was all Hugo.

And Harry understood his point of view. Yes, Hermione kept the truth hidden from him but that was irrelevant. Harry was guilty by ignorance, by absence and by the fact that of the three of them he was the only one who up until today did not have to live with the truth. To a thirteen year old those were unforgivable and even Harry agreed. 'I didn't know' was a lame excuse that would not make up for what Hugo had gone through, was going through and was about to go through.

Hugo saw him as the bad guy, the one to blame for all the wrong things in his life and, to be honest, Harry wasn't totally guiltless for Hermione's decision to keep the truth hidden. As much as he felt betrayed he knew exactly why she did it. He suspected that Hugo knew the reasons too and resented him for being the one Hermione chose to protect.

He heard Ron manage a thank you. Ron was devastated and his lack of hope was contagious but Harry told himself that he had to see proof. He had to see the body.

"It might not be her," Harry reminded him.

"Then where is she and why isn't she letting us know that she's alive?"

"There could be many reasons."

Yes and all of them not pleasant. They both knew she would have turned up already if she physically could, even if just to send word that she was okay, to give them, especially Hugo and Rose, peace of mind.

"You're right," Ron finally acceded. "It may not be her. But if it is her, just look out for Hughie, okay?"

"I will. I'll call you back as soon as I have something."

He hung up. For a moment he thought about contacting Leo but decided against it. That was something he had to do face to face, not only to ensure a private conversation but also to better assess if the Minister was being completely truthful or not. Harry found Ted and took him aside, handing the phone back to the visibly affected Auror.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked him once they were out of Hugo's earshot.

"I think so," the young man replied, "You?"

"Not really," Harry thought it would be obvious if he lied anyway.

"Do you think she's dead?"

"I hope not," he answered sincerely.

There was an unspoken gloom between them as they looked at the crime scene again. Having seen so much death Harry found himself wishing he had the unadulterated optimism that Hugo had.

He told Ted where they were going next. Ted quickly identified a safe Portkey drop off location and in no time they were at the SAMP office. They found the officer-in-charge who escorted Harry into the morgue as Hugo anxiously waited with Ted outside. Harry was worried. The boy had been very quiet for a long time, too quiet.

"Harry," a soft spoken voice greeted him somberly as he got through the swinging double doors.

"What are you doing here?" he responded, perplexed at the sight of the Brit Chief Forensics Officer this far from her London lab.

"I told Leo I had to do this."

Jessie was a close friend of Hermione's, at least up until Hermione left London four years ago. It was plain that she had been crying, too.

"Ron said you're to ID the body."

Jessie waited for his answer. He took his place across from her on the opposite side of the table on which an unmoving figure lay covered under a thin white sheet. She looked at him intently, as if judging if he was the right person to be doing this. He and Jessie got along but occasionally, like right now, he would get this feeling that she disapproved of him.

Although he would never announce it, Harry felt he was the most qualified, even more so than Ron. He had known Hermione for thirty years and she had always believed him to be the one person who truly did. He would know if this was her.

Harry steeled himself and nodded to the CFO. Jessie hesitated.

"You saw the crime scene, Harry. There's not much left to..."

He sensed where she was going with this. She already saw the body.

"Just let me see her."

Harry cut Jessie short, his gaze now poised over the sheet. He wanted this over with.

"I repeated the tests, reconfirmed identity against our Ministry database dental records and through accelerated DNA. We've pulled every Muggle file we could find to cross match..."

"Just show me!" Harry snapped at her roughly, the woman's thoroughness was killing him.

Without another word, the CFO slowly unveiled the corpse's face. Harry looked and had to will himself not to turn away. Jessie was right. There wasn't much left to ID. From the intact areas of the pale visage and partially exposed upper torso all he could tell was that she was Caucasian. A familiar mass of brown hair with dried and drying blood splayed on the cold white tile. Her eyelids were shut but he could only imagine seeing brown eyes under the lids.

His throat tightened up as he took the covering off entirely. He had to see the rest and as he did he blinked off the tears that had pooled in his eyes. The gory sight before him took his breath away, the mere possibility of the lifeless woman being Hermione overwhelmed him. It can't be her. It just couldn't. It had to be someone else.

He stepped back and gathered himself, wiping the wetness off his face with a sleeve. The Auror in him rationalized that if this were about someone he didn't know he wouldn't be thinking twice. A bullet riddled Caucasian dead woman found in this part of the world was rare and that coupled with the fact that the vic was in Hermione's house after Hugo saw her there with a gunshot wound would draw the logical conclusion. The evidence proved that.

But as he stood there gazing at the pallid empty human shell before him, he did not feel that familiar connection. He did not have the compulsion to touch her, the craving to see her smile or the urge to take her in his arms and embrace her. In spite of the proof, he didn't feel this was her. It was against logic and undermined all objectivity.

Maybe it wasn't her or maybe he was in classic denial.

There was no knowing. Seconds turned into minutes and frustration took over as he remembered how much the family was depending on him to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’, not this uncertainty muddled by his personal feelings. When he volunteered to ID her he was sure he'd know right away. Yet, here he was and he couldn't tell. He couldn't tell and he felt that he failed, not only her family, but Hermione on some level. And he had failed her so many times already.

His immediate concern went to Rose and Hugo. It was one thing if he himself remained conflicted but it would cost way much more if his failure to accept that she was dead gave them hope when all evidence pointed that there was nothing to hope for.

He gently covered up her body again.

"I can't tell," he admitted, gritting his teeth and willing himself not to weep as he looked at Jessie, "I can't..."

"I thought as much. That's why I ran the tests again," Jessie did tell him so.

"Any personal items?"

Jessie had a crestfallen look. She had wished he didn’t ask.

"Nothing in the room but she had this around her neck."

She took out a transparent bag and a familiar object winked back at him. He took it out. It was the golden locket, the one he gave her years ago. He felt his chest tighten again. She still wore it. He didn't even know. After all this time she still wore it.

"Is it hers?" Jessie asked only because she had to for the record.

Harry turned it over, wiped the fresh red stain off with his thumb and read the inscription it concealed. He lost himself staring at the two words for so long they faded into a blur.

"Is it hers?” Jessie repeated the question.

He must have not been breathing for a while because he had to take a deep one.

"Yes," he replied, barely a whisper. "May I?"

Jessie nodded and Harry put it in his pocket. He would have taken it anyway even if she disagreed.

Harry said, "I don't see any point of having someone else come to look. Do you?"

"No," she answered then she hesitated before continuing, "The evidence says it's her. Harry, I have to call it, unless you tell me it's not."

"I have no proof that it isn't her. Do what you have to do."

She nodded. His answer would be equivalent to him saying the dead woman was Hermione. He took another uneven breath in. God, he needed a break, some respite, something familiar that he could deal with.

"Did you…um…process the scene?"

Jessie seemed relieved too that they were retreating behind the job they had to do.

"No. But I've gone over what was done and I'm reprocessing once my team gets here."

"Who found her?"

Jessie looked over his shoulder to a figure behind him. Harry had forgotten but the man who escorted him in had been standing in the shadows all this time. Harry vaguely remembered that his first name was Bomber. The wizard was a short pudgy fellow with a wide girth, receding hairline and a permanent smiley face for an expression that was so inappropriate at that particular moment.

"A neighbor from the valley down the foot path. Lisa Husta, Muggle,” the officer replied, “She goes down that trail everyday on her way to the market and noticed the house for the first time today. She called the local Muggle police and we flagged it in time. The witness checks out."

Like most locals he spoke pretty good English. The city was a school town. Several Muggle universities and colleges made it their home and was the reason why Hermione chose the area to host the Asian IMAN.

"What about suspects?"

"The Malvados claimed responsibility for the hit. They're really the only ones with the balls to assassinate with such viciousness."

Harry had heard of the Malvados, the faction of dark magic practitioners and their non magical supporters which was on the international law enforcement watch list. Their goal was to destabilize governments and create anarchy akin to the medieval dark ages. They were considered the biggest threat to worldwide peace this half of the world.

"Why her?" he asked, wondering if it was the obvious.

"Beats me. She must have really pissed them off. Though I can't imagine how she could have done that considering she's only a teacher," the man shrugged, obviously not well informed about who Hermione was, "The case becomes even more interesting. While we were processing the scene someone snuck into HQ and left a message."

Bomber showed him a photo of the squad room wall. Written on it in human ink was a statement.

Goodbye Jean Peverell.

Harry steadied himself and tried not to look astonished.

Jean Peverell.

"We have one hit on the name from a place called Godric's Hollow and the records show she's been dead for more than fifteen years."

Seventeen to be exact, unless Hermione decided to resurrect an old alias he was almost sure she never would. Jean Peverell was one of the ‘casualties’ in the Morpheus Gaunt case. Harry did not believe in coincidences.

There were jurisdictions to be crossed, protocols to be violated and toes to be stepped on to get to the bottom of this. He wanted to see what else the SAMP had and where Leo fit in all of this. But first, he had to take care of Hugo.

Harry turned back to Jessie and asked her, "Anything else you want me to tell the family?"

"I'll take her back to London, look for curse signatures, scan her internal organs and get a few samples," Jessie shared what the plan was, "I'll wait the mandated twenty hours before I sign off."

He nodded, thanked her and walked through the swinging doors. He almost bumped into a charging Hugo on his way out. Harry could not bear to look at the eager anticipation he knew he would find and immediately wipe off without even saying a word.

"We're going back to London," Harry said.

"I want to see!"

Ron had called it right. Hermione would not want this.

"No," Harry said firmly.

He intended to take Hugo as far away from here as possible.

"I don't care what you say! I want to see her! I need to know it's her!"

The boy was not going to be denied. Hugo shoved him aside and tried to get through the doors. Harry grabbed him brusquely by the shoulders and got in his face.

"There's nothing to see! There's no one there but an empty body of a woman who resembles your mother. You don't want that to be your last memory of her!"

As his grip slackened, Hugo pushed his arms out of the way and stormed off crying. It hurt realizing that at the moment backing off was all he could do for his son. His son…their son…

He borrowed Ted's phone again. Ron. Finding an alcove to make the private call, he stared blankly at the keypad for a long time thinking of how best to break the news to his best friend. Then it hit him. There was no best way.

The numbers became fuzzy as he thought of what to say. If he let himself he would lose it and not be able to tell Ron. Jaw clenched and breath controlled, he choked on the ringing phone and put the receiver against this ear. Ron answered.

"There wasn't much left..."

"Merlin..."

He closed his eyes and let it go.

"Forensics confirmed and…and will make the call in twenty-four..."

For a long time there was only sobbing on the other end, then he heard a click. It was just as well that Ron hung up. He didn't know what else to say.

Harry flipped the phone shut, thought of Hermione and cried some more.

XXXXXXXXXXX

A/N. As most of you have probably guessed by now, I will be going back in time for this one and then come back to the present. I originally thought the Ginny here would be more Sue-ish but just couldn’t imagine her knowing about the affair and still being friends with Hermione - although time seems to have taken the edge off a bit.

A/N. Thanks for all the feedback. There are two parts to this chapter. The first is about the enemy. The second is one with Harry, Hugo, Ron and Ginny. The latter was kind of hard to write hence the slow update. I do hope that you enjoy this one.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 6 - The Master of Death

Somewhere high up in the thick brush of Mount Ingkanto, too remote and unreachable by ordinary Muggles, a festive occasion was being attended by a collection of the vilest magical beings this part of the world. The outbursts of boisterous laughter came in waves over the steady blare of Muggle inspired music, the racket interrupting the usual serenity of the small village this time of the day. The party began at dawn with the death of the witch considered to be one of if not the greatest hindrance to their creation of a world of organized anarchy.

Completely protected from the elements by lush forest cover, it always seemed nighttime in the headquarters of the Malvados. Lamp posts that burned blue eternal flames were strategically dispersed through out the camp. The ground was always damp, the air cool and its lack of exposure to the sun provided the perfect habitat for a portion of the beings living there and in attendance.

In the midst of the community, surrounded by dwellings of various shapes and forms, was a clearing with a raised wooden centre stage carved out from wide trunks of dead trees. The home grown band was playing on it, providing entertainment to supplement free flowing wine and an abundant supply of beings for fleshly pleasure. All in all there were about two hundred in attendance as many members based elsewhere in the world had come to join the fun.

Pop! Pop!

Two robed figures suddenly appeared on the platform. The music came to a screeching halt and an immediate silence befell the revelers. The taller Apparitionist in black took his hood off exposing his harsh ungainly lower primate-like features, anger obvious through the thin slits of his red tinged eyes. He began surveying the mob, looking for someone. Halfway through the crowd he stopped, gaze transfixed at a spot. The sea of beings parted towards it and at its end stood an armed half-giant who quickly launched an attack.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The green burst of light found its target on centre stage but it merely bounced off. The attempt was a bust from the onset. In a split second the half-giant's wand was broken and he was being magically dragged through the jagged stony ground up the platform where he would be made an example of and would eventually die.

Unarmed and helpless, the huge wizard looked at Salazar Malvado defiant.

"She lives," he declared, taunting, hoping it would mean a swifter end.

"I killed her myself, delusional fool!"

A curse hit him and it felt as if millions of pins pierced every square inch of his body all at the same time. He could not help but scream and was breathing heavily when it stopped.

"She...she has conquered death...long live Jean Peve...argh!!"

The second one broke him. He slumped on the wooden platform all of him aching and although he tried he could not move.

"Pathetic, just like your half assed attempt to infiltrate our ranks and kill me. The Keeper is dead. The secret is lost forever. Die knowing that all hope is lost," Malvado retorted, grinning widely, gloating his victory. He then turned to the crowd, "This is what we do to traitors!"

Malvado lifted his sinewy arms and pointed the weapon at his prisoner, a hissing sound escaped from his lips and an intense red ray of light sprung from the wand that many feared more than the wizard it recognized as its true master. The sheer force of its magic lifted the half-giant off the dais, all eyes following him as he was spun and reshaped into many unnatural and physically impossible configurations before exploding into many chunks and pieces.

There was absolute silence. Malvado eyed his captive audience and was satisfied with their reaction. He put away the Death Stick.

"Let's party!"

A thunderous roar of approval and relief filled the silence. Music resumed as the savage among them partook of the fresh meat he just served.

The wizard behind him approached and updated him of the situation.

"The traitor's message got through."

Malvado hissed once again in a language only a handful in the world could understand much less speak. The other replied in English, puzzled.

"I thought you wanted to wait until we found it."

"I am the Master of Death. I have nothing to fear. Let him come."

"As you wish."

Malvado scanned the crowd again. A hunger within him had to be quenched.

"Where is she?" he asked the other wizard impatiently.

"I haven't seen her since the attack. She's probably trolling Muggle campsites for fresh blood."

It could be days before she came back. He hated it when he got too attached.

"Get me another vampire whore."

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry, Ted and Hugo arrived in London a few minutes later. Ted had to be ordered to go home. He then took Hugo to the Potter House, or the Pitch as family and close friends called it, their downcast mood reflected in the somber truce they wordlessly agreed upon from the time they left the morgue.

Ron and Ginny were in the kitchen, tepid cups of tea in their hands and an untouched plate of apple pie on the mahogany breakfast table. Hugo quickly walked up to Ron and buried his face into his surrogate father's chest, freeing muffled sounds of agony from deep within. Seeing his son sob uncontrollably broke Harry's heart. Ron embraced the teenager snugly and tried to soothe him, murmuring words of comfort. As glad as Harry was that Ron was there for Hugo he wished he could help Hugo more. And he would give anything to be Ron at that very moment; anything save for Hermione being alive and well.

He was so wrapped up in that thought he didn't even notice that Ginny was beside him until she spoke. Her puffed out eyes matched the sadness he saw within her. Bad history and all, they were good friends once and Harry sensed there was more to Ginny's emotions than just grief.

"This is terrible…" her words faded off as she lost her voice, her arms coming up around his neck.

She hugged him and he hugged her back. Where he thought and had hoped he would feel some relief there was only more of the same raw gnawing ache that had steadily kept him company since Jessie showed him the body. Despite the pain he hung on anyway, feeling that he deserved every bit of it. If he could at least make someone else feel better…

"I can't believe this is happening. I just spoke with her this morning."

So did I. I should have asked more questions. I should have insisted when she refused. I should have been there…

His throat tightened up he had to swallow back his attempt at a reply.

"Are they certain it's her?" she whispered.

"Jessie...she was there."

Her tears quickly soaked through his robes and he instinctively clutched her tighter. Ginny rarely cried and when she did she did so silently. Not today. She tried but couldn't keep it in. Harry knew she was dying inside.

"I'm so sorry, Harry…"

"I know, Gin. So am I."

It was his fault after all. He was the reason Ginny and Hermione were no longer friends, the reason Hermione left, the reason she died.

Ginny pulled away just as Hugo did and Harry caught the unmistakable look of contempt on his son's face. It was then when he realized there was only one way to fix this. Hermione was wrong. It was unfair to the kid to make him decide. It was hard enough a decision for grown-ups. And it would get ugly before it could get better but he had to tell everyone the truth. First he needed a moment alone with his son to give the kid the courtesy of knowing what he was going to do. Hugo, however, had other plans.

"Dad, can we go now?"

He wanted to leave, was anxious to leave. There was no way Harry would allow that, not after it became clear to him what Hermione's real reason for having Hugo stay with him was. His home by his blood was Hugo's home. Staying here would afford Hugo more magical protection than it would if he stayed at Ron's. Hermione was worried the trouble she was dealing with would seek their son out and find him.

"You should stay," Ginny said to Ron before Harry did, "Rosie will be in St. Mungo's for at least another day and it'll be easier for you to be in London to deal with all this."

"What's happened to Rosie?" Harry and Hugo asked almost at the same time in the same tone and inflection.

"She needed a Healer's draught after she heard what happened. She should be better in the morning," Ron answered but was still undecided about his sister's offer.

Ginny pressed on, "Really, Ron. We have plenty of room here. Send for Anne, Sam and Brian in the morning."

Harry weighed in, hoping Ron would choose to stay, "She's right. It's better for you to be here. It'll be crazy over the next few days."

Out of the corner of his eye Hugo was all set to protest.

"I don't want to stay," Hugo put simply.

"Your Mum sent you to us. She wanted you here," Harry reminded him.

"My Mum wanted a lot of things she didn't get. She was used to not getting what she wanted."

Truce broken. Harry had hoped it would last longer.

"Hugo!" Ron admonished, "Don't be crass."

"It's okay, Ron."

But Hugo was all flushed and not quite done.

"So now you're all concerned about it. I guess it's better late than never, huh?!"

"What's gotten into you?!" Ron, confused and upset, raised his voice.

"Me?! What's gotten into me?! What's gotten into you?! Mum just got murdered! Why aren't you after her killers?!"

"They are, sweetie," Ginny explained, "It may not look like it but they are."

"They're not! They don't even know where to begin! They don't know what it's about!"

Harry challenged, "Why don't you tell us? Tell us what this is about. Tell us who we should go after."

Hugo backtracked, "I don't know! How would I know?"

"Quit lying," Harry knew he was.

"Harry!" Ginny was appalled by his accusation.

"I'm just a kid. Do you really think my Mum would tell me stuff like this?"

Maybe not tell but he remembered how much stuff they knew as teenagers they shouldn't have. Nobody ever told them but they found out anyway.

"He's right, Harry. Hermione wouldn't," Ron took Hugo's side, "And if he knew anything that would help us catch her murderers he'd tell us right away, right?"

Hugo looked at Ron and without batting an eyelash firmly said "Of course. I would have already."

That was convincingly truthful enough. With those last words Harry tweaked on something Hugo did tell him already; the Ministry and his Mum being on assignment. He was about to ask more questions when a foreign thought nudged his out of the way.

Don't ask.

He shunned it and looked at Ron.

"I'll talk with Anne," Ron said to Ginny.

It wasn't him. Then it came again.

Don't ask about the Ministry.

Harry blocked it off once more and this time found Hugo looking at him intensely. There was a break in his disrespectful demeanor and an unmistakable invitation to read his thoughts.

"I'm sure she'll say yes," Ginny replied. "You and Anne can stay in the…"

Legilimiens!

It came to him swiftly, an image of Hermione in the dimly lit bedroom, breathless and rain-drenched, a tear visible on her blood soaked shoulder. The light flickered on her worried expression and she was leaning over, so close he could feel her.

The Ministry already chose to stay away. This is not your Dad's fight. Promise me you won't get him involved!

Hugo's hesitation reflected off her hazel eyes.

Promise me!

Harry was mesmerized by the sight of her and the sight of what she went through moments before it happened, he barely heard Hugo do as she asked.

"I'm going to Dad's then?"

"You're going to your father's."

Was it remorse? Regret? It was difficult to tell for sure what she was feeling but he hung on to the tenderness in which she referred to him, letting her words echo in his mind.

…your father’s…

He longed to see the rest but the memory was abruptly ripped away. Hugo broke off the link and cast a surreptitious glance at Ron. Whatever this was about Hermione wanted Ron out of it and Hugo had promised. For now Harry would respect their wishes.

"I'm sorry I was rude, Uncle Harry," Hugo issued a lip service apology, the tone in the address stung Harry as it was meant to; "I guess I'm just tired. Maybe with sleep I'll remember something more useful."

Tired? Harry thought not. Hugo just effortlessly used a suggestive spell on him, not once but twice. It was a borderline Imperius curse that was punishable as a felony in some jurisdictions. Hugo's knowledge of and skill at using it was both amazing and disconcerting.

But the kid had been through a lot; it was hard to fully comprehend the mass of emotions he was feeling inside. Harry wanted to understand, he wanted to know to help ease it somewhat but up until now he had been an unwelcome outsider. Hugo, maybe out of desperation, was thinking of letting him in but needed some space.

"We'll talk in the morning," he said.

Harry actually imagined himself walking closer and maybe, patting Hugo on the shoulder and ruffling his son's already messed up brown hair but the thought of the teenager cringing away from contact was too painful he did not want to risk it.

Hugo needs time.

Her voice filled him, encouraging him and confirming that giving Hugo space was the right thing to do.

"Sweetie, you can use Al's room while you're here," Ginny offered as she and Ron had just sorted out logistics, "I'm sure he won't mind."

Before the boy could disagree his Aunt Ginny shushed him, took his rucksack in one hand, his hand in the other and led him up the stairs. Harry let his gaze follow them up the steps as far as he could see and listened in on their conversation as much as he could hear.

"You are taking some calming draught."

"No thanks. I'll be fine without it, Aunt Ginny."

Harry was somewhat relieved. Hugo sounded civil enough, reserving the animosity especially for him.

"You've had quite a night."

"I'm fine, really."

As stubborn as his mother.

And Ginny would not hear of it. She was right. The kid did need to rest and a calming draught would help. That would also ensure Hugo wouldn't try something impulsive like find a way to break the wards, which Harry suspected he was more than capable of, and sneak out to see his mother. As much as Harry wanted to ask them right away, the questions about Hermione would have to wait. And after asking the questions he'd tell Hugo what he was going to do.

He glanced over to Ron who had been quiet all this time. His friend had been listening in as well. Almost certain it would fall short and sound hollow, Harry did not even attempt to reassure. He made a batch of fresh tea instead and took two cups to the table, offering one to Ron.

They sat quietly for a while, both entranced by the steam escaping from their hot beverages. Harry wondered if Ron was feeling as guilty as he was for not being with her and for not convincing her enough to come back to London. As Hugo so astutely pointed out, they both should be out there looking for clues and hunting down her murderers, not here sipping tea in silence and seeking solace in the company of family. There was no time to be human but he, with guilt, feeling a compelling need for it to function, stole the moment anyway.

"You were right. Hugo wanted to see the body," Harry told him, breaking the ice.

"Yeah, he's still upset about not being able to," Ron slowly twirled his cup in place, speaking to it, and then added, "We actually talked about this."

"About?"

"About what to do if something happened to her," Ron scrounged his face up in a losing effort not to cry again.

He remembered. They did, too.

"Honestly, Harry. Whether it's today or fifty years from now we are all going to die. I don't see why talking about it is such a big deal. "

They were in bed, his arms wrapped around her body, her bare back finding a perfect grove against him as she rubbed her feet and toes lightly against his. They had just made passionate love and it amused him how she always liked to talk after.

"I don't think it's a big deal either," he replied with his eyes already closed, fighting against the somnolence that was taking over his dead tired hormone influenced body, "It's just depressing to talk about it and I’m feeling a bit insecure here."

“Huh?”

That brought a smile to his face.

“My girlfriend thinks about death while we make love. I can only conclude that I must be terrible at it.”

“Shut up,” she responded but she was smiling too.

He gave her flitting kisses on her neck and shoulder.

“Unless you’re telling me I was so darn good it felt like you died and went to heaven.”

“That’s definitely it.”

Hermione laughed. He laid his head back and pulled her closer. His work was done.

For a second he thought she had dozed off, until she spoke again, "Can I ask you an unfair question?"

He snorted teasing, "As if I have a choice."

Hermione chuckled and after another little while asked, "What are you going to do if I die tomorrow?"

It was unfair and he didn't like it but he did have an answer.

"If you die tomorrow I'll walk up to Death and ask him to take me too."

"You wouldn't."

"I would. There would be no point. I can't imagine life without you."

He was serious but she laughed, or maybe it was a chortle. She always did when he said 'silly' things like that, either she thought he was kidding or she didn't believe him. He rolled her on her back and propped himself up over her. She was smiling but when he gazed into her brown eyes they weren’t. They were apologetic, for what he wasn't quite sure of but figured he had all the time in the world to suss that one out.

"I really can't. I mean it.”

Brushing her hand lightly on his face, the smile on hers disappeared as she answered, "I know you do."

Hermione kissed him; he kissed her back. It was deep and complete, satisfying in the sense that it filled need but lacking in that it spurred insatiable mutual want. Living and not being able to do this and to be this for her would not be living at all.

“You don’t believe me,” he accused her in a nonthreatening way as their kiss ended.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Harry. Dying is part of living. People die all the time and when they do those who are left should move on. So, when it’s my turn, unimaginable as it may seem now, I would want you to move on.”

“If I die tomorrow, what would you do?”

“I would move on.”

She was lying.

“Yeah, right.”

“Okay, but I would at least try.”

That was the one time they talked about it and they never got to finish the conversation. Thinking about her that way made him warm each and every time and he hadn’t allowed himself to in a long while. Some memories, no matter how pleasant, just brought more pain after.

Ron sniffled, bringing him back to reality.

"She was always thinking ahead and I wish I had paid more attention but I never imagined she would go first,” Ron admitted, “Merlin, she's gonna get pissed when she finds out I wasn't really listening."

They chuckled at that thought, their smiles incongruent with the tears on their faces. Ron was being Ron, finding ways to cope with unfamiliar emotions. Soon enough they slid back to the depths of grief and the only other better place they could immerse themselves in.

Ron took them there, "Do you really think Hugo knows more than he's telling?"

Harry shrugged, "I don't know."

"What did you find out from the SAMP?"

"They think the Malvados have something to do with it."

"That's what Leo said."

"How did he figure that?"

"A death threat addressed to Hermione dated a few days ago. It's about that bloody school. The Malvados don't want it on their turf," Ron said angrily. "She shouldn't have baited those bigots needlessly..."

"You don't really mean that. She believed in it."

"It got her killed."

"It might or it might not have but she's been this way since we met her," Harry said to Ron harshly, unable to leave it alone, "She would never let something like that stop her from doing the right thing. And you wouldn't either."

Ron sulked and retreated. He knew it but he just wanted something or someone to blame the whole thing on. He shouldn't have had to look further than the person in front of him.

A debate had been raging within him about what to tell Ron. Hermione wanted to keep Ron out of this and he guessed it was because of his newborn twins. But Ron was not stupid and it was only a matter of time before he figured out there was something wrong about the Minister getting the news of her death so quickly. He would definitely think it once he heard about Jean Peverell.

Harry told him.

"Fuck Harry," Ron swore, "That was a long time ago. That alias was blown and dead. She would have been crazy to use that again."

Unless there was an absolute need to. She was after all working with Warren again.

“And why would she need one?”

Perhaps it wasn’t so obvious. Would he have thought of it had Hugo not mentioned it?

“I don’t know. Maybe she wasn’t using it. Maybe the person who wrote it knew her when she was Jane Peverell. We need to speak with Warren."

Warren knew about Jane Peverell. He worked on that case, too.

"That might be difficult. He doesn't like talking with law enforcement nowadays."

And Harry had hoped Ron would know how and be able to get in touch with him. Harry's ex-partner, who at one point was also Hermione's, was not exactly listed in the phone book or attached to any business or government agency to whom he was accountable to. Warren Gates was accountable only to himself and preferred it that way.

But Harry did not think it would be hard to locate him. Last he heard Warren was peddling his Auror skills to whoever could afford him. At least that was the rumour.

"I'll check what we have on him and contact the Canadians if need be," Harry replied.

"We'll ask Hugo in the morning. He might know how to get a hold of him."

Ginny just joined them and headed straight to the counter.

"It took some time but he's finally asleep," she told them as she made more tea, "That poor boy. I've Owled the Headmistress and asked her to excuse James, Al and Lily from classes for the next few days."

"Thanks for doing that," Ron acknowledged, "Having them here would help Rosie and Hugo a lot."

She sat beside Harry and took his hand in hers, squeezing it lightly. He looked at her, saw her concern and immediately felt sorry.

She's trying to help the only way she knows how. You should let her.

He did. He gave her a slight nod and squeezed her hand back, hoping it would reassure her that he was fine. But as he did he looked away sooner than he wanted to, afraid that Ginny could see through the pretense.

"Do you think Leo knew about the Jean Peverell message?" Ron asked.

Harry felt Ginny's body stiffen. She took her hand from his and it was unsteady as she drank her tea.

"Maybe not," Harry lied, thinking that might stall Ron a bit.

"What about Jean Peverell?" Ginny had to ask.

Ron told her as he took a slice of the pie and began eating. Ginny merely nodded.

"I swear to Merlin the longer that git stays in power the less trustworthy he becomes," Ron continued about the Minister in between mouthfuls.

"In all fairness, even if Leo did know he might have forgotten," Harry thought that unlikely, "He might have thought it best not to tell you yet. Maybe he intended to tell you in the morning."

Ron seemed to have accepted that. A pager went off and mercifully it was his.

"I have to go."

"Is it about her?" Ginny asked quicker than Ron did.

"No, it isn't," he replied to them both.

"Are you going to be long?"

Harry sensed that she didn't want him to go, that she wanted to talk about Hermione some more and he really didn’t want to. As much as Harry needed to talk with someone that someone could never be Ginny. He couldn't, not when this was about Hermione. Ginny would prefer that he did but it would be cruel and he had already put her through enough to last her a lifetime.

"I'm not sure. Get some sleep. I'll wake you when I get in."

He kissed her on the forehead and left knowing that the chances of her doing as he asked were slim to none.

Harry Disapparated to the Ministry and met up with Hank in the Atrium. The thieves, Bole and Montague, had been found.

They got on the lift.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

"Just give it to me," he was in no mood.

"The good news is Montague is scared shitless and isn't talking."

"Bole's dead?"

"He killed himself when he got cornered. Said something about how he'd rather not face the Master of Death. And the CFO is pretty pissed about all the dead bodies we've sent her way."

Harry stopped walking and turned to his Deputy.

Master of Death...

"Bodies?"

"You knew Grawp the giant? He got attacked late last night on his way home and that elf who sells the prophet down the Atrium, was found in his house by a relative checking up on him; had been dead for a couple of days. Looks like foul play."

Harry walked away from Hank and went back to the lifts, "Work on Montague. Soften him up. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" a very confused Hank stood in the hallway.

"Hogwarts."

“Why?”

“I need to see an old Professor.”

XXXXXXXXXX

.

A/N. More mini flashbacks. More about the Morpheus Gaunt case. IMO, Harry got very bad advice from Professor Dumbledore's portrait about what to do with the Deathly Hallows.

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Chapter 7 - The Missing Wand

Harry had to rouse a somewhat vexed Headmistress Vector from sleep to get her blessing to visit the tomb of Albus Dumbledore. It took a while for the former Arithmancy Professor to understand what it was he wanted to do and it did not help that he couldn't explain the real reason why he had to and why at such an unholy hour.

But seeing who he was she couldn't really refuse. She made it clear too why she was allowing it before sending him to the lakeshore on his own. When he got to the place where the former Hogwarts Headmaster had been laid to rest, he immediately scanned for the wooden weapon's signature. His fears were confirmed. The Elder wand was no longer there.

Hermione had warned him about the decision to leave the wand with the Professor years ago. After the Gaunt case, when it became clear that the story of the Wand of Destiny had extended beyond legend and acquired interest from a rather significant evil following, she had told him to use it, destroy it, or find somewhere else to hide it forever.

"I thought you said it's just a wand."

He was sitting on the side of her bed, his body angled in her direction. She was in St. Mungo's Critical Care Unit and had been for the last three weeks, still pale and weak, recovering from the significant injuries she suffered during the final Gaunt confrontation. This was the first time they were talking about the case.

"It is and it isn't," she answered vaguely.

He raised his eyebrows and dared her to make up her mind.

"Fine. I was wrong. It isn't just a wand," she finally admitted, "You can stop gloating now."

"Just give me one more minute…," he teased.

She did not find it amusing and she seemed to be all business, actually impatient, maybe even pissed. It was like she didn't really want to talk. It may have been because she was still in St. Mungo's. He heard that she had wanted to go home since yesterday, the morning after she awoke from the Gaunt-induced coma.

"Are you all right?" he had to ask.

"I'm fine," she dismissed too quickly.

"It's just that yesterday…"

"Forget yesterday," she cut him off and wanted him to drop it.

Yesterday she lost it. Understandably so after the overwhelming information she got about the aftermath of the Gaunt case. What worried him was that she wasn't talking about it; not to him, not to Ron, not to Ginny and not to the Healers. He could see her gritting her teeth as a sad memory flit across her brown eyes, willing herself not to cry. Never in all the time he had known her had he remembered her closed up like this to the rest of them. It was unusual and he, Ginny and Ron realized last night that Hermione had never been this troubled and in need of 'help' before. She was the strong one, the one always in control who figured everything out.

"About Dean…"

"Let's not talk about him."

"You should, if not with me then with someone else. It will help."

"I appreciate the advice but I already have a shrink."

It was worth a try. The biting sarcasm towards him was a rarity. It struck him how this conversation was familiar except in the past it was the other way around. Without a shadow of a doubt she was telling him to back off. For now he would. It had only been two days since she found out.

“The wand. We should do something about the wand."

He didn't want to talk about the wand but it seemed it was the only thing she would converse about.

"It's done," he tried to reassure her. "It's back where it belongs."

"You are its master. It belongs with you or with no one at all. It's a big thing to be owner of the Elder Wand. You can't just leave it in a tomb with a dead wizard no matter how fitting you think that is."

"Why are you so concerned about it? It was good enough after Voldemort died."

"After Voldemort died very few knew what the Deathstick was and even fewer knew where it was hidden. If Gaunt found out and took it, what's to prevent another wizard or witch to do the same thing?"

"We've added more security measures."

"Protective spells can always be broken," she pointed out, “The tomb has been broken into twice!”

“You worry too much.”

"Someone should. The wand is a symbol of power and whether it has a master or not is irrelevant. Many will want it because of what it is and when it doesn't work the way they think it should, they're going to do what Voldemort did to Snape and what Gaunt did to you, attempt to get its loyalty by defeating its last known owner."

"You saw Gaunt disarm me. The wand may not even regard me as its master anymore."

"Don't say that!" she exclaimed, absolutely horrified at the thought.

"Well it could be true."

And a good thing now that Gaunt was dead, he wanted to add but held back knowing it would upset her more.

"You don't know that for a fact. Nobody does and that won't stop others from challenging you."

"Not much I can do about that."

"But that's what I'm saying. There is something you can do," she opined then with certainty told him what to do, "You should destroy it, and in public."

"Have you gone mad?!" he looked at her as if she was an imposter, "It's a magical artifact."

She shrugged, "What do you care if it's ruined or buried out of sight forever?"

"It has lots of history."

"Bad history."

"Not entirely. It did a lot of good when it was Professor Dumbledore's. It stood up against Voldemort, prevented him from hurting more people and it saved my life."

"The wand is more trouble than it's worth. Just imagine if someone like Voldemort or Gaunt gained complete control of it. There's no good reason for its existence now unless you have intentions of using it again. "

Hermione had an excellent point.

"I don't. But I can't destroy it. It belongs to the Peverells."

He was a descendant after all and he had already lost the other two Peverell heirlooms, one of them unintentionally. The expression on his face must have showed it for Hermione seemed to understand why he couldn't.

"It's just wrong to leave it where it is right now. I can't believe the Minister agreed to put it back and I can't believe the Unspeakables allowed it without a thorough examination," she said out loud and looked like she was thinking of alternatives he might find acceptable, "If you don't want to get rid of it you should use it like the Professor did. Or at least hide it somewhere nobody will ever find it."

It was obvious that she was not going to let go but he didn't want to make any promises when the decision wasn't really up to him anymore. He lost the privilege when the Ministry found out it existed. Hermione knew this fact all too well.

"I'll talk to the Minister about it," he compromised.

There was a knock on the open door. Her Healer.

"She should get her rest," she politely reminded them.

"He was just about to leave anyway," she said before he could beg for a few more minutes.

Harry could tell that he was being dismissed.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said to her as he got up and leaned in to give her a kiss on the forehead.

On his way out she called out to him.

“I forgot to tell you yesterday. Congratulations.”

After that conversation he did follow up with the Minister to discuss moving the notorious lumber but was flat out turned down. He easily let the idea go. At that time he truly felt the Hogwarts tomb of its former Master was the most secure place for it.

He was obviously wrong. The crypt had shown no recent signs of tampering and whoever took the wand did so many years ago. Granting that the moniker 'Master of Death' was common and could mean anything, pieces of the giant puzzle were coming into place.

Again, he did not believe in coincidence and the last time he encountered the term 'Master of Death' was during the Morpheus Gaunt case. Caractakus Burke Sr. had hired thieves to find and retrieve the Peverell family trophies and 'Jean Peverell' was brought in to work the case from the inside. They eventually foiled the quest to unite Antioch's Wand of Destiny, Cadmus' Resurrection Stone and Ignotus' Cloak of Invisibility.

He lost possession of his invisibility cloak during that same case and while he was almost sure that it was lost forever he didn't have proof. As far as he knew the stone was in a DOM vault. But now that the wand was missing he doubted it was still where it was supposed to be and would have to confirm. It was conceivable that someone finally had physical possession of all three Deathly Hallows. Maybe the deceased thief had found them for this Master of Death.

On his way back to the castle he went past the old Hogwarts groundskeeper's hut uninhabited since Rubeus Hagrid, a good friend and former professor, passed away ten years ago of natural causes. No one would have thunk then that his half brother, Grawp, would become an activist for equal rights for fellow giants or become a murder victim for that matter.

Harry had seen these slayings too often, noticeably more since magical beings were brought back under the Ministry's jurisdiction. Hate crimes had steadily increased and if Muggle history was to be their yardstick about how integration would go, it was not going to be better any time soon. Grawp's death was a definite loss to the cause as was Hermione's.

Goodbye Jean Peverell…

It still didn't make complete sense.

In the years since Hogwarts he had not felt completely isolated and on his own until now. He mulled briefly about having a talk with Professor Dumbledore's portrait but he had imposed Headmistress Vector enough. And besides, there were more urgent matters to attend to in London.

Thinking about the Professor did remind him of a conversation inside a spider infested shed at the Burrow. He needed his closest friends and he still had Ron.

XXXXXXXXXX

As all of Britain woke up to unconfirmed reports of the death of Hermione Granger, Jessie Hewitt was back in her London lab. She had not slept much. The Aurors kept on sending her dead bodies she had to delegate much of the work to her already stressed out staff. Hermione's case she had to handle personally.

While unspoken, people in the know were privy to the reason why the Ministry had not yet confirmed her death. It had certainly not been a first for Aurors and those higher up in the Ministry to succumb to a disfiguring injury that prevented visual identification. But there was compelling evidence that the body she brought back from Asia was Hermione. Everything fit and matched, albeit too perfectly.

She had an assistant reconstruct the crime scene and found out traces of recent anti-Disapparition wards, the likely reason why Hermione could not get out at the time of the attack. Cause of death was hard to determine as everything happened within seconds of each other. It was consoling to know that the end had been instantaneous. On further analysis of the tissue remains three known magical signatures registered - Hermione's, Warren Gates' and the one they knew to be that of Salazar Malvado's. It was just as expected and she made the Minister aware.

The scientist in her would have called it hours ago but she was waiting to look at the Muggle CT rendering of the internal contents and injuries within the body. One would think that over the years Muggle contraptions would be able to do things faster regardless of the complexity of the information she desired but such was not the case.

Jessie looked at the parchment before her that was awaiting her signature.

Death certificate - Hermione Jean Granger

Jessie wished Harry ID’d Hermione so she wouldn't have to. She and Hermione had been friends for almost two decades. It was hard to believe that Hermione was gone and harder to be the one to have the final word that she was.

She took a neat stack of papers from the front of her desk and put it on top of the official death document. Harry had called a 7 am debriefing on the happenings of the past twenty four hours and that was thirty minutes away. Opening the files she sat back and read her staff's preliminaries on the three vics the Aurors brought in overnight.

Jessie had read it once already and wanted another look but she found it difficult to concentrate. Her thoughts kept coming back to the day she and Hermione first met. She had been with the Ministry Forensics office almost six months and was on her last week of orientation.

It was Ginny who introduced them.

"Hermione!" her flat mate squealed from the front entrance.

Hermione Granger’s arrival in their London apartment was totally unexpected. Jessie dried the dish she had in her hand, headed out of the kitchen and stood at the doorway that led into the living room. Ginny Weasley was in the foyer hugging the brown haired woman Jessie had seen in pictures. Hermione was also all smiles and hugging back.

"You should have Owled that you were coming home!" Ginny ushered her in.

"I had no time. When the hag told me my training was done I had to get out before she changed her mind again. I missed everyone so terribly."

"We missed you too. Welcome home. I can't believe it's been eight months."

"How's Harry?"

"Fine," Ginny said quickly.

"And Ron?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"He had a rough couple of months after you broke up with him but he's surviving life without you," Ginny answered the question about her brother who was an Auror for the North Quadrant. She hesitated a bit then added, "He's seeing someone else."

"Good," Hermione nodded, seemingly genuinely relieved.

Jessie didn't want to intrude and kind of felt awkward. They finally noticed her and she introduced herself, intending to make a swift exit and give the best friends privacy to catch up.

"Hi, Jessie Hewitt, Ginny's flat mate."

"Hermione Granger, her ex-flat mate."

They shook hands.

"Pleased to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you."

"It's nice to meet you too," Hermione replied politely.

"Jessie works for the Ministry. She's with Forensics."

"Are you a tech?"

"Don't call her a tech," Ginny cautioned, "It's a pet peeve of hers and she can get emotional about it."

"I kind of prefer crime analyst but hey, we just met so I won't give you the third degree," she had ranted once and Ginny never forgot that she did.

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, unsure if they were pulling her leg or not, "I definitely won't make that mistake again. I guess we'll be working together."

"Looking forward to it," Jessie was, having heard that Hermione was one of the best on the force. "Well, I'll go back to my dishes, give you guys time to catch up."

"You're doing no such thing," Ginny didn't let her go easily, "Get dressed. We're going out."

Hermione pointed out the time, "Ginny, it's ten o'clock."

"Then it's early. Screw bedtime. Your training is over."

"I have an early meeting tomorrow," Jessie didn't really want to spend Wednesday night out.

"I have to report to work too," Hermione echoed. "I just dropped by to say hi."

Ginny rolled her eyes in frustration.

"You two are going to be bored when I go."

"Go where?" Hermione didn't know.

Ginny grinned from ear to ear, "I finally got called up. You are looking at Ginny Weasley, professional Quidditch player, starting Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies."

"Congratulations!" Hermione screamed and threw herself at Ginny; Jessie noticed she was a natural at that. "Since when?"

"I got the word a month ago. We agreed to terms last Friday and I leave for Wales in a week. The starting pay is not much but if I do well the first year..."

"Who cares about the money? You're finally going to get what you've worked your butt off all these years," Hermione put it in perspective, mentioning how "That's really great, Gin. I'm so happy for you."

"I know it's great except I won't get to see much of you guys or the rest of the family for most of the year."

"Don't be silly. We'll always be around," Hermione said to her. "And we'll go watch your games."

"That's what I kept telling her. Not many get to live their dream."

"Jessie's right. Don't let us or anyone else hold you back from getting what you want."

"Stop beating a dead horse. I did sign up already. But we are going out tonight to celebrate and I'm not taking no for an answer. I need some serious partying before I go. Merlin only knows if Holyhead, Wales has any kind of nightlife to be had," Ginny paused and ordered, "So you, go get dressed."

Jessie had actually been to one too many celebrations but knew it would be futile to refuse, "Fine. But I trust you to watch my tequila count and not allow me make a bloody fool of myself again."

"Oh, hush! Don't tell me you didn't enjoy the snogging you initiated with that man at the bar. He gave you his number. You should really call him back," Ginny told her straight and then explained to Hermione, "She's wound up tight just like you are."

"I'm getting dressed," Jessie announced, got up and headed for her room.

"Good. I've got one week to teach you two how to have some fun. You're both going to miss me," Ginny called out after her flat mate smiling.

"Harry must be so proud and so excited for you," Jessie heard Hermione say to Ginny, "Is he working tonight?"

Jessie paused at her doorway before shutting it, wanting to hear Ginny's answer to this question.

"I wouldn't know. I haven't really talked to him in a while," Ginny's said evenly, though Jessie knew she was still torn up about the whole thing, "I...um...broke up with Harry two months ago."

"You what?!"

That night and the days before her flat mate left for fame and glory, Jessie found out first hand what kind of a friend Hermione was to Ginny. Had she not known otherwise Jessie would have guessed they were sisters who got along very well. It was a shame that they lost the friendship because they fell in love with the same man.

Jessie didn't take sides and neither really asked her to. As far as she was concerned it was Harry's fault; it usually was the man's. But of the two in the past few years it had been Hermione who she had been closer to, maybe because she felt Hermione needed her more than Ginny did. After all, after the ‘affair’ (which in her opinion wasn’t really one) Harry did choose to stay married to Ginny. Ginny had Harry and Hermione, well, she had Hugo.

With Hermione's death she wondered if Hugo had told Harry yet. She could only hope that his father would do the right thing this time around.

An interoffice mail alerted her of the availability of the scan results. She accessed the life-size rendering from a computer and looked from top to bottom, left to right, system to system. Hermione's last medical file on record verified the findings. Everything was in order.

Sign it off. The sooner you do the sooner the family can mourn.

Jessie found a quill amongst the papers and dipped it into the well. The parchment before her was waiting for a signature.

Sign it. Everything is there.

Everything is there.

Everything is there.

Shoot!

Jessie gathered up her notes. She headed for Harry's office hoping to have a word with him before the meeting but on her way out, a figure burst out seemingly from nowhere and blocked the exit.

It was a silvery grey wolf, a Patronus, one she knew belonged to Warren Gates.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. To put the two flashbacks in perspective, Jessie's happened before Harry's. And the Dean Harry mentioned is Dean Thomas.

A/N. Harry and Hugo talk more about Hermione and about Warren. With Harry too busy I’ve got Ted helping him out. Then Warren Gates makes an appearance in the end.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 8 – Uncle Warren

It was six when Harry got back to the Pitch. The interview with the thief Montague had taken longer than he thought and he took some time to review the initial reports on the deaths of Grawp and Phil ‘the Daily Prophet Elf’. He should have been beat but he was still high on adrenaline and the desire to get to the bottom of what happened to Hermione was keeping him up. Following the interrogation where Montague said Borgin hired him and Bole to steal indiscriminately, he began to see the bigger picture but needed Hugo's help to tie Hermione's murder into all of this.

When he arrived there was activity in the kitchen. Ginny turned as he pushed the swinging doors in.

"Hey," he greeted, the smell of bacon, eggs and hash browns filling him.

"Breakfast?"

He stood beside her as she directed some fresh oranges and peaches into the sink. The expanded breakfast counter was filled with an assortment of choices set up like a buffet. He didn't have much of an appetite.

"Maybe later," he replied, "I have a 7am at the Ministry."

She looked at the clock then nodded.

"I see we're having company."

It was after all a Weasley tradition to come together during times like this.

"Ron just called from St. Mungo’s. Rosie she seems well enough and wants to leave. They’ll be here soon. Neville's bringing the children over. Percy and Audrey will be here in a few minutes, Fleur and Bill are coming and so are George and Angelina."

"Ron and the kids will appreciate that. How's Hugo?"

"He was tossing and turning a lot but he was still asleep when I peeked in a few minutes ago."

Harry decided he would ask him after the meeting. He used the back stairs that led from the kitchen to the second floor bedrooms, set on getting a shower before heading back. As he got to the landing he heard a stir from within Al's room. The door was ajar a couple of inches, the lights were on and Hugo was awake.

The boy had his back turned away from the entrance and he was sitting on Al's bed. His empty rucksack was on it; several books, a wand, clothes and its other contents spread on the covers. He was hunched over an item in his hands and he was crying again.

Hugo didn't notice him come in until Harry got to the other side of the bed and sat beside him. Even then, Hugo did not acknowledge Harry's presence and continued to sob, his tears falling steadily on the framed moving image he was holding.

It was a magical picture of Hermione with Hugo taken recently. The backdrop where it had been taken was unfamiliar and it was one that Harry had not seen before. They were in a restaurant and in the foreground of the snapshot there was a small cake packed with candles that had just been blown off.

Hermione was smiling but appeared embarrassed as their son looked on with a mischievous grin on his face. Her last birthday, Harry gathered, and it was probably a surprise because she always preferred not to make a big deal of it. Nobody else but Hugo had been there for her last one…her last one…

Hugo noticed he was staring and offered him her framed image. An unsteady hand took it and as he ran his fingers over her face he was overwhelmed by a myriad of emotions. She was smiling…despite everything that she had gone through she was smiling...then for a brief moment, when the Hugo in the picture wasn't looking, he saw sadness in her eyes and felt her regret. Underneath it all was a desperate hope that Hugo would be alright. Then it happened. Tried as he might he failed to reserve his tears for a more private time.

Merlin…where this was coming from he didn't know but he just had to weep for the woman on the picture. He wept for her acceptance of the cruel hand fate had dealt them so many years ago, bearing it more graciously than he did and ensuring he would come to the same sane and moral conclusion. He wept for how she could not find true happiness of her own…how she tried but could not bring herself to fall in love again. He wept for how she went…how she sent their son away and then died by herself…alone as she had been all this time...besieged by enemy fire. He wept thinking about what her final thoughts were as she lay injured and slowly felt her light go…

The fact that she was bravely hiding her sorrow from Hugo made him ache for her even more. It was not fair her living that way. It was not fair her dying this way. It was not fair.

And all that for what? She kept Hugo away because of him, because she wanted him to be happy, to have that chance of an ideal life with the family he loved and was committed to. She did it for Ginny and for their children, forsaking her own and Hugo's, and in the end she realized it wasn't an even exchange.

An image of her came to mind. She was explaining, pleading, and begging him.

I can't be the other woman. I would hate myself. Don't make me be that woman.

He really shouldn't have.

As he blinked off the remaining tears he handed the picture back.

"Keep it," the boy said coldly pushing Harry's arm away as he stood, "I was there. You weren't."

Sharp, cutting. You raised him well.

Hugo started putting his stuff back into the pack. Their son was obviously hurting maybe even more than he was but neither of them would be capable of giving the other comfort. They were strangers and the boy had just pointed out to him what the picture glaringly said. He was an outsider and Hugo made sure he would feel that he was one.

"Thanks," Harry said anyway then got up, closed the door and Imperturbed it wandlessly, thinking he had to do this now, "Let's talk about your Mum."

Hugo walked towards the window away from Harry, leaned on the ledge and brought his arms across his chest. It was clear Hugo was on his guard and didn't really trust him.

"Where do you want me to start?"

XXXXXXXXXX

The magical perpetual clock read six thirty. Ted was already at the Ministry Atrium trekking with purpose past the fountain and to the lifts. He had slipped out of the house quietly, careful not to wake his wife up. It worried him when she was worried and she was very much so after hearing of what had happened to Hermione.

Seeing all that yesterday was surreal. Hermione was one of his favorite 'aunts' although after he got his letter to attend Hogwarts Hermione ask him to stop calling her that. It was difficult for although she wasn't a blood relative, he had grown up knowing her as his Aunt. She was part of the extended family who embraced him and his grandmother after the war took his mother, father and grandfather away. It was through her that he learned about his parents, well, the version he liked the best, because she was detailed and vivid in her accounts. It amazed him how she remembered everything.

And he had always admired her for the work that she did for non-wizards in the Magical World. When he was about fourteen, he heard her speak at a gathering of like-minded supporters and she mentioned his Dad, about how his Dad had been accepted by society as a wizard but barely tolerated for the half that wasn't, and how they should be inspired by those like him to carry on the fight for change. Her impassioned speech brought tears to his eyes and he fell in love with Hermione Granger the woman right then and there.

The memory of his boyhood hormone charged crush made him blush and brought a smile to his face. She sure handled that well although it still embarrassed him when he thought about that moment when he, set in his mind that Hermione's concern and attention meant she fancied him, declared his undying love and proposed marriage.

“Teddy...”

“Call me Ted.”

“Ted, listen to me. This is very flattering but what you're feeling right now is not the real deal.”

“It is; I swear it is. I think about you night and day. I lo...”

“You should be going out with girls your own age.”

“But I don't like girls my age. They're petty, immature and superficial.”

“You have to look harder and give them a chance.”

“But I don't want to...”

“I'm not going to argue with you. You must know that it's illegal for me to have a relationship much less marry an underage wizard but I'm willing to compromise. Once you become of age and you still feel strongly about this we can talk again. And if you don't feel the same way, I won't even bring it up.”

His crush lasted all of six months. He started going out with girls his age and then, sometime after, fell in love with Victoire Weasley. Hermione was unable to attend their wedding last year but she sent him a gift with a most amusing note.

I told you so.

Ted sighed as he remembered last night, the smile leaving his face as quickly as it appeared. It was difficult to believe that she was gone.

He got to and settled into his desk on about three hours sleep and on three cups of coffee, and began reviewing the case of the robberies and the murders of Borgin and Burkes. Last night, as sleep was about to overtake him, he was working an angle based on the physical evidence that Borgin had been taken from his quarters above the shop, tied up prior to being murdered somewhere else and his body dumped in the middle of an existing crime scene to make it look like it was part of the robbery.

From Ministry and public files, Caractakus Burkes Jr. was a businessman with no known history of violence or any suspicious affiliations. Dung Fletcher's info about Burkes being responsible for his partner's death and the robbery being coincidental were not only farfetched, they did not support the physical evidence. Why tie Borgin up and kill him much later? Burkes could have easily killed Borgin in the shop and robbed it at the same time to get the same effect. Even if Burkes wanted to make his partner suffer before killing him (and there was no evidence that Borgin had been physically tortured), why take him somewhere else, risk being noticed moving the body out and then in again just to make the appearance. Why not just dump the body elsewhere?

Then it hit him. Maybe it was the appearance. Forensics easily uncovered the fact that Borgin did not die in the shop at the time of the robbery. This and the story Fletcher heard over the grapevine was to make the Aurors believe Burkes had something to do with Borgin's murder. Maybe Burkes was set up.

The question was 'why'. And 'who'. Surely it wouldn't be by the same murderers who took Burkes' life in broad daylight. Actually, getting Burkes arrested for Borgin's murder might have saved his life.

I can't tell you. I'm not the Keeper.

The witnesses who heard Burkes' final words thought he was calmer than he should have been and he sounded as if he was glad that he wasn't the Keeper, that he accepted his doom. Burkes knew his attackers and he knew they were coming for him.

A fresh set of files were just uploaded into the Auror database. More murders. The names caught his attention; Grawp the Giant and Phil the free Elf. Grawp, he knew, having seen him in Weasley family gatherings over the years. The giant worked a lot with Hermione during her many years of pushing the Ministry and Wizengamot for more non-wizard inclusive legislation and funding. It was a curious coincidence that they would both be murdered within twenty four hours of each other.

But of more interest to him was the murder of Phil. Though Ted never bought the Prophet he knew the free elf who was a fixture in the Atrium. The elf's name came up in Burkes' appointment book next to a bunch of letters Ted had had no luck finding the meaning to yet. The entry was for last month.

Daily Prophet Phil - POTH - Hog's Head

Those letters, P-O-T-H, were in Burkes' appointment books for years, sporadic meetings that seemed to be held more often at the run-down and dodgy Hogsmeade tavern than anywhere else. Ted had intended to question Phil about it and now he was dead.

His phone rang. It was Dung Fletcher.

"I have something for your godfather."

More lies? He checked himself in time.

"I'm listening."

"Burkes."

"What about him?"

"The word is he was part of the POTH."

Maybe the informant knew something after all.

"What's the POTH?"

"Dunno. Sounds to me like some clandestine organization. But, whatever it is, there were seven members and your Aunt Hermione supposedly founded it. I hear she's dead too."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Where do you want me to start?" Hugo asked him.

Harry took a position closer to Hugo, mindful about not crowding his space. In truth Harry wanted to know about the day when he first found out who he really was, what Hermione told him and how he felt about it. Seeing Hugo’s current demeanor he recognized it wasn’t the right time for that.

"You said she was working for the Ministry. When did that happen?"

"Last year, when we were here for Grandma's funeral. She met with the Minister. I overheard her saying to him it was just this one time."

"What was the assignment about?"

"Uncle Warren."

Harry cringed inside.

"What does Warren have to do with this?"

"Uncle Warren was part of a team of five hired by the International Magical Police to get rid of Salazar Malvado. They had lost all contact with him and then his team members were all found murdered. They believed he had turned. The Ministry, on the request of the IMP, asked Mum to take him into custody, and Malvado too if she could."

"As Jane Peverell?"

"No. As herself," Hugo said stonily but somewhat teary-eyed.

Harry felt hot all of a sudden. She was bait. The Ministry used her past relationship with Warren, knew Malvado would be after her and kept dangling her as bait.

“Did she have back-up?”

Surely she had to have someone watch her back.

“She insisted on not having one. She said it would only raise suspicion.”

"Why did she agree to it?"

"She wanted to prove that Uncle Warren was innocent and to help get rid of Malvado."

Harry paused and pondered for a moment. Like Hermione Harry could not imagine Warren working for Malvado, not because Warren was such a morally solid individual but because he had an ego the size of Asia it was unimaginable for him to take orders from someone else, especially a Dark Lord.

But something had happened in the last few days that spooked her.

"Did Warren find out?"

"Uncle Warren knew from the beginning. Mum convinced the IMP to keep him in. They were working together to get to Malvado. A few days ago they got proof that Malvado was after the Elder Wand.”

“That’s why she sent you to me."

“Yes.”

And now same wand was missing. Could Hermione have moved it? She was capable and had good reason to. Or maybe the Ministry did.

“You know what the Elder wand is.”

“Of course. Mum’s unabridged version of what happened between you and Voldemort was an essential part of my education.”

"Did your Mum have the wand?"

"No. Uncle Warren said Malvado had started calling himself Master of Death, that Malvado must have it already but she didn't believe him. She told the Minister. He confirmed that the wand was no longer where it was supposed to be and he ordered her out. He did not want to get involved."

And she got involved anyway but did not want him or Ron there. She thought she could handle it on her own. His best guess was she got close to Malvado and he got to her before she could. And Warren, it was unlikely but not inconceivable that he sold her out.

"How do you know all this?"

"Uncle Warren had been sharing stuff with me during Legilimency and Occlumency lessons. Mum was cross, downright livid when she found out but it wasn't Uncle Warren's fault. I wanted to know what was going on and he trusted me with it. He told me I had to know so I could help her and protect her but she never gave me the chance."

He watched Hugo’s guilt ridden expression and swore to himself. Warren was a bastard for dragging the kid into all this. Uncle Warren. While Warren and Hermione were a couple once Harry had an objection about how his son idolized, defended and kept calling the manipulative arse 'uncle'. There should be a rule against using 'uncle' to address a non relative.

"Were he and your Mum...," he had to stop; he should have formulated the full question before the half-curious half-case-pertinent inquiry stumbled out of his mouth.

He’s thirteen. He must know about the birds and the bees.

"Sleeping together?" Hugo completed for him, "I don’t know. He did occasionally spend the night in our guest bedroom and he keeps a few personal items there."

Of the few men Hermione dated after she divorced Warren was the only one who kept coming back. Harry had made the mistake of asking his ex-partner what his intentions were. He intervened only because Warren had a reputation of not being a one-woman-man.

"She tells me you're just friends. You don't have woman friends."

"Is it so hard to believe that I'm a changed man?"

"Yes. So cut the crap."

Warren laughed.

"We're shag-mates. She calls me when she wants to have a good time and I call her for same thing."

His words grated like metal against metal. He had suspected that this was how she was moving on and it hurt that she chose this.

"Hermione's a good person. She deserves someone better. No offense meant."

He shrugged, "None taken. She already knows I'm a bastard."

"If you're not serious about her then you should stay away."

"She's not looking for ‘serious’. She says she’s done with ‘serious’. Perhaps you should be talking to her."

He wanted to but he had no right.

"If you hurt her..."

"Relax, Harry. I know you’re best friends and all but Hermione's a big girl. She can take care of herself. And I can't hurt her; she doesn't care about me enough."

“Hugo, how do I find Warren?”

“I don't have his phone number, if that's what you're asking.”

Harry rephrased his question.

“If you had to, in a pinch, can you get in touch with him?”

Hugo was shaking his head and was about to lie.

Having no more time for games, Harry interrupted, “When I spoke with your Mum yesterday Warren was with her. He has information and maybe the means that will help us bring Malvado to justice. I need to talk with him.”

Hugo took some time to contemplate then finally said, “I can't tell you. But I can help you find him.”

The boy was playing hardball. For most of their conversation he answered as briefly as he could, never sharing more information than required. Hugo was holding back. He wanted to come with him to find Warren and Malvado and unless Harry agreed, the interview was over.

“Let me think about it,” Harry answered, already thinking he could get to Warren through some other means. “There's breakfast in the kitchen.”

Harry made for the door taking the picture of Hermione with him and said to his son, "I'm telling your Dad and your Aunt Ginny about you later today. Do you want to be around for that?"

The response was quick.

"No."

Harry stepped out, the sound of Weasleys and Potters floating up the stairwell from the kitchen. He walked away from it for at that exact moment, the Potter kitchen was the last place he wanted to be in.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jessie was magically blindfolded and could not see a thing. Immediately regretting her earlier decision to accept Warren's invitation without much question, she wanted to go back to the Ministry, or at least call her husband to tell him where she was. He would be so pissed if she got killed for trusting the untrustworthy ex-Auror.

"I shouldn't have come," she muttered out loud to the man who had just confiscated her phone and was pulling her by the hand.

"Too late, you're here," Warren Gates answered dryly.

Jessie could never tell when he was joking or not. She could hear laughing in the background, drunken men, flirting women.

"Are we in a brothel?" she blurted out, a bit scandalized.

"How do you know? Been to a few before?"

"Of course not!"

Heat rushed to her face. Warren was abrasive; always was. He enjoyed provoking others that way. She kept her mouth shut the rest of the way and listened to the distant voices of locals cajoling and teasing in a foreign language. She told herself that this was the right thing to do. Warren didn't give her time to decide or much of an option. His Patronus said that he had information about Hermione and he would not tell anyone else except her.

They continued to walk through what felt like a narrow corridor, turning around corners maybe four or five times until they came to a complete stop. Warren knocked on wood softly and she heard a door creak open. It closed shut after they came in and a warm muggy atmosphere welcomed them.

Warren took the blindfolds off. It took a moment to fully adjust to the brightly lit room but when she did she could not believe her eyes. They were in an obsolete Muggle infirmary, well, at least that’s what it looked like from her memory of textbook pictures. A gathering of women in white frocks were around the one patient attached to several Muggle healing devices. A crucifix hung neatly at the head of the bed as repetitive prayers followed the rustle of rosary beads over the intermittent warnings from the monitors.

She saw Warren light one of the many candles beside the entrance and cross himself. Jessie regained her bearings and capacity for communication then motioned over to the patient who lay still on the bed.

"Is that who I think it is?" she hissed.

"Yes," he answered back in a hushed voice.

"Seriously."

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Then why isn’t she in St. Mungo’s and who's the woman in my freezer?!"

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. So, yes Hermione is alive. I love reading the theories and the comments. Thanks to all those who have reviewed.

This chapter was a struggle to write because I wanted to give you enough answers without ruining the end. It will be mostly about the mystery. Jessie and Warren first, then Hugo and Rose, followed by Harry and the Unofficial Minister.

Enjoy.

XXXXXXXXX

Chapter 9 – The Unofficial Minister of Magic

The praying ended just as Jessie approached the bed, the ex-Auror right behind her. The group of nuns said 'hullo' and it took a few seconds before it sunk in who the 'Father Warren' they were referring to was. The ‘priest’ shot her a brief glare when she snorted involuntarily but after politely acknowledging the greetings her eyes were immediately back on the woman who Warren just confirmed was the real Hermione.

It had been months since she last saw Hermione. Aside from sporting recently haphazardly-cut shorter hair her friend did not look any differently and, in sharp contrast to the unrecognizable body found at the house, this Hermione was unblemished. If not for the tube in her mouth that was attached to the Muggle breathing machine and the various bags of fluids and medications hooked up on both her arms Hermione looked like she was merely asleep. Jessie glanced at the monitors and read the labels on the drugs she was on. From the Muggle Medicine course she attended years ago she concluded that Hermione was not doing well and all she could think of was the many ways she could call the arse beside her an idiot.

The visitors left at Warren's request. Finally. Warren instantly pulled the curtains around them and handed Jessie her wand back.

"Why is she here?"

"It's the only safe place she can get medical attention."

"Safe?!" she hissed, angry at his lack of urgency and his lax definition of safe, "This makeshift archaic Muggle hospital?! Are there even other patients here? A real doctor?"

"It used to be government run hospital but closed because of funding. The local church has run it for years mostly as an outpatient clinic, but they do not turn away sicker patients who have to stay over. A doctor comes once a day and the nuns do what they can in his absence," Warren answered.

The nuns? She bit her lower lip needing to filter her thoughts. She was born and raised a Catholic and did not want to be disrespectful.

After a few seconds, Warren asked her impatiently, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"What?!"

"Aren't you going to do something to make her better?"

A disbelief (and panic) washed over her.

"Oh, was that why you made me come here?!"

"Why else do you think? To join the rosary brigade?!" he replied sarcastically.

"I'm a Forensics analyst! I'm not a Healer!" she declared, "And you're a moron! She should be in St. Mungo's or a magical hospital at least!"

"You took Healer's class," he pointed out.

"For a year then I dropped out. To be more accurate, I flunked out," she confessed, "Why do you think I ended up in Forensics?"

He was flustered. He was obviously misinformed about that.

"She said you fixed her up once."

Years ago Hermione injured her spleen badly but did not want to be seen at St. Mungo's. She asked Jessie to take it out. That was what clued her in that freezer woman wasn't Hermione.

"I almost killed her the last time. Or did she forget to mention that little detail too?"

"You'll do better. I have faith in you, child," he said in a mock priest tone.

"Shut up with this nonsense. Let's get her to a real Healer."

Warren wasn't budging. He must have a good reason for insisting; he better.

"You're good at finding out what's wrong. Find out what's wrong with her. You're the only one I trust."

He pleaded with his eyes and Jessie looked at Hermione again. She thought about it but realizing what was at stake, shook her head.

"I'm not doing this to soothe your paranoid ass. This is clearly way over my head. I only do dead beings."

"She's very close to dying. It won't be much of a stretch," came Warren's feeble attempt to make it sound logical, then tried to explain, "We don't have much time. We can't take her to a magical hospital. Malvado will know she's alive and then he'll come after her again."

"If you don't take her to a Healer she'll die anyway."

"She's as good as dead once Malvado finds out."

"The Ministry will protect her."

"They won't. And even if they tried, they can't. I can't. She barely escaped last night. She has to get better before Malvado realizes that she's not dead."

This wasn't his usual bullshit. Warren was telling her what he knew to be true.

Having worked on high security cases with Aurors and Unspeakables Jessie was used to cryptic information but the details were of no relevance to her at the moment. Right now Hermione needed magical healing attention.

"Look," he lowered his gaze momentarily as if carefully contemplating what he was about to say, "You know who she is to me. Do you think I would ever endanger her life like this if I had a choice?"

She had to give him that. As much as Warren was a prick to most he was a passable human when it came to Hermione.

"Okay. I'll try, but if I'm stumped your Plan B better have something to do with getting her seen by a Healer."

Warren nodded, "Fair enough."

"And you have to tell someone. Hugo and Rosie, Ron; you can't just let them think she's dead."

"She would have wanted it this way."

"I disagree. I can't imagine her not sending word."

"It's for their safety," Warren replied, "But I'll think about it. Just make her better."

Jessie would have to make sure Warren followed through on that one. No matter what happened, her family needed to be here.

She asked, "Tell me how this happened."

As Warren told her what he knew, she raised her wand over Hermione’s body and did a gross physical assessment of Hermione's condition, hoping her twelve months of Healing school and twenty years of forensics experience would be enough.

XXXXXXXXXX

He's not going to go for it.

Hugo had himself convinced. His father said so himself. If his Mum sent him away to keep him safe, there was no chance in hell he would be allowed to return.

Right now his Mum was just another statistic and would remain so until Malvado was put in prison. He felt he had to go back and help. His rucksack was packed but he was not stupid. It would be crazy to go back and find Malvado on his own. He was a kid and if his Mum, Uncle Warren and the IMP could not arrest the Dark Wizard it was delusional to think he could do so without help. He did not even know if Uncle Warren was still alive.

Getting Uncle Harry involved was a must. Really, if there was one person who could get rid of a Dark Wizard like Malvado it would be him. He had done it many times before and he wasn't Head Auror for nothing.

Uncle Harry...he felt resentment eating him up again. Before he found out who he really was 'Uncle Harry' was the coolest uncle anyone could ever have. But now, he was just the guy he hated for breaking his Mum's heart and getting off so easily. His Mum's words burned in his mind.

It wasn't his fault, honey. I never told him about you. You should be angry at me.

He was at first, but he couldn't stay mad at her. He understood what she was trying to do; the truth would hurt Lily and Hugo could not bear the thought of Lily hating their father like he did. And he couldn't bear staying in touch with the Potters either.

Seeing his father with Aunt Ginny in the Potter kitchen set off an intense emotion he could not identify. He had never seen his Mum with anyone that way and it was all Uncle Harry's fault...his because he chose Aunt Ginny.

He could not stand seeing this end result of his Mum's sacrifice years ago. Hugo wondered if this was what his Mum had to endure before they left four years ago and if so, why she hadn’t left sooner. The Potters were happy. Lily was happy and he, Harry Potter's bastard, was the ticking time bomb that would end all that. Hugo had his Dad. He didn't need Harry Potter as a father. Lily, Al and James did.

It was for these reasons that Hugo wanted to stay away as long as he could. Last night was unexpected. When the Ministry sentry caught up with him he panicked and transfigured back, hoping he would be recognized as 'Al' and be in less trouble. By the time the Head Auror figured out he wasn’t Al all he was concerned about was going back to his Mum.

But they were too late.

He thought back to their conversation earlier and he had read his father perfectly. Aunt Ginny would have to know and his Dad too. James, Al and Lily would be next and then all hell would break lose. He had to tell Rosie so she would be more prepared.

What a mess. It would have been better had he remained Ron Weasley's son. The last thing he wanted was to be outed but a part of him needed to know what the older man would do. And Hugo had to admit there was something satisfying about seeing his father's futile attempts to set things right. Hugo wanted to see him struggle just as his Mum did, to go through what she did. He was doing it for his Mum.

As he thought of how to get his father to allow his involvement on the Malvado case, he heard somebody knock on the door. He turned the knob, pulled it back, and was immediately on the receiving end of a bone crushing hug that reminded him so much of his mother.

"Oh, Hughie," his sister said, tears and concern in her brown eyes as she let go, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he replied, trying not to stare at her pink hair, "Are you?"

That question triggered Rosie to sob uncontrollably. Hugo pulled his sister in an embrace, patting her on the back awkwardly. He had never done something like this before.

"I can't believe she's gone...I've been such a brat...I was just so angry when I found out..."

"She understood Rosie. She knew what you were going through."

Hugo reassured his sister. He overheard her Mum and Uncle Warren one night talking about Rosie and about him. Uncle Warren was trying to comfort her that they would be fine but that they both needed time to think things through.

"I'm so sorry..." his sister continued.

"No need to be."

Rosie pulled away and asked, "Was she angry at me?"

"No. She told me to tell you that she loved you."

That made Rosie cry even more. His shirt was all wet from her tears just as it was the night before from their Mum's. He cried too as he remembered.

…in case I'm delayed, take care of Rose...

Rosie has always been a good sister. Before she left for Hogwarts she looked out for him, taught him what she learned and always made sure he wasn't left out during games. It was by accident that she found out about the big secret over the summer.

"I was just so stupid, so full of myself. Dad doesn't know yet, does he?"

Hugo shook his head, "Uncle Harry does."

"You should stop calling him ‘Uncle Harry’."

"Well I'm not calling him ‘Dad’."

"It wasn't his fault."

It irked him sometimes how she sounded just like their mother.

"Don't you take his side on this. I'm still not calling him ‘Dad’."

Rosie let the matter go, for now.

"What happens next?"

"He's telling Aunt Ginny and Dad later today."

"Oh no!"

"What?"

Rosie hesitated for a moment before deciding to tell him her thoughts, "Don't get me wrong. I really think you should stop hiding behind the brown hair and brown eyes. But I just hope that before they decide to tell anyone else they think about Mum and make sure she's remembered for who she really was, the good she did, the reason she was killed, and not for... you know..."

She couldn't finish. They couldn't talk about their Mum that way but she was right. He didn't want his identity to detract from what the rest of their Mum’s life was about and it would once the press found out.

"I'll make sure," he told her confidently.

They heard hurried footsteps in the hallway. He took a deep breath as the door to Al's room swung wide open. The first person in was a red head who immediately hugged him.

"I'm so sorry Hughie," his half sister said while his other siblings looked on.

He nodded but couldn't find the words to go with the action. He felt tears in his eyes again. It killed him that he was about to hurt them. They were so going to hate him after they found out.

XXXXXXXXXX

Sometime before Rose arrived at the Pitch, Harry received a troubling but not surprising report from Forensics. Borgin, Grawp and Phil were all killed by the same two murder weapons used to off Burkes. Too revved up to wait, he remotely ran a database query on the 'V' or 'W' tattoo Jessie had seen on the wrists of Burkes' murderers. The first one done by Ted yesterday did not return a single match but with the dead thief's mention of the Master of Death and Hugo's information that Malvado was claiming to be it, he went on a hunch and did a specific search for drawings or markings associated with Salazar Malvado.

Harry left home right after a quick shower, Flooed into the Ministry and headed straight to his office. His assistant, Leila, was already in and preparing for the meeting he had called. When he got to his desk Leila handed him his usual black, unsweetened coffee.

"I am very sorry to hear that Ms. Granger has passed away," she said to him in private.

Her sympathy wasn't earnest but then Harry didn't expect her to say anything at all. Leila and Hermione never got along. She hated how Hermione refused to ask for appointments to see him and how she used to drop by his office without notice, ignoring and messing up his schedule which Leila had meticulously prepared the day before. She even accused Hermione of having an illegal copy of his timetable because the latter always seemed aware of changes seconds after they were made.

It was partly a territorial thing for the older woman, that and the fact that being old-fashioned, Leila did not think his close friendship with Hermione was appropriate. He even suspected his assistant had something to do with the press drumming up an old story about them having an affair weeks before Hermione resigned four years ago. At the time Leila had been Harry's assistant for less than a year and Harry almost fired her had Hermione not intervened and told him she was the best person for the job.

"Thanks," he was sure his reply sounded as hollow.

"Auror Lupin left a message for you to call him when he gets in and the Minister can’t meet until the afternoon."

Harry let out a frustrated sigh and nodded, wondering if Leo was avoiding him. Leo had declined his invitation to the 7am meeting too. Deciding to call Ted later, he got on the Ministry database and accessed the query on Malvado.

There were a few returns. Among them, the exact letter symbol just as Jessie described only it was not a V or W, but an M, slightly stretched out to form the base of a vulture. The info on it was that Malvado marked those in his inner sanctum with the symbol, the branding a rite of passage reserved only for those who could equal his lack of respect for life. It proved that the robberies and the murders were connected and that connection was Salazar Malvado.

Robberies, murders, Master of Death…

Malvado was looking for something and Burkes knew where it was. Did he think the other murder victims knew? Did he ever find it?

The involvement of the Death Stick did create a bit of a dilemma about how to proceed with the case. It was not supposed to exist and it was preferable for it to remain nonexistent. At the time of the Gaunt case it had been revealed to a select few in the Ministry and Auror Office and Harry was inclined to do the same, at least unless he was certain there was no other way to move the case forward without mention of it. The difficulty would be how to keep it off the discussion. If they were able to make the connection as teenagers it would be discouraging if the Aurors didn’t.

He made a few copies of the vulture symbol and was about to head for the conference room when Leo Jericho knocked on his open door. Seeing the Minister there was a surprise.

"I didn't think you could make it," he told the Minister.

"I actually can't. Max will be there," Leo admitted, "We do need to talk before your meeting. Unofficially."

Leo went in and shut the door behind him, took one look at the leather visitor seats in front of Harry's desk and decided not to sit. The Unofficial Minister went directly to Harry's window gazing at the projected view of Muggle London as it was coming alive. Harry understood to join him.

"I am sure you have questions about Hermione's death and about the mention of 'Jean Peverell'," he said then paused, looking for a reaction. When Harry remained stoic, he asked, "Should I start?"

"I'm listening."

Harry figured a composed explanation would be better than a pointed interrogation. While the Minister would have likely rehearsed it, it would certainly give Leo more rope to hang himself with if he was lying.

"A year ago we were approached by the IMP to rein in a rogue Canadian freelance operative they had sent undercover to infiltrate the Malvados. You know him. I believe he was briefly your partner."

"Warren Gates."

Leo was a bit taken aback that Harry seemed to know where their conversation was going.

The Minister continued, "Gates had lost his entire team and stopped communicating with the IMP. It was believed that he had turned and the IMP wanted him neutralized before he could do more harm. They first looked to the Canadians but the Canucks didn't have the resources. Knowing that Gates had worked here for some time, the IMP asked us next. So, we searched our ranks for qualified personnel and came up with a short list of two. But I was quite unwilling to send my Head Auror overseas for an undetermined period of time. You can guess who the other person on that list was."

Harry understood why their names came up. While there were certainly other active personnel who could have done the job, the results were based more on familiarity of the target than skill. And besides, having worked with Warren he knew there were very few who could match his wand proficiency at dueling.

"Of course, I took into consideration that Hermione had not worked in the field for quite some time. It still seemed that she would be the right person for the job."

"You asked her during her Mum's funeral," Harry challenged, "A bit low, wouldn't you think?"

The Minister blushed beet red, "It was an urgent matter, Harry. The IMP needed an answer. She didn't seem to mind."

"You were aware of the gross conflict of interest."

"You're talking about their previous personal history. Yes, and she pointed that out herself but I trusted that she would do the right thing," Leo replied, "She was cognizant that we were counting on that aspect of her relationship with Gates to help with the mission."

"And she agreed to it?"

"Not right away, but she had been receiving warnings from Malvado and was very motivated to help the IMP. Even then she had several stipulations; among them that she would do it her way and report only to me."

"And you didn't tell me because..."

"She asked me not to discuss the case with you or Ron until it was over."

That was likely true. Ron had always shared his distrust for Warren and Hermione, aware of how they felt, had decided long ago that the less detail they had about the extent of her association with Warren the better. Ron was more vocal, maybe playing the 'he's not good for the children' card more times than necessary. He, on the other hand, never said what he wanted to. It was none of his business who she chose to be with. But although he never said it, Hermione knew how he felt. She always had the knack of knowing without asking.

The Minister interrupted his thoughts.

"It wasn't long before she was able to draw out Gates but she persuaded the IMP to keep him in and talked me into allowing her to continue and work with Gates on his original assignment."

"So Warren…Gates had not turned after all?"

"Hermione didn't think so but she wasn't sure," Leo answered, "She said she needed more time."

This was not the impression he got from Hugo's story.

"But she blew her cover?"

"She said that was the only way to get him to show his true colors."

"What was his excuse for not checking in?"

"He was at a crucial stage of infiltration and was being watched. He said he did not want to compromise his cover as the rest of the team foolishly had."

"A year. Seems a bit long to get to Malvado."

"It wasn't my show. I'm not a law enforcer, Harry. I was busy running a country halfway across the world. I had done my part to help the IMP and what Hermione wanted to do was not something I could influence or control."

"You could have given her back-up."

"She insisted on working alone."

"You should have insisted back! We never let our agents work alone, no matter what!"

"Gates was with her."

"Gates isn't one of us!"

"What do you want me to say, Harry? Nothing will bring her back!"

"An apology? An acknowledgment that you screwed up?"

"I pulled her out of the case. She wouldn't listen."

"You should have thought that would happen when you sent her in! She never left a mission unresolved in her career, never left a partner on his own! She wasn't going to start now!"

There were no more rebuttals from the Minister after that but there would be no apologies forthcoming either. Leo Jericho was a proud man and if not for the fact that he knew Harry was right, would not have allowed to be talked to that way. Harry's breathing and heartbeat finally slowed to normal pace.

"You said you pulled her out."

"A few days ago. She asked me to check on the Elder Wand and I found out it was missing."

Harry thought that odd even when Hugo told him.

"You took her off the case when the Elder Wand was possibly in the hands of a dangerous wizard?"

"I did not want my Ministry involved. The implications, the complexity of sending more Aurors…the stone is missing too…" he stammered through but Harry, remembering Hermione from Hugo's memory, did not let him continue.

"She asked for your help and you refused."

Unbelievable. There seemed to be no end to how much disgust he could feel towards the Minister. The latter's expression had hardened.

"It wasn't my problem and I wasn't going expose more Brits to danger halfway across the world and definitely not after what happened the last time that wand was involved in a case."

"Well, guess what? Since you chose not to get involved, here's an up-to-date body count of Brits killed by Malvado on your soil. Four and counting. But you knew that already before you came in here, didn't you? That's why you came."

They stared each other down.

"What did Malvado's men want with Burkes?"

"They were looking for something."

Duh!

"What? What's the Keeper keeping? Is it the cloak?"

"I can't tell you."

Harry lost patience once again.

"Quit jerking me around! If you want my help tell me what this is all about!"

"You know how the Unbreakable vow works! I want to tell you but it will kill me if I do!"

“Who did you make the vow to?”

He answered with reluctance, “Hermione.”

"Montague said it was Borgin who hired him and Bole. Was Borgin looking for the same thing?"

"Yes."

"Did Malvado hire Borgin?"

"No, I did," Leo said without batting an eyelash, and then added, "Unofficially."

"To look for the same thing that the Keeper is keeping?"

"Yes."

"Did you find it?"

"No."

"Did Malvado?"

"I don't know."

"Who's the Keeper?"

"I don't know," Leo repeated his last reply and Harry must have glared at him again for he responded, pressured. "It was Hermione but the Fidelus hasn’t broken. She must have passed on the Keepership to someone else.”

“Who do you think she passed it on to?”

“I suspect Gates.”

“Then we should ask him.”

“We can’t. Gates blatantly refused his supervisor’s order to pull back and report on what happened to Hermione last night. He resigned and we’ve lost all contact.”

“He’s gone under again,” Harry said to himself, trying to figure out why Warren would do something drastic at this stage of the case.

“A warrant for his arrest has been issued. We think Gates sold her out, Harry. We think he told Malvado she was Jean Peverell.”

“Why would Malvado care that she was?”

The Minister of Magic was pale as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

“Because Jean Peverell was the mistress of the Elder Wand.”

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N : Is Gates good or bad? The Minister?

Up next – not sure. Which would you like to read first? The Harry-Ginny and Harry-Ron conversations about Hugo or chapters of the past?

A/N. Here’s a quick update – your reviews were inspiring! Most voted past – so here’s when it started (the first part is not really from the past but it was so I could write the first bit in Hermione’s POV). Most of it came in one sitting after trashing two attempts. It felt good – the last chapter I wrote that way was TPPs baseball chapter. My apologies in advance to Ron-Luna fans.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 10 – Partners

Hermione awoke from nothingness, her last memory an attempt to transfigure under a rain of curses and gunfire. Did she make it?

She looked around and immediately concluded there was something out of the norm. She was underwater, breathing through a bubble-head charm, her feet touching soft, mushy ground. There were various plants and water creatures around her but they were seemingly oblivious to her presence.

In her solitude her thoughts filled with images of Rose and Hugo. There seemed to be only one logical thing to do.

She kicked off the earth with her feet and swam straight up to the surface. She swam and swam, long, hard, straight up, aiming for the light at the top.

But it was taking forever to get there. Minutes, possibly hours passed and she wasn't even close. Her heart was thumping like crazy and her lungs felt like they were going to explode. Her legs and arms were so tired. She had to stop. She had to rest even if just for a few minutes.

And the second she stopped kicking and paddling she drifted back down faster than it took her to work her way up. She tried to swim up again but the results were the same. The surface was too far away. In desperation she began to cry, her tears merging with the fresh water that surrounded her. It was too hard and probably too late. She couldn't do it, not by herself and there was no one else.

Then, out from nowhere, a hand reached out and took hers. It was a man's; big, warm, protective and strong. She looked up and saw an encouraging face beaming down upon her. It was her first partner, unchanged from almost twenty years ago, preserved by time and space. With a finger, he motioned towards the surface.

Even before she could shake her head and explain that she had tried she heard his voice.

"I'll help you but it won't be easy. You have to really want to be up there."

"I do," she said with all her heart.

"Good. We'll take it slowly. We don't have to rush."

She nodded and began to swim beside him.

He said to her, "So, tell me how you've been."

XXXXXXXXXX

January 2003

"I still can't believe you're back," her partner said to her, not for the first time since seeing her at the Ministry that morning.

It was half past noon and Hermione was in the driver's seat of a Ministry issue Japanese sedan. Beside her was her Auror partner and former Hogwarts classmate, Dean Thomas.

"Will you stop saying that? And quit staring at me. You're starting to freak me out," she said honestly.

"You leave without warning and you come back without one. Now, that freaks me out. Tell me about the training."

"Can't. Sworn to secrecy," Hermione gave him the company line as she turned the corner and into a parking lot. "All I can say is that the Hag really is a fucking bitch."

Dean let out a howl, "Did you just say fucking bitch?!"

"I believe I just did," she laughed with him and blushed, knowing why he found it so funny.

"If the Hag got you to swear then she must be really good," Dean commented as they got out of the car, "I can't wait to find out what else she has you doing."

Hermione thought about the answer to that. In truth, she felt the eight months with the Hag was a colossal waste of time. She hated it that when sufficiently frustrated and provoked she could now swear like a sailor without hesitation. She hated the fucking Hag since Day 1.

Note to self - must find way to regain filters.

Aside from that, she did not think she learned much magic at all, particularly when the Hag's favourite instruction to her was 'wands away', making Hermione wonder if the Auror trainer was an old Hogwarts DADA professor in disguise.

Dean pulled the door and held it open for her. They found their booth in the Wasabi Hut, a cozy Japanese restaurant in the theatre district where they went to lunch almost every week before she went away. She missed it.

The waitress who was serving them was new; at least she was someone Hermione had not remembered from before. Knowing what she wanted, she took one glance at the menu and put it down while patiently waiting for Dean to make a decision on what he wanted, which always ended up being…

"Chicken teriyaki with the miso soup," her partner said to the waitress predictably, "What about you?"

"The sashimi with the salad please, and some tea."

When the waitress left she took the opportunity to catch up with her partner.

"You look good."

"Thanks."

It had no hidden meaning. They were friends, platonic all the way. They had grown closer since she came on the Auror team three years ago and got assigned to be his partner. Dean joined the force the same time Harry did some two years before her, straight off after Voldemort's death. He was the one who patiently showed her the ropes when she was a rookie, who told her not to when she, at one point, wanted to quit.

"Like the new look?" he asked, showing off his hair.

"The dreadlocks are definitely cool," she complimented, "How's Luna?"

A sparkle in Dean's eyes came up at the mention of his girlfriend's name. After the battle of Hogwarts, while everyone was picking up the pieces, Dean and Luna Lovegood picked up each other. That year was difficult for a lot of people and many found comfort and solace in the company of those who experienced the horrors with them, her included. Luna's father had survived his Azkaban incarceration and was released after the Death Eaters fell but the strain of it all was too much and he passed away within months of being reunited with Luna. Dean was there to help her through.

"She's okay," he said quietly with a smile on his face, as if remembering some good memory about their Ravenclaw schoolmate. "She finally sold the Quibbler and is training with the naturalist, Newt Scamander. She loves it. She loves the travelling and I think most of all she enjoys discovering new things."

"Has she found the Crumple-Horned Snorkack yet?"

Dean smiled and shook his head. Hermione was teasing him for during one very long night while on a stake out he confessed to Hermione that he loved Luna so much he would willingly help her find the creature to the ends of the earth even if he was certain the bloody thing did not exist.

"She's still looking," Dean replied with a wistful look she had to ask.

"What's wrong?"

"We're thinking about taking a break."

F…Filter on. No way. First Harry and Ginny, now them? She wasn't superstitious but of the couples who hooked up during those tumultuous times there were not many left intact. Cursed maybe. Doomed to fail by some Dark Magic. Fff…fudge…the Hag's penchant for baseless and unsupported sweeping theories had rubbed off on her more than she liked.

Note to self - must try to maintain objectivity in all matters.

That off hand train of thought was more like something Luna would come up with. But it was hard to believe that Luna came up with the idea to have a 'break'. And the way Dean was talking about Luna earlier, there was a definite disconnect there.

"What do you mean 'we'?"

"Fine, I've been thinking."

"Spill it, Dean."

"I want to marry her."

"Okay…I've been away from social contact for eight months so I'm a bit slow here. Why do you want a break if you want to marry her?"

"I just can't see it working."

Hermione understood what he meant. Luna was off chasing unknowns and he was here chasing crooks. The dreaded LDR.

"Don't you think your conclusion is a bit premature?"

She felt duty-bound to say something positive and that was the best she could come up with.

"I've seen it happen too many times. Long distance relationships don't work," Dean reasoned, "Hell, I've seen it with you."

Of course, her vast experience on the matter had to be drawn upon at every opportune moment.

"I wouldn't compare me and Ron to you and Luna."

Really.

"Why not?"

"Must you ask? Let me see. Ron and I broke up many, many times before we put the final nail on that coffin as I left for training. We fought a lot, bickered a lot, and were on each other's nerves a lot. It's not the same."

That and Ron's eyes never glistened at the mention of my name. They were usually annoyed or afraid. Or both.

"Okay. Harry and Ginny then."

"Bad example. Harry and Ginny survived an LDR," she replied, referring to the fact that while they had difficulties when Harry went and trained with the Hag for six months they pulled through, "And if you count that year we were hiding from the Death Eaters trying to find a way to kill Voldemort they survived two LDRs."

"So why did they break up?"

The common speculation of those who were privy to the Harry-Ginny break-up was that it was because of Ginny's upcoming employment as Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. That was hogwash. Ginny shared with her last night the real reason she broke up with Harry and it wasn't for anyone else's consumption, not even her work partner who she trusted with her life.

Which brought up the other thing the Hag taught her how to do well and without remorse: lying.

You want to work at the Ministry and survive? You must learn to lie and lie with zest and creativity, not just when you have to. No remorse. Remorse ruins ingenuity.

But isn't that wrong? Isn't that unethical?

Foolish child. You are in the wrong business then. You must quit right away. You are wasting your life. Go into Healing or take up a lost cause. But no, you are an ambitious one. You want to change the world in a big way. Ah...silence...I must be right. Well for that you have to learn to lie even when you don't have to. I really don't understand what the big deal is. You’ve lied before. You lied when you were in school, when it suited you, to save your friends’ lives. And you've lied to yourself many times.

What? I’ve never lied to myself!

About this boy, this man who draws you like no other. The man who makes your insides go…what is the word in common use by youth today…squee? The one who has no interest in you so you tell yourself you’re interested in another.

That's not true and even if it were it's none of your fucking business.

See? There. That lie. That wasn't too hard was it? And that well delivered swear word deserves a reward. Ten extra wand minutes today.

Fff...fuzz…

Dean thankfully interrupted the unsavoury memory.

"Harry said it was because she was moving to Holyhead," he said.

Harry, you liar. The Hag would be so proud.

"Maybe. Who really knows," it was time for her two cents worth of intervention and some timely conversation redirection, "I think you should talk to Luna about it. She may think of some solution you haven't. Your worries may be baseless."

That seemed to buoy Dean's spirits. If only she was around to talk sense into Ginny before she broke up with Harry. Their break-up was really over some stupid thing and now it seemed it was too late to retract that decision, which was even more stupid.

"So, you probably heard Ron's moved on."

"Yeah."

Okay, so it stings a bit. Be happy for him. And wish the other woman the best of luck. Maybe send a card…my condolences…

"And Harry has started dating again."

She could tell where this was going.

"Uh-huh."

"And you?"

She leaned over and said to her partner, "Look into my eyes."

Dean humoured her.

"Do you see any notion of a glint or a sign of a twinkle?"

"Nope. But aren't you bothered by that eyelash poking your eye?"

"There's your answer. And no, I'm not going out with that friend you have in mind, whoever he is."

Dean looked guilty. A mile away and she was glad she had not lost her touch.

"Why not?"

"I need the focus in my career so I'm taking myself off the market for a bit."

"Yeah right," he heard this before, and of course before what usually happened was she and Ron made up, and there was no chance of that happening now.

No chance in hell.

"And besides, I'm not interested in going out with men you know."

"You don't even know who it is yet," her partner protested.

"But I already know all the available men you know and I'm telling you I'm not interested."

"Fine. Don't you come running to me when you need a date for some Ministry function."

Drat. Note to self…may need to repair that bridge later.

As their food arrived, something familiar caught her eye and she turned towards the group of customers at the cooking table in the far corner of the restaurant.

"Dean, that case about the undervalued heirlooms, is that still active?"

"Yup," Dean spoke through a mouthful, "Got another complaint about it just the other week. There's like fifty-five plaintiffs on it already."

"And we haven't moved in because?"

"Legal's sitting on it pending validation of the complaint by a qualified magical heirloom appraiser," Dean stopped munching on the side salad and asked, "Why?"

She motioned over to the party she had noticed.

"Do you think they're clients?" Dean asked.

"Maybe," she replied, "There's only one way to find out."

"I love crashing parties," Dean said, taking his plate of food with him.

She took hers too and motioned to their server that they were moving over to the cooking table which by happy coincidence had two empty seats. In their years of working together they developed this understanding. When on the field they would trust each other's judgment completely and would only hold the other back if there was a major concern for safety. Any minor differences they would talk over after. Between her wand work and Dean's skill at using his brawn, there were few situations they could not handle.

Hermione got to the table first, pulled the chair back and purposely scraped its metal legs against the floor. All eyes were on her.

"Sorry," she apologized, darn...the Hag trained her well, "Mr. Burkes. This is such a surprise. I didn't know you knew of this place. Wonderful food, don't you think?"

Caractakus Burkes Sr. part owner and prospector for the Magical artefact business Borgin and Burkes, replied nervously, "Miss Granger. Ah, yes. Good place. Mr. Thomas."

"Mr. Burkes," Dean answered, "You have guests, nice. Clients?"

There was an uneasiness in the party of five. Two couples flanked the grayed out wizard. One man had a black beard and a Fedora hat and beside him sat a pale blond who didn't take her sunglasses off.

The other couple seemed more 'normal'. The woman had straight black hair and wore a lime green dress that reflected off her eyes. Her partner had sandy brown hair and an intense look about him that was unnerving. It was in sharp contrast to his boyish movie heartthrob looks but was in keeping with the dismissive and cutting tone of his remarks.

"Perhaps you should find another table. This party is private."

"So sorry. Don't mind us," Hermione insisted, instantly judging 'cute guy' was a 'bad guy', "We won't interrupt. Promise."

The Asian cook, whose name on the tag said 'Takeshi', put raw bloody steak onto the blond woman's plate next to untouched vegetables and fried rice and tried to get them to leave too, "I don't have your orders here and I'm almost done. If you have a seat at the other table over there, Ichiro is just about to start."

"No worries mate," Dean told the cook to back off, "We have food. We're just here to watch you create a meal."

"We should reschedule this meeting for another time," Fedora man said to Burkes who replied in the affirmative.

It was obvious they had broken up some illegal congregation.

"Please. We'd really rather have this done and over with," cute snarky guy stood up and leaned toward Fedora man.

"Don't leave on account of us," Dean reiterated but as he glanced at Fedora man he did a double take and the latter immediately reached into his pocket.

"Wand!" Dean screamed and with sheer brute force lifted the entire table up and forced it off flying towards Burkes' party.

The events that followed happened quickly.

Boom!

Hermione closed her eyes reflexively as the table between them and their foes disintegrated into a million pieces, blown off by a curse from the man with the hat. Dean pulled her back with him and they took cover behind the adjacent cooking table, wands drawn out.

Crack! Crack! Pop! Pop! Pop!

"We've got company," Dean stated the obvious as she instantly deployed several scout mirrors throughout the room.

"Who is he?" she asked while she counted; six, seven, eight, shit…more coming around and surrounding them.

"Morpheus Gaunt. Heard of him?" Dean put his phone away, giving up trying to send word to the Ministry that they needed back up.

"Should I have?"

"He's scum. We'll chat later."

They cowered as a blast hit the ceramic wall beside them and pulverized it.

"Kill them," she overheard someone say before the unmistakable sound of Disapparition.

Over the intermittent attacks she could hear fighting on the other side but couldn't see who. An ally? They were both watching the mirrors when a series of powerful hexes forced them to move up and behind another table. A stove exploded behind them. That should attract attention but judging from the heat they were getting they either needed to face it or get out now. Dean gave her the look. He did not know the meaning of retreat.

"On three," Dean mouthed, she nodded.

Her heart pounded hard against her chest. Maybe she should have mentioned to him that in her eight months of training she had not seen much combat, real or otherwise.

It's kind of too late now. Note to self - must regain reasonable organizational skills.

She watched Dean count.

One, two, three…

They swiftly moved in opposite directions simultaneously and she threw the place into darkness.

Stupefy!

Reducto!

Stupefy!

Geminio!

Hermione hit all four targets, re-acquiring each at wand flashpoint. Dean had done the same. They rendered a majority of their foes incapable of fighting back but there were still others. She felt movement behind her and turned in time to disarm her attacker but a hand grabbed her hair from the side and dragged her back as the other took her wand away.

Your wand is merely a weapon. Without it, be your weapon.

She pushed her unwary and unprepared enemy backwards with all her might using hers and her opponent's momentum until she heard him grunt against a hard hot surface. But the bad guy did not let go. She fumbled around, found and turned the stove knob full blast and felt the heat rise up. As chicken and fish started to burn, she stomped hard on his toes and the startling pain caused the man's grip to loosen. Clasping his arm tight, she twisted it behind his back and used the impetus of the long sweeping motion to slam his face onto the hot plate.

Sssssst…

"Argh!!!"

Inflicting physical pain on the enemy is a must to survive. Magic can fix anything except death.

There were more bad guys on the way and Hermione for a split second wondered when back-up was coming. She was concerned that she couldn't find Dean. As smoke started to fill the room out of the corner of her eye she saw the wizard with her wand charging hard. Without another thought, she grabbed a handful of chopsticks under the stove counter and after a minor wandless sharpening spell, sent them airmail towards her opponent and hit her mark.

It was then when a red beam of light caught her off guard, nicked her on the shoulder and sent her sideways against the wall. Picking herself up as quickly as she could, she found herself in the middle of a group of wizards, all with wands pointed at her. Another hex made her crash on the floor. This wouldn’t be the first time she was in a bind like this. Her partner always came through.

Anytime now…

Two whiffs cut through the air and two of her enemies fell on the floor, both clutching chef's knives embedded in their chests. The others swung toward the direction of the flying objects and began firing indiscriminately.

The timely distraction gave her the opportunity to summon her wand. She easily got rid of two of the three, the last opponent falling to another knife attack. There was silence save for the crackling of the flames now contained at one of the tables.

"Dean!" she called out.

"I'm okay," he replied from the other side of the fire and a relief washed over her.

But someone was approaching from within the smoky haze opposite from where Dean's voice came from. She held her arm up, ready to curse.

"Put your wand down, will you? Your first day back and you've caused trouble with it already."

That familiar voice; teasing and playful. She did as she was told and then ran towards the man with messy black hair and green eyes who had his arms outstretched, quite prepared to receive a bone crushing hug.

"Harry!"

He hugged her back. She didn't know when exactly but he finally seemed to have learned to do so after all these years. They were both grinning from ear to ear.

"Welcome home, Hermione. Miss me much?"

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I know I’ve injected more characters. The Hag, Gaunt and if you can guess the other one (whose name wasn’t mentioned but we’ve already seen in Hermione’s future) brownie points for you. Harry was actually in the restaurant before Hermione and Dean arrived (will expound at some point but you can probably guess). Any thoughts on Dean being Hermione's partner?

At the end of DH I kind of wondered about Dean and Luna and the experiences they shared during that time, whether it would draw them together. If someone wants to write that fic or has written that fic please let me know. It would be interesting to read.

Here are some timelines for this chapter as Serious B requested:

The first part is in the present (2021)- kind of a parallel universe where Hermione finds herself in. In real life she is unconscious in some ‘archaic hospital’ and Jessie is trying to get her back.

The second part happened in 2003, the day after Hermione comes back from 8 months of training and is the continuation of Jessie's flashback of when they first met. Nobody is married yet, and as Hermione found out the night before, Ginny and Harry broke up 2 months ago. Ginny is about to leave for Holyhead to be the Harpies Chaser. Hermione and Ron split up before she left for training.

Not to give the plot away – here’s more.

Mid 1998 – Voldemort dead, Harry and Dean join the Auror Office; Hermione works in the DRCMC. Ron helps George at the Store.

1999 - Ron becomes an Auror.

2000 – Hermione joins Harry and Ron.

Around April/May 2002 – Hermione starts training with the Hag – Harry trained before her.

Jan 2003 - see above

????

2005 – James is born

2006 – Al and Rosie are born

2008 – Lily and Hugo are born

September 2017 – DH Epilogue; The Sacrifice – Hermione leaves London with Hugo.

September 2021 – The Present

A/N. Have to dispense with some mystery requirements so the story will make sense. We’re back in the present. Harry, Ted, Jessie, Warren, an HHr flashback, and a couple of old friends from Hogwarts.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 11 - Behind the Scenes

2021 September 15

Ted nervously paced the anteroom to the Head Auror's office, wringing in his hands tightly rolled up parchments. He left a message for the Chief to call him and while typically he was a patient man, it was almost time for the big meeting and he didn't want the Chief blindsided. He figured Fletcher's revelation about Burkes Jr. was an important piece of information. There was that and what he found out after.

Crash!

He swore as he accidentally knocked over the magazine stand and instantly got a glare from Ms. Gennaro.

"Sorry,” he quickly apologized for his clumsiness.

As he hurriedly tidied up the mess he made he heard a door swing open. He turned and stood up just in time to see a ruffled Minister for Magic chased out of the office by the Head Auror's intense stare. Something was horribly wrong with this picture.

"Minister," Ted greeted but the generally affable leader did not respond and seemed absentmindedly dabbing a handkerchief on his sweaty forehead.

"Mr. Potter will see you now," Ms. Gennaro announced.

He thanked Harry's assistant and went in. Was it just him or was it much hotter in there than in the waiting room?

"You have something?" Harry asked, the frown on his face still present.

Ted closed the door and told Harry what Fletcher told him.

"Burkes was a member of the POTH?" Harry repeated. "POTH?"

"Yes, POTH," he replied, disappointed that Harry didn't know what it meant either.

"Did you run it?"

Of course he did. He took out his quik notes and started from the top.

"Perth Organization for Trolls and Hags, Proponents for the Orderly Trading of Housebunnies, Purveyors of Tricks for Halloween, Pride of the Hill..."

"Wait," Harry interrupted impatiently, "Dung said Hermione founded it. Do you have anything that's even remotely possible?"

"No. Not really. But I found something else," Ted continued, "Burkes' historic timetable showed many appointments for POTH. The first entry was more than fifteen years ago and he wrote down 'Phil the Prophet Elf' next to one of them."

Ted had Harry's full and undivided attention just as the younger Auror predicted. He carried on.

"So, with his next of kin's permission, I searched Phil's belongings for anything about the POTH. There was nothing. Phil didn't keep an appointment book."

"What about Grawp?"

He was getting to that.

"Grawp did keep records, not as remote as Burkes, just over the last ten years. No mention of POTH but..."

Teddy handed Harry the documents he had been holding. The Head Auror's response was a mix of puzzlement and amusement. Okay, so maybe he was used to receiving not-so-crumpled and tidier documentation.

"Sorry," Ted blushed.

Harry unraveled the wrung up parchments as Ted waited in anticipation. Harry's eyes flew over the two pieces of paper.

"The first page has all the dates and times of POTH meetings Burkes noted down on his diary. That second page is a copy of Grawp's entries in his book, the ones that he had for those dates and times. While Burkes was in POTH meetings, Grawp was with 'Hermy'. Wasn't that how he used to call Hermione? I don't think it's a coincidence. Burkes was POTH, Phil was POTH and Grawp was POTH. It's Malvado and he's eliminating members of the POTH one after the other.

"This is it. You've found the link I was looking for," Harry patted him elatedly on the back. "Great job!"

"But I still can't figure out Borgin. He hired Montague and Bole to steal and Montague swears Borgin was working for someone else. But who and why? And we still can't prove that the robberies and the murders are connected. I just have a feeling it is."

Harry put him out of some of his misery.

"This morning I got word from Forensics that Borgin, Phil and Grawp were murdered by the same two wands that were used on Burkes. I can't tell you how right now but the robberies have something to do with the murders. And you're right. Malvado is behind the killings," Harry handed him the parchment with the Malvado symbol that Jessie saw on the wrists of the killers. Harry began to pace the length of his office then after some time turned to him with a question, "Have you told anyone else about this?"

"No."

"Is this all the documentation? No copies?"

"No copies," he confirmed.

"Good, let's keep this between us for now. I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

His boss was going through the stuff so fast he couldn't even stop to think what it all meant.

"We have records of all known associates of Burkes' and probably Hermione's. We need Grawp's and Phil's."

"What am I looking for?"

"More names. Names of people they all knew in common and look in places you would not normally look. Dung said there were seven POTH members. We need the other three. If they're still alive we have to find them before Malvado does," Harry explained.

"Why do you think Malvado is after them?"

"I don't know but if we find one of them that would be the first question I would ask."

That and what in the name of Merlin did POTH stand for.

Ted looked up the clock. It was five to seven.

"What about the meeting? Shouldn't I be there?" he asked, not wanting to miss out on anything.

Harry was calling someone on his personal phone but looked up, must have sensed the reason for his concern and reassured him, "You don't need to be there. You already know more than the rest of the team will after that meeting is over."

He nodded but wondered what exactly the Head Auror meant by that. Harry waited for an answer, pacing again as he did, until finally someone picked up.

"Jessie, it's Harry. Where are you?"

The CFO was usually fifteen minutes early for all meetings.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Her reply seemed to have thrown off Harry somewhat but the Head Auror quickly recovered.

"I need a favour…that report on the wands and the murders that your office gave me this morning…I need you to sit on it."

Whoa! Can he do that? Can she do that? Did that just happen? There was a long pause as Jessie Hewitt's voice spilled off of Harry's receiver. He could not make out the words.

"As long as you can, at least twenty four hours…thanks."

Geez! Ted was a rookie and this was the first time he had seen Harry this way. His pulse was bounding erratically and he was anxious and excited at the same time. So this was how it was outside of the trenches. Then Harry continued in a relatively deflated tone.

"About Hermione. Did you find anything else?"

There was another pause.

"No, I didn't mean to rush you. The family wants…um…to make funeral arrangements…okay…thanks again."

The Head Auror hung up and got rid of the parchments connecting the murders and the robberies to Malvado.

"Come over to the Pitch at 8. We'll talk."

His godfather had the look of a man who was on a mission. Feeling that he was being dismissed, Ted left and headed straight to his cubicle knowing he had a lot of digging to do. He glanced over on the plate that was beside the Head Auror's office door. H. Potter.

POTH…Pot H…no…definitely a coincidence.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jessie had just finished a round of diagnostics on Hermione under Warren's annoyingly watchful eye. From Warren's account of the events leading up to Hermione's injury and the physical findings Jessie had a working diagnosis. The only problem was Transfigurus Abruptus Coma was a rare condition and, aside from one-of case studies which to her had iffy conclusions, there was no literature on how to manage it properly.

"It's rare," she said to him after she explained

"Understandably so," Warren replied. "I wouldn't think many have ever been caught in the midst of Transfiguring at the same time the Immobulus is being cast."

And her body had traces of other spells hitting her in and around the time, one of which was the AK. She theorized that the Immobulus had slowed down the spell propagation and mitigated the unwanted effects. What she couldn't tell was whether or not those effects had completely stopped or were merely suspended in time and the reason she was not waking up.

Warren second guessed himself, "She would have been fine on her own. I probably shouldn't have done what I did."

"You were trying to help. So, how did you switch the bodies and fooled me and Malvado into thinking it was her?" she asked Warren, trying to sound curious instead of suspicious. "From what you're telling me, you had a split second to do it."

"Sorry. A magician never reveals how he does his tricks."

This was typical Warren Gates. One minute he was okay, next minute he was back into being an ass. It was curious that for an attack that was supposedly unexpected, the switch was done seamlessly as if it had been rehearsed or planned before. Why did he have handy a dead body who was a clone of Hermione's? And if he was indeed in the vicinity of the attack to even cast the Immobulus, how come he did not confront Malvado?

She hated it when she started thinking like an Auror and she would have gone back to London already if one, she knew where she was now so she could come back with someone else and two, she wasn't sure in her gut that Warren would only hide Hermione more because of his paranoia. And the option of trying to leave with Hermione was a non-starter. In Hermione's condition, she wouldn't survive a side-along Apparition.

"Stop fucking with me, Warren."

"I'm not. You're not my type," the man replied smugly, infuriating her more, "Tell you what. If you get her to wake up and talk normal again, I'll tell you how I did the switch. How's that for incentive?"

Jessie's skin crawled from frustration. Did he really think she needed more incentive than seeing Hermione well? Ugh! She disliked the man but had to work with him to get Hermione the best care possible. She had to tell him the truth and convince him.

"She needs a real Healer."

"You just told me no one out there knows how to treat this."

"But they would at least know where to start."

"You'll be better because you'll have ideas no one has tried before."

"Probably because my ideas wouldn't make sense! Warren, are you even listening? I'm not a Healer! I can't do this! I could do more harm than good!"

"Or you may save her life! At least try! We can't risk her exposure until she can use a wand to defend herself!"

Her phone was ringing in Warren's pocket and that sufficiently broke the impasse. Warren took it out and looked at the caller ID.

"It's Harry," Warren said to her, handing the phone over. He was probably calling about the meeting she wasn't going to make. She reached out to get the phone but Warren held on to it, instructing her, "Not yet."

She stared hard at him, defiant and daring.

Warren threatened, "Don't do something that will make me curse you. Just think. The Head Auror is busy chasing after her killers and that's what he should be doing. If you tell him she's alive, he will be here watching you as I have been and waiting until she wakes up. He'll be useless. This is the last place you want him to be at."

She hated it that he actually had a point. But she'd rather have Harry here to talk some sense into the git. Harry would see her side of things, get Hermione into St. Mungo's and would have no problem dealing with the threat of Malvado coming after her. Jessie snatched the phone angrily and answered.

"Hullo…I…um…at a hospital. My sister's really sick and I don't think I can make that meeting."

She wondered if Harry would get the message. Probably not. Neither he nor Warren would know that she didn't have a sister. She never talked about her personal life.

"A favour?"

Well, why not. Maybe if she did him one he wouldn't be so pissed once he found out she was dim-witted enough to go with Warren without telling someone. Harry was asking about the Forensics report.

"What about it?"

What?! Did he just say...

"You want me to what?!" she had to turn away from Warren, "No, don't answer that, I heard you the first time! Twitching Thestrals Harry what the hell is going on? Wait, don't tell me, it's long, convoluted and something we shouldn't discuss on the phone while I'm with my sister. But really?! You've never done this before!"

Breathe…calm down…

Jessie was worried Warren would pick up on what the conversation was about but she could barely contain her reaction. Although she was sure Warren was looking after Hermione's best interests, she wasn't thick that she would let him eavesdrop on Ministry inside information.

The thing was she trusted that Harry had a good reason for leaning on her office to kowtow to his. Well, he didn't really lean. He asked properly.

"How long do you need?"

Sitting on a report for any amount of time was gross obstruction of justice. Hmm...she was already endangering a human life, so relatively speaking...what the heck. Twenty four was doable but beyond that would be a stretch.

"I'll try my best."

About Hermione. Did you find anything else?

You have no idea...

Warren was watching her like a hawk.

"I'm not finished with her and I don't appreciate being rushed…I haven't released the body. The family can't have a funeral without a body, can they?!"

Jessie called her deputy telling him she was reviewing the evidence and not to commit to the prelims at the meeting. Then she hung up pissed. They were making funeral arrangements? Those poor kids. Hermione would never forgive her if she let Rosie and Hugo mourn unnecessarily. She had to put an end to Warren's nonsense.

The Ex-Auror promptly took her phone back. Between Harry, Hermione and Warren she must have done something really wrong in a previous life to deserve being in the middle of all of this.

"Where were we?" she snarled at him.

"You were going to give it a shot."

"I'm not killing her. Let's go to Plan B."

"There's no Plan B. Why don't you just do as I ask?"

Did she really have to answer that? She gave him a 'duh' look.

"You don't trust me."

"I don't but that has nothing to do with this. She needs a Healer," she was repeating herself like a broken record.

"Okay I tried nice. I'm really sorry but you're forcing me to do this."

He had his wand out.

"You wouldn't dare!"

Jessie barely spoke the words when she felt an intrusion into her sub consciousness.

"Get out of my head, you bastard!" she tried to fight him off mentally.

"Fix her up, please," Warren's cool persuasive voice ordered her from somewhere within.

Jessie felt herself walk closer to Hermione's bed, her protests unheard by the rest of her body. Warren had control.

"Stop it!"

The words never reached her lips and her physical self carried on as Warren commanded.

"Finite Incantatem!"

She had to try but nothing happened. It couldn't be that simple. Warren was a veteran Auror and his command of the illegal Superius curse was excellent.

His voice filled her head again, "You're not leaving until she's awake or dead. Do you want to help or would you rather just watch?"

Jessie was outraged. If only she had half the wand skills Hermione had she would curse the git to hell and back.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry was back at the Pitch before 8 am. The meeting went just as he thought it would. Without the evidence from Forensics and the connection with the POTH that Ted dug up, it ended sooner. But while he did not want the official investigation to touch on Hermione's, Malvado's and the Minister's involvement for the time being, he had his Aurors indirectly working on the important aspects of the case, among them, finding out who and why someone bothered to plant Borgin's dead body into a crime scene.

Impeding the discussion without being obvious was difficult. It was the first time he had done such a thing but after speaking with the Minister unofficially, it was clear that there was a need to keep a lid on many aspects of the case and to be cautious about who to trust.

In his five years as Head Auror this was the most crucial decision he had made and it gave him renewed appreciation of what his predecessors had gone through. The Minister told him in no uncertain terms that exposing the entire truth, while righteous, was counterproductive. Ministers of Magic and other top officials since Voldemort's death more than twenty years ago had been hiding the existence of the Elder Wand and the Hallows for good reason. The Hallows needed to stay mythical. Besides, the fact that the Ministry did not have possession of any one of them would throw the public into panic.

As for the Minister's involvement in the robberies, Leo had already admitted to it. Harry did not trust him one iota but hanging him out to dry right now was not in anyone's best interest. It would be a major disruption, one that he didn't need. They had a murderer to catch halfway across the globe. That fish was a bigger one to fry.

POTH…

Harry had no doubt that Hermione did put the group together. He had an inkling what the secret assembly was for and even guesses about what the acronym stood for.

Hermione had mentioned something about this a long time ago and that prompted another vivid memory of her from before they were married. Kitchen, knife, bloody tomatoes…

"He is just a piece of work! If one looked up 'git' in a reference book, his picture will be right next to it!"

Harry looked back at Hermione who was all flushed and upset, punctuating her remarks with airy motions of the knife she was using to cut tomatoes. They were in their cozy kitchen, backs to each other, making dinner. Tonight it was pasta.

"He is an Unspeakable," he replied as he gently blew on the half teaspoonful of near-ready red sauce (if she could only finish up with the tomatoes) and lifted it into her mouth to taste, "He's just curious."

She nodded in approval hastily before going off on another tirade about the Durmstrang graduate Maximus, or Max as the bloke preferred to be called. Harry instantly regretted not recognizing that he was just adding fuel to the fire.

"Curious?! He is insane! He wants to violate the Professor's tomb, take out the wand and experiment on it!" her voice broke in a few spots and she kept on brandishing the cutting instrument dangerously, "Insane!"

He had let her vent but maybe he should try and calm her down, put things in perspective.

"Kingsley and John shot his idea down right away."

"As any good Minister of Magic and Head Auror should have done," she retorted, knife banging against the cutting board, "I've said it before and I'll say it again. You can't trust them. Max and especially Leo, who may be seemingly personable on the outside but with layers of hidden agenda on the inside. The Unspeakables should have been kept out of the loop about the Hall - ow!"

She yelped and there was an instant clatter of metal on marble. He looked back and she was holding onto her left pointing finger with her right hand, blood trailing from the thinly cut slices of tomatoes.

"Fff...fuzz!"

Her unique swearing, while less frequent now than when she first got back from Hag training, had kind of grown on him.

"Here, let me."

He took over her injured hand, holding it for a bit under cold running water then pressing firmly against it with a napkin. She was a bleeder.

Hermione leaned against the counter behind as he stood in front of her holding her hand. She wasn't quite finished on the matter.

"We should Obliviate them."

He raised his brows and grinned, "Don't you think that's a bit overboard?"

She wasn't really serious, "Wishful thinking."

Hermione smiled back, calmer now.

"Do you know what we need to do?"

"You mean besides have dinner?"

He checked her wound and found it had stopped bleeding.

"We should bring the Order back together."

She meant the Order of the Phoenix. He summoned his wand, ran it over the thin scar with a quick healing spell and it disappeared. She thanked him.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, casually dropping his arms by her waist and she followed suit, both speaking seriously now.

"Just in case the Ministry messes something up," she replied.

"Hermione, we are part of the Ministry," he reminded her, "That's why we signed on. So we can change it from within. So that the Ministry will never screw up like it did in the past."

"Yes, I know and there are quite a few of us who are in it right now. But Kingsley and John won't be around forever and I can imagine Max or Leo or someone like them climbing up that political chain and being in charge. Who's going to tell them off then? Who's going to make sure they stay in line?"

She had a point but…

"If we have the system of checks and balances that Kingsley has been working on then that would be people like us who think they're gits. Maybe you should put a little faith in us."

"I guess I should," then she added philosophically, "But who's going to check up on us if we make mistakes?"

"I assume it would be someone else," he said, reaching over to the side, turning off the stove and pouring the tomato-less sauce over the awaiting pasta.

"I still think it would be a good idea to bring the Order back," she repeated, "Maybe not right now but sometime in the future and maybe name it something else."

"Like?"

She shrugged, seemingly just saying things as it came to mind, "I guess that really depends on what it will be for. Let's see…Keepers of Peace, Protagonists of Order…"

"The first one is not too bad. But the second one, I don't think so," he vetoed, laughing.

Hermione realized why and laughed too.

"What about Wizards and Witches Against the Dark?" he suggested.

"Beings Against the Dark," she corrected, with emphasis on 'Beings'.

"You should really have someone else name your organizations for you," he was teasing and she loved it when he did.

"Mr. Potter, what exactly do you mean by that?" she retorted feigning offense but Harry could already see the smirk creeping up on her lips.

It drove him crazy when she did that.

"Bad? Poo? Spew?"

"That's S-P-E-W!"

"I stand corrected," he chuckled, their close proximity and contact was evoking something within him that needed addressing. He looked down her cleavage with mischief in mind, making sure she was aware, "What about New Army to Kick Evil Dolts' arses?"

"Promising…"

Almost, but not quite. Let's see you not break a smile with this one.

"Or...Society for the Extermination, Extinction and Expunction of Dark Wizards and Witches. Sex with three Xs for short. You won't have a problem recruiting members with a name like that."

"I think you may have something there."

Then there it was, a smirk and then onto an easy smile that brought sparkles in her eyes. He loved the fact that he had that effect on her, that he made her happy. Overflowing with joy he leaned down and kissed her lips gently, pulling her closer in an embrace. She softened with his touch, the tense discussion forgotten in an instant. Her lips parted slightly under his, their warm breaths mingled and he felt her strain up against him. He sensed that she wanted to be closer.

He obliged with eagerness, his hands moving up under her blouse, his arms brushing against her hot smooth skin as he pulled her towards him even more, tipping his head slightly, deepening their kiss. Mmm...

"What about...dinner?" she managed to say against his mouth.

"Going...for some...antipasto..."

Her fingers found and tangled with his hair. Dazed and crazed with desire, he pulled her top off of her and kissed her harder. She moaned while she welcomed his tongue with hers in a slow warm caress. Lifting her up, her legs wrapped around his waist and she pressed herself up against his highly sensitive groin area. Merlin…she was undressing him…shirt…belt…button…paaants…at this rate they would never...uh...make it out of the ki-kitchen.

They never did make it out of the kitchen that night. The memories of her had been coming steadily since Hugo came last night, as if the shock of their son's revelation had unlocked some long sealed vault in the deep recesses of his mind. He fought off the tears that wanted to break out and tried to focus on something else.

POTH…his bet was on the H being Hallows…maybe Protectors of the Hallows or something like that…did they at one point acquire all three, stole the wand and the stone a long time ago, found his cloak which he thought had been lost forever, and were protecting them? Was that what Malvado was looking for? Why Burkes, Grawp and Phil? Why not him or Ron?

…and who else did you ask?

While it was his case to solve Harry wasn't arrogant to think that he could do it alone. It was good that Ron made it to the meeting in the morning for he was the guy Harry relied on the most to help with this. That is, if he could get past the fact that his ex-wife's son was his brother-in-law's.

Harry marched through and pulled the Potter library doors close, feeling the several pairs of expectant eyes upon him. He took his place in front of the huge oak desk, leaning on it as he appraised the group of Ministry wizards and witches he had chosen to bring together and trust.

The seats had been arranged in a semi-circular pattern atop a rectangular rug of Gryffindor colors but most remained standing. Starting from his right: Padma Patil-Boot, a schoolmate and now Senior Unspeakable with the Ministry with whom he had worked with on many cases in the past; Ernie Macmillan, also in his year at Hogwarts, one of the top officers in the Magical Law Enforcement Squad; George Bones, Lead Auror for the East quadrant, a relative of a classmate and of a former MLE Head; Ted and Ron. He would have invited Jessie too but she was with an ill sister. He would fill her in later.

This would be the core group. It was quite possible, highly likely, that it could grow over the next few days.

"Thank you all for coming," he said, "You were all at the meeting earlier. I know some of you sensed something was amiss and I apologize for the charade but it was necessary. What I'm about to tell you is information that is highly sensitive in nature. I have chosen you because I have utmost confidence that you will keep this amongst yourselves and share in the burden of ensuring that it does not fall into the wrong hands. If you think you don't belong here I understand and you may leave now."

He looked into the eyes of each person before him and was pleased with what he saw. Not a muscle budged. They were all in.

Harry continued, "We have a situation."

XXXXXXXX

A/N. I know Warren wasn’t very nice. Still good?

Hope you enjoyed the HHr insert – it was kind of last minute and probably borne out of reading all the smut from the kiwimelon15 challenge - LOL!

The Ron-Harry thing almost made it here but the chapter’s now too long. It’ll be in the next.

A/N. For those who missed it and need it, I reposted Chapter 10 with this story’s timelines in the end.

Finally, the chapter with the Ron and Ginny conversations.

Just so I don’t lose any of you, the first part is again Hermione and Dean in some alternate dimension. I also have some fun with the kids.

Enjoy.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 12 – Expected and Unexpected

15 September 2021

"Bummer you and Harry didn't work out," Dean said to her as they swam up to the surface.

They had been talking for sometime underwater and it was a bit weird.

"Things eventually turned out okay. We both moved on," Hermione replied in earnest, "I have Rose and Hugo and he's got three wonderful kids with Ginny."

"Is he happy?"

She thought about it for a moment. Harry's happiness used to be a big part of her life and it just stunned her how out of touch she was about it. It wasn't that she didn't care anymore, she just didn't feel as responsible for it as she used to. It wasn't her place.

Is he happy? She assumed so. She hoped so. But having lived away from the Potters for the last four years she couldn't be sure.

"I suppose," she finally answered, having not heard otherwise.

"And you?"

Relatively...

"Yes," was her quick response.

She believed that she was. Overall there wasn't really anything for her to be unhappy about but maybe 'content' was a better word. Things could have certainly been worse.

"Good."

"What about you?" she was curious, "Are you happy?"

"Very. Thanks for asking."

"Was it hard at first?"

"You mean right after I died? A little."

She could understand. He was so young, his life ahead of him. He was about to get married to the woman he loved.

"It was so sudden."

"I did know about the occupational hazards when I became an Auror. Besides, if I had to do it again and had a choice, 'sudden' would be the way to go. We all have to die at some point in time."

"True," she concurred, then, anxious about her current state, asked, "Dean, am I...dead?"

"No you're not."

"Are you sure?"

"Believe me, if you were you'd know straight away. The Reaper would have told you. It's number one on his to-do list."

Hermione found that amusing and felt victorious in a way. Just then, she was distracted by a form clad in a hooded black robe, holding a scythe in his right hand and watching them from a distance.

She thought, Not yet. Please.

"Here we are," Dean announced and they broke out onto the calm surface of the water, the sun basking them with warm, soft rays, "Take care and good luck."

Even before she could thank Dean properly he was gone. Hermione kept herself afloat, turning to look around. She was in the middle of a very large lake, so large that not a shoreline was in sight.

Now what?

Just as she thought that a ripple of water nudged her from behind. A small rowboat was creeping up right beside her and man in colorful wizard robes was bending over the edge, extending his arm to her.

Hermione strained to see who her benefactor was but with the sun in her eyes it was just not possible. She reached up to take the offer and was pulled up without much of an effort. Warmth immediately encased her as her clothes dried up in an instant.

"Miss Granger. It's so nice to see you again," the wizard greeted.

Falling under the man's shadow, she gazed into his face and recognized the kind blue eyes of Professor Albus Dumbledore.

XXXXXXXXXX

The meeting was about to start.

Earlier, as he was looking for a place in the house to be by himself, Hugo heard someone come in through the Potter back entrance. It was Mr. MacMillan, one of his Mum's school friends who worked at the Ministry. Finding it unusual, he followed him unobtrusively and saw him slip into the Potter library, where several others were waiting, all with grim expressions on their faces. Something was up.

He ran back to Al's room and grabbed a few objects from his rucksack, coming back just in time to see his father go into the library and shut the door. Hugo quickly went to work. Placing a piece into his right ear, he felt the buzz as he turned it on.

The accompanying object, a transmitter disguised as a ladybug, was certainly small enough. With his wand he levitated it gently down towards the library doors hoping to slip it under the gap.

"If that's a Muggle device don't bother."

The voice made him jump. He lost control of the bug and it fell onto the floor, the amplified sound of the crash in his ear so deafening he had to take out the receiver the same time he whirled around to see who it was.

"Sorry," James apologized, whispering this time, maybe thinking it would compensate for the possible ear damage he just caused. "Dad has meetings in there all the time and sweeps it for eavesdropping contraptions and charms constantly, including Muggle."

Deflated, he summoned the bug and thought about how else to go about listening in.

"But..." James added as Hugo put them back in his pocket, "I may have another way."

"You shouldn’t get involved. I don't want to get you in trouble."

Hugo really didn't for different reasons.

James smiled, an impish flash in his eye, "We'll only get in trouble if we get caught. Come on."

His cousin...brother moved with the swiftness of the Gryffindor Quidditch Chaser that he was up the steps and into his room across from Al's. By the time Hugo caught up with him he was rummaging through his trunk tossing stuff behind him as he dug. Hugo had to duck a few times.

"What's going on?" Lily joined them.

All the ruckus must have caught Lily's attention.

"Er...nothing sis. Just showing Hughie some boy stuff. Run along now and play with those Muggle dolls of yours or something," her brother said dismissively, not paying her any attention.

Hugo had heard James say the same thing to Lily many times in the past even way after she stopped playing with Barbies. She always hated how her brothers treated her like this because she was younger and was a girl. Hugo glanced at Lily already sensing her furious reaction. Her face matched the color of her hair, her hands were on her waist and she looked like she was going to erupt.

"What are you guys doing?"

It was Al with Rosie by his side, interrupting just as Lily was about to give James an earful. When James didn't answer Rosie looked at him and must have read his mind.

"It's about the meeting in the library isn't it!" she exclaimed excitedly, never one to hide just how brilliant she was at figuring stuff out.

"You guys are crazy!" Al hissed.

"Dad's gonna kill you!" Lily pointed out to James.

"This isn't very smart, eavesdropping on the Head Auror," Rosie weighed in.

Great. Just great.

"Look, I just want to find out about my Mum," he said more to Lily and Al, knowing Rosie would understand.

Lily nodded, "What's the plan?"

"Ah! There you are!" James announced, finally finding what he was looking for.

"Extendable ears? That's what you have? That's not gonna work," Al said skeptically.

Hugo had to agree with Al. It was an old Weasleys’ Wizard wheeze. His father surely was smarter than that.

"Ye of little faith," James replied smugly, then assessed the next plan of action, "Since we're all here it'll be a matter of time before Mum seeks us out. Al, you distract her."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you're her favorite and you'll be the least suspicious," his brother replied, "Just keep her away from the subcellar."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

Rosie suggested, "Tell her about your girl problem. Ask for advice. Parents love it when you do that."

Lily was shocked, "Al has a girl problem?!"

"I don't have a girl problem!" Al denied vehemently.

Rosie answered, "Precisely. Don't you think that's a problem?"

"Please, we don't have time for this," Hugo said desperately, "The meeting has already started."

Al left in haste, still blushing from Rosie's declaration. They went past the study where Al found Aunt Ginny by herself and started the awkward conversation. Two flights down they got to a part of the house Hugo was not familiar with.

"You two stand guard and warn us if you see or even hear Mum coming," James ordered, obviously having done this before.

Hugo followed James into the damp, dark room and he heard a switch flip. A bulb flickered a dull yellow light revealing a dusty small storage room that look like it hadn't seen anyone in years, except for the somewhat clean day bed at the corner. James headed that way, got on it and began unscrewing a vent covering from the ceiling.

"What is this room?" he asked standing beside him, looking up.

"Not sure. Kelly, my girlfriend, came to visit last summer and we kind of stumbled into it. There's old furniture, broken toys, Muggle contraptions..." James explained in a hushed voice as he handed Hugo the metal grate and introduced one end of the Extendable ears into the opening.

"Anyway, we were here for a while, um, experimenting, when we heard animated voices coming through the vent. We couldn't make out what they were talking about but this room is two stories down and from my estimation almost directly below the library," James talked as he peered into the ear and was seemingly maneuvering it through bends and angles, "This ear may look the same as the original but it's actually not. I do prototype test work for Uncle George. It's an enhanced version with directional cameras at the tip and covered with a stealth charm that hopefully still isn't on Dad's list."

True enough, they started hearing voices through the ear. Hugo patted James on the shoulder in appreciation as the older boy smiled. They listened in.

"We're talking about the Death Stick, the Wand of Destiny," Mr. Macmillan's voice came through. "This is huge. If word gets out that the wand exists everyone will want it. They'd want to study it, replicate it and own it. I can understand why you want this hushed up."

"But remember, the wand is just part of it. With possession of all three its followers believe that one becomes master of death," a woman replied.

James whispered answering the questioning look on his face, "Unspeakable Boots."

"What exactly does that mean?" another man asked.

"Auror Bones," his brother informed him.

The Unspeakable answered, "Whatever you want it to mean. It's a legend. Some take it literally, that being master Death will be at your beck and call, tell him what to do. Some say you can live as long as you want. No getting old, no getting sick, no dying until you say so. Something like the elixir of life that Nicolas Flamel and his wife drank for centuries. Possession of all three affords you invincibility. A Dark Wizard like Malvado using the most powerful wand in history and being invincible at the same time. Big problem. That is if the myth is true."

The Head Auror spoke, "Even if the myth isn't true the three objects do exist. And it is prudent to approach it as if it were."

"What exactly is it that you want us to do, Harry?"

It was Mr. Macmillan again.

"It's simple really. I need your help to catch Hermione's killer before anyone else figures out what this is about. We catch her killer, we solve the case, we neutralize the wand."

"And how do we find Malvado? The SAMP and the IMP have been looking for him for years."

"Gates. We find Gates, we find Malvado."

Hugo was about to move closer when, all of a sudden, the ear James had in his hand flew off pulling the rest of it from within the hole and out.

"Busted..." James murmured beside him, motioning to doorway, waving with a weak smile, "Hi, Mum."

A very angry Aunt Ginny was standing just inside the room, Weasley invention in her hand. Al, Lily and Rosie were behind her peeking from the hallway with apologetic faces.

"James Sirius Potter, you better not be doing what I think you're doing!"

For all his earlier confidence, Hugo heard the somewhat pale James gulp.

XXXXXXXXXX

The meeting adjourned an hour later with each of them taking assignments.

Padma was to look into the Unspeakable restricted files to see what the Department of Mysteries had on the Hallows. She was also going to send a feeler out to Dennis Creevey if he'd be interested in being their mole in the Head Unspeakable's Office. They needed to find out if the stone was indeed no longer in a DOM vault.

Ernie and George were going to find Warren while Ted would continue to work on the POTH members. He was reassigning Ron to the Central quadrant so he could keep an eye on Hank while the Deputy muddled through the case. They weren't sure how much Hank knew but suspected that he was too close to Leo and Max not to know more than he was letting on. After all, it was unlikely to be a coincidence that the robberies occurred as Harry went away for holidays and left Hank in charge. The Minister probably told him to back off.

For his part, Harry had some recruiting to do. He called Neville at Hogwarts and asked to meet with him and his wife Hannah at the Leaky Cauldron later that night, thinking the Professor might have ideas about the POTH. Seamus Finnigan was another friend who would be valuable to have on board. He had connections they didn't and he would also want the opportunity to be involved, particularly since he and Jessie were close friends with Hermione. Maybe his wife would be back from visiting her sister and she could join them then.

Ted and George left and Harry found himself alone with Ron in the library.

"You look like shit," his friend said to him. "Why don't you get some rest?"

"Later," he replied, his throat dry and his body anxious. "So, what do you think?"

"I think it's brilliant. Hermione would have said so herself," Ron said with a pang of sorrow in his voice, "I can't believe we're reliving the nightmare again. It used to be Horcruxes, now it's the Hallows. These evil gits don't let up."

"There'll always be evil gits, even long after we're gone," he answered, matching Ron's tone, "We have to destroy the wand this time, make sure it’s no longer a problem for someone in the future. We destroy the wand, we break the triangle."

"Yeah, but first we have to find the wizard who has the wand. We know Malvado won’t give it up without a fight. I'll talk to Hugo about Warren. He should know that he can't always get what he wants," Ron said firmly.

With Ron's mention of Hugo Harry had the opening and felt he had to do it now.

"Ron, listen. There's something else I have to tell you."

"What is it?"

He reached into his robes pocket and took out the letter Hermione wrote for Ron, remembering Hermione's request.

Please give Ginny and Ron my letters once you and Hugo have decided that it's time. With Ron, I prefer that he finds out from me. I insist that you have him read my note first before saying anything.

Ron never knew that he and Hermione had been lovers. The concept of them having more than a platonic friendship had been a sore point with Ron ever since Hogwarts so it was their mutual decision not to tell him. And Harry was certain Ron remained unaware for had Ron found out his friend would have surely confronted him about it already.

Harry tried to put himself in Ron's shoes. He asked himself how he would feel if Ginny told him one of the kids wasn't his. He would probably explode at her and at whoever it was who made her a cheater, doubly so if the bloke was someone he knew and trusted. So, Harry was prepared for a number of possible reactions; he was prepared to be hexed, punched, shouted and cursed at, maybe even to the point of being killed. The key was surviving that first ten minutes.

Had Hermione not specifically asked Harry would tell Ron himself. He felt a bit cowardly but respected Hermione’s wishes.

"She wanted you to have this," Harry handed the envelope to him.

Ron recognized Hermione's neat scribble on it and took it, somewhat confused about why the note would come from Harry. He slowly unfolded the parchment and Harry watched as his eyes darted hungrily over the lines. Ron’s face got redder with each word he finished, his knuckles whiter with each paragraph he read as he gripped the paper tighter. By the time Ron was done, and it was quite a lengthy letter, Harry could almost imagine fire coming out of his nose.

What followed next was unexpected. Ron took a big breath in, exhaled, gently folded up Hermione's letter and put it into his pocket. This was worrisome.

"Say something Ron."

Ron's face was still a heated mess and he was biting his lower lip so hard Harry was sure he would cut himself. For a moment Harry considered that either he got the wrong letter or Hermione didn't tell him.

Harry persisted, "What did she say?!"

Finally, with fury in his eyes and his finger wagging, Ron let it out, "Three days! She's given you three days! You better make a will! You better hide from me when your time is up!"

Ron wasn't making sense.

"What do you mean?!"

"We can't talk about it for three days! I can't kick your cheating ass for three days! Three fucking days!"

"I don't care! Let's talk about it now!"

"I can't believe you did that to Ginny! To my sis…"

Ron's words faded off and while Harry couldn't lip read because the man was talking too fast he was pretty sure there were quite a few curse words in there. The inability to convey his emotions frustrated him even more. He charged at Harry with everything that he had.

Instinctively, Harry braced himself from the blow but it never came. Ron softly bounced off from him, landing a few feet away and on the floor. It was as if there was invisible aircushion that formed around Ron as he attacked.

This was Hermione’s doing. Having been married to Ron, she guessed what his reaction would be. She must have cast a spell through the note.

The other Auror got back on his feet, huffing and puffing and glaring at Harry righteously.

"I can't believe she jinxed you!" Harry yelled.

"I should have known! She’s doing what she's always done! Protecting your sorry ass!"

Harry was as miffed at Hermione for it. It would have been better to deal with Ron without her intervening.

"Why don't you do the counter-curse?" Harry suggested.

"If you know it, be my guest! I would so like to kill you right now!"

A spark came off Ron's wand and backfired immediately, sending him off his feet and landing a ways from Harry.

Harry was quickly by his side helping him up, "Are you okay?"

"Get your hands off me!"

“I'm sorry," he said to Ron. "I didn't know Hugo was mine until last night. It happened a very long time ago…"

The red head held his hand up to Harry's face, "We'll talk about it in three days! No…first I'll beat the living daylights out of you then we'll talk, if you still can!"

Ron turned his back and stomped out of the library, leaving him alone. Harry slumped on the nearby seat, closed his eyes, thinking how surreal all this was.

You didn't have to do that. You shouldn't have done that.

Three days...he felt even sorrier for Ron now than he did before. Three days…that would be the day before her birthday...

Harry took the other letter from his pocket and thought it very likely that Hermione had done the same thing. He looked at the clock; her study. He got up with that destination in mind resolved that he wasn't going to make the same mistake.

XXXXXXXXXX

Moments before, Ginny was in her study, arms across her chest, listening to what her eldest son had to say about his unlawful act.

"Do you realize that you can be imprisoned for doing something like that, even if you're Harry Potter's son?”

"But Mum, Hughie wanted to know about Aunt Hermione," James tried to explain.

"That's right Aunt Ginny. I begged for his help," Hugo came to his rescue. "He didn't want to but I begged him."

"Hugo, you don't have to lie for James. He is quite capable of doing that by himself."

"But Mum..."

"Enough! You have absolutely no excuse. You're the older one, the one who should know better, not the one who instigates trouble. There is a reason why your Dad ensures his meetings are confidential and you treat the whole thing like it's one big prank. What if you compromised the investigation, endangered a life by what you did? Are you going to be responsible for that? You're almost of age James. You need to grow up!"

She paused, feeling she had said more than necessary.

"I'm sorry, Mum," James said to her, genuinely remorseful.

She nodded and gave him a half hug and a kiss on the head, "I'll have to tell your Dad. Now go on and help your brother and sister in the kitchen."

James left as he was told. Ginny hoped at some point James would indeed act more responsibly and set a better example.

She walked closer to Hugo who was looking down at his feet, shuffling them as he was likely expecting some reprimand. Her heart ached for Hermione's son.

Ginny lifted his chin up gently and said to him as he looked at her, "It must be very difficult, what you're feeling right now. I know you miss her; you want her back. You've been very brave and your Mum would have been very proud."

The boy was crying. Ginny took him in her arms and cried with him.

Hugo tried to explain himself too, sobbing in between, "I just want to know what happened...I want to make sure her killers rot in jail...I want to help put them there...I want to do it for her..."

"Hush now. I'll speak with your Dad. Maybe he can share some information with you. But you have to be patient. Some of these things take time."

Hugo nodded, disentangling himself from his godmother, and left the study still wiping tears off his face. She contemplated how and when to break this news to the Head Auror when not long after Hugo left, Harry came. He closed the door behind him, looking so tired.

"You should sleep."

She knew he hadn't for more than twenty four hours and the sleep he had been getting recently, at least since they left for the Bahamas, couldn’t be restful. Harry took his usual spot when he was in her study, leaning against her table to the right of her chair. She stood beside him.

"I have meetings with the SAMP and the IMP in an hour," he replied.

"Push them back," she suggested.

"I can't. We need information right away."

"Have Hank or Ron go."

"I have to be there."

"What are you doing?" she asked him pointedly.

"I'm trying to put the person responsible for her death behind bars. What does it look like I'm doing?" he snapped at her.

Ginny calmly replied, "You think you can do this from start to end without any rest? You're as impatient as Hugo. Perhaps I should tell Leila to schedule bedtime and meals into your timetable."

He knew she had a good point and changed his tone.

"I have to do this, Gin."

Just like Hugo...

"I know. But knowing her she would not have approved you doing it this way, especially when you're doing it for her."

She paused as Harry broke eye contact. He didn't want her to see what he felt and she didn’t insist. When it came to his feelings about Hermione she preferred it this way like he did.

"Hugo..."

"There's something you should know,” Harry interrupted, sounding like he was on some mission. What she had to tell him about the boys was clearly less important than this. He added, “I think it's better if you sat down for this."

Ginny’s heart skipped a beat. The last time Harry asked her to sit before telling her something she was deeply hurt and forever scarred by what he said.

“If it’s alright with you I’d rather stand.”

He nodded, looked at her and struggled with his words.

“I wish there was some other way. I’ve put you through so much already and I’m about to ask even more of you than what I have before. But I can understand if you’ve had enough.”

He stopped and she let his words sink in. He was apologizing in advance and as always he had no unreasonable expectations from her. He never asked for more than what she was willing to give even though as his wife, for better or worse, she was duty bound to give her all. Her ‘all’ had been tested thoroughly.

“Fourteen years ago, when Hermione and I…when we…”

Always seemingly having a problem with the word Ginny helped him out, “When you had the affair.”

“Yes. She got pregnant and she had a boy. I didn’t know until last night…Gin, it’s Hugo. Hugo is my son.”

His green eyes shimmered from the pool of tears that just now broke and cascaded down his face. In them she saw the anguish and helplessness that she expected to see. He had a son he didn’t know about who hated him and he was faced with the uncertainty of how the rest of his family would feel. On top of that, the one person he wanted to talk to about it was dead. She had wondered whether or not Hermione would ever tell him and she was relieved that Hermione finally did. She was relieved for Hugo and for Harry.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she tried to reassure him, hopefully lessen the burden somewhat, “I know he’s your son. I was with her when he was born.”

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. ?

I probably will get flames for that last revelation but I thought it wouldn’t be too out of character for Hermione and Ginny to keep something like this from Harry (as in this story they both care about him deeply).

In a way I feel like Hermione protecting Harry – he got off easier than he probably deserves, particularly with Ron :)

Haven’t started the next chapter and am at a crossroad – will await your comments and hopefully your input before I decide direction. Is it time to put the present on hold and go back to the past? Do you want to know what Hermione wrote in the letters?

A/N. No time - leaving for the cottage in an hour and am away for the next few days. I was overwhelmed and blown away by your reviews and I had to post this week because you were all so good.

Bips – just read yours this morning – will reply when I get back (ffnet ate up the one I composed) but you’ll find the first part interesting.

I apologize in advance if in the first scene I messed up Harry’s response to Ginny. You might need some visual earplugs.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 13 – Woes of A Former Fangirl

For a split second Harry thought and hoped he misheard but there was no denying what Ginny said.

"You were with her when he was born," he repeated, stalling the upsurge of ugly emotions that were clawing their way out.

"Yes," she answered, recognition of his unfavourable reaction dawning upon her, "I can't believe this. You're upset at me. You're actually upset at me."

He met her disbelief with his own.

"Hugo is thirteen years old! You knew he was my son and you didn't tell me! Don't you think I have a reason to be upset?!"

"She asked me not to tell you!"

"And it didn't occur to you to say no to her?!"

"She didn't want you to know!"

"And I guess you did but just forgot to mention it to me!" he said sarcastically.

"I told her your son would hate you but it wasn't my decision to make!"

"It may not have been but you decided to keep mum about it! What was in it for you?! What did you ask of her in return?!"

Her word not to take me back? he thought it but pulled it in time before he said it.

"It wasn't like that!"

"Then tell me what it was like because I can't begin to understand what would possess you to think I wouldn't be upset about this, that you would think I'd feel relieved that all this time you knew he was mine and never said a word!"

"Hugo was her son, not mine! She hid him from you, I didn't! If you want to be upset with someone you should be upset with her! But you're not because you can see her doing this for you and yet you can't even stop for a second to think about what I've gone through much less wonder if I was doing it for the same reason she was!"

They were toe to toe, Ginny matching his anger pound for pound until that last point which seemed to have broken their spirits. He had no reply to what she just said. They seldom had charged arguments like this and most of them were from a long time ago, before and earlier on in their marriage when they were much younger and still trying to define how things were going to be between them. There were ones about Hermione when Ginny still had much to say about her.

"I can't believe this," she repeated, throwing her arms up in the air in exasperation, her tone quieter but shaky and still miffed, "You had the affair, you got her pregnant and somehow it's my fault she chose not to tell you about it."

Ginny turned from him with tears burning in her brown eyes and walked a few paces away while he buried his face in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. She had made her point and he felt even angrier at himself after. He had been so livid he did not think the thing through before lashing out at her.

She asked me not to tell you.

It would have taken a saint of a wife to not agree with Hermione. Ginny was not clueless. She had three young children at that time, one still in her arms, and was trying her best to salvage a marriage that was just rocked by infidelity. Hermione's proposal to hide Hugo was a break. It was really a no brainer. The alternative would have ruined her family beyond repair. And he could imagine her holding onto the secret, maybe not for him as she claimed, but for her and their children.

Harry looked back and found snippets of memories, Ginny telling him she needed time off from the kids to work or do errands, suggesting taking the kids over to Hermione's to play or inviting her, Rose and Hugo over. That one time Hugo fell off his toy broom and was brought to St. Mungo's she prodded him to stand in for Ron who was overseas and stay with Hermione and Hugo until their son was okay.

He thought those odd and at one point asked her why. She said she was just doing what their therapist, Dr. Hyde, had suggested, proving to him that she was over the incident, letting him know that she trusted him not to make the same mistake.

But he could see it differently now. Ginny never cared a hoot about what Dr. Hyde said. The whole thing was merely a convenient excuse. What it was really about was so his son could spend time with him and his siblings. It was so Hugo would have memories of his father as he was growing up and his father would have the same. Ginny, through the years, had done what she could so that today wouldn't be as bad as it could have been. And he just had to vent his frustration on her.

He walked over to where she was and said, "Look at me...please."

Her arms were folded across her chest, her jaw set and when she finally looked at him it was evident she was still quite pissed.

"I'm sorry. I'm a prick. I...I just lost it."

She nodded almost imperceptibly but he would take it.

Ginny said to him with a frown, "I know it's been difficult. Have you thought about what you're going to do?"

He was winging it.

"I have to fix this, Gin. I can't keep this a secret."

Harry tried to gauge what Ginny thought about it. He had learned through the years that with women, at least the two he had been most intimate with, it wasn't about what they said but how they said it. She uncrossed her arms and appeared relieved.

"I agree. He may not say it but Hugo needs you to set him free from having to live two identities. Have you told Ron?"

"He wasn't too pleased," he replied and told her about the exchange.

"I'll talk with him," she countered.

"And Rosie?"

"I suspect she already knows. I think that's where this acting out since the summer comes from."

It was then when Harry remembered the letter. He took it from his pocket and without preamble handed it to her.

Ginny took it, recognized her handwriting and stared at it briefly before setting it on her desk.

"Aren't you gonna open it?" Harry asked.

"Maybe later."

Despite appearances she wanted to read it right away. She just didn't want him around when she did.

"I want to tell kids first. They have to know before anyone else."

"I can be there if you want," she offered.

Harry hesitated, not expecting it. He just couldn't ask that of her. It wasn't because he was too proud but because it would yet again be another imposition. She must have read his mind.

"It's okay Harry. I want to be there unless you'd rather I'm not. The news would go over much better if I am."

He nodded, "Do you think they'll understand?"

"James maybe. I'm not so sure about Al and Lily. They might be sore at you for a while."

Harry accepted what could happen. He hoped 'a while' wouldn't be a very long time.

Ginny continued, "We probably should hold off telling anybody else until after the funeral. It will be a distraction."

It struck him how, in spite of everything, Ginny could think about Hermione's welfare. Admirable as they were, in a way her actions were quite unsettling. In their earlier argument, he suspected that what he had heard from her was just the tip of the iceberg, a mere glimpse of what was under the surface which she had been bottling up for a long time. It must have killed her to be in the same room with Hermione that day Hugo was born.

"Why were you there?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"When Hugo was born. Why were you with her?"

Ginny frowned and once again withdrew, "It was a long time ago, Harry and I'd really rather not talk about it."

He did not insist. She probably did not want to re live the memory. As much as he was curious he wasn't mean. Over the next few minutes they discussed the best way to gently break the news to their children.

It would not be easy but it was the right thing to do.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ron stormed out of the Potter house, slamming the door behind him.

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.

Needing more air, he stomped across the garden and into the huge backyard. He took a broom from the shed then, recognizing it was Harry's, broke it into a gazillion pieces. As that wasn't enough he grabbed the next one and demolished it too. He rode the third broom and kicked off the ground aiming straight up the sky.

Wind in his face he drove up as high and as fast as he could, as if trying to shake off what he just found out and leave it behind.

At some point the broom shook violently and jarred him back to reality. He eased up a bit and came back to earth a couple of hundred feet before stopping. Coasting mid air he didn't even feel the tears steadily coming down his face as he thought of his ex-wife and what she had done.

Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe he didn't read it right. Steadying himself, he took out the letter again.

Dear Ron,

If you're reading this then it must mean I'm unable to speak or I'm not around anymore. Let me start by saying that in the thirty years I've known you you've been a wonderful friend, a great father and the best ex-husband anyone could ever hope for. You will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Rose is a young woman now and you will have your hands full with her before she becomes of age. She's fiercely independent and determined to find her own identity. Love her as you always have and trust your instincts. But if that fails, don't hesitate to find help (and I mean don't).

That brings me to Hugo. I don't think I've thanked you enough for stepping in as his Dad even though you knew he wasn't yours. You didn't have to but you did it out of the goodness of your heart. I know you love Hugo as much as you love Rose and I want you to keep him in mind as you read the rest of this letter.

You asked me once who Hugo's real father was and accepted my answer that he was a married man with whom we had no future with. That was the truth. I never told his father at that time because it was rather complicated but at some point I had to let him know. He knows now and by giving you my letter, he has decided to let you know. Harry is Hugo's father.

Don't bother hexing or causing him bodily harm. I figured that you'd lose your temper as soon as you read this so the second you opened the envelope you activated a spell that will protect him from you. The charm also prevents you from discussing with anyone other than Ginny matters pertaining to Hugo's paternity. I've set it to wear off in three days and I'm hoping you'd be calmer by then.

I know you're cursing me to hell for jinxing you but I had to do this, not so much for Harry as I know you will immediately conclude, but for Hugo. The last thing Hugo needs right now is to see the two of you fighting and it will be over nothing.

What happened isn't between you and Harry. We were no longer us when Harry and I lost our moral bearings. And while I understand how instinctively as her older brother you'd want to avenge the pain we've put her through, Ginny has already forgiven Harry for it. She has also known about Hugo for a long time.

It will be difficult but all I ask is that you do what's best for Hugo.

Take care Ron and kiss the kids for me.

Love,

Hermione

His mind was a mess of emotions. Wanting to tear it and keep it at the same time, he ripped the letter apart and shoved it into a pocket. It made sense now. If he had paid more attention then he probably would have picked up that Ginny and Hermione started drifting apart right around the time Lily was born when she and Harry were having difficulties. He was going through a lengthy wizard divorce process with Hermione the same time he automatically thought the strain between Ginny and her was because of him.

Only it wasn't because of him. He felt his face burn again. When his Dad said before how lucky their family was that he shared a compartment with Harry Potter on their first train ride to Hogwarts he obviously did not foresee this. Even he, who supposedly knew him because they were…were best friends did not foresee this. He and Hermione were the last people he would ever think would commit such a sin of the flesh!

The thought riled him up even more. So much for that 'she's like a sister to me' speech, the fucking liar! And he got away with it too. No one else knew of it and Ginny stayed with him all this time.

Even that he could not believe. Ginny had more spunk than to let him walk all over her like that. It wasn't fair. There were a different set of rules and justice for him just because he was Harry fucking Potter!

Since Ginny seemed to have accommodated him he was not inclined to do the same. He would give the bastard what he deserved!

With regards to his ex, the fact that Hermione chose not to tell him was understandable and as much as he should have been he could not bring himself to be angry at her. No wonder she was so adamant about going through the separation process even though she was pregnant and had accepted his offer to give Hugo his name. He had hoped then that she would change her mind about him once more, that she would take him back as she had time and time again.

She's like a sister to me…

His teenage jealous fits about her and Harry were not so baseless after all. At least Hermione never lied to him as blatantly as the scumbag did. Okay. Fine. Hermione never had to because he was too yellow to actually ask her the question.

Merlin! Rosie. She would be devastated…wait…that was it! That was what all the crazy behaviour was about; an act for her Mum because of what her Mum did in the past and the reason why all of a sudden Rosie had taken an avulsion to being like her. She must have found out last summer.

When word leaks out it would spread like poison, ruin relationships and mar the family's reputation, all because at eleven he was stupid enough to share a compartment with the asswipe!

Hugo. Hermione's son. Harry's son. Hermione was right in that he cared about the kid. In his mind and heart Hugo would always be his.

The pieces of parchment seared through his pocket.

…do what's best for Hugo.

XXXXXXXXXX

After Harry left for the meetings he refused to postpone,Ginny finally found herself alone in her study. She picked up the envelope bearing her name scribbled across in Hermione's neat writing. Hermione had predictably left a letter, hopefully not another apology.

She unsealed, read it and wasn't disappointed.

Ginny,

No more lies and no more apologies. I appreciate what you’ve done for us over the years and I know you'll take good care of my boy. Thank you.

Hermione

P.S. He will need your help with Ron

He…Harry. It wouldn’t be her if she didn’t think about him. Ginny stopped, thinking about what Hermione wrote…no more apologies.

She remembered when she first suspected that Hermione cared about Harry more than just a friend. It was the night Hermione came back from training with the Hag. They had gone out to celebrate her Harpies appointment and it turned into something else. They were best friends, she had stupidly broken up with the man she loved two months before and Hermione was pointing out what an idiot she was.

“You have to talk to him,” Hermione said to her for the umpteenth time.

For the umpteenth time, she answered, “How do you talk to someone who doesn’t talk?”

“But Harry talks,” then Hermione turned to Jessie who was sitting beside her, “Right?”

Jessie confirmed over her 2nd glass of rum cola, “I’ve definitely heard him talk.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not exactly,” Hermione replied, setting her almost finished screwdriver aside.

“He talks but not about important things,” she tried to explain, “And it’s not that he’s shallow or superficial, he just doesn’t open up to me.”

“Ginny…”

“And it’s not that I haven’t tried. I mean, I’ve already told him my frustration and he said he’d try but whenever we get to serious stuff he just clams up on me. And I don’t get that. Is it me? He shares stuff with you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Hermione immediately denied.

“He told you what happened in the forest with Voldemort. He values your opinion about stuff at work...”

“But that’s different.”

“That’s the thing. He doesn’t even want to talk to me about work. It’s Hogwarts all over again. He’s treating me like his 16 year old girlfriend who’s too precious to taint with bad news or take with him to fight evil.”

“That’s because he cares about you.”

“I’m just a girl to him, someone who looks pretty enough to be seen in public with. I’m just someone he can come home to at the end the day, snog senseless and have amazing sex with.”

“I already told her she shouldn’t complain about that,” Jessie interjected and said to a passing waitress, “Can I get another rum cola please? And two more screwdrivers.”

“I wanted to be more for him but all he wanted was a shag-worthy girlfriend. So I had it and I broke up with him.”

“What exactly did you say to him?” Hermione asked.

“That we weren’t growing as a couple and that we could only do that if he would treat me more like an ‘emotional’ partner.”

“’Emotional’ partner?”

“As opposed to a physical one.”

“And what did he say?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I told you he doesn’t like to talk. It was as if he was relieved I broke up with him.”

“You definitely read him wrong. That doesn’t sound like Harry,” Hermione was unconvinced.

“And when I heard his answer I had to walk away.”

“She cried for an entire week, moaning she wanted him back,” Jessie reported, her speech slurred and loud their approaching server probably heard.

“I did not. And it was more like 5 ½ days,” Ginny corrected as the waitress smiled at her while setting her drink down, “And the fact that he started dating that bimbo from Accounting before trying to patch things up with me just proves that he doesn’t love me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Hermione tried to make her feel better, “Harry cares about you. He must have a perfectly good reason for all this.”

They both cast a sideways glance at Jessie who just set her head on the table.

“Will you stop defending him? You’re supposed to be on my side here,” Ginny reminded her, showing a bit of irritation.

“Sorry,” Hermione apologized, and then asked about her roommate, “Is she okay?’

Jessie was passed out and snoring softly. Ginny had seen Jessie do this before.

“Yeah. She will be in the morning.”

Hermione continued, “But you really should talk to him. Harry is Harry. You’re right, he’s not shallow but he’s not the type who wears his heart on a sleeve or mouths off about his every emotion or thought. And asking him to change by breaking up with him is the worse thing that you can do. He doesn’t like to be threatened.”

“So you’re telling me that I should just accept the fact that he won’t ever talk to me about the meaning of life or about details of what he went through with Voldemort or about those horrible nightmares he keeps waking up from in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t know. I just know that you shouldn’t have broken up with him because of that one thing. Harry is a great guy, you’re his first real girlfriend and he has a lot to learn about being in a relationship.”

“What would you do if you were me?”

“Make up with him. Give it another shot.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. You just meet with him and tell him you want to try again. You can tell I have lots of experience with this sort of thing,” Hermione alluded to her on-again-off-again relationship with Ron which was currently off, “And I hear only good things about make-up sex.”

“Really, I can’t. Not even for the make-up sex. Then he’ll think I’m okay with it even if he doesn’t change. He won’t ever change and I’ll forever be just his fangirl sex thing.”

“Don’t you want him back?”

“Of course I want him back but I want him to make the first move,” she sighed a bit annoyed at the desperation in her voice. But this was Hermione she was talking to. She could be totally honest, “I want him to come back. If he cares about me why doesn’t he come back?”

“Don’t you see it? It’s the same on his end. If he comes back then you win and he's thinking you’ll think it’s going to be okay to threaten him the next time you want him to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

“What am I going to do?”

“We’ll think of something.”

Ginny could tell that Hermione was already plotting as her friend drank her screwdriver bottoms up.

“Bimbos are lining up to go out with him and have sex with him as we speak, camping out outside the Ministry, spilling into the streets,” she exaggerated.

“Can’t say I blame them. If I wasn’t your friend and didn’t know Harry I’d be lining up.”

They both froze as soon as Hermione finished talking.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed, her deep blush evident even with the dim lighting, “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Ginny tried her best to brush off memories of Harry and Hermione talking the way she had hoped she and Harry eventually would.

“It’s that bloody Hag,” Hermione complained bitterly, attempting to change the subject, ”I have no filters left.”

The Hag. The training. The Hag and the training Harry never talked to her about either.

“Don’t worry. I think I have it. Leave it to me and you’ll be back together in no time.”

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Ginny’s woes…believable?

A/N. Loved the thoughtful reviews. All the questions keep me on my toes :)

I did have to change one minor thing in Chapter 12 – as I intend this story to closely be as canon as I can tolerate and am basing a lot of it on some of JKR’s post DH interviews, I made a mistake in pairing up Neville with Susan. Thanks to mlui for pointing that out. I did mean for him to be married to the Leaky Cauldron’s landlady – Hannah Abbott.

Here’s the next installment – first Jessie and a flashback, then Hermione and the Professor – fishing and talking about the Hallows.

Hope you enjoy.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 14 – Three Women and a Baby

Jessie was mentally and physically spent. Warren let go of her mind so she could have full control of her senses moments after he took over but only when she reassured him she was going to do as he asked.

The impulse to leave and 'save' herself was immediately quelled by logic and reason. She was almost certain Warren had set up enough wards to keep the place secure and the chances of her getting past that were slim to none. Besides, she couldn't leave Hermione with him.

Still pissed at the man as she sat and partook of the local food brought in by an acquaintance of his, there was currently a silent truce between them. She'd eventually repay him for what he had done earlier but to his credit the pressure he put on her had paid off. Having not much choice she focused her energies on the task at hand. It had taken hours but there was noticeable improvement in Hermione's condition.

Treatment-wise she opted for simplicity and stuck to basics. Whether it was by her frequent cleansing spells or just time, many of the injurious residual curses she had detected within Hermione's body were now trivial in amount. Hermione's color had improved and her pulse stronger. Her brain activity had spiked up and stayed alert at levels that even exceeded normal awake patterns and Jessie could feel Hermione fighting for her life. This determination had always been one of the many things that Jessie admired about her.

Beep..beep…beep…beep…

"What's happening?!" Warren asked her anxiously.

“It’s the breathing machine. She’s fighting it. She’s trying to breathe on her own.”

Jessie got up and walked over to her bedside, adjusting the machine setting to assist so Hermione wouldn’t have to fight it. This was hopeful. She stepped back as a couple of nuns came and assessed their patient.

A memory of Hermione being a patient in a Muggle hospital suddenly came to her…the day Hugo was born.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Jessie told Hermione her concern about what her friend was choosing to do.

Hermione was clad in a flowery patient gown waddling the length of the birthing room at the St. Agnes Hospital Maternity ward, her right hand supporting her back, her left on her thirty six week pregnant belly, wearing the strain of sleep deprivation on her face. She was in her eighteenth hour of labor but still in high spirits.

"Thousands of mothers have given birth and will give birth in this hospital. My mother delivered me in this hospital. If it's good enough for them it's good enough for me," she rambled and would have had more to say if she wasn't so breathless.

"Muggles Mums ages ago didn't know any better. Hours of suffering to bring a baby into the world? This is downright barbaric and so passé. Why don't you just take the birthing potion and be over with it in an hour?"

"I've always wanted to deliver naturally and I didn't get the chance with Rosie. And even if I wanted to, you know why I can't...umpfff..."

Hermione stopped walking, held on to the nearby bed railing as she bent over, bit her lower lip and winced with the fresh wave of contraction. Jessie's face scrounged up with her. She got up from the visitor's chair and rubbed Hermione's back, coaching her through her breathing as the Lamaze classes taught them, doubting very much that it helped.

Witches had it easy. The birthing potion was taken at the very beginning of labour and it made the whole process quick and painless. However, to use it one had to be in a magical hospital just in case of complications and Hermione did not want to be in a Magical hospital. Although as a couple she and Ron were less newsworthy than Harry and Ginny, she could not risk the attention or the circus that would erupt if her baby looked nothing like her or Ron.

"Well if you can't have the birthing potion, for the love of God, take the Muggle drugs!" she pleaded.

Jessie had to say something. She couldn't take this unnecessary suffering anymore and she was only a spectator. That and her facial muscles were sore from sympathy labour.

Hermione waved her off as the pain eased and she continued her pacing. She had not said it out loud and would never admit to it but Jessie suspected that her friend preferred the process to hurt; the more it hurt the better.

"Are you punishing yourself for the sinful act that brought you here?" Jessie accused Hermione. "It's not going to make you feel better about it, you know."

"Shut the fuck up, Sister Jessica," Hermione growled dismissively as another contraction prevented her from fully defending her incomprehensible choice.

"Watch the language, Mum," Jessie chastised in jest hoping she'd lighten up and kept in mind to keep the Catholic in her suppressed for the remainder of the day.

A few minutes later it was evident that the contractions were more frequent and more painful. Hermione's nurse came, examined her and did some tests. Good news. It was finally time to push. The staff obstetrician and a pediatrician joined them and they set Hermione up on the bed.

As they were doing that, Jessie took her phone out and speed dialed a number, hoping Hermione wouldn't notice. She should have told Hermione that she was going to do this but deep down she was a coward and knew a less pre-occupied Hermione would try and prevent it.

"It's time," she spoke to the woman who answered and hung up.

"Who were you calling?" Hermione asked suspiciously, almost delirious from the ordeal she was going through, but sadly not delirious enough.

Jessie didn't have to answer for Hermione was already shaking her head, angry. The Auror could always read her like a book.

"No...I don't want her here! Call her ba...umpfff!"

Saved by another contraction. Jessie was where she was supposed to be, at the head of the bed gritting her teeth as Hermione shared the pain, crushing her hand with a death grip.

The Muggles had Hermione draped and in position. The doctor was in between Hermione's legs looking and poking in and around the area. The sight grossed her out. The books certainly glossed that part over. Sure he was a doctor but still there was something disturbing about being so exposed to a complete stranger. Of course, Hermione was in so much pain she didn't really care.

"Tell her I don't want her here," Hermione managed to say while recovering from that last one.

"She hates you. I don't think she gives a hoot about what you want," Jessie told Hermione what she already knew, "And I did tell her she's insane but she still wants to be here."

The doctor said over Hermione's belly, "We're ready and you're ready. At the next contraction I want you to push just like we talked about."

Hermione gave him a curt nod before turning slightly into Jessie's direction and barked, "Call her back. She only thinks she wants to be here. She obviously hasn't thought this through."

Actually, Ginny had for Jessie had spent time playing the scene out for her when she asked to be informed.

Jessie explained, "She wants to see his baby."

Why Ginny did was beyond her and she gave up trying to figure that out. She did, however, understand what her two friends were trying to accomplish by not telling Harry. She disagreed, said her piece but had enough respect for the both of them that she was not going to meddle.

“She wants to see his baby?!” Hermione repeated with incredulity, her grip on Jessie’s hand starting to tighten again and her face beginning to contort, "Tell her you'll send her a fucking picture! Hmmmpppp!!!"

The brunette took a big breath in and pushed down, lifting her shoulders up as she did, the determination on her face mixed with the now familiar pained expression.

"That was good," her doctor encouraged some half a minute later as Hermione let go and relaxed, catching her breath, "Do the same thing the next time."

His patient nodded.

"Easy for him to say," Jessie retorted so only Hermione could hear, "He hasn't lost the feeling in his fingers."

Hermione chuckled and closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing, Ginny’s impending arrival no longer a priority. On cue Ginny came in through the door. The sight must have been a shock for she froze just as she stepped into the room.

The nurse, thinking Ginny was family and not knowing any differently, announced her presence, "Look who's here to help you out, hon."

Hermione opened her tired eyes and fleetingly met Ginny's stoic stare. The room just got a bit colder. The helpful assistant led Ginny to the empty space opposite Jessie at the head of the bed and got her to hold Hermione's other hand, which she let go of as soon as the nurse left. There was really no time to feel their awkwardness as Hermione clenched Jessie’s hand in another death grip.

"Push, Hermione! Push!" the doctor urged.

"Hmmpppp!!!"

Hermione did and repeated this a few more times over the next several minutes, keeping her eyes shut in between pushes. After some time, unbeknownst to Hermione, her doctor, the nurse and the pediatrician were starting to worry about how her baby was doing. Jessie glanced at Ginny who remained unconcerned where she stood, her eyes transfixed on the beeping screen showing the baby's heartbeat.

"It's very close, Hermione," her doctor gave her an update, "I can see its head when you bear down. I know you're tired but just one more big push."

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him teary eyed, for the first time showing eroded confidence, "I don't think I can. I've tried and I can't."

"I'm sure you have one more in you," Jessie tried to give her a boost.

She didn't reply but did try again. Still nothing.

Hermione shook her head, "It's too hard. I can't...it hurts too much...”

Jessie heard her doctor tell the nurse to call the operating room. They were going to cut her up.

Unexpectedly, Ginny leaned in closer so Hermione had no choice but to look at her. The red head spoke to her husband’s erstwhile mistress for the first time in months, her tone as detached as the appearance on her face was but neither could mask the hurt in her eyes.

"You're having his child. Just think of him and how much you love him. Think of how you couldn't say no when he came to you, not even when you knew it was wrong and would destroy all that you both cared about. Think of how good he made you feel while betraying me. You stabbed me in the back for him. Surely you can do this for him.

"And you can't hurt as much as I'm hurting right now so stop whining and get it done. I really don't want to be here longer than I have to be."

Ginny wielded the biting words sharply and there was no mistaking it got to Hermione, the injury reflexively riling her up. Jessie saw Hermione's expression change from one of doubt to match that of Ginny's - pain and anger.

With the next wave of contraction, fuelled by what Ginny said to her, Hermione bore down with everything she had. Jessie saw Ginny grab Hermione's other hand and position herself to support Hermione from behind as the latter pushed.

Soon enough Hermione let out a primitive yawp which was immediately followed by her baby's first cry. A wave of relief came over the room.

The doctor cut the umbilical cord and showed them her still crying, blood-covered infant, "You have a beautiful boy, Hermione. Congratulations."

Hermione touched her son's cheek lightly. For a brief time the child stopped crying, opened his eyes and looked around before wailing again as he was taken away to be looked after. Hermione was openly crying. Ginny had tears in her eyes too but not for the same reason.

Ginny eased Hermione down on her back. There was silence between the three of them as the St. Agnes team finished up and left Harry's son snug in his Mum's arms.

Then it was just them. Three women and a baby; a baby with messy black hair and green eyes.

Jessie couldn't help but state the obvious, "He looks just like his father."

"Yes, he does," Ginny replied as if it was a most unfortunate thing.

In a way it was because it complicated things so much more than they wanted.

“I don’t suppose either of you has a blood relative who has black hair and green eyes?”

So it wasn’t funny.

Ginny turned to Hermione, "I've said it before. You should tell him, now more than ever."

Hermione had eyes only for the baby in her arms.

"Get out, please," she asked Ginny calmly.

Ginny complied.

"We need a moment," Hermione told her too.

From the doorway Jessie glanced back, the sight uncomfortably tugging at her heartstrings.

Under dimmed lights Hermione closed her eyes as she planted a lengthy kiss on her son’s head and sobbed silently.

XXXXXXXXXX

The rowboat was about nine feet long, four feet wide and, judging from the chipped white paint and the water at their feet, was way past its prime. Her rescuer, Professor Albus Dumbledore, had on robes of brilliant colors but had traded his wizard's hat for a fisherman's one. In his hand was an oft used chrome fishing rod at the end of which was attractive lure he had just cast off the left side.

He followed the bait to where it landed, reeled the line back in and, finding nothing tugging at its end, did it all over again. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer of a spare rod. Much like Quidditch, her tolerance for watching someone fish depended on who the fisher was.

Truthfully Hermione didn't have time to do this. She had to get back and was hoping the Professor could point her in the right direction or maybe even take her back to where she wanted to be. She thought of a few ways to interrupt without sounding rude but couldn't come up with one she was happy with. All of it made her feel like an ungrateful bitch. Besides, surely there was a point in her crossing paths with the Professor again other than having wet and cold feet.

"Um, Professor, the boat is leaking," she finally brought the matter of the deepening waters to the wizard who seemed oblivious to it.

"Oh dear," he sounded as if he had just realized it, "I've been meaning to fix that."

With the wave of his hand the waters disappeared and a thin crack at the bottom repaired itself. But as soon as that happened the boat sprang another leak, causing the professor to blush, a bit embarrassed.

"Being old the boat is inherently leaky and in need of constant attention."

"It seems like you could use a less leaky boat."

As Professor Dumbledore fixed the second hole he replied, "True. I could also get a bigger and more seaworthy vessel while I'm at it, have the latest technological and magical enhancements on board to help me catch larger fish and anchor where I know I'll have the best catch. But then, where's the fun in that?"

"You like fishing under adversity."

"I don't seek them out if that's what you mean by 'like'. Adversities naturally happen and we deal with them as they arise. But if you notice, one generally has more appreciation for things that don't come so easily. In this case adversity makes the catch even more gratifying."

"Or frustrating, if the fish don't bite at all."

Of course, they weren't really talking about fishing anymore.

With a wistful grin on his face he replied his sights still following the end of his line, "When I was younger I got frustrated a lot. I'd like to think that with experience and skill I'm better at it compared to when I started but we all have good and bad days. I do find it less frustrating now that I fish mostly just to fish, not that there's anything wrong with fishing for the fish."

They fell into a momentary silence as she pondered what kind of an angler she was. In her forty years she guessed she had been mostly the other type, the one who fished for the fish. There were always goals to reach, laws to be changed, systems to be set up, and mostly they had to be worth her while. Her satisfaction had always depended on her success at achieving them.

That was the case even with Rose and Hugo although she couldn't imagine any parent not wanting the best for their kids and not having a thought about what that might look like. On hindsight maybe it was partly why she gave up on her marriage too quickly; it just got too hard, the consequences on Rose and Hugo too costly, that whatever little upside there was to stay together wasn't worth it.

The only time she was not fishing for fish was the time she was with Harry, when she lived for the moment, when there were no goals or expectations to be met, when it was just them, they just were and it was enough.

She finally mustered enough courage to speak up, "I'm sorry to interrupt Professor but I need to get back."

There was silence. She wondered if she had said it too softly that he didn't hear. She was about to repeat it when he asked her a question.

"Why are you here, Miss Granger?"

"I don't know why I'm here. I just am and not that I 'm not happy to see you; I don't want to be here because I have to be somewhere else. I was hoping you could help me."

"How can I help you? I’m dead and you’re still alive," he pointed out to her, his voice questioning her and pushing her to figure it out.

She hesitated, "The Hallows."

Professor Dumbledore replied, "I was beginning to wonder if you would even broach the matter."

He set his rod down and sat in front of her, the boat rocking slightly as he did. Hermione had the professor's full attention now and she wasted no time getting to the point.

"Did you ever consider destroying them?"

"When I defeated Grindelwald and held the Elder wand for the first time I impulsively tried to break it. You attempted this in many ways yourself and you know it's virtually indestructible."

"All three Hallows are."

He nodded.

"I figured as much but see, the cloak wasn't mine to even endeavor to destroy and the stone was a sentimental favourite."

Although she was sure it wasn't the old wizard's intention she felt a bit guilty about what she tried to do to Harry's cloak. Of the three it was the one she was most reluctant to get rid of, also for sentimental reasons, but theoretically the one that should have been the easiest. It was not a bad thing she was unsuccessful.

"Professor, right after Voldemort died, why didn't you tell Harry to keep the wand?"

Professor Dumbledore reminded her, "If you remember, it was Harry's choice. He didn't want the Elder wand which ironically made him the perfect master for it. What I could have and probably should have done was warn you three of the dangers of someone else re-uniting the Hallows and using it for evil."

"It would have been nice if you did," she quipped. “Why didn’t you?”

Hermione recalled being so upset at the Professor's sin of omission a long time ago but having dealt with the Hallows for more that fifteen years it was old news to her. She was no longer angry and hadn't been since she realized there was no point in dwelling on the what-ifs. The question was more a mere curiosity now.

"I just couldn't do that to Harry. I thought that with the prophecy and his destiny with Tom Riddle he had been through enough grief to last several lifetimes. I wasn't about to burden him with protecting the Hallows."

She nodded, understanding. After all, it was for the same reason she didn’t ask Harry to be part of POTH.

"And besides, evil had just been defeated," the Professor added, "The wizarding world was celebrating. I didn't want to be a party pooper."

"But you enchanted the book you gave me," she said evenly, referring to the copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard he bequeathed her, "You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

The professor cracked a smile, "I admit, as much as I hoped it would never be a problem, I couldn't pass in peace without knowing that someone responsible would keep an eye out for the Hallows. Now, was I mistaken to assume you wouldn't mind being the secret's steward?"

Hermione couldn't imagine anyone else being able to accomplish what had to be done but she did need some validation for her own peace of mind.

"No you weren't. Do you regret choosing me?"

"I have to admit what you did with it was a bit unorthodox," the professor replied too kindly. "Or perhaps I should say 'novel'. I have no regrets. Did you find the other stories in it useful?"

"Yes. But it seems like we're losing and we're running out of time."

"Don’t give up hope. You’re not dead yet and the remaining members of the POTH will not let you down."

It would have been over a long time ago had she used the Hallows and she had thought about doing so many times.

“Did you ever second guess yourself?"

"About?"

"You had two of them at any one point. Why didn't you borrow Harry's cloak and go after Voldemort and the Horcruxes? Why leave that whole thing up to chance that a bunch of teenagers would figure out the Hallows in time and just at the right time?"

"I had faith that all things would eventually turn out for the good."

Hermione had no such faith.

"Many died and it could have ended really horribly. Voldemort could have killed Harry."

"Miss Granger, I know the despite history you still put little stock in prophecies. Never being a firm believer of divination myself it took a long time for me to accept that Harry was the One who had to do it. I was tempted many times but I would have failed to rid the world of Voldemort even with possession of all three Hallows."

"But how could you have been so sure of that. You never even tried."

"I didn't deserve to be the Master of Death,” Professor Dumbledore said emphatically, “You of all people should understand. You had all three and gave them up."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I had this funny scene in mind when I began writing about Hugo’s birth but it turned out quite serious. I hope having it from a neutral POV conveyed both Ginny’s and Hermione’s emotions adequately.

The talk about the Hallows was my attempt at explaining why the Professor acted the way he did. This chapter should also give you more ideas about the POTH and why Hermione put it together.

Up next … probably the chapter before I put the present on hold and go back to the past…it’s about time Harry wondered where Jessie was and I’m thinking Hugo will attempt an escape from the Pitch with the help of some school friends :)

A/N. There are three parts to this chapter.

In the first, Harry tells his children about Hugo. I didn’t think of writing the scene until autumnRose mentioned it (thanks a lot!). I was not enthusiastic about it because I knew Harry would have to really pay for what he did. It was difficult to write and those who don’t like to read Harry squirm and struggle maybe should skip it. I did write it from Al’s POV hoping it would be less painful.

In the second Hugo feels the aftermath of the revelation and in the third, Harry at the Leaky Cauldron.

For those who do skip the first part I urge you to read the last few lines of it.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 15 - Escape

Al tossed and turned in his bed. It felt like there were bugs crawling all over him and he couldn't keep still. He was hot all over, angry at his Dad and angry at the person he was forced to share his room with. Just a few feet away in a spare bed he was sure his half brother was awake.

When his Dad took him, James and Lily into his Library after supper they all thought they were getting a reprimand for spying on his meeting earlier that day. They couldn't have been more wrong.

He had them sit closely and was clearly not himself. Mum was there too, right beside him, as tense and as anxious as the rest of them were. The last time the family was all serious and huddled that close was when Grandma Molly died a few years ago. It was from this past experience that Al had expected something bad but nothing could have prepared him for what his father told them.

"Before I say anything else I want you to know that I love you all and I always will no matter what."

Al's heart skipped a beat. He had never heard his Dad talk so seriously.

James shifted nervously as Lily leaned forward and asked, concerned, "What's wrong Dad?"

"There's something that I want to share with you that's unpleasant. It will hurt you and it can make you angry but you have to know the truth," his Dad said, his voice grave and quivering, his eyes meeting each of theirs apologetically, "Your Mum and I thought about how best to tell you this. There isn't a best way."

Al noticed his Dad glance over to his Mum who nodded in encouragement. His Dad took a big breath in, exhaled and continued.

"Fourteen years ago I had an affair with another woman. It was inexcusable, wrong and regrettable. I hurt a lot of people, your Mum most of all and now you. It took some time but your Mum and I worked it out and put that behind us."

Dad stopped talking, waiting for their reaction. Al was speechless. His Dad did what?! He was half expecting someone to jump up and say it was all a joke, a cruel one but a prank nonetheless. Was he the only one having trouble believing this?

He looked over to his older brother. James looked calm, quiet and somber, as if this wasn't news to him. That wasn't normal. Lily was beet red, eyes ablaze with pools of tears poised to erupt from the hurt and anger behind them, glaring at Dad and then at Mum. She looked like she was about to bolt. That seemed a bit extreme. His Mum, who sat by Lily, took her hand in hers and held it tight, trying to comfort, urging her to stay and bracing her for more. Mum was already crying and she never cried.

His father moved closer to them, hands clasped together, the look on his face as he watched them and saw Lily's reaction was a sight Al had not seen before; Dad was trying to hold himself together.

Being the logical one, Al needed to know more than that. He couldn't let go of a nagging question in his mind. It seemed stuck there until it got an answer, as if with one everything would make sense.

"Who was the woman, Dad?"

Al had no idea and was even more surprised by his answer.

"Your Aunt Hermione."

Al's jaw dropped, stuttering as he replied, "B...but yo...you were married and she was married."

And yes he knew that was what an affair was. It was just too unimaginable.

"At that time she and your Uncle Ron were separated," Dad clarified.

"But you and Mum weren't. I don't understand…"

"It was a mistake...I made a mistake."

"But why? Weren't you happy?"

His father seemed to be choosing his words carefully, "Your Mum and I were having some difficulties but that shouldn't have mattered. I make no excuse. I made a mistake and I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"Didn't you love Mum?"

"I did. I do."

"I still don't get it," Al was shaking his head, frustrated at his inability to understand.

"I wish I could explain it better but I can't without sounding...," his voice trailed off, as if he decided not to continue with that train of thought, "Al, I know you're trying to find reason in all of this, to make sense of why I did it. I can give you all the reasons in the world but it still won't make it right."

Al felt sick in the stomach. Although he didn't live in a bubble and was aware from friends and family that such things could happen in a marriage, this happening to his Mum and Dad was totally unexpected. In his eyes they were perfect, his Dad was perfect, and for the first time in his life he realized that his Dad was not perfect after all.

A protectiveness sprung from within him as he looked over to his Mum, whatever lost admiration for his Dad had now transferred over to her. She wasn't mad, she had forgiven him, and the anger that he should have felt was smothered by her calm and supportive presence. It was okay. Things were alright. There was status quo.

"Did you love her?" his brother asked.

"Yes," his Dad replied honestly.

Al noticed his Mum flinch ever so slightly. James annoyed him. It was a tactless question to ask while Mum was there and his Dad should have lied.

"Why are you telling us all this? Why does it matter now that she's dead?" James followed up with a good one, one that his Dad seemed uncomfortable to answer.

"It's obvious really," Lily spoke, bawling her eyes out as she did, "He was born five months after I was."

"He?"

"Hugo's our brother," James answered for Lily.

Lily was outraged, "How could you?! How could you cheat on Mum while she was pregnant!?"

"Lily…" Mum spoke for the first time, an attempt to calm her daughter down.

"I'm really sorry sweetheart," his Dad apologized to Lily, reaching for her hand.

"Is that all you can say?! You're sorry?!" Lily abruptly got up, let go of Mum and pushed Dad's arm away, "I hate you!"

"Lily, it's not what you think. Your Dad loves you," Mum said to her.

"I don't believe that! If he did then he wouldn't have done what he did and we wouldn't be having this conversation! He's selfish and he cares only about himself!" Lily was shouting, "And I can't believe you took him back! You shouldn't have! I would have much rather grown up fatherless!"

Lily stormed out past their Mum and Dad sobbing. Dad wanted to follow but Mum stopped him.

"You know she didn't mean that," Mum said to him, but that did nothing to improve Dad's devastated expression.

Like his Dad he figured Lily meant each and every word she said. Mum left and followed Lily up the stairs, leaving the men in the Potter Library in what would be one of the most awkward moments in Al's memory. Al sat there quietly, his eyes glued to his shoelaces, thinking how foolish he was; there would be no status quo. Things were already changing and he couldn't see past the moment to be hopeful that things would be okay.

He couldn't help but find blame. He blamed his Dad for doing what he did and the brother he didn't know he had for ruining their family. Tears stung his eyes and he couldn't stay where he was seated. He couldn't look at his Dad for fear of echoing the words Lily just said. On the one hand he was angry but on the other he loved the man and couldn't kick him especially when he was down.

His Dad after some time regained his voice.

"I know it's a lot to take in at a time like this," he said to them, "I didn't know about Hugo until yesterday."

"He's going to live with us?" James asked rhetorically.

"He is my son and your brother. Our home is his."

The home he broke...sure.

"And everyone will know?" Al queried.

His Dad nodded, "Sometime after his Mum's funeral."

"I suppose you expect us to be nice to him," Al couldn't hide the bitterness in his tone.

"I expect you treat him as you would your brother," came a firm reply, "It's not his fault he is who he is so don't take it out on him. If you're angry be angry at me. Is that clear?"

Already he was taking Hugo's side over his.

Al stood and started to leave, "May I be excused?"

"Is that clear?" his Dad repeated, more assertively.

Al met his gaze and glared back, "Yes sir."

As he exited the library and made his way up the stairs he overheard James.

"They'll come around, Dad."

"I hope so," his Dad replied.

"Does this mean you and Mum are staying together?"

Al took two rungs up at a time. He didn't want to hear his father’s answer and whatever it was that his brother meant by his question, he rather he didn't know.

XXXXXXXXXX

Pack in hand and careful not to make a sound, Hugo slipped out of Al's room just as he heard sonorous snoring from his older brother. It had taken so long for Al to fall asleep and hopefully his aiders were holding position. He had managed to send them a coded Muggle wireless text message earlier when it was clear there was no way his father would let him go back to help find his Mum's murderer.

It was a good thing too because Hugo couldn't stand the frosty treatment he was getting from Lily and Al since after dinner. It was easy enough to figure that his secret was out. Even though he had thought about the moment a lot of times and had expected it, reality was much worse. He knew it wasn’t his fault but it still stung. He felt so bad for Lily.

Hugo couldn’t stay and he thought that maybe if he left now things would be better. The best would be to disappear from their lives forever, something his Mum had thought of but couldn’t do. A gnawing chest pain came as he thought of her and understood her all the more. He had failed her.

This is too hard. I’m running away, Mum. I’m so sorry I can’t make it work.

He brushed off the tears from his face and steeled himself. First there was catching his Mum’s killers then he would be winging it. He had no plans beyond leaving and getting to Uncle Warren. He was however certain that he couldn’t go back to this and even if his Dad offered, which Hugo couldn’t imagine he would now that he knew who he was, he couldn’t live with him. He didn’t know how but somehow he would take care of himself.

As his father, Dad and Aunt Ginny were still out and he decided to take his chance. After clearing the back entrance of any magical alarms, he unlatched the lock and flashed three short bursts of white light from his wand. He waited for a response, scanning the darkness of the Quidditch pitch and beyond. Then it came. Red light.

They weren't ready. He waited. Some five minutes later he flashed his wand again. Same response. What was taking them so long?

"You should just tell Dad how to find Uncle Warren," someone hissed from behind him.

Rosie. Shoot.

"I promised Mum I wouldn't get him involved," he whispered back.

"Technically it's Uncle Harry who's getting him involved, not you. Just tell him. Tell them. They can help Uncle Warren fight the Master of Death."

James must have shared with her what they overheard during the meeting. There was no time to argue with her.

"Go back to sleep."

"I'm coming with you."

He just noticed that Rosie had a rucksack packed as well.

"No, you're not!"

"She was my mother too. So what are we waiting for?"

"Yeah, what the hell are you waiting for?"

A rough voice replied from the shadows outside and a large furry animal suddenly appeared at the doorway startling brother and sister, toppling them onto their backs. Rosie's eyes immediately widened at her recognition of danger.

Silencio!

Rosie's mouth was fully agape and if not for his quickness would have woken up the entire neighbourhood. He quickly turned to face the six foot beast that had just entered the Potter House and gave him a castigating look.

"What?" the werewolf whispered.

"You're scaring my sister."

The werewolf caught his reflection off the mirror and realized why.

"Sorry," he whispered to Rosie as he changed back into his human form, longish blond hair and baby blue eyes, offering a hand which Hugo's sister did not take.

"This is Spencer, a friend of mine from school," Hugo helped her up instead and took off the spell he cast on her, "Spence, my sister, Rose."

"This is Rosie? She's a fox! Now I know why you never introduced us. I'm delighted to finally meet you. Love the pink hair."

Spencer took her hand, planted a kiss on the back of it and flashed a roguish grin his best friend had used often on other girls because it actually worked. Rosie was blushing and giggling an incoherent reply. Hugo rolled his eyes. Great.

"Spence," he reminded sharply, "That's my sister. Get your hands off her."

"Chill man. I was just saying hello."

"Right. I'll kick your arse later. Can we go?" Hugo retorted impatiently, threatening his friend who was a head taller and two years older than he was.

"And are you coming too?" Spencer asked Rosie.

Before Rosie could answer Hugo hexed her, casting a full body bind. It wasn’t exactly how he wanted to say good bye to his sister but he had no choice.

"I'm really sorry but I can't let you," he said to her ignoring the fierce look she was giving him. “If you go Dad will follow.”

While a hole burned in his back from Rosie’s piercing glare, Spencer led him out to the pitch with a small light in his hand, instructing him to trace his footsteps and move towards the northernmost Potter property line, which ended on the edge of a large city park. As they got closer, Hugo noticed an almost indiscernible monotonous low pitched humming sound.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Isa calls it the Magical Barrier Fragmentation Device. I prefer Ward Buster."

Before he could ask another question they were face-to-face with the 10-foot concrete property boundary. Spencer was once again a werewolf, giving him a boost up the wall and helping him down on the other side where a black flat-bed Ford was idling. A Muggle dishwasher size contraption with a cannon sized nozzle aimed at the Potter house whirred softly on its cargo space.

"It's about time."

Flashlight in hand, a teenage girl with long straight black hair and black eyes jumped off the back of the pick-up and approached Hugo with a worried expression, "Are you okay?"

He nodded but did not meet her interrogating stare. Isabella Martinez knew he wasn't. He steered their conversation away from him.

"Was all this really necessary?"

Hugo was perplexed about his friends' choice of method of escape. For non-magical fifteen year olds this was a big production. Had he known they were going to do this he would not have asked for help but feeling so alone he really needed their company.

Spencer pointed to the Pitch, "In case you forgot, your father is Britain's Head Auror. Isa didn't want to take any chances."

Isa was a scientific genius who applied principles of the Muggle discipline to enhance or negate magical forces.

"How did you manage to put all this together?"

"We're on a field experiment," Isa said too innocently.

"Off campus and out of country?"

"Interestingly enough the school forms doesn't ask for that information," his other friend grinned, "We borrowed Uncle Biff's truck to transport the thing from the Flooport but genius here almost blew it."

Isa let out an exasperated breath, visibly annoyed at the blond.

"You could have warned me before slapping me on the butt in front of your uncle and introducing me as your girlfriend."

Hugo suppressed the laughter as the image of the scene flashed before him. Uncle Biff raised Spencer since his parents died from a werewolf attack when he was two. He had met his friend's uncle a few times and, comparing Spencer's wild upbringing with Hugo's sheltered experience, the man was lacking in a few key parenting skills. The things his friend got away with were a continuous source of open envy.

"That was the quickest way to get him to fork the keys over," Spencer defended his crude behaviour, "And besides, had I told you beforehand you would have never agreed."

"You're right about that," Isa retorted.

Hugo became friends with the two since their first year at the IMAN. They got along okay before but lately, he had noticed how much more irritable Isa seemed to be around Spencer. They both attended classes over the summer and Hugo assumed something must have happened then. He made a note to ask Spencer about it after he sorted his own stuff out.

On his suggestion they got going. He helped Isa get into the cab and sat beside her. Spencer got into the driver’s seat, shifted gears and put the truck in motion.

Their destination was Spencer's home, an hour's drive from the Pitch. As part of security, the IMAN had a closed circuit Floo network connecting it to its students' places of residence. Once they got to the school, Isa would get them access to her home and from there they could Disapparate to where he suspected Uncle Warren would be.

"I'm sorry about your Mum," Isa's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Hugo thanked her and they slipped back into silence. He looked out the window and at the rear view mirror, the sight of the Pitch getting smaller and smaller, darkness giving him cover as he cried quietly. Jaw clenched, he transformed himself back to his natural appearance, feeling that it was the least he could do for her.

I’m so sorry, Mum.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was almost ten in the evening. Harry was seated at a round table in one of the small upper meeting rooms at the Leaky Cauldron surrounded by the familiar faces of wizards and witches he was certain he could trust. His reservations about completely sharing the story of the Hallows were completely gone now that there was urgency to finding the Dark wizard who in all likelihood had all three.

Master of the Wand and Master of Death. Either way Harry was not fazed by what was before them. He felt empowered by the brave faces of old friends and comrades driven by the burning need to finish what Hermione was trying to do and getting justice for what befell her. It did make him wonder again why Hermione chose not to do what he was doing now. Why the POTH?

Ron was also there, seated as far away from him as possible. Harry was glad that he was setting aside their personal quarrels for now and had joined him to talk with their Hogwarts schoolmates. He had asked Ginny to come too on Ron's point that if they were asking others to help them, why was she being left out.

For her part, Ginny had been quiet during his monologue, maybe too surprised that he had asked her to join in. Or maybe like him she was still reeling from how badly Al and Lily reacted to their talk after dinner. They had thought the worst and it did happen despite Ginny being there. She had followed Lily to her room and they did talk a bit but she convinced him that the best thing to do was to give Al and Lily space and time to think, to trust that they would soon realize that there was no point dwelling on the past.

Nevertheless, Harry was quite worried about Lily. He felt that he had already lost her and it was the worst feeling in the world.

His attention shifted back to reality as Neville, who was sitting beside his wife Hannah, asked, "This group of seven, what is it called again?"

"POTH," Ron answered and spelled out the letters for him.

Neville had a frown on his face.

"What is it?" a youthful looking Dennis Creevey enquired.

"I've come across that word before and not so long ago," he shared, still as forgetful as he was when he was younger.

He turned to his wife for assistance who shrugged and suggested, "Hogwarts maybe?”

"It's not inconceivable that she asked someone from Hogwarts to be a part of it," Harry replied. "A professor?"

"A magical being?" Ron chimed in.

The suggestions made Neville remember, "Actually both. Well, at least we've always suspected he was part goblin."

"Professor Flitwick?" Ron said out loud.

Of course, they couldn't ask their old Charms teacher because he had been dead for a year.

"I helped his replacement clear out his quarters and there was this small chest inside his closet that we found difficult to move and couldn't open. It had those letters on its handle."

"But don't magical protections cease at the time the caster dies?" Dennis asked.

"Not all," Ron gave Harry a fleeting scowl.

"Or maybe it wasn't the Professor who conjured it," Luna Lovegood-Scamander just rejoined their conversation via Floo from the embers within the fire, "What was in it?"

"Dunno," Neville raised both shoulders up, "We tried everything but never got it open.”

“Where is it now?” Ron asked.

“Last I saw it, it was still in Professor Hullseye’s quarters but I can’t be sure he hasn’t moved it."

That set off a discussion on how to get into his room without raising suspicion from either the Charms Professor or the Hogwarts Headmistress. It also made Harry suspicious about the real cause of Professor Flitwick's death, which had been 'due to natural causes'. If the Professor was POTH too then they were running out of alive POTHs to find.

He would definitely ask Jessie to look into how he died. That was the other thing. He had not heard back from her and Seamus was not there yet.

After another half an hour they adjourned. Neville had a plan to get into the quarters to see if the chest was still there and examine it more closely. They would have to involve George and the Wheezes. Neville and Susan were going to help Ted find more POTH names while Luna was going to discretely use her connections in the magical being world to find out if POTH meant anything to them. Spying on the Head Unspeakable would be dangerous but Dennis assured him he was up to it. He would attempt to find out if the stone was in the Head Unspeakable’s vault.

As the others left, Seamus arrived with a worried expression.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he apologized. "I got tied up in France trying to complete a deal."

"Where's Jessie?" Harry asked noticing that he came alone.

"I was going to ask you the same thing. I saw her when she left for work this morning. She said she had lots to do and that she was coming home late. I haven't been able to get a hold of her since."

"She told me she was with her sick sister," Harry recalled their phone conversation more than twelve hours ago, recognizing that if Seamus did not know that, it meant one thing.

"Harry, Jessie is an only child," Seamus face was ashen, "What the fuck is going on?"

Just as Harry was about to answer his phone rang. It was Ted. Hugo was on the move.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. This chapter will be the last of the angsty present in a while.

I am getting a vibe that I’ve tested most readers to their limits and interest in the story is waning – quite understandably so because of what it is about! Thanks to the loyal few who continue to follow it.

A/N. To those who left reviews – thanks. They were very helpful. I’ll be keeping them in mind as I write the rest of this story.

This is a transition chapter. As I mentioned the plan is to leave the angsty present (most will be relieved) and put that on hold until we find out what really happened.

Warnings : Not much direct HHr interaction here. While Ron isn’t going to have an appearance, the squeamish might find some of Hermione’s internal dialogue about him deplorable. :rolleyes:

The first part is a continuation of the last chapter – Harry85, it was the best way I could come up with to explain why Harry chose to let Hugo go.

The second part is still from Harry’s POV but of the past – a continuation of Hermione’s first day back at work after the incident at the Japanese restaurant where she and Warren have a ‘disagreement’. I had a lot of fun with this one.

The third part is a quick overview of where the major players of the story were in their lives back in 2003. The reviewer comment about Ginny seemingly being everywhere is not unwarranted. I need to show Harry’s relationship with Ginny because he did end up marrying her and even though Past!Ginny will be leaving to join the Harpies at Holyhead soon, Harry and Hermione will have to talk about her and who she is to Harry at some point.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 16 – Finnigan’s

“What do you want me to do?” Ted asked him.

It took Harry a fraction of a second to answer Ted's question.

"Let them go, but keep close. Call the standby team into action."

Ted acknowledged and hung up. Ginny realized what was happening and didn't like it.

"What are you doing? You can't let him go back there."

"What do you propose I do? Lock him up and force information out of him?"

"I would," Ron said.

Harry did not argue and let the challenge slide. Ron was not going to make Harry feel that he was a lousy parent compared to him. Since intercepting Hugo's message to his Muggle friends the Head Auror had thought about this long and hard. It was a difficult choice to make but what made him finally decide was seeing Hugo just before they left for the Leaky Cauldron.

It was painful to watch the boy withdraw as Al and Lily made very little effort to hide how they felt about him being their brother. Lily even insisted on going back to Hogwarts that night. Just as Harry was afraid of, their rejection solidified Hugo' guilt about hurting them for being who he was. Illogical as the guiltiness was, sadly enough, at thirteen he would have felt the same and wouldn't want to stay either.

"I can't believe you're putting him in harm's way," Ginny pointed out.

"I don't want him to go but you saw him tonight. Not only does he want to find justice for his Mum, he's desperate to leave and be with those he can’t hurt by who he is."

Hugo wanted to be amongst people who accepted him for who he was and Harry could relate to that. After all, he ran away from blood relatives who hated him and once longed to live with his godfather when he was around Hugo's age. Harry couldn't deny Hugo that which he was currently not able to provide.

After Hugo rejected Ron's final appeal to tell them how to find Warren, it was apparent he did not have faith in them not to turn his uncle in (and he was absolutely right not to). He would never willingly part with the information. It would be like ratting on family.

So while coercion would have been the easier and safer route Harry went with his gut. For now he would cut Hugo some slack for not doing so would drive the kid further away. Over time he would introduce himself into his son’s life; the first major thing he had to do was gain Hugo's trust.

"But he belongs here. Hermione sent him here," Ginny was still understandably concerned, "There has to be a better way. If he gets hurt..."

"Give me a little credit, will you? I promise you I won't let anything bad happen to him. I am good at what I do and I do know what I'm doing."

"I still don't like this," Ron was shaking his head but he wouldn't understand because he had never ever been alone in his life.

"It's my decision," Harry replied with finality, then got on the phone with Rocco from Ministry Security office.

"Will someone explain what's going on?" Seamus pleaded, still in the dark and very confused.

Ron and Ginny spoke with Seamus and filled him in while Harry got the confirmation he needed from surveillance cameras at the CFO's office. Rocco sent him the image of Warren's wolf-like Patronus delivering Jessie a message.

“Warren has Jessie,” he showed them the picture.

He held on to the other conclusion he arrived at, his pulse rapidly beating just thinking about it. Jessie told him she was with her sick sister, not once but twice. She had to have been referring to Hermione. Hermione was alive.

Logic took over and it made perfect sense. Warren had Jessie, Jessie was with Hermione, Warren had Hermione. Harry looked at Ron and Ginny. There was no point telling them until he saw her with his own eyes.

What worried him was that Hermione was obviously very ill. Hermione would never fake her own death and allow Hugo and Rose to go through all this. She would have sent word if she was alive and well enough. Survival mode or not Warren better have a good explanation for not telling them she was alive.

With Hugo travelling the Muggle way there was plenty of time to set a trap. Harry was ninety-nine percent sure Hugo was going home and it made sense that Warren was going to be nearby.

He and Ron went back to the Ministry and went over the plan of action with eight of the best British Aurors on active roster hoping they would be up to the challenge of getting Warren into custody if his plan to talk his partner into giving up fell through. Warren was a messy and unfair dueler who would not care about civilians and Harry wanted to avoid combat with him as much as possible.

After giving Ron further instructions about how to handle the Minister, Max, and Hank, he Disapparated and joined Ted in time to watch the black pick up truck drive into a gated community.

As they waited, Harry speculated why Warren chose to do what he did. With that came a memory of how his relationship with Hermione first started. They had come a long way from that and it always made him wonder what if he never interceded.

XXXXXXXXXX

29 January 2003 - The Ministry of Magic - Head Auror Office

Harry stood in between Hermione and Warren keeping them apart and both at arms length, still wearing the white chef's outfit with the name 'Takeshi' on his chest. He was trying to resolve a juvenile argument between two very irate Aurors. They had been called in by John Dawlish to debrief the Wasabi Hut incident some two hours before and when the Head Auror had to leave unexpectedly to address the public relations fall out from what happened, he was left with this current volatile situation.

"Time out!" Harry said with authority but neither his partner nor his friend, both his subordinates, seemed to have heard him.

"You should have backed off when I told you to!" Warren yelled at Hermione, his appearance now his usual self.

"Right! Because we normally do whatever potential suspects tell us to do!" Hermione bellowed in return, "We didn't know about the operation! We weren't even aware there were operatives in the area!"

"Because you're fucking idiots!"

"Warren!"

"And you're a pompous arrogant dickhead so we're even!"

"Hermione!"

This was deteriorating into abysmal name-calling. Dean was finding it all amusing.

"A little help here?" he said to the other Auror, miffed at Dean's preference not to get involved.

Hermione's partner replied, his hands up, palms facing Harry, and chuckling, "No way. I want to see her kick his ass."

Harry didn't want it to come to that. And really, he wasn't sure who would kick whose ass. Warren would not stand down just because Hermione was a woman.

"Look here," Hermione said to Warren a bit more calmly, "I'm sorry about your partner being injured. I'm sorry about setting your case back. But you should have arrested Gaunt when you had the chance. I just reviewed his rap sheet. I can't figure out what else he would have to do for us to reel him in."

"Honey," Warren addressed Hermione with every intention to get on her nerves even more, "That information is on a need to know basis and you don't need to know."

Maybe he should have warned Warren about this. Telling Hermione there was information she couldn't have was like putting raw meat in a shark's cage. Hermione was looking at Harry as if he was the raw meat.

"I'll speak with John," Harry caved, knowing he wouldn't have a chance anyway.

"Hell no! I don't want this chick on the case!" Warren protested.

"Did you just call me 'chick'?!" Hermione asked in disbelief, her voice cracking from irritation.

Warren ignored her, "This is as much Canuck as it is Brit and I won't allow some airhead who thinks she knows it all to muck it up."

"Fuck off you chauvinist pig!"

"That's enough!" Harry said aloud and he got into Warren's face, "Don't ever call her that. She isn't one, okay?!"

"Okay," Warren answered promptly, stepping off the dispute.

"And you, mind the language!" Harry scolded Hermione, too, astonished by the colorful language she seemed to have acquired recently.

"Sorry," she replied somewhat embarrassed but still annoyed, "Come on Dean."

"Shouldn't we wait for John?" Dean, who had been guffawing moments earlier, was now confused.

"We can't be at this debriefing."

"John asked you to be here," Harry reminded her.

"John is wrong. Section five point five point eight point three point ten of the 2002 revised British Magical Law Enforcement Auror Manual of Operations states that personnel not directly involved in a covert case should not be allowed to attend any meetings or discussions concerning aforementioned case," she rattled off, pausing only because she was out of breath, "And under no exception will this rule be violated."

"Really?" Warren scoffed, thinking she was bluffing.

"Really," Hermione replied stoically then wandlessly sent the six inch thick bound document flying from the nearby bookcase straight at his partner's chest, causing Warren to grunt on impact and left with no choice but to grab a hold of it with his arms, "Look it up yourself. I suppose that despite being a Neanderthal you can actually read. Do you need an English-Canadian dictionary?"

Warren gave her a scowl then said to them as they were on their way out the door, "The paperwork is on your desk. They need to be filled out before the end of the day. Ten feet of parchment, each."

"Ten feet of parchment?" Hermione asked, stopping at the doorway with a querying expression but a glint in her eye.

"Yes, honey," Warren replied, smug about it.

Harry groaned knowing what was about to happen.

Hermione motioned to the book, "You might as well read section five point five point eight point four point ten about reports. I won't tell you what it says because I don't want to insult your intelligence, not that you have much of it. I'll move the paperwork to your desk."

"Fuck…"Warren was pie faced.

"Darn," Dean said faking a frown, "And I was so looking forward to doing that."

"Me too," Hermione sighed.

"Airhead know-it-all one, chauvinist pig zero," Harry overheard Dean say to Hermione as they hi-fived and left John's office laughing.

"What section did she say it was in, again?!" his frustrated partner asked, furiously leafing through the MOO.

Warren definitely had a lot to learn.

"Do yourself a favour mate. Don't bother," he advised, mentally preparing himself for the long afternoon he had to spend filling out forms, "Didn't I tell you not to mess with her?"

XXXXXXXXXX

The sun had just set when a section of Diagon Alley lit up with designer fireworks created by Weasley Wheezes. A display of Irish green and Gryffindor red splashed the sky and the corner of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley was teeming with well-wishing wizards, witches and beings.

Her first day back at work had been brutal and she stopped by the Ministry pool to do a few laps to unwind. Hermione almost didn't make it in time but found Dean, Luna, Ginny, and Jessie amongst the boisterous crowd just as the Gryffindor red ribbon was cut in half. A beaming Seamus Finnigan had a pair of very large lion shaped scissors in his hands and there was thunderous applause as Finnigan's, Seamus' very own bar and restaurant opened its doors to the public for the first time.

"First round's on the house!" the owner announced.

Not long after they were inside, holding on to their drinks, listening to the Irish Rockgods perform live on the temporary stage beside the bar, intermittently trying to talk over the music and the buzz of excitement from the rest of the crowd. It was SRO. Hermione was wired seeing many of her Hogwarts friends and acquaintances there probably because she hadn't seen them in such a long time and it was the perfect occasion to catch up on what everyone was up to.

She and Ginny managed to extricate Luna from Dean. Luna snuck out from the Scamander camp in Greenland just so she could be there to support Seamus. She excitedly told them about a job offer from the Australian Ministry to be co-lead investigator for a study on the nocturnal Seven Legged Jumparoos of Southern Australia to hopefully find out why the national magical beasts were dwindling in number. Aside from needing to live in Australia the only other catch was it would take at least three years (the species' pregnancy cycle) to complete the study. It was something she had yet to mention to Dean.

"He won't be happy about it," Luna said but as usual, if she was concerned that never ruffled her calm and buoyant exterior. "He's probably going to say 'no', especially because I would have to work with Newt's grandson."

Newt's grandson Rolf, and this was Dean talking, was a 'little twit' he wanted to pummel for being too good looking and for openly admiring Luna during a recent charity event held in London. In truth Rolf was a good-natured guy who wasn't shy about being attracted to the Ravenclaw. Dean would definitely say 'no'.

Ginny asked Luna, "What if he does?"

Luna shrugged unconcerned, "I don't know. But my Mum always said, if something is meant to be, nothing will get in the way of it happening and if it doesn't happen then it's not meant to be."

Hermione could never get Luna nor her Mum and she stopped trying a long time ago. In her opinion, 'not meant to be' was just some lame excuse for not being able to get a desired outcome despite working for it. But while in the past beliefs opposite hers grated like mal-aligned molars and annoyed her so much so she always had to try and make the other see things her way, her new mantra about it was 'to each his own'. She did however find that difficult to apply to certain people, one in particularly seemed to come to mind. Hermione scanned the crowd again but didn't see her ex. It was just as well he wasn't here.

"Is Ron coming?" Luna asked her innocently with her big blue eyes as if reading her mind.

Hermione shrugged and mumbled not knowing. She missed him and not only because they hadn't seen each other in a long while.

Don't even go there, she internally scolded herself. Bad things usually happened when she started feeling this way and she always had regrets after. It was a good thing she had a sane moment and deleted Ron's contact info from her phone’s memory a while back.

"He's working graveyard these days," Ginny answered. "And they're always short staffed up north."

Ron transferred to the North Quadrant team right after they last split up. He was apparently dating his boss' granddaughter who Ginny said was like 'twelve' in mental age. Loyal friend that Ginny was it was requisite ex's new GF bashing; Ginny was trying to make her feel better. As Luna asked Ginny more questions about Ron she had to excuse herself and quickly looked for someone else to talk with.

She found Neville Longbottom. He was all smiles as he told her Headmistress McGonagall had interviewed him for the soon to be vacated Herbology professor position at Hogwarts. It seemed hopeful that he would be accepted as Professor Sprouts' understudy for a year. Neville then listened attentively as Hannah Abbott told them about her recent promotion as an assistant manager in a downtown Muggle five star hotel. Ernie Macmillan shared his success in sending a notorious professional burglar to Azkaban recently while Justin Finch-Fletchley talked about his and Susan Bones' plans to market their fledging catering business.

There were others; the Patil twins, George and Angelina Weasley, Percy Weasley dropped by with his pregnant wife Audrey, some other Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff schoolmates and she even struck up a conversation with a decent looking guy working at the Ministry Communication Department. He asked for her number and, interested enough, she parted with it. The taking herself out of the market concept folded at the first real test it was subjected to. It was pathetic to have common sense overruled by hormones.

By the time she was done she was feeling a bit hungry as she had had almost nothing but hors d'oeuvres and alcohol since she got there. Unfortunately the kitchen was closed. It was almost midnight, the band had been replaced by soft jazz music and those remaining had settled down and found seats at the bar, tables and booths, the mood more subdued. There was still a good size crowd.

Luna and Dean had a booth to themselves and seemed to be in a serious conversation. She didn't want to interrupt. Ginny was at a corner table somewhat hidden from view, leaning in as she seemed to be genuinely listening to a man Hermione earlier noticed had been checking the red head out. Ginny laughed at a joke but Hermione could tell it was somewhat unnatural, as if her friend was forcing herself to enjoy present company. At least Ginny was trying, Hermione thought, then spontaneously wondered where Harry was and whether or not he had already dropped in. It was still hard to believe they weren't a couple anymore.

Hermione found Seamus relatively free (finally!) at the bar showing Jessie and her date some of the stuff behind the counter. She walked up to them hoping to properly congratulate him. She briefly did that earlier but he had been too busy and was swept away by his other hosting duties.

Seamus was still beaming as he saw her come up and then excused himself from Jessie and her friend, hoisting himself up and sliding expertly over the bar counter to meet her.

"So? What do you think?"

"This is wonderful Seamus!" she said hugging him as she did earlier, bursting with pride, "Absolutely amazing! You did it! I wish I was here to help out. I heard everyone had a blast of a time putting this together."

Dean told her how their old Hogwarts mates chipped in. Susan and Justin helped him with the menu, Dean, Neville, Harry, Ron and even George transformed the physical space, while Ginny, Luna, Susan and Hannah came up with the design, furnishings and décor.

Seamus was grinning from ear to ear when he poked fun at her, "Oh, I forgive you. We were actually relieved you weren't here to boss everyone around."

"Hey!"

They laughed. She was really proud of him. Just a year ago Seamus was working as a barkeep and struggling a bit, not knowing what to do, and now he had turned it all around. She was so happy that he made his dream into a reality.

"So, what do you really think of the place?" Seamus asked seriously, anxious for her opinion.

Hermione looked around appraising it meticulously for the first time since she got there. She remembered what the space looked like before and wouldn't have thought it could be shaped up to what she was seeing now. The ceilings were raised and peppered with special recessed lighting that was almost indiscernible, the dining area was adorned with tasteful Hogwarts artwork and memorabilia , the furnishings were elegant but not stuffy and the exquisitely custom designed circular bar that was at the centre of the room stood out invitingly just as it was meant to.

She had not looked closely yet but now that it was unobstructed by patrons she caught a glimpse of the intricate carvings etched along the wooden walls of the restaurant, unobtrusive to those who weren’t looking but well defined to those who were. It was a memorial, names and faces of those who died and suffered in the hands of Voldemort, images depicting events that were part of the most defining moment of their generation. It was a tribute to those who were no longer with them, particularly those who perished at the Battle of Hogwarts. At some point she would come back, have a more private viewing and perhaps carve out her own personal dedications.

"I love it. It's just as you described it would be."

"Well, I have you and Ginny to thank for it."

"Don't be silly. It was your idea. This is what you wanted to do."

"If it hadn't been for you two pestering me to get off my bloody arse and do something with my life this wouldn't have come true. So thank you."

"Fine then. You're welcome but you do know we only pushed for it because we couldn't find a decent place to eat at and hang out around here."

That made them chuckle.

"There is one thing though that you might get some criticism for," she added.

"What?"

"For an Irish owned pub there's no green in it."

"You're bloody right," Seamus laughed, "I'd have to talk with the design group about that."

"This must have cost a fortune to build."

"Well, the labor was dirt cheap and Harry helped me out with a loan, then hooked me up with the goblins for fair financing terms."

"That reminds me, I haven't seen Harry. Has he come yet?"

"He just called, said he was on his way. Something about Ministry paperwork and the grief you're causing him your first day back."

"Right. It's not my fault he has a prick for a partner," she defended herself, knowing it was a jibe. "But I can't believe it's taken him all this time to get that done."

"Actually he checked in to see if the coast was clear thinking it would be too awkward with Ginny here."

That was just ridiculous. They had broken up two months ago and he was avoiding her?

"So what if she is?"

Before Seamus could answer, a man, Dean, got up on the table closest him and pumped his fists in the air, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Yes! She said yes!"

Hermione looked over to Luna. She was blushing, her eyes were twinkling and a steady flow of tears was streaming down her cheeks as she gazed lovingly at Dean's amusing display of exuberance. Hermione connected the dots right away.

"Everyone! She said yes! We're getting married!" Dean explained to the others who didn't get it.

People who knew them cheered and converged towards their booth.

"Well it's about time you asked her you bloody coward!" Seamus was the first to reach his best mate, "But get the fuck off the table before you break it!"

He offered Dean a hand. The latter jumped off and gave Seamus a man hug. There was no question who the best man would be. She and Ginny congratulated Luna who was now wearing a conservative Muggle diamond engagement ring, then as she got to Dean he lifted her effortlessly, hugging her as he swung her around.

"You were right!" Dean said to her as he put her down, "We talked it through and worked it out."

"Good for you," she was almost in tears watching Dean and Luna so excited and happy, and very curious about how they 'worked' it out.

Before she could ask, someone interrupted.

"What's going on?"

Everybody turned towards the familiar voice and stopped talking. It was Harry with another woman (who from now on she would refer to as Bimbo One). The celebration quickly died down. She sensed that it wasn’t so much the presence of Harry and his date that was bothersome but the fact that Ginny was looking on a few feet away, as if she had been slapped in the face. A slow hiss of a curse word escaped Seamus' lips from somewhere behind Hermione muttering something about not knowing Ginny was still there. So that's why Harry called before coming over.

"Dean and Luna just got engaged," Ginny answered when the rest of them seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

Harry and his date congratulated the couple as did his partner Gates, who Hermione just noticed was with him. He too had a date.

The obnoxious man said to Seamus disparagingly, “And you call this a party?”

Seamus announced another free round of drinks for his best friend's engagement perhaps to relieve some of the awkwardness. He herded the newly engaged couple and a grateful crowd to the bar leaving Ginny, Harry and Bimbo One by themselves at the booth. Hermione hovered in the fringe in case she was needed.

"How are you, Gin?" Harry asked attentively.

"Just fine.”

She was dying…Hermione contemplated to rescue vs. not rescue. It was a fine line between having your ex realize you were hurting by escaping versus him finding out anyway because you stayed too long and didn’t. If only Ginny would give her a sign.

“And you?"

"I'm okay," he replied then Bimbo One cleared her throat. He introduced her, "By the way, this is um…um…"

At least he tried to. Hermione wanted to laugh.

"Jezebel Frump," Bimbo One extended a handshake. "And you are?"

Ginny did not take it , replying without emotion, "Let's not kid ourselves. You know who I am."

Bimbo One smiled and leaned into Harry suggestively, who being a typical man did not even notice. What a bitch!

"Gin, we're going to be late," Hermione got to Ginny, summoned their purses from a nearby table and made up a lie before her friend totally lost it, "Kyle and Justin are waiting."

Ginny was not together at that point. Hermione got her out of Finnigan's and back to her flat right away where she broke down and sobbed for a long time. Hermione held her but knowing no words of comfort would help, she didn't even try. It was better to just let it all out.

When it seemed Ginny couldn't cry anymore she pulled away and said to Hermione, "I've been thinking. What Luna said tonight makes sense."

"Which one?"

None of them really did…

"Maybe it's not meant to be."

Hermione could not blame her for finding comfort in Luna's words. To each his own.

"Maybe. What do you want to do?"

"I'm letting go," Ginny said quietly.

Fresh tears erupted from her eyes. Hermione kept her company until Ginny thanked her and then asked her to leave.

It was four a.m. when Hermione got into the Ministry owned flat she was renting, took a quick shower and went to bed. There was one burning thought on her mind as she drifted off to sleep.

Of all the other women in London, what the hell was Harry thinking going out with a floozy?

She would definitely have a word with him about that.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Thoughts on the Hermione-Warren thing? Remind you of something?

Quick poll about ‘meant to be’/’fate’ – who do you agree with more (Luna or Hermione)?

Up next, the day after Finnigan’s opened from Harry’s POV and likely, Harry and Hermione dinner and drinks after work – looking forward to writing this one .

A/N. Thanks to those who answered the quick poll question. Most hovered over the middle of the spectrum.

Sorry - no Harry Hermione dinner in this one - will definitely be on the next. Harry got a bit carried away with his thoughts about his break up with Ginny and his POV about Hermione's struggles as a rookie Auror.

This chapter doesn't really move the story along but necessary to show how a relationship can deteriorate, so for those who really just want progress and don't like reading that sort of stuff, you might want to skip it.

And a warning to those who detest reading H-G, some of his thoughts about her might make you gag.

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Chapter 17 - Could, Should, Would

Harry got off the Floo Network and zoomed past Phil the Paper Elf at the Daily Prophet stand. Already running late, he had to maneuver his way through the chaos of the eternal construction in the Atrium causing a bottleneck of beings trying to get to and from the elevators, cursing the powers that be who could not make up their minds about what to do with the open space.

He finally got to a lift. The adrenaline rush was keeping him quite alert despite the fact that he didn't get much sleep last night and had a really bad hangover. It was unexpected. He didn't count on seeing Ginny at Finnigan's and it took a while to convince the woman he was with, whose name eluded him at the moment, that he wasn't in the mood to spend more time with her.

With the single mindedness of a Thestral heading for a set destination he found the Auror assembly room and immediately scanned the spot on the dais. Good. The Head Auror was not there yet, his weekly team meeting apparently delayed for another fifteen minutes. He nodded over to the middle aged bespectacled wizard with graying hair seated on the front row but the man either didn't see him do so or more likely just did not want to reply.

Deputy Auror Hosiah Humptail did not like him very much and firmly believed he got into the Auror Office only because of who he was. Humptail had been watching him like a hawk since he was recruited, waiting for him to make a mistake. This seemed truer since John assigned him squad leader when he got back from Hag training. He had already been cautioned by his possible future boss for being tardy at a briefing two days ago and was considering cutting down on the night outs or at least staying away from his bad influence of a partner. It was in desperation that he entrusted Warren with his education on single male life in London and now he was having serious regrets.

The rest of the Central Division Auror team was trickling in and finding seats. He spotted Dean's dreadlocks over in the back on the far side of the room and made for one of the empty chairs beside him. Sliding into the seat between his newly engaged Hogwarts classmate and Warren, he noted that his current partner of three months was as sleep deprived as he was and was taking a nap.

"Hey," he greeted Dean, "Luna get back okay?"

"Yeah, early this morning. Any word on Gaunt?"

"No, not yet. We'll get him next time," he replied.

Warren, obviously not asleep, let out a grunt. He was not one to forgive easily and expressed his ire the entire afternoon they spent filling out paperwork about the Wasabi Hut incident. He was miffed more so because they lost the services of an integral team member, one who would be difficult to replace. Warren's injured Canadian co-worker was in town a total of two days and was going home as soon as she was cleared from St. Mungo's. Hermione was right; they should have arrested Gaunt when they had the chance.

"Where's Hermione?"

Dean motioned over to the double doors where Hermione had just come through, levitating several self-warming coffee and tea cups behind her. She looked like she didn't get much sleep either and he had one good guess where she spent most of the night.

He sighed inwardly. This breaking up thing was hard and had he known that night it was going to be so he might not have called Ginny's bluff. Had she broached the subject on a different day and in a different way he would have probably let it slide but on hindsight it was only a matter of time before what happened happened. His inability to become more of an "emotional partner" was a festering gaping wound which seemed to have opened up right after he got back from his training with the Hag. The strain of six months without communication and his inability to tell her about it affected them in a way he never imagined it would. He had tried to address it several times but failed.

You're not trying hard enough.

He was, well, he did. It was just that he understood her and didn't at the same time. For instance, one burning beef she had was about how he couldn't or, as she often said, 'refused' to talk to her about what he did at work. It was true but it wasn't because he didn't want to talk; he really couldn't.

As soon as she asked about the job his reflexive answer was it was okay. They discussed mundane stuff; seeing an acquaintance, someone getting married, being invited over for dinner by a colleague but they couldn't really talk about the stuff he did. A typical argument began with something she read in or heard from someone at the Prophet.

You know I can't talk about that.

Why not?

It's an active case. There are rules.

I tell you what I do.

Gin, I'm sorry but telling you would not only endanger your life but that of my team too. Be reasonable.

Ginny would back off knowing he was right. Her frustration was more because there was nothing they could do about it. Many times she mentioned that she should have done what Hermione did and become an Auror too but he knew she didn't really mean that. She loved Quidditch and worked hard so she could get off the farm team. He was ecstatic she was getting her shot at playing professionally.

But whether it was spillover from the work thing or something entirely separate, Ginny had other axes to grind. She complained about not talking about important things. Truth be told he didn't know exactly what she wanted him to say or talk about. The one topic that was a constant pain was Voldemort. Ginny was a light sleeper and on occasion when he spent the night with her she would wake up in the early hours of the morning and find him restless, mumbling, sweating, as the horrors of the war replayed in his dreams.

She asked about the nightmares and he tried to answer but his responses never seemed enough, accusing him once that he was hiding stuff from her. Admittedly, he may have answered them briefly but maybe he should have been more honest about not desiring to rehash the past. Living them once and having vivid nightmares about them were certainly enough, and despite what the Healer shrinks recommended, he was not thrilled about talking about them over and over again.

There were others, little things.

It's too bad about Ron and Hermione.

Yes it is.

Is that all you can say about that?

What else were you expecting?

I don't know…whose fault do you think it is? Could they have done something differently to stay together? Do you think they should stay together?

Okay…I don't think either of them is at fault, if they could have done something differently, definitely argue less and no, I don't think they should stay together.

Ugh!

What?

Patience was never one of Ginny's stronger suits and the more annoyed she became the more pissed he got too. They didn't have the shouting arguments that Ron and Hermione had but worse. They had these bouts of long silences between them, as if speaking to the other first was an admission of being wrong. He thought it was juvenile and he by his count caved in more times than she did, making him think himself the better person, only to realize that the fact that he was counting meant he really wasn't.

They were doing fine and then they weren't. The past months were different from the way things were before and he was at a loss how that happened. What did he miss? They loved each other, didn't they? Wasn't that supposed to be enough to make everything right?

At the height of it all when he finally got to a point thinking there was nothing more he could do to please her, he employed his typical conflict resolution method. He began ignoring it after they made up. He thought...hoped it was just a phase and it would go away.

He was so wrong about that. One night, after Humptail had given him grief all day and his self worth and confidence about his role at the Ministry was at an all time low, he went to her for comfort, reassurance and more comfort. It started out okay until they had to talk about why he felt so down and beat up.

What's wrong?

Just work.

Bad day?

Uh-huh.

What happened?

Don't worry about it. I'll be fine.

No, really, I want to hear about it.

I can't tell you. You know that.

If I were Hermione you would.

What?!

If Hermione asked you wouldn't hesitate to tell her what this is about.

What does she have to do with this?

Is it too much to ask you to talk to me like you talk to her?

Have you gone mad?! I don't talk to her any differently! And I don't understand why you're picking on her when I haven't even talked to her in six months!

Then she just gave it to him, how she felt that she was just some fan girl thing of his, that he made her feel that she was good enough for that but not for this, how she couldn't anymore unless he made her feel more like an emotional partner rather than a physical one. Hearing that he just lost it. He had enough and the accusation that it was all physical for him stung like hell. Too angry he was afraid to say anything he would regret so he left.

The days after were surreal. He buried himself under a ton of work as he waited for her to realize how wrong she was. But the apology never came. All this time did she really feel like a fan girl? Harry couldn't begin to imagine how she could ever think that. And that bit about Hermione; they'd been together for so many years and not once did that ever come up.

Harry could not keep track of the many times he was tempted to call Ginny or hoped she would call him but she broke up with him for a reason. She wanted him to change and, even if he knew what exactly to change and how, he wasn't sure he could. And if he could he debated whether or not he should. He kept on telling himself if he loved her as he knew he did he should but that was quickly followed by thinking that if she really cared about him she shouldn't expect him to. If she loved him she would stop this nonsense, call him and take him back. Or maybe that was Warren telling him to snap out of it already.

So, at the one month anniversary of his break up with the first love of his life when hope of reconciling with her had just about faded away, Warren tried to help in his unorthodox way. His partner got him a date and convinced him to, for one night, just give himself a break and have a good time.

Warren would never admit it but based on what that woman did to him she had to be a hired professional, maybe even part-Veela. The date went um…well but he felt horrible in the morning. It was shameful that he did it and it was unimaginable to face Ginny. She deserved someone better.

It was silly but after that he was afraid that she would call and they'd get back together. Then, a few days later, he had a most interesting talk with Luna that made him feel less distressed about the whole break up. This was three weeks ago.

My Mum used to say things happen for a reason.

Yes, I'm a git. There's one big hell of a reason.

Don't be too hard on yourself, Harry. You're a good man. If you weren't, we wouldn't be friends.

You're not mad at me because I'm dating other women?

Why would I be? I tell Ginny to go out with other men so she can find out whether or not what she longs for is out there.

But what if she finds someone else.

Then you should be happy for her. It will be what's meant to be.

I miss her Luna. I want her back but I don't know if I can be what she wants me to be.

You shouldn't worry about that. What isn't will never last and if you truly love someone, what is is enough. This happened for a reason and it's good that it did sooner rather than later. You should think of it as a blessing.

Luna wasn't the only one who thought it was a blessing. Warren did not mince words about the fact that there were other women out there besides Ginny and maybe he'd find someone better.

But Harry at that time wasn't looking to replace. He had been content and happy with what he had. He had this vision that it would last forever. It was Ginny who was dissatisfied.

After talking with Luna he came to accept that they shouldn't get back together until Ginny could take him as he was. He figured it likely that she would never get to that point and had made peace with it. The Ravenclaw was right. Changing just to please Ginny would be the wrong thing to do.

It will be what's meant to be.

Maybe so but Harry still couldn't imagine how this was going to be a blessing.

"Mats, steeped tea, no milk just honey..."

He looked up as Hermione's voice interrupted his revelry, finding her just a few rows over.

"Thanks honey," the almost retired Auror said to her sweetly as he took the cup from her, Mats Quank being the only person to his knowledge who had explicit permission to call her that.

"You're welcome honey. Geoff, bold coffee with two creams, no sugar," she addressed another wizard, firmly emphasizing the no sugar part, handing him his cup.

"Okay," Geoff Lintcoming replied, resigned to Hermione's intervention as it was well known he had been ill and Healers had told him to cut back. "Great to have you back."

Hermione went through a couple more aisles handing out hot beverages. It was her thing, a morning routine she had fallen into years ago when she was a rookie. Everybody moaned and groaned when they noticed that part of their day was missing after she left for Hag training eight months ago, and now that she was back, they were all a bit more appreciative, not that they weren't before.

Harry watched her as she spoke with the other Aurors. It was as if she hadn't been gone, fitting back seamlessly into the flow of things.

After Voldemort's death, she spent a couple of years at the old DRCMC, the first working full time the same time she did Hogwarts course work to graduate and to take the NEWTs. In the time she was there she had helped create and institute many pro magical being laws and left right as the DRCMC was being renamed the Department for the Protection of Magical Creatures or the DPMC.

It wasn't a shock to him that she left the DPMC. The work she wanted to do there was done. What surprised him was that she applied to become an Auror. It was a bit strange for he could not imagine her spending her day looking for and apprehending Dark Wizards herself. He imagined her behind the scenes, effecting change peacefully through policies and laws as she did in the DPMC and not through policing and keeping order.

Harry never told her but he was tempted to discourage her from joining the Auror office. As much as he wanted to work with her he believed she was wasting her brilliance. Being an Auror required a fraction of her intelligence and if not for the fact that Ron was really excited about it he would have mentioned it to her. In his opinion it made more sense for her to accept Kingsley's standing offer to join his team of advisers, something she declined citing her inexperience. But she seemed sure this was what she wanted to do so he let it go.

As he expected, Hermione had a tough time adjusting to being an Auror when she first came on three years ago. Her difficulties had nothing to do with wand work or fitting into the team. The Aurors had a lot of respect for her because of what she did to help get rid of Voldemort and most immediately accepted her because of him and Ron.

Part of her struggle stemmed from the fact that she wasn't physically fit enough. Being an Auror was demanding on the body and she had to work hard to get her strength and endurance up. Dean helped her a lot with this and she had always said that if not for her partner, she would have quit two months into her rookie year. But that wasn't her biggest problem.

What bogged her down the most were the processes and procedures, or more specifically, the lack of congruence between written rules and actual practice, and how all that connected to the rest of the Ministry, particularly the Legal department. The Auror MOO had not been revised and probably not been read since 1975. Faced with a novel situation, while most rookies patiently awaited instruction and guidance from their seniors, Hermione applied the MOO only to find out later that based on recent practice she shouldn't have done what she did.

The lack of clear cut rules and protocols frustrated her very much, and was on the verge of quitting when Dean challenged her to update the MOO. Not having a current one to defend their practice in court had been a source of frustration for others too. So Hermione took on the huge undertaking during her spare time, consulting with active and retired Aurors, putting together the new document for approval. It was then when she got to know the rest of the team better and when she started this thing with coffee and tea during their weekly meetings. The revised code passed peer, supervisor and management approval without a hitch last year so when her MOO came up in her discourse with Warren yesterday he already knew they were in deep shit.

Hermione settled in after that. Harry never got around to asking her why she wanted to become an Auror. He speculated that Ron was a big factor in her decision and now that they were no longer a couple he imagined she would not be staying for long. He brushed that thought off feeling it too ridiculous. Hermione would never base her decision to become an Auror or to stay an Auror on something like that.

"Good morning," he greeted cautiously as Hermione approached.

"Black," she greeted him back coldly and handed him a steaming double cupped coffee.

It almost tipped into him. Well, he had wondered how she would feel about his break-up with Ginny and the incident last night. He didn't have to wonder anymore.

"Thanks. After work then?"

She muttered some affirmative reply, handed Dean a cup and sat down beside her partner with tea in her hand. Yesterday they had talked about spending some time to catch up. Harry hoped she'd be in a better frame of mind later.

He missed her and he also missed Ron who left London weeks before she did. Even though he saw Ron often enough he missed how it was before Hermione and Ron split up. He longed for their company when Ginny dumped him which at that time made him feel like a dolt. He was a grown man; surely he could handle a break up on his own. It did kind of make him wonder if this was what Ginny was complaining about.

"So, where's mine, sweetheart?" Warren shifted in his seat, interrupting as Hermione was about to take a sip of her tea, his tone haughty, condescending and self entitled.

Harry saw her freeze, her eyes squint ever so slightly and there was no mistaking the tightening around her jaw. Not again. Hermione turned to Warren looking past Dean and him. Warren met her gaze with smug indifference.

"I didn't know you wanted one," she answered calmly.

"You never asked."

"You were sleeping. I didn't want to disturb you."

"How sweet, but I still want one. Get me something. Please," Warren ordered.

"You can have mine," Harry offered his partner his, not wanting trouble.

"Don't be silly Harry. I got this," Hermione dismissed then addressed Warren, "What would you like?"

"Um...I don't know. I wouldn't mind tea, maybe Earl Grey with a touch of lemon."

That was exactly what Hermione had in her hand. In the time he had known the man not once did Harry see him have tea. The fool was showing off, purposely trying to tick her off, or both, and Harry could only hope that there was some other way Warren found out how she preferred her tea other than invading her mind without her knowing just now, something he knew Warren would do without second thought.

"What a coincidence," Hermione replied feigning surprise, hiding her irritation at the possibility, "That's what I'm having."

"It isn't a coincidence, honey," Warren countered, flashing her a half-smile, "It's fate, me wanting the same tea that you want."

"I doubt that very much," Hermione said coolly, "Fate wouldn't be so stupid, or cheesy. Creep."

"Ouch!" Warren took both hands over his chest, acting hurt.

Hermione expressed his very same sentiment. Warren was a creep when it came to women. Harry wasn't sure if he was seriously hitting on her but if he was it was certainly in the wrong place, the wrong time and in poor taste.

"Stop being a prat, Warren," he shot him a warning which the other wizard chose to ignore.

"Come to think of it you're right. So it's not fate and it's not a coincidence," Warren pulled back then confirmed Harry's earlier fears, "It must be because you didn't learn as much as you should have from the Hag. I really didn't want to mention it but you're so porous and open like everyone else here, I could see every living memory you have in full color if I choose to."

"Go fuck with someone else Gates. I am so not in the mood," Hermione was more visibly annoyed and glanced over to him to see if it was true.

Harry shook his head but that didn't mean anything. Only a handful of wizards and witches could do Legilimency without raising the target's suspicion. He had learned to do it with the Hag, as did Warren and he assumed Hermione. Warren was better at it than he was and because intrinsically he found the concept of getting into someone else's thoughts without their knowledge wrong, not to mention cowardly. Warren had no such inhibitions.

"Speaking of fucking, I wouldn't call your ex if I were you. There are less idiotic ways to cure loneliness. Hell, if you promise to wear one of those black lacy sheer knickers you keep in your top drawer for special occasions I'll even help you myself."

It was payback for yesterday. Hermione face reddened. Dean attempted to get up from his chair and would have done more had his partner not held him down, convincing him it wasn't worth the trouble. He sat backed slowly drawing on his coffee, giving Warren a murderous look. Harry would have no more of Warren's bullshit.

"I said back off!" he admonished firmly.

Warren did but not without a parting shot, "And the chauvinist pig just scored."

Meanwhile the Head Auror stepped into the room. Hermione had recovered, righted herself, eyes fixed at the podium, and was trying to enjoy the rest of her tea. She was taking this too lightly, taking the high road and it annoyed Warren that she wasn't upset.

"I guess you don't mind," he hissed over John's introduction, trying to provoke her again.

"Oh, I don't mind," she lied, "Fantasize about my knickers all you want, Gates. If you find that it helps with your flag raising issues, be my guest."

Warren blushed, Dean almost choked and sprayed coffee at the person seated two rows in front of him, Harry's was speechless he had to confirm that it was indeed Hermione who said that.

"My flag raises up the pole just fine, honey," Warren instantly denied.

"Well, not according to that girl you were with the last night. She wasn't too impressed with O Canada."

"How did you...?"

"You shouldn't date co workers. Office gossip can be a bitch. By the way, I hope it's hot enough."

"What?"

"Your tea."

His partner suddenly bellowed and stood up as a cup of steaming beverage appeared on his lap and poured itself empty. All four of them were off their seats, the attention of the entire room upon them.

Not long after, wands were out and a burst of curses erupted before him. Harry rapidly drew his weapon, disarming them both before they could cause real injury or damage.

"Keep your fucking mind to yourself," she threatened Warren as she summoned and holstered her wand.

"Granger! Gates! In my office! Now!" John Dawlish screamed from the podium, most pissed, giving Harry the look that he should follow.

The door slammed behind him.

"I told you two to can it yesterday!"

"We did."

"We have."

Hermione had her arms across her chest just as Warren did, both feigning puzzlement about why they were called in.

"Then what the hell just happened in there?!"

"He wanted tea," she explained simply.

"I did," he confirmed.

"I got him some."

"The cup slipped from my hand and I burned myself," he added.

"It was an accident," they said in unison.

Warren and Hermione tried to sell convincingly. They were not done and would settle this, whatever it was, outside Ministry time.

Harry was still in shock about this Hermione that he was seeing. There was a time when just the thought of her being reprimanded by her superior would have worried her. She wasn't concerned about that. And not only was she a part of this, she seemed disinclined to settle it peacefully which was quite unlike her. It was as if the person before him was an imposter and a very bad one at that.

"Harry?" John turned to him for his input as the two looked on innocently.

"It was an accident, John. Just as they described it."

He had a feeling he was going to regret this.

John eyed them suspiciously but gave in, "Not one more peep from the two of you, understood."

"Yes sir."

"Not one."

The two left. John asked him to stay behind and said to him, "Harry, fix this by tomorrow. You don't want this compromising the team."

"I'll take care of it."

Harry sat quietly during the meeting fully appreciating the 'joys' of middle management. He looked at Warren on his one side and Hermione on the other, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was too familiar and he didn't like where it was going.

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A/N. First part is Hermione at work then she has dinner with her friend Harry.

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Chapter 18 - Remedial Divination

"Is that an Erumpent's horn?" Hermione asked the shop keeper from the other side of a glass counter, her long crooked fingernails pointing to the hollow tusk heavily wrapped by cushioning charms.

It was late afternoon and she was in her fourth disguise for the day, this time dressed as an old hag that looked somewhat like the Hag on one of her better days. One of the stores she was watching had finally displayed something illegal and she was looking into what else they had that would be of interest.

"Yes, North American, just came in today," answered the middle aged saleswizard who seemed unenthusiastic to sell anything.

"How much?"

He eyed her disparagingly from head to toe, then stared at the wart on her hooked nose, judging, "You can't afford it."

"Sonny, do I look like a dimwit who'd want one for myself?" she replied snidely, "I'm asking for someone who's interested, moron, someone who's too rich and will never get caught setting foot in this filth."

The man livened up and asked, "Would that someone be interested in anything else?"

Cautious not to be accused of entrapment, she retorted, "Maybe. Depends on what other crap you have."

"Let me ask the boss in the back," the wizard replied and disappeared past the door that was behind him.

She pretended to study supposedly rare goblin stones and gems inside the transparent casings for a bit, then, certain she was alone, spoke softly into the Hags Against Discrimination pin on her lapel, "I may have something."

Dean got her message through their two way bluetooth device and she heard his reply via the minute receiver in her ear.

"It's about time. I'm closing up shop."

He was outside, a few stores down posing as a street stall keeper selling harmless contraband potion. They had been complaining to each other all day about how slow a day it was for dark wizardry in the alley as most of the crimes committed were petty and weren't worth blowing their cover for. They both hated doing Knockturn Alley because it was always this boring and they typically ended the day with nothing to show for.

It was Hit Wizard duty that John had committed Aurors to do once a week. He said it was to improve camaraderie and help their colleagues but what it was really was him showing he was a good team player and in the process wisely creating his unofficial doghouse. She and, by extension, her partner had earned it that morning. Dean had been supportive, telling her the entertainment she provided the team was worth serving penance for.

Thankfully the day had gone by rather quickly. She couldn't wait to get back to the Ministry with Dean and grill him on what exactly he and Luna talked about last night. He had been evasive about it that morning and they had not had a moment to talk at all since arriving at their assignment. She sensed that he was not eager to share it which only made her want to know even more.

She checked up on the saleswizard and detected him in one of the backrooms with another human figure. This was taking way too long. They might as well bust them for the horn and figure out the rest later.

"Ready?" she asked her partner.

"In a sec."

Hermione looked at the timeteller. She was meeting Harry after work too. That morning, it upset her when he came in late looking very tired, unable to stop herself from immediately jumping to a revolting conclusion. She prayed she was wrong but even just the memory of Bimbo One touching him last night made her insides curl. That was who he replaced Ginny with?! It was downright insulting and even made her wonder, albeit briefly, whether Ginny was right about what he wanted out of a relationship. She'd definitely have a word with him about that.

Between Dean, him and that creep of partner of his her mind had not had a spare moment of idleness that day. Her jaw clenched involuntarily just thinking about Gates. There were not enough despicable words to adequately describe that sorry excuse for an Auror. It annoyed her that his HR file consisted of one parchment documenting the open ended 'temporary' transfer to the London Ministry, indicating he got into the force because someone high up got him in. She had to ask someone who knew someone who knew someone who had to pay someone who knew someone to get her the information she needed.

She wasn't too thrilled to hear the off the record true story but it was what it was. Really, in the scheme of things, it didn't matter. Gates was still a jerk and her goal was to expeditiously divest the London Ministry of his services, the sooner the better.

Don't get mad. Get even.

That was Hagspeak, one of the few things Hermione agreed with her ex-teacher about because it made perfect sense. She still had trouble with the not-getting-mad part but she was trying to redirect her energies into getting even. First she had to find out which high ranking Ministry official got Gates in and who she was about to annoy.

Harry likely knew about this which would explain his acceptance of the asshole but even so she was displeased that Harry was tolerating if not embracing Gates' inclusion into the team. As subtle as it was the Harry she saw with Gates was not the Harry she knew, and she liked the old Harry better. Or maybe that was coincidence and her disappointment in Harry had more to do with how bad he was making Ginny feel than with anything else.

Thinking about it more now she felt guilty about her abruptness with him this morning. It was unimaginable that Harry would deliberately hurt Ginny and either way she had no right to be angry. It would be nice to hear his side of the story, although she did anticipate that getting him to talk about it could pose a challenge.

She looked at the timeteller again. That saleswizard sure was taking his sweet time. And where was Dean?

"Fuck," Dean hissed, "I've got trouble. I'm gonna need help."

"I'm on my way."

No questions asked, she stepped out of the store and immediately saw what he meant. Eight thugs were headed for his folded up stall with purpose.

"Stay back for a bit," Dean whispered, "Let me see what they want first."

Hermione did as he asked. She 'window-shopped' and slowly made her way closer to him while watching them off the glass reflection. They had Dean surrounded and she quickly went through the possible scenarios in her head.

"Gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

One of the wizards answered, "What are you selling?"

"Potions for every need. Would you like to sample one of pure euphoria?"

"Maybe next time. That'll be twenty percent of your receipts for the day."

They hit a gold mine. For days the MLE had heard rumours about someone sending thugs to the 'hardworking' dregs in Knockturn Alley and charging them for protection. It wasn't so much that they cared about lowlifes being taken advantage of by lower-lives but they were interested in the lower-life who was marking territory, if the word on the street was true. They just confirmed that it was. She called it in as she listened to Dean playing dumb and asking the gang of goons to explain exactly what it was they meant.

"Granger here. Thomas just attracted our elusive tax collectors. I'm counting eight."

"I'll send back-up," Hank Trussel, her squad leader, told her through her mobile, "We need a name."

"He's working on it."

Dean was and it was best to assume they would be on their own. When Trussel sent back-up it was usually too little too late. She ran her plan by Dean.

"Take out the one in the back and to your right first, I'll cover your left then we'll divvy up the leftovers."

"I'm okay with it," Dean answered addressing both her and the leader of the group, "Really, I have no problem about paying tax, I just wanna know who I'm paying it to and whose protection it is I'll expect when the time comes."

"You ask too many questions. Our boss doesn't like questions."

It took a split second.

"Stupefy!" a bad guy yelled out.

Dean had already pulled the brute closest him and used him as a shield against the incoming curse, hexing the one behind him just when the impact of the first spell caused him to fall back. She fired a couple of shots to draw the enemy's attention and, as they scattered, she Apparated to a spot a few feet to Dean's left, his weak side.

Curses flew all over the place, the screams of bystanders blending with the crashing sounds of destruction around them. They had tenuous cover behind Dean's and an adjacent stall but before they could even begin to systematically disable their foes, the opposition ceased fire. The dust settled, five thugs were dead, one was severely incapacitated and two others escaped. Hermione couldn't retrieve useful information from their injured prisoner except for the image of a bearded wizard in a Fedora hat who she recognized as Gaunt.

"Geez, remind me not to get on your bad side these days," Dean commented as he surveyed the scene, "A bit of an overkill for loose change shakers don't you think?"

"This wasn't me," Hermione clarified.

It wasn't Dean either. Interesting.

Dean thought so too, "I don't see how anyone else could have helped us."

"That guy knows Gaunt," she told Dean pointing to the wizard she just Legilimienced, thinking possibilities, "My bet is he's behind the tax collection. Maybe he ordered the two others to make sure we won't have any prisoners."

"But that's like cutting your nose to spite your face. What hooligan will work for you if they know you have no problem killing them?"

"Doesn't make much sense, does it?" Hermione agreed as their backup finally arrived, "Hopefully Forensics can help us out."

They had no such luck. An hour later, Forensics was still drawing a blank but they took statements from witnesses and priori information from all the wands on the crime scene, including theirs. They would try to reconstruct the events that afternoon. The dead were identified as out-of-towners, young men from good middle class wizarding families without any criminal history. That was troubling.

When Hermione and Dean got back to the Ministry John called them into his office, giving them grief for the deaths and for not expecting it.

"That was my fault, John. It’s usually my job to ensure the scum who want to kill us aren’t killing each other too,” she replied with sarcasm, irritated that she had been called into his office for the third time in two days and this last one was not warranted.

Dean sniggered, unable to contain himself. John gave them the look and sent them away to do their paperwork. As Dean complained about the lengthy reports they had to finish she thought about John's unreasonable reaction. He seemed more stressed than before and it probably had a lot to do with the up and coming Morpheus Gaunt. Her gut told her that the Wasabi Hut incident was key. She wasn't sure if Harry had already mentioned to John how interested she was about the case he and his partner were working on but considering John was quite pissed with her she couldn't ask her boss now.

Note to self...don't piss John off...more than necessary.

By the time they were finished with their reports it was dark outside. Unfortunately she'd have to wait another day to find out from Dean how he and Luna were going to work things out. There was a West Ham game on that night and Dean usually watched that over at his Mum's house with his half-brothers and their rowdy Muggle friends.

It was quarter past eight when she finally got to a packed Finnigan's. Scanning the predominantly young crowd, she found Harry at the bar, a pint in his hand, talking to a dark woman in a short skirt who was wearing a blouse two sizes too small with two missing buttons at the top. That was fitting. Bimbo Two. Harry would know better than bring a date to their meeting, wouldn't he? Her eyes rolled up on their own when she noticed at least three other groups of giggly girls about their age eyeing Harry from afar.

Just like flies...well, vultures circling.

Hermione understood. Their prey was Harry Potter, vanquisher of the darkest wizard of their time, enigmatic Auror, the epitome of what a good wizard should be, and except for having perpetually messy hair, was not bad looking at all. Admittedly, she thought he looked better with spectacles even though for practicality and safety she was the one who suggested permanently repairing his vision. She demonstrated its imperativeness by merely summoning his eyeglasses when she helped him prepare for his Auror entry exams.

Harry was no longer the scrawny kid she knew at Hogwarts for age, training and Weasley 'proper nutrition' (at least until he and Ginny broke up) had filled him in quite well in a sort of understated way. He did not have bulging muscles but one could tell underneath the dark blue sweater and jeans he had on he was lean and fit. She knew that for a fact having seen him half naked a few times.

As if all that wasn't enough, Witch's Weekly came out that morning and announced that the eligible bachelor was 'desperately seeking'. That was obviously not from Harry for even if he was desperate he would never tell everyone that he was.

Bimbo Two chortled and dipped forward into him suggestively almost spilling portions of her out. Ugh.

It was a good thing that over time she had more control of her impulsivity otherwise the image of canaries attacking and chasing the woman away would have materialized. She never thought it would be this bothersome seeing him with other women maybe because she never thought he ever would see anyone else besides Ginny. She couldn't understand why this irked her as much as the time when Ron was snogging someone else back at Hogwarts and could only conclude she was either jealous for Ginny or angry at the fact that Harry was letting this happen. Or maybe it was both.

This set off the Hag in her head again. She swore to Merlin the bitch had some sort of curse unknown to the Spell Registry that made memories about her difficult to suppress.

It is okay to care about him more than you want or more than you think is appropriate.

I don't know why you insist on flogging a dead horse. Harry and I are just friends.

I do not dispute that you are. But that does not have anything to do with what you feel. It is destiny that you do.

I already told you. I don't believe in destiny.

Ignorance does not excuse you from its eventuality. You can fight it all you want but you will never win. It's like you thinking that you want to be an Auror.

I am an Auror, in your Auror training program. Or did you forget that and had me under something else because that would explain why I haven't learned much?

You have learned more than you think but still not as much as you would have had you not resisted. You will not be an Auror for much longer. That's why for some time you haven't been training as such.

So what the fuck am I doing here?!

You tell me.

Hermione never got a satisfactory answer to the question. Soon after that conversation, she told the Hag that she no longer required further training. That was such a waste of her time, she thought, as she made her way over to him through the crowd. Harry finally spotted her, their eyes met, he smiled easily and nodded.

He's just a friend.

Harry got off the barstool, excused himself and shook hands with the woman. It was a relief that Bimbo Two wasn't staying but before he could pick up his drink from the counter the glaringly unnatural red head grabbed his hand and scribbled something on his palm. Hermione guessed phone number. Geez...

Note to self…never ever do something as chintzy as giving your number to a guy who didn't ask for it.

"Glad you finally got here," he greeted her, seemingly relieved, and handed her a screwdriver.

"Sorry I'm late. Someone you know?" she asked him about the woman, taking a big swallow to wash down the lump in her throat and the biting remark that was at the tip of her tongue.

She knew the answer to that but just wanted to see how he would respond.

"No. Someone I just met," Harry replied without much thought, just as she hoped, "Come on. I got us a table. I'm famished."

"I was thinking. You don't mind terribly if we eat somewhere else where we can talk about work, do you?"

But Harry had a better idea. They could have a quick bite to eat so Seamus wouldn't feel slighted and then go to his or her place for dessert; preferably hers as his was a mess. She was intrigued that he had to talk to her about work too.

So they sat at a corner booth, summoned one of the virtual servers and ordered when the computer generated waiter she selected appeared beside them. She found that she was hungry too and opted for steak as Harry did.

"It's really good that you're back," he said to her as they waited, slowly drawing on their drinks.

"It's good to be back."

"How did you find it?"

"Honestly?"

"That bad huh," Harry surmised accurately.

"It was frustrating and disappointing. I thought I was in hell. She's judgmental, condescending, mean and lazy. Six self study days per week? Some lesson plan. I barely saw her, and when I did she barely taught anything. Tell me it wasn't just me who noticed."

Hermione awaited confirmation.

"It wasn't just you," he supported her, found her rant entertaining and teased, "But don't hold back on account of me, please."

"And Ministries all over the world actually pay her to train Aurors?!" she continued, "Total waste and in my opinion, she wasn't worth one knut of what she was getting."

"I don't suppose you have a watered down version for the Boss."

Of course she did. She made one up for John but he never asked for it. The Hag must have already sent a report.

"I have never been in a more challenging learning environment in my entire life," she summarized for him straight faced and drew a chuckle.

"John would definitely like that version better."

"You think so, huh? You should stop looking so amused," she chastised lightheartedly, "I have a beef with you."

Several actually but it was early and she was hungry.

"What did I do?" he answered feigning worry.

"You told me the Hag taught you a lot."

When she asked him what to expect from the Hag that was his cryptic answer. He did not expound on it because he didn't want to ruin it for her.

"She did. But I never said she was pleasant about it. She's called the Hag for good reason."

Harry knew she wasn't really blaming him for that. She was handpicked by the Hag just as he was and it was an 'honor' because the Hag supposedly chose and trained only the best. Hermione would have gone no matter what Harry told her.

"Well I didn't learn as much as I thought I would."

"That's too bad but then you know a lot more than most of us. There probably wasn't much for her to teach," Harry was being kind and Hermione was convinced it wasn't that at all. He took a swig and then asked, "Why didn't you just leave sooner?"

"I wanted to a month into it but before I could tell her she called me a quitter. I stayed to prove a point," Harry was about to say something but she said it for him, "I know I walked right into that one."

Hermione sighed as she remembered how the Hag said she wasn't going to be an Auror for long. She had been too upset to ask the Hag why she thought so and not knowing made Hermione feel less confident about her skills. She kept on thinking that the Hag didn't believe she had what it took to be a good one and had made a mistake in choosing her. Harry would be biased but she had to know.

"Can I ask you something and I need you to be very honest."

"Sure."

"How am I as an Auror?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're a squad leader. If you were to evaluate my performance objectively, what would you say?"

"You're excellent."

So asking him to be objective was a little too much. She wasn't excellent; exceeds expectations maybe but not excellent.

"But…" she prompted.

Harry hesitated. There was a 'but' after all and it was big.

"I don't want you taking this the wrong way and it's just one person's opinion so I hope you don't make any rash conclusions."

"Enough with the preamble, you're scaring me. John said something really bad about me, didn't he? No? Humptail? Trussel?"

"None of that sort. Will you stop second guessing yourself? You're really good at what you do," he scolded her then added seriously, "It's just that you're wasting your time and your brilliance. You could do so much more if you weren’t an Auror. Being one is in a way beneath you and it's kind of holding you back."

She frowned, "Really? I certainly don't feel that way."

"That's just my opinion and I could be way off," he shrugged, "Why are you asking anyway? Why the insecurity?"

"The Hag said I won't be an Auror for long so she didn't train me to be an Auror," she said it as emotionless as she could, feeing embarrassed about it.

"Then what the hell was she training you for?"

"I'm not sure. When I met with her most of the time she goaded me into joining philosophical discussions about the future, destiny, death, and how the use of magic can make one more prepared to face them,” she sheepishly admitted her ignorance, leaving out that they talked about him a few times, "It was a whole lot of hogwash but at least now I can teach Divination at Hogwarts more competently than Professor Trelawney ever did."

Harry pointed out, "Anybody can teach Divination better than Trelawney."

"Did the Hag do the same thing with you?" she was curious.

"No. Apparently I wasn't tough enough mentally so she had me working on that," he answered reluctantly.

"New spells?"

"Not many, mostly defensive. I agreed with her that there was no sense teaching me stuff I won't ever use. She did help me improve on the ones I already know. Sorry," he apologized unnecessarily, "I can teach you what she taught me if you want."

He must have sensed the disappointment she felt about the entire experience and was offering to teach her to make her feel better. That was sweet of him. She thought about turning him down on principle but maybe she could set aside her pride for this one.

"Sounds good. Thanks. And really it's not your fault. There's no need to apologize," she replied then a thought crossed her mind and made her laugh at herself.

"What?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"I'm so stupid. I quit Trelawney's class because I couldn't stand it and somehow, ended up enduring eight months of the same crap with the Hag just to prove I wouldn't quit. Then I quit anyway. I was so much smarter then."

Then Harry laughed and laughed so hard he couldn't talk. He was practically off his seat and there were tears in his eyes. If he were any other person she would have felt a bit slighted but this was Harry and she couldn't remember ever seeing him laugh like that. Ever. He was losing it.

"It's not that funny," she felt embarrassed and amused at his reaction at the same time.

"Sorry," he apologized again as he recovered, "I have this image of you sitting with the Hag in her candle lit meditation room, in remedial Divination…"

He laughed again and this time she joined him, not so much because of what he was laughing about but more so that he was. She sensed a relief in him, like he had needed this for a long time. Once again she felt bad about not being around when he and Ginny split up.

"I miss this," he said to her.

It was not in his character but she understood the compulsion to say it. She knew what he meant. Over time since Hogwarts they had fewer and fewer such moments. They had work, other friends, and were just busier with their lives, and with Ron up North it would become even fewer.

Not pointing that out...

"I miss this too," she replied, deciding to stay with Hag talk, "So, did she look into her crystal ball and tell you your destiny?"

"She said I was better off not knowing."

"That figures," Hermione was not surprised, "She enjoys yanking everyone's chain. I doubt that she really sees anything in that ball of hers."

"Did she tell you yours?"

"She asked me if I wanted to know and I said no."

"Why?"

"I don't believe in fate."

"Even after what I went through? How could you not?"

"Well, how could you? Seriously."

"I don't mean to brag but I did fulfill a major prophecy you know," he jokingly said in a mock self important tone that made her chuckle.

"I never saw it that way."

“I am proof that Divination has its merits,” he was kidding.

“It isn’t fate that Voldemort is dead and you’re here, trying to be funny.”

"So if it wasn't fate then what was it?"

"I saw it as you and Voldemort making choices, he because he believed in it and wanted to prevent it and you because of who you were and what you knew was decent and right. The end wasn't predetermined. You had to make tough decisions along the way and your choices influenced what happened each and every time you made them."

"You don't have to kiss my ass. I'm not your boss."

"Shut up. But seriously, do you believe in fate? That what is to be is set? That we have no control over what ultimately happens in our lives?" she couldn't quite let go that he did.

"No, not really," he grinned, "I just wanted to hear you talk me out of it."

"Git!" she playfully threw him her napkin and he just laughed again as he gave it back, "So, smart mouth, what name did the Hag give you?"

Harry's face reddened. The Hag almost always never called her students by name. She had aliases for all of them, most of them tacky or distasteful, pulled out from the stupid gazing crystal of hers.

"Oh come on," Hermione prodded, encouraged.

"It's pretty bad," Harry was still flushed.

"It can't be as bad as mine."

"I doubt anything can be worse."

"Come on."

"You first."

"Absolutely not! You first!"

"Okay. Fine," Harry looked very uncomfortable, awkward, kind of cute, "She called me the ‘Heartbreak Hero’."

"The what?!"

He kind of whispered it she wasn't sure she heard it right.

"Please don't make me say it again," he groaned shaking his head in shame.

It was Hermione's turn to titter. She wasn't sure which was funnier, the nickname or Harry's reaction to having had to say it.

"You're right. That's bad," Hermione responded, "I can understand 'hero' but 'heartbreak'?"

"She said I would break a lot of hearts," Harry explained, and Hermione couldn't help but notice a flitting sadness in his eyes.

Harry was obviously still not over it. Feeling sorry for him, she re-evaluated her planned questioning about Ginny. She'd have to tone it down a bit. Damn, and she liked her original speech too.

"Well, as cheesy as that sounds judging from the number of murderous looks I've received in this room since sitting with you I think the Hag was quite accurate about that one," she tried to lighten things back up. It did make him blush again, "You should be used to this attention by now."

"Frankly, I've had it. I just want it all to go away and Warren's little talk with the Witch's Weekly reporter just made it worse."

Gates had something to do with that? What an idiot!

Harry continued, "Do you think getting a pretend girlfriend would solve it?"

He looked serious and she was going to nip that stupid idea right in the bud.

"A pretend girlfriend? Were you thinking human or doll? Honestly Harry. For an Auror, you need to work on your problem solving skills."

Harry defended himself, "First of all, I doubt that this situation I'm in is a common problem Aurors would face. Secondly, short of marrying someone, how else can I stop this constant attention? I can't bloody adjust myself in public."

"You do not adjust yourself in public!" she exclaimed although careful they were the only ones who could hear, scandalized by the thought that he might have.

"That's not the point," Harry was laughing, "Now I can't, even if I wanted to."

She realized he was joking and just shook her head as she let a smile replace the shock on her face. For sure he was pulling her leg about the pretend girlfriend too.

Note to self...be a little less gullible when it comes to Harry...on the other hand...scratch that.

The virtual waiter had announced that their meals were ready if they were. Hermione was about to summon their food through their server when Harry interrupted.

"Hold on. Not so fast."

"What?"

"What did she call you?"

For a moment she thought she had gotten away with that. Drat. Now she had no choice.

"Waterloo."

"As in Napoleon's Waterloo?"

"No. As in her Waterloo. Her exact words to me when we first met were…" she paused and then used her best Hag vocal impersonation, "Oh, you're the English fucker. I've finally met my Waterloo."

"That’s pretty close,” Harry was impressed. If he knew how much time she killed trying to perfect it just to keep herself entertained he wouldn’t be as impressed, “You didn't get along that very first meeting?"

"She said I was stubborn and would resist everything she would try to teach me. One would think being a Seer she'd foreseen that in her crystal ball before picking me and wasting our time."

"Looking on the bright side at least she didn't call you the 'English Fucker'."

"True."

"Maybe she did see something in that crystal ball of hers after all."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard from John this afternoon that she's no longer accepting trainees."

"Really."

"Something about and I quote John, 'failing to complete her last student's training objectives and failing her high standards so much so she could not in good conscience take anyone else'. It kind of pissed him off when she said the student was you."

The Hag put her in the Head Auror's doghouse indefinitely. Bitch...

"She's bloody full of it. She probably wanted to stop taking students all along and made me her convenient excuse," she retorted refusing to worry about the ramifications for now, "But I'm glad she's gone."

Hermione raised her half filled glass up.

"To the Hag. Good riddance."

Harry echoed her toast. As they had dinner they chatted about Seamus, Dean, Luna, Neville and almost everybody else they knew. Well, except for Ron or Ginny. Hermione was sure that was as obvious to Harry as it was to her.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I figured Hermione would want to compare Hag notes with him and share her frustration and insecurities. Up next – this continued from Harry’s POV. Any specific points you want them to talk about?

A/N. This chapter is the evening from Harry’s POV. It’s not typical HHr stuff but sheds more light on Harry and Hermione’s friendship and how Harry sees Hermione five years after Hogwarts. They will talk about Ginny and many will not like what he says.

Thank you for the reviews especially those which gave me ideas on what to write in the chapter. I tried to include all suggestions (except for the one who wanted shagging to be on Harry’s agenda :lol: not a bad idea just too OOC!). A few said Harry’s Hag experience - I took a stab at that but it just didn’t flow well. Maybe for a future chapter.

Some are finding this story of the past boring. To channel my Prof Dumbledore - I’m fishing to fish not for the fish, not that there’s anything wrong with the latter. But I do appreciate your investment in the story and for those who choose to stick around I will change the story summary to alert you once I post the continuation of the present. To be clear, there are good reasons why I’m writing about the past (at least I think they are).

Enough about that. This chapter is long enough. Hope you find it interesting.

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Chapter 19 – His Friend Hermione

Harry asked for sugar free pumpkin pie and took care of the tab while Hermione made a trip to the witches’ room. She had offered to pay for dinner but Harry convinced her to get the next one. They had vowed to make this a regular thing, to find time when they were both free at least once a week.

It was his idea. Hermione had been concerned that maybe they shouldn't tie themselves to such a lofty commitment, suggesting that Harry might have better use of his time but he insisted and she caved with a compromise that it didn't have to be dinner or at Finnigan's all the time. Her reluctance made Harry wonder and he asked her if he was intruding too much in her life which Hermione immediately dismissed. It was kind of a weird conversation thankfully interrupted by her need to use the loo.

She wasn't long. By the time their pie came he noticed her standing halfway back to their booth talking with a man he recognized as someone who worked at the Daily Prophet. He had met the guy at an office party once but as good as he was with faces he was pretty bad with names. They both looked down his way and Hermione motioned she would be a minute. He nodded and watched as they continued their conversation, thinking about how she had evolved from that bushy brown haired teenager he knew from Hogwarts to the woman she was today.

Physically she had not changed much, except perhaps that she had filled in the um, usual places and developed into a more mature woman. At about five foot five she was average built and carried herself in a manner that masked the strength and endurance she had acquired through years of dutiful training. When she joined the Auror office years ago she cut her brown hair for both ease and practicality and was nowadays sporting a bob that complimented her features.

While Hermione wasn't someone one would describe as beautiful she wasn't bad looking either. He had already been approached three times since the morning by Ministry wizards asking him what her availability status was. Not knowing the real answer he turfed the men over to Dean. He laughed inwardly as he imagined her tall and physically massive partner fielding the question, thinking if the wizards got past asking over Dean's glare they were worthy.

Hermione had gone out with other men during her many breaks from Ron. She usually picked the anti-Ron, someone who wasn't a red head, was an intelligent conversationalist and one who paid attention to her more than the food, kind of like the bloke she was talking with now. But outside her circle of friends men were generally intimidated by her accomplishments and tried to compete with her or make her conform to an ideal which Hermione clearly wasn't. She was never a conformist. She needed someone who was confident enough on their own to let her be herself without feeling threatened by her intelligence. There were very few men under thirty who were like that.

Needless to say the guys she dated were jerks. Over time, convinced she was tragically bound to end up with wrong sort, he, Seamus and Dean, Dean in particular, became quite protective of her. Hermione found it amusing, maybe even enjoyed their concern but if she ever found out why she got stood up by the French Ministry observer/jerk two years ago she would probably kill them. They got a bit carried away with that one but that was so much fun.

Like most modern day Aurors Hermione wore Muggle clothes and would don Ministry robes over them only when mandated inside the Ministry. Tonight she was in light brown corduroys and an orange v-neck cashmere sweater that hugged her frame, blending well into the crowd just as any twenty-something girl-next-door would.

Of course, those who knew Hermione well knew she was anything but the girl-next-door. She was the brightest witch of their generation, a goal oriented perfectionist, opinionated about most things, passionate about her beliefs, and with an uncompromising social conscience. He would say all that even though she had definitely mellowed since Hogwarts. There were fewer things she was dogmatic about and had learned to accept that systems were much easier to alter than beings, human or otherwise. That was probably a result of being around Ron for many years and dealing with different beings at the DPMC, where her sensibilities and logic were severely tested.

But to him she was so much more than all that. If not for her he would not be alive today and Voldemort would have won. She was his most loyal friend and aside from Ron was the only other person who knew most of what he went through.

Tonight he came to realize that Ginny's observation was right. Talking with Hermione was different; it was more spontaneous, effortless and on a level that he had not had with his ex-girlfriend. In a way it was very personal, intimate in the non-physical sense and warmed him more than many other feel-good experiences he had in his life.

On hindsight maybe Ginny noticed how much more stressed he had been since Hermione left, something he attributed to increasing responsibilities at the Ministry. He knew now that it wasn't so much because of the increased work demand but rather the fact that Hermione wasn't around to talk him through it. He missed her. He missed her companionship for it was during these times with her when he felt most secure, when he felt most accepted, when he could let down his guard and be himself. With her he did not have to be the perfect hero, know all the answers or always do right. She had seen him at his weakest and at his ugliest and he could be totally honest with her because he had in the past and because most times she would need no further elaboration. And no matter what they said to each other they would always be friends.

Harry chugged the remainder of his pint wondering why he wasn't like that with Ginny. Why didn't this openness come as naturally? Surely it was no longer to protect her from what was after him or to shield her from the darkness of his past. Why couldn't he change for the woman he supposedly loved?

"Sorry about the wait."

Hermione just joined him, cutting through his thoughts.

"No worries," he responded then bugged by curiosity, he had to ask, "That guy you were talking with, he writes for the Prophet, doesn't he?"

"You mean Lance Elliot," she answered, "Yes, he covers the Wizengamot. Are you ready?"

"Yup," he replied as he helped her into her coat, "What did he want?"

"Him, nothing. I needed a favour," she said vaguely then steered their conversation, "I'd rather walk. It'll take about five minutes. You don't mind, do you?"

He didn't. They stepped outside and unexpected freezing January air greeted them rudely. The temperature had dropped suddenly while they were in Finnigan's. They walked side by side in silence, shoulders both hunched over, braving the cold, her with her arms hugged across her chest and him with his hands in his pockets. At one point they glanced at each other at the same time.

"Geez, it's cold," she laughed at the foolish sight caused by her suggestion.

"Yeah," he laughed too, "Any more bright ideas?"

"It’s not much further," she pressed on.

"This is crazy. Let's side-along."

They'd have to because he didn't know where her temporary quarters were. She relented, taking his hand in hers, warming it instantly and squeezing it tightly. For his part he thought he should relax and let her take him, feeling odd when he realized it has been a long time since he had given up bodily control and completely trusted someone else with his. Wait. This was Hermione. Just five years ago she took him Side-along many times without warning and he never Splinched. He was thinking way too much.

They spun in place and reappeared right outside the Ministry owned flat. The momentum of their re-emergence caused Hermione to crash forward into him and he reflexively tried to maintain his balance and to help her with hers. He brought both his arms around her back and held her against him to keep them from falling over. Hmm…she was wearing a soft flowery perfume he was noticing for the first time.

"Sorry," she immediately apologized, "I should have accounted for the added weight and your mental resistance during entry."

"Sure, blame it all on me. You weren't half as shoddy five years ago when we were escaping danger."

She chuckled at his joke and tried to defend herself, "Give me a break. It's been a while since I've had to do this."

"I can't believe you're making excuses for poor execution."

"Um...Harry..." she said tentatively, the smile still in her eyes and in her voice.

"Yeah?"

"You can let go now."

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he loosened his embrace and blushed.

She merely grinned at his absentmindedness. He watched her take the wards down and as they walked to her flat entrance at the very end of the sheltered path, he noticed that she was lost in thought. Harry guessed that would be about Ginny. They had been avoiding talking about her and Ron throughout dinner. Hermione probably wanted his side of the story about the break up and about the girl he was with last night.

"You're plotting. I must be in deep shit," he said, half-joking but with a tinge of genuine anxiety.

She chuckled, unlocking the door with her wand as she did, "Yes, you are, but we'll get to that later. I'm making tea. Make yourself at home."

Following her lead into the foyer, he took off his shoes as she did, left his jacket on the sofa with her stuff and placed their somewhat cold pumpkin pie atop the short counter that separated the dining area from the kitchen. He looked around as she noisily searched for a teapot and cups in the cupboards.

It was a small one bedroom flat, impersonal and indistinct. The door to the bedroom was ajar and just past it he saw unopened suitcases on the floor.

"Not planning on staying long?"

Hermione followed his gaze to her suitcases and guessed why he asked, answering, "I just haven't had the time to properly unpack. From the looks of it I might be here for a while."

"I thought you were thinking of buying right away."

"I'd like to but flats here in London are so expensive. I just browsed through the ads this morning and I'm losing hope I'll find one I like that I can actually afford," she handed him a couple of small plates, forks and a knife, "I heard you had to move out of Grimmauld. How do you like your new place?"

"It's okay I guess," he hadn't given it much thought, "At least it's in a new building, close enough to the Ministry even though I've been too busy I haven't actually spent time there."

Admittedly, the physical move had been symbolic too in that it was around the same time he began dating again. Out with old and in with the new, or at least he remembered that being part of his impulsive decision to buy property instead of lease. He handed Hermione a piece of pie over the counter and cut some for himself.

"Dean and I drove past the construction today. I can't believe the old Black House is gone forever," she said with a hint of nostalgia in her tone. "It's unfortunate the Muggles condemned the entire building. It must have been hard when you saw them tear it down."

"As much as I wanted to keep it, it had to go. It was only a matter of time. The place had been unmanageable since Kreacher died last year."

"So how does that work?" she asked inquisitively, "You still own the unplottable land, don't you?"

He confirmed, "I've hired a company to rebuild over it. I'm just not sure I want to live there after."

Hermione wanted to say something but tea was ready. Summoning a couple of chairs Harry transformed them into stools so they could sit at the counter and talk about work. They each took a careful sip of good warm tea.

"So," he took a breath in, "You first."

"About the Gaunt case; what did John say?"

"There's good news and bad news."

"Don't tell me John said 'no'," she guessed and groaned her dissatisfaction.

"But he said he'd have no problem if Kingsley was okay with it," he quickly added and instantly felt the gloom leave her face, changing into one of excited anticipation.

"So, I'm in then!"

"Not so fast, I'm meeting with Kingsley tomorrow morning."

"But he'd say 'yes'. You and I know it and John knows it. You can tell me now and…"

"Can you relax? One night is not gonna kill you and playing it straight will keep Humptail off my back."

"Fine," she agreed, "But I want to know the second Kingsley makes it official. Why is John being such a hard-ass anyway? Is he sore at me because of the Hag?"

"Not sure but he's very sensitive these days. Why? Is he picking on you?"

"Feels like it. He got on my case this afternoon as if it was my fault Gaunt is the mover in Knockturn Alley."

He hadn't heard about this one so she told him about what she and Dean stumbled upon.

"Warren and I were wondering the same thing yesterday," he said about Gaunt's increasing influence with a frown, thinking that this new information fit perfectly with the picture.

The mere mention of his partner's name brought out Hermione's frustration. As much as he hated this part of his job, it gave him the perfect opening to discuss the matter.

"About Warren. He can be prick."

"Can be?"

"But he can be nice when he wants to be."

"Oh please. Butter him up for someone who will actually believe it," she scoffed.

"I talked with him today and he says he'll behave himself if you do."

"If I do?!"

Shit. The second he said it he knew he shouldn't have. He forgot to carefully edit Warren's answer.

"He says he's merely reacting to you."

"He's the one who starts it with his bigoted commentary and his blatant disregard for decency!"

That was true. Warren enjoyed pushing buttons. He decided not to point out to Hermione that Warren was merely playing with her. That would just add kerosene to the fire.

"You don't have to like him but if you want to work on the Gaunt case, you're going to have to work with him."

"Maybe he doesn't have to work the case."

"You won't get him reassigned back to Toronto if that's what you're planning," he was straight with her.

"Why not?!" she was just about to explode, "What is so special about this guy that John's protecting him and you're protecting him?"

"I'm not protecting him," he said truthfully, "Look. This is getting out of hand. Is there something going on between the two of you?"

"What the fuck does that mean?!"

That riled her up more just as he expected it would. He really should talk to her about her use of profanity but not right now.

"This thing between you two; are you sure it's not because you like each other?"

"What would ever give you such a stupid idea?!"

Keep calm. She may look like she's going to kill you but she isn't. Best to keep the knife out of her reach and watch out for that fork.

"I've seen this useless bickering enough in the past with Ron to wonder if you're um…um…"

Someone give him a better word, or throw him a thesaurus, quick…

"Attracted to him?!"

Damn! Was it too much to ask for her not to be able to finish a thought of his just one time in their lives? ‘Attracted’ was such a sexual word. He didn't want to give her ideas.

He hoped she wasn't because Warren was not who he'd want to see Hermione end up with. However, it wasn't inconceivable that she was. Based on the usual initial reaction of women around Warren he was a good looking guy and he didn't have red hair. Hermione regarded Harry as if he had two heads and actually was waiting for an answer.

"Yes. Are you attracted to him?" he winced as he said the word.

"You actually think that the fact that I argue with Gates is an indication that I fancy him," she said quietly to confirm what he was saying. Before he could answer she was shaking her head and laughing to herself, "Oh, Harry. Did you think that through all by yourself or did Dean weigh in?"

"It’s all mine," he replied a bit red in the face but relieved that she wasn’t angry about his preposterous theory.

"For the record," she said in her listen-to-me-well-for-I-will-say-this-once tone, "While Ron may have bickered with me because he fancied me I bickered with him because we disagreed on a lot of things and he brought out the worse in me. In fact, we brought out the worse in each other and that was ultimately the reason we broke up."

"And Warren?"

"Gates is git. I have no patience for him even if he's supposed to be some Canadian hero," she replied, "He crossed the line and made this personal, Harry. I've worked hard at getting respect to let someone like him get away with what he did."

"I understand," he did now, "But this quarrel you have with him will compromise the squad and I can't let that happen. As I said, he's willing to start over. Can you do the same for the team?"

She was struggling with this more than he thought she would. The old Hermione would have decided immediately.

"You're right. I shouldn't let personal differences affect the team. I'll be civil at work," she emphasized 'at work' knowing there wasn't much he could do outside of it, "By the way, the do-it-for-the-team speech was really good."

Hermione said that straight-faced but it sounded way too sappy to think it was a serious compliment.

"Why thank you. That was my very first one."

"You're a natural."

From there the conversation became more serious. She enquired about what happened at the Ministry while she was gone. Being somewhat apolitical, he wasn't the best person to ask about it but he told her what he heard anyway. As in the past power in the Ministry predominantly resided within its two largest departments, the MLE and the Department of Mysteries. There was definitely growing concern that the DoM and its leaders wanted changes in the MLE heavy administration and the MLE sympathetic Wizengamot.

Rumours were that there was ongoing positioning and the anti-Kingsley group was recruiting influential players aggressively into DoM and into the more minor offices. Hermione was not pleased that after only five years of relative mutual cooperation the politics was back.

"Those bastards. Can't they see there's still so much rebuilding to do? What's Kingsley been doing about it?"

"There's really not much Kingsley can do," he concluded but Hermione disagreed.

"He could do his own shameless recruiting," she suggested, "Or influence laws to actively protect important projects even if just for the transition."

"Yeah he could but Kingsley's too straight to do something like that."

"I guess that's the problem. He too straight he'll end up getting his throat cut by those who aren't, and then we end up with a less than ideal Minister."

That was graphic but he was sure she meant it in a figurative sense.

"It'll work out," he tried to reassure them both.

"This wasn't what I pictured would happen five years ago. I really hoped those in Ministry leadership would stay on course until they build a better Magical world and prevent what happened from happening again. But no, that would have made too much sense," she ranted. "Aren't you frustrated? Did you see this coming five years ago?"

"I hope you don't take it against me but at that time the state of the future Ministry wasn't on my thought much," he admitted, "On a more personal note, this thing with Ginny was, and where it is now is definitely not what I envisioned then."

Hermione didn't say anything but waited for him to continue. All this talk about unmet expectations was depressing. He didn't realize until that moment that he needed to talk about Ginny.

"She broke up with me," he finally said the words, "I never imagined she would."

"I don't think anybody did. She definitely didn’t."

"She wanted me to change. She said I didn't talk to her enough."

"Was she right?"

"I know what she means."

"So why don't you talk to her more?"

"It's not that simple."

"What do you mean?"

"It's kind of hard to explain."

"We don't have to be at work ‘til seven. We have time."

She warmed up and poured them more tea.

"What made you give up on Ron?"

"Slick Potter. Don't you make this about me."

"It isn't just about me. It's about us, our expectations then and our realities now. Don't tell me you saw yourself and Ron not making it five years ago."

"Four actually although I kept on hoping I was wrong. It was hard to judge anything objectively during that first year when everyone was kind of high on Voldemort's death," she answered, "Didn't Ron tell you why we broke up?"

"He said it was the arguments but I got the feeling something else broke the camel's back."

Hermione sipped her tea. She had to think about it before deciding. They never really discussed their relationships. He and Ginny never had any real problems before this one and she usually went to Ginny while he listened to Ron when they had fights. This was kind of new for them but he sensed she wanted to talk about Ron too.

"You have to promise you won't take it against him."

"Have I ever?"

"What ticked me off finally was his jealousy."

"He was jealous of another bloke?" he asked, surprised.

"I wish. If it were a guy I could have at least deluded myself that it was because he loved me."

"The Hag," he concluded.

"He was upset that she chose to train me," Hermione confirmed.

"I knew he was a bit insecure but I had no idea it was this bad."

"For years I tried playing down what I did so he wouldn't feel insecure. I finally figured that was stupid and that if he can't be happy for me and be okay with me doing well I didn't want to be with him.

"Ron's the kind of person who needs a constant cheering section. I couldn't imagine myself being a perpetual cheerleader. I'm just not the type so I gave up."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"I think we're both better off, actually," she said without regret.

"Do you miss him?"

"His friendship and even his awful jokes," she admitted, embarrassed, it was amusing.

"Do you still love him?"

"It's changed but I'll always care about him."

"And what Warren said?"

He was curious about the answer and if she actually would reply. She put up token resistance.

"Don't you think that's way too much information for you?"

"Why, Miss Granger, you of all people should know that there is no such thing as having too much information."

"Since when did you become so nosy? You used to have a life."

"I'm not nosy. I'm just curious if Warren got it right."

"I miss sex. So shoot me."

"Geez, warn me before saying something brutally honest like that."

"You asked the question, I didn't," they were laughing the awkwardness away and Hermione dug them deeper, "And I'm not even talking about good sex, I'm talking about forget foreplay, just plain ole get to the point, naked sex…"

"Whoa! Okay, that's definitely way too much information!"

Her vivid description of her current needs had grabbed a hold of his imagination and it was difficult not to see her as a woman.

"I can't believe I just said that out loud and to you!" she was covering her face with hands, laughing, self-conscious as he had never seen her before.

"In case you didn't notice you're talking to a man and, as you know, all men given sufficient cause and opportunity are perverts."

He struggled to finish his point seeing Hermione was in tears.

She asked as they regained composure, "Don't you miss sex with Ginny? And don't lie by saying no."

"What's the point in asking the question then?"

"I'm asking because for the life of me I can't figure out why you not only let her break up with you but you also chose some bimbo to replace her."

"I haven't replaced her," he fended off her playful accusation, "And what if I told you the bimbo you're referring to has a double degree in advanced metaphysical runes and higher potions?"

"She's still a bimbo."

"I thought so."

"Does she really?"

"No, of course not. But you see my point."

"Quite clearly. You haven't answered my question," she reminded him.

"I thought it was rhetorical."

"Would it kill you to say it?"

"I miss sex with Ginny. There. Happy now?"

"What about her? Do you miss her?"

"I miss her."

"Do you still love her?"

"If it's true what they say about the first, well, she was my first. I think I always will."

"So why are you giving her up so easily? She's leaving for Holyhead in five days. Just talk to her."

The series of questions and the conclusion Hermione led him to was typical of her trying to make him see logic. Logic would not help in this one.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think I can be who she wants me to be. She wants me to be someone like that shrink on the telly, that bloody American, what’s his name?"

"Who? Dr. Phil? She does not!"

"You should get this; you, who'll never shake those pom-poms for Ron ever again. Can you imagine me talking about my feelings? 'Oh yeah, I'm feeling sad. That mother who just died reminds me of mine and I want to talk about it'. See?"

"You're being ridiculous. That's not what she means."

"I know what she means. She wants me to talk to her the way I talk to you."

"How hard can that be? It's not an unreasonable request."

"That's just it. When I finally figured out she was right I started thinking that I should just do it because it's not an unreasonable request. But it just hit me. How am I supposed to do that? She's not you and I can't pretend that she is."

"I agree that would be quite a stretch and best not mention that pretend thing to her ever," she suggested and then added, "I do see your point. It's difficult to duplicate something that took years of what we went through to create. You kind of almost have to experience your own ups and downs. Too bad it isn't a switch that you can readily flip on."

"Luna had a good point too."

"I've been hearing that a lot these days."

"She said Ginny should see what's out there and maybe she'll find what she's looking for."

"Maybe," she replied acting as if the conversation did not turn out to be what she had expected.

"Is there something she asked you to tell me?"

"No."

"Does she want me back?"

"Harry…" she was reluctant to answer.

"I just need to know."

He did need to know. For if Ginny wanted him back then there was a chance she'd back down and accept him as he was, flaws and all. And if she didn't…

"I'm her best friend."

He knew what the hesitation was about. It was unspoken that as Ginny's friend she was not supposed to tell him. But it wasn't difficult to read that she was trying to get them back together, likely without Ginny's consent, and would have told him what he hoped to hear if it was true. Knowing now what it was really about, the reality of his break-up with Ginny stung more than ever.

"I guess that's a 'no'."

"She was just so hurt last night. She wasn't thinking clearly," Hermione tried to soften the blow, "I know her. She'll want you back."

A part of him wanted to believe her and a part of him wanted to shut the door completely. It was hard to completely let go.

"If she wants me back she knows where to find me."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I hope their friendship seemed real enough and genuine without Harry being overly sentimental.

I’m not sure if anyone can appreciate Harry’s conundrum about Ginny. The fool who came up with ‘first love never dies’ should be stoned until he/she recants that it does! It’s kind of true for me. I’d be interested to hear from someone who knows firsthand that it’s not.

Next chapters are going to be about the Morpheus Gaunt case and the continued evolution of Harry and Hermione’s friendship.

A/N. Took me long enough, didn’t it? Harry is giving me a lot of trouble. I have to thank the Hag for helping me out on this one.

Thank you for those replies about ‘first love’. Each was unique and personal which means that unfortunately, some of you will not agree with how Harry will deal with his.

And to all the Canadian readers – Happy Gobble-Gobble!

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 20 - Pillars

Hermione tossed and turned in bed. She couldn't sleep. She was bothered by her failure to help mend her best friends' relationship. Convinced that Ginny would change her mind if Harry made the first move, her mission that evening was to get Harry to open lines of communication. She fell short in her task and upon analysis of where the plan went wrong she concluded that the whole thing fell apart the second Harry pointed out his difficulty in fulfilling such a seemingly reasonable request.

She's not you and I can't pretend that she is.

She laughed inwardly and felt warm in the face. Trust Harry to be so clueless so as to say something that would make her feel good and bad at the same time. It took her a few seconds to formulate a sensible response to that. Her unpreparedness was quite understandable. They never really talked of their friendship, at least not to each other. While it went through a lot of growing pains and was by no means perfect, it was indeed a unique one, one tested and strengthened by fire. It was heartening to hear that Harry thought it was one of a kind too but it made her feel bad, for Ginny for making her think she was missing out on something and for Harry for not knowing what to do about it.

Although neither blamed her she felt responsible for causing their rift and it made her want to help them even more. Really, if she wasn't around Ginny would have had no point of comparison. It was curious that in all these years Ginny never hinted at ever wanting what she and Harry had and it made her wonder what set Ginny off. Why was theirs suddenly not enough? Did something happen while she was away?

The more she thought about this the more uncomfortable she felt. It would be weird to ask Ginny or Harry and to ask would be unlocking a Pandora's Box she didn't want to open. In the scheme of things the answer to that didn't matter anyway. The fact still remained that Ginny wanted something from Harry that Harry couldn't provide at this time and at the moment she was at a loss about how to proceed. Does she continue to intervene or step back?

They're adults. Luna is right. The break will be good for Ginny. Actually it will be good for them both.

Ginny isn't going to find what's she's looking for.

Well, she may or she may not. If she doesn't, it'll help her accept that what they had was actually enough. And sometimes we don't know what we have until we don't have it anymore.

And it's good for Harry how?

Communication is a cornerstone in any worthwhile relationship and as hard as it is for him he'd have to learn to communicate better. If he doesn't this won't be the first time he'll have this problem.

I could just tell them and save them grief.

On the other hand it'll be more meaningful if they sort it out on their own.

Their own test of fire.

Exactly. If they survive and don't get burned too much.

After the internal discussion she decided to go against her helpful nature. It was best to stay out of this one. At peace with her choice Hermione finally fell asleep, her last thought was hope that Harry and Ginny were going to be okay...Harry especially.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry was in bed staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. Ginny didn't want him back and he could only think that it meant she didn't love him anymore (or at least not as much as she used to). Foolish as it was, even when he began dating again, he continued to hope that their break up was temporary and that she would come to her senses. But even with Hermione's belief that Ginny would eventually change her mind, he felt that tonight the valley between them just became wider and there was very little left to hope for.

Things happen for a reason, he remembered what Luna said. Yes, they do, and this particular one was to make a perfectly happy person miserable.

Ginny was perfectly happy too, that is until she saw the imperfection in their 'perfect relationship'. Their friends certainly called it that a lot they believed it. It was hard not to. They were the couple fairy tales were based on; she, the young girl who had a crush on him, a 'damsel in distress' saved from mortal peril by her hero and he, the hero who finally clued in and they fell in love. They rarely argued, they rarely fought and they were supportive of each other. What else was there to ask for in a relationship? Did he mention they rarely fought?

That was surprising in that they were both somewhat short tempered. He guessed it was because they never really had important conflict between them to be short tempered about. They were compatible in that sense; they had the same views on many major things and they did not sweat the small stuff. And this one big thing that finally cropped up they failed to handle well…he failed to handle well.

One big thing...one that mattered...was it really just the one or was that the tip of the iceberg? He wondered when the fairy tale bubble burst for Ginny and when she realized he was not perfect, that what they had was not perfect. Or had she known all along but had been turning a blind eye to his shortcomings, tolerating them because she loved him and wanted their relationship to work?

It was unimaginable that Ginny was giving in to him all these years but then he didn't believe Hermione would downplay her accomplishments for Ron either (he still couldn't get over the fact that he didn't see that as it was happening). However, for a couple he and Ginny did agree with each other a lot and it was in striking contrast to Ron and Hermione who rarely did.

His friends' relationship had been what they themselves called an imperfect one. To this date he didn't know exactly what it was that made them keep on coming back to each other for more of the same. Most of their friends deduced that it had to be Hermione's stubbornness that it took time for her to finally admit she had been wrong about Ron. He preferred thinking it was love and the desire to make it better as Ron said it was but looking back now maybe it was because just like him they had difficulty fully letting go.

Why didn't he know the answer to this? Why didn't he have better insight about what their relationship was like? Why did he accept Ron's side of things as de facto and why didn't he ask her?

As he thought about the answers to the questions he remembered that this wasn’t the first time in recent memory that he was questioned about the depth of his knowledge of Hermione. It was the Hag who brought it up during one of their earliest meetings when she was assessing his training needs.

You have this young woman in your life. What's her name?

Ginny. Ginny Weasley.

Not her. Your other woman.

Other woman?

The brunette.

Do you mean Hermione? No, she's not...we're not...she's like a sister to me.

I guess you know this because you’ve had a sister before.

No but...

I completely understand. She is not as pleasing to the eye as the other one. Butt ugly.

No, she isn't ugly.

If you say so. Tell me about her.

She's one of my best friends. She's brilliant. She's an Auror too, one of the best ever to join the Ministry.

So she is. That's it? That’s all you know about your best friend? I already knew that about her before you came.

What else do you want to know?

What else do you know about her? Tell me something that only you, a best friend of hers, would know.

I don’t see how that’s relevant to my being here.

We were discussing weaknesses to determine your training needs.

Hermione isn’t a weakness. If anything she’s a pillar of strength. I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for her.

We all have pillars we rely on for support. I heard of how you brought the mighty Voldemort down so I shouldn’t have to elucidate why you need to know who and what yours are. But pillars have pillars. If I were an enemy and desperate enough I’d find out what you should already know about yours.

Harry thought that the Hag was making much out of nothing. He would do anything to protect those he cared about the most even if they weren’t his ‘pillars’. But with that memory and his questions tonight he came upon another depressing conclusion. Apart from work and being his friend he knew so little about Hermione. There was much about her that he assumed. While he did have a good sense of what she would do given a particular situation and thought he understood the way she thought things through, he couldn't be sure that he was right. There was that private side to her that either she did not wish to share with him or she didn't because he never thought to ask.

Maybe he was over thinking this but he couldn't get over it. For the enormous support Hermione had given him all this time she did not get much in return. It felt to him that she didn't need him the way he needed her. Granted that Hermione was always very independent and was the type who would resolve personal problems on her own it was upsetting that, except for work stuff, she never shared her problems with him or asked for his help. Maybe Hermione didn't think him worthy or competent enough to consider confiding in?

Unintentional as it was her self-sufficient nature made him feel insecure about his place in her life and he now had a slightly better appreciation of how Ron felt and why. He wasn’t sure if he was one of her pillars and he wanted to be one really badly. For all his talk about Hermione needing someone confident enough on their own he felt a bit embarrassed that he, one of her best friends, wasn't. And he supposedly understood her?

The more he measured himself as a friend the more miserably he flunked his evaluation. With the unsettling thought he willed himself to sleep, dozing off, resolved to do something about it. If only he knew where to start.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Say something," Dean commented as Hermione shifted the car up a gear.

It was the day after the incident at Knockturn Alley, They were on their way to their assignment and he had just told her what his and Luna's solution to working things out was. She didn't want to say anything that would spoil it for them and she was doing her best not to open her mouth until her filters were in place.

Dammit. She realized that the filters wouldn't be enough. She'd have to lie.

"Australia's really nice; at least my parents think so. It's a good idea. I wouldn't have thought of it myself," Hermione fibbed a half truth but Dean could not be fooled.

"Let me have it."

"What I think doesn't matter," she fended him off.

"Of course it does."

"You're not gonna like what I have to say."

"I know. I want to hear your gloomy thoughts anyway," she gave him a skeptical look but he insisted, "Honestly, I do. I need the reality check."

"And why does it have to come from me?" she whined.

"Because you care and deep down inside you're dying to say something," Dean put it simply and she couldn't deny the truth in what he said.

"Okay…fine. I think it's a terrible mistake. You shouldn't have offered," she stopped as Dean winced involuntarily, "Don't get me wrong, you know how I feel about you and Luna and I'm not saying that Luna is going to take advantage..."

Hermione turned the car into a quiet suburban neighborhood, keeping her eye on the unfamiliar road as she spoke and uncharacteristically losing nerve.

"Just get to the point."

"Your family is here. Your friends are here. Your job is here," she enumerated one after the other painfully, "Even if you do get into the Australian MLE, Luna's not even sure how long her project will be. Are you going to move again when it's over? And what if...what if..."

"Things don't work out?"

"Well, yes. People fall in and out of love all the time," Hermione tried to be gentle, "It's a romantic and sweet offer but if I were Luna I would have flat out rejected it."

"Why?"

"Your work is important to you."

"She's more important."

"What if she becomes famous for her work while you've been dragged all over the world never having the opportunity to become more than a beat Auror?" she asked too honestly.

LDR was a better option; breaking it off even. Sometimes she wished she had a more cheerful outlook.

"I can't see that happening," Dean replied.

Of course he wouldn't. He shouldn't. She had experienced the three S's before. Love does make one short-sighted, selfless and stupid in a good way. Those were part of what made it exhilarating and fun…until one day you come to your senses and it suddenly hits you, 'what were you thinking?'

Do you think Dean's ready for that reality check?

Note to self…never get yourself and your cynicism into this predicament ever again, especially when you're not in a 'happy place'.

"It might not...I hope it doesn't...I'm almost sure it won't," she backpedalled awkwardly, already feeling guilty about putting the pessimistic seed in his mind, "I'm just saying the worse that can happen is that it'll wear you out and while you are a wonderful human being it'll be tough to hold off resentment."

He shrugged, "It was either me or her. I couldn't let her. And we care too much about each other we have to give it a try. It's a risk but what do we have to lose?"

Dean seemed to know what he was signing up for and thankfully, her negative forecast did not dampen his spirits. She admired him for his courage to take the huge leap. And this was why he was in a loving relationship and she wasn't.

"You're absolutely right," she was surprised by how much she agreed with him, "And what do I know? I'm not an expert. My own personal life would be in a much better shape if I were and by going against my opinion you're probably ahead of the game already."

"True," he laughed at her self depreciating comment.

Dean would know that as knowledgeable as she was about many things she would be the first to admit not knowing how to make a relationship work. Of course that didn't stop her from force of habit and sharing her opinion anyway. But if someone wanted to know how to make one not work, she had plenty of experience. He thanked her for her candidness and they slipped into silence.

Hermione used the break to focus on their case at hand; Morpheus Gaunt and how to catch him. Gaunt was an obvious alias, not uncommon since the five years following Voldemort’s death. Every dark wizard or witch wannabe wanted to be a Gaunt or a Riddle, thinking the name would give them a leg up in the business. ‘Morpheus Gaunt’ first came into existence with his first official criminal act…the murder of a Hit Wizard for no apparent reason other than to announce his arrival. The instant notoriety was duly noted but he killed another member of the MLE just for good measure.

Like most ‘Gaunts’ Morpheus claimed he was related to Voldemort by blood. He made an example of the first wizard who scoffed at his declaration and nobody made the same mistake of calling him a liar again. There was no proof that Morfin, Voldemort’s uncle, ever sired a child or proof that he didn’t. Why anyone would choose to lie that the moron was his grandfather was beyond her. Personally, if she was going to make something up and had to make a choice she would have chosen to be a direct Voldermort descendant. That kind of made her wonder if Morpheus Gaunt’s claim was actually true.

Aside from the murders, there wasn’t much on Gaunt’s rap sheet until the Wasabi Hut incident. He was marking Knockturn Alley as his territory and she was certain whatever Harry’s case was about it was something big. She was anxiously waiting to hear from him about his meeting with Kingsley.

Deep in thought she was surprised to notice that she was pulling up in front of the Muggle home of Mrs. Griselda Gilson. Dean took out a Galleon, flipped it up in the air and caught it.

"Your call," he told her.

"Being," she selected.

Her partner slapped the coin on the back of his hand and showed her. It landed wizard side up. Fudge…she always chose being and always lost.

They got off the car and walked up the path to the entrance. Dean was about to lift the heavy brass knocker when the door swung open and they were immediately ushered in by a teary eyed diminutive lady.

Mrs. Gilson was about fifty but looked older because she was tense and had not slept in a while. Her son, Hubert, had been missing for five days and they were there to tell her that they had found him. The young seventeen year old wizard was one of those who died at Knockturn Alley yesterday. It took all night for Forensics to sort the scene out and release the bodies just this morning.

Hermione told her what happened. It was painful to watch the single mother lose herself at the news of the loss of her one and only child. This part of the job was what she hated the most; most of them did. And the hardest part was not to forget to ask the right questions after, no matter how tough it would be for the loved one to answer. They needed to find out how Hubert got mixed up with Gaunt.

With his mother's permission they searched Hubert's room. From what they gathered from his Mum and from his typical teenage boy quarters Hubert was spoiled and led a carefree life. He wasn't in school. He didn't have work. He liked to party.

By early afternoon they had visited four other families and there was a definite pattern. The young men didn't know each other but with the exception of one they all led busy night-lifes. They were both ruminating silently on the information they had as the drove back to the Ministry when she was hit by a thought that couldn't wait.

"Let's start with the odd man out."

"Okay," Dean took his notes out, "Derek Shylock, twenty, recent graduate of Advanced Potions at the Brewers Higher School of Magical Learning, part time job at St. Mungo's. Says here he was a former Hogwarts student who transferred out after first year. That can't be right."

"Hufflepuff in Romilda Vane’s year," she tried to remind him, "He was slightly overweight, dark hair, rarely spoke."

"The one who stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas because his entire family had the dragon pox?"

"He's the one," Hermione replied then continued from her memory of the parent interview, "So Derek remained quiet and timid, with few close friends and no steady girl. He still lived with his parents, called three days ago to tell his folks he was going out with 'work friends' and that he would be late coming home."

Dean added, "That was the third time in two weeks. Parents were ecstatic he was coming out of his shell until he didn't come home at all. Work friends deny being out with him."

"He lied."

"Assuming co-workers had no reason to," Dean played devil's advocate.

"The St. Mungo staff will check out okay," Hermione was almost sure of it, "If you were Derek, why would you lie about something like that?"

Dean paused, "Didn't want my folks to worry."

"Why would they? They were supportive of you being more outgoing."

"Either I wasn't really going out or I was going out with someone they wouldn't approve of."

"Or someplace. Looking at the broader picture, the rest of our vics liked to party. According to a recent poll by the Magical Facebook 92% of wizards aged 17 to 25 want to attend the party of parties at least once in their lives," Hermione concluded.

"You think our boy Derek went to a Vamp Camp?"

Relatively new and somewhat underground, Vamp Camps were late night gatherings held in clandestine locations because of the not so legal activities of those in attendance. It attracted young professionals who wanted to have a good time, the kind of entertainment that included loud music, lots of alcohol, designer potions, and back rooms where couples could go and have sex with each other or with strangers. They were called Vamp Camps or Vampire Parties because they started exclusively as such and the potential danger of rogue vampires in attendance was part of its allure. Nowadays they were well attended by wizards and witches.

"As did the four others," she answered, "Maybe that's where Gaunt met them."

"What makes you think Gaunt goes to Vamp Parties?"

"The woman with him at the Wasabi."

She didn't have to elaborate. Dean picked up what she meant.

"Pale, in shades and the preference for raw steak? A bit of a stretch, don't you think? She could be merely sleep-deprived, sun-starved or sick. You're grasping at straws."

"Straws were all I had. At first I thought she-werewolf but she looked too docile."

"You already know she's a vampire," he realized.

After working with her for so long he knew how she operated. It was time to confess.

"I um...happened to be browsing through the old voluntary werewolf and vampire registries this morning as I was reviewing a cold case and um... may have recognized her."

Dean was amused. They weren't supposed to be actively working Wasabi. It annoyed her that Gates said it was off limits and she had to do something to address her need for information.

"I'm sure it wasn't a violation of the MOO."

"Of course not…technically," she replied; she made sure it wouldn't be.

"And?"

"She's a turnblood, goes by the name of Corpuscula, last address unknown. It's a long shot but we have pictures of her," she tried to curb her enthusiasm, "We have pictures of Gaunt…the vampire community in London is small. If we just showed them..."

"Absolutely not!" Dean began shaking his head.

He needed a bit of convincing just as she thought.

"The sun's still out. We're just going to ask her if she recognizes either of..."

Dean interrupted, "N-O, no. You knew about her this morning! You knew you were going to ask me this, didn't you?!"

"Yes but I wasn't gonna insist if you said 'no'. As it stands now, things are a bit different…"

"I swore I'd never talk to that vamp, ever."

"But Bloody Mary's a sweetheart..."

The vampire informer of his really was a darling, one who would do anything for him but only for him.

"Easy for you to say. She didn't expose her fangs near your neck the last time," Dean replied anxiously, white and getting whiter by the second at the memory of his near transformation.

The incident in her mind wasn't as bad as Dean thought it was. She tried not to laugh at the sight of a panicky Dean.

"So she fancies you but she did swear she'd have better impulse control next time. Come on, you know she'll talk only to you."

"The answer's still no."

"One conversation."

He snorted, "I know you. No matter what she says you'll want to see for yourself and I'll end up going to a Vamp party with her and Merlin only knows how many other blood thirsty vampires."

"It's not like you're going alone," she reasoned, "If need be I'll be around to Stun her off you and Petrify her like the last time."

"Forget it," he reiterated.

"Please. Just ask her if she's seen them around."

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No and that's final," her partner said firmly.

Nine hours later, she and Dean were in an unmarked van in a concealed alley a couple of blocks down from where Bloody Mary said an exclusive Vamp Camp was about to take place.

XXXXXXXXX

A/N. So Hermione is still in denial, Harry is clueless/confused and Dean has taken a leap and will move to Australia for Luna.

More about Gaunt in the next.

I’m still unhappy about how Harry is thinking but he has a mind of his own. I’m hoping this mission to become a pillar in Hermione’s life will help. As always, your comments and ideas are welcome.

A/N. It’s been so long many may need reminding where we are.

Hermione and Dean are following up on a lead about Gaunt and his girlfriend Corpuscula. I didn’t plan the chapter to end this way but that’s not really news.

It’s only a story…

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 21 – Apologies, Apologies

Dean was still miffed at her for talking him into getting in touch with Bloody Mary, which she thought was kind of juvenile. It turned out that the vampire informer did know Corpuscula and had pertinent valuable information. For the past few hours they had been remotely watching the front and back entrances of the 'Bat Cave', a Muggle night spot that today was closed to the public for a private function.

The party was for vampires and close supporters only. The host was some Wizengamot lobbyist, an influential wizard who made sure no anti-Vampire laws ever passed. All bloody Mary would say was that Corpuscula was likely to attend and that she wasn't going because what would go on, while perfectly legal, was against her sensibilities.

About a hundred beings had come in and just minutes ago they had visual confirmation of the Turn blood entering the club via the back door. Corpuscula came alone but that didn't mean anything. It was late and they were wondering if Gaunt was inside already. Dean was trying to convince her not to proceed with her plan to go in and have a look.

"You're making me nervous," Hermione said to Dean as she made final adjustments to her disguise and make up.

"You should be nervous," Dean pressed on, "The Vampire community is going to be up in arms if they found out we went in there without a warrant. We should call Trussel."

"If you let Trussel know John will find out, and he'll pull us out just like he pulled us off the Wasabi and Knockturn Alley," she replied, frustrated and angry, "This case is ours, and I'm not giving it up for anyone, not even for Harry."

"Look, I know you want to prove a point but the shit will hit the fan," Dean said worried for her, "Not telling them about this lead, following Corpuscula in there without legal in the loop and without back-up...it'll be hard to explain blatant insubordination."

"In the first place, they never asked us if we had any leads," Hermione shrugged without a care. It was not the first time somebody underestimated her which was their mistake, "And it isn't insubordination if we're going in there to investigate a possible illegal vamp camp. If we happen to see Corpuscula we can't just ignore her, can we?"

"You do realize that you are insane."

"I'm just doing my job."

"And bull headed."

"Persistent," she corrected, "We're doing this. We'll be fine if we just stick with the story."

This was one of the few times they argued about work. The truth was she was really pissed about not being trusted with the case and what better way to prove them wrong than find Gaunt themselves. Being told that Gaunt was off limits only made her want to know more. Dean finally gave up talking her out of it.

"Just be very careful."

"I always am. So, what do you have?"

Dean was a gadget man and in moments like these when they were 'on their own' they relied heavily on that fact. While she kept up to date with technological advances herself it was more Dean's interest and he had sources in the Department of Mysteries no one else in the Auror department had. Despite his reservation he was actually prepared and ready, probably because he knew she would go through with it no matter what.

"Wear these," he instructed as he transformed two small pebble-like substances, handing her the resultant large gaudy ornaments.

It took some time to recognize what they were.

"These are earrings?"

"They're an exact copy of Luna's favourite. Why?"

That would explain it. No wonder they looked strangely familiar.

"Nothing."

She begrudgingly clipped them on, thinking how the peacock designs and their many colors clashed with the black outfit she was wearing. Making a mental note to transfigure them later, she watched her partner turn on two monitors and felt the earrings give off a warm vibration. Dean's form lit up as mix of red, green and blue on the screens and the computer immediately identified the image as D. Thomas.

"What is it?"

Dean informed her, "It's called the Magical Imprint Recognizer or the MIR. As you know each being has a unique magical signature. It scans magical energy and matches the imprint against a database."

"Like a fingerprint. And we have one of Gaunt's on file?"

"I wish but it's just out of the box," Dean replied, "I've loaded the database with known ones of Ministry personnel and a few identified dark wizards and witches. But what I really want to do is get Gaunt on the screen so we can add him to the list. I suggest planting one near a strategic location and moving around with the other one."

"How close does it have to get?" she asked.

"I've set it to ten feet. Beyond that my source says it collects and gives conflicting information," Dean answered.

She put the image projector, voice receiver and voice transmitter pods in position, Muggle surveillance rip offs with a slight magical twist in that they were invisible once activated and virtually undetectable. They promptly did a test and found everything in order. As she was about to leave her phone rang. Dean picked it up from where she had left her other personal effects.

"It's Harry," Dean handed her the phone.

She was as puzzled as Dean was. It was one in the morning and Harry never called her this late. What did he want? Did something bad happen?

"Harry?"

"Oh...hi," Harry stammered as if he was caught off-guard that she answered.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, there's nothing wrong," he hurriedly replied then waffled about getting in touch, "I'm sorry, it's late and I shouldn't have called."

"Okay…"

Weird…

"Okay," he echoed what she said, "I guess I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay…in the morning then."

She was about hang up when she heard him exclaim, "Hermione, wait!"

"What? Harry, you're acting really strange," she got to the point; she really didn't have time for this.

"I know, I'm sorry," he apologized again, "I don't mean to frighten you. Can I see you tonight, just for a few minutes?"

Her eyes widened more from panic about what to tell him than concern about why he needed to.

"You mean right now?"

"Yes...unless...sorry...I didn't even ask but if you're with someone... "

"No, I'm just hanging out with Dean," she instantly denied.

Her gesticulating partner distracted her, mouthing 'hanging out' as if that was not a good thing to say.

As she tried to wordlessly ask him why he thought it was a bad idea, Harry sought permission, "So, I can join you then."

"Well, no, not right now," Dean rolled his eyes up, predicting what Harry's response would be. The words stumbled out of her mouth and she could only hope Harry wouldn't insist, "Maybe later…actually better if we meet up in the morning. We're on our way home and I'm feeling a bit knackered."

"Okay."

That was easy.

"Bye."

"Bye."

She disconnected, frowning from the strange conversation.

"Hanging out?" Dean repeated.

"What was I supposed to say?" she defended herself.

"The truth would have been good."

She let out a regretful sigh, "He's management now. I don't want to put him on the spot."

Hermione was still smarting from what Harry told her that afternoon. Kingsley was going with John's recommendation about keeping her and Dean off the case. Since when did Kingsley say 'no' to Harry? Harry was as upset as she was and she didn't push him knowing he had tried his best to bat for her.

"I don't think he bought it," Dean shook his head, "You should have just said you had company."

Maybe next time. Set with a plan to get in undetected, she Disapparated close to the Bat Cave, altered the Luna inspired jewelry and approached the entrance with confident steps, a somewhat difficult endeavor as she was unaccustomed to strutting about in four inch heels. The plan was she would find Corpuscula and tag her until she found Gaunt. Then once Gaunt was clearly in the picture, they would let Harry know.

She got to the entrance and greeted the tall Muggle looking man who stood before her, appraising her from head to toe as muffled music spilled out from beyond the double doors behind him.

"This is a private function," he said immediately, his voice low, deep, unwelcoming.

Dean had visual and spoke into her pod, "Strix, the host's assistant. Don't let the looks fool you. He's a Turn Blood."

Hermione responded, "Ross sent me to help liven up the party."

Ross was a pimp who had a stable of fresh, clean workers, beings of everyone's fancy. She catered only to the rich and famous and charged top galleon for the exclusivity. Bloody Mary suggested posing as one of her girls for Ross, after being Obliviated by a displeased customer recently, was having a bit of difficulty keeping track of who her employees were nowadays.

"I told Ross I needed only five," the vampire said coldly, "She must have forgotten."

"Cranky," Dean ran a commentary, "Looks like we have to go to Plan B."

Hermione preferred the less obtrusive Plan A and tried again, "No, she didn't forget. I'm for free, a token of her appreciation for your business."

Strix seemed unaffected.

"The poor slob just works for the man. He doesn't care. Five galleons say you won't change his mind."

Challenged by Dean's lack of faith, Hermione leaned in closer and whispered into the vamp's ear, "Ross told me to personally make sure you're pleased with the service."

She released a minute dose of Veela blood essence for good measure and the vamp did not have a chance.

"That is so not fair," Dean groaned as the schmuck found someone else to watch the door and let her in.

Nonchalantly charming an earring to stick on the intricate molding at the entrance, she followed glassy eyed Strix past the crowded intermittently lit music filled hall into a long winding corridor. It seemed to go on forever in an incline, losing the booming sound of heavy metal influenced music for a few seconds regaining it as they went up the wooden platform onto the second level. What she saw momentarily immobilized her. It was something she didn't imagine ever being witness to in her life.

"Fuck..." was all Dean could say from the other end.

Fuck just about summed it all up. At the centre of the high ceilinged room highlighted by flashing reddish yellow light from the lower level was a group of fifteen, maybe twenty, naked beings making out and having intercourse with each other. With the foggy view at first she thought it was a projected image until one vampire spectator from the crowd undressed and joined in.

Music up there was as loud as below and the levels were separated by what she hoped was really thick and reinforced see-through glass. She could see what was going on down on the main floor and as many were looking up to see the other show. She was busy taking the scene in that she didn't even notice that Strix had left her side. He was off to the bar, ordering drinks from a thong-clad bartender and she took the moment to speak with Dean.

"Are you getting all this?"

"Unbelievable."

Dean had not recovered from his shock. They had seen a lot of crazy things and heard rumours but this was surreal. So far, the underdressed server was the only thing about the place that was probably illegal. It was a private party and the attendees were all consenting adults. She scanned her surroundings, straining for light, looking for their subject.

"You love Luna. You're getting married. You love Luna. You're getting married," Dean began reciting to himself annoyingly that after a few times she had to say something.

"Get a grip. You don't have to look, you know."

"Easier said than done," Dean replied, "I really have a bad feeling about this. You should leave before Strix gets back. He wants his token of appreciation right now."

She looked over to where Strix was and the man was leering at her, touching himself. Ew...gross.

"I can handle him."

"I'm sure Strix would love it if you did. Remember, Disapparating will trip the security wards and…"

"And the place is sealed tight there's a possibility it will take long to break through. Yeah I remember," she finished for him.

"Hmm, that's something I've never tried before," Dean mused as something had obviously caught his attention.

She scolded him, "Stop taking down pointers and help me find Corpuscula."

"Darn it. Where is that picture of her in throes of passion? I might have better luck recognizing her with it," he was joking of course.

A couple who had been devouring each other close by got up and went through one of a few doors off to the side, presumably into another room for a more private session. As they disappeared, she noticed a young man come out of the room beside it, unsteady, pale and dazed, his shirt collar unbuttoned, exposing fresh puncture marks on his neck. He was being held upright by a vampire, blood dripping from her visible fangs and down her chin. The woman gently coaxed him back into the room.

This was what Bloody Mary was talking about. The party was a recruitment event, perfectly legal as long as the converts were of age and did not die in the process. Vampirism, like lycanthropy was no longer considered an affliction but an alternative lifestyle choice, at least on paper. There were those like Bloody Mary who thought the conversions were wrong, that vampires should be born as such and not made.

"Heads up. Your boyfriend's back," Dean announced.

Strix had two tall phials with steamy pink potions in his hand which rippled to the beat of rock music.

"Try this," he gave her one phial, "It'll relax you."

She pretended to drink obediently, making the potion vanish gradually before it got past her lips.

"What's your name?" Strix asked, working on his potion.

"Luna."

"Ha, ha. Very funny," Dean found it less amusing than she did, "A bit low on creativity tonight, are we."

"That's pretty. You do look radiant like the sun," the man complimented.

"Thank you," she feigned appreciation, "I must say that no one has ever said that about my name before."

"That's because he's a friggin' moron," Dean added, calling it right.

There was a buzz on Dean's end and she heard him curse.

"I'm ready," creepy Strix said out loud, excited.

Hermione pretended not to hear. She was anxious about Dean and had to check up on him.

Facing away from the vampire, she murmured into the transmitter pod, "Are you okay?"

"We're busted," her partner informed her, "Harry is on his way."

"What?!" she shrieked, forgetting where she was.

"I'm patching him through."

"Have you gone mad?" Harry's voice replaced Dean's as Strix guided her hand over to his groin.

Dean replied for her, chuckling, "I don't think she can answer that right now. She has her hands full."

Nice. Sometimes the things she went through to do a good job just weren't worth it.

"I said I'm ready," the vampire, thinking she didn't hear him the first time, screamed over the music.

And quite obviously so from the feel of it - double ew.

"This isn't a good idea, Hermione," Harry said gravely, "Ditch the bloodsucker. You need to get out, now."

She partly agreed. The creep was getting all frisky and his fangs showed the last time he spoke. But she was not leaving, not until she got what she came in for. Harry knew this all too well. She overheard him asking Dean to feed him her exact location. Thinking how things could easily get out of control and how she still had nothing to show for all their effort, she motioned with her eyes over to the rooms where couples were disappearing into.

"Can we go in there?" she asked, taking the opportunity to remove her hand from it’s predicament.

Strix's reply was a hasty 'of course'. He took her into one of the rooms and began undressing the second the door shut. From the brief glimpse she had it was a bedroom, well, a coffin room, and they were alone. As Strix predictably made for her neck she forcefully shoved him off her and Petrified him.

"I'm coming through the door," Harry warned her just as the stiff Strix thudded on the floor.

The entrance cracked a peep and closed, locking as it did. Harry took off his Invisibility Cloak and immediately confronted her.

"Are you trying to get yourself fired?!"

"What?" she questioned his uproar innocently, "We're following up on a tip."

"On a case you know is off limits!"

There was really no need to raise his voice, although she did note he was trying not to.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Dean, do you know what he's talking about?"

"Not a clue," Dean backed her up.

"Do I look like Trussel to you?" Harry didn't believe them, "What exactly are you two up to?"

When she didn't answer Harry asked Dean again and her partner needed no further convincing to get Harry involved.

Dean confessed with contained eagerness, "Gaunt's Wasabi girlfriend is in there somewhere."

"Weak link," she barbed.

"Told you he wouldn't buy it."

"I'll deal with you later."

Harry continued at her, “You don't know what you're getting into with Gaunt."

Hermione retorted, "Only because our own Ministry won't tell us about him. And since when has going in blind been reason not to work a case? Last I read catching dangerous wizards was part of my job or did I miss that memo?"

"Good one," Dean cheered her on, a feeble attempt to get back on her good side.

"Don't you get cheeky with me," Harry warned her and while in the past his disapproval upset her, this one surprisingly didn't, thanks in part to the Hag who gave her lots of practice to question authority without discomfiture.

"Gaunt may not even be here and his girlfriend may have left," she reasoned, hoping not but that was beside the point, "This could be a lame lead. There's no sense waking up the entire team, getting the pro-vampirism community upset and implicating a Wizengamot elder for harbouring a fugitive. We need confirmation and when we get it you can decide what to do."

It was a compromise. She preferred if Harry told her what this was really about but that would mean him going against the Minister himself. Harry had a lot of respect for Kingsley that he would never do something like that. At this point he was calmer and he wasn't summoning additional Aurors onto the scene which, to her, were signs that he was okay with her plan.

She performed Legilimency on the now fuming Vampire, got as much information as she could and then Obliviated him. A sleep charm and a planted dream later, she told Harry what she found out.

"Corpuscula is a frequent guest, a Turner. She should be in one of the rooms up here converting others."

"And Gaunt?"

"Strix doesn't know him."

"We're going to check the rooms," he said out loud for Dean, who she imagined was now getting them more information, "What's your cover?"

He perused her disguise, his eyes wandering from her made up face, tracing the plunging neckline of her apparel down to the tip where her cleavage was purposely exposed. It was probably her imagination but his gaze seemed to have lingered there longer than required before moving lower to the curve of her waist and her hips to below the above-knee hemline to her legs. She blushed.

"Entertainment. The informer suggested it," she managed to finally say.

It wasn't the first time she used the disguise and as it was part of the job it didn't bother her when Dean gave her a glance over to verify believability earlier. It was obviously all her imagination.

Note to self…keep your head together and stop acting like some hormone influenced twit.

"We should probably tone in down a bit," he suggested, "To attract less attention."

There he was stealing a glance at her cleavage again!

"Harry!"

His eyes jerked up quickly, embarrassed, "Sorry."

Dean interrupted the awkward situation, "According to the floor plans, there are nine other rooms all along that narrow corridor."

"What are your exit options?" Harry enquired.

"I was going to walk out the same way I came in," she answered.

"That's it?"

"I figured if I found her we'd get back up."

Harry frowned, as if questioning if she was serious about the lack of an escape plan.

"Oh shit!" Dean yelled out suddenly, "Somebody just tripped off the wards. Security is doing a sweep to investigate."

"How many?" she asked.

"Not sure, I only have them on audio," Dean replied anxiously, "They're on their way up the ramp. You have a minute, maybe two; you might want to start making your way out now."

"I'm not leaving," she was planting her foot down on this one.

Knowing better than to argue, Harry said, "We'll check the rooms first. Dean, find us another way out."

"I'm on it."

She could hear a flurry of activity on Dean's end. They made for the door but went back in as they saw menacing guards interrupting guests at centre stage. They wheeled around wands drawn out, their eyes darting left to right and back, sweeping the windowless room. Her heart was pounding hard and fast her head was throbbing.

Think!

Her focus narrowed down to the small bathroom, the good size coffin and the passed out vampire. Harry beat her to a solution.

"Quick! To the coffin!" he ordered.

Harry moved Strix under it and covered him up with the invisibility cloak. Not exactly what she had in mind.

"I'm not hiding in there!" she said clearly, pointing to the bloodstained foam inside the wooden furniture.

"Why not?!"

Did he really have to ask?

"You know what goes on in this place!" she hissed, "Merlin only knows what grows in there!"

"Now's not the time for this," Harry growled at her.

"Well, why can't he be in the coffin and us under the cloak?" she offered a plausible alternative.

"When was the last time we both fit under my cloak?"

"I'll risk it."

"You have two choices," Harry laid it out for her patiently, "Stay out here and blow your cover or get in the coffin and hope they don't check it."

She let out an exasperated sigh. There was actually a third one but she'd rather be in the coffin than that. Her options limited, she Scourgified the insides while Harry paced, checking the door nervously at the same time.

"Um...they're right outside," Dean coolly reminded them, "I'm counting ten magicals, seven with wands."

She made a motion to Scourgify one more time but Harry couldn't wait anymore. He lifted her up despite her protests, swung her into the softly cushioned box and followed her in, shutting the cover behind him as he did. They were instantly thrown into complete darkness.

He was on top, facing her, trying to prop himself up by the elbows. The space was tight, their bodies were snug and their faces were so close they were breathing the same stale blood smelling air. They could hear footsteps in and about the room followed by muffled conversation. A sudden wave of nausea came over her. She closed her eyes as her breaths became rapid and shallow. Harry sensed it.

"Relax. Slow deep breaths," he whispered near her left ear, his warm words gently stroking the skin just below it, sending goose bumps up and down her spine.

The awareness of his proximity was both reassuring and unsettling. She felt him shaking a bit and, thinking that his arms were probably tired, she shifted slightly to give him more room. That didn't work and instead knocked off his right support causing his body to settle upon hers even more.

"Sorry," he apologized, his breath causing, yet again, a pleasant discomfort.

"It's okay," she muttered back but as she turned and said it her lips grazed the lobe of his ear. Harry stiffened up when it happened it was her turn to apologize, "I'm sorry."

Shit! It happened again.

"I'm so sor..."

"Just stop talking," Harry cut her off this time and exhaled a long controlled breath on her neck.

Geez...more goose bumps and breathing difficulties of a different sort. Perhaps she should tell him to desist from doing that. Fighting off the memory of how his skin felt on her lips, she had to focus on something else.

Her arms. Her arms were pinned beneath them and were becoming numb. She slowly loosened them and upon freeing them up she was faced with a most important decision.

To wrap or not to wrap? And if so, above waist or below?

Maybe she should have left her appendages where they were. She eventually decided on the more awkward but less intimate choice. Not that it made much of a difference for moments later Harry needed another adjustment and he inadvertently caused their forms to find a natural grove against the other.

"Looks like they're leaving," Dean informed them happily.

Merlin...his freshly showered soapy scent had long replaced the bloody odour of the coffin and she could now feel every inch of his firm chest...his strong thighs...the bulge of his...

She moved uncomfortably...bad idea. His right leg fell in between hers and certain parts rubbed where they shouldn't have. Harry let out a low pitched curse.

"What was that?" a clear question was asked by someone in the room, effectively snapping her out of the distraction.

Dean helped them out, "Six are back. Three by the door and three closing in on you from both sides and up top. They just beefed up the wards. Disapparition is not a good option."

"Why do I have to open it?"

"Because I did it the last time!"

"Get him to do it!"

It would be wishful thinking that the arguing would go on much longer.

Thinking strategy, she clasped her wand tightly and said, "You have the top, I got the two on the side."

"You're sure Gaunt's girl is here?" Harry asked her.

"Yes."

"Put your wand away. I have an idea though I don't think you'll like it," Harry said with gravity.

“What?”

“It could work if you don't hex me."

"What?"

"I’m really sorry.”

With those words she felt his mouth descend upon hers, taking it with raw determination and fierceness that caught her both breathless and off-guard. The momentary shock came and went away quickly. She tried to back off and avoid his actions without success, not that she gave it a good earnest try. His fingers were in her hair, caressing, keeping her head in place. He was using more of his body too, pinning hers down and pressing against hers. She wasn't going anywhere soon.

He's pretending. It's okay to pretend. It’s this or get caught with nothing to show for.

Dean was in the dark as they were, "What's going on?"

Harry’s mouth left hers momentarily to answer, "Later."

Right. If Dean found out she’d have to kill them both.

His lips were back and skillfully prodded hers into submission. It only made sense to kiss back. After all it was her who got them into this and Harry was merely trying to save her ass. Hermione let loose and let the moment take her away. She followed his lead, meeting his effort with equal wildness, inviting his tongue in with hers as their kisses became hotter and deeper. Her body rapidly melted underneath his while her idle hands grew minds of their own, wandering to touch and feel the warm flesh underneath the sweater. He moaned against her and the logical next step was to take his top off completely, confirming what she already imagined to be true.

This pretending isn’t so hard to do. Feels kind of real.

His bare torso brushed up against her heightened breasts, causing her to involuntarily sigh against his blistering kiss. It crossed her mind that maybe they were pretending too early and too much but figured now was not the time to discuss the matter.

The casket creaked and a flood of light basked them as the cover suddenly came off. To her dismay they had to abruptly end the snogging and shield their eyes against the brightness. They were both breathless, unarmed and not totally in command of their mental capacities, at least she wasn’t. Harry in all that had the presence of mind to transform himself to be less recognizable and have more vampire-like features.

"What's going on?" Harry asked the wizards with wands, acting as if annoyed by the rude disruption.

“That was my question,” a somewhat suspicious Dean commented.

Hermione could only hope that her swollen lips, spaced out look and disheveled appearance were convincing enough. If not, maybe they should have started making out sooner.

A/N. Carrying on with the story… we continue at the Bat Cave, more on Gaunt in this part. Then quite a bit of Harry and Hermione in the end.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 22 – Breakfast with Coffin Boy

Harry helped Hermione out of the casket. Just seconds ago, security left in a hurry, hot on the trail of the intruder caught on camera prowling near the main floor exit. It was actually a decoy Dean had dispatched to throw the wizards off.

Darn it! she groaned internally.

Why didn't she think of that earlier, before they hastily jumped into the coffin...before they snogged...before she made a total ass of herself? While moments before she was convinced that what she and Harry were doing made perfect sense, well, that moment had past.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, concern evident deep within his green eyes, the sight of them setting off more internal groaning.

This is so embarrassing...hopefully he's not too freaked out.

"Uh-huh," she lied, "Are you?"

"Yeah," came his answer.

Harry was lying too. He was just as freaked out. At least they saw it the same way. To talk about it would make it a bigger deal than it was.

Dean butted in, "You're okay, Harry's okay. Excellent."

"We should look for Corpuscula. Security could come back," Harry pointed out.

"True," she replied.

"Sounds good," Dean echoed, "But before that, Harry, you might want to put some clothes on."

They both looked down at his state of undress and began the frantic search for the missing apparel. She found the navy blue sweater inside the coffin, picked it up and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he acknowledged, donning it.

"And…" Dean added while she conjured a wet nap, "…you might want to rub off Hermione's lipstick from your mouth."

Harry took the moist towelette from her and obediently did. Both of them were blushing somewhat and neither had the guts to look at the other.

"There, that's better," Dean said stoically and concluded, "Now it'll be much easier for the two of you to pretend that never happened."

Harry was apologetic, "I'm really sorry."

"It's done with," she answered dismissively then warned, "And if either of you breathe one word about this to someone else..."

"I won't," Harry didn't let her finish.

"Me neither," Dean echoed, "But let me ask one thing. How was it?"

"Don't you even think about answering that question!" she threatened Harry who was about to open his mouth.

"Come on," Dean whined, "I promise I won't tell."

"Dean! We're in the middle of a bloody case!" she exclaimed in utter disbelief.

Blag!Blag!Blag!Blag!Blag!

The urgent pounding on the door made them jump, immediately drawing their wands out. Dean was on it straight away.

"One being, definitely magical, wizard from the looks of it," he identified for them.

Harry tried to send the person away, "We're busy. Come back in half an hour."

She rolled her eyes up in exasperation. Could he not think of an excuse that was of a different theme?

"Bullshit. No woman is worth more than ten minutes in the sack," answered an all too familiar voice adding to her irritation.

"You told him?!"

Harry didn't respond, unlocked the door and let Gates in, asking, "What took you so long?"

"Quite a show out there," Gates replied casually, motioning behind him, "Had to stop and watch. Who do I speak with to get invited to this party? Whoa!!! Granger? Is that you?!"

Gates stopped dead in his tracks. He had just noticed her and was now openly staring at her bare parts.

"What?!" she glared at Gates.

"Nothing. Just admiring the unexpected view," Gates replied smugly. "Who would have known?"

"And this is truce?" she spoke to Harry, arms crossed, eyebrows arched, now doubting his claim that he spoke with Gates.

Harry refocused them, "Gaunt's girlfriend is up here somewhere. We have nine rooms to search and..."

"And unless we find her or Gaunt we're not supposed to be here. Got it," Gates finished for him, morphing himself into the passed out Strix so accurately and quickly it impressed even her. He addressed Harry, "Here's the plan. You check out the rooms across. The whore and I will pretend to be looking for privacy on this side. If we see her or Gaunt, Thomas will announce. We'll meet you at the end of the hallway."

Gates swung his arm over her shoulders and gave her a not so gentle squeeze.

For the love of …! Note to self…never use this cover ever again.

"This 'whore' is out of service," she said, moving away and stepping out of his embrace.

“Get in character. Whores do what they’re told to do.”

"Who the fuck put you in charge?"

"You're with me," Harry made an executive decision and motioned them over to the door, "Come on."

They split up, Dean assisting her and Harry using the MIR. The first two rooms on their side were unoccupied. Inside the third was a threesome who generously invited them to join in. They politely declined. Gates as Strix was at the end of the corridor waiting for them as they got to their last room.

"She's not on my side," Gates reported.

That left them with one room, the larger one.

"There’s a big crowd," Dean laid out the scenario for them, "I'm seeing thirty magicals, maybe more, huddled in the centre."

"We can't just walk in there," Hermione thought it prudent to be cautious.

"Why not?" Gates challenged, re-transforming into his normal appearance.

Before Harry could stop him, Gates turned the doorknob and boldly stepped into the room. Several pairs of eyes were upon them; a mix of vampires and humans, magicals and Muggles.

"Hi there," the idiot waved to the visibly hostile congregation, "Sorry to interrupt. I'm looking for a friend of mine. He's a wizard, Caucasian, about this tall, somewhat ugly, goes by the name of Morpheus Gaunt. Has anyone seen the fucker?"

A figure from the front row stepped forward, raised his hand, “That would be me.”

There was total silence. Hermione strained against the dim lighting. It was indeed Morpheus Gaunt.

“It’s so nice to see you again,” Gates greeted.

Dean sounded off, “The MIR says he’s Thomas Park. Who the fuck is Thomas Park?”

Hermione had heard of the name before but where?

Harry instructed Dean with a sense of urgency, "Get John right now. Give him that name. He'll know what to do. Warren, did you get that?"

Gates gave an imperceptible nod.

“The feeling isn’t mutual. Everybody, meet Warren and his soon to be dead colleagues,” Gaunt introduced, “Warren and corpses, this is everybody.”

Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw movement. Things unfolded rapidly. One moment she was looking in from the outside, the next moment Harry had pushed her away from the entrance and behind the wall for cover. Shots of light narrowly missed them as shrieking screams of panic emanated from within. Warren, who was just inside the entrance had dropped to the ground, avoiding the curses which shattered the wooden panel lining the corridor. He rolled away and she lost visual.

The ruckus spread quickly and there was chaos in front of her, behind and on the level below.

Stupefy!

Incarcerous!

Expelliarmus!

Hermione fired at targets inside the room disabling some of their foes but there were a lot more. Harry was covering her blind side as unfriendlies approached from all possible angles.

"Harry, John's on the other line. He says the arrest team is on their way and he wants us to hold our position," Dean's tense voice crackled in her ear.

Considering their target could leave any moment (if he hadn’t already) it was apparent John wouldn’t get what he wanted. She saw Harry's face harden with anger and frustration as she fried a couple of bats that were on attack.

"Tell him to wear his balls and screw what the Canucks want! We’re not waiting like we did at the Wasabi so he better send back up!"

They continued to fight off the incoming hexes as Dean paraphrased Harry's message, "John, holding position is not an option. They’re in a tight spot and they need help right now…John says he’ll see what he can do. What the fuck is going on?!"

She had the very same question.

"Park is an escaped convict from a mental health facility for the criminally insane. You just confirmed tonight that he and Gaunt are one and the same,” Harry summarized, ”But the Canadians insist on not involving our Aurors with the arrest."

“Why?” Dean had to know.

She answered, remembering who Tom Park was, “Because Park mind controls and he uses something different from your garden variety Imperius curse. He once turned the entire Moscow Auror team against each other. The Canadians don’t want to be responsible.”

Dean swore again, “I’m coming in.”

Hermione reconsidered their options. They really had to move. They were sitting ducks where they were and Gates probably needed help.

"We have to get inside!" Harry read her mind.

He fired a succession of curses to give her cover. She slipped in, found a nearby support column to use as a shield and drew fire. Just as Harry got in and disappeared from her sight, a crashing sound behind her caught her attention. It was Gates wrestling with three pissed off vamps and not doing well. He had lost his wand.

"I could use some help here!" he said to her.

"Next time, say 'please'," she replied, Stunning a couple off until incoming hexes forced her to go into defense mode, leaving him with one to contend with.

"Granger!" Gates strained as the vampire, who she now recognized as Corpuscula, gained upper hand and was about to sink her teeth into his neck.

With urgency, she conjured a wooden stake, aimed and shot it deep into the vampire's back, piercing through her heart and an inch past her breastbone. Gates pushed the slumped figure off him and went to retrieve his wand.

“A thank you would have been nice,” she muttered to herself.

A group of humans darted in front of her, arms waving up high, terrified looks on their faces. Confused and frightened civilians were making their way out of the room.

"Don't shoot!"

"We’re not armed!"

“Let us out!”

It became difficult to distinguish between them and the enemy, which made her wonder. There was an eerie absence of hostile fire. Where was the enemy?

Gates almost hexed Dean as the latter walked through the door. She whirred around filled with pressing compulsion to search for and find Harry. They heard the sound of a skirmish around the bend and rushed towards it where they found Harry at wandpoint, Gaunt holding what looked like his holly wand.

"Drop your weapons," Gaunt commanded.

"Don't listen to him. He's not going to hurt anyone," Harry said calmly without taking his eyes off his captor.

"Drop them or he gets it."

She and Dean did and she wanted to smack Gates at the back of the head for not doing as he was told.

"I want my wand back," Harry requested.

"Give him his wand back, Tom," Gates chimed in.

Gaunt appeared confused, shaking his head, "No."

"I said, I want my wand back," Harry repeated more firmly.

She thought they were mental to think they could convince Gaunt to do something so idiotic but to her and Dean's astonishment, he did hand it over handle first to Harry.

"Thanks," Harry took it.

"You're welcome," Gaunt replied politely.

"We're going home, okay?" Gates spoke softly.

"Okay," Gaunt's reply was almost childlike, simple minded, and she could only think Harry and Gates were responsible for that.

Gates cast a sleep charm over him and administered a phial of medication through his arm.

"Go to sleep," Harry suggested.

She and Dean looked at each other both puzzled about what that was all about.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry went straight to the Head Auror’s office the minute he got back from Toronto. It was about an hour after they got Park back in custody. John, Humptail and Trussel were waiting for him. The mood was gloomy and intense and on John’s desk was a parchment he recognized. Was he serious?

“I’m giving Dean one week suspension without pay,” John opened what was going to be an ugly conversation.

He didn’t answer. John was saving the worse for last. He took a big breath in and out to keep his cool, this being an absolute must.

“I’m letting Hermione go,” John continued as expected.

“Was this your idea?” Harry accused Trussel who hesitated.

“It was obvious insubordination,” Humptail spoke for Trussel.

“It was a stupid order,” he pointed out.

“But an order nonetheless,” John rebutted.

Harry could feel his insides coming to a slow boil. No, he would not let them do this.

“She’s an excellent Auror. If not for her and Dean Park would still be at large. You’re going to fire an excellent Auror for this?”

“She’s a liability. She’s stubborn and she wants things done her way all the time,” Trussel found his voice, his tone caustic. “This wasn’t the first time she and Thomas did something like this.”

“You don’t like her because she thinks and she’s smarter than all of us combined,” he stated the obvious. “You don’t like her because she makes you look and feel like a moron, not that you should unless you are.”

Trussel turned purple. One down two to go.

“Even the Hag thinks she shouldn’t be an Auror,” Humptail brought up the training, “She’ll be better off working somewhere else in the Ministry.”

“That may be true but that should be her choice,” Harry replied, “Is this final? Have you told her?”

John was shaking his head, “Not yet. She’s off the rest of today and we’re awaiting final reports. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

Hermione getting fired from a job she loved and dedicated herself to was injustice and unimaginable. It was wrong and it would destroy her. The next step seemed to be a logical one.

“If you’re going to do that then you’re going to have to fire me too.”

“Harry, don’t act like a petulant child,” John tried to reason with him, insulting him at the same time.

Humptail chimed in, “She’s your friend and that’s the only reason we’re keeping you in the loop. Are you sure you’re okay throwing your promising career out the window for her?”

If it weren’t for her he wouldn’t be alive to have a ‘career’ but details like that counted for nothing as far as the three other men with him were concerned.

“But you should fire me. I knew what she and Dean were up to,” that wasn’t totally a lie. “I told them to go ahead.”

“No, you didn’t,” Humptail challenged.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he challenged back.

Humptail retreated. Harry was done tiptoeing around him. Two down.

“Harry, don’t do this,” John pleaded, “Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do.”

“It was my call and I’m not letting her and Dean hang out to dry for obeying my order. I deserve the same punishment you decide to give them, if not more. Do what you must.”

John was upset, too upset he couldn’t speak. As Harry stepped out of the office he overheard Trussel say that he was bluffing. A part of him dared them to call his bluff. He went off to find Hermione.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione and Dean were back at their desks at the Ministry, paperwork for the Bat Cave case just completed. Her partner was teasing her.

“It was an act,” she tried to explain as she slipped her coat on.

“And a good one,” Dean retorted back, “The moaning, the groaning…”

“We had to do it.”

“Of course you did. It was part of the job and you would have done it even if it wasn’t Harry.”

Right…

“And just to be perfectly clear,” he said plainly, “If we were ever it that same situation and it’s a choice between that and fighting to our deaths, no offense but I would rather die.”

“Duly noted. You're never going to let me forget this, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Dean was grinning, “Poor Harry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you not notice the deer in the headlights look?”

She had to chuckle. It was funny now, especially that Harry wasn’t there.

Dean put his jacket on, “You should talk to him.”

“You think so?” she wasn’t sure.

“Well, I don’t know,” Dean backtracked, “It’s probably too late. I’m sure the whole thing has scarred him for life.”

Dean laughed, she smiled.

“Prat.”

They made their way and got on a lift.

“Hey.”

It was Harry. A somber, brooding, all serious Harry. She wondered how Toronto was.

“We were just talking about you,” Dean answered, holding the door open for him.

“You were?”

While that livened up Harry’s spirits a bit, Hermione could strangle Dean. Her partner was ignoring her dagger looks.

“Hermione just figured out another nickname for you.”

“I did not!”

“The Boy Who Snogged Me in a Coffin. Coffin Boy for short.”

The lift doors opened and their laughter spilled into the hollow and literally deserted Ministry Atrium. Dean was practically in tears, Harry was holding on to his side.

“That is so not true! I swear! He made it up, I didn’t!”

“I can’t believe you two actually went through with that,” Dean was still in stitches.

“I can’t either,” Harry answered.

They were weaving through construction and got to the designated Disapparition area.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Dean waved, giving her a knowing smile.

Her partner disappeared, leaving them on their own with a good sedge way to talk and address the awkwardness that was bound to happen if they didn’t.

“Dean can be horrible sometimes,” she said to him, “Honestly, it wasn’t me who made that up.”

“I know,” he reassured her, “Listen, about the thing, I mean the um…you know…”

“The kissing,” she helped him out.

“Yes, the kissing. It was the first thing that came to mind and…”

“Harry…”

“…I may have started it earlier than I should have but…”

“Harry…”

“…I thought they were going to open the casket sooner and we ended up kissing longer and when I felt your um…tongue…things kind of got out of hand…

“Harry, stop!” she finally got his attention, but not in time to prevent him from re-telling the part that embarrassed her the most, “It was bad judgment on both sides and I’m sure we both learned from it. I just don’t want things to change between us.”

“I don’t want things to change between us either. I’m really sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, you don’t have to be,” she reasoned, thinking how his being ‘really’ sorry twice now was putting a major dent on her ego. “Let’s just put this behind us.”

He seemed relieved, “Okay. But can I make a minor suggestion?”

“If you must. Am I really that bad a kisser?” she might as well make light of the matter.

Harry picked up on it, “No, actually, that was one of the best snogs I’ve had in a long while.”

Define ‘long’.

“It was definitely the best one I’ve had in a casket,” she admitted, him being the only one she had kissed in one.

“Mine too.”

That made them both smile.

“Your suggestion?” she redirected him.

“Ah, yes. I was just thinking that you may find yourself in such a situation again.”

“No chance of that. It’s been decided that fighting to my death is a preferable alternative.”

“Right. Um…well just in case, the first part was okay, the light touching…

Squirm, squirm…

And he wasn’t done, “…and even the undressing may have been justified…”

“God Harry. It’s almost 4am. Get to the point.”

“The French kiss has no place in pretend kissing,” and now that he said it he was having a hard time trying to keep a straight face.

“I was going for authenticity.”

Not intentionally…

“I understand where you’re coming from but your attention to detail may be deemed inappropriate and unprofessional by some.”

“I see,” she nodded, and couldn’t help but point out, “It’s kind of difficult when we don’t have guidelines and rules about pretend kissing while in the line of duty.”

“I dare you to get something like that added onto the MOO.”

That made them laugh and she said something about maybe taking him up on that dare.

“Heading home?” he asked her.

She nodded, “You?”

“Actually I was thinking of having breakfast,” he said poker-faced.

“Seriously?”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Harry was only saying that; he missed breakfast all the time, “Do you want to join me?”

“I’m going straight to bed and so should you.”

“This means we won’t wake up ‘til noon and all the more reason we should have breakfast now.”

She chuckled, “I’m too tired to argue the lack of sense in that.”

“Come on,” he prodded. “Please, I could use the company.”

“Fine,” she relented, “Where?”

She was thinking which 24H diner they could go to.

“Finnigan’s.”

“Finnigan’s is closed.”

“Finnigan’s is never closed, not to a part owner,” he gave her a broad smile.

In no time they were standing in the spacious Finnigan kitchen, the rest of the bar/restaurant empty and quiet. Harry had offered to cook and he would have no arguments there. He put an apron on and rubbed his palms together.

She smiled as it dawned on her and mumbled to herself, “It’s a ritual.”

“What?”

“Before cooking, you always rub your hands together after you put your apron on,” she was amused that after all this time there were still some things that she didn’t know about him.

He shrugged, “I never really noticed. So, what would you like for breakfast?”

She wasn’t really hungry but didn’t want him to feel bad. Really, all this attention was a bit overwhelming. Aside from her parents, no one had ever asked her what she wanted for breakfast.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Are you sure? What I’m having is pretty unhealthy.”

“I think I’ll risk it.”

While he cooked he told her about Toronto, about Gaunt/Park and about what he thought was the real reason why the Canadians didn’t want help getting the convict back into custody. And now that the case was closed Hermione wanted to get the story straight in her head.

“The Canadians don’t want it known that Park has an extra-ordinary skill in persuasion. They think the international community would insist on studying him,” he shared.

“Can’t say I’d blame them if they did. There are very few unique magical talents out there.”

“But that’s how he escaped the last time. A group of healers wanted to do some tests and he ordered them to help him get out. He’s quite dangerous to the average human.”

“Who guards him,” she asked.

“Hired Dementors. And that’s a big thing for a country that’s reputed to be soft on crooks and criminals.”

“So Park escaped three months ago, turned up briefly in Moscow before assuming the Gaunt identity,” Hermione clarified, “But you didn’t know Gaunt was Park at the Wasabi?”

“No we didn’t,” he replied, “We thought they were working together. That was why we didn’t arrest Gaunt. We needed him to lead us to Park. Had we had someone more brilliant helping us with the case we might have figured out sooner that they were one and the same person. How do like your eggs?”

“Over easy. What was the Wasabi about?” she set up a small table for two.

“We needed to draw Park out into the open. He had mentioned the Resurrection Stone and the Peverells to one of his shrinks,” Harry took off his apron, walked over to the table, set down the French toast, bacon and eggs, and sat opposite her. “He was orphaned at a young age and was obsessed about ways to bring back the dead.

“So Gates and his partner were posing as Peverells and you used Burkes to get that message out,” she said and took a bite of the French toast.

“Uh-huh.”

Harry wasn’t kidding about being hungry. Breakfast which took him ten minutes to prepare was gone in about the same time. Sipping slowly from his pumpkin juice in hand, he didn’t seem to be in a rush to leave.

“Dean told me about Australia.”

“What did he say?”

“After talking to you he’s now wondering if they’re making the right decision.”

She groaned, “I told him not to listen to me.”

“Why shouldn’t he?”

“Because I’m the last person he should listen to when it comes to relationships.”

“I thought you gave him sound advice,” he seemed earnest. “Brutal but sound. And just because your one relationship with a guy didn’t work out, that doesn’t make your opinions less valuable.”

“Correction. I’ve had many failed relationships only each and every one of them happened to be with the same guy.”

He chuckled at her attempt at humour, “Still. Don’t think your opinions don’t count. The experience should make you more confident.”

“Confidence only comes when you’ve actually done something right.”

“Was that why you and Ron kept on coming back to each other? To get it right?”

“I guess that was part of it. I was stupid to think practice makes perfect applies all the time.“

“And the other part? “

“He was the only guy who was really interested.”

“Hogwash.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“I know you’re lying. You’ve gone out with other men.”

“Pigs who were most interested in running the bases first before figuring out if the actually liked the pitch and not the other way around,” somebody stop her now, “There are no real gentlemen out there anymore.”

“Ouch.”

“There are no knights in shining armour sweeping us off our feet, showering us with affection, attention, love. Case in point, flowers.”

“Flowers?” he was finding all this amusing.

“Where have all the flowers gone?” she rambled, serious and not so serious, “And don’t get me started about those who pretend they’re knights and can’t stay on the bloody horse. The armour is tarnished, chivalry is dead.”

“A bit bitter about that are we?”

“Generations of women before us had it and we won’t ever experience it. Our daughters and their daughters won’t know what it’s like. Damn straight I’m bitter!”

They laughed at her somewhat true rant.

“Are we really that bad?” he asked and she made the mistake of looking into his eyes.

“Well, not all of you.”

“Your ex-knight will be at the Burrow tonight,” his tone sobered up and he was probing her reaction, “Jill’s coming too.”

She had forgotten about that detail. Molly was throwing Ginny a party, family and close friends only. Both she and Harry were invited and Ron and his girlfriend were going to be there. That was tonight. Great.

“Are you going?” Harry asked.

“I promised Ginny I would,” she couldn’t hide how unenthusiastic she was to go, “Are you?”

“I don’t know,” he was unsure, “It’s for Ginny and I don’t want to ruin it for her.”

“As long as you don’t bring Bimbo Three with you, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” at least she hoped it would be.

“Are you bringing someone?”

“No,” was the plan; the less baggage the quicker and easier the escape, just in case.

They got up almost at the same time and began clearing their mess. Once that was done they left Finnigan’s and walked to her rented flat in silence. She told him he didn’t have to walk with her but he insisted. It had been a long night and this was a great way to end it.

“So, will I see you tonight?” she asked as she unlocked the wards to her flat. When it seemed that he was going to say ‘no’ she added, “You should at least wish her luck before she goes.”

He realized she was right and requested, “Let her know I’m coming? So it won’t be a surprise.”

“I will. And I’ll let you know if she prefers you weren’t there,” she somehow knew that was the other thing he wanted.

Harry nodded.

“I’ll see you later.”

He turned away to leave when she suddenly remembered.

“Harry,” she caught him in time, “When you called me earlier, what was that about?”

He squirmed uncomfortably, “It’s kind of embarrassing. I really shouldn’t have.”

“So what was it?”

“I had a bad dream.”

This was so unexpected, kind of left her almost speechless.

“You had a bad dream and you called me?”

Harry hesitated again. For some reason he was suddenly exhibiting a lack of confidence.

“It was childish, I know, as I said I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

Was he really this dense?

“Don’t be silly,” she put him at ease, “Sure, I was in the middle of a case I wasn’t supposed to be working on but it was no bother. However, at this point I’m gonna hurt you if you don’t tell me what the bad dream was about.”

That drew a chuckle from him and relaxed him somewhat. When the smile faded away, he looked at her with a frown and told her about his nightmare.

“I had a dream that you died,” he paused, the frown turning into more of a grimace, “It was so vivid I had to know that you didn’t. That’s why I called.”

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A/N. This took a while. Thanks for your patience. Hope you enjoy. Hermione loses it in this one.

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Chapter 23 – Breaks in the Norm and More of the Usual

Hermione passed a plate of sugar free brownies to Ron who was sitting beside her. This Weasley dinner seating arrangement was not by her choice.

"Both look delicious," said an upbeat voice two places from where she sat, "Which do you think I'll like best?"

That was Jill, Ron's happy perky Pollyanna girlfriend, soliciting his opinion.

"I think you'll like the pie better, honey," Ron answered, handing her the home made blackberry pastry.

"Do you really think so?" Jill sought confirmation, hanging onto Ron's every word.

"I know so," was Ron's cheerful reply which led to his girlfriend's giggling.

Hermione was going to puke. This had been going on all throughout dinner and she had to hear every blasted word of it. She caught Ginny's eye who had witnessed the entire exchange, giving her the signal. They got up simultaneously each with near empty dessert trays and headed for the kitchen.

"Is she for real?" she asked Ginny.

"I'm afraid so."

Ginny filled her tray with more tarts and put more brownies on Hermione's.

"You're right. This is so yummy. I'm thinking about having seconds. What do you think?" Jill's annoying voice grated.

"Does she ever decide anything on her own?" Hermione still found it hard to believe.

"I don't think she's allowed yet," they both sniggered at Ginny's quip, trying not to distract the other guests. As their laughter died down her friend enquired seriously, "How are you holding up?"

Hermione shook her head, trying not to think about it and attempting her best to keep the lid on emotions she had been hiding since meeting her ex's girlfriend. She thought she had timed it perfectly, coming just before dinner was announced and hoping to stay until after dessert. And it wasn't the first time she had seen Ron with another woman. She anticipated awkwardness but she didn't imagine it would make her feel this insecure. Maybe it was because Jill was Ron's first serious relationship since they broke up and the fact that they were 'happy' right in her face resulted in quite a few ugly conclusions about herself. They heard Jill chortle at one of Ron's jokes.

"My jaws ache from smiling."

Parts of her that had not hurt in a while did and tears pooled in her eyes. Ginny understood not to let her elaborate further. To do so would be catastrophic.

Get a grip. You're not even in love with him anymore.

Hermione composed herself, "I'm sorry. I'm gonna have to bail on you."

"I shouldn't have insisted you come," her best friend said to her remorsefully, concerned, "Are you gonna be okay? I can leave now..."

"Don't be ridiculous. This party is for you, remember? And I should be fine," she was hopeful she would be once she got away from the Burrow. She volleyed the question back, "Are you?"

Hermione followed Ginny's gaze over to the end of the long dining table where Harry was talking with Bill and Fleur, sharing his funny stories about being godfather to a five year old.

Ginny replied with restrained hopefulness, "It's not as bad as I thought it would be."

"Good," Hermione said encouragingly, "I want details."

"My flat, tomorrow, help me pack," Ginny reminded her and then went back to the table with the dessert trays.

As Ginny took her place beside Harry, Hermione snuck a peak to gauge how he was doing. He was definitely not as tense as he was when they spoke about the Burrow this morning. It seemed like he was genuinely enjoying himself, cheering Bill and Fleur's adorable three year old daughter on as she sang songs she learned from mini-witch's school. In the midst of the impromptu concert he looked up and caught her watching him, worry on his face.

"Are you okay?" he mouthed.

She nodded and without even thinking inaudibly replied "I'm fine". She waited for Victoire to finish, approached Mrs. Weasley and told the older woman she had to leave.

"But it's early," Mrs. Weasley pointed out, loud enough that half the family heard.

"I'm really sorry but Mum asked me to ring her and Dad tonight," she reasoned, knowing daughterly duty was about the only excuse Mrs. Weasley wouldn't find rude or offensive.

It was kind of true. Her Mum, who was in Australia enjoying semi-retirement with her Dad, did leave messages for her to call. Hopefully Mrs. Weasley wouldn't realize it was five a.m. in Perth.

"Well, I hope you had a good time," the older woman said, disappointment in her voice.

Mrs. Weasley was probably the only person left on earth rooting for her and Ron's reconciliation. And she had been absolutely devastated by Harry's and Ginny's break up. The family gathering was an attempt to, in her words, 'right the wrong'.

Hermione couldn't really fault her for trying. With all her own children grown and out of the Burrow and Mr. Weasley busier than ever in charge of a growing Department at the Ministry, she had lots of time in her hands than she knew what to do with. Her hobby was doting on grandchildren (she didn't have enough) and she was partial to who her children had children with. Considering she wasn't consulted in the selection of her present crop of daughters in law, there was considerable pressure on Charlie, Ron and Ginny to make the right choices. Jill was clueless and that was a good thing.

Hermione tried reassuring her, "Of course I did. Thank you for inviting me."

"Say hello to your Mum and Dad for me," Mrs. Weasley hugged her and then whispered tearfully, "You're always welcome here."

"I know," she answered hugging back, feeling awful about the fact that while she may have been welcome, now that she was no longer Ron's girlfriend, she felt like she didn't belong.

She thanked Mrs. Weasley again and bade goodbye to Mr. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, Charlie (who thankfully came alone and shared fascinating stories about dragons with her), Percy and Audrey, George and Angelina, Ron and Jill (with whom she made an effort to be more upbeat), and Ginny and Harry. To go home to her rented flat straightaway would mean spending the rest of the night crying over some silly thing so she Disapparated to one of two places she could completely loose herself in - the Ministry.

It was eight p.m. There were very few people still at work and she found their squad room deserted. Weaving through the aisles she got to her neat and organized desk at the far corner of the room, put her cup of coffee down and stowed her purse away. With a wave of her wand her things-to-do arranged themselves in the order she had prioritized them. She then took the first item on top, a parcel she had not seen before.

Unmarked except for her name written in a familiar scribble she unwrapped it, her curiosity piqued at why he would even dare mess with her stuff. There was a note.

Chivalry is not dead. Don't give up on us.

He signed it CB.

CB, she laughed inwardly and read it again, the use of the lame nickname a testament to how over time he developed this playfulness. While still basically a brooder, the death of Voldemort with the influence of the Weasleys occasionally brought out this lighter side to him, a side they all were relieved to see. She was about to put the note away when the parchment began to unravel and transform; stems, leaves, buds and finally, light orange reddish petals. Tulips, a dozen of them, the sight of which lifted her up from the doldrums.

This was unexpected. Harry was not normally thoughtful, a minor 'flaw' that Ginny, at one stretch earlier in their relationship, had been somewhat frustrated about. Hermione conjured a vase for the flowers and set it on her desk, enjoying the unusual addition to her workspace for some time. It had been a while since someone gave her flowers. With a smile on her face, she grabbed the next item on her list with a bit more enthusiasm - the Morpheus Gaunt-Thomas Park file.

Reviewing her closed cases was something she always did. It was to ensure she didn't miss anything and it also made her more solidly cast them in memory. Flipping to the case summary page she read through Gates' final notes.

The Canadian Auror wrote that the legally-insane convict admitted to using the Imperius to influence others to work for him, choosing unwary and unlikely subjects. That explained the paucity of criminal records amongst those who were arrested and killed. It was Park himself who murdered his underlings at Knockturn Alley to prevent the MLE from finding out who Morpheus Gaunt really was.

What wasn't clear was why go through all the trouble of assuming another identity? If he was using the Gaunt disguise to hide, why commit high profile crimes as a Dark Wizard relative? That didn't make sense.

Hermione was also disappointed that nobody asked Park why he chose to be 'Morpheus Gaunt' and that Gates was vague about the arrest method he and Harry used. She wasn't so sure if it was the Imperius, the only Unforgivable the MLE, with prior permission, was allowed to use in the line of duty. From notes she read that Park was known to be resistant to it and it made her wonder. She had heard of a recently developed spell in the DOM lab, the Superius, or what others were calling the fourth Unforgivable. It was similar to the Imperius with two important exceptions; one, it was very difficult to master so that not many could do it which was a good thing because two, it was more effective than the Imperius. There was no individual who could block it. Maybe Harry could tell her exactly what it was.

Making note to inform the victims' families in the morning and hopefully give them some closure, she put the file away with a festering thought that it was lacking something and went on to the next item on her list. Percy had mentioned over dinner that Legal had finally looked at her proposal to shorten the MLE case documentation process, a project borne of the necessity to decrease the profanity count in the Squad room during reporting . She reviewed Legal's suggestions and did more editing, then some more, and then some more.

Time passed quickly. Hours later she had gone through the rest of her to-do's (including a call to her Mum and Dad in Perth) and was at Finnigan's having a drink, chatting business with Seamus as he tended the bar.

"Hey," Seamus greeted a newcomer behind her, "The usual?"

She glimpsed back and was glad to see who it was.

"Yeah, thanks," Harry answered, took the empty seat beside her and teased, "Brilliant escape. Did you at least attempt to call your Mum before coming here?"

"Spoke with them a few minutes ago," she replied.

"How are they?"

"Fine. Mum's busy finding a new partner for the clinic. She and Dad are taking up surfing; they were in a rush to catch the morning waves," she couldn't hide her concern about that.

"They'll be fine," Harry picked up on it, "I hear its fun."

"They're sixty, Harry. Surfing is not a sport to be taking up at sixty," she pointed out.

"I think it's great that they're trying something new."

He would. She was still unconvinced and would visit them at the first real opportunity to get away. Seamus set Harry's drink on the counter and went off to serve a group of clients who just arrived. Harry downed the shot in one motion and summoned a half filled bottle on display, filling his glass and hers.

"Trussel and Humptail are quite pissed about the Bat Cave," he said to her, a warning about some sort of a consequence to insubordination.

"Any word on what it's gonna be?"

"A week's suspension," he watched her reaction and was surprised, "You think that's fair."

“I probably deserve more. And Dean?”

She was more concerned for her partner.

“A stern warning.”

Hermione nodded, relieved, and took a sip of her drink. Harry was still puzzled by her reaction to the whole suspension thing. There was a time in the not so remote past when that would have upset her, when punishment from superiors would drive her insane. But she felt no remorse for her actions and would do the same thing she did without even thinking twice. She did the crime so she would do the time. This was good; the unexpected break would give her the time to visit her parents.

Harry was kind of amused, “You might want to at least appear more upset when you find out officially. Just to make them feel better.”

“Belligerent or remorseful upset?”

“I think the former will be more in keeping with character. I don’t think you can act well enough to pull remorse off,” Harry said chuckling then seriously added, “So what's behind this?”

“This?” she was stalling knowing perfectly well what he wanted to know.

“This intolerance for bosses and impatience for working within rules.”

She lifted her brows, “Do I really have to answer that?”

Of all people Harry should understand this. Despite being a part of the new Ministry they never really reformed from all the rule breaking they did at Hogwarts. And from that War they learned that not everyone in authority could be fully trusted.

Harry admitted, “Fine. I'm just worried that you're not as cautious about it as you have been in the past. It's as if you're daring them to do something about you.”

“Why would I do something stupid like that?”

He asked again, this time the question wasn't rhetorical, “Do you want to get fired?”

“Of course not.”

She didn’t, really.

“Well antagonizing the bosses won't earn you Squad leader either.”

That was the logical next step. Middle management. She had no desire to go through that but she wanted to make a difference, influence policy, effect lasting change. To do that she had to play politics, the thought of which wasn't appealing. The third option was to stay a field Auror and continue pushing limits to get the job done correctly.

“Maybe the Hag was right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this,” she blurted out, filters off.

“It doesn't matter what the Hag thinks. If you want to stay an Auror, I strongly recommend behaving for next little while. If you don't, hand in your resignation and try not to burn the place on your way out.”

She nodded in response to the unsolicited sound advice. Another rarity, maybe even a first. In the past she was the one who dished out recommendations.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” he enquired, probably curious about the frown on her face.

Hermione replied in the negative kind of wondering if this version of Harry was temporary or permanent. She guessed she'd have to wait and see.

They seem to have drifted off to their own little worlds after. Before Harry arrived she had already worked herself up to a perfect, relaxed buzz just enough so that sleep would come quickly when she got home. She didn't plan on having more but now that Harry was there she did want to stay for a bit. She could no longer feel the burn of alcohol as she swallowed that last one - that was usually not a good sign.

"The flowers were lovely," she said to him not looking but grinning up to her ears as she remembered what he wrote.

She could hear the smile in his voice too, "I wasn't sure if you liked tulips."

"Dandelions would have made my day. I'm easy."

That made him laugh, "Best keep that to yourself in a place like this."

She chuckled and blushed, thinking how she was impartial to tulips before but definitely thought them special now. That was the firewhiskey doing its thing.

"So, how did the rest of dinner go?"

"It was okay."

"Just okay?"

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

She took another mouthful and swallowed, "Ginny said the same thing."

"Yeah, she told me."

Harry swigged. His tone was pensive and filled with cautious optimism just as Ginny's had been.

Hermione was happy for them, fully and truly, but uninhibited and depressed by alcohol she couldn't keep certain harmful feelings from surfacing. In plain and simple reality, she was jealous. She was jealous of what they had before and jealous of what they had now. She was jealous and she felt horrible on so many levels.

Would she ever find what they had? Would she ever find somebody to love and for that same somebody to love her back?

These were questions she had asked not a few times before. There was usually a calm reassuring voice telling her that there was someone. At one time that voice even told her that somebody was Ron. Was she ever wrong about that. But at times that voice with brutal honesty told her 'of course not'. Like today.

Hermione believed in true everlasting love; she had to growing up and seeing what that looked like with her parents. But unconditional and forever were tough acts to keep up and experience and realism had long ago grounded her that while her vision of true love existed, it was rare, rarely mutual and quite hard to find. She had to face it; the chance of an unattractive, opinionated, uncompromising know-it-all finding true mutual love was slimmest to none.

There was no one out there for her; no one to be herself with, share her innermost thoughts with, laugh with and cry with. There was no one waiting at home for her and for her to wait at home for. There was no one to even want to be home for or to care if she was or wasn't in the first place. She would grow old alone and have no one to share her life with…

Then it came suddenly.

She had no one to hold her if she felt down like she did now and no one to tell her that everything was going to be okay.

This was the rest of her life…an eternity of convincing herself that it was going to be okay…

The ache of loneliness hit her hard, gnawing her insides and clamping on her throat that she couldn't properly breathe. Chastising herself for indulging in the useless self piteous behaviour, Hermione fought a losing battle to keep the brimming tears from falling. It was best to leave before she caused a scene. She shoved the shot glass away from her, left a couple of galleons beside it and put her coat on.

"I have to get going," Hermione managed to croak as she got up from the stool, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione left so quickly Harry didn't have a chance to respond. She Disapparated, barely making it inside her flat before the dam broke and she gave in to it.

She sobbed openly in the dark, not the first time in her life, clutching the centre of her chest with both hands in an effort to make the throbbing pain better and the emptiness to go away.

It's going to be okay. You have friends and you have your work (if you don’t get yourself fired). It's going to be okay.

It would be. A good cry always made her feel better and brought back some much needed common sense.

Knock! Knock!

"Hermione?"

It was Harry. Maybe he'll leave if she didn't answer.

"I know you're in there. Open up."

So much for wishful thinking.

"Now's not a good time, Harry," she sniffed in between words, brushing tears off her cheeks and hoped he would understand.

"Why not?" he tested.

"Because...just go away."

"I could break the door down," he was annoyingly tenacious.

"What's going on out there?!" the wizard renting next door asked angrily.

Harry explained.

"My friend lives here. She's having a bad day and she won't let me in..." she immediately turned the lights on and opened the door, glaring at him as he faced her, motioning him to come in, "Oh, she's changed her mind. Have a good night."

She yanked him by the arm into her flat while he was still waving to her neighbor and shut the door. Did he really just say all that to a stranger?!

"What are you doing?!"

"I was trying not to get arrested for trespassing," he explained matter-of-factly, offering her a hanky, one he had just conjured. "You left in a hurry."

For good reason.

"You shouldn't have come," she took his offering and wiped the wetness off her face, her eyes.

"Why are you crying?"

"What makes you think I'm crying?"

Okay. So maybe the scrounged up face, the breaking voice and the tears on her cheeks were dead giveaways. She broke down again, burying her face in the piece of cloth in her hands, the fact that he asked made her all soft and achy she remembered what she was sobbing about.

"My mistake," he said softly as he walked to where she stood, put an arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her closer to him.

At that point she was past feeling embarrassed. She clung on to his sweater, buried her face in his chest and bawled. Pathetic as they were her emotions were egged on by Harry's warm, gentle and soothing embrace. Having him there holding her in his arms, softly breathing on her hair and whispering reassuring words was way better than crying in the dark by herself.

She was feeling okay until her thoughts ran carelessly beyond her control. She could get used to this, depend on it, rely on it, and wish for it.

Why can't someone like you love me?

That thought made her cry again and made Harry attempt to comfort her even more which made things better and worse at the same time. This was getting to be ridiculous!

With difficulty she pulled back from Harry's tear drenched sweater and walked away, sniffling and fighting off the residual sobbing. She made for the washroom, leaving the door ajar and turning the tap on. Splashing cool water on her face, Harry stood silently close by and handed her a clean towel after she shut the water off.

Hermione felt better although now she became acutely aware of Harry's presence, feeling the warmth of his caring emerald eyes on her.

"Stop staring."

"Okay," he obeyed, "I'll make tea."

"I'll be fine," she bravely declared, not wanting to be a bother, "You don't have to stay."

Nobody will ever want to stay so get used to it.

Her heart stung for a couple of beats and she couldn't check her expression in time. Harry tugged her by the hand, led her to the small round table in the kitchen and pulled a chair for her.

"Sit," he ordered, "I'm staying and I'm making tea."

Emotionally drained she gave in, having no real fight left in her at the time. Moments later they were sitting in silence in her faintly lit kitchen, steaming cups in their hands. He wasn't going to say anything until she did. He seemed content just to have tea whereas she couldn't stand the quiet

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For this," she gestured vaguely, waving the damp hanky in the air, "For making you stay."

"And here I am thinking I'm here by choice," he was trying for funny.

"You know what I mean."

"Actually, I don't," he answered earnestly.

"You stayed because I cried."

"I guess that's true."

"You feel pressured to stay and be a comfort."

Out of pity because I have no one else.

He seemed perplexed, "You say that as if it's a bad thing."

"You shouldn’t have seen me like this,” she was embarrassed, “You don't have to stay."

"I believe you said that already and I'm choosing to ignore it a second time," he took a sip of tea, his eyes on hers still worried, waiting for her reply.

This wasn't Harry. The Harry she knew would gladly leave her alone in this awkward moment and/or turf her over to Ginny.

Her forehead creased as she asked, "What's wrong with you?"

"Me? Nothing. I'm not the one who's having an emotional breakdown."

What?! Did he just say…?!

"I am not having an emotional breakdown! This is nothing! This is normal!"

"This is normal?" he calmly replied.

She defended herself, "Shit happens…people cry…"

"True."

"It will pass."

"I'm sure it will."

"I'm not telling you why I was crying."

"If you don't want to I can't force you."

Okay…she was tipsy, depressed and lonely. This out-of-the-norm Harry was saying all the right things and she could not help but steal glances at his mouth as he talked, the same red soft lips (yes, they were surprisingly so) that took hers just last night and kissed her, hungrily, passionately, okay, in pretense but still the memory or more appropriately, the ‘fantasy’, would come in handy in desperate times, like right now. And he gave her flowers…tulips for Merlin's sake, and wondered if she liked them or not.

That made her wonder what would happen if...she dropped the thought, knowing that line of thinking was one that was going nowhere, at least nowhere good. She had been down that path a few times a lifetime ago.

"Are you just going to sit there? All night?" she was almost panicked.

“Maybe.”

“Go home Harry.”

"What if I refuse?" he challenged.

"Kicking you out would be an interesting first."

"Is it about Ron?" he seemed to have already concluded it was. He said frustrated, "I told him to not be so demonstrative..."

"It's not about Ron,” a voice, her own, reflexively responded, “Okay, yes, being around all the gooeyness kind of beat up my ego and started all this but it's not really about Ron and Pollyanna Jill."

That sounded harsher than she meant it to be. Maybe there was more to that than she was willing to acknowledge.

"I'm listening."

"It's too embarrassing, Harry," she blushed, not used to baring her guts to him that she couldn't.

"I won't tell a soul," he promised and when she continued to hesitate he came to an incorrect conclusion, "You don't trust me."

"Don't be ridiculous," she quickly dispelled his theory, "Of course I trust you."

"So, why are you pushing me away?" he asked, momentarily stumping her she couldn't come up with an answer. She wasn’t, at least not consciously. He took her hand in his and squeezed it lightly as he held her perplexed gaze with his warm, worried eyes, “Look, I know I haven’t been much of a friend in the past and I kind of understand why you’re not keen on having me here…”

“Harry…” he was getting this all wrong.

“I just want you to know I’m here. I’m here for you and I really wish you wouldn’t shut me out even if I deserve it,” his voice trailed off, wincing as he said that last part, “I hope this isn’t too little too late.”

“Oh Harry,” she sighed, squeezing his hand back to reassure, her earlier worries all but vanished and replaced with this concern for what he had erroneously concluded, “What am I gonna do with you?”

“What?”

“You’re getting this all wrong, as usual,” she was kind of amused now.

“So educate me, as usual,” he shrugged, flushed somewhat and half grinned.

She reclaimed her hand from his and grabbed his empty cup as she stood and walked to her kitchen counter, “We’re gonna need more tea.”

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A/N. Quicker than usual update. Thank you for the encouraging reviews and the not so encouraging ones :).

More of this Hermione-Harry conversation – this time, Harry’s POV. They talk about ‘love’ and relationships in the theory and as they apply to Ron and Ginny – squirm…squirm.

Consider this fair warning to those who don’t care for the philosophical stuff. You can skip this one. Next chapter will be less gooey and will move the story forward, I promise.

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Chapter 24 – The Measure of Ifs

Harry knew that he was out of his element the moment he decided to follow Hermione home. As he embraced her and let her get 'it' out of her system, he could not help but recall the one and only time he had actually seen Hermione this way, thinking how he could have handled that one so much better than he did. It was during the time they were hunting for the Horcruxes, the toil of the task had taken its toll on them and Ron left them after concluding wrongly that she was siding with him.

She had gone after Ron to persuade him to stay, calling out his name in the damp and cold night, while Harry stayed in the tent, angry at himself for not knowing more about the Horcruxes than they expected. It was strange that his memory of that one night was much more vivid now than that night itself. For the first time he saw the bigger picture, how the instinctive choice of shielding him and herself from Ron jarred Hermione, the shock on her face matching Ron's the instant she cast the protective charm as if she was as surprised of her decision. It killed her when Ron accused her of choosing him because she wasn't taking sides but merely trying to keep the peace.

Even her voice as she called out after Ron then rang more desperate and agonizing now than he remembered. When she came back into their tent drenched from the rain and from her tears, she cried herself to exhaustion. She cried for many nights after that, not openly as the first but in muffled sobs when she thought he was asleep. He did nothing. He heard them and he did nothing. He was young, angry and stressed but what the hell was he thinking letting her be?

They never talked about that night. Come to think of it, they didn’t talk about those days when he and Hermione were out of touch from the rest of the world and on their own.

Harry was just relieved that his instincts had not failed him this time around. They had moved into her cozy living room and got a warm fire going, deciding to sit on the carpeted floor across each other. He leaned on the sofa and she used the cushions for comfort. She had just reassured him that her ‘pushing him away’ was not because he was a bad friend but because she was too embarrassed to admit why she felt so low that night. Her indulgence in self-pity was so shameful, she said, that she really didn’t want any of her friends to see her this way.

Harry understood of course. Public shows of emotion were a no-no for him too but he tossed her back the idea that she was allowed to be human once in a while and that they, her friends, wouldn’t begrudge her that. She laughed; he was glad. With not much convincing he got her to talk about what she was crying about and her early exit from the Burrow. A fresh steaming cup of tea in his hand, he listened to her with disbelief.

“How can you be insecure? I have nothing against Jill but it's quite obvious Ron traded down.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she thought he was just saying it to make her feel better.

“Seriously,” he reiterated.

He was angry that Ron, though indirectly, was making her feel this way. It was difficult to convince his oft times stubborn friend she was wrong.

Hermione was trying to make him see her side too, “He's happy with her; happier than he ever was and could ever be with me.”

“Because she makes him feel like he's the smartest and most important guy in the room,” he stated the glaringly obvious, keeping to himself a suspicion that most of it was purposeful, that Jill wasn’t as simple-minded as she looked.

“Precisely. I could never do that with conviction,” Hermione replied.

“So what? You can't compare yourself to her. You're two different people. And just because Ron needs constant reassurance to feel secure it doesn't mean someone should reassure him,” Harry pointed out, thinking that his best friend should grow up.

"I know what you mean,” she sighed, “But it's not just about that. It's about me being selfish.”

First she was insecure and now she was selfish. Her twisted thinking was making his head spin. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders to make her realize that Ron’s timidity wasn’t her responsibility to fix.

“You're not selfish. You're the most giving person I know. And refusing to stroke someone's ego just to make him happy doesn't qualifiy as selfishness.”

It didn't take her long to disagree, “I care about what I want too much that I can’t compromise to make a relationship work. If I couldn’t do it for Ron after so many conscious tries then I probably wouldn't be able to do with anyone it ever."

The perplexed look and frustration on his face would have said it all. He felt her conclusion was premature and bit back what he was about to say reminding himself that he may not agree with her but he had to be calm about it.

"I'm not making myself clear,” she realized, thought for a moment, then asked, “Can we talk hypothetical?”

“Okay,” he replied, eager for something that would make him understand.

“Say you're in a relationship and you know in your heart you love this person you're with but she's not perfect,” she laid out the scenario for him, “Say she's jealous all the time, even for no reason. You've done everything to reassure her there's nothing to be worried about and you're absolutely sure she won't ever change, not even if you marry her. Would you stay with her if she couldn't change?”

This was easy.

“I would. If I truly loved her, it shouldn't matter.”

“So if I truly loved Ron then it shouldn't have mattered that he was insecure all the time,” she concluded, “I should have accepted him however unreasonable I thought he was.”

He frowned, blindsided by her logic, and subconsciously added, “And if I truly loved Ginny then I'd give in to what she wants.”. He had gone further down to a more unsettling thought. Like Hermione he was 'selfish'. He wouldn’t give in to what Ginny wanted because he cared about himself more.

"You're thinking this applies to you and Ginny, aren't you?"

Hermione read his mind and sensed his distress. He didn't have to answer.

“Great,” she groaned, “Now I've made you as miserable as I am.”

“No, this is actually good,” he didn’t want her to feel bad.

“How can this be good?” she was really concerned.

“Epiphany is always good, in the long run,” he was trying to convince himself too. He aired out what they were both thinking, “So maybe we don't really love them as we thought we did.”

“Hold off on the ‘we’, will you?” she said with caution, "That's not what I was trying to get at. Just because we failed to make things work doesn't mean we don't love them."

“You just lost me.”

“Think about it, Harry. The measure of ifs is flawed.”

"The what?"

"The measure of ifs, you know, quantifying love or lack thereof by what we do or don't do for each other," she tried to explain, "Like if I loved Ron I should have learned to accept him and if he loved me he should have tried to change."

"Sounds perfectly reasonable to me," he said candidly.

"I disagree. I think we're going about it the wrong way."

So they were back to 'we'.

Hermione continued, “Just because I couldn’t accept Ron as he was doesn't mean I didn't love him and I can’t say that because he couldn’t grow up for me he didn't love me. And Ginny can’t say that because you can’t change for her you don’t love her enough just like you can’t know that she doesn't care about you because she broke up with you over it. It may seem logical to look at choices and actions to gauge how much we care about each other but that doesn’t work, at least, not all the time.”

“I’ll give you that,” he got her point, she meant one shouldn't assume, “But still, true love should make you do what you can to stay together.”

“Harry, you’re doing it without even knowing it,” she quickly pointed out, “You’re quantifying love based on how much you’re willing to give up to make the relationship work. Love has very little to do with staying together.”

“How can you think that?” he couldn’t wrap his head around this concept.

She drew a deep breath and gave an example, “Take Dean and Luna’s case.”

“Okay.”

“If Dean refused to move to Australia and insisted on Luna moving to London would that mean he loves her less? Does Luna not love him enough because she’s not insisting to live in London with him instead?” she shot him questions.

“No and no, at least I don’t think so.”

“And they’re not breaking up because they’re working it out and coming to a mutual decision. What I’m trying to say is that while love makes couples decide to be together it takes a willingness to understand and selflessness to give in to stay together."

"But that's part of loving someone," he rebutted, "The more you love someone, the more willing and selfless you'll be.".

"Okay, but what's more and what's less? If neither is willing to compromise like what’s happened with you and Ginny who gets to decide when selfless becomes selfish? And when that's decided, does that mean there's less love compared to before?"

"I don't know," Harry wavered, "Maybe.".

"Loving is the easy part and we keep on putting this enormous burden on it by equating it with how much we’re able to give up for the relationship. And when we don't, we lose sight of how we feel about each other. We taint love with conditions, with ifs, and end up diluting what should be pure and unconditional. We need to set love free; to let it be.”

Her voice hung heavily in the air, filled with passion and conviction. She was flushed, her eyes sparkling as light from the fireplace glowed on her face. He didn’t want to interrupt, not that he could if he tried. After, when she realized he was speechless, she turned beet red and groaned.

“Freakish?”

She was a ‘ranter’ since forever and was getting better with age.

“A bit,” he thought he’d tease her, “Where is the donation can for setting love free and letting it be?”

They laughed, the embarrassment and tension on her face washed away as she called him a prat.

He said to her when that died down, “Can I ask a question?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How do you know you love someone if not for the measure of ifs?" he was curious what she thought.

“I’m not sure,” she confessed, “There's always the test of one's physical need.”

That was weird coming from her and he had to disagree, “Physical attraction is key but sex means differently from one person to the next. That's even worse than the measure of ifs.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, “You’re such a typical bloke. I meant the more essential physical needs, breathing, eating, sleeping and the inability to do those well without that person you love.”

He chuckled, “I should have known. I keep forgetting in some ways you’re a typical woman.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” her brows were raised and she was waiting for an answer, a lighthearted warning that it better be the right one.

“It’s just like a woman to think about deprivation and suffering as ways to profess true love,” he laughed inwardly when her eyes narrowed as he expected and he quickly moved to redeem himself, “I’m not saying it’s wrong, I’m just saying what is.”

“We don’t deprive ourselves on purpose,” she set him straight, “It just happens when we can't be with the person we love.”

“Sounds like torture if you have to not be with that someone before deciding how much or if you love him at all,” he said, wondering if despite Hermione’s denial this was the test Ginny was putting him through, “As imperfect as it is I think I’ll still go with the measure of ifs.”

“Who says we have to measure anyway?” she asked philosophically, “Maybe we shouldn't have to look for proof or find out how much. Why put a number on something that's supposed to be infinite.”

He was shaking his head even before she finished, “You can't go against human nature. We'd always want validation and a way to quantify something as intangible as that.”

“Then that's the pitfall. It is intangible; it can't be measured with any degree of accuracy. And we shouldn’t doubt what we feel just because we can’t measure it,” she argued, the last bit he was sure was in response to what he had said earlier about Ginny.

It was a stalemate.

“Well, immeasurable or not, that still leaves us with your hypothetical conflict of whether to leave or not to leave my jealous girlfriend, which I did in reality by the way,” he said, hoping she would catch the allusion to Ginny, “If you think that not accepting her and leaving her doesn't necessarily mean that I don't love her then that's not the kind of love I want to feel.”

Did he really just say that? The voice was his and the words were his but it felt like he was hearing someone else talk. He was speaking from the heart, his words unprocessed by the complex filters in his mind. What exactly was his heart saying?

She eyed him cautiously, “Are we still talking hypothetical or are we talking about Ginny?”

“Both,” he thought it best to be totally honest.

“So what is the kind of love you want to feel?” Hermione asked, going for casual but it was a most personal question as any.

Harry had no ready answer, never really had the time or need to think about this before. With Ginny he just felt it, recognized it and just was. It wasn’t what he wanted, he just accepted. He had no wants then. It was the free kind, as Hermione had just spoken so avidly about, until the pressure came. What changed? Did something change? Did he start expecting it to be different? To be more? Did he measure it against an if and made it less pure? With Hermione seemingly in no hurry for an answer, he searched himself and told her what came to mind.

“I want the kind that would never make me leave her, unless she insists that I do. It would be unmindful of distance and wouldn’t care less about absence of reciprocity. It would be free in your sense, that it's unconditional, but also not free because I would have no choice but to do what I can to make her happy even if I spend my dying breath making sure she is.”

Hermione looked surprised. It was her turn to be speechless.

“It's okay, you can laugh. Too girly for a bloke right?”

She didn't but he could tell she was amused, "That doesn't sound like you'll be happy in the end."

"I can hope. I figure if she's happy then I'll be happy," he blurted out wondering to himself just how feasible that would be.

"Your hope for happiness died the moment you included 'dying breath' in it," she responded with certainty.

"Speaking from experience?"

"I don't need experience," she said with a smug expression, "I'm a woman, remember? I can tell potential for suffering from a mile away."

He laughed at her quip then took the slim opening to put her on the spotlight, “Okay your turn. I'm sure you have an ideal about what you'd like this thing to be.”

Hermione made a face, “I'd rather not say.”

He feigned a protest.

“That's not fair. Quid pro quo. You just emasculated me with your question," she laughed at that, "You owe me an answer.”

“Okay, fine,” she caved easily, “I have the same delusional, unrealistic notion about love as you do. Unconditional as you said, something mutual is most preferable; I don’t want to suffer, after all. And while we're dreaming I might as well throw forever in there somewhere."

“Delusional and unrealistic? You should sound more inspired,” he admonished.

She shrugged, “I'm depressed. I have a good excuse.”

He tried to convince her, “It not unrealistic. I've seen it. You've seen it.”

“Flukes of nature. I'm bitter I won't ever find it. I'm jealous of those who have it,” she pouted, just being silly.

“You're such a pessimist,” he accused.

“Realist,” she corrected.

“Same difference.”

He found their banter amusing. It was like being in her head and talking with her without her usual layers of checks and balances to ensure appropriateness. Then she said something that he never imagined she would.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t know that kind of love existed. It’s so much easier going through life believing there’s nothing more to love than hormones and sex and that it was okay if it didn’t last because it just doesn’t.”

“Okay,” he cautioned, “I think you’re going over the deep end.”

“I'm never gonna find someone who I'll willingly give up my ideals for.”

“You're only twenty-three Hermione. You have time. You'll find someone closer to your ideals you won't have to give them up.”

She wasn’t hearing him, “And even if I find that person chances are he won't stay when he realizes I'm not his ideal.”

He saw that she was on her path of self doubt again, a sight he was certain he wasn’t meant to be audience for. This one was filled with overtones of anxiety and insecurity that it was still hard to believe it was coming from his usually unflappable friend. He debated between continuing to talk sense into her versus letting her go to town and decided he couldn’t stand hearing her this way.

“Hermione, if that person truly loves you then just like you he won't mind. He'll be as giving as you are. He'll take you as-is.”

She heard that one and cracked a joke, “I'll have some of that stuff you're smoking.”

“And if he doesn’t then he doesn’t deserve you,” he said what he truly believed.

“That thought would be such a comfort while I'm growing old alone and dying alone,” she was bordering on melodramatic but he could see she was really worried about remaining single. With some bitterness she took another jab at herself, “I can see it now. I’ll be that spinster aunt, like your Aunt Marge, crashing my friends’ families’ parties lambasting everyone about how poorly they’re raising their children and telling them how it should be done.”

He laughed involuntarily at that graphic. It was hilarious imagining Hermione as his Uncle's older sister and very bad timing to lose control.

“It’s not funny,” she began to object but seemed too relaxed he couldn’t think she was offended.

“Yes it is,” he continued laughing hoping to infect her, “I can actually see you doing that married. But I promise I’ll still invite you over even if my kids complain.”

“Gee, thanks,” she replied dryly, at least she could joke about it. She added thoughtfully, “I never thought falling in love and having a relationship would be this complicated. Did you?”

He concurred, “I never imagined it would be this hard either.”

“My parents make it look so easy. I kind of resent them for setting such a high standard,” she was half joking.

They laughed quietly and got distracted by crackling nearby. Both gazing over to the fireplace and seeing the flames almost extinguished, they watched the dying embers for some time, content with each other’s company. He sat silently and thought about the night, the dinner at the Burrow, how it was a relief to talk with Ginny civilly again. They talked about being friends, about him maybe watching a Harpies match once she got playing time, about them seeing other people. It surprisingly stung when she admitted she was finally ready for that, unsure at first if it was because he felt bad that she was letting go or because it took her a long time, then deciding it was more the former.

To be honest with himself about it he didn’t want Ginny to let go. He wanted her to take him back without condition and seeing the look in her eyes he left with a feeling of hopefulness bordering on arrogance that she eventually would. He was selfish, his happiness was worth more to him than hers, and the epiphany about how his heart really felt about Ginny was troubling.

Harry turned towards Hermione when he felt her eyes on him.

She said, “Harry, I don't mean to be an ungracious host and I really appreciate you coming over and staying but I think I'm either going to doze off right in front of you or say something I'll regret; I probably have already. And the fact that I'm telling you this without hesitation is disturbing enough.”

He grinned, amused by her frank and careless admission, “You’re kicking me out of your flat.”

“Yes I am. I swear I'm fine.”

She wasn’t, that much he knew, but she was better than before he came. Now she needed space.

He banished their empty cups, got on his feet and replied, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks again.”

He helped her up. She walked with him to the foyer and held the door open for him as he put his coat on. She was tired, he could see that plainly, but underneath the exterior he sensed she was still raw from the emotions she just went through. She needed a good hug and would die first before asking.

“Come here,” he prompted with his arms open.

Hermione let go of the door and accepted his offer. Tonight she felt so small and fragile in his arms, so unlike how she was normally. She was a shade of the positive force that had shone on friends and family for so long as if she was running low on that energy. They embraced snug and tight, their one shadow falling on the front porch in silence. He felt compelled to tell her how he felt, hoping his opinion would make her feel better.

“You know I love Ron like a brother,” his voice was barely audible, “But you’re better off without him. It was a good decision to let go. And you will find someone who will make you happier.”

Harry planted a kiss on her hair, that now familiar flowery scent he associated with her seeped deep within him and stirred an instinctive protectiveness and hopefulness that she would be okay. That was something new. She pulled away nodding, her expression a cross between a smile and a frown before the former won out.

“Get out of here before you make me cry again,” she dismissed him playfully.

He heard the door close behind him as he walked away, feeling both relieved and uneasy about what just happened that night. He knew coming in there was a part of her that he didn’t know about but he didn’t imagine it would be this. Recalling the many times she sheltered him from physical and emotional dangers, he felt it his turn and duty to look after her and protect her, mostly from herself.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione lay in bed, eyes closed, mind wide awake. She couldn’t believe she said half the things she said. Most of them weren’t for public consumption. Harry must really think she was a basket case and would surely never look at her the same way again.

She kept coming back to what he said about Ginny. That was so not what she wanted him to conclude. She didn’t want him to conclude anything. She shouldn’t have gone on with the hypothetical and the philosophical discussion on a topic she wasn’t an expert on. And she should really keep her venomous thoughts about relationships to herself.

First Dean and now Harry. Argh! It was like she had this evil side of her subconsciously causing everyone else to feel miserable so she’d have company.

One more toss and one more turn, she gave in to her need for mental wellness, focused on Harry’s parting reassurance and his warm, comforting embrace, then dozed off into deep sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Was that too much? Would you agree with Hermione’s theory about the measure of ifs or are you with Harry?

A/N. I loved the responses to the question last time. They were very interesting to read.

In this chapter Hermione faces the demons that haunt her. It’s mostly internal dialogue about Harry.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 25 – Delusions of the Fairy Tale Kind

9 February 2003

The Boeing 747 touched down at Heathrow that gloomy Sunday afternoon, its tires screeching against the rain soaked landing strip as it braked and rapidly decelerrated. Overhead the pilot redundantly announced what his passengers already knew and welcomed them to London. Hermione felt good to be back.

The suspension had been a blessing in disguise. One week in Perth living all Muggle with her parents was just what she needed. It gave her perspective of who she was, where she was and what she was capable of, renewing in her a sense of purpose, or more accurately, the desire to search for her place in Post War Magical London. Armed with the inspiration, she was eager to report back to work.

Hermione couldn’t wait to get off the plane. It had been a long trip and she no longer had the patience for it. The Muggle style commute was really for her parents for e.ven though they accepted she was a witch, they never became comfortable with the ways of the Magical world.

The ‘normalcy’ was the least she could do for them. She still felt guilty that she altered their memories and gave them new identities to protect them at the height of Voldemort’s power five years ago even though it was the right thing to do. After she reversed the memory charms, her Dad had been very upset (more so than her Mum) when he remembered what she did.

The way her Dad saw it she could have done things differently. For once she could have listened. She could have listened to him when he told her not to go back. She tried to explain that she couldn’t just leave, that Harry needed help and that she and Ron were the only ones who could. They had a big argument and when her Dad threatened to confront Harry about 'not taking her along to his death' she used magic on them. It had been her every intention to persuade them and get their blessing but unfortunately things didn't turn out as she hoped and she had to do what she had to do.

Five years later, with her Mum's continued intervention, things between her and her Dad were better but not totally back to the way they were. Her father continued to harbour a grudge against the world she had chosen to be a part of, the way of life that she had risked all for and the man he saw as the reason why she stayed. Needless to say she didn't go into detail about what happened and how they won the war. It hurt that he blamed Harry but there was no point arguing with him about that. And when she told them she had signed up to join the Auror office, he looked at her with disappointment and shook his head without saying a word. Her Dad thought she was doing it for Harry too.

At that time she was steadfast in her belief that her father was wrong. Harry championed what was right; he represented what was good. That was why she stood by him. Joining the Auror Office was a way to protect what they had fought so hard for and what many died for.. But the more she thought about it the more muddled the picture became for her. Even she, his best friend who knew him better than anyone else, had difficulty separating Harry the person from Harry the icon. It was his pure heart that made him both the man and the symbol of good that he was. Would she have stayed to fight to her death had it been someone else?

She looked out the window and watched the plane slowly make its way towards the arrival terminal. Harry was in there somewhere, waiting for her. She sighed involuntarily. The idleness of her mind during the past few days easily filled up with thoughts about her somewhat changed friend and about how she felt about him now. She missed him way more than she should have considering she had only been gone for a few days.

Come to think of it she wasn't supposed to miss him at all. They spoke everyday she was away. Before she left he made her promise that she would call him.

"If I don't hear from you I'm going to come and see how you are," he said like he meant business.

"This is ridiculous, Harry," she protested, "It's only a seven days. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Actually, no. I'm off for the week too," his eyes suddenly brightened up as he had an idea, "I can come with you."

That wasn't an option. Seven days with this doting, caring Harry was not a good idea. And she couldn’t imagine that her father would behave himself. There was nothing to gain by making Harry aware that her father was unenthused by their friendship.

"No, I'll call you," she gave in to the lesser of two evils.

"Everyday," he added..

Her brows merged into one and before she could stop herself blurted out, "You do know you're acting worse than an overprotective boyfriend, right?"

Harry laughed then; he must have thought she was kidding and she didn't have the heart to tell him she wasn’t. She knew why he was doing it. She would let him be the 'better' friend he wanted to be but while a part of her was appreciative, a part of her wished he would go back to the way he was.

The truth was the attention he was giving her was very deleterious to her mental health. She wasn't used to him being like this and it resurrected an old buried emotion she thought was thoroughly dead.

The time with her parents in Perth was great but it was the time with herself that was even more important. In Perth she had come to a better understanding of who Harry was to her and why this change in his attitude towards her bothered her so much.

She began where they started. He was her first real friend; the first one who was able to look past the annoying aspects of her that had made her an outcast and accepted her for who she was. And as an eleven year old girl being saved from a fully grown troll she swore allegiance to the boy for the rest of her life, not that she announced it for fear it would freak him out

He was a hero to her long before he was a hero to the wizarding world. Just with that one defining moment she knew in her heart he was the real deal and the knowledge made her stand by him time and time again when others doubted his character and his intentions. Loyalty, gratitude and admiration drew her to him.

And she cared about him as any good friend would. She saw up close what he went through and it was hard not to feel for him when his life had been one tragedy after another. It was hard not to want things to get better for him; for him to be happy.

It was also hard not to notice the glaringly apparent; he was fanciable. Of course she had a crush on him (and a few other boys), she was after all normal in that way. She rationalized then that there was nothing wrong with having a crush on her best friend especially since almost every girl she knew had one on him. For her it had never been so much about his looks. Okay, who was she kidding? In her opinion he was the best looking boy on her list. But really, his unassuming way and his inability to resist trying to save people were the two things about him that she found most appealing. She still did.

However the thought of acting on it while they were at Hogwarts never crossed her mind. She recalled thinking she would rather die than be like the others, all but throwing themselves at him. She remembered thinking she was better than that. And besides, the boy had a murderous Dark wizard to get off his back. He didn't have time for teenage romance.

It turned out that he did. Setting priorities had never been one of Harry's strengths. That was when she got hurt. That was when she first realized she wanted him to be more than what he was to her. It was agonizing when he became interested in someone else, when he kissed that someone else and when he kissed someone else after getting over the previous someone else. Why them? Why not her?

Confused she wasn't sure what to make of it. She did some research and compared what she was feeling with what the books said and then immediately declared, with relief, that she didn't love him. Love was associated with wonderful and euphoric emotions; what she was feeling was nothing like that. She was delusional, jealous and even arrogant, upset that Harry not only fell in love without her knowledge, he didn't fall in love with her.

And she blamed it all on the fairy tales she grew up reading. What was it about them and wanting to be that princess or that damsel in distress who gets swept off her feet and gets to spend the rest of her life happily ever after with her prince or hero? Why didn’t anyone ever write memorable stories about the fact that not everyone would get to play princess or damsels-in-distress, that princes and heroes were scarce and that it was perfectly okay for plain girls like her to not end up with one of them?

It wasn't easy but she got out of the fairy tale delusion that her hero would fall in love with her. Fairy tales were just that. Fairy tales. They didn't happen in real life, especially not to someone like her. Surely if Harry found her remotely attractive just by the amount of time they spent together he would have done something to let her know by then. And he wouldn't have fallen in love with someone else.

The alternative to perpetuating the delusion was horrifying. It was revolting to think of being that ex-friend who went vindictive, possessive and crazy jealous, and she swore at a young age never to be that girl who would chase after an uninterested boy. With that in mind she was able to put the emotional blip behind her and brushed it off as normal for the average teenage girl. It was one of those awkward teen moments Obliviation must have been designed for.

And she was happy for Harry that he had found Ginny, happy for him that he fell in love before he died, which back then was a big deal considering how his mortality was being tested so often. And seeing him happy made her happy. She wanted him to be happy like that for the rest of his life. She hoped she could be that person for him but she knew Ginny loved him and that was enough. She loved him that way.

As she thought that back in Perth it hit her. She loved him that way. She had always loved him that way; with that irrational compulsive do-whatever-she-can-to-help-him-survive-and-be-ultimately-happy kind of way. For years without even thinking it that had been her life, not because he asked it of her but because she wanted it to be, because if anyone deserved to be happy it would be him. While Harry had this 'saving people thing' she had this 'helping Harry be happy thing'. It had been premature to conclude she didn't love Harry just because the books said so.

It wasn't her intention to fall for him. Everyone fell for the hero and she didn't want to be like everyone. But at some point in the time they spent with each other she did. How could she not?

Hermione found it curious but not entirely surprising that all this time she had been content to be his friend and that she could be content to be his friend. That was how he needed her to be and she was good where she was. She had accepted that he would never look at her that way and that he would never need her that way. It was likely the contentment that kept her sane and protected her from the despair of knowing he didn't love her back.

Knowing this now some things were more clear.

First, the Hag and her Dad were somewhat right about her motivation for joining the Auror office. While working at the DPMC she missed helping Harry; she missed being needed by him and she missed being around him. Dysfunctional as it was it was the emptiness, the hollowness in purpose that drove her to make that career decision. She had to fix this but didn't quite know how yet.

Second, her relationship with Ron had been doomed from the start It was difficult not to notice how much less of herself she could willingly give up for Ron when she would give up everything for Harry. Even her usually insensitive ex got it right that she chose Harry over him and would do so if push came to shove.

That was what happened that rainy night they were on the run and looking for Voldemort's Horcruxes, when she shielded herself and Harry from Ron who wasn’t quite himself. The reflexive decision proved that third, she couldn’t leave Harry when he needed her; not for Ron, not for her parents, and probably not for anyone including herself.

When Voldemort died Harry survived and got his girl back. Things were perfect and she was no longer needed so it was quite natural for her to step back. But now things were different. The reason for her discomfort with the current state of their friendship was that she was afraid she would cross the line. She had been feeling lonely since her break up with Ron and he was as unattached as she was now. It didn't help that Ginny was foolishly messing around with a good thing and was now living in Holyhead. Encouraged by Harry's attentiveness, her delusion was making a come back big time and there was an overwhelming temptation to live her fairy tale and to seize the opportunity for her own happily ever after.

Last week at the Bat Cave her guard was down and she slipped. For a brief moment that night there was just Harry pressing his mouth against hers and she kissed him back the way she had imagined she would many times in the past. The rest of the world around them dissolved into nothingness. For a few seconds it was very real to her, that her hero, the man who saved her life many times and whose decency and character she admired, desired her, that he wanted her that way. And the worst part of this particular delusional backslide was that he didn't even have to love her. She would take whatever it was that he could give even if it was less than what she wanted.

Unconditional and forever.

Everyday since her return she could feel herself falling for him even more. She could feel herself losing rational thinking, losing control. She had come a long way from deluding herself it was possible and she couldn't let herself be that stupid again.

Nothing had changed. He still wasn't interested and she still didn't want to be that girl who pined after someone who wasn't. She wasn't an idiot to want to suffer like that.

Miffed at herself for the future she had sentenced herself to, she hung onto hope that she was wrong. Maybe it wouldn't be forever. If only he'd stop his mission to be a better friend and got back with Ginny already this would be so much easier on her.

Closing her eyes, she reminded herself, “He's just a friend and you're not in a fairy tale.”

The plane had finally halted at the terminal and speaking beside her. The chatty Australian couple she sat with during the flight, the Allmans, thanked her for her company and for giving them a Londoner's overview of where to go, what to see and what to do. She wished them a safe and enjoyable stay, grabbed her one carry-on and was the first person off the plane when the door opened.

Always with this knack of spotting him easily in a crowd, Hermione saw Harry the second she stepped into the gate. He smiled and waved; she did the same. A girl could get used to this.

"You really didn't have to do this," she said to him when they were close enough.

He leaned forward and met her with a hug. It was only good manners to do the same. He was warm, comforting and his freshly showered scent invoked fluttering in her chest and stomach. Their mutual embraces of late felt better compared to past ones; at least they did to her. She figured that was part of the delusion.

Note to self...must refrain from unnecessary physical contact.

"Don't you ruin this for me," Harry admonished jokingly, "I've never picked anyone up from the airport before. How was the flight?"

"Uneventful," her voice got caught in her throat as she kind of forgot to breathe and had to disentangle herself from him.

Oh get a life. You've done this a gazillion times without even thinking about it.

She must have frowned.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Yes, other than this fairy tale nightmare."

Did she just say that out loud?

"Fairy tale nightmare?"

Great. The filters were off again.

She shook her head, dismissing his query, "I um...fell asleep on the plane. It's a long story. How are you?"

"I'm okay. And you?" he enquired with that worried look she remembered from that night she made a total fool of herself.

"Much better," she really did.

"Good," he nodded, "How's your Dad?"

"Still unwell. He's having more tests," she replied. Her Dad had been nursing a cough for weeks and she and her Mum had finally coaxed him to see a doctor, "How are things here?

"Not as interesting without rogue law enforcement running around," he jested.

She replied something to the effect that he shouldn't encourage her bad side. While they waited for her checked luggage they chatted about the mundane and the not so mundane; the weather in Perth, her one disasterous excursion on a surf board with her Dad the last day she was there, her Mum telling her they were planning a trip home in a couple of months. In no time they were in the car park, Harry seemingly content with keeping up with this Muggle charade, a welcome break from magic, he said. He helped her into the passenger seat of his new car, a pewter coloured Aston Martin DBS, a gorgeous piece of metal that Hermione thought was an excess. Over the time she was away he had developed an attachment to fast expensive cars, which Hermione rationalized was better than fast brooms.

Hermione squirmed in her seat, finding it mentally uncomfortable like she didn’t belong while Harry disappeared behind the car, magically created trunk space and stowed her bags. Another deep breath in and out later, Harry was beside her and was driving them out of the car park. She’d have to admit that seeing him now she couldn’t imagine him driving a lesser vehicle anymore unless he had to.

Harry was thankfully oblivious to her assessments and discomfort. He updated her about work. John had announced his retirement at end of the year and the politicians were jockeying for position. They talked about that for a while, about Humptail being the likely successor, about how Kingsley had hoped John could stay longer so there would be someone else, about Harry needing more experience before he could be that person. He asked her to look into joining a couple of Ministry committees he thought she should get involved in and told her Gates was unexpectedly reassigned to Southeast Asia.

"Some wizard from the IMP legal department did a random audit and found his transfer papers inadequate," he glanced over to her, "You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

She put forth the best offended reaction she could muster, "Harry, Gates was a childish prick. Do you really think I would stoop down to his level?"

Hermione was way too pleased to pull it off. His reply was a chastising look.

"Fine, so I did stoop and called in a favour from my IMP contact," she admitted to the deed.

"You cost me a partner," Harry scolded her light-heartedly.

"You're better off," she recognized that he wasn't really upset.

"He was livid."

"Good," she answered, the fact that Gates was brought enormous satisfaction.

She glanced at his speedometer. He was going twenty over.

Harry continued, "He spoke with Dean and talked him out of transfering to the Aussie Auror office."

"Gates did what?"

Harry missed their turn onto Foxtrot Avenue and didn’t seem perturbed he was heading past the Ministry flats.

"He told Dean to consider the IMP. It was a good suggestion."

It was. With the IMP Dean would be able to move residency more easily whenever Luna did and still maintain seniority. But she would lose a partner.

"What did Dean say?"

"I hooked him up with the IMP recruitment officer," Harry answered. “He’s looking into it.”

It bugged her that Dean was. It bugged her that it bugged her too much.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked and a smirk formed on Harry’s face.

“I thought you’d never notice,” he replied mischievously, “I found you a place.”

“You found me a place,” she repeated slowly.

“Yes.”

“A place to live in?”

“It’s not quite ready yet but eventually yes. I just wanted to show it to you right away.”

“Harry…”

“It’s new, in London…” he said with a glint in his eye.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know but just have a look. My realtor brought it up and I thought of you,” he seemed to think that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. “No pressure. If you don’t like it I promise I won't be offended.”

He obviously spent time and effort on it. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. So, he thought of her...

Note to self...don't give yourself an aneurysm hanging onto his every word.

“Okay, I’ll have a look but no promises.”

Harry abruptly pulled over the curb.

“I do need you blindfolded for a short period of time,” he said then added quickly as she was about to object, “Just humour me.”

“This better be worth it,” she gave in and he jinxed her with a magical blindfold before she could change her mind.

They were moving again, seemingly faster than before. He was going way over the city speed limits. She thought of something else to keep her mind off it.

“Is this place for sale?” she asked.

“Um, it's not on the market yet.”

"How big is it?"

"Bigger than the flat you're in, smaller than the Burrow."

That narrowed it down. He obviously shouldn't quit his day job.

“What’s the neighbourhood like?”

“It’s not in a ghetto.”

“That’s reassuring,” she remarked dryly.

“Enough questions, you'll ruin the surprise.”

They had stopped. He helped her get out of the car and had her hold onto his arm, his hand over her hand like he was leading someone blind. He warned her they were Disapparating Side Along and after confirming her readiness felt the familiar sensation associated with it. Harry lifted the blindfold as soon as they arrived.

She was standing just inside the entrance and was looking at a brightly lit unfurnished open room. There was something hauntingly familiar about it that hit her instantly but she couldn't tell what. Scanning from her left her attention was drawn by the generous bay and bow window that overlooked the street and the polished and glistening hardwood floors that complemented the intricate wooden mouldings lining the edges of the ceilings, walls and floor. There was a fireplace and off on the other end, double swinging doors that led to a kitchen in the back. A staircase that went to the upper levels was right next to it.

As she took the sight in Harry informed her, “It’s got a quaint backyard, three bedrooms on the second level, a balcony coming off the master bedroom and an attic. It’s not immediately livable but it has potential and you can fix it up the way you want it.”

Her imagination had already taken off on her. Without seeing the rest of it she could already picture herself coming through the doors, seeing this, furnished as she had imagined it to be her place. She could not contain her excitement.

“This is amazing Harry!”

“You like it?” he was not sure if she was serious.

“I love it!" she erased his doubts, "Wait, how much is it?”

“You can have it.”

“What?”

“I did intend to put it on the market but I can’t sell it to you. That would be too weird.”

“This is yours?”

It suddenly dawned on her where they were.

“We’re on Grimmauld!” she exclaimed even more excited that they were.

Harry thought she was changing her mind, “I understand why living here would creep you out.”

It would have had she not seen the place. The blindfold was definitely worth it.

Hermione asked her one concern, “Are there residual dark magical forces here leftover from the Blacks?”

“I was assured there wouldn’t be,” he answered tentatively.

“Then I wouldn’t mind living here," she told him sincerely.

"Really?"

"Except I can’t live here for free.”

"Sure you can," he responded.

"I can’t Harry. Come to think of it I probably can’t afford it even if I wanted to buy it."

"Don’t be ridiculous…"

"Give me your phone," she already had it in her hand, "What’s your realtor’s name?"

He was not being practical about this. She had to speak with someone who would be.

"Benjamin. But seriously, I’d rather you have it than me selling it to someone else..."

"Benjamin? Hi. You don't know me. I'm a friend of Harry’s and he's showing me Number 12 Grimmauld Place. What’s his asking price for it? I want fair market value. Thanks," she hung up, gave Harry his phone back, and coaxed him out, "Come on, let’s go."

"No, let’s work something out," he pulled her back by the hand.

Even with the simplest of math she figured it wasn't going to work. She had some money but not the kind of money to buy the place and be able to eat three meals a day. And there was no way she was asking her parents for a loan.

"Listen to me, Harry. I can’t afford this."

"I’ll sell it to you at price of construction."

He must have no concept of limits on money, "I still can’t afford it. The interest on the mortgage alone…"

"Forget interest."

"Harry…"

"I’ll loan you the money, you can pay me when you can, with cost of inflation if you insist but no more than that," Harry proposed.

Was he crazy?

"That doesn’t make business sense."

He shrugged, "So what? It’s my money."

"Which you should take better care of. I don’t need your charity, Harry."

"This is not charity. I know you're good for it and I have more money than I can use in three lifetimes. I want to help my friends without whom I wouldn't be around to enjoy all this anyway," he reasoned.

"But you just helped Seamus out and I know Ron's place up north is technically ninety per cent yours," Hermione pointed out.

"It's not totally without advantages. I think of them as investments. This way if my luck runs out I won't ever be homeless," he was really almost begging her to take it. This picture wasn't right, "Why do you find it so hard to accept anything from me?"

"This is too much, Harry," it was a very tempting offer, “I’d feel like I was taking advantage of you.”

"That’s a load of rubbish and you know it,” he was very serious, “It's only money."

She was waffling and had to verbally scold herself, "I can't believe I'm even considering this."

"I'll ask someone to draw up the papers tomorrow," Harry knew she was caving in and grinned from ear to ear.

Hermione emphasized, "I am paying you every cent."

"Of course you are."

He showed her the rest of the place and by the end she was in love with it. They were bouncing ideas off each other. He knew of a great place to get affordable furniture and volunteered to help her put her ideas in action.

Before they left she took another look at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. It felt nothing like the gloomy former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix but there was history here that it would have been a tragedy if it ended up belonging to someone else . She was excited. This was going to be hers. Her very own place. Well, hers and Harry's until she could pay him off.

The next day she was still high from all the excitement she found it hard to concentrate. Even the call from Dean that he was going to spend a couple weeks shadowing a friend of Gates' who worked with the IMP didn't rain on her parade.

"Hermione," John called from his office door and signalled her in.

She figured he was going to assign her a temporary partner, probably the rookie Greengrass. Dean wouldn't be around for much longer anyway so she might as well get used to working with someone else. When she got there she found Harry leaning against John's desk, arms folded across his chest with a pleased expression on his face.

John spoke, "You heard about Dean taking some time off to look at his options."

"Yeah, he called me this morning," she answered, throwing Harry a questioning look, curious what was going on.

"While he's away I'm assigning you to Harry's team. With Gates' departure he needs help," John answered her question.

"Sounds good," she was ecstatic but tried to temper her exuberance. The two weeks without Dean wasn't too daunting now that she wouldn't be reporting to Trussel. She asked Harry, "Who do you have me working with?"

"It's temporary so it's pointless to break in a new partner. You're stuck with me," he smiled, handed her a file and motioned her out the door.

That information had not sunk in even after she followed him to the car park. They were going to work together the two weeks Dean was away. Was that what he really said? Harry was talking; telling her about the case they were assigned to investigate. A private magical artifact enthusiast had been robbed of a significant portion of his collection and they had to track down a person of interest.

Harry got into the driver's seat of a Ministry issue sedan, a non-descript one. He revved the car. This didn't look right. He clued in when she didn't get into the vehicle, rolled the passenger window down and leaned closer.

"What's wrong?"

She never had this problem before.

"I usually drive," she explained, "Actually, I always do."

"I don't mind driving" he answered because many Aurors did, "I prefer to drive."

Harry wouldn't know this about her.

"Harry, you don't understand. I always drive. And trust me. You'll prefer me to drive."

Unlike Dean Harry would have none of her idiosyncrasies. Maybe if she said please.

"Just get in the car."

She sighed and did as he asked. This was going to be interesting.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I realize this Hermione perspective is a bit different but I hope it was believable. And I couldn’t resist making Number 12 Grimmauld ‘theirs’ :)

Next chapter should contain Harry's epiphany.

A/N. As usual Harry gave me trouble. The chapter is rather long and in some spots may seem pointless…which begs the question why I left the pointless stuff in. I know this would be better with a good Beta.

Pressed for time I dispensed with research. Street names are purely fictional.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 26 – Their Bed, Their Room, Their Place

They were driving down Churchill and she had not uttered a comprehensible sound since they left the Ministry. Yesterday she was reserved and aloof until Grimmauld and this morning she was withdrawn and fidgety. What the hell happened in Perth? She was trying to sell that her attention was on the file in her hand but he knew it was so thin and unhelpful she couldn't have still been reading it.

Harry had asked her if everything was okay and she said everything was. It obviously wasn't. He thought ruefully that lately it seemed he was always trying to get Hermione to talk about something which brought attention to the fact that despite talking more than average, Hermione rarely talked about herself. How could he have missed that all this time?

This guilt about his inadequacies as a friend had driven him into having the nightmare he had about her last week but his bizarre dream last night stemmed from an entirely different animal. This latest one was more disturbing. In it he was digging through loose dirt with his bare hands, urgency and despair in the air. As his fingers scraped against wood, he recognized the coffin from the Bat Cave and forcibly ripped its cover off. He found a peaceful looking but very dead Hermione. Overwrought with grief, he took her in his arms and began kissing her passionately while feverishly praying for her to respond. Shortly after he felt her stir. She was kissing him back, tentatively at first, then with the same fervour she did that night they were pretending at the Bat Cave. He woke up with the taste of her in his mouth, the feel of her body against his and the memory of her flowery scent filling his senses, embarrassed at the fully aroused state he was in.

It was not the first time he had dreamt about being with a girl but this one was troubling not only because the girl was Hermione but particularly in light of what happened at the airport yesterday and what was happening again today. To put it in perspective he had spent the bulk of his suspension getting Grimmauld into a more viewable state for her and had been eager for her return. He missed her all week but it wasn't until he felt a great weight lift off his chest the second she stepped out of the gate did he realize that he missed her a lot. At that time he couldn't explain it. He had known the woman for more than ten years and he couldn't recall ever missing her this much.

But it was when they embraced that he kind of lost his mind. The smell of her filled him as it had in the coffin at the Bat Cave last week and set off a replay of their unplanned tryst in his mind. He recalled how a part of it got away from him and he, for more than a brief moment, kissed her for real. He wasn't exactly sure when but it was after he thought that she possibly wasn't pretending and that if she wasn't, how kissing her and being kissed by her felt good...actually great. And when she slid her tongue next to his all soft and inviting, he felt the floor of his gut fall off and a million pleasurable sensations swirl within him. The feeling was vaguely familiar. This was similar to how it felt when he kissed Ginny for the first time.

Upon deliberate analysis he had brushed off the incident at the Bat Cave as usual male perversion and decidedly hoped that by ignoring it it would die a natural death. He found out yesterday that it hadn't. As he hugged her at the airport he felt a sudden compulsion to relive the memory. He wanted to feel what he felt in the casket with her that night, to get another taste of her sweet, passionate kiss and have her touch him in ways she usually didn't. He had to resist the temptation to initiate something stupid and thankfully she seemed too distracted to notice.

As he expected today was more of the same. His recently acquired hyper-acute sense of smell was catching the hint of her flowery scent filling the air around them and was making him all anxious. Harry took a big breath in, thinking about how to make himself immune to her provocative scent. He wasn't even sure if it was her perfume, soap, lotion, shampoo or some other woman thing unknown to him that he was ultra sensitive to. If she were some other woman it would have been okay but she was his best friend. It wasn't right to cross that line, not even in thought, especially not for this self serving need to feel good.

As he contemplated stealth means to find out what exactly that fragrance was, he turned onto the ramp and got on the freeway. Almost immediately he heard her sigh and she shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

"Okay, what's the matter?" he finally asked her as he merged smoothly into the flow of traffic.

"Nothing."

Even with his limited experience with women he was certain it was not 'nothing'. The question was which type of 'nothing' was it?

"You seem jittery. Too much coffee?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Do you need to take a um...biological break?" he asked with some awkwardness. He had not had a woman partner before and wasn't sure if that was it, "You can just let me know..."

Her eyes rolled up and with exasperation she replied, "No I don't need to use the ladies' room and yes I'll let you know when I get the urge."

"Did I do something wrong?"

It sure felt like he did. Or maybe that was guilt from having less than pure thoughts about her.

"No. Just drive," there was clear annoyance in her voice and he concluded it was the type of nothing she didn't want to talk about.

He racked his brain for what else she could be miffed about. She was so upbeat when he dropped her off at the Ministry flat last night so what brought this about? Was it because John had her join his team? Was it because she didn't want to be partners with him? This was an auspicious beginning in their partnership and Harry had never known Hermione to be this moody.

They went past an exit and she looked at it before taking a surreptitious glance at the clock on the dash. He couldn't contain his own irritation mostly for being given a hard time about wanting to find out. Harry threw out random guesses to force her into talking to him, the more preposterous the better.

"Did you need to pick up something from a store, drop off dry cleaning, call someone?"

"No, no and no," she didn't even look up.

"You don't want to be partners with me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry."

"You left your wand at the Ministry and are too ashamed to admit it."

"I'm ignoring you now."

"It’s that time of the month."

No answer. He thought that was a good one.

"You woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Still no answer.

"You had another fairy tale nightmare."

That drew a glare and finally a verbal response, "Are you this annoying to all your partners?"

"I can keep guessing here,” he was finding this game fun, “Am I getting warmer?"

She took a breath in, put the file on her lap and told him, "I prefer to drive.”

He couldn't believe this was about that, “You’re giving me the third degree because I didn’t let you drive?!”

“I am not giving you the third degree,” she claimed in defense, “I’m trying to distract myself.”

“By reading useless crap over and over again?”

"Which I wouldn't do if Ministry approved the use of Muggle mobile computers," she blushed from her busted cover and then informed him sharply, “But that's beside the point. If you want to get there by today you should bear left and take the next off ramp."

"Why?"

"You're about to hit traffic and the next two exits are closed."

"Traffic?" he asked, "What traffic?."

Just as he said that he noticed brake lights popping up like fireflies in front of him.

"How did you...?"

"There was a lot of rain last night and that combined with the drainage problems on Halloway, the road repair delays on Maxwell and the closure of Gleason, well, there will be back ups from Kilbourne to Hayden all day," he could see her relieved that she was telling him, "Once we're off I suggest that you head north on Taft. Kensington would have been better except it will be packed today because of the street festoval. And if you keep your speed between 55 and 60 on Taft you'll hit green all the way to Johns."

This was what she didn't want to tell him about? He struggled with what to say.

"I know. I'm a freak. I can't help it,” she confessed with some distress, “When I drive I'm relaxed but I can't shut up when somebody else is at the wheel. Sorry.”

He chuckled at her embarrassment of being a human weather, traffic and construction updated GPS, "You seemed fine yesterday."

"Yesterday wasn't work. But just so you know, from the airport you could have taken Sullivan, then River to Grimmauld and cut the drive time by three minutes.."

So that's why Dean didn't drive. He couldn't help but laugh as he took the off ramp.

"Stop laughing. It isn't funny."

He apologized and tried to put a stopper on his amusement, not that he had much success. She went on to tell the story that Dean didn't last their first day before realizing that insisting on driving was not worth it. Surprisingly she had offered to compromise, that if he didn't mind her telling him which roads to take she'd split driving duties with him.

"That doesn't sound like a compromise. That's getting exactly what you want," he pointed out, trying to give her a hard time.

"If I got what I wanted you wouldn't be driving right now," she declared confidently.

"Is this how you get Dean into doing what you want? Pull quick ones over him and make him think he's doing you a favour?"

"I would never do such a thing!" she vehemently denied but with a smile creeping up on the corners of her mouth. She was willing to play his game, "Okay, tell me. What's a fair offer?"

He grinned, reeling in the fish caught hook, line and sinker, "I'll let you drive half the time if you let me tell you how to get to where we're going."

That made her laugh, "Do I have to actually listen and follow your advice?"

"And force you into doing something you don't want to do? I'm not an idiot. I know I'll only pay for that some other way."

"I'm impressed," she chuckled, "You're wiser than I give you credit for."

"Maybe you should rethink and not undermine my capabilities," he retorted, and something outside must have distracted her because she looked out the window, "Anyway, to answer your question, I will desist from having lofty expections of you heeding my advice if you extend me the same courtesy. Does that sound reasonable?"

She snorted, "That's an even loftier expectation."

"My desisting or yours?"

"Mine of course. You're a hero Harry. You should accept by now that expectations will be high all the time."

He had to chuckle and her attempt to keep a poker face failed.

"I am absolutely crushed that the one person who understands me can't give me a break," he feigned being upset.

"What is it about my being understanding that prompts you to think I deserve less than what everyone else is getting from you?"

"I don't think you deserve less," he explained, "I just know you'll understand if I fall below your expectations. I can be totally myself without fear of rejection."

"You know, being your friend is a thankless job," she was pulling his leg and actually enjoying the honest conversation almost to a point of sounding silly. She was goading him into some sort of a reaction, "I want perks. I demand perks."

"I feel a rant coming," he said under his breath, knowing she was not serious despite there being some truth to it.

"I stand for each and every hero side kick out there wanting to be treated with dignity and respect," she indulged him, "We want to be recognized for what we've done."

"The Ministry tried that, you doggedly refused," he pointed out

She ignored his comment completely, "We want the same treatment every one else is getting, if not better."

He was trying, at least with her. It suddenly hit him what exactly it was about her that he missed the most while she was away. She was one of the few who could be the brutally honest way she was with him without him taking offense. He was certain she was without ulterior motives. Despite her rant Hermione had no unreasonable expectations of him that would break their friendship and it was the same the other way around. In fact he was certain that even if Hermione knew about his dream she wouldn't judge him as harshly as he was judging himself; not that he would tell her about it to prove his theory.

"Enough trying to make me feel bad. I know you too well to know you don't mean it so it's not working."

"This is exactly what I mean," she dramatically threw her arms up in the air, "I am not being taken seriously."

"If you don't agree with my suggestion make me a counter offer."

"This isn't worth the argument. By end of the week you'll be begging me to drive," she replied smugly.

"Is that so?" he was being challenged, “You're misjudging my ability to ignore suggestions.”

“On the contrary. I know about that all too well,” she said. “I’m counting on the fact that you don’t care about little things as much as I do. You’re above and beyond this pettiness. You’re big enough to let a woman drive you around if she wants to.”

“Boy! You must be desperate. I never thought I’d see the day when you’d find a need to butter me up,” he was practically in stitches and she could only laugh with him.

“Okay, fine. Here’s my final offer. We’ll split driving duties,” only Hermione would ever go this far in a conversation like this, “We can suggest routes and discuss options depending on how passionate we feel about how we get to where we’re going but the final decision goes to the person behind the wheel.”

He agreed, knowing they would never get to that. As she knew he really didn't care about being told how to go where as long as he got to drive his share. But the suggestion did make him think how outside of driving that had been the kind of relationship they had anyway. She'd suggest, he'd consider but he got to decide with no real pressure to do what she adviced. He wouldn't feel offended if she didn't follow his advice, not that he gave her a lot and from her casual acceptance of the fact that he did not listen to her all the time it appeared she didn't feel slighted either. But he wondered if he was reading her right. He fought the urge to ask her more about that and had to remember some conversations, like the one they just had, were not appropriate at times like now.

That did set them off to talking more seriously about how they would work as partners. It was best to have the conversation about what to do and how they each preferred to handle different situations now than when they were faced with a life and death matter.

“If I give you an order it's an expectation for you to follow," he brought up the topic because he had to.

"If your order is reasonable I don’t see why that would be a problem," she answered back.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do something unreasonable.”

“Then you shouldn’t ever worry about that.”

Harry understood. She couldn’t make that promise and he would not force it out of her. Early on in his Auror career he was of the opinion that while he was a leader, he wanted his team behind him only if they thought what he was leading them into made sense. That was such a disjoint from traditional MLE protocols where they were all soldiers and that commands from above were followed no matter what. It was the latter that was still taught and encouraged, that he reluctantly applied because that was what his team understood. It took the decision and potential blame out of the foot soldier and took emotions from doing what had to be done, which he thought was both good and bad. Hermione was not a common foot soldier and she wanted the responsibility of whatever decision and action she made. That was what got her in trouble last week.

They arrived at fifteen Johns Avenue in about half an hour. They could have Apparated and been there quicker but cars were necessary mostly because working Auror in London required contact with Muggles. Magical criminals knew to use them as shields and deterrents to making arrests magically.

Pugnasiocrates Jollyweather was an eccentric really old wizard with long gray hair and a well kempt beard. He had been in publishing a long time ago having owned a weekly gentlewizard's only magazine up until he sold his company and retired a decade ago.

Jollyweather was an active art works philantropist. Just a week before he had been featured in an article on the Prophet to mark his generous donation to the establishment of a gallery to host paintings and drawings by struggling magical artists. He was also a known magical artifacts collector and it was the loss of his property that they were investigating.

"So you think your assistant, Kooper Dodgey, had something to do with the robbery?" Hermione was doing the interviewing while he roved the inside of the victim's study..

"I am certain of it," replied the wheezy voiced wizard, "I hired Kooper two months ago and he resigned abruptly yesterday, by phone.."

"Did he say why?"

"He said I was a cheap slavedriver."

"Was he right?" Hermione asked insensitively Harry cast her a warning shot. "I mean, do you think there was reason for him to feel that way."

"That's beside the point," the man dismissed, "All I can say is that he was privy to security information, my collection was stolen and he left town in a hurry. Any moron can conclude he had something to do with the robbery."

As Hermione continued with her questions Harry was drawn by a wall of pictures of the interviewee over the passage of time. It was a display of who’s who; pictures of Jollyweather with Ministers, with movie stars, with famous artists, with sports figures. He recognized a face on one of the images.

"You knew Xenophilius Lovegood," Harry blurted out before realizing that of course he would know the Quibbler's former owner.

"Xenophilius was a good friend. We shared many passions. His loss was a huge loss for the magical community."

In the image Jollyweather and Lovegood were with one other wizard, smiling, happy, and wearing bright colored robes with a familiar emblem.

"You both believed in the existence of the Hallows."

The wizard joined him by the side and waxed wistfully, "Ah yes, the Hallows. It was a foolish quest. We never had evidence that they ever existed. The movement died with Xenophilius although I can see he succeeded in planting some interest in you."

Harry shrugged, careful not to make a big deal of it.

Hermione had moved closer too and asked, pointing to the third figure in the picture, "Who's this with you?""

The old man squinted, "I believe his name is Theodorphus Daniels. Xenophilius met the Canuck on one of his North American expeditions and got him interested in the Hallows. That was the one and only time I saw him."

They finished up with the interview and Jollyweather gave them all the information he had on his assistant. Dodgey proved to be a tough wizard to track down. Hermione brought up her frustration that Dodgey seemed always a step ahead of them, like he knew their next move even before they thought of it.

The following days were relatively quiet at work. Harry found out soon enough that this was a very bad thing. He spent a lot of his free time helping Hermione at Grimmauld and being with her all the time was a constant internal battle between good and evil. In a matter of hours he went from thinking about kissing her on and off to wanting more than that almost everytime he saw her or thought of her. He craved for her physical contact but the few times they inadvertently touched was like torture. They reminded him painfully of what he couldn't have. It was almost obsessive. He desired her more than he desired any other woman in his life and he didn't know what to do..

Hermione had not yet signed above the dotted line to make it officially hers but she had definitely made it her own. By the third day she moved into the guest bedroom while still undecided about how she wanted the main bedroom set up. She thought it too big for her use and was considering leaving it unoccupied. That night they celebrated at Finnigan's. One of Seamus’ staff was charming little floating hearts all over Finnigan's. Valentine’s Day was almost upon them and he wondered.

"So, are you and Mike going out on Friday?"

"Mike? You mean Miles."

"Yes, the communications guy, whatever his name is."

Hermione had drinks with him after work a couple of days ago and had dinner with him last night. She was meeting up with him again tonight. To Harry it meant the guy was serious and Hermione the same. The arrogant little twit was grinning so much in the elevator this morning he had to fight the urge to hex the prick. This whole Hermione dating thing bothered him. It bothered him a lot.

"He asked but I haven't decided yet," she answered, "What about you? Do you have plans with Bimbo Six?"

"I told you Cheryl and I aren't dating."

Cheryl was one of Kingsley’s assistants Hermione happened to see him talking with one time.

"I'm sure there's someone in line worthy to be number seven," she retorted sarcastically.

Despite telling Hermione that Ginny had told him she wanted to see other people his friend was still on him about giving his ex-girlfriend a call and had been since she got back from Perth.

"Actually no."

"No?" she was skeptical.

"I've been less in demand since your interview."

"What interview?"

“Don’t you give me that innocent look,” he wagged a finger in her face, “The Socials section of the Prophet published it a few days ago, the one given by a close friend of mine who chose to remain anonymous.”

She chuckled, “Oh that interview. Since when did you read the Prophet socials?”

“You think it’s funny.”

“No, well okay, yes. I only did it to set Gates’ lies about you straight. I didn’t think it would actually work.”

“You pictured me as this lunatic hung up on my ex,” he exaggerated.

“I did not,” she denied, “I merely pointed out that you were still emotionally devastated by the break-up, which you are.”

“Were," he corrected, making her frown, "And that thing about feeling sorry for the rebound girl?”

“That’s just common sense really. Every person with half a brain knows that nothing good ever comes out of being the rebound girl,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You’re such a witch,” he said endearingly.

“I know,” she smiled sweetly, her eyes sparkled and he wanted to kiss her right then and there.

I am so fucked…

"I think I might join the gang on Friday," he blurted out.

By gang he meant their Hogwarts mates who were in town.

"You mean Neville's roundabout attempt to get Hannah to go out with him?"

"You girls know about that, huh?"

She rolled her eyes, "Of course we do. You really should tell Neville just to go on ahead and ask."

"He's afraid she'd say no," Harry replied, "How does Hannah feel about him?"

"Did he send you to spy for him?"

"If he did you'd be the last person I'd talk to. Neville isn't that twisted. I just thought it would be good to give his confidence a boost but I don't want to get his hopes up unnecessarily."

She gave out an exasperated sigh, "Men these days."

"What?"

"You would fearlessly jump into a fight without strategy sooner than putting yourselves at risk for rejection," she was starting up again.

"I should really start recording all your rants for posterity," he teased.

"What's the matter with old fashioned courting? With declaring yourself and your intentions? With putting yourself out without knowing what your chances are?"

"So what are Neville's chances with Hannah?"

"That depends," she said with eyes narrowed and lips pursed, "How much time is he willing to invest?"

He was laughing inwardly. It was a negotiation of sorts.

"At most a month," he estimated, "Unless he sees something encouraging."

"Tell him to make it two," she countered, "Is he at least thinking flowers?"

"Possibly."

"Hannah likes white roses."

"I'll pass it on."

They had just finished their conversation when Mark or Melvin or whatever his name was arrived at Finnigan's and interrupted. He barely heard Hermione when she said they were going to spend the night in Muggle London, preoccupied by the sight of the git's hand looking very out of place on the small of Hermione's back. He had a vision of breaking the twerp's fingers one at a time.

Harry stayed for a bit then decided he couldn't stand sitting at the bar drinking and thinking about her with someone else. He walked and found himself at Grimmauld, her place now, filled with details about her, details he didn't know about her before, details he now found too overwhelming.

He went up the flight of stairs and went to the one room that wasn't her yet. Deciding to leave the lights off, he pulled the window and French door curtains back to allow moonlight to stream into the room. A row of paint cans caught his attention and without much thought he picked up a brush, dipped it into one of them and began painting.

Hours passed. It was finally done. He cleared the paint, rollers and brushes away and positioned the king size bed Hermione had intended for the room where he felt it should go. Lying down face up he tested the view she would have if she ever decided to use it. It was calming and soothing as he had hoped it would be. He liked it. He liked it too much. It didn't take long for him to imagine her lying next to him, the two of them, falling asleep and waking up to this. Him falling asleep and waking up next to her.

It wasn't so hard to imagine spending days and nights with her here at all. He realized then that this desire he had for her wasn't going to go away easily. It wasn't all physical. His need for her ran deeper than what his body had betrayed him to believe.

He liked the idea of this being their bed, their room, their place. He liked it because he liked being with her, because she allowed him to be himself; she made him feel safe and secure about who he was. He liked himself best when he was with her.

Harry thought of his apprehension about crossing the line with her. He was beginning to question it. They were both single and unattached. She was attractive, smart and, though not known to be funny, made him laugh. He wasn’t that bad either. He was certainly better looking than Maurice. So, why not?

But it was all about him, his wants, his happiness. He was and probably always would be selfish that way. What about her? What about her wants, her happiness? From the top of his head he couldn't think of what would be in it for her over and above what his friendship was giving her now.

She wanted true love; unconditional and forever. He couldn't think that the way he cared about her now, though unconditional and forever, was what she had in mind. She was talking chivalry and knights in shining armour sweeping her off her feet. He wasn't like that, at least not for her. She knew him to be as flawed as the next guy and not the hero everyone else unquestioningly looked up to. And he had always thought that was entirely a good thing.

There was another thing; Harry couldn't offer her something he himself wasn't sure of. He cared about her very much and wanted to be with her but after their talk about what love meant to each other he couldn't honestly say that what he felt for her now was what he thought true love would be. As much as he wished it were he needed time to figure that out.

And if this was indeed less than what he thought true love would be he needed to decide if it was worth risking what they already had. Would it be too cruel to go through with it knowing it wasn't exactly what they wanted? Or should they spare themselves the pain of having to let go when the time came?

Thinking how it was so much simpler if they had nothing to lose, he dozed off on their bed, in their room, in their place and dreamt about her coming in as he slept, tucking him in, wishing him a good night and kissing him, her soft lips brushing once against the top of his head and then ever so lightly on his mouth.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I couldn’t imagine him knowing for sure how he felt in such a short period of time.

How does one know for sure anyway? Does one ‘just know’?

A/N. Finally satisfied with this one. In it Hermione finds herself struggling to figure Harry out. Hope you have fun reading between the lines.

Happy New Year to all.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 27 - A Difficult Read

It was late Valentine's night. Finnigan's was crowded even more than the usual Friday. Most of the patrons were couples ensconced in the dimmed out main dining area completely separated from rowdier groups like theirs who were being served in the function rooms, friends spending the night together and just having a good time.

Their table was definitely having a good time. Almost all of them had a little too much to drink, except Jessie who had not passed out yet and hence was fine based on her own standards. Actually, now that Hermione thought of it, maybe Ginny's ex-room mate was a bit tipsy for she and Seamus, who had given himself most of the night off, were openly flirting with one another and the night was still young.

In their advanced state of inebriation, Hermione wondered if anyone else was aware that Padma Patil and Terry Boots were playing footsie under the table or noticed the obvious that Justin and the male friend he brought with him were lovers. Ernie's date had left earlier; the Healer had to work a late shift at St. Mungo's and Susan and her date had just moved into the main room with Parvati and her boyfriend for some privacy. Neville and Hannah, for whom they had made a point to be there, were finally loosening up. It was time to make an exit before she completely felt out of place.

"Okay, next question," Justin was facilitating part of the entertainment tonight, "For the girls. Imagine you're in bed making out with some guy you just met with a definite intention of going all the way..."

Seamus interrupted with an all knowing tone, "Girls, you're all gonna have to really stretch your imaginations here."

That drew a mix of laughter and jeers from his friends.

Justin continued, "What is the worst thing that he can say or do that will totally kill it for you; 'a', ask you to blow him, 'b', blow air out of his ass or 'c', blow before you do?"

He paused in between the options to allow reactions of varying degrees of approval and disgust.

"That depends," Jessie was the first to answer, "Is he well endowed?"

"Assume extremely so," Seamus grinned smugly.

"Then it'll have to be 'a' for me," Jessie replied thoughtfully, “I gag easily.”

"That's a fucking tragedy," Seamus answered back, his expression deflated.

Hermione chuckled at their exchange as everyone else did.

"Definitely 'b'," Padma weighed it, shuddering, "Total turn off."

"I concur," Hannah agreed.

She could not help but laugh internally; the things one finds out about one's friends. All eyes shifted on her.

"'C'," she put simply.

"'C'? Why 'c'?" Ernie asked.

In her usual fashion, Hermione dissected the choices one by one.

"'A' is negotiable; just because one asks doesn't necessarily mean one will get…"

"I'm feeling sorry for that guy she’s making out with already," Seamus side barred, drawing chortles once again.

Hermione playfully told him to shut up and carried on, "And if I'm about to get down and dirty with a complete stranger, 'b' will not deter the desperation that got me there..."

"Excellent point," Padma said.

"Am I the only one having trouble imagining Hermione getting down and dirty?" Neville asked Hannah rhetorically, who laughed in response to his shock.

"That leaves me with 'c'," Hermione continued, "And once 'c' happens that will kill it for me regardless of me choosing 'a' or 'b'."

"Because?" Seamus asked.

"Because we all know that most guys are pretty useless after they’ve fired the one good shot they have in them," she replied, causing uproar from the men around the table. The women cheered and sided with her as she elucidated the point further, "I'd be totally pissed off if the cocked gun in my hand goes off without hitting my desired target. Any decent man should know bloody well how women feel about indiscrimate firing."

She was definitely drunk. That added howls and unladylike giggling at their table as comments came from around the table.

"Aren't all guns required by law to come with safeties?"

"A feature usually disabled while in action."

"I swear that one guy I dated a couple of times didn't come with one."

"You mean...?"

"Yes!"

More laughter.

"I think Hermione deserves another stiff drink for saying cocked and bloody in one breath!"

"A toast," Seamus poured them all another round, lifted his glass and toasted, unable to keep a straight face, "To Hermione Granger; gun specialist!"

"Here, here."

There was the sound of glass chinking everywhere. She laughed with them, tipped her shot glass into her mouth and. downed what Seamus called the Gryffindor Stinger. The hot, searing liquid burned through each part of her it touched and she almost choked on it. One of these days she was going to ask Jessie to check Seamus' drinks for toxicity for Hermione was almost sure some of them were downright lethal. After their glasses fell heavily onto the table, she got up and donned her scarf and coat.

"Gotta go folks," she announced amidst protests by the rest.

"Stay for a couple more rounds," Seamus pleaded from across the table, "You haven't even had my Slytherin Annihilator."

"Maybe next time," she knew better than to risk it.

She managed to escape into her own little world. It had been a long day, too long for a day she had a love-hate relationship with. When she got home she heard what she had hoped she wouldn't. Silence never bothered her before but silence at Grimmauld made her lonelier. As much as she loved the place it felt empty particularly tonight.

One of her theories about why she felt this way was because in her memory the house was never this tranquil. There were always voices and noises within it, even when it was uninhabited, in the past. She laughed at herself as she thought the last thought she just had. Just for tonight she actually would have been thankful to hear the shrill scream from the portrait of one of the former owners of the old Black house. It was that bad.

She marched up the flight of stairs and stopped briefly at the entrance of the master bedroom before going in. Since the day she moved in and decided to use the smaller bedroom, she had made it a point to see it when she got home, hoping the feeling of being alone while in it would go away.

The master bedroom was psychologically too big, giving her this restlessness that something was missing. It was that 'having no one in her life' thought festering like an open wound. At least in her small bedroom on her much smaller bed she didn't feel this alone.

Two nights ago the lonely feeling did go away. That night she found Harry in it. He had come in while she was out and did some work, something he had done a few times during the past week. She didn't mind that he did. He knew pretty much what she needed done.

Except this room was different. They had sat in it one time with several possible themes on parchment spread out before them but none of them seemed appropriate. She couldn't decide what to do with it and Harry, the other night, did this on his own.

She pulled all the curtains back and looked at his handiwork. As she suspected she couldn't duplicate the scene from the other night. She climbed into bed anyway, rested her head on the same pillow Harry did and let his choice of colors take her away. He went with varying hues of blue with off white accents. The effect, particularly on that moonlit night, was soothing to the mind and body. It brought a peace within her that she had never experienced before.

Or maybe that was because Harry was sleeping soundly beside her. She couldn't stay long enough to figure that out and left the second the delusions came, the ones of this being their bed, in their room and in their place. She left before she did something she for sure would regret. Tucking him in snugly under a warm blanket before she did, she fought off the ideas she had as her eyes fell on his mouth.

His mouth, she thought. It felt like hours before sleep overtook her that night when all she could think about was his mouth wasting away in the room next door doing nothing. The need for him physically had grown exponentially since her acceptance of what he meant to her. It was now at a point that working with him everyday and seeing him almost every night was close to unbearable. Never did it cross her mind that something so uncontrollably primal could exist and if not for the constant reminder of what she was to him, she would have given in to it already..

She had no choice; she couldn't refuse to work with him nor could she turn down his offer to help with Grimmauld. She consoled herself that Dean would be back soon and that there wasn't a lot more to do at Grimmauld. Surely she could hang on for another week or so.

That was probably wishful thinking. She kind of slipped the morning after Harry slept in 'their' bed. Sleep deprived from the night before, she woke up to the heavenly aroma of strong coffee mingling with the scent of sweet cinnamon bread. For a moment she thought she was ten years old, living at home and waking up to her Mum's cooking.

It didn't take long for her to figure out she wasn't ten anymore and it was somebody else in her kitchen. Shortly after a quick washroom detour she joined the cook fearing that if she dilly dallied he might get ideas about serving breakfast in bed. This was yesterday morning.

"Good morning," he greeted with a smile.

"Good morning," she returned in kind, "Need help?"

Having worked in the house with him since she agreed to buy it they had dispensed with the nuissance of formalities surrounding meals and meal preparation. He liked cooking, at least more than she did, and didn't mind taking charge. It was the only time, he discovered with some amusement, when she had no issues about being told what to do.

"Nope, almost set," he placed a bowl of cut strawberries in the midst of the marble counter where they usually ate, "Sorry I crashed up there without notice. I didn't realize I was that tired."

"No worries," she replied slipping behind him to get to the top cupboards, "You're always welcome here and technically, it is still your house."

Maybe she shouldn't have given him such an open invitation.

"Ben said he'll drop off the latest version of the contract this afternoon," he told her, "He's hopeful fifth time's a charm."

"I did warn him I was thorough."

"I did tell him you weren't kidding."

She was reaching for a couple of clean cups on the top shelf but with Harry somewhat in the way she was an inch too short.

"Let me," he offered.

He reached over but had to lean into her to get to them too.. The unexpected contact and the awareness of him invading her personal space made her involuntarily stop breathing which, from her knowledge of physiology, wouldn't go well with her now wildly beating heart. He flashed her a half grin as he handed her the cups. She wasn't sure if she actually smiled back as she was busy imagining how the day old stubble he had would feel against her skin. She did clear her throat to mask the catch up breath she had to take. Fortunately he seemed focused on something else.

"What time did you get in last night?"

"About two," she replied, pouring him a cup of his usual black and set it at his place on the counter.

"That late," he judged with disapproval, "This thing with Morris seems to be getting serious."

"Miles..." she corrected him for the umpteenth time, "...is a good guy."

Harry interrupted before she could tell him she wasn't seeing Miles anymore, "He's not your knight in shining armour. I"m betting he's a pretender or a trying hard wannabe.."

The latter was probably true but his tone drew her ire. He was never this openly nasty about other people's inadequacies.

"What a mean thing to say."

"I'm not taking it back," he answered back, whisking the now frothy eggs in the bowl in his hand like he was beating them into submission.

"Stop picking on him," she admonished, "What's with you anyway?"

"What?"

"You've been as moody as hell the past few days," Hermione confronted him.

Something had been bugging him on and off lately. One second he seemed perfectly normal then sullen the next. She suspected it was about Ginny and the fast approaching Valentine's day, his first not being with her. If only he opened up about it he would feel much better and would stop picking on her and the man she was dating, um, had dated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he responded with an edge, the sound of eggs sizzling in pan reflecting his current disposition, "Are you going out with the knight rental tomorrow?"

"No. I'm joining you and the gang," she retorted sharply, somewhat regretting that decision particularly if he was going to be moping about Ginny all night.

"Good."

Harry put portions of the veggie omelet onto their plates. He wasn't going to admit it. She might as well tell him what to do.

"You should call Ginny. See her. Get this thing out of your system,"

Harry didn't like what she just said either and with exasperation reminded her, "Ginny wants to play the field."

Did she have to spell out the writing on the wall for him? It was painful enough to see it so obviously.

"No. She doesn't. She only thinks she does but she doesn't. Just talk to her," she snapped at him, having had enough of their stupidity already.

"Fine. I'll call her."

That calmed him down, and her too. They eventually got to eat breakfast and talked about the master bedroom, how she loved what he did with it, and how she was thinking about sharing the house for both company and practicality. He apologized for his attack on 'Matt' and expressed his stand against having her future housemate have the bigger room.

"I toiled for hours putting that room together," he was using guilt as a weapon to make her change her mind, "And this is the thanks I get?"

She chuckled at his fake protest.

"You're laughing," he shook his head.

"I told you I loved it, didn't I?" she said with a what-else-do-you-want tone.

"You're giving it away to some outsider."

"I'm renting it out," she corrected.

"Even worse," he couldn't hide the smile in his eyes..

On the outside their conversation seemed trivial but to her it was a rare moment when there was not another thought in her mind except pure bliss. And it wasn't just this one exchange of light hearted banter with Harry that brought it about Every time with him lately was like living in a bubble of possibility, giving her a glimpse of a life of perfect existence where nothing else mattered and where there was nothing else she could ever want. It was living as she hoped living the rest of her life would be, at least the personal part of it, and she couldn't contain the exuberance she felt for seeing it possible. She leaned forward from across the counter.

"Come closer," she coaxed in an appeasing tone in keeping with his teasing her for her lack of appeciation for what he did.

He didn't comply at first, wary about what she was up to, "So you can insult the artist in me right to my face?"

"Shut up, Harry. Just come closer."

He did as she asked, stopping about a foot away from her face then raised his brows as if to ask 'what'?

So maybe she should have qualified her instruction to include exactly how close she wanted him to be.

"I love what you did with the room. It's beautiful," she said quietly, noticing how his gaze wandered to her mouth.

"You said that already," he replied, his warm breath, that of cinnamon, reaching her senses instantaneously and without his eyes on hers, she found it only natural to watch him speak too.

"I appreciate the valuable time and artistic energy you put into it," she was serious and he too lost the smile that was on his face.

"You do, huh? Well, to me actions speak louder than words..."

"Okay," she swallowed the lump in her throat, thinking about kissing him, tasting his mouth, and wondering what he would think that action spoke of.

She leaned in closer but aborted her intentions at the very last second. Instead, she hastily gave him a loud smooch on the top of his head and snapped back into her seat.

Whew!

On her way back Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry's reaction and suspected he sensed what almost happened there. He chose to escape it as she did. Harry was a gentleman, after all. It was to help her save face..

"What the hell was that?" Harry complained jokingly, carrying on his earlier pretense.

"A token of appreciation. Why? Didn't it feel like one?"

Of course it didn't, you fool..

"How old do you think I am? Five? I expected more."

Was he flirting with her? Was Harry flirting with her? She had to test this out.

"What exactly were you expecting?"

He shrugged, "Just more."

Yes, no, maybe. Dammit. You've read this man like a children's book all your life. Now's not the time to lose that skill.

"That's all I am prepared to give right now," she said cautiously, "Perhaps next time you should be clearer about what it is that you expect."

"Perhaps next time I will."

He smiled right after and they let it go. In the end he was back to normal and she dismissed her earlier thought about his flirtation as totally delusional. She did promise him she would reconsider renting out what he now referred to as his 'masterpiece'. In truth she felt a lot more attached to it and was optimistic she wouldn't feel so alone in there anymore. That optimism didn't last very long.

Late last night Ginny called. Ginny called to tell her that Harry called and that she invited him over for dinner. Hermione couldn't hear much after that and the only clear thing she remembered of the entire episode was saying to herself, 'Of all the times to listen to me...". And when Harry let her know this morning that he couldn't make it tonight it stung more than she anticipated. A part of her was looking forward to spending the night with him, even just as friends.

Yes, the masochistic part of you. You never learn your lesson when it comes to him. This is killing you. You should really make up your mind about how close you want to be

Actually she wasn't undecided (though she was probably losing it as she just realized she was arguing with her inner voice). She was procrastinating on committing herself to a decision that would be good for her but one she probably wouldn't be able to stick to. The decision was simple. If she wanted to be happy she had to move on and find someone else to love; someone who would love her back. She had to stop making her happiness contingent on his. She had to stop caring about him this much.

But it was pretty hard to stop caring about someone who was borderline sweet, paid more attention to her than she thought she deserved and was around her almost all the time. How the hell was she supposed to care about him less?

The one answer that made sense was that she should spend less time with him. In a way it was good that they weren't working again until Monday and that she had some after work volunteering next week. And if need be there was always going out with Miles again. Merlin, did she really just think that? She scolded herself for the shameful thought that surfaced out of desperation. Here she was, close to compromising her sense of fairness because she didn't think she could tell Harry to leave her alone?

This was ridiculous. Saying 'no' was easy for her; Ron certainly believed so while they were still together. All she needed was to see herself do it. She practiced mentally.

"Sorry Harry. I can't."

Drop the apology. It's not necessary.

"Harry, I'm busy tonight."

Good.

"Go bug someone else, Harry."

A bit of sting in it wouldn't hurt.

"I'm in love with you and I'd really appreciate it if you left me alone."

Better use less honesty. She groaned inwardly. She needed more practice, a lot more.

Her phone rang; it was a call from his. She could only think it was them calling to tell her they had made up and that they owed her. That image of them together again cut through her like it never did before. She let it ring, each passing one making the bed, the room and the place larger and larger, dwarfing her. When it finally stopped she closed her eyes and begged to be swallowed into nothingness.

Then an almost imperceptible noise in the house broke her self piteous attack. There were determined footsteps making their way up from the main floor. She was on her feet in a flash, wand pointed at the entrance.

"Geez," she put her weapon away when she saw who it was, scolding him, "Don't sneak up on me like that."

Harry didn’t seem concerned that she almost hexed him when he replied, "I did try your phone but there was no answer."

"What are you doing here?"

He looked very dapper in the dark blue slacks, the light blue shirt and the sports jacket he had on. He was walking forwards, her heart fluttering wildly as she searched for the answer to her question within his calm expression.

"I dropped by Finnigan's and the gang said you left. I thought I'd try here."

That didn't answer the question she needed answering.

"I mean what are you doing here?" she repeated, "You're supposed to be in Holyhead."

"I was in Holyhead."

"You're supposed to be having dinner with Ginny."

"It's eleven," he chuckled and logically pointed out, "We had to stop eating at some point."

"Don't you get smart with me," she shot him the look, "Why aren't you still there?"

"Because I had to go home."

He had this smirk on his face throughout as if his words had meaning other than what was apparent. Harry saved her asking another question and put her out of her misery.

"We came to the same conclusion that we're good where we are right now. And no, I'm not gonna say 'I told you so' but I do kind of hope you'll back off on this mission of yours to get me and Ginny back together."

She lost all capacity for thought for a few seconds and he assumed her non-response was an answer.

"I guess that was too much to hope for," he heaved a huge sigh, "Here. This is for you"

Hermione just noticed that he had been holding something yellow in his hand all this time. A bunch of...

"Dandelions?"

Hermione took them in her hand perplexed as he explained what they were for, "I'm sorry for bailing on you tonight."

It wasn't like he stood her up but she resisted the urge to tell him there was no need to apologize. Instead she gave him a 'hard time' for his awful timing in seeing Ginny and for causing her pain and anguish, not that she would ever tell him.

"This is your idea of an apology? You're giving me weeds?" she expressed in her most ungrateful tone.

He grinned at her, amusement dancing behind his green eyes, "You did say when it came to flowers you were easy."

She recalled the conversation he was referring to and snorted, "I have to start watching what I say around you."

"That you do,” there he was again with the double meanings, “I brought some pumpkin pie from Finnigan's, left it on the kitchen counter. Are you up to having pie and tea and making an old friend feel less guilty about abandoning you tonight?"

Weeds, pie, and the rest of the night with the man she loved. It seemed like a good deal.

Long live the delusion…

"I need a quick shower to regain some sobriety," she said to her 'old friend' earnestly.

"Okay, but one quick question before you attain full intellectual capacity," he looked seriously curious, "What's this thing about you being a gun specialist?"

Seamus blabbed, the bastard. She couldn't repeat the scene to Harry. It would be too embarrassing.

Hermione smiled back and gave him a dose of his own medicine, "Sorry, Harry. You had to be there."

She left him for a few minutes and returned just when tea became ready. They talked easily until the wee hours of the morning. She told him about Miles (every sordid detail included but only because he insisted) and he told her about his dinner with Ginny. Harry found out that Ginny was seeing someone on a sort of regular basis, a former Prophet co-worker, the same guy Hermione bumped into at Finnigan's last week who she owed for her 'anonymous friend interview'. Lance Elliot had always had a thing for Ginny and Ginny, against her sound advice, had decided to give him a shot. From what she knew of the guy he wasn't bad, but he wasn't Harry either, and Ginny wasn't over Harry. That was a fact even if her best friend wouldn't admit it. And Ginny would have never mentioned Lance unless Harry asked. It bothered her that the answer he got didn't bother him.

After Harry left Grimmauld she thought back about how it had been, yet again, a challenge to read him all night. Maybe the loss had yet to hit him. Maybe he was just putting up a brave front. Or maybe he was over Ginny. She wanted to clarify the maybes but was too afraid to have the more intimate conversation. With the on board alcohol she couldn't trust herself completely. She was already reading too much into his coming to find her to bring her weeds and pumpkin pie.

Note to self...must confirm when judgment less impaired…

But Hermione didn't get the opportunity to validate and gather more information the rest of the weekend. Harry was a no-show. He didn’t even call; not a message, not a note, and his unexplained absence made her anxious. What if something bad happened? Harry was single, unattached, with no official next of kin, and wasn’t due to work until Monday. He could be hurt and in need of medical attention. What if he died because help wasn’t there on time?

Unable to resist she called Saturday night to ask him if he was okay and he replied that he was but couldn't talk long because he had to make dinner. She concluded he had company, Bimbo Number Seven by her count (which he claimed she was too arbitrary and liberal at). And he was making dinner probably at his place. The thought of him being with another woman was enough to keep her from calling him Sunday.

The spare time brought recognition to the difference in how she viewed him with Ginny versus him with anyone else. With Ginny it hurt because she was jealous; with the rest she was as angry as she was hurt. She could only think that this was because it was better the devil she knew than the one she didn't. She probably wouldn't be able to stand it if he fell in love with someone other than Ginny.

Come Monday morning she fully hated the situation she was in and was upset at herself for acting like a crush crazed teenager. Emotionally she felt like a yoyo being thrown into loop after loop after loop. Through small talk she found out that he went camping with Teddy on the weekend, just the two of them, godfather and godson, no women; well, that was most of the weekend.

"Hey Harry, you okay?" the rookie Greengrass asked as they passed him in the hallway on their way to the lifts.

"Just fine, Barry," Harry replied, casting the other wizard some sort of a signal which she picked up to mean shut up but he didn't.

"That was a nasty Bludger you caught in the head yesterday. The Healer at St. Mungo's didn't think you'd be well enough to come in to work."

He must have felt her glower at him for he turned to her to reassure her, "It barely touched me."

She didn't believe him but that wasn't the point.

"You got hurt playing pick-up Quidditch and you didn't think of letting me know?!"

"I couldn't call you. I passed out...for a few minutes," he downplayed it in the end.

"Loss of consciousness becomes a lame excuse once you've regained it," she hissed her reply.

"A few minutes? No, Harry. You were out cold at least two hours," Barry corrected, "Jonesy felt so bad. Didn't think he hit it too hard and we all saw you looking at it we thought for sure you saw it coming."

"I was er…tracking the Snitch," Harry explained, "I guess the HWs won that one. We'll get them next time."

She rolled her eyes as the rookie and one other Quidditch obsessed Auror in audience whooped up what she guessed was a war chant.

As they got to the lifts she gave him her usual speech about the dangers of the sport.

"I don't know why you all insist on using real Bludgers. That's what paint ones were invented for."

"Paint Bludgers aren't the same," he dismissed. "They don't give you enough incentive to duck."

"You could all get hurt badly."

"That's why we have to duck."

She gave up. It was like talking to a brick wall that smiled pleasantly back at her.

"But seriously, are you okay?"

"Seriously, I am."

They were following weak leads on the Jollyweather robbery and were on their way to a Muggle Library, one Kooper Dodgey frequently borrowed books from. He let her drive. He was less chatty today and seemed content to keep his thoughts to himself. As she turned into the Library car park he asked her what she was doing tonight.

"I'm career counselling at the OFE."

The Organization of Free Elves was a relatively new non profit organization whose mandate was to help newly freed Elves integrate into the magical community.

"And tomorrow night?"

"Emergency Girl's night out," she answered, just getting the message an hour ago. As she saw his frustration she was now feeling guilty about her lack of availability, an almost complete turnaround for someone who needed excuses to stay away from him not a few minutes ago, "I'm back at the OFE Wednesday night but I'm free Thursday."

Why don’t you just have his name tattooed on your chest or something?

Harry didn't think Thursday was soon enough.

"It's rather urgent."

"Is something the matter?" she was worried.

"No," he quickly answered, "I just need to talk. What time are you off tonight?"

"Nine, maybe nine-thirty."

"I'll pick you up at the OFE."

He wasn't asking. He needed to talk urgently. She couldn't say 'no' to that.

The man survived five years without you. You don't have to be available all the time.

Note to self...really must practice.

Time passed quickly. Before she knew it the work day was over and they had eliminated a handful of dead end leads. More and more the Jollyweather case seemed like it was going to be one of those that would eventually get pushed to the backburner. She didn't like the thought of her one case with Harry to end up unsolved.

After a stop at Grimmauld to freshen up, she went over to the OFE rented offices near Johanssen and Lake and joined the few other volunteers as involved as her in magical being welfare. Just as she warned higher Ministry officials years ago, the advent of increased rights exposed a huge gap in providing beings the tools to fully exercise and enjoy the freedoms they now had. There was a lot of dissillutionment and backlash from the rough integration and as the Ministry was taking too long to react, a few groups like the OFE scrambled to put up workshops like the ones tonight. After seeing just over twenty elves in two hours about career options she knew what they were doing wasn't nearly enough.

Harry saw a sample of the chaos the OFE was attempting to address when he picked her up. They were among the last ones to leave.

"I knew there was a problem but I didn't know it was this bad," he said, exemplifying average wizard awareness on the matter.

"The Ministry is slow to admit just how big an issue it is," she told him, not hiding her disappointment, "I feel bad because I was one of those who made it possible for them to have the choice. I feel responsible, like I contributed to the problem."

He nodded, knowing her well enough to realize that there was nothing he could say to make her feel less accountable.

"What can I do to help?"

"We need more volunteers here but we could use your influence on Kingsley and the Ministry to push through with additional legislation and funding."

Between the two of them it was better that he initiated talking with the Minister for she wasn't sure if she could be calm about what needed to get done and when. By the time strategy was decided upon they were outside the OFE and she didn't see his car.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

She wasn't.

"They served sandwiches during the break but I can sit with you while you eat."

"I'm not hungry either."

As the reason for their being out that night was upon them Harry seemed more nervous. The sooner he got this off his chest the better.

"I'll meet you at Finnigan's then?" she assumed, hoped, that was where they were going.

"I was hoping we could have this conversation somewhere else."

"Grimmauld?"

He shook his head.

"Where then?"

He frowned, "It's kind of part of the...um..thing."

Not only was he not telling her what and where he wasn't being articulate about it. Something was definitely up.

"Harry, you're freaking me out."

"I'm freaked out myself," he half smiled anxiously.

"I take it we're Disapparating."

“Yes,” he held his hand out, an invitation.

Hermione took a deep breath in and out then searched his eyes for an inkling of what this urgent conversation was about and why they couldn't have it here right now. He wasn't giving anything away nut she did fee like he was telling her to trust him. Fighting off curiosity and worry she decided it best to let him do it his way and in his own time.

Without breaking eye contact, she put her hand into his and felt his firm, steady grip reassure her. She gave him a slight nod to signal her readiness, closed her lids when he did and soon enough she felt the squeezing sensation of Disapparition. Milliseconds later, they were where he wanted them to be.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. So, my Hermione is not always right. Hope that's okay. Any guesses where Harry has taken her?

I'll try not to mess up the next chapter :lol:

A/N. All good guesses about where Harry took her. I went for the not so obvious. I hope I did this justice.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 28 - A Perfect Instance In Time

Hermione knew where they were even before she opened her eyes. The smell of the crisp, cool air, the distant sound of familiar wildlife going about their own business and the crunchy feel of dried leaves beneath her feet were enough to bring back the vivid image of lush evergreens with snow covered peaks in her mind. She remembered the place with such clarity because they spent days living in different parts of it. Harry had taken her back to the Forest of Dean. The question was 'why'?

He let go of her hand as she took in the scene. Where they were currently was not familiar. It wasn't one of the places where they had camped out while they were hiding from Voldemort and hunting for the Horcruxes. They were in a clearing near the bank of a small still pond, natural night light from the new moon filtering through the gap in the forest roof and reflecting off the body of water before them. In the shadows beyond, thick trees lined and traced their perimeter several rows deep and seamlessly blended in with the rest of the forest. The sight took her breath away.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Harry read her mind. He was standing a few feet to her right, admiring the same view she was and watching her reaction. "The first time I was here I didn't appreciate it at all. Goes to show how inaccurate first impressions can be."

Hermione looked on as he conjured a bonfire in between them and the edge of the pond. The fire instantly served its purpose; the mists that were forming from their mouths as they breathed in and out moments ago disappeared and Harry had even shed his jacket as the flame's close proximity had warmed them up. Taking his cue that they were staying she did the same, finding a nearby bush to leave her coat on.

She was about to ask him where they were exactly when the fire flickered and she caught a glimpse of the flattish surface of a rock beside an aged sycamore tree. The stone was interrupted by a jagged blackened imperfection caused by something unnatural. She had her answer.

"This is the pond you almost drowned in," she declared with certainty, moving closer to the edge and studying its clear waters as she was seeing it for the first time.

"Where Ron pulled out the Sword of Gryffindor from and saved my life. Yes."

"And that's where you destroyed the Horcrux in the locket," she motioned over to the rock next to the old sycamore tree.

"Ron did," he corrected.

"I remember," that was what she meant.

Hermione recalled there was snow on the ground that evening and they had just narrowly escaped Voldemort at Godric's Hallow. The pond had been frozen that December night Harry had to jump into it. It was only normal for Harry not to notice how beautiful it was here then.

It had been five years since it happened and they hadn't spoken of it in detail. After living a year of its reality and seeing the havoc Voldemort caused everyday none of them brought those days much up during conversations, preferring to go on with life. Why here and why now? A few reasons, all appalling, popped up in her head. Was this about Voldemort again?

"Why are we here?"

Harry was now standing beside her, the warm light shining off the burdened expression on his face as he gathered himself for what he wanted to say. Her heart was beating hard against her chest as her anxiety grew.

"I need you help sorting something out," Harry said puzzling her even more. "About us."

The thumping screeched to a sudden halt then built up momentum again. Harry hesitated, seemingly unsure of what to say next.

"About us?" she asked, thinking she might not have heard him right, "Do we have a problem?"

She didn't think so but now she wasn't so sure. Harry had been acting strangely all week.

"We could have one depending on how you take what I'm about to tell you," he said ruefully, peering into her eyes with worried ones.

It was then when she realized what it was that was different in how he had been looking at her. His attentiveness to what she said and did, compared to the casual that she was accustomed to, had grown and deepened over the last few weeks. It felt like he was trying to figure her out, something she didn't notice he did before.

He ran his fingers roughly through his black hair, a sure sign of nervousness. This was all coming from way out left field and she was done guessing. Her gut told her to be patient and let Harry do his thing.

"Maybe you should sit," he suggested, motioning to the thick trunk of a fallen tree close by.

"No thanks."

"Are you su...?"

"Harry," she interrupted and was so tempted to rush him but stopped herself in time.

After significant internal deliberation he finally said to her, "Did Ron ever tell you more about that night we destroyed the locket?"

She shook her head, curiosity piqued even more.

Harry continued, "The Horcrux sensed that it was going to die and tried to turn Ron against me."

"How?"

"Ron had been jealous of what we had. You know, how we seemed to figure stuff out together, finish off the other's thoughts," she nodded, knowing what he meant. "He thought that...um…by staying with me when I had that argument with him you cared more about me than you cared about him."

"Yes, I remember," she answered; how could she forget?

"The Horcrux projected copies, images of you and me, mostly saying nasty things to hurt Ron," he shared, "It was feeding off Ron's jealousy, his thoughts, his insecurities, about how his Mum wanted a daughter, how he was second best to me, how you preferred me."

She had wondered if any of the other Horcruxes did something similar to what the other piece of Voldemort’s black soul in Helga Hufflepuff's cup did just as she was about to impale it with the Basilisk's fang. Ron, probably too embarrassed about it, never mentioned that he had seen the scene play out before. No wonder he didn't lose it when images of her and Harry came out from the mouth of the cup and began mocking him.

She felt a need to speak up for Ron, "It was always difficult for him. He kept measuring himself against you."

Hermione suspected Ron still did on occasion. Harry nodded, understanding that it was something Ron knew was foolish too.

"After he stabbed the Horcrux, I stood there..." Harry pointed to a spot a few feet away, "...and I told him there was nothing going on between us, that you're like a sister to me."

She didn't respond, unable to find her voice right away. That hurt. 'Sister', she felt, was a demotion from best friend. Sister meant relative and more an obligation to be with rather than be with by choice. It also meant the absolute absence of normal attraction. Although she was certain Harry meant it in the most positive way she could not do anything about the pain that cut through her. Had they had this conversation weeks ago she would haven't been as sensitive but now...

A sudden horrific thought about why he needed to talk urgently crossed her mind. Did he know how she felt about him? Was he about to tell her he wasn't okay with it? Was this why he was having so much difficulty?

"You we're being honest," she managed to say, though when she did she couldn't look at him straight in the eye, fearful of seeing rejection in them, or worse, pity.

Unfortunately he wasn't quite finished and he added, "I also said I was sure you felt the same way about me, that I'm like a brother to you."

Those words used up the little patience she had left, not sure if it was with her for her continuing idiocy about Harry or with him for not just telling her that she was freaking him out. She lost it.

"What's the point in all this? You said you needed help but it seems like you've got us all sorted out!"

"Why are you upset?" he asked surprised, perplexed and concerned all at the same time, not expecting such a biting reaction.

"I'm not!"

"You're crying."

She didn't notice before but indeed, she was.

"I'm just tired!"

"Did I say something wrong?" he pressed on, his confusion evident.

"It's been a long day," she quickly brushed the warm wetness off her cheeks and turned her back on him, the throbbing ache clouding her thoughts and impairing her ability to converse logically, "I don't know why you brought me here to tell me that we're like brother and sister when you could have done that at Grimmauld, at Finnigan's or even anytime at the Ministry today."

It was a stupid thing to say but it was too late to take it back. Tried as she might she couldn't prevent the deluge from coming. She was sobbing, her thoughts muddled and confused as she attempted to get away from Harry who was trying to get her focussed attention. He was saying something but she couldn't hear him and she couldn't look at him to try and listen. At that point, she didn't even care about what he thought was happening or if he figured out why she was acting the way she was. All she wanted to do was leave and get away from him as far away as she possibly could.

Thinking that she would probably Splinch him or herself or them both if she tried to Disapparate, she turned to him, eyes still burning hot from the tears that wouldn't let up, and pleaded.

"Let me go... Please let me go."

"No!"

He doesn't mean to be mean, her inner voice defended him.

She remembered that her coat and her purse were somewhere, so she walked back near the fire, saying, mostly to herself, "I can't...I can't stay..."

"Hold on a sec, dammit, just hear me out!"

Harry headed her off and grabbed both her hands in his, holding them up near his face to make her look at him. She couldn't get away from him and he wasn't going to let her go until he said whatever it was he wanted to say.

"Hermione, look at me!" he grasped her hands tighter, tugging at them desperately.

"What?!" she snapped at him, clenching her jaw to toughen herself up so she could look him in the eye without tearing up.

"It's changed!" he explained, his tone urgent and pleading for her to believe him, "I meant what I said back then but how I feel about you has changed. I don't know when or how or even what exactly this is but all I can say for sure is that it's different. These past few days I've been trying to deny it and ignore it but it's there and I'm certain there's nothing sisterly about it…"

"Wha...what are you saying?"

"I've been thinking about us lately, about who I am to you and who you are to me. I've been thinking about us a lot and in ways I've never thought about us before. I can't keep this to myself much longer. You did say we men should be more upfront with our intentions so, I'm risking rejection and hoping you won't laugh in my face when I tell you what I'm about to tell you."

"Harry, you're rambling..."

Or maybe that was her, her thoughts racing side by side with his, trying to keep up. She matched his intense stare hoping she'd find understanding there when his words seemed not enough.

"This...," he said, placing the palm of her right hand against his chest, holding it steady there, making her feel the rapid bounding cadence underneath his sweater, "...is what my heart does whenever you touch me, whenever I see you, whenever I think of you. And I've been thinking about you so much I can't work, I can't sleep, I can't even play Quidditch properly. I've been debating whether or not to let you know. I don't want to scare you off but I'm useless like this. I also thought you'd probably figure it out at some point and just get freaked out. I can't afford that to happen. I need your help sorting this out."

The strain on his face was replaced by one of anticipation, of hope about her response. At some point during all that she had stopped crying and had regained some of her mental competency. Okay...there was a perfectly logical explanation for this...

"Just how hard did that Bludger hit your head yesterday?" she queried, eyeing him with suspicion.

"It wasn't the Bludger. I'm fine. At least physically I am," Harry dismissed her supposition quickly, again with that look like he was trying to figure out if she meant something else.

"Then you should see a shrink," she concluded, "You've obviously gone mental and are having a nervous breakdown."

He laughed at that.

"I am not kidding, Potter!" her voice broke as she expressed her frustration at his not taking this too seriously, "This break-up you and Ginny are going through..."

"You're not getting off that easily. This isn't about Ginny."

"You don't know that!"

"Actually, I do. I went to see her, to be sure this has nothing to do with her," he revealed and emphatically added, "I know this has nothing to do with her."

"Are you toying with me? Did Dean put you up to this?" he shook his head; "It was Seamus, wasn't it? I'm gonna hex him. I'm gonna hex him right after I deal with you!"

Harry, much to her irritation, was still finding this all entertaining, "Why is it so hard to believe that I fancy you?"

"Because I've been around you forever and you never have," that was easy.

"We don't always see things clearly the first time around."

"Why now?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. Does it matter?"

Her eyes wandered to where he continued to hold her hand against his chest.

"Can you let go of me so I can go home?"

Hermione was still processing how fast his heart was beating against the palm of her hand but she couldn't think properly with him being so close and acting this way. She couldn't go on facing him like this, touching him and being touched by him, having physical contact with him that now meant something. This was going to be a problem.

He did as she asked.

"So that's it? You won't even give me a chance?" he asked calmly, too calmly she sensed he was up to something.

"A chance to do what?"

"To go out with you."

"I go out with you all the time," she pointed out, that was definitely going to change.

"Stop pretending you don't know what I'm talking about. I mean go out," he was chuckling, "Like on a date."

"Why?!"

"I hate to be unoriginal but basically for same general reasons men ask women out."

"Cut it out, Harry, I mean it!"

"I mean it too," he replied, "I just want a chance. I want a fair shot just like Miles had."

"You finally got his name right; imagine that."

She needed a moment to think. Was this really happening?

"What does he have that I don't? Miles got to three dates. Did you let him kiss you? No, wait, I don't want to know. But how fair is that? You didn't even know the guy and you went out with him three times. You know me and you won't even consider going out with me once."

"Guilt tripping me is not going to work," she said to him, then added, "And Miles and I never kissed, just so you know."

"Why won't you go out with me?" he asked.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"You don't find me attractive, huh," he was being silly, "Is it the scar?"

"Quit trying to be cute with me," she scolded.

It is so working. Ugh!

"I'll assume that means you do find me attractive," he announced happily, bringing out his boyish charm that annoyingly made her want to throw herself at him, "You know, people actually go out on dates based on that alone."

"People date to get to know each other. We already know each other."

He smiled goofily, "That is debatable."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation as she blushed. It was getting way too hot around him.

"That's not the point."

"What is your point? We're both unattached, have admitted to finding each other attractive, why can't we date each other?"

She had to admit that what he just said made sense. He just confessed to being attracted to her and while in her mind she should be jumping into his arms, she wasn't. She didn't know exactly why that was but suspected it had something to do with the fact that truth or not, this was not something she ever thought she'd ever have to deal with. It was throwing her off.

After all these years he finally noticed her; big deal. This physical reaction of his she could easily attribute to the fact that he just ended a long relationship and they were spending so much time together. Did he expect that she would be ecstatic to hear how his sisterly feelings for her had changed to one of...lust? This was even worse than being his 'sister'.

It was not the time to be all negative but she couldn't help it. Coming back here brought back memories of how different they were from each other and how they disagreed on many things. Loving him from afar was one thing but being with him? She hadn't thought about it before but were they even compatible?

Stupid...stupid...stupid... Isn't this what you wanted? You're finally getting a chance to be with the man you love! What is wrong with you?!

He doesn't feel the same way about me.

I thought you said you would accept what he had to offer even if it was less than what you wanted?

I haven't hexed him and left him to rot here, have I?

What are you scared about?

That it won't work anyway because it's not the real thing for him. It's risking a lot and for what? To scratch an itch?

"Harry, we're friends. We have too much history."

The man did his research; he had a ready rebuttal.

"But isn't history a good thing? No awkward adjustments, no need to feel each other out. I reckon that should eliminate the need for dates one and two right there."

"I don't want to lose good friends. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't."

"Harry..."

He guessed what her next point was.

"Ginny will be fine. She'll understand and she'll be happy for us," then qualified his last statement, "If we do end up together."

Hermione knew Ginny better than he did and she wasn't so sure about that. There was an unwritten rule between best friends that ex's were off limits.

"And I'm certain Ron wouldn't mind either."

That one she didn't quite agree with him either. He was wishful thinking, living in some dream world.

"That's not what I'm most concerned about," she said to him gravely, trying to figure out a way to say what she was about to say without insulting him

"You don't think what I feel is the real deal," he read her mind again.

"It's not what you hope it is," she said it to him straight.

"How can you be so sure it isn't?" he asked, challenging.

"Because I know you. I just know."

"Well I don't. I have to find out for sure and this is the only way I know how. Look, I know I'm also not who you expect to be with but all I want is a chance," he repeated his request.

'Also'...of course she wasn't who he thought he would be with. Hearing the truth in different ways didn't make it sound better. It made her feel like she was an afterthought; come to think of it she was an afterthought. Rebound girl; his rebound girl. How could she have not seen this coming?

The more she considered what he was asking the more she thought about how badly she could get hurt. It was after all a basic instinct to want to survive. He wasn't sure - she was.

"All I want is for us to try it out and to be able to say that we did try even if it doesn't work. I don't want regrets. Life's too short."

She groaned inwardly asking herself why he had to make so much sense.

"If we do this and it doesn't work out the way we hope it will, at least one of us can get really hurt. Are you prepared for that?"

"No," came his honest reply, "But I've thought about it. I care about you and I know you care about me. I would never hurt you deliberately and I know it's the same for you. If we do this and it doesn't work out, we'll just have to remember that."

Harry made it sound easier than she knew it was going to be. Not surprisingly, even though she didn't agree, it was enough reassurance that he believed she would never hurt him intentionally.

They held each other's gaze for a few seconds, hers one of concern and his one of hope, then he said to her, "If we do this and it works out, imagine that."

Harry gave her a broad smile, his excitement and enthusiasm rubbing off on her. It was pretty hard to argue with that. The thought of them being together freed her from her reservations and the risks faded into the background. He was right. Life was too short. Not doing this was really not an option anymore. Like him she couldn't imagine living with this huge 'what if' hanging over their heads.

"What exactly do you want from me, Harry?" her voice was steady despite just realizing the enormity of what they were just about to do.

"For starters, an open mind that this could work and your heart in it one hundred percent."

He had no idea.

"And?"

"The less you know the less chances you'll bail out," he thought for a moment and added carefully, "Why were you upset earlier?"

Figuring he deserved at least one sincere answer, she took the palm of his hand and placed it over her chest, letting him feel the thumping in it that hadn't let up. He recognized its meaning instantly.

She explained, "It was um...a nonverbal protest...to what you said about us being brother and sister."

"I see. When did this happen?"

"I'm not sure," she answered; it was kind of true.

"Do you...do you think it's the real thing?" he asked, very concerned.

Hermione saw his mind like it was hers. He didn't expect her to be attracted to him the same way he was to her. Just the possibility that she loved him for real as they had talked about, unconditionally and forever, scared him. She didn't want Harry pressured into feeling that way about her.

"I don't know," she lied, "You're not who I expect to be with either."

It was better that he believed they were in the same boat. An enormous cloud lifted from within him. As usual she was right.

They looked at each other, his eyes sparkling, his beaming smile absolutely worry-free and easy. Seeing this she latched onto his belief that this could work and felt herself smiling too.

"You know, I just realized something," he said, his arms finding their way around her waist, gently pulling her closer, "We've known each other for more than ten years. Strictly speaking, and you pointed this out earlier, there is not much purpose for dating."

She frowned, "Are you trying to get away from wining and dining me?"

"No, of course not," he denied with a chuckle, knowing she was teasing, "I'm merely hoping to expedite the exploration of certain aspects of dating we're not familiar with yet."

His voice faded as his gaze deepened, unmasking for her his innermost desires.

"I'm a bit slow today," she muttered, "You're going to have to show me what you mean."

"Hermione," he breathed her name.

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you now?"

"Only if you feel a compelling need to," she answered.

His eyes fell to her mouth and hers fell on his. Harry leaned down and their lids fluttered close as he pressed his mouth lightly against hers, unleashing a frenzy of butterflies within her. He moved his soft lips ever so slightly and kissed her with brushing featherlike strokes, tasting, testing, waiting for a reply. She responded to his enticing invitation, kissing him back in kind, feeling each and every nerve ending on her tingle with approval and excitement.

Harry took another step closer, gently pulled her flush against him and kissed her in an obviously unsisterly manner, caressing each and every part of her mouth with his in a slow sweet dizzying pace. Her arms had made their way up around his neck, her body aching for the feel of his embrace. She parted her lips slightly allowing their breaths to mingle, his a minty scent that she would store into her memory forever.

Each passing second their kiss became deeper, longer, needier. It was evident that they wanted each other more. His hands moved to her back, his strong arms now pulling her hard against him, while her entirety strained to feel him. His tongue followed the outline of her lips, teasing, tempting, driving her insane. She couldn't wait for him any longer. She tilted her head, pulled him down and crushed his lips with hers, her fingers digging into his hair. A muffled groan escaped him as she probed his mouth with her seeking tongue and stroke his passionately in a mind emptying blaze. He matched her fervour, driving his lips hard against hers, feeding fuel to their already fiery desire.

They broke apart at the same time, breathless, hot, still entangled in each other's arms. She had her eyes closed still, thinking about what to say to him when they eventually had to talk and she couldn't come up with anything. She was trembling from the excitement all this was causing within her. When she finally lifted her lids her eyes ran into his green piercing ones, dazed and as full of want as hers.

"Whoa...."

He accurately summed up succinctly. His voice swayed her unsteadily, her desire for him, all of him, overwhelming her like never before.

She saw a smile creep up at the corners of his mouth, "I guess this means you will go out with me."

"We'll discuss terms later."

Thankfully he got the hint. He kissed her again, this time more confidently, more daringly, the joy he felt about things working out permeating through his act. Feeling him happy like this gave her a rush of euphoria too. His happiness was her happiness and the idea, the thought, the fact, that she was directly responsible for it, well, was exhilarating.

So they kissed by the fire on this beautiful night, the trees, the forest creatures, the new moon and the still pond, all witnesses to what she couldn't adequately describe and he couldn't identify. Several times he got too hot, making it necessary for them to take pause. She could feel his resolve to maintain control but unless they stopped kissing or touching it was a lost battle.

It would be cruel to forego what they were doing and it wasn't only him. She wanted him badly. She needed him badly. Reasonable thinking pointed them to wait, to not rush, and that was what Harry in his usual noble way was trying to do. But swept by the passion blazing between them she could only think of how right the moment was. She had known and loved the man for more than half her life; not sleeping with him after tonight, knowing that he desired her too, was unimaginable. And if he figured he didn't love her after all this then they would at least have this perfect instance in time.

Hermione had to make the offer and hope that he wouldn't decline. She broke off their heated kiss. Under his questioning expression she conjured thick warm blankets and laid them out on the mound of dried leaves near their feet. She kicked off her shoes and took his hand in hers, tugging him gently as she stepped onto the makeshift bed.

With worry he asked, "Are you sure about this?"

She nodded and convinced that she was was all he needed to know. He joined her. She lay on her back and welcomed his mouth on hers again, noting his loss of restrain as they both held nothing back. With his body on hers, he left her mouth and began a trail of blistering kisses down one side of her neck then up the other, each one more pressing than the previous as she gave him better access. She could feel him struggling as she was to slow down and prolong the pleasures of the moment, battling against the mad rush to gain more intimacy.

Her hands worked their way down and tugged his sweater loose, slipping them under, finding skin to touch. His were under her top, caressing her too. She let out a moan as he nibbled where her neck joined her shoulder causing a wave of gratifying impulses throughout her.

While the fire burned they burned beside it. He momentarily stopped kissing her and propped himself up. He pulled his sweater off in one motion and patiently watched her as she got out of hers. Covering themselves with warm blankets she shivered at the heavenly feel of his bare chest against her bosom. He soon slipped and disappeared under the covers, kissing her, devouring her flesh, bare inch by bare inch. With a single try he freed up her breasts from their support and languidly partook of them, one at a time. He was setting her ablaze.

She writhed helplessly under his adept ministrations as she let every little sensation he incited take over. Her hands wandered aimlessly, his hair, his back, then back to his hair. And just when she thought there was nothing else he could do to work her up, his trail of kisses inched lower while his fingers unfastened her skirt, discarded it and all that was underneath it.

Completely naked and exposed she felt disadvantaged. She pulled him up towards her before he could continue with his designs and kissed his mouth hard.

"You first," he said to her huskily in between kisses.

"No. Not tonight," she replied, ravaging his mouth equally, rejecting his noble offer.

Unmindful of his protest she unhooked his pants and unzipped it. He groaned a swear as she slipped her hand into his trousers and wrapped it around his fullness, sliding it in and out. Harry retaliated, stroking the nubbin of excitable flesh guarding her entrance gently but purposefully, muffling her own guttural response with a raw kiss. His tongue swooped in as he fingered her like a virtuoso on some string instrument, driving her to the brink.

All of her turned to mush and her mind fogged over. Somewhere out there she heard the faint sound of crackling firewood. The pale moonlight glistened off their partially exposed naked bodies. Harry, her Harry, the Harry she loved, was making love to her. It was just him and her, just how she had hoped it would be.

She wouldn't last long the way he was playing her. Letting go of the wand in her hand and finding another close by, she magically removed the rest of Harry's garments and silently conjured a contraceptive spell. She made room for him and as he slid naturally in between her legs, he looked down upon her, drowning her in his eyes crazed with desire as she had never seen before. Harry wanted her with an intensity that blew her away. It was at that exact moment that she knew she would belong to him for all of eternity.

Breathless and swooning, she wanted him; all of him; now. Her eyes would have said it all. He took her, filling her to depths no one had ever before. No adjectives could adequately describe the bliss of having him in her completely, body, mind and soul. He moved in and out of her rhythmically, slow and deep at first, the motion awakening more of what he already had. His pace quickened and she could feel him driving himself harder against her. Her hands rested on his buttocks, guiding him in closer with each incursion, her hips arching up to get him deeper than deep. They were so close and as if on cue, they looked at each other lovingly at the same time, profound affection overflowing between them.

In one powerful thrust, he emptied himself inside her at the exact moment wave after wave after wave of pleasure erupted from within her. Primitive sounds escaped them both and they clutched on to each other tightly as they rode out their peaks.

Gradually, his taut body relaxed. Their ragged breathing improved and he kissed her mouth sweetly. She kissed him back, pouring her love for him into each and every second of it. When their kiss ended he smiled at her happily.

"So that's what it's like," he said to her with a twinkle in his eye.

"I guess that's what it's like," she couldn't wipe the grin off her face. She loved him and she loved what they just did and how they did it. She also loved how he felt after, how he stayed where he was. And she loved what he just said and how he said it. Yes, she thought. Whatever he felt for her at the moment was more than enough. She asked him, "Curiosity satisfied?"

"Satisfied?" he scoffed, and then looked down where they were still connected and smirked mischievously, "Um...hardly."

She laughed; they laughed. He kissed her again and she eagerly kissed him back. She understood; she felt what he was feeling. What just happened, as wonderful as it was, wasn't enough. That night they made love again and again, less hurried than the first, their insatiable desires for each other pushing human physiologic and physical limits to the hilt.

Much later, with Harry holding her in his arms in a warm, intimate embrace, she opened her eyes and took in the image before them. The pond, the moon, the trees. She sighed. Just like it was with Harry, the place was more beautiful to her now than it was before.

And while she may have been his afterthought she didn't care. This moment with Harry was the happiest she had been in her life.

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A/N. Thanks to all those who reviewed – so glad that last chapter did not disappoint.

Now – Harry’s POV. This is short but I do have to warn that you might not want to read this in too public a place :blush: There is also a danger of falling seriously in love with Harry here.

Like the last chapter it will be a better read if you read in the moment and not think of what we know will happen.

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Chapter 29 – The Epiphany

It was early Tuesday morning. Harry lay beside Hermione, holding her from behind with eyes closed and inhaling the sweet flowery scent he had been craving for all week. She was awake; he could tell because he could almost hear her thinking to herself and because of her feet. He smiled as she rubbed one up gently against his. It seemed that she liked doing that and it was growing on him.

He was woefully spent. His spirit was willing but the rest of his body was telling him to fuck off; something about rest or food or both. Unwilling to relinquish the warm spot beside Hermione he had been ignoring them and joined her silent introspection, wondering what she was thinking about. If he were to take an educated guess he was almost sure she was analyzing what just happened tonight.

So, what just happened tonight? he asked himself.

He was still in shock about how his plan to get her to go out with him ended up with her naked in his arms. It would be a serious understatement to say that the night had turned out better than he hoped. Expecting her resistance to the idea, he had done his homework, came prepared with logical arguments and had replies to every excuse he knew she would use to talk him out of it.

However, while he was confident he would eventually win her over, he didn't imagine this. He was counting on using their friendship to get her to at least look at him differently. Yes, it was a bit low, a testament to his desperation, so her attraction to him was a most welcome revelation. She sure hid her feelings well and how she reacted to his confession was quite interesting in itself.

That brought a ready smile on his face as he remembered how she found it so hard to believe that he fancied her. That was amusing to watch. He chuckled before he could stop himself.

"What's so funny?" her voice broke the quiet.

"You, how you found it so hard to believe me when I told you I liked you."

She acknowledged, finding it entertaining herself. At the moment, his arms were wrapped snugly around her waist, hers on them, giving them a light squeeze the same time he planted a chaste kiss on her hair. They fell back into an easy silence.

Portions of his body were still tingling, those she kissed and touched, at least the ones that he remembered. The spontaneity was so unlike her. This was really impulsivity and as happy as he was that this happened he couldn't keep the alarmed voice in his head from wondering if he had rushed her too soon. Hoping that it was going to be okay, he embraced her warm, soft body closer and kissed her hair again. She responded, molding herself against him, accepting his affection.

It had been a while since he physically ached for a woman like this and he wasn't mentally prepared when Hermione, sensing his urgency and obliging hers, asked that they make love. He wasn't prepared either for their first one to be as intense. Hermione's response to his touch was absolutely envigorating and their physical connection brought them to a level of complete intimacy he had not had with anyone before. Not to compare or complain but it was never like that with Ginny and he figured out what it was that made it so different.

To Hermione he was just Harry and seeing him through her eyes like this was refreshing. With her he felt a sense of security that no matter what he did he could do no wrong and that if he did do something wrong it wouldn't change anything between them. There was nothing she could do that would make him shun her either. With her he was more himself than he had ever been with anyone else, she had seen him at his best and at his worst, and it was this absence of worry of rejection that made him experience lovemaking of a different sort. They were caring partners, equals, each in it for the other and for themselves, giving and taking without strings, without condition. It didn't escape him how unique Hermione would forever be in his life this way.

His heartbeat quickened as he was suddenly hit by a mind blowing epiphany.

Without condition…

Forever…

He took a deep breath and held it in to help steady the banging against his chest. The questions and doubts paraded before him one at a time. It wasn’t possible; it was too soon. It certainly wasn't what he expected it would look or feel like. And it couldn’t be that obvious because if it were he would have seen it before.

But what if it was indeed obvious and he just never acknowledged it? What if loving her truly was possible this soon and this was it?

The thought frightened him for a split second and he cursed himself for it. What the hell was wrong with him? Wasn’t this the point in asking her to go out with him? To find out exactly how he felt about her? So it took less time to find the answer than he anticipated it would take but at least he didn't have to wonder anymore. This was a good thing, wasn't it?

That calmed him down enough to realize why it momentarily terrified him. He instinctively didn’t want to get hurt. That she was his 'unconditional and forever' and he wasn’t hers was scary. It was terrifying because letting go of her when the time came was going to be a bitch. Her voice rang clearly in his head, conscience-like.

If we do this and it doesn't work out the way we hope it will, at least one of us can get really hurt. Are you prepared for that?

Hermione was brilliant in a lot of ways. She had foreseen this and even warned him that this could happen. She found him attractive, sure, but he was mature enough to know that that didn't count for much. And while this wasn't a game for either of them; she honestly admitted that she didn’t love him, not in the way that she knew true love to be. He hadn’t fully comprehended what she meant about getting hurt until now.

Taking in another breath he let her essence fill him and took his own advice. It would be fine. If he got hurt it would be unintentional on her part and he could live with that. He would take this memory of her with him over how hurt he would be when he lost her anytime and they could go back to being just friends. What was that worn out cliche? It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? He could already imagine her walking down the church aisle as he watched from the sidelines, a faceless bloke waiting for her up at the altar. How could something that far off hurt already?

Surprisingly he felt that her willingly being in his arms right now was enough and it was going to be enough if it was all she could give him. Tonight with her was one moment he wasn't ever going to forget.

Briefly he considered confessing again but decided against it. Now was not the time. In his gut he knew it would be wrong to tell Hermione about it without iron clad proof. She had a hard enough time believing that he fancied her and there was no way he could prove to her tonight that he cared about her more than he originally thought. He could hear her now, telling him he was imagining things just because they had amazing sex. Worse, he might scare her off or pressure her into feeling the same way for him. She’d probably feel sorry for him too.

Great...

No, he couldn’t tell her just like that. His words would ring hollow. She would demand tangible evidence and although he wasn't even sure what that proof was (considering she didn't believe in the 'measure of ifs'), he was sure he needed time. He needed lots of time for her to warm up to the idea to even consider it possible. Maybe if he was lucky they’d stay together long enough to get to that point when he could tell her and she would believe him. Maybe she could even grow to love him the same way back. A bloke could hope, right?

All this thinking about her stirred something in him again, something that was kind of the same except more meaningful with this newborn emotion. He drew her in, caressing her and staking a claim to her body, however miniscule and possibly temporal it was. Intuitively she huddled closer, opening herself up, welcoming his advance, but to him it wasn't enough. He nuzzled the length of her bare neck, peppering her with light kisses. He could do this all night, everyday, for the rest of eternity, if she would let him.

"Harry..."

"Uh-huh," he murmured lost against her smooth sweet skin.

"Perhaps you shouldn't start something you won't be able to finish," she reminded him in her all-knowing tone.

"I know," he admitted, agony in his voice. He almost misfired during the last one and didn't want to tarnish tonight with a less than perfect 'performance', "But I can't help myself."

"Do you need my help?" she asked with a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Like you helped the last time?" he chuckled, remembering what happened earlier, "I don't think so. Just let me do this for a bit. I think I'll be fine."

She turned and faced him, a naughty smirk on her face as she kissed him, keeping his now idle mouth preoccupied.

"Are you sure?" she said on his lips, nipping at it, driving him insane, "You know I don't mind helping."

She pressed herself up against him, and gave him another long, deep, lingering kiss. It was intoxicating; she was intoxicating.

"You're so not helping..." he complained as she continued to snog him senseless.

"No?"

Her playfulness made him want her more and they kissed until they were both breathless. He had her on him now, her legs straddling him as he held her gently by the waist, and she was brushing up against his aroused state, in her eyes, a deep brown at that exact moment, the same intense longing he felt for her. Like his, it was more than desire. It wasn't mere want but a need.

She guided him into her tight most warmness and rode him while he watched, the mix of the light from the fire and the moon illuminating her bare skin, blushing from their heated exchange and making her glow like a goddess. His natural reactions took over, his body responding to her sliding him in and out of her hot wet center, and it took all his remaining will power to contain himself, to wait. And it was well worth the wait.

On her last downward motion she arched her back, her face shining like ray of light, her walls contracting around him. She was biting down on her lower lip, muffling her scream. He had never seen anything more beautiful as she came, losing herself. Seeing her without control over him this way did him in. He reached his peak and as he did he felt her have another.

He knew at that moment that his heart would belong to her forever.

She slumped over him, burying her face on his neck, more breathless than he was, her chest pounding rapidly against his. He stroked her back and kissed her hair lovingly.

"Did you enjoy that?" he joshed, smile on his face just about permanent now.

She looked up still dazed, flushed and embarrassed somewhat, smiling, "I'm sorry, I didn't think you would mind."

"Oh I don't mind. I enjoyed it too," he reassured her.

Carefree and absolutely happy, he gazed into her hazel nut eyes and felt her joy shine through them. Seeing that strengthened his resolve not to ruin this for her. Figuring it out and calling it by whatever name wasn't going to change the fact that she was with him and he was with her. This was perfect in itself.

He felt her heart gradually slow down as she lay beside him, arms draped lightly across his body, her head resting against his chest.

Without looking she up asked, "Why did you bring me here? I mean aside from this place being beautiful and trying to stack the deck in your favour."

"I wasn't stacking the deck," he denied.

"If you say so," she said, not really buying it. It was silly to continue denying what was somewhat true. She asked again, "Why this place? Why not Grimmauld?"

He looked around and thought for a moment before answering. While he did hope the beauty of the place would swing things his way that wasn’t the main reason why he chose it. He wanted to be honest.

"Because this place witnessed the first time I decided who you were to me. I had to come back to tell it and prove to it that what I said then wasn't true anymore. You know, make a new declaration, exorcise demons in the process."

"Have all the demons been exorcised?"

He glanced behind Hermione at the spot where the Riddle versions of him and her kissed, deciding that such a detail was not for tonight (or maybe, not ever). The purity of what they just shared expunged and cleansed all the evil that manifested there five years ago.

"Most definitely," he replied with certainty.

"Good."

Her foot rubbed against his lightly again and moments later, he fell asleep.

A few hours passed. Harry woke up as she stirred in his arms. It was still dark out, darker now that the fire beside them had died down. With a quick flick of a wand he re-kindled it and watched her watch him.

They lay quietly for some time, facing each other, gazing into each other’s eyes. Behind her calm exterior she was happy, happy and anxious and maybe a tad scared. It made him feel a lot better knowing that they felt the same way.

“Thinking about backing out yet?” he asked.

She shook her head, “You?”

“Not a chance.”

He brushed a stray brown strand off her radiant face and leaned in. They kissed, long and sweet.

“I’m scared,” she admitted honestly, holding his hand.

“So am I,” he shared.

“I keep thinking this is a dream.”

“A good one, I hope.”

“The best I’ve had in a long while,” she smirked, her words making him smile, “I don’t want to wake up.”

“You know what’s even better? You’re not dreaming. You don’t have to wake up.”

Then he showed her how real this all was. He kissed her again, taking her in his arms. She melted in his embrace, encouraging him that what he was doing was right. It took a lot of effort to pull away from her. He rolled onto his back but she joined him and laid herself along the length of his body. He had no energy or desire to tell her how she was driving him mad.

“Do you want to talk about terms now? Maybe that will help me get my mind off its current pre-occupation."

"Terms?"

"You said you had terms; about dating each other."

"Oh...yes...the terms."

He had to chuckle. She was obviously just about to make them up on the fly.

Harry noticed something, "Not to question your sense of fairness but perhaps we should bargain from a more neutral position."

She looked down on him, teasing, "But I would have thought this position was actually more advantageous for you."

"Is that so? Terms Granger. I know what you’re trying to do so stop stalling."

"There's just two really," she carried on, knowing perfectly well her uncharacteristic lack of preparedness was evident.

"Just two?" he feigned disappointment, "I expected a lot more."

"Wait till you hear what they are,” she paused and said to him, “First, I think we should take this slowly."

They burst out laughing. They were laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes.

"It's a bit too late for that, don’t you think?" he commented.

Much too late.

"I knew it was a bad idea to talk terms after,” she cracked, unable to maintain a poker face, “I guess we should slow down then."

“I’m sorry but I can’t make promises. My self control near you isn’t very good,” he confessed.

And proving it, his right hand was now re-exploring her bare thigh. He lightly traced its length up the smooth path to where it ended.

“Harry, don’t…”

He watched her breath hitch as he slipped two fingers into her hot inner core.

“You were saying?”

“We…um…should slllooow…down…”

“Do you mean this slow?” he asked, showing her, fiddling with her highly sensitive flesh the same time he slid his fingers in and out of her.

She moaned something, then his name, then some unrecognizable expletive.

“Or maybe faster? Like this?”

Hermione buried her face into his neck, crushing her mouth roughly against him. Sleep had energized him; his arousal, seeing her this way and feeling her this way, was almost unbearable. But he was intent for this one to be just about her.

He rolled her over, grabbed her wrists and held them over her head as he ravaged her body until she was limp and disoriented. Working down the middle of her chest, he tasted soft, hot, flesh along the way, inching lower until he came upon his intended destination. Her legs parted readily for him as he kissed her in her most private place, licking her wet folds, gently sucking her until she came not so discreetly, shuddering as the ripples of pleasure overcame her. His work there was done. He took her and held her in his arms.

“I take it that wasn’t exactly what you meant by slowing down?” he teased.

“Prat,” she called him lovingly, still flushed and breathless, her eyes half-closed as she embraced him back.

Harry wished for this to never end.

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A/N. Hot enough?

A/N. Many of you on Portkey may have missed the last chapter - Harry's Epiphany - when I uploaded it last Friday. If you did it's obviously better to read that first before this one. I'll spare you the details of how that happened but I've been writing like crazy so here's the next one.

Have fun.

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Chapter 30 - Complicated

Hermione's beating heart finally eased up. It was both irritating and exhilarating not having much control of herself around Harry. She thought it criminal that any person would have such a profound physical and mental effect on someone else but was thankful that for her it was him. The entire night had been one fleshly indulgence after another. How he was responding to her made her experience lovemaking intensely in a way she had never before and that last trip to heaven...well...she wasn’t completely back from that one yet.

"We should really slow down," she thought out loud, more telling herself than him.

"Why?"

"We're setting the bar too high. Anything else will pale in comparison compared to tonight," she glibly reasoned in half jest.

"Twisted as that sounds you do have a point there," he replied, "Tell me how to slow down and I’ll try.”

His words hung heavily in the air, enticing her to study them more closely. He said it with such familiarity that gave her a déjà vu feeling, like they had talked about this before. It was kind of how she would have imagined couples talking when they had been lovers for a long time. He took her hand, brushed the back of it lightly against his lips and intertwined his fingers with hers. Many times tonight she had seen and felt this tender longing affection in his eyes. It was so easy to believe there was a lot more there than what he had admitted to but she knew better than to put much stock in the delusion, thinking that even if it was true it would have been based on this one night of physical closeness. That was hardly the basis of a long lasting relationship and she preferred something other than that.

That was the real reason why she wanted them to slow down. The other something, if it were to happen, had to happen over time. But going back to their current problem she had no answers for how to slow things down either.

"So what's your other condition?" Harry asked her curiously.

He was referring to the terms of their dating she had hastily formed earlier. Thinking about it during brief intermissions of clarity that night she had come to the conclusion that what she was about to ask of him made the most sense but convincing him could be a problem. She had been thinking about how to tell him without hurting his feelings and hadn’t really come up with a good way. She pried herself away from his warm embrace and Summoned their clothes that were strewn about the forest floor close by. She handed him his.

"We should get dressed."

"This looks bad," he commented as they did as she suggested.

"It's not bad. It's just something we need to agree about before we continue and being naked and seeing you naked is kind of a major distraction,” she said too honestly.

They sat in front of the fire on the dead tree trunk he had pointed out to her earlier. She could tell the suspense was killing him.

"What is it?"

She took a moment to gather herself then just blurted it out.

"I prefer that we don't tell anyone, at least not yet."

She met his piercing gaze and immediately wished he would just say what it was that he was holding back from her. Masking his true emotions was one thing that Harry had significantly improved on since Hogwarts, a skill necessary when being around Dark wizards and criminals.. It was now second nature to him. He was much easier to read when he hung his emotions on his sleeve.

"Seriously?"

After the fun they had with the last one she couldn't blame him for not being sure if she was kidding.

"Yes, seriously."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Mostly because I'm not prepared to hurt Ginny, not for something we're not sure will last."

In truth it was not only Ginny that she was concerned about but Ron too. Harry doubted that it would matter to Ron and Ginny that much but to her it would and it seemed like an awful waste of friendships if things didn't work out. Then there was also the Ministry and her parents; well, her Dad.

As she expected, he disagreed, "Ginny has moved on. She's dating someone else. In fact, I think she's sleeping with him."

At the back of her mind her evil, miserable twin immediately pounced on the opening to rain on the parade.

Maybe all this was his way to get back at Ginny. What better way to hurt her than sleeping with her gullible, stupid, double-crossing best friend?

"Good then, that makes it alright because you're even," she retorted, looking away and biting back the tears in reaction to the stinging in her chest, hoping he wouldn't see her expression.

He gently guided her chin to face him and calmly said to her, "That's not what I meant."

His concern immediately quashed whatever doubts she had about his intentions. Harry wouldn’t do that to her or Ginny. He wasn’t that kind of person. That was such a moronic thought. She could only nod as she tried to shake it off.

He added, hoping to make things better, "I'm just saying that since she's doing that it would be hypocritical of her to have a problem with me sleeping with other women."

"She may not have a problem with you sleeping with other women and maybe not even with you sleeping with me but she'll definitely have a problem with me sleeping with you."

He seemed to understand that this wasn't about him.

"So you'd feel the same if your best friend shacked up with an ex boyfriend?"

To explain the conditions and exclusions that would cause her to feel or not feel that way was complicated and would take too much time. She opted to keep it simple.

"If you were my ex and I was Ginny, most definitely. I'll hex the bitch, gouge her eyes out, remove a kidney..."

"Ginny would never do that to you."

"Because she knows it would be idiotic to even attempt to - I'd be able to defend myself."

"Seriously now."

Hermione expounded, "I feel like a traitor, like I just stabbed her in the back."

"You shouldn't."

She wasn't convinced, "I'm supposed to be her best friend. I should feel guilty. The hardest part is accepting that I'm worse than horrible, that I'm prepared to keep on choosing to betray her instead of...well...denying myself...this."

"You're getting this all wrong!"

"I may be but that doesn't change what I feel."

He let out a deep sigh, his furrowed brows forming into one. He didn't agree but he didn't need to. It was enough if he understood and it seemed like he did.

"How can I help?" he asked, taking her hand into his.

She told him the first thing that came to mind.

"Do you think you can stay away from me until Ginny falls in love with someone else, gets married, and lives happily ever after?"

"As long as you have no objections to me using suggestive potions to expedite the process," he jibed making her smile weakly, "It's not everyday that I would wish for my ex-girlfriend to be happily married to someone else but 'ever after' seems such a long time. Are you sure you're not worrying over nothing? Maybe she’ll be happy for us. Maybe if we talk to her, she'll actually be fine with this."

As much as she wanted that to be true it was just unimaginable.

"I appreciate your trying to help but this is between me and her. If there's any talking to be done it should just be by me. You should stay out of it."

"I think we should tell her," he argued, "We owe her not to find out from someone else. And we owe ourselves. I'm not going to hide how I feel about you."

"I hope you're not asking me to chose between the two of you," she was being honest.

"Of course not," he replied with the same sincerity.

"Good, because I wouldn't know what to do. I'm not prepared to lose her friendship."

Or you.

"I'm trying to help you keep it. She'll never forgive us for keeping something like this from her. Well, she'll forgive me but she won't forgive you."

"Thanks, but I'll take my chances."

"That if this doesn't work out you won't have to tell her and she won't have to find out? She will eventually find out," he pointed out and then reminded her, "And doesn't thinking that this might not work go against keeping an open mind?"

"No, it doesn't. I've agreed. I am keeping an open mind," she said to him, "And I promise I will talk to Ginny if…when we're both sure about this. I'm still trying to figure this out. I need time. I think we both do."

"Why do you make things so complicated?"

It was a rhetoric question. He broke eye contact and looked at a spot within the dying embers of their fire. He was pondering it. She wished she could hear what he was thinking at the moment. It felt like she was waiting forever, this whole wonderful thing of being with him dependent on his acceptance of her condition. After some time, he reached a decision.

"Okay. We'll wait," she smiled. He tugged her hand towards him and they hugged. As they embraced he whispered in her ear, "Take as much time as you need."

"Thanks," she replied, relieved and felt him give her a kiss on her hair. It struck her how something that used to feel brotherly meant differently now, "And we still have to figure out what to do with the Ministry anyway."

He pulled away and frowned, "What does the Ministry have to do with this?"

"You're a supervisor. I report to you," she pointed out; it was something which he obviously didn't think about, "There are explicit rules in the Ministry Human Resources Policy Book that we can't be doing things like this."

“I don’t care,” he said brashly.

She hated it when he got this way but she would let him have his fit.

“Well, you’re Harry Potter. They can’t do anything to you.”

He didn't get her chastising tone on that one.

“They wouldn’t dare touch you either.”

“Probably not. It would be humiliating, though, having to live up to the fact that we’re above rules when fifteen couples to date have been transferred and fired because of them.”

“Really?”

She wasn't making this up but at least Harry was over his little temper tantrum. She had thought about it and had a simple solution.

“I could resign, move to a different Department…”

“Whoa! Wait a second," he protested, "You’re not resigning because of me.”

“It's not a big deal and I'm not resigning because of you. I’ve been waffling about staying anyway.”

“We need to talk about this some more. I'm sorry. I should have realized this was going to be a problem," Harry lamented, blaming himself unnecessarily.

"Don't be sorry. I'm not. It's just an unfortunate complication."

He was really concerned about how it would affect work more than he was about how Ginny would take the news so much so that Hermione was having regrets about even mentioning the Ministry. He made her promise she wouldn't do anything rash, like hand in her resignation. She wanted to argue the point but what mattered to her at the moment was that he agreed. They weren't going to tell anyone until both of them decided that what they felt for each other was for real.

The rest of the week passed like a blur. She didn't remember much else except for the times they spent together. It was so hard to concentrate at work. Neither of them deserved their keep and while she couldn't wait for Dean to get back from Australia so she could at least be more productive, she also didn't want to spend less time with Harry.

He did wine and dine her, choosing Muggle places to decrease the risk of 'getting caught' and thankfully did not press her about telling Ginny anymore. The few times he brought up the subject of the Ministry they didn't get too far and it seemed he was content with status quo for now.

Things were happening so fast. She was spinning and by Sunday night, in their room at Grimmauld, they lay on their bed holding each other and talked about how things were going to change because Dean was back that Monday morning.

"I'm actually starting to enjoy keeping you a secret," he said to her.

"You are?" she was surprised.

"It reminds me of our sneaking around Hogwarts and bending stupid rules," he explained. "The longer before we get busted, the more invincible I feel."

He chuckled as she turned crimson red.

"I am not making out with you in the Ministry broom closet again!" she emphatically declared.

"Admit it," he teased, "it was kind of fun."

It was in a juvenile kind of way but she was so not going to encourage him.

"We almost got caught!"

"That's the fun part," he dismissed, kissing her lips tenderly, melting her inside, "And these thoughts I have of you and me in the conference room need to be addressed. You could do a reprise of your demonstration about different firearms and how best to use them. I'm happy to assist."

He was impossible. But no matter how mad or angry she tried to be he knew her better than she did. He knew she couldn't stay mad at him and knew exactly how to diffuse situations whenever she got upset.

For his part he had been more patient with her. She had not seen him lose his temper and had not started an argument with her once since they began going out and she knew it was because they were in their 'honeymoon stage'. They were both willing to compromise to prevent friction, maybe more him than her. She tried not to think so much about that. It wouldn't always be this perfect. Never in her life had she enjoyed something without thinking about how to make it better or how to keep it going until now. As far as Harry was concerned she was living her life one day at a time.

By one month they had settled into a pattern. They worked, went out and met with friends as friends and spent the rest of the time with each other as lovers. Grimmauld became theirs both in name and in actuality. She convinced him to push through with the original plan of selling the place to her and being part owners until she could pay the entire amount. He resisted the idea at first because he was spending more time there than at his own apartment. She compromised that if or when things worked out they could revisit the arrangement. He understood how important it was for her to keep as many things the way they were as if they weren't seeing each other. He understood her need for independence.

Unimaginable as it was the love she had for him blossomed even more. It was the way he looked at her, how she saw herself through his eyes everyday that made her happy and content. And seeing his contentment and happiness made her feel more her feel more of the same. It was like no matter how crazy she got with some of her ideas and no matter how differently they saw things he would still care about her the same way. He supported her and gave her suggestions without impinging on her individuality, without getting hurt if she didn't take his advice. The fact that her innate tendency for intellectual independence was one of the factors that caused her last relationship to fail this was a big deal. Harry treated her as an equal like he always had and took care of her the way she wanted to be cared for.

As her lover she had nothing else to wish for. He was even more perfect than what he had been in her dreams. Her fantasy had become a reality in such a big way.

She was so happy that Dean noticed the change. It was a slow patch for Dark Wizardry again. She and Dean were still working on the Jollyweather case and had just discovered a similar one involving a different artefact collector but the same assistant Dodgey up north.

"So, who's the bloke?" Dean asked from the passenger seat as she drove their Ministry issue auto.

"What?"

"You heard me the first time. I've never seen you this distracted since after the first time you split up with Ron."

"You're imagining things," she dismissed.

"No, I'm not. The question is why are you keeping him a secret."

She ignored him.

"Ashamed of him?"

She didn't answer.

"That ugly, huh?"

He was trying to provoke her to correct him.

"Oh dear God! You're not shagging that guy from communications, are you?!"

That did it.

"Miles? No, of course not!"

"So, who is it?"

"It's none of your business."

"Anyone I know?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I want to get him in a room with Seamus and Harry, interrogate him, and beat the crap out of him if he isn't serious about you."

"That's a sweet thought but just leave him alone. I'm happy. He makes me happy, okay?"

Dean said something about it not being over and begrudgingly answered her questions about his and Luna's wedding plans, his decision to join the IMP and moving to Australia in two months. She was going to lose a partner and a friend. She was going to miss him.

Later that week Harry mentioned that Dean asked him about him. They had just made love and were in the tub having a bath, one of their favourite things to do together. The combination of him kissing her, her kissing him and their bare skin touching and gliding smoothly over each other; well, there were some fantasies that were worth living out over and over again.

Hermione was leaning against his chest, their legs up against each other, his arms wrapped around her, when he spoke, "Dean asked me who I thought your boyfriend was."

"Really? What did you say?"

"I told him 'Miles'," he said then laughed.

"That's not funny!"

It was actually and she was laughing too.

"So, he suggested that we should invite Miles for a drink."

"Oh, no!"

"Don't worry. I told Dean we should back off and that you'd share your boyfriend with us when you were good and ready."

"Thank you for speaking my mind."

"My pleasure," he said, kissing her hair. "Thank you for telling him to lay off your boyfriend. Is it true what you said about me?"

"Which one?"

"That I make you happy?" he peered down her face, awaiting her response.

She turned slightly and craned her neck back, returning his gaze as she replied, "Happier than I've ever been before. But you should know that by now."

He had a most satisfied smile.

"It's nice to hear you say it once in a while," he said.

Her turn.

"And me? Do I make you happy?"

He answered, "Happier than happy. But you should know that by now."

"It's nice to hear it come from you once in a while."

He kissed her tenderly, so familiar to her now but still causing a million fluttering butterflies in her. That led to one thing and then another. They made love again right then and there.

Things like that always set them off. She had a few choice triggers, like joining the other in the shower, him getting in late and waking her up with slow kisses, and that one time he was away on assignment for a four nights. Hmm, they didn't make it out of the foyer.

Over the weeks she finally got him to be more disciplined about where and when to show affection. They stopped doing it at the Ministry and he agreed only if it was temporary (until he or she got a private office). But there was plenty of undisciplined activity by both parties to keep them pre-occupied. His spontaneity was infectious and they both shared an impulsivity problem near each other. Yes, she quickly found out that putting lovemaking on her timetable was just setting herself up to fail and that all of a sudden flexibility was her preferred word.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into weeks. By the time she really looked at the calendar and recognized dates again it was mid-March. They had domesticated, they weren't as volatile and there was some semblance of order. Lost were the conversations about when to let their friends and family know and about what to do with work. Once, her Mum called to report that her Dad was much better but was stubbornly refusing to see his doctor. Harry suggested them visiting her parents in Perth. She agreed in principle but was prepared to delay that as long as she could.

One early morning in bed, as he cuddled her from behind, she had a nagging thought. It was almost time for him to leave, go back to his apartment and get ready for work. This was one of her least favourite parts about being with him; this and when either of them had to work nights and they would be alone in bed. She found it difficult to sleep without his embrace now.

"Harry?" she whispered, wondering if he was still asleep.

"Uh-huh?"

He wasn't.

"I was just thinking..."

"Yeah?"

"You practically live here. Seems like a waste of time waking up early to go home, get changed, you know? And I worry about you getting enough sleep."

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Yes, but only if you want to. I won't feel bad if you don't."

She would but that was not for him to know.

"I want to move in with you."

"Good. That's settled then."

This thing with him was out of control. They hadn't really slowed down. As time went on it seemed more reasonable to just go ahead and let their friends know. But he hadn't brought the matter up again and she didn't want to. Asking him to move in with her had been difficult enough and even though he said he wanted to she would have preferred if the idea came from him. She found that the only way she could be certain he wanted to be with her was if the ideas came from him. And she wanted him to be certain, not only for her but also for himself.

So he moved in and they lived together. He wasn't neat and tidy, couldn't keep up with how she preferred the cupboard and fridge contents organized and kept leaving stuff around. She knew that about him even before he moved in but it did bring some strain, which she thought was a good thing. Their relationship needed tests like this.

He tried to follow the rules at first but really seemed to have trouble with the concept of keeping like coloured vegetables and fruits together, and condiments and salad dressings in one place, even if it saved seconds finding them in the ice box. And in talking about it they had reached an amicable compromise. He'd make better effort to not leave stuff around if she could let him stock the fridge and cupboards however he chose to. Considering that the kitchen was his territory that seemed reasonable.

He improved...somewhat. To his credit she could see him make an effort. She realized she couldn't change him and found that she could tolerate his inadequacies more than she could anybody else's. That wasn't such a surprise. What was more surprising was how the changes he made in her life didn't bother her as much as she thought they would. She didn't begrudge the extra two seconds it took for her to find yoghurt and she was even beginning to like finding the occasional used shirt he had forgotten to put away. It was all part of being with him, of living with him, of him being a part of her life and of her being a part of his.

In late April Ginny finally got her first professional start with the Holyhead Harpies. She invited the Hogwarts gang to watch the game and all of them came to cheer her on; all except Harry. He declined, saying he had to work. Hermione checked and he was indeed working. Of course she and Dean were scheduled to work too but were able to find others to fill in for them. To her knowledge Harry didn't even attempt to switch with anyone or ask John for a few hours off. John would have approved.

Not that they avoided talking about Ginny; they did when her name came up, which rarely did. She just got really hesitant when it came to asking him questions about his ex girlfriend. Ginny told her almost everything about them and had details that she now wished she didn't know about. Her hesitation stemmed from not wanting his perspective of it, much like she didn't want to ask him why he wasn't going to watch Ginny play her first big game.

Hermione suspected he was doing it for her. If she asked him he might tell her then she'd have to tell him not to be ridiculous and lie that she was fine with him going to Ginny's game. Then she'd have to sit beside him and watch him watch Ginny fly. That would have been painful.

So she didn't ask. Ginny scored a hundred and fifty points that night, including the shot that got them past the other team who caught the Snitch a split second later for an almost tie. Hermione would have died from insecurity had he been there to witness that.

She was a horrible friend.

Feeling guilty she couldn't say 'no' when Ginny asked her and Jessie to stay. Hermione liked Jessie. Jessie was a fully entrenched member of the 'Hogwarts gang' now. Like Ginny, Hermione found her easy going and they got along well. It was good that Jessie was around for she filled the night with stories about her and Seamus, how she couldn't figure their friend out, how she couldn't decide whether he was serious about her and that she needed to know because she was falling in love with him.. She interviewed them about Seamus' past and they were more than willing to share the good and bad. Of all their friends Seamus had the most colourful history and had been involved with the wrong sort. Dean and Harry got him out in time. Jessie, like the scientist that she was, interrogated them until there was no stone left unturned to know what it was she was getting herself into. Both Ginny and her were honest; Seamus was a great guy but he didn't have a good track record when it came to women.

As usual, alcohol was Jessie's downfall; kind of ironic for someone falling for a bartender-pub owner. She was out in a couple of hours. At least they were in Ginny's flat. They put her on the couch and Hermione found herself alone with her secret boyfriend's ex-girlfriend, who happened to be her best friend. To say that the situation was complicated was an understatement.

"You've been so quiet tonight," Ginny called her on it, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just tired," she replied.

"You do look like you haven't been sleeping well," her friend pointed out the obvious.

Hermione took a swig of her second butterbeer as she answered in her mind, I've been sleeping great, just not enough.

"Great game."

"Thanks," Ginny broke into a bittersweet smile, then a tear slid down a cheek, then on the other, then two, then Hermione lost count.

She put her arm around Ginny's shoulders and let her friend cry on hers, making her feel worse about everything. Ginny sobbed and Hermione knew what it was about.

"Hush now," she tried to console Ginny; she had tears in her eyes too.

Then came Ginny's gut wrenching admission, "It feels empty without him here. I wished he would turn up, that he changed his mind and would watch me play even for ten seconds. But he didn't..."

"Sshh..." Hermione hushed her again as she continued to cry.

"Why didn't he come?" Ginny asked her.

"He...um...had to work. I'm sure if he didn't have work he would have been here cheering."

"I miss him so much. How is he?"

"He seems fine," she replied.

"Is he seeing someone seriously?"

"I'm not sure," she lied; living with someone was, she just realized, quite serious.

"He is, isn't he?" Ginny wasn't stupid, "it's okay, you don't have to hide it from me. I'm fine with that. Well, I'm not but you know what I mean."

For a split second Hermione was tempted to tell her the truth.

But don't you have to ask Harry first?

You know he wants to tell her.

That was in the beginning. What if he changed his mind?

No, he hasn't and you know it. Stop being a fucking coward and tell her the truth!

Ginny pulled away and the opportunity was lost, including whatever tiny amount of courage she had.

"Is he happy?"

Why did she have to ask questions with answers she knew would hurt?

"I think so."

"Good," Ginny said bravely, "What's wrong with me? We just won a game. I should be happy too. I need another drink."

Hermione needed another one too. They talked some more, mostly about their other friends, about the Ministry and then about Ginny's last boyfriend, who she broke up with because she kept seeing Harry's face on him whenever they had sex.. That was way too much information for it got her thinking about bad things.

Ginny wondered her fears out loud, "Do you think Harry has the same problem?"

She didn't remember what she said. Hermione was an emotional mess when she got back to London the following morning. It was early and Harry was still in bed.

"I missed you," he said the second he woke up after she joined him, drawing her closer and into his arms.

He brushed his lips against hers and nipped at it. She kissed him back but the pesky thought Ginny planted in her mind made her wonder if he was really kissing her or Ginny..

"Did you have fun?" he asked when she pulled her mouth away.

"Ginny won the game for the team."

"I heard. She's a good Chaser. The Harpies chose well," he said matter-of-factly, then repeated, "Did you have fun?"

"It was a fun game."

He frowned, recognizing that something was amiss.

"What's wrong?"

"I want you to be brutally honest with me."

"I always am. What's eating you up?"

She gritted her teeth and asked candidly, "Do you see Ginny's face when we have sex?"

His lips pursed together and he gazed deeply into her eyes, "No, I do not see Ginny's face when we make love. I see you, your brown hair, you hazel nut eyes, your soft red lips. I see the friend I grew up with, a very attractive woman, driving me crazy with desire, like right now."

He paused and waited for her response. Drowning in the sea of warm affection in his eyes she could only think of one. She threw herself all over him, found his mouth with hers and kissed him passionately until they were both breathless. They made love and he swiftly melted her insecurities away.

After, minutes later, as they kissed each other languidly, he mentioned something about the first night they were together.

"A goddess!?" she exclaimed in disbelief and panic, "I looked like a goddess!?"

He was chuckling. Her reactions sometimes amused him and most times, like now, she was fine with it.

"Tell me you're lying about that," she said sternly.

"It's meant to be a compliment," he defended his revelation.

"I don't want it. Take it back."

"You can't refuse a compliment," he pointed out.

"I believe I just did. I don't need compliments like that. It sets me up to fail in the future. It's like people calling me brilliant all the time. I'm not brilliant all the time. Don't call me goddess anymore because I'll eventually believe it and then I'll feel bad if you don't see me like a goddess anymore, which is very possible, considering I will get old and..."

"Hermione," he interrupted, which was a good thing because she was running out of rambling material, "I get it. You don't want to be seen as a goddess. I can't help what I think but I won't say it out loud anymore."

He was still amused, his eyes showing the laughter he was holding back. She loved him. She loved him so badly. Ginny's agony, while still festering in the back of her mind, faded in comparison to it. She leaned closer and let him wrap his arms around her as they kissed, deep, lingering, full of meaning.

"Goddess," he whispered against her mouth, a grin on his lips.

"Stop it..."

“Sex goddess…”

She laughed, helpless as he continued to mouth the word, teasing her. Her phone was ringing in the background. She reached over Harry and grabbed it, motioning him not to speak. Her breasts were hanging 'invitingly' over his mouth and with mischief in his eyes he began licking her right nipple and gently sucking her breast. As much as she would have wanted him to continue it was best if he didn't.

"Harry, wait a second. It's my Mum."

He groaned a complaint but behaved himself.

"Mum?"

A sudden panic washed over her. Her Mum was crying and trying to talk in between sobs. Hermione couldn't make out what she was saying.

"Mum, what's wrong?!...Mum....Mum, talk slowly."

"It's Dad...come quick. He's calling for you."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I hope you like their relationship as I've portrayed it. I decided on just snippets of it - for brevity - so we can move on. There's still so much to write.

A/N. It was quite enjoyable reading your mostly enthusiastic responses about the last two chapters. You have all been very patient for sticking around and I hope most thought this long journey into the past was worth it.

Someone commented on how the HGness of this fic is overshadowing all the HHr in it. That's unfortunate. The premise is the Epilogue did happen, Harry and Ginny did get married and stayed together for a long time. I couldn't make HG a terrible thing and have them all suffer constantly for almost two decades. Even Hermione did not suffer constantly :lol: They accepted their 'fate' the best they could and moved on as some of us have to in real life :)

I do want Hermione to overcome her insecurity about not being Harry's first choice. She has to deal with the fact that Harry cared for someone else before her (who happens to be her best friend who stll loves him) and that doesn't mean he cares about her less.

As their relationship isn't perfect they have a few things to work out. In this one Harry finds out that their living together isn't her only secret.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 31 - Her Little Secrets

A light drizzle fell upon the modest Muggle cemetery in Sutton that dark gloomy Thursday afternoon. Hidden under his Invisibility cloak about fifty feet away, Harry watched as the funeral for Kurt Hugo Granger came to an end, the hundred or so attendees scattering away from his grave. He saw the deceased man's wife, Emiline, walking away escorted by a close family friend into an awaiting black limousine. It slowly drove off leaving Hermione behind.

She was standing alone beside the open earth where her father's body had been lowered into just moments before. While her eyes had been dry throughout the ceremony as she held her Mum who was inconsolable, they weren't dry now. He couldn't just stand there and do nothing.

The man was dead, as far as Harry was concerned the funeral was over and they had respected his wishes of not having Magical folk other than Hermione in attendance. He still couldn't understand how a dying man in his right mind would wish this when he knew that all his daughter's friends were non-Muggles. If he had a problem with him then he should have excluded just him.

He took a calming breath in and out. Perhaps even just for Hermione he would have more respect for the dead.

Assured that there was no one around he put his cloak away and approached. She had her eyes closed and was gritting her teeth, scrounging her face as tears fell down her cheeks. He stood beside her then put his arm around her shoulders. She turned into him, burried her face in his chest and wept silently, her tears immediately soaking his coat and his shirt. Holding her tight, he planted a kiss in her hair, his heart hurting for her. He could only imagine how she felt laying a parent to rest and would never pretend to know. He never knew his father; Hermione would have many memories of him and it would be more difficult for her to let him go.

Until the distressing phone call from her Mum everything seemed fine. Her Dad was supposedly getting better from a persistent cough. It turned out that he had a heart attack and that while on the beach that morning as he was about to paddle out to catch some waves he had another massive one. They got to the Perth hospital within the hour, her father lost consciousness minutes after and passed away before sunset, some three hours later. Hermione and her Mum were with him when he let go of his last breath.

Harry thought it was too bad he didn't get a chance to help mend what broke five years ago. When Hermione explained why she was reluctant to take him to Perth and get to know her parents better she made it seem like it wasn't a big deal.

It was sometime after he moved in with her. Her Mum had just called from Perth (she usually did once or twice a week) and he was trying to convince her to go to Australia and spend maybe just a weekend with them. They were living together and this to him meant she was serious about their relationship too. He wanted to get to know her parents, thinking that perhaps since the idea of him moving in was hers, this was a reasonable next step in the right direction.

She flat out said 'no', a surprise to him. It was as if she had decided this long ago and it wasn't even something that was negotiable. In a previous life he would have lost his temper and likely pouted like a two year old but having 'studied' her for a couple of months now he figured out a better way to get her to change her mind about things like this. But first he had to find out why she didn't want him spending time with her parents.

"Why can't we visit them?"

"Because they won't be able to keep this a secret."

Her answer was automatic, well thought out, and playing to his concern about how being outed would affect her reputation and credibility at the Ministry. The latter was really just about the only thing holding him back from asking her whether she thought it was time to come out in the open and it was something he was working on behind the scenes..

"We can go as friends."

She shook her head, "That's not a good idea."

He asked calmly in a non-accusatory tone, "What aren't you telling me?"

After briefly thinking about it she told him the truth, "I hope you won't take this the wrong way. My Dad and I had a falling out after I restored their memories. He was upset about the memory alteration and because he can't stay mad at me he's mad at the magical world; mostly you really, seeing that you kind of represent it."

She was trying to lessen the weight of the blow, and it was a heavy one. He didn't care what other people thought of him but he kind of hoped her parents would at least like him. It was important that they would think of him deserving of their daughter's affection, something he never imagined he would ever have a problem with.

As Hermione gave him what was a toned-down version of events he realized how stupid he was. How could he not think that her parents would have a problem with their teenage daughter altering their memories and sending them off to Australia to be different people, even if it was to save their lives? If he was her father he would be livid.

"It's really just my Dad and he'll get over it, in a decade or so," she half-joked.

"'Hermione, this is a big deal. Let me talk to him."

"Trust me on this, it's not the right time," she replied, "If I wanted to soften him up he knows you'd be the last person I would take with me. I suspect he'll deduce what's going on quickly and I can't trust my Dad not to cause problems. They are planning to visit soon. Maybe then?"

It was one of those 'soons' that never came and it was now too late. He asked her then why she never told anyone about her Dad and she said it was because there wasn't much anyone could do about it and there was no sense making everybody feel bad. She seemed to do that more than necessary, keep stuff, sometimes little, sometimes big, from people she cared about so they wouldn't get hurt. That was her flaw; she couldn't trust others to be able to handle the truth and do the right thing with it. So she kept them because she could and because no one really asked.

He stroked her hair gently, wondering what other secrets like the one she was burying today burdened her. She pulled away, brushing the remaining tears off her face with one hand. In her other hand was a white flower; a delicate, flawless orchid. She had ordered it especially from a Muggle flower shop and asked him to pick it up for her while she readied herself this morning. The flower had gotten somewhat squished between them and that upset her more. Without asking, he magically revived it making it look more vibrant than before.

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it in thanks. With tears brimming once again, she planted a kiss on it, stepped forward and let go of it, letting it fall into the void below.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he barely heard her say then she turned and walked away towards the pedestrian path that led back to the cemetery entrance.

As they did that he caught a glimpse of the tombstone immediately next to her father's grave. It was so close to his and so far removed from the rest it had to belong to one of her closest relatives. Curiosity filled him as he read the fading inscription on it.

Patricia Louise Granger

Born 14 February 1988

Died 19 September 1989

Beloved Daughter, Little Sister

Hermione kept going and he couldn't ask her about it, not then. Her sister likely, one who died on her tenth birthday. It made sense now why she preferred not to celebrate whenever hers came around. It was yet another detail about her she chose to keep to herself. For a brief moment he thought about looking into her employee file. It was convenient, easy and would give him instant gratification but it would be wrong. Like most things about them he figured knowing her more would come with time. He was sure the matter of a deceased sister would come up again.

Her Dad's sudden death devastated her and it was days before she could talk about him without breaking into tears. She told Harry she wished she had time to tell him how sorry she was. She never really did apologize even if to her she had no choice on the matter.

Her Mum had gone back to Perth, turning down her offer to stay with her in London. It was a spirited discussion. Secretly he was relieved. Her staying would have meant him moving out, temporarily, until he got the Ministry problem sorted out. He didn't feel good thinking that, about it in the end being about what he wanted and not what she did, but he couldn't lie to himself.

After the funeral they kept busy with work. Hermione joined a Ministry committee that would address the free elves situation and Harry got funding into it by agreeing to get involved in the Ministry Tourism's Harry Potter Magical tour. It had been in the works for a while and was going to happen whether he liked it or not. He made sure Hermione was in on it too for he needed her eye to see all possible repercussions of such an endeavour. Simply put they had to make sure it would be factual but leave out stuff about the Hallows and Horcruxes. Hermione thought it wasn't such a good idea but came to realize there were some things they couldn't prevent. That and it was for a good cause. The other good thing about it was that they could be certain the tour didn't include anyplace anywhere near their private pond.

The month of May also brought about an opportunity to bring their relationship closer to being out in the open. With John's impending retirement Harry had been suggesting for weeks that they prepare for the transition. Trussell moved into upper management leaving a supervisory position vacant and she was the logical choice. Unpopular as she was with Trussell and the soon to be Head Auror Humptail, John and Kingsley were on Hermione's side. He hated the politics but it was the nature of the beast. He had to learn to play it if he wanted to get things done. It wasn't enough being Harry Potter and while that was how it should be, there were times when that being so would have been handy.

She took the job reluctantly, confessing that she still wasn't sure if she wanted to stay. He convinced her to take it anyway; there was no harm to do so and if she decided it wasn't what she wanted she could always step down. He admitted to her that he selfishly wanted her to stay, that there was so much more they could do together than apart. No pressure, he added. In the back of his head he was thinking that although she would understand how he wouldn't be able to tell her everything about work if she resigned, it would be a bonus if she stayed so they could freely discuss cases. He was so used to having her as a sounding board. She helped him think clearly, well after they got most distractions out of the way.

Her promotion made him feel more at ease. They were equal in rank now and if someone found out they were lovers it wouldn't matter as much anymore. As the reasons for keeping their relationship secret fell one by one he felt more confident that he could broach the topic again. Everyday with her was proof that this was right, that it would last. Looking into her brown eyes every morning he woke up next to her he had no doubt that she felt the same way about him even though she hadn't admitted anything of the sort. He wanted them to be free of their secret. He was weary of watching other men hit on her and of women asking if he was interested. And without that freedom discussions of ‘forever’ would be much more difficult. Forever happy in secret while a romantic notion was really unrealistic.

But there was one reason why she was holding back. Ginny. Just as he thought the longer they kept their relationship secret the harder it would be for Hermione to tell Ginny about them. She couldn't get past the idea of telling Ginny convinced that Ginny would get hurt.

Ginny had called her a few times around the time her Dad died, offering to come. Hermione declined and Ginny didn't insist. From what he gathered Ginny didn't have much spare time these days. Between the games and practices, there were interviews, guest appearances and product promotions. Ginny had become an overnight Quidditch superstar. Harpies management and Ginny's agent were striking while the iron was hot and taking advantage of her skyrocketing popularity.

While he was concerned about how she was getting 'used' and gave her his cautious advice during a phone conversation, he kept that from Hermione. Ginny was still a touchy subject between them. It was the reason why he decided not to attend any of her games. He wanted to go, particularly on her first one, just to show support. He still cared about her as a friend and the fact that she invited him meant she wanted him to be there. It seemed not long ago when he listened to her imagine what it would be like to play her first game as a professional, how nerve-racking it would be and she confirmed that her first was exactly how she thought it would be. She called him to chastise him lightheartedly about not coming and invited him to her next game. He couldn't because he couldn't bear the thought of making Hermione feel terrible, even if she would have had no reason to.

As unfounded as Hermione's insecurities about Ginny were they existed and they weren't in a place in their relationship yet to make her feel differently. Ginny was his ex-girlfriend and Hermione had a front row seat witnessing all of that. She still felt like she stole him from Ginny. Telling her that she had no reason to feel insecure wouldn't work; she'd have to arrive at the conclusion herself. It would take time to make her truly believe that she was the centre of his life now and a huge part of that, he believed, was for Ginny and the rest of the world to know that they were a couple.

To him it was now inevitable. It was no longer a matter of if they would come out in the open but when. And when the time came it would be better if Hermione realized that she couldn't prevent all the bad feelings in the world from happening and that even if Ginny or Ron or whoever else did get hurt, then they would have to deal with it.

As Trussell didn't want to show her the ropes Harry was more than willing to do it himself. It wasn't hard. Hermione was a natural. She had always been a quick and decisive thinker, and her instincts more often than not were right. If there was one thing that she needed work on was her patience with her team. She expected as much hard work and dedication from each and every Auror under her as she put out. She needed a lot of work on that.

All this also meant she had to put in more hours at work and less time with him. Lying alone in their bed for the sixth straight night and missing her terribly was making him question just how brilliant the idea of her taking the job was and he was the one who suggested it.

He couldn't stand it anymore. He got up from bed, got dressed and Disapparated just outside a shabby inn on Juxtapose Alley, a block east of Knockturn Alley, where Hermione and Dean had been spending the past nights doing surveillance on Borgin and Burkes. He nodded at the innkeeper who was a Ministry informer, went up the flight of stairs and rapped on room three.

Dean's footsteps drew closer and he opened the door after a brief pause.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" Dean asked.

Hermione was near the window and had turned towards the door. Their eyes met and he quickly dispelled her worry.

"I was just in the neighborhood," he replied, "Any luck?"

Days ago Hermione's team found a hot Jollyweather locket being auctioned off at a charity sale and traced it back to a legitimate purchase from Borgin and Burkes.

"Old man Blutus is no fun to watch," Dean complained. "If he is involved in the Jollyweather robbery something else would have turned up by now. Maybe the locket ending up on the store shelves was just a bad buying mistake."

Hermione disagreed, "He and his partner have been in the business way too long to fall for hot merchandise."

"Then they should also know better than to be caught with hot stuff in their inventory," Dean pointed out.

"We've been here almost a week and we haven't found anything else; not one violation," she noted.

"That's odd for a place in Knockturn Alley," Harry commented.

"Exactly. They know we're watching," she concluded.

"Do you want to wrap up surveillance?" he asked her.

She thought for a moment then answered, "Seeing that Borgin and Burkes is our one link to the elusive Dodgey I think we should keep at it. The merchandise is too valuable to sit on for a long time. They'll break, get sloppy and try to move some of it through the store again. But maybe we should let them think we're looking elsewhere."

"I like where you're going with this," Dean approved, "I can start asking informers about a possible Dodgey sighting with their less legit competitors. Nothing official."

"Sounds good," Hermione concurred.

Harry suggested, "You might want to consider having the team stake out from a different place tomorrow."

"Right," she must have noted the slight annoyance in his voice about the whole thing dragging on for much longer.

"So, Boss Lady," Dean's chosen endearment for his newly promoted partner annoyed her no end but there was nothing she could do about it, "Does this mean I can go home now and watch the tail end of West Ham's game against Manchester?"

They both looked hopefully at her as they waited for her response.

"Yes, you may go."

"Yes!"

Harry laughed as he heard her rant on how pathetic it was that some soccer game seemed more important than catching crooks and how most days she felt like she was dealing with children. Dean was too happy to notice or care. Her partner put away their surveillance gadgets in record time and even offered to drop them off at the Ministry. Then he left.

"Finally," he took her in his arms and pulled her in after the door closed, her warm familiar body falling against his in place, "I thought he'd never leave."

"Harry, you're as bad as he is. I'm working," she was protesting in words but not in deed; he kind of liked making her feel conflicted like this.

"You just packed up and sent your partner home to watch football," he reminded her, leaned down and brushed his lips lightly against hers.

"I wish you wouldn't remind me about that," she groaned, realizing what she just did.

"Let me take your mind off it then."

She never had a chance. He pressed his mouth fully upon hers and kissed her as he had wanted to for days, taking in the sweetness and passion she gave back, feeling her very same longing for him.

"Is this what you came here for?" there was relief in the strain in her tired eyes and she brought her arms around his neck.

"Well..." he raised his brows and her soft laughter signalled her understanding and approval of its meaning, "It's not the only thing."

His deprived carnal instincts pretty much took control after. His mouth found hers again, more fiercely this time, kissing her roughly. Without even knowing it he had lifted her effortlessly halfway across the room onto the perfectly made bed, setting them both on it, pinning her entirely under his weight. He kissed her raw until her lips parted with a sigh, her body, willing and open for his taking. Her tongue met and carressed his as she pulled his breath into her.

He broke off from her dizzying spell, breathless, heart pounding against his chest, the tightness in his pants eager to explode. Gazing into her eyes they were filled with the same desire. Then a glint of mischief sprang from them and before he could ask her what she was up to, she had unfastened his belt, unzipped his pants and had his fullness in her hand, stroking it and making gentle squeezing motions up and down his fully grown length.

"Not yet," he tried to say into her ear as he needed all his strength and concentration to prevent him from coming right then.

"I want you now, Harry," she whispered invitingly in his then took his earlobe between her lips and ran her tongue smoothly against it.

It was unbearable. The need to feel himself inside her was overpowering he couldn't wait any longer. He sat back on his heels, tugged her pants down and just about ripped her knickers off of her. Still both half dressed he plunged himself into her warm moist spot, the pleasant tightness with which she encased him encouraging him to seek more pleasures within. She let out a short sharp cry as he did and bit her lower lip.

"That hurt," he said to her, concerned, having seen this happen before, when he took her too soon and she wasn't ready.

"It'll pass," she reassured him, urging him to go on.

He waited for her to adjust to his sudden intrusion then moved himself in and out of her as she lay back, watching the tension on her face replaced by more positive expressions. He felt her wetter and hotter with each incursion and there was not much he could do to prolong it. In one deep final thrust he gave her everything he had, clutching her body by the hips tightly against his as he did. As breathless as he was, she sat up, moved herself against him a couple of times and peaked. She kissed him arduously with the same satisfied smile he had.

They snogged languidly after, seemingly for ages, then she stopped suddenly, her body tensing up and her expression changing as her sight went past him to the door behind.

"Dean!"

With Hermione still on him he turned the best he could and looked over his back to see a surprised but amused Dean standing near the door.

"Oh, whatever you do, please don't move," Dean quickly said as Hermione reflexively wanted to get off, "I don't want to be seeing more of either of you. By the way, nice ass, Harry."

"Um, thanks," he could think of no other way to answer that, this being the first time he was having such a conversation with Dean in a compromised position.

Hermione was in near panic.

"How long have you been...?!"

"Standing here? Thankfully not long but long enough to guess what happened before," then he scolded them, "Geez, you guys nearly gave me a heart attack. If you two want to sneak around and don't want others to find out you're sleeping together you should really lock the doors when you do this."

It was sensible advice. Harry winced. Hermione turned and glowered at him for missing his one assignment.

"Sorry," he apologize then asked Dean the first question that came to his mind, "Why did you come back?"

Not that the why mattered so much than the fact that he did.

"I left my phone somewhere. I remember seeing it, on the bed," he defended himself, the expression on his face quite funny as the prospect of his phone being in their current vicinity dawned on him, "Well, I hope it's not there. It was a perfectly good phone. I should get going. Maybe the game is still on. I'm really sorry for interrupting this high level meeting."

Harry laughed with him as Dean said that. Even Hermione let out an embarrassed smile.

"I'll talk to you guys tomorrow," Dean made for the exit.

"Dean..." she called out after him with a concerned tone in her voice.

Her partner understood, "I know. Mum's the word. Though you know I'm going to want to hear the lame reason you guys have for not telling anyone."

Harry would love to hear what Hermione would tell Dean too. Dean finding out was definitely a good thing. At least there was now one other person that Hermione could talk with about their situation. It was hard but he was big enough to admit that they were not an island and as much as they were pretty good on their own they couldn't be everything to each other. She needed someone other than him to talk to about Ginny.

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A/N. I am glad JKR left most of Hermione's background off Canon. There will be more about her little sister in a future chapter - those who know my writing know that will be of relevance at some point

And to those who are wondering when we're going back to the present I still have a few key scenes to write. There's still Jean Peverell and one involving Ginny that will force Hermione to choose. On a happy note Warren's back in the next chapter. There's also the appearance of someone Hermione wished she would never see again in her life.

A/N. This is not the chapter I intended to write (translated as ‘forget what I said I would write about’) and I actually dwelled on whether or not to post it. It doesn’t move the plot along but it’s two in the morning and I’m not thinking straight. Here a synopsis of what it contains.

The first half of it is really just HHr smut :). If that’s not your thing you might want to move along. All the intimate HHr moments I’ve been writing is my way of trying to make up for what’s about to happen but do let me know if you think it’s overdone and I’ll try not to embellish or include pointless ones.

The second half is about her sister which I originally thought I wouldn’t write about until much later. Its significance to the story should be self explanatory.

I do hope that this chapter will at least entertain.

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Chapter 32 – Skeletons in Her Closet

Hermione woke up early Saturday morning, the sun just peaking over the balcony through the French doors. Harry's bare feet were touching her feet and his warm body was against hers.

She made every effort not to move, not even flinch. Harry was such a light sleeper he usually woke up when she got off the bed. He got in so late last night and she thought he needed the extra minutes. After all they didn't need to be somewhere else today. She could easily tell he was still asleep by the way his soft breath fell on her nape and by the way his arms felt heavily around her, all protective and territorial.

That brought an amused smile on her face. Awake he wasn't this possessive. In fact he was far from it. He gave her space to do her thing. Even with the promotion and while training under him he didn't crowd her, allowing her freedom to think for herself. He didn't impose himself or force her into choosing his suggestions. He let her make mistakes and in the process made her successes really her own.

Outside work he was as supportive and understanding. When her father died he let her mourn the way she wanted to and knew exactly when she needed him without her having to ask. He knew her, really knew her, sometimes, scarily enough, seemingly better than she knew herself.

And it was one thing knowing her but another thing being okay with who she was. She had no delusions about being the most lovable, easy to get along with person. Her family had difficulty with her and her ideas; even she had difficulty with herself sometimes. But three months later, the last two living with her, he was still here, still looking at her with the same longing gaze, still treating her with the same respect, still making love with her with the same passion, still holding her with the same tenderness. She had very little doubt now that he cared about her, maybe as much as she cared about him. And she was utterly and madly in love with him.

Waking up to all this had no equal. Tears ran down her cheeks and she had to laugh at herself. This was overly sentimental even for her. It was funnier when she realized the reason for her tears; she didn't take too much happiness very well.

Gathering herself, she closed her eyes and let her mind be at peace, reassuring herself that it wasn't obscene to feel this blissful. She let Harry's warmth lull her to sleep and hours later woke up to the sensation of her friend and lover kissing her hair.

"Good morning, sleepy head," he greeted with an easy smile.

She liked how he did that; how he kissed her to wake her up and how his eyes kind of lit up as he said good morning. Actually she liked how he did pretty much everything.

"Good morning," she replied, returning his smile in kind.

With a slight frown he enquired "Are you feeling okay?"

"Why do you ask?"

"It's half past ten."

"Really? That late?"

He nodded, then placed the back of his hand against her forehead, "You look flushed."

"I'm a bit tired maybe but I'm fine," she dismissed his concern, really not knowing what the fuss was about, then asked, "So, what are we doing today?"

His eyes narrowed as he volleyed the question back, "What do you want to do?"

"It's your day to decide, remember?" she pointed out.

They took turns choosing what to do on their days off. There were basically two rules; first, it had to be something the chooser wanted to do and not something they thought the other wanted, and second, they absolutely had to do whatever that choice was at least once. Her picks were cultural and educational. He was a good sport about it; doing stuff he would never do just on his own, some of the places he actually enjoyed. The worst one was when she took him to watch an opera. He was astounded to learn people actually paid a lot of money to see it. Maybe that was a bit too much 'culture' for him.

But he got her back his next turn; tandem bungee jumping. She wanted to hex him so badly after the jump, after he gave her back her wand. He quickly dispersed her ire (he had his ways) and got her to admit that a part of her did enjoy freefalling with him. It was symbolic in a way, an affirmation, that she was freefalling already. The rush of all the various emotions she had been feeling for him since that night by the pond flashed before her eyes in the seconds she relied on a man-made rope to keep her and Harry alive.

She was never going to be talked into doing that again. Save for some of the things they went through as teenagers, bungee jumping was the stupidest thing she had ever done in her life and that included the many times she got back together with Ron. The one good thing about it was that at least bungee jumping didn't leave any lasting scars. Needless to say she still got anxious every time it was his turn to choose. She definitely wasn't thinking properly when she agreed to the entire arrangement.

Harry was still pondering his options, which scared her all the more. The more time he thought about it the more 'special' it would be.

"We can always start with the usual," she suggested, trying to keep a poker face, "That sometimes gives you ideas."

He laughed and wagged his finger at her, "No. Not today. Today I've decided we are not having pre-date sex."

She scoffed, amused.

"You don't believe me."

"It's not that I don't believe you," she reasoned, "I just don't think you can do it."

They usually had pre-date sex when it was his turn.

"See. This is exactly why I have to do it," he was joshing, "Don't get me wrong. I love making love with you. It's one of my favourite parts about being with you but I don't want you thinking that's all I'm good for or, Merlin forbid, believe that's all I think about"

"I don't think that."

"Not yet. But that's what I feel compelled to prevent," he was being silly, "So if only to prevent my reputation from being tarnished I sacrifice today as no sex day."

She couldn't help but chuckle.

"Are you challenging my ability to control myself around you?"

"I guess, yes," she answered with confidence, "So, if we're not having sex today what are we doing?"

"I choose to have you decide what to do."

"That's a rule violation."

"Not necessarily," he said shrewdly, "Not if you decide on something I want to do."

That made sense.

"Okay."

She extricated herself from his arms and slowly slid off him but not before brushing suggestively against his supposedly 'off duty' body part. It was difficult to keep a straight face as she stood at the foot of their bed, facing him while he watched her. He had propped himself up on both elbows curious about what she was up to.

"So, you want me to pick something which I know you'll want to do," she said thoughtfully, biting her lower lip as she slowly tugged on the free string of her blue silk pyjama bottoms and let them fall by her ankles.

His brows lifted up and he swallowed hard.

"'ll need to think about it," she continued, bringing her fingers to the top button of her shirt and then unfastening each button one at a time, careful to expose more skin as they made their way down.

When she got to the last button she stopped, gently slipped the thigh length fabric off her shoulders leaving her bare, all bare, having opted to dispense with wearing underwear last night.

Harry who was watching her intently all this time, was red. His breathing was unsteady, his gaze carressing her body. It felt like he was touching her with his hands already, causing her heartbeat to mimic the sound of raging bulls just off the gates in Pamplona. She was burning. His lips parted slightly and she couldn't help but imagine them on her, going through every inch of her body with reckless abandon. If he didn't stop staring at her the way he was she was going to have to join him back in bed. But that wasn't the intention of this particular exercise. She stepped out of the heap of blue on the floor.

"I'll let you know after a long hot shower," she added, then turned her back on him and walked to their bathroom.

"Damn," she heard Harry hiss as she slid the shower door close.

This was immediately followed by the sound of sheets being whipped off the bed in haste. She turned warm water on. Just as the first sprinkle of water fell on her Harry Apparated inside the shower stall. He was as naked as she was.

"Saboteur," he accused, moving closer, his mouth inches from hers, their bodies touching but not quite.

Her eyes gravitated to his lips as she replied, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You'll be begging before this is over," he brushed them lightly against hers, taunting.

"I've never begged for anything in my life."

The last were really empty words of bravado. She reached for the bath sponge behind him. Seeing him, all of him, feeling him so close, most of her was already waving the big white flag of surrender. With the cramped space there was no way she could get to what it was she had been reaching for, which she had already forgotten, unless he moved. From the bemused expression on his face he wasn't going to budge.

He took it instead, the sponge, poured liquid soap onto it and said with naughtiness in his voice, "Please, allow me."

It wasn't like he was asking for permission. With their bodies moist from the warm soft mist of the shower above their heads, he gently coaxed her to turn and face away from him. Then he worked up a lather. It was a pretty good one from what she could feel, a darn good one. He started with her neck, then her shoulders, then down her back, down the side of her legs and up her inner thighs, deliberately slowing as he went through that last part, soft flowing motions, almost featherlike, the forming bubbles slowly but incompletely washing away. The anticipation of what they were about to do fuelled her already monstrous desire.

Then she felt something fall on the tiled floor.

"Um Harry. You dropped the sponge."

She felt him come up against her, causing her to gasp involuntarily. With his big pointy gun behind her she felt the need to stand at attention.

"I believe you're right."

"Are you...picking it up?" she gulped.

He moved even closer, his firm chest and abs gliding smoothly against the suds on her back. She wordlessly prayed for restrain and sanity.

"Would you like me to?"

She thought about it for a moment then said, "No."

He asked another question, "Would you like to?"

That was a no-brainer.

"I think we'll leave it there."

"Interesting choice."

He chuckled, not the least bit disappointed. As she hoped he wasn't done. His large, strong hands came upon her shoulders, gathered suds and tracked slowly down her arms. He then moved up the side of her body and onto her taut breasts, cupping them and gently kneading them, taking her sensitive nipples in between his soapy thumb and fingers. Her hands joined his busy ones, like flies on the back of a horse really just, tagging along for the smooth mind numbing ride. He drew her closer to him, not that she wasn't already gravitating to the pleasant sliding sensation of him and his manliness against her back and the dizzying feel of his two day old stubble brushing against her neck her shoulder. Her ragged breath, bounding pulse and buckling knees said it all.

"God Harry..." she moaned, arching back, offering more of herself to him.

He kissed his way up her neck and nibbled her ear, flicking a purposeful tongue in and around it.

"Just Harry is fine," he whispered in it.

A million tingling goose bumps erupted down her spine. He knew just which buttons to push and he was enjoying this. He didn't stop there either. He worked on the other side of her neck, kissing her more roughly. While his left hand kept her breast company his right hand migrated down past her belly and onto blessed territory where she ached for him the most. His fingers started to do their thing.

"Harry..." she murmured his name again.

"Much better," came his reply, his breathing as uneven as hers.

She was losing it. She wanted to do something. Touch him, kiss him, do him, anything to keep herself from losing it. She reached behind for him but Harry would have none of it. He grabbed her by the wrist and held her hand against the wall in front of them. Then he took her other one, interlaced their fingers and gently guided them back to her sweet centre. With her fingers and his, he stroke her rhythmically, her highly tactile mound of flesh pleading for more. His mouth and tongue were having their way as well, partaking of her bare flesh, now hot and raw. All signs indicated she was so close but she wasn't going to be driven into having a hollow one. It was rarely good for her without him inside her and she always felt guilty coming without him. He was as ready as she was.

"Harry…please..."

He let her go. She spun around and their bodies merged, their mouths clashed against each other, raw, primal, uncivilized.

"It's about bloody time," he growled against her lips.

Crushing her against the wall and pinning her against it, he tugged her hair back to kiss her more deeply. She clutched his wet locks, matching his fiery intensity with her own. Out of breath she broke off from his mouth and began kissing the outline of his jaw, his neck, his throat, the feel of his scruffy beard and the satisfied sounds coming from within him turning her on even more. One of his hands slid down her body and hitched her leg up, opening her up to him. With his other hand now rested firmly in the small of her back, he dove into her with deep, hard, upward thrusts. The room swirled around them. Having him inside her was completeness in itself.

His pace quickened as his own instincts took over. He lifted her in stride and she wrapped her legs around him, giving him deeper access. She let herself go, letting him pleasure her, trusting him, giving herself up wholly to his need for filling for his would in turn fill hers. His every incursion was hitting her sweet spot. Glassy eyed, she looked through the foggy haze and watched the intensity and concentration on his face grow. That was it for her. Involuntary impulses of her orgasm hit through roof, something delightful resonated deep within her and her body shuddered and exploded, indescribable out of this world heavenly bodies appeared and all she could think of doing as she cried out his name was to hang onto him as if her life depended on it. A second or two later she felt him empty himself into her.

He set her down gently, supporting her up somewhat as warm water fell on them, water that was probably there but she just didn't notice before. She held onto him to keep steady for her legs felt like mush. Leaning his forehead against hers and still breathless, he shook his head slightly, a grin on his face.

"What so amusing?" she asked.

"You are going be the death of me," he answered, planting a long kiss on her forehead, "Now, where were we?"

"You were saying today was ‘no sex day’," she reminded him with a smirk.

"Yes, I remember now," he nodded, laughing as he answered back, "And you said you didn't beg."

They called it even. It was a longer shower than planned and it was one o'clock before they had recovered, dressed and eaten. She had decided on what they were going to do today, what was left of it, anyway and was driving his really nice car.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

He was on the passenger seat, trying his best not to cringe so much every time a disagreeable sound came from the gear box between them. Her dismal clutching and shifting performance that afternoon was a direct result of her legs temporarily losing neurological connection with the rest of her and he was being good about it. It seemed that she and her feelings were more important than his expensive car. It was kind of a test, unintentional really, that he was passing with flying colours.

"Sutton," she replied.

She saw his concern out of her peripheral vision. He was worried about how fresh her father's death still was and how her memories of her childhood might affect her.

"We don't have to do this right now," he offered; he was kind of sweet.

"I'll be fine," she glanced at him briefly, "Really. I've put it off long enough, don't you think?"

On the other side of the complaining stick shift, Harry sat and listened as Hermione just admitted that she had indeed been skirting around the topic of her childhood. Doing this this soon was a surprise. She had been a surprise all day today starting from sleeping in, then that mini striptease she put on, and then the steamy shower. He swallowed the lump in his throat. The taste and feel of her naked skin still burned in his memory. Showering was never going to be the same again.

Studying her now as she was driving he was worried because she looked a bit peaky. He had seen her looking tired all week; must have been the strain of her new job. She had to change gears again and he involuntarily clenched his jaw.

"Why don't you want to talk about your childhood?" he asked to drown the sound out.

"I just don't. It's really nothing remarkably different from what you knew about it while we were at Hogwarts," she dismissed.

He wondered if she was going to tell him about her sister. He hoped she would. He didn't want to have to ask.

"So why are you telling me now?"

"Because you had a point about it being unfair that I know so much about your childhood when you have a hazy picture of mine."

He sat back and listened to her recap what he already knew, ignoring the pleas of help from his abused car. He was already planning that a future day off would be spent teaching her how to properly use a standard H. The standard H...he chastised his foul mind for wandering off thinking about ideas on how to make a lesson in the art of manual transmission more interesting.

"That's where I was born," she pointed to the humongous Muggle hospital as they drove by, "Six pounds eight ounces, just past those Emergency Room doors. My Mum said she went into labour two weeks early, then less than two hours later there I was, as if I just decided it was time and didn't care if no one was quite ready."

He smiled at how well her Mum put it, noting how that fit with how he had always known her.

She drove past an old church where she and her parents used to attend Sunday mass at, then the gated fortress of South Bridges Primary, where she went to school before Hogwarts. He knew Hermione's family was well off but didn't imagine this.

"You went to a rich kid's school?"

She shrugged, "My Mum always said that a good education was the most important thing they could give me. The teachers were great; my classmates were pompous arrogant assholes."

"That explains why you didn't have friends."

"My parents could afford the school but we weren’t rich, not rich like most of the kids there. Many didn't like me because I got way better scores than they did and I wasn't really one of them. That and I was an annoying know-it-all, right?"

"I can’t answer that."

"You're supposed to say if you were so annoying I wouldn't have been friends with you."

"Am I? How about if I say you were misunderstood and they just didn't see the better side of you."

"Which is?"

"The caring, loyal and fiercely protective friend that you can be."

"Right, you and Ron saw that," she snorted with scepticism.

"We were stupid teenage boys so it took us a while," he defended themselves; "We were lucky you didn't take that against us and stuck around."

"I didn't have much choice. It was either hanging out with you and Ron or spending time with Parvati and Lavender," she chortled, "Can you imagine me hanging out with those two?"

He chuckled as an image of a teenage her giggling and talking about boys, make-up, and more boys came to mind. He noticed that she slowed and parked in front of a twenty storey building on a very busy street, an obvious prime business location.

"That's where my Mum and Dad first set up their private practice. They built it from scratch right after graduation," she told him, "My parents worked very hard. I remember spending a lot of my childhood in there, using my Mum's desk doing homework after school, waiting for them to finish with patients. It was our routine. My Mum typically finished earlier, around five. We'd go home and she'd make dinner. Dad would get home around seven. It was a very good practice until they sold it when I was ten and set up a smaller one on the other side of town."

She grimaced slightly as she said that and drove away. They continued to drive around while she pointed out places of significance in her childhood; the old Granger house and their neighbours, the nearby libraries she frequented, the playground that was the place where she first accidentally used magic

"Stella Holden," she said as if it was some name she would never forget, "I was six. She was the neighbourhood bully. She pushed me off that swing because she couldn't wait her turn. I got so mad she ended up neck deep in the playground sand."

"You found out when you were six?"

"Well no. There was nothing else for a while and my parents figured it was some freak windstorm that got Stella," she found that amusing, "Like yours mine kind of happened when I was really upset."

She drove off and told him stories about her other instances of unintentional magic pre-Hogwarts. Quite funny were the reasons she, her parents and her teachers came up with to explain them.

"In the beginning they were subtle, few and so far in between. I wasn't upset enough much and my Mum and Dad were wonderful parents."

"So when did your magic become obvious?"

"When my sister was born."

She didn't say anything after that, as if she had nothing else to say. Silence filled the air until he found his voice and spoke.

"Patricia," he said her name and he explained to her how he knew, "I saw her grave next to your Dad's."

She nodded, not taking her eyes off the road. He could tell this was difficult for her.

"When I was about eight my Mum and Dad had a rough patch in their marriage. My Dad had an affair with one of the other partners. Patricia was my half sister. It was a very disruptive time."

Harry was flabbergasted and speechless. He couldn't get past thinking how perfect he had always pictured her parents' marriage to be. It was hard to see her dad having an affair. She continued in an almost emotionless and detached tone, as if she was telling a story about someone else and someone else's family.

"The affair didn't last long. My Mum and Dad made up and we, well they, welcomed Patricia into the family. My Dad and her Mum shared custody," she explained.

"Must have been hard on your Mum," he commented, now with added admiration for the woman who raised her.

"I didn't notice but looking back on my memories about it I could see that it was," she answered, "She doesn't talk much about that time. My Dad did tell me she lost a bit of herself doing that."

"How could she take him back?"

"I don't know,” she shrugged, “I keep meaning to ask her but it hasn’t really come up in a conversation. I suspect it was because she loved him and he asked her. I think maybe she did it for me too. She grew up without a father and my Dad was a good one. Of course, after knowing what he did I lost a bit of respect for him. Took a while for me to accept my Mum's thinking that he made a mistake and that didn't make him a horrible person. So I kind of took it out on my sister. I called her my part time sister. I was nine and went from centre of attention to not. I was jealous. I resented Trisha's existence."

She had a disgusted look on her face, as tears began falling. She pulled over and he took her hand in his.

"You were young," he peered in to catch her attention, "Sibling jealousy is not that uncommon."

"I know," she sniffled then faced him, "It was the first time I had to deal with that ugly side of me. On my tenth birthday I wished her dead, Harry. And she died. She was only a baby. She didn't deserve that from me. What was I thinking?”

Her face scrounged up and she broke down. He reached over, pulled her in an embrace, stroke her hair and let her cry it out. He could understand why she didn't want that this detail about her childhood become common knowledge, particularly not when she was having a hard enough time fitting in when she first came to Hogwarts.

After some time she pulled away and he took her hand again.

"You don't really think your wish was the reason she died, do you?"

"At first I did," she admitted, taking the hanky he conjured for her, "This happened as all the magic started becoming more obvious. I felt like a freak. Professor Dumbledore paid us a visit and explained everything, including the part that magical or Muggle, while definitely something not to be encouraged, no amount of wishful thinking could kill. It was a long time ago Harry. I just get upset thinking about it so I never told anyone."

He nodded.

“How did she die?"

She drew a deep breath in and answered, “She and her Mum were waiting on the underground platform and her Mum slipped just as a train was coming in. Trisha was in her arms. It was reported as an accident.”

The way she said it he sensed it wasn’t. He waited for her to elaborate.

“When my Dad decided to stay with us her Mum kind of lost it,” she added, “I found this out years later from him. She couldn't accept his decision and she couldn't stand the gossip. There was a lot of talk, vile ones about her. She told my Dad in a letter that she didn't want that life for her daughter and that she would do what she did if he didn’t leave us. He read the letter too late and wasn’t able to stop her. She was apparently a good person to begin with but she became quite vengeful in the end."

That was putting it kindly. As far as Harry was concerned the woman was mean. What mother would do that to her child? And Hermione left out the part about the accident happening on her birthday. Somehow he was certain that wasn't a coincidence.

"I'm so sorry," he squeezed her hand tightly; he didn't know what to say, "I know that was hard. Thank you for telling me."

"You're not freaked out?"

"That you have skeletons in the family closet?"

"There’s that and that I have this hideous side of me."

"Don’t we all?”

Hermione seemed more relaxed after that. She drove them up to one of her favourite local places called Lookout Point that was just outside Sutton and had this magnificent view of the cityscape. They spent the remainder of the afternoon there sitting on the hood of his car talking about their favourite and not so favourite childhood memories. And later, with the sun setting over the horizon she leaned against him and he held her in his arms. He could feel her heart beating as calmly as his own as they watched the beautiful scene before them unfold in silence. He was at peace.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. The next one in almost done and will start with Dean and Hermione.

A/N. Thanks for the feedback. I was looking for a reason why Hermione wouldn’t tell Harry about Hugo and it had to be a very personal one. Once again I’ve taken liberties with her family and past so that would make more sense. I am surprised though that only one reviewer picked up that one tiny hint about Hermione in the last chapter. I must have done such a poor job of it.

Now, more of Hermione as she tries to sort out this Harry-Ginny thing. Dean helps her in his own way. Ginny makes a cameo in this one.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 33 – Fear

"The whole thing makes less sense than tits on a bull," Dean said to Hermione after Seamus went off to tend on the other side of the bar.

It was about nine, they had just had dinner and Jessie left with Harry for work. Her partner had been pestering her about the 'whole thing' every chance he got since she gave him the long version of the story a few days ago. In truth she was avoiding more conversations about it, for as much as she was ecstatic Dean knew about her and Harry's little secret, she didn't like the feeling of being pressured into coming out into the open with it.

"Tits on a bull?"

"Don't distract me," he chastised, quite aware of what she was trying to do, "Seriously, what are you planning on doing? Be a couple in secret forever? Start bringing in fake boyfriends and girlfriends? Don't you think we're all going to eventually clue in and find out?"

"We'll tell everyone. We just haven't set a firm date yet," she replied vaguely, thinking maybe Harry should know this was the plan.

"The date is long past due," Dean snapped, "It's been more than three months. I take it it's still going strong?"

"I think so."

"Feel great?"

"Uh-huh."

"Feel right?"

"Most days."

"So, let me get this straight. First you weren't sure he was serious or that it would last and you thought it wasn't worth it to hurt his ex-girlfriend and your Dad, which I still don't get, by the way. There was also the Ministry policy against it. Despite all that you ask him to move in with you, which he agrees to, and so you figure that perhaps he is indeed serious about what you guys have gotten yourself into, duh, but then you’re not sure sometimes because he seems content about this ‘secret’ propagating itself and hasn’t asked you about it again since trying to talk you out of doing it. And while technically you're no longer violating some archaic Ministry rule, all this time you've been feeling guilty about betraying his ex, feeling bad about not fulfilling your Dad's dying wish to break up with him and lying to all your friends about it. But you're happy. Does that sum it all up?”

“Pretty much.”

"You are mental," he pointed out the obvious, "So what's really holding you back?"

"I think it's because I can't face her once she finds out."

"Why not?"

"She'll be hurt, angry, and it'll be justified."

"So what?"

"I don't want her hurt or angry and I'll feel like this hideous person that I really am."

"Your sleeping with him doesn't make you a bad person but I must say keeping this secret from her makes you a horrible friend. Nevertheless, it doesn't matter what you want. She'll eventually find out."

"I was hoping she'd find someone else before I had to tell her and she'd be happy by now," she was still hoping.

"Well she hasn't and I think you're underestimating Ginny’s ability to understand."

“No names,” she reminded him.

It was late and they were far from the rest of the crowd but were still in a public place. She did an Impertubatus spell just in case.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Why is her happiness so important to you that you would forsake your own so you won’t hurt her precious feelings?”

“She wants him back, Dean."

"How do you know this?"

"I just know, okay?"

He took her word for it, "If she wants him back then tough shit. She had her chance. She blew it when she broke up with him. He's moved on."

Hermione made a face which Dean caught a sight of.

"You don't think he's moved on?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted.

"You're living together and you're not sure?"

She winched at his good logic. When he put it that way it did seem like she should be more certain.

"It's so bloody clear what your problem is."

"You mean aside from being a traitorous friend?"

"Uh-huh," Dean replied non-judgmentally, one of the things she loved about him.

"What?"

"You're an insecure girlfriend," he blatantly put it. "You're afraid to lose him."

"I am not," she denied it like it was the craziest theory she had ever heard.

But Dean stood his ground, "Think about it. Your reasons for keeping it secret may have been there in the beginning but they aren't there anymore. Now you're just afraid. You're afraid that she'll tell him she wants him back and he'll say yes. You're hiding behind this bubble of secrecy you've fashioned, making her an excuse when you know there is no way to prevent her from getting hurt, so he wouldn't have to choose because you can't risk losing him."

The more she considered it the more she thought his claim had merit. It upset her. How did she get from having nothing to lose three months ago to having so much now and being afraid to lose it all? It was ridiculous, immature, cowardly...

She groaned, buried her face in her hands and muttered to herself, "I'm about to fuck this up."

Dean leaned in closer and tried to make her feel better.

"No you're not. You're just thinking too much. You need him to put your mind at ease. Ask him if he wants her back."

"I can't ask him that," she said to Dean like he had two heads.

"Why not?" Dean seemed totally oblivious to the obvious.

"Because he'll say he doesn't."

"But that's good, isn't it?" he was more perplexed.

"Not if he really wants her back," she reasoned, "I don't want him to stay with me just because he doesn’t want to hurt me and it's the noble thing to do."

"What makes you think he'll choose you only because it's the noble thing to do?"

"Because he chose her first; because he loved her first."

Dean quickly corrected her, "That doesn't mean anything."

"It shouldn't but it kind of does," Hermione replied, now feeling warm on the face as words flowed from her mouth unedited, "I've known him for what, over half my life now? I've spent much of that time with him and not once, not once did he look at me this way..."

Dean interrupted, "You might want to breathe a bit there."

She ranted on, "You've seen him and her together. They were this perfect couple and we all thought they were going to get married. Then she breaks up with him for some stupid reason and now he's with me. I'm his rebound girl."

"So, fucking what?"

"I'm only with him because the one he wants tells him she doesn't want him anymore," she hurt herself saying that, “Only she wants him back.”

Dean continued to have a reasonable answer for her every point, "You don't know that for a fact. How do you know that he wants her and not you?"

"Because I know he told her he loves her many times and he hasn't said anything about loving me."

That surprised Dean; it shocked her. The truth finally came out; the root of her insecurity. She didn't know if he loved her. She thought and she hoped he did, but she didn't really know.

After some time, Dean said quietly, "Then ask him"

"I can't do that."

He rolled his eyes, "I know what you're going to say, that he might say he loves you even if he doesn't mean it."

Finally he was starting to get it.

“He might also mean it,” he suggested.

She expounded, "I don't want to have to ask. I want it to come from him."

"What good is that if you won't believe him anyway? Have you told him how you feel?"

"No, because I don't want to pressure him into feeling the same way."

"This is maddening. Thank goodness I'm not a woman!" Dean declared in exasperation, "Let me channel Luna here. You can't force people to feel something out of nothing. And, if it's meant to be, it will happen even if you mean for it to be something else."

She blushed, hating that she had to tell Dean the truth about how she felt about Lunaspeak, "I never could figure Luna out."

"Okay, let me try someone else," he changed his tone to one more firm and direct, "Stop fooling around with a good thing. Life's too short. You've known him for a long time and he's a good guy. Witches would kill to have what you have. And really, now's the perfect time to do it because I'm so busy being famous I won't know what hit me."

"That's not funny."

"Do you see me laughing? But it makes the most sense. Look, I know she's your best friend and she may want him back as you said but maybe she'll be okay with it. If she really is your friend she'll be happy for you."

"I know she'll be happy for us but that doesn't mean she won't get hurt," she replied.

"I don't see any other way to prevent that, do you?" he raised another good point she had no rebuttal for and when she didn't answer she heard him sigh, "Bear with me here. I'm not a woman, I don't think like a woman and I can't pretend to think like one. Her you can't do much about, she'll find out one way or another. She’s a big girl and she can take care of herself. But you should have the honest conversation with him. Give him the chance to do the right thing."

Then she let her most desperate thoughts out for Dean to hear, "I know what I feel about him but how do I know how he feels about me? Even if I ask him and he tells me he loves me, how do I really know?"

"You don't 'really know'. There is no knowing," Dean said what she already knew. 'No knowing' was an answer she didn't like. He continued, "You just feel and you trust. You don't have reason to second guess whatever he'll say he feels about you, do you? And if for some strange reason he decides he wants his ex- back instead of staying with you then he'll be making a big mistake. I'll have to hex him for being such a stupid ass but you can't keep him and this hidden forever. If you're not meant to be with each other it may hurt like hell but nothing you do will keep you together."

And maybe for the first time in her life she truly got tempted to believe in fate. She could imagine how believing that there were things that were just 'meant' or 'not meant' to be could bring about relief that there was a higher power above her determining what was best and removing the burden of control from her. It would also mean that no matter how poorly she decided, if they were meant to be, they would end up together.

However, she couldn't get past destiny trivializing all the hard choices she and everyone else made everyday. For her, the existence of a predetermined outcome would make choosing to do the right thing meaningless and existence pointless. That reminded her why she didn't, couldn't, believe in fate. Fate was a cop out; it was just something to make one feel better at the end of the day when things didn't work out as planned.

But Dean was right too. There were things that were beyond her control. She couldn't do anything about Ginny getting hurt and she couldn't do anything about how Harry truly felt about her. Recognizing this now it was easier to let go, not to leave the outcomes up to fate but to let Ginny and Harry determine them, to trust that they would choose well.

Hermione had to face losing her fear of losing him. Maybe he did love her back the way she loved him but if he didn't then she'd have her moments with him to cherish forever. That wasn't such a bad thing. And how easily did she forget that this was her exact thought when he proposed all this that night at the pond?

Dean said it. She could not keep it to herself forever, even if Harry was allowing her to do so. She had to set whatever this beautiful and overwhelming thing that was between them free and let the elements test how steadfast it was; how real.

She downed the remainder of her drink, set her glass down and nodded over to Dean to let him know she got it and that she appreciated the bitter pill he was making her take. Then they were interrupted by Seamus making an announcement.

"Gather up, everyone!"

He flipped on the telly that was temporarily perched at the centre of the bar and adjusted the dial until it focussed on the BBC Magical London channel. Sportscore was on. It was some daily sports show she had seen Harry watch sometimes with highlights of games played that day.

"Ginny's getting interviewed!" Seamus said excitedly.

True enough there she was, seated confidently across from the show's host, smiling demurely. Hermione could tell she was nervous by the way she intermittently tucked her flowing red hair behind her ear even when she didn't have to but that would have gone unnoticed by the rest of those watching.

"She looks positively radiant," someone said from the gathered crowd.

"She's even more beautiful than she was before," some bloke added.

Dean disagreed, "Nah. That's just all lights and make-up."

It was and it wasn't. Her partner was obviously trying to prop up her diminishing confidence, quite unsuccessfully. Ginny looked amazing on the screen and it wasn't so much about how she looked, it was how she carried herself. She last saw Ginny in person just before her dad died about a month ago. When her popularity took off after that first game, her handlers pounced on the opportunity and Ginny got a make-over. Physically there was not a lot to change but to sell the sport and to get people more interested they worked on her public image such that little girls would want to be like her and boys and men would want to watch her and the Harpies play.

"Ten games since you started, ten wins for the Harpies; you're averaging a hundred and seventy points a game. What does this all mean to you?" the host asked.

"I don't think words can describe it," Ginny answered, just as she would if she were talking to them and not to millions of viewers, "This is all wonderful. It's a dream come true."

"Many are already speculating Rookie of the Year. Some say MVP."

The Finnigan crowd cheered.

Ginny blushed, and dismissed the remark, "No, please. That's a bit premature. It's only been ten games. There are other great players out there who have done much more for their teams than I have."

"How do you do it? Every minute you're flying you play with such focussed intensity. What inspires you to play the way you do? Who inspires you?"

She shrugged, "A lot of it is really the people I play with. Being the new kid on the block my teammates have been so supportive and we do push each other to play as best we can. I just play hard."

That wasn't quite the answer the host was hoping for.

"Now, most of our viewers know you as Harry Potter's former girlfriend. Now that you've come into your own, what does Harry say about that?"

The mention of his name caught her off guard. Hermione felt like someone just slapped her across the face.

"He's happy for me."

"You've remained close all this time?"

"We're friends."

"Any chance he'll come to a game sometime and watch you play live?" the suggestive tone made Hermione grit her teeth.

Ginny laughed naturally, "I'm afraid you're going to have to ask him that question."

"No truth to the rumours he actually sneaks into the pitch disguised as someone else?" the host asked her teasingly.

Her friend chuckled, "That's absurd. We really should talk about something else."

The host was pushy, "Holyhead is playing London in a few days. Is it true that you've been receiving death threats from Flamer fanatics who want you to sit the game out and that Harry Potter has volunteered to personally protect you for the duration of your London stay?"

"No and most definitely no. Where does all the rubbish come from?" Ginny dismissed them good naturedly, though Hermione noticed the annoyance behind her tone, "I played on the London farm team. London fans are knowledgeable and they love a good challenge. Whoever started that rumour is unfair to paint them in such a negative light. I'm excited to play in front of them."

"You miss London?"

"London, the fans, my old teammates, my co-workers at the Prophet, my family and my friends," she listed, meaning that she did miss them, "And I can't wait to go home and have drinks at this lovely bar in Diagon Alley called Finnigan's."

"Finnigan's. I'll be sure to check that out. Thanks for coming by today," the host said, ending the interview.

"Thanks for inviting me," Ginny replied, shaking the host's hand.

Seamus shut the telly off, still beaming from Ginny's mention of Finnigan's as the crowd hooted and howled in approval. Hermione was proud of Ginny not only for how she handled herself in the interview but how she steered the conversation to talk about what mattered more to her while the host had an obviously different agenda.

Watching that she realized just how popular Ginny had become. Hermione didn't anticipate her past relationship with Harry being dragged into the limelight with her. She wondered if Harry did. Was that why he didn't watch Ginny's games?

Dean nudged her, "I'm telling you nothing can bring her down from the high she's in now. It'll be perfect timing."

If he said 'perfect timing' one more time she would have to tell him off.

They left Finnigan's around eleven but instead of going home she dropped by the Ministry to look into these alleged death threats. It turned out that the threats did exist and that the Harpies and the Flamers were taking it seriously. The teams had approached the Ministry to look into it and it was seen fit to get Aurors on the case.

It was no surprise to her that it was assigned to Harry but that didn't stop a hollow pit from growing in her gut as she saw his name on the file. The case had been opened yesterday and the fact that he didn't mention anything to her was unsettling.

It deflated her considerably and she fought off tears on her way home. She kept on telling herself he must have just forgotten, that he meant to tell her. She would ask him in the morning; this was a small thing and wasn't worth a phone call.

She tossed and turned in bed, ignoring her insecurities, scolding herself for being so emotional. Finally falling asleep past one, she dreamt very unpleasant dreams of Ginny and Harry getting back together. He woke her up inadvertently as he got into bed.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered as he kissed her in the dark, slipping under the covers next to her, holding her in his arms.

She faced him and asked, "What time is it?"

"Four, way too early to get up," he answered, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she felt like she was choking.

Harry turned on the lamp on the bedside table and brushed off wetness from her cheeks.

"Tell me."

"It's so stupid really. I feel bad enough thinking it. I'm going to hate myself if I ask it," she was scolding herself for being so weak about this.

"I want to know," he encouraged her, his voice very patient as he gazed down upon her.

She gathered up her courage and asked, "Why didn't you tell me Ginny was receiving death threats?"

He sighed, tucked a stray strand of her brown hair behind her ear, "Because if I did I'd have to tell you that I volunteered to look into it and I didn't want you to feel bad."

His honesty begat honesty. She fought off the stupid tears coming from stupid envy and stupid, useless jealousy.

"I feel bad."

"I'm sorry," she heard him say, his words laced with remorse, "It was something I had to do."

"I understand."

She did. Having someone else take the case was not an option for him. He had to be the one to look into it. It was the way he was and she accepted that.

Out of the blue, seemingly attuned to her fears, he gave her reassurance, "I'm not leaving you. Not for her, not for anyone else."

"Okay."

"I'm here for as long as you want me here."

"Okay," she repeated, believing that he believed his words to be true, "Next time, just tell me, even if you know it'll hurt me, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered back, planting another kiss on her forehead and drawing her into his arms.

"Did you find anything?" she asked, her head resting on his chest as he turned the lights down.

"No. Ginny thinks it’s a publicity ploy by the teams to drum up more interest about the game," he replied harshly. "She's quite pissed."

"But you are treating it like it's real, right?"

"We’re not taking any chances," then he added, "She'll be in London next week. I want to tell her about us."

She had already thought about this, "After the game. I'll do it after the game."

"I want to be there with you when you do. We should do this together."

"Okay."

That settled, she felt him sigh and his tone became more relaxed.

He laid out the plan, "Then we'll call Ron and your Mum. Then we'll snog at Finnigan’s so everyone else will know."

She laughed and looked up at the outline of his face, "Harry..."

He had a smile, "What? It's either that or I'll go on national telly, jump on someone's couch like a freak and tell the world how I feel about you."

"Fine, Finnigan's it is then."

"I thought so."

He leaned closer and kissed her mouth tenderly, making her all emotional again.

Merlin, what the hell was wrong with her?

He embraced her and made her feel much better. She slept in his arms as always. When she woke up the next day she felt like she had a load off. He woke up briefly when she got out of bed but went back to sleep when she left for work.

That afternoon she and Dean were watching Borgin and Burkes. It was a rare day when Caractakus Burkes was manning the store. Borgin was apparently visiting family somewhere up north and Hermione had a couple members of their team trail him. She wanted to go but Dean convinced her to stay and send someone else. She had been feeling kind of off lately and she blamed the bug that was going around the office that week.

"You should go home," Dean said to her as he took over listening into what Burkes was doing in the shop.

"I'm fine," she responded, closing her eyes and willing her tiredness away.

Not half an hour later Dean nudged her and detached the headphones so she could hear what he was hearing. Burkes' impatient tone came over the speakers.

"The markings are all different. They’re not even close."

"If you had pictures..." the other man defended himself but Burkes cut him off.

"All I hear from you are excuses. I pay you a lot of money to find the Peverell jewels and you keep on giving me garbage," Burkes chastised, "We don't have the luxury of his patience."

The Peverell jewels?

"Look," Dean pointed at the magical imprint recognizer monitor in front of them, "It's Dodgey's magical signature or someone very close to his."

"Visual?"

"No, he slipped past the alley surveillance cameras."

"We need confirmation," she told him.

"I'll go," Dean volunteered but she made an executive decision.

She knew the stolen items better than he did and was better at stealth. She put the comm bud into her ear and listened as she transfigured herself and then made her way to the store in the guise of an interested shopper.

"Let me talk to him," the other man replied.

"He only talks to people he wants to talk with; you know this," the owner spat out, "Now get out of here before someone sees you."

"Can you at least give me something for those?"

"For these? The locket is made of fake Goblin gold, the stone on that brooch is cheap black diamond and the cloak I can get from a toy store," scoffed Burkes.

"You know that’s not true," the other man's voice answered, "I'll take them next door if you don't want them."

"Seventy-five galleons," Burkes offered.

"I'm not parting with them for less than two hundred."

The storeowner began complaining, telling the other man how it was hard to sell something that was hot. That was a confirmation of sorts but they weren't going to make a public arrest unless it was Dodgey or someone of interest. They couldn't waste their only lead on a nobody.

She quickened her pace, needing to be in there before the suspect left the store. The moment she walked in Burkes and the other man turned in her direction. It was Dodgey.

Burkes called out, "I'll be right with you, honey."

"I'll wait," she replied, a signal to Dean that they found their man and that she would stand down until he came so they could make the arrest together.

In the background she heard Dean make the necessary calls but Dodgey became fidgety. She caught him glancing her way more than once. Then their eyes met and she saw a flash of recognition in them.

"He made me," she announced to Dean as she reached for her weapon the same time Dodgey had.

A flash of red light emanated from somewhere near her mark. She ducked and the curse flew past her head, smashing the Egyptian mummy case on display behind her.

Collaportus!

She fired an exit blocking charm at the door he was heading for, making him go the opposite way. Dean, who was just outside and now couldn't get in, swore.

"Sorry. Back door," she told him through their comm device, continuing to avoid and block hexes from Dodgey, at the same time forcing him back on his heels to use the less populated exit where Dean would hopefully be waiting for him.

Crash!

Glass splintered behind her, making her swear. That one narrowly missed her. She had underestimated Dodgey's combat skills and if not for the anti-Disapparition charm Borgin and Burkes was equipped with he would have been long gone. He parried each and every restraint she threw at him, annoying her of the lack of intel on him. Nothing on his file suggested that he would be a difficult arrest. Had she known she would have waited for back-up before coming in.

Dodgey just slipped past a cowering Burkes beyond the counter and out to the back office and exit. Instantly hearing him engage Dean in a wand fight, she hurriedly made her way to join the fray.

Stupefy!

Protego!

Expelliarmus!

They were moving too fast, at least Dodgey was. At one point she almost got hit by friendly fire. Then, just as they heard more Aurors and MLE Apparating outside Knockturn Alley, Dodgey hit Dean with a green spell that propelled her partner up and back, demolishing the back window, exposing the footpath behind the store.

The sight of Dean motionless momentarily froze her.

"Dean!" she called out, almost in panic.

Her partner groaned and stirred, and as relief washed over her, she met Dodgey's pissed off stare. He ran for the path, sidestepping another Stunner from her. Without hesitation she moved swiftly towards the same exit, pounced on him and was able to grab him just as he Disapparated, taking her with him.

Craaackkk!!!

Pop!!!

A split second later they crashed back onto solid ground, the impact jarring them both and causing them to lose their wands. He had taken them to some remote field with tall wild grass all around them. She was first up on her feet and she swung her foot hard into his midsection as he was on his fours trying to get up.

“Umph!”

He grunted and swore at her. She tried to do it again but he was ready the second time, catching her foot and twisting it. Letting her body go with the motion, she twirled mid air and on her way down caught his jaw squarely with her trailing foot. Dean taught her how to do that.

A satisfying crunching sound echoed through the air and she took the opportunity to free up her holstered spare wand. He was quick too. He lunged, crashed hard against her with his shoulder and knocked her off her feet, making her lose her wand again.

"Enough of this!" he screamed in her face, his hands holding her wrists down above her head, his weight pinning her body to the ground.

"But we just got started," she spat back.

With a release move she freed up her right wrist and tried to punch him but he quickly restrained her again, more agitated than he was before.

"Don't make me hit you!" he warned, as if he really thought that would scare her.

She brought her forehead forcibly against his face, making him swear again as she drew blood, mostly his. His grip loosened and he got off her, holding his hands up his mouth, his eyes watering from the pain. She made a fist and was about to swing at him again when he held one arm up.

"I said that's enough!" he yelled out, in a familiar voice, "It's me."

"Who...?"

Before she could finish the question the man who was looked like Dodgey transformed right before her eyes. It was Warren Gates.

XXXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Sorry this took so long – I got confused and had to go back to DH 101.

I kind of stumbled upon this obvious Hallows connection that maybe a few of JKR’s characters, particularly Mr. Lovegood and those who knew of the triangular Hallows symbol, should have realized sooner. It’s likely many of you spotted it already way before I did. Or maybe JKR’s Mr. Lovegood did think about it but never really wanted the Hallows.

If you find plot holes do let me know. I rely on you guys to keep me honest!

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 34 – An Obvious Symbolic Connection

Pop!

Harry appeared right beside the familiar trap door, arriving inside the run-down Shrieking Shack as soon as he got Hermione's urgent but cryptic message. Loud voices immediately caught his attention.

"Untie me!" a man's voice, oddly familiar, yelled from somewhere on the upper floor.

"Shut up!" Hermione bellowed back and he could hear her pace across the squeaking floorboards above.

"If you don't untie me right this moment, I will have your wand...!"

"Oh shut it!"

Harry had responded to the call for back-up at Knockturn Alley and got a sketchy picture of the events from a still hurting but conscious Dean before getting the call from Hermione. What the hell was going on?!

He called out to her, ran up the wooden stairs two rungs at a time and when he got to the door could not believe the sight before him. The familiar voice belonged to Warren Gates. Warren was in the middle of the room, as pissed as Harry had ever seen him, a mix of fresh and dried blood on his face, hands and legs restrained by magical ropes. Hermione looked up and as soon as he saw the gash on her forehead, he immediately jumped to a disturbing conclusion. His thoughts darkened and Hermione must have recognized what it was for she immediately ushered him out the room even before he could draw his wand out, leaving a gagged and bound Warren livid as not only could he not move, he could not speak.

"Did he hurt you?!" he demanded from her, the sight of her non-serious injury tempering his urge to curse Warren.

“I'm fine,” she reassured him.

“What happened?! Where's Dodgey? What is Warren doing here and why is he in restraints?” he fired off in succession.

“I'm not sure that's Gates,” she told him seriously.

His mind slowed down enough to get what she was saying.

“What makes you think it’s not him?”

“Dean and I were surveilling Borgin and Burkes when Dodgey’s signature came up on the MIR. I went in and verified visually but he made me and eluded arrest. He almost took my head off trying to escape and hexed Dean badly,” she recapped, “He transformed wandless right before my eyes. The MIR can’t lie. It’s has to be Dodgey only we never knew he was a Metamorphmagus.”

He had to let her kniow.

“Warren is a Biomorphmagus.”

“What?”

“He's a Biomorph. He’s able to..."

She cut him off, "I know what a Biomorph is. But Biomorphmagy is science fiction. No one has ever proven the ability to transform oneself to an almost exact physical and biological duplicate of another person. The only way to do prove that is to examine DNA before and after conversion."

"And Warren hates giving tissue samples; kind of a pet peeve of his," he replied, "His condition is supposed to be top secret. He's gotten quite good at it too. He doesn't need a lot to transform himself into someone else."

“Okay,” she was still unconvinced, “But even if Gates is a Biomorph that doesn’t prove that the guy in there is him. He could still be Dodgey and maybe Dodgey can also morph. How would we know? DNA analysis can take a while.”

Harry weighed her words for a second then replied, “Let me talk to him but before I do that, why did you bring him here? Why not straight to the Ministry?"

"A couple of reasons," Hermione answered vaguely then asked, "How much did Gates know about the Hallows?"

Harry shrugged, "Why do you ask?"

She seemed unkeen to answer that question too.

"From the Park-Gaunt case he knew of the Resurrection stone and its connection with the Peverells. But did he or Park or anyone else know about the two other Hallows and that they actually existed?"

He shook his head, “I don't think so. The last time around the Canadians figured Park was merely obsessed about raising the dead and happened to hear about the Peverell stone. Warren didn't care whether or not it existed; we just used the fact that Park believed in it to try and draw him out. We never discussed the other two. And I didn't tell him anything because I didn't need to."

"But that doesn't mean Gates doesn't know," she concluded with a deep frown on her face, as if she didn't get the answer she wanted.

"Why are you asking?"

"Whoever that guy in there is I think he and Burkes are looking for all the Hallows."

He tried to calm her down, "Hermione, many people are looking for the Hallows."

"I have a feeling that this is different," she replied anxiously.

Hermione turned away and walked into the room. He followed her, guessing that it was her reason for not taking the suspect directly to the Ministry. The subject of the Hallows was a sensitive one. It was one of those cases that could potentially set off an undesirable series of events. Hermione wanted to find out what this was about before an official interrogation just in case it was something that had to be investigated quietly, like that last one.

When they got in the frustrated man who looked very much like Warren began yapping his mouth off soundlessly. Harry picked up a few choice words directed mostly at an impervious Hermione, words which one didn't need to be a lipreader to understand. Her non-reaction riled him up even some more

"Ungag him," he said to her.

"I was so enjoying the peace and quiet," she commented, but did as he asked anyway.

"Release me!"

"Who are you?" Hermione demanded.

"I told you who I am! Release me now or I'll make sure you won't ever work in law enforcement again!"

"Ooh, I'm so scared," Hermione mocked him, folding her arms across her chest, "The MIR says you're Dodgey, I have no reason to think otherwise."

"Harry, tell her who I am! Tell her what I am!"

"I did but it's not good enough for her," he answered, "She needs more proof."

"Fuck proof! You know me!" the wizard was yelling so loudly his voice broke as he spoke, "Why are you letting some fucking broad think for you? You're a man, be the man!"

"It's definitely him," Harry confirmed.

"Undoubtedly," Hermione agreed, the disgust on her face plain as she took the magical cuffs off, handed Warren his wand and confronted him, "Where's my suspect?"

"I want an apology!"

"You're not getting one; live with it. Where's Dodgey?" she repeated.

"You hexed me!"

"You hexed my partner."

"It's not my fault he's too slow to avoid a simple spell!"

"Touche."

"Let it go, Warren," Harry advised.

But with them it was like trying to get bickering kids off each other and it once again brought back memories of what it was like trying to referee between Hermione and Ron. When they weren’t done, they weren’t done. He disliked seeing her like this, seeing her this passionately riled up by another man more so now than ever before and he knew exactly where his feeling was coming from.

Warren carried on, "You held me against my will even after I identified myself!"

"I guess after what you did to Dean I should have just taken your word for it!"

"If you thought I was lying then why didn't you take me straight to the Ministry?"

"Because I figured that if I was wrong and you were indeed who you were you were probably trying to get away so you wouldn't blow your cover. Arresting you and taking you straight to the Ministry would have done exactly that. You should thank me," Hermione explained, seemingly earnest about that too, "I was doing you a favor."

Warren was stumped, a mix of disbelief and awe on his face.

Harry consoled him, "And that's why I like her thinking for me. What's going on? Why are you back?"

"A case," he said cagily, wiping off his bloody lip on a sleeve and spat out what was inside his mouth.

She grunted, "Park escaped again, didn't he?"

Warren didn't have to answer. His annoyed expression that Hermione got it right again said it all.

"This is above me. I have no authority to speak about the matter."

Hermione played hardball, "Fine, we'll talk with Burkes. Just give me my suspect back and we'll pretend we never saw you."

"Honey," Warren said in his most condescending tone, "You know only too well that Burkes' counsels will make it nearly impossible for your investigators to get anywhere near him. And I need your suspect."

"You can't have my suspect. That should teach you to ask nicely the next time."

"You're not getting him back until I get mine."

"Then I guess I'll have to lock you up," Hermione said without emotion, "Dodgey is a wanted Briton. Under International Crime laws Canada has no right to incarcerate him without informing his home country who then reserves the right to waive or not waive his extradition and right now, we are so 'not waiving.'"

"He has information that can lead to the arrest of a wanted Dark Wizard," Warren rebutted, "Dark wizard turfs petty artefact thief."

"That may be true but she's right, Warren," Harry decided Warren was on the level and tried to smoothen the process. "You should have let us know."

"I'm telling you it's not up to me," Warren was trying to make them understand.

Hermione remained unsympathetic, "Hard to believe that you would actually follow rules but that's unfortunate. We have no choice but to bring you in. Too bad about your cover."

"No, wait," Warren backed off, his eyes darting between him and Hermione then back, "I trust you but can I trust her?"

"You can trust her with your life," he declared.

"Let's not get carried away here," Hermione corrected sharply, "What does Dodgey have to do with Park?"

"Off the record," Warren proposed and waited for their replies.

He nodded and she nodded. Harry noted the gravity of Warren's expression as he began telling them why he was back.

"Park's name is now Morpheus Gaunt. The second he got to Toronto he applied for a legal name change. He said he wanted to make his family proud, carry on the ancestral tradition of death and violence," Warren found it somewhat pathetic, "He claimed he had proof that he was truly Morfin Gaunt's grandson and that Uncle Tom was his hero."

Voldemort worship was not new.

"Where does Dodgey fit in to this?" Harry repeated.

"When Gaunt escaped a couple of weeks ago we went back to his last known contacts and associates. One person we wanted to interview was the old geezer who got him into the Peverell Resurrection Stone myth, a Torontonian by the name of Theodorphus Daniels."

He and Hermione exchanged a brief knowing look. She too remembered Daniels on the picture on Jollyweather's wall, the one with Luna's dad on it, the one with the triangular symbol of the Hallows.

Warren continued, "Daniels was a rich eccentric fellow with a passionate belief of the existence of three magical artefacts called the Deathly Hallows, the same Resurrection stone, a cloak and a wand, supposedly given by Death to three brothers," he paused, probably noticing that they weren’t as clueless about what he was talking about, "You must know of the fairy tale by Beedle the Bard."

"Yes."

"I've read it."

They answered almost in unison.

"Daniels was a Quester of the Hallows. Many Questers, Daniels included, believe that the three brothers in the tale were Peverells," Warren regurgitated something that they already knew, "For a majority the quest is all fun and games but a select few take the Hallows very seriously because they think that the one who unites all three will be the Master of Death."

"The story doesn't say that," Hermione said blandly.

"Doesn't matter. Daniels believed it. Gaunt believes it too. Gaunt wants to unite the Hallows," Warren confirmed Hermione's fears, “Among other things.”

Harry noticed how Warren kept referring to Daniels in the past tense.

"I take it Daniels is dead."

"We found him in his home; Gaunt's handiwork,” Warren confirmed, “Aurors caught up with Daniels’ assistant and ran his magical imprint through the database. It was Dodgey."

Hermione asked, "What was Dodgey doing in Toronto? Was he trying to steal from Daniels?"

"Far from it. According to Dodgey he was hired by Burkes and Burkes was one of the many artefact experts of dubious character hired by Daniels to find two of the three Hallows; the stone and the cloak. Burkes knows the market, he knows that the cloak and the stone Daniels was looking for had not been legally bought or sold in decades. He got this idea that some private collector must have them."

"So Burkes hired Dodgey to steal like magical artefacts from private collectors but Dodgey takes more than what they want so we'll think they're garden variety robberies," Hermione deduced correctly.

Warren added, "And not a bad way for Dodgey to make extra cash."

"Then when things got too hot here Burkes sent Dodgey to Toronto to cool off as Daniels' assistant," Harry concluded.

"Yes," Warren confirmed, "Only Gaunt escapes, kills Daniels and then Burkes, all of a sudden, has a new boss that he doesn't want to work for but scares the shit out if him. So I came back and I've been posing as Dodgey hoping to get Gaunt through Burkes but the bastard's smart. He hasn't showed himself to Burkes and I don't blame him after what happened the last time he was with him. We do know Gaunt's here because he thinks he has found the wand."

"He has the wand?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Not yet. One thing that Daniels had written about the Elder wand in his journal was that its transfer of possession was quite obvious if one looked at magical history close enough. The wand can be traced by the death and violence associated with it. Daniels had this list of names of wizards of the past believed to have been its master. There is wide speculation about who its current master is but Daniels, it seemed, had eliminated most of the possibilities but one."

"Which one?" Hermione asked.

"The Dark Wizard Gellert Grindelwald. Daniels wrote in his journal how it was obvious that Grindelwald had been master of the wand during the height of his power. He used the triangular symbol of the Hallows many times, notably at Durmstrang Institute and at Nurmengard."

"Last week someone matching Gaunt's description accessed Grindelwald's arrest record illegally. Gaunt now knows that Grindelwald didn't have a wand when he was taken to Nurmengard. We think he thinks the wizard who defeated Grindelwald has it, or had it. It makes logical sense that the first place he'll explore will be Albus Dumbledore's tomb. We think he's looking for ways to get into Hogwarts."

Warren stopped talking and silence filled the room. He could tell that Hermione was thinking the very same thing he was. He wasn't concerned about Gaunt finding the stone or the cloak. The wand was truly the most obvious one to track down and the first obvious place to look was exactly where it was. He needed to step back from the thought of many others figuring this out.

"Why isn't the Canadian Ministry going through proper channels?" Harry asked.

Hermione was quick to accuse, "Because unlike the last time they now think the stone, the cloak and the Deathstick do exist and some asshole with rank decided that if found, they're going to be sneaked out of Britain."

"It wasn't my idea," Warren reasoned, defending himself from Hermione's glare.

"That makes it all better," Hermione mocked. "I wouldn't be surprised if their priority is no longer apprehending Morpheus Gaunt."

Warren’s lack of response was troubling.

"So, how did you manage to get Canadian sentries into Hogwarts to watch the Professor's tomb? Headmistress McGonagall would have never permitted it, not without the Minister's okay," Harry asked, curious and stating the obvious.

"We have one. A temp Professor, a um… replacement for one that got suddenly ill," Warren revealed, "He set up a portal so that the second he sees Gaunt we'll make a move."

Security at the school wasn't what it used to be, that much he knew. Hermione looked at him, hoping to catch an inkling of where he thought they should go with this. There was really only one option.

Harry said to Warren, "We don't have a choice. We have to tell John and Kingsley what this is about, off the record."

He could feel Hermione tense up and stare at him in disbelief.

"But..." she started to say.

Harry interrupted her before she totally lost control, "The alternative is to step aside and let Warren and the Canadian Ministry walk all over our authority because they're greedy. It's a crackpot story but this could be entertaining. I'd rather be involved so I can watch. Wouldn't you?"

She nodded, stepping off the argument though he definitely had not heard the last of it.

"I understand," Warren said to them, "I'll let them know of your decision. I'd expect my Minister would be more than willing to talk to your Minister officially now. We'll be in touch."

Warren left without another word. Harry was already on his phone with Kingsley, asking to see him right away. The second he got off Hermione spoke.

"We can't just tell him," she bursted, "We can't just tell anyone."

“Why not? Many know about the Hallows,” he reminded her, “It’s a children’s fable.”

"Precisely. With Kingsley involved the Canadians will be forced to make things official. A formal Ministry investigation that will put the story and the Hallows on the spotlight,” she made a pitch, which of course made sense.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t become a formal one, then. At this point we really have no control over that,” he told her what he knew she didn’t want to accept.

“This is bad,” she frowned, "The cloak may be safe and the stone may never be found but deducing where the wand rests is child's play. The Elder Wand needs to be better protected. If only we could move it."

She sighed one of frustration.

"We can't break into the Professor's tomb," Harry said what she was thinking, "We can talk to Professor McGonagall about better wards but we also need to get the Canadians and Gaunt off its trail."

"How?"

"I don't know yet but telling Kingsley and John will at least deter them from taking it."

"I'm not so sure about that," she said with tremendous scepticism, "I'll see you at the Ministry."

Hermione Disapparated. As Harry followed suite, he thought about how she was right. The wand's current resting place was not ideal. But the more he thought about it the more he felt that it was where the wand would always belong.

XXXXXXXXXX

Later that night Hermione was still upset about how the day had turned out. As much as she and Harry stressed that the case wasn't about the existence of the Hallows it was difficult to focus the grown wizards around the table. They were all fixated on the possibility of Professor Dumbledore's wand being the Deathstick, particularly that untrustworthy Deputy Unspeakable Maximus.

The involvement of Unspeakables was most unfortunate. After she and Harry told Kingsley what the Canadians were up to, he brought in John who brought in Humptail who suggested involving Head Unspeakable Jericho because the Canadian Head Unspeakable was also in the know. Max was invited by Jericho for his knowledge of the theories surrounding the Deathly Hallows, a subject the foreigner had become an expert on when he studied Gellart Grindelwald ‘in the old days'. He too had noticed Grindelwald's use of the Hallows symbol. Just their luck.

The most worrisome suggestion that day came from the Unspeakables. Max wanted to disturb the Professor's tomb to get the wand and study it. Had Harry, John and Kingsley not spoken up against it with finality she would have lost it and broken her promise to him that she would keep her cool.

On the bright side Headmistress McGonagall had allowed Kingsley to put more protective enchantments around Hogwarts and to station a couple of Aurors to watch the Professor's tomb. Their story was the Auror office had reason to believe that Pureblood Supremacists were planning to sully the Professor's burial place and just the thought horrified the Headmistress so much she asked why the Ministry wasn't assigning more Aurors on the case.

The Canadian Minister had also made contact as Gates predicted. For now there was status quo; they would allow the Canadian Hogwarts spy to remain in place and in return, the Canucks would share all the information they had on the case so they could catch Gaunt sooner. Right.

It was still unofficial and off the books, just as she and Harry preferred but all the uncertainty and lack of real control over the situation was making her very anxious. Earlier she had suggested to Harry that perhaps they should put together a group like the Order of the Phoenix to watch out for situations like this, one that wouldn't be as bound to rules and regulations as they were, but they got somewhat sidetracked during that conversation.

She remembered how angry she was and how Harry distracted her, just as the memory of it was distracting her right now. They made love against the fridge and on the kitchen floor; the kitchen floor. Just thinking about it made her yearn for him again. It still overwhelmed her sometimes just how much more physical their relationship was compared to how she imagined any relationship of hers would be.

Hermione finished brushing her teeth, got out of the bathroom and was kind of disappointed not to find Harry in bed. She walked out into the hallway and found him already in pyjamas standing at the entrance of the third and smallest room. They were thinking about renovating it from the current bedroom that it was into something else.

He turned towards her as she joined him then naturally pulled her gently against his body and held her from behind. She leaned into his tender and warm embrace, holding onto his arms he had draped over her shoulders.

"A study," he suggested. "A desk by the window, some shelves along that wall."

They spent a moment imagining it.

"Maybe," she frowned, noncomittal, then told him what her partner mentioned, "What about a man room."

He chucked, "A what?"

"A place where men can be men and not feel the pressure of being judged for choosing to spend an entire afternoon watching sports on the telly or playing Muggle videogames or drinking all night with friends," she repeated verbatim.

"Dean?"

"Uh-huh."

"Tempting and I appreciate your sweet offer but I'll pass," he laughed and kissed her hair. “Are you sure you don’t want a study?”

“Would you ever use it?” she asked.

“I could, we could, I have been having dreams about you in one lately,” he chuckled.

“You’re incurable,” she laughed with him.

“Come to think of it, we could turn it into different rooms, different places, different times,” he said suggestively, brushing his lips lightly against her nape, “Kind of a room of requirement.”

“We could…”

Harry lifted her off her feet effortlessly and carried her to their bed cradled in his arms, her heart humming as they kissed. He turned the lights down and slipped under the covers with her. They made out, unhurriedly and tenderly, his ministrations emptying her mind of all worries about stones and cloaks and wands being found and being used for evil.

They were content to keep it to that and it was kind of funny and embarrassing how it was so relaxing that drowsiness crept up insidiously and overcame her. Her last memory just before she fell asleep was him laughing lightly after she apologized when she realized what was about to happen. He told her she was forgiven and then she felt his gentle kiss on her forehead as he wished her pleasant dreams.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Was that Elder wand – Grindelwald connection as obvious as I thought it was to one who was on the quest or was I imagining things? Maybe it was one of those things that Mr. Lovegood knew but never got to share with Harry. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference.

The length of this fic kills me and sometimes I do wish the Hallows part of this back story wasn’t important to the present. Thanks to those who continue to be patient and supportive. Next up is a bit more about Gaunt and trying to capture him. Warren will be back.

A/N. Quick update to make up for that last one.

Jean Peverell is mentioned here so we must be close to the end of the past.

We find out more about Gaunt and The Hag makes a cameo.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 35 - Saint Petersburg

The next day Dean was back at work, still a bit sore from Gates' curse but quite pleased that she had avenged his suffering. John had given her clearance to tell her partner about the Hallows after reassurance from her that Dean could be trusted. Since Harry had meetings with Harpies and Flamers managements today and was busy planning for security at the game she needed Dean's help with the Gaunt case.

"Whoa!" Dean exclaimed and got excited the first time he came across the symbol for the Hallows, "I've seen this before. Luna's Dad had robes with this symbol on them."

"Luna never mentioned the Hallows to you?"

"No," he replied somberly then immersed himself back into the thick of the Canadian reference file marked 'Deathly Hallows 101'.

Hermione knew which robe Dean was referring to. Mr. Lovegood had worn one to Bill and Fleur's wedding and had offended the Bulgarian Quidditch star Victor Krum who mistakenly associated the Hallows symbol as evil because Grindelwald used it. It was this same association that Mr. Lovegood's fellow quester Daniels made to conclude that Grindelwald must have been using the unbeatable wand at the height of his power.

Dean reacted with the same worship-like awe about the possibilities of an Unbeatable wand as Kingsley, John, Humptail and the Unspeakables did last night and she decided it, like Ron's reaction years ago, was the normal response. At first she thought the Elder wand was evil; fitting for something Death supposedly carved himself as a ruse to get its owner killed. But if that were true then the stone and the cloak too were evil and she couldn't think that the cloak they had used throughout Hogwarts was. She guessed the perception stemmed from the fact that of the three it was the wand that seemed to bring out the worst in those who came in contact with it. Many evil things were performed with it or because of it.

In truth she found it hard to believe that the magical objects really came from 'Death'. 'Death' to her was merely the fictional character Beedle the Bard used to make the fable more educational. The Peverells or some other skillful witch or wizard must have created them. And that Hallows quester Holy Grail about uniting them and being Master of Death had no basis whatsoever.

She and Dean spent most of the morning perusing and sorting the documents sent over by the Canadians. The sheer bulk of it and lack of useful content made Dean grumble with distrust. While she for the most part agreed with Dean, some of the files did give her a better idea of who Gaunt was and how much Gaunt knew about the Hallows.

The tragedy in all of this was that Morpheus Gaunt's real parents were good folk who met an untimely death, a car accident. His father, Philip Park was a Canadian Muggle, a struggling singer-songwriter who made an honest living playing small local bars. Not much was known about his mother, Leanne, except that she was born in London and that her mother had been in a home for the invalid and died shortly after she did. Since neither parent had suitable next of kin Thomas Park ended up in a Muggle orphanage.

The similarities with Voldemort started there. Gaunt was strange, misunderstood and used his magical ability in unacceptable ways. But unlike Voldemort there was no Hogwarts or Albus Dumbledore to save him from the orphanage. He was a runaway at fifteen, re-emerging a few years later with formidable magical skills despite the lack of formal training. How he was found legally insane was unclear to her, the Canadian processes much different from British ones. However, knowing that the Canadian Unspeakables and Healers were very interested in his mind reading and mind control skills, she thought it possible that someone high up in their Ministry decided this. Declaring Gaunt legally insane stripped him of most rights, including the ability to refuse `treatment'. It was the only way the Canadians could study his talents further.

Dean was attempting to piece things together.

"I still can't figure this out. The last time Gaunt came here he was after the Resurrection stone so he could raise his parents from the dead, right? How did he find out about it?"

"Theodorphus Daniels. In the course of his search Park came across an article Daniels wrote for an occult magical periodical which delved into known artefacts that could bring people back from the dead. The Peverell stone was one of many mentioned and actually seventh on a list of thirteen."

"How did he get from that to thinking he was Voldemort's nephew?" Dean followed up.

She shrugged, "That's unclear. From what the Canadians know after he escaped the first time he went to Moscow to find the Death Portal that Daniels had written about. There the MLE closed in on him and he had them kill each other off. Oddly he seemed to have skipped items two through six and picked to check out the Peverell stone next. Then all of a sudden he was killing as Morpheus Gaunt. That bugged me. Why Morpheus Gaunt? Why would he ditch the Park identity for an equally notorious one?"

"You don't think he was trying to elude extradition as what the Canadians theorized?"

"That doesn't make sense. The Canadian prison for the insane is a spa compared to Azkaban," she opined, "I think he switched identities then because he was set in his belief that he was a 'Gaunt'."

"The question is what triggered that switch?"

"Or who?"

Her phone rang.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hey," Harry replied, "Made a dent at that mountain of parchment yet?"

"We're down to a hill," she estimated, "How's it going with you?"

"I can't understand why they won't agree to my recommendation," he complained, "You thought it was brilliant, right?"

He wanted to have some fun with the stiffs he had been meeting with so he was going to suggest something totally ridiculous.

She played along, "Announcing to the public that Ginny is injured and won't play? Ingenious. So what if less people come to watch? What's a few thousand galleons of lost revenue?"

"They don't have their priorites straight," he commented.

"Ginny will be much more reasonable."

He chuckled, "I'm sure. Has Warren showed up yet?"

"No sign of the royal pain," just the mention of his name made her tense up. She enquired, "I had been meaning to ask you. Why do you think Gaunt chose to be Gaunt?"

"He's just another Voldemort wannabe," he quickly answered. They had seen so many of them since the Dark Wizard's biography was published they didn't even question that anymore, "Does it matter?"

"Not sure," she thought about his question, "It probably doesn't. Do you know anyone at the Russian MLE who I could talk with about what happened in Moscow?"

She was hoping Harry had a good contact. Calling through the formal channels was a pain and wasn't an option for their off the record investigation.

"Boris Dovalov," he quickly answered, "I'm sending you his contact info right now. He's the veteran Auror who was part of the investigation after the Moscow incident."

Someone interrupted him. He told her he had to go back to the meeting. She thanked him and rang Dovalov. After ten rings a coarse voice answered with a grunt.

"Are you Auror Dovalov?" she had to ask.

"You get this number how?" he demanded in broken English.

"Harry Potter."

She introduced herself as a fellow Auror.

"What do you want?"

"I'm calling about a sensitive matter."

"Talk," he confirmed that the line was secure.

"It's about Thomas Park. Before the attempt to arrest him in Moscow..."

She couldn't continue. Dovalov interrupted her mid question.

"I reach you back."

Dovalov hung up. Okay...

She waited a minute, then two, staring at her phone, tapping her fingers on the table in front of her, wondering if she should actually do something else until he called back At exactly three minutes her phone rang. Dovalov was giving instructions

"36 Dvortsovaia Naberezhnaia, Saint Petersburg, exactly one hour, bring partner."

"What about Moscow?"

Dovalov said to her impatiently, "Moscow no good for Gaunt and no good for you. Moscow for Canadians, get Canadians thinking Moscow is important. Not Moscow but Saint Petersburg. You are tourist. Gaunt was tourist many many times. Long live the Queen."

He hung up abruptly again before she could speak. Long live the Queen?

She looked at Dean with a frown on her face.

"What did he say?" her partner asked.

Hermione wasn't sure.

"How's our Russian?"

Dean replied, "The Russian translator devices are still prototypes but much better since the last time we used it. Why?"

"We're going to Saint Petersburg."

"I've always wanted to see Saint Petersburg," he replied cheerfully, probably just happy to avoid the parchments they still had to go through.

While the Russian's unorthodox reply made alarms go off in her head, it validated her concern that something about Moscow, well Saint Petersburg, was a missing puzzle piece. Dean dug up what the Ministry knew of the Russian Auror and the address he had given them.

"The Winter Palace and State Hermitage Museum," she read over Dean's shoulder.

"I am in the mood for some darn fine art work."

They got to Saint Petersburg just as the doors to the State Hermitage Museum, Russia's largest art gallery and a world reknowned museum with one of the best collections of paintings and sculptures, opened to the public. They each took Muggle audio guides and put them on, trying not to be awed too much by the oppulent magnificence and beautiful masterpieces surrounding them.

They were in the Winter Palace. The green and white 3-storey historic edifice, now part of the Hermitage, was once home to the tsars of Russia. It took some time for that to sink in.

Not long into the tour the voice on the tape changed and started giving her different instructions than the couple they had been walking with. Dean looked like he was hearing what she was hearing. Continuing down the corridor they were told to take, it was clear that they were going where no tourists were allowed. The amazing artwork diminished in number and the windows gradually disappeared. After a while the passageway became narrower, darker and more damp and it felt like they were going underground.

Then a dead end. The voice stopped talking and they were left with this eerie, spinetingling silence.

She and Dean exchanged cautionary glances. They took the headphones off, drew out their wands and as she lit hers, it shone on the stone wall before them. There was a symbol on it, triangular, cut in identical halves by a straight line and punctuated by a circular figure; the symbol of the Hallows.

"What now?" Dean whispered, his eyes darting above, to the sides and behind them as hers did.

She thought for a moment then said, "Long live the Queen."

Nothing happened.

“The translator,” she said to her partner.

Dean handed her the language translator device. She spoke through the microphone like contraption and out came a phrase in Russian. The one word she recognized in it was `Tsaritsa'.

The Hallows symbol sunk into itself and the rest of the walls surrounding them began to shake, receeding away. They shuffled back and closer, hanging on to each other as the floor suddenly dropped twenty feet and stopped abruptly the same time the ceiling above them converged from two sides and reformed the floor on the level above. They were plunged into complete darkness. Dean hissed a swear as they both lit their spare wands and held weapons at the ready in the other. Her partner was as wide eyed as she was.

After quickly determining that they were the only humans in it, she conjured a bluebell flame and exposed where they were. They were in somebody's living quarters.

From first glance the most apparent was that the somebody who lived in it was from a different period in time. Really old black and white pictures of a family hung on the wall near the entrance, the first things one would see coming in. Off to the left was a library, beside it a small kitchen and then a simple bedroom with a bathroom. It was as plain as any living quarters would be and quite surprising to find under all the grandeur above.

"Who do you think lived here?" Dean asked in a quiet voice as she gravitated to the library, seemingly the largest and most used room in the abode.

On the desk was a brown leather bound book engraved with the name of its owner, Grigori Efimovich Rasputin.

"Rasputin?" Dean exclaimed, "My Muggle history is rusty but wasn't he the Romanov family healer and adviser who many blame for the fall of the Russian monarchy?"

"Among many other things," she replied.

It made sense that he would have quarters in the palace but why underground and why in secret? She pointed to the first page on the journal that had the Hallows symbol, aimed her wand at the book and magically translated the Russian writings into English.

Midway down the page, in big bold letters, Rasputin wrote, "At last, I am Master of the Peverell wand."

"This keeps getting complicated," Dean commented. “I didn't even know he was magical.”

“Neither did I.”

Trying not to disturb the remaining items on the desk too much, she sat on his chair and continued to read Rasputin's journal beyond the first page as Dean scoured the quarters for more clues. It seemed that while someone had been there recently, much like them, whoever came spent a majority of their time in the library.

She read an important passage out loud for Dean who was going through the shelves of dusty books looking for ones that had been recently taken out, "July 25th, 1914. Today I summoned Death. It was not as scary as I thought it would be. I found it pleasant despite complaining about being taken away from its duties. I asked to see my brother and sister and it replied that for that I would need the Peverell stone.

"I told it I tried the Resurrection stone a few times. Just like the Cloak, it was easy enough to find its current possessor using common books on Britain's wizarding ancestry. I borrowed the black rock from the hapless Gaunts of Little Hangleton during my last visit in the area but found it a great disappointment, repulsive even that I had little doubt it was as cursed as the family that owned it. I put it back in its rightful place. Death has given me other ideas."

“It's not everyday that one can speak with Death and tell the story,” Dean commented jokingly.

She remembered reading that Rasputin had excesses, and despite being spiritual succumbed to the temptation of sex and alcohol. He may have hallucinated the conversation with `Death' but she couldn't think he was delusional and hallucinating while he was writing the journal. It was very difficult imagining Death actually talking with Rasputin (or anyone for that matter) but still, imagined or not, she wondered what it was that Death suggested.

Dean sat beside her with three books from the shelves, "Someone's been through these recently."

She quickly scanned the book titles.

Where are the Purebloods?

The Wizard Families of Great Britain

Nature's Nobility : A Wizarding Genealogy

The last one was the book from the old Black house where she first read about the Peverells. Dean flipped through the pages of the second book and stopped as something jumped out of the page.

Potters of Godric's Hollow

Pieces of the wrong puzzle were falling into place for Dean, "It says here that the Potters of Godric's Hollow are descended from Ignotus Peverell. Harry has an invisibility cloak."

Dean saw the blood drain from her face before she could mask her reaction.

"Harry owns the Peverell Cloak and you've known all along!"

"You can't tell anyone!" she sternly said to him, "Not even Luna."

"Sure but I don't know how long before someone else figures it out. Rasputin did and I'm guessing the Russian Auror knows. Gaunt was in here. He must have read these..."

She shook her head then redirected Dean to the book, "Look. There are several other families descended from Ignotus. Gaunt doesn't really know which one had it or if they still have it. Burkes and Dodgey are still looking for the stone and cloak, remember?"

"This means that the wand and the stone really do exist," Dean said excitedly, "Does Harry have them too."

"No."

"Please tell me the wand isn't really in Professor Dumbledore's tomb," and when she didn't answer his eyes widened with concern, "Where's the stone?"

"I don't know," she said, a half truth; she had an idea where it was but not exactly.

"What's that?" something caught her eye in the book Dean was brandishing, two pieces of folded paper were inserted between its pages in a spot that a previous reader had deemed mark-worthy.

Dean opened the book. It was on the page with an illustration of the Gaunt family tree. Someone had added Morfin and Merope to it and more. There was a broken line from Morfin to the name Nancy Bower and under them Leanne. Leanne Bower married a Philip Park and they had a son, Thomas Park who was now Morpheus Gaunt.

She unfolded the papers and found the proof. First, an orphanage document citing his next of kin, a grandmother named Nancy Bower who was an invalid in a retirement home in London. The second was an older document, a copy of a Muggle Police report, a record of complaint filed by one Ethan Bower of Little Hangleton on behalf of his teenage daughter Nancy who had allegedly been 'violated' and impregnated by one Morfin Gaunt.

"The charges were withdrawn. If I were the Dad I would rather raise the kid away from the Gaunts too," Dean said sensibly.

They put back the books where they found them but made copies of Rasputin's journal and the proof that Gaunt was a Gaunt before returning them in place.

"How do we get out of here?" Dean asked.

She shrugged, "We should be able to Disapparate."

And they did. Before they left St. Peterburg she got a message from Dovalov, a hope that they found everything they needed. They did but now she had a gazillion questions about Rasputin. She had to stop herself from calling the Russian Auror back. The fact that he wasn't there to give them a proper tour spoke loads about how off the record all this was. And besides, as much as Rasputin was instrumental in Gaunt's Peverell family education, the Mad Monk was not what this was about.

They were back in London within the hour. Knowing that Gaunt was truly a Gaunt and that he had Rasputin's ideas about where the cloak and the stone could be was quite disturbing. And adding to her apprehension was his knowledge from Daniels that the wand was likely in the Professor's tomb. At this point she was worried not about what Gaunt would do with the Hallows if he managed to acquire all three but what death and damage he would do to acquire them.

Her thoughts continued to race through the possibilities. What if Gaunt already suspected that Harry had the cloak? She came to an even more distressing thought. Gaunt would want the Elder wand first then use that to challenge Harry for his cloak. And while she didn't think Gaunt could get the wand and knew Harry would defeat Gaunt handily even if Gaunt did challenge Harry, if there was some other way to get Gaunt she would choose that than risk all the dire possibilities happening.

The key was the wand. They had to capture Gaunt before he could get his hands on the wand. Right now the wand in the tomb was bait and that was too risky. Surely, even Professor Dumbledore would understand the need to move the wand to a safer location. Convincing Harry, however, would be a different thing.

As that worry lingered in her mind Humptail bellowed from his office door, "Granger! Thomas!"

He motioned them towards the Auror conference room. Already she was resenting Humptail's authority. She was really having difficulty with the thought of working under him as the Head Auror. She just didn't respect him enough.

As soon as they stepped into the room she found John talking with Gates. They stopped their conversation and Gates rolled his eyes up.

"Please tell me there's someone else," Gates said the John.

"She's the best we have."

Thank you John.

"What is this about?" Dean asked the question for her.

"Then give me second best," Gates ignored Dean's question, "She can't do this."

"What can't I do?"

"Warren's got a brilliant idea about how to draw Morpheus Gaunt out," Humptail explained.

"Well, what is this brilliant idea?" she asked him.

Gates explained, "The last time Gaunt escaped Harry and I planted a few fictional Peverells and we forgot about them after the Bat Cave. To make a long story short one of our plants is getting massive pings from an interested party."

"Massive pings?" Dean asked.

"Someone's checking her back-story out from every angle and I think it's Gaunt," Gates answered, "We need a player to make the plant real."

Undercover work. This was interesting. It was a way to get Gaunt before he could violate the Professor's tomb.

"I have no problem with that," she couldn't contain her excitement.

"Well, I do," Gates replied, "I don't think you can play the part."

She took the file from the desk in front of her and flipped to the first page, "Jean Peverell, twenty-three year old primary school teacher from small town Newton, newly married, no kids, husband an assistant Professor of astrophysics at Oxford. It seems easy enough. I can do this."

Hermione continued reading through the made up character's profile silently at the same time she listened to the hogwash Gates was feeding John and Humptail.

"I can't work with her."

"There is no one else," John repeated.

"She's stubborn, opinionated, thinks she knows everything..."

"She knows a lot more than your average witch but she's amazing to work with," Dean defended her, “I can't see why anyone would have a problem working with her unless they're stupid and don't want to be exposed.”

"What about Auror Uncewoth?" Humptail suggested.

John answered, "Mat leave."

Dean was surprised, "She gave birth already?"

The conversation went off tangent.

"Uh-huh."

"What did she have?"

"I dunno."

"She was expecting a boy."

"She had twin boys," Hermione tired of the exchange, replied without looking up.

"Anyone else," Gates redirected the men impatiently.

"There's Auror Esterbrook," Humptail said tentatively.

"Ew!" Dean couldn't help his reaction.

"What?!" Gates asked.

"She's just back from a bad case of dragon pox," John explained, "Unfortunately no amount of healing potion or transfiguration can cover the scars up. She's um... kind of hard on the eyes right now."

Men were horrible superficial beings.

"Someone from another quadrant?" Gates continued to undermine her capabilities.

"What is your problem with me?" she had enough, "I told you I could do this."

"I'm playing the husband," he said to her face, "You won't last twenty-four hours playing wife to me."

"I may loathe you but I can be professional about this," she felt insulted that he would even think she couldn't set aside personal differences to do a simple job.

"Really?" he challenged, walking up to where she was.

"Yes, really!" she answered emphatically.

"Let me disprove that."

"Be my gue...!"

Gates moved in quickly, too quickly she was unable to react in time. Before she knew it his hand was on the small of her back and was pulling her body flush against him. His mouth had caught hers perfectly in mid-sentence and was now kissing her passionately, like her lover would, like Harry would. Her eyes opened widely as the thought that Harry was the only one allowed clicked in. The fucking asshole!!!

"Ow!" Gates yelped, pushing away from her faster than he pulled her in. He doubled over and held on to his privates protectively amidst a collective sympathy groan from the men in the room. Still with a pained expression and in a pinched higher voice he said to the group, "I told you she couldn't do this."

Fuck! She was angry and embarrassed at the same time! She should have expected he would stoop this low! She rubbed her mouth roughly against the back of her wrist feeling as if she had been kissed by the plague itself.

"I can do this! Just not with him!" she proclaimed defensively.

While Dean was patting her on the back, to congratulate rather than console, and the other men were offering Gates help, the door to the conference room opened. Minister Shacklebolt walked in immediately followed by a witch she had hoped never to see ever again.

"Fuck..." she hissed under her breath.

What now?

"Waterloo!"

The Hag heard her and turned to face them.

"Hag," she greeted, trying to avert her eyes from focussing on the large wart on her crooked nose, which detracted from the rest of her ungainly features, "This is a surprise."

"A surprise for me too. I had thought you would have quit by now," the older woman pointed out.

"Well, I'm still here," she smiled, hoping that would force her to remain pleasant.

"I can see that," the Hag nodded her head, "Understandably so."

She was nudged from the side.

"This is my partner, Dean Thomas."

Dean extended his hand out which the Hag took.

"Pleased to finally meet you, Ma'am," Dean said to her, "I love your work."

The Hag laughed one of her ghastly laughs and thanked Dean for his compliment.

"Hag, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, "I thought your work here was done?"

She merely gave her that annoying grin of hers which meant she wouldn't answer.

The Minister explained, "As we have done in highly sensitive and important cases I've asked for the Hag's assistance to vet the undercover Aurors. Are you ready for her?"

"Not quite," it was John who answered unhappily.

He, Humptail and Gates all cast accusing glances at her, which made her think, why is this my fault?

Kingsley said something about that being unfortunate but he trusted that they would work things out. He excused himself and then stepped out to attend to more important matters. Hermione was hoping the Minister would stay so the Hag would behave herself but luck wasn't on her side.

"Waterloo," she hated the Hag's patronizing tone, "Are you being difficult again?"

Breath in, breath out.

"I can work with bastards, just not that particular bastard," she said unemotionally.

"The Chameleon Lover!" the Hag called out, causing Dean to snort involuntarily.

John and Humptail were more professional and were trying their best to keep a straight face.

"Hag," Gates walked gingerly over to her and gave her a peck on the cheek, "It's good to see you again."

"For a moment I didn't recognize that it was you writhing in pain in the corner," she said with concern, "Can I offer you a blast of healing ice?"

Dean was shaking, tears in his eyes while John and Humptail burst out in muffled chuckles.

"No thanks, I'm fine."

"I told you before. You must protect the family jewels," she scolded, "You will need each and every one of them to fulfill your destiny of procreation and seeding of the world."

"The family jewels are just fine," Gates reassured her, blushing at the amusement the exchange was providing the audience, "Thank you for your concern."

Hermione scoffed, the thought of him 'seeding the world' was nauseating. Maybe she should have kicked him harder to do the world a favour.

The Hag was back on her case, "What seems to be the problem here?"

"She can't hack the job," Gates said coolly.

"Find me another Auror to play my husband, John," she said to her boss, "I'll work with anyone other than that clown."

"Can you?" The Hag interceded, "So if I ask you to pretend to be wife to anyone in this room you can do it convincingly? Pick one."

If looks could kill the Hag would be dead and had her boss not been in the room with them she would have given her a piece of her mind already. She had a choice between doing it or walking out. She was not a quitter.

She studied the candidates. John was fidgetting, Humptail looked confident, maybe even fucking hopeful and Dean was ashen with a greenish tinge. His eyes begged her not to pick him. If she was going to do this with anyone in the room it might as well be Gates.

"She doesn't need to prove anything," a familiar and welcome voice came out of thin air and until she saw him by the door thought she was imagining him, "We've posed as a couple before, twice before in fact. I can vouch for her. She's pretty convincing."

The manner Harry said that last line made her face warm up somewhat.

"Is that you, Heartbreak?"

"Hag," he acknowledged, then greeted the witch with a smooch on the cheek just as Gates had.

"I see you're still playing hero."

Relief washed over her. My hero.

Harry seemed to know just how to handle the Hag, "And you're still stripping dignity for sport."

"I'm just having some fun," the Hag laughed carelessly, "You have always been such a spoilsport, too serious for your own good. Now, where were we?"

"Another Auror to play my husband," Hermione reminded them, looking over hopefully at John for his answer.

"Gaunt is no walk in the park," John explained to her, "It has to be someone with good instincts and skills and since Harry is tied up until next week, it'll have to be Warren. Make it work."

It was an order.

"Good. That's settled. Everybody, leave us," the Hag ordered, "Not to worry, John. By the end of the day I'll have the two of them acting like husband and wife better than real ones."

"Yeah, we can be the always bickering type," Warren suggested sarcastically.

Hermione chimed in, "That's the best idea you've ever had."

The Hag clasped her hands together and exuberantly pointed out, "You just had your first agreement! This is a great beginning!"

That did not improve the seething dislike Hermione had for both her and the 'Chameleon Lover'. John and Humptail left and so did Dean. Harry too was gone and he seemed to have left before the others. It would have been perfect had Harry not been busy with Ginny's case but instead she would be working with the prick. Life just wasn't fair sometimes.

"Now, what to do next?"

The Hag gave her and Gates a glance and pursed her lips. She waved her wand with a flourish and the room filled with images of Gaunt's every victim, each of them coming up front and centre and introducing themselves, reminding them of who they were and who they were in someone's life. She had tears in her eyes not even halfway through, tears of sorrow for the victims and those they left behind and tears of anger for the heartless wizard who was responsible for all this pain and suffering. When the last ghostly image disappeared into thin air the Hag spoke.

"We are relying on you to stop him, to prevent him from killing more and he will kill more if you fail. If you do not work together you will fail, you will fail not only yourself but also those his victims left behind and those who will be left behind. Do we have your commitment?"

Their answers were obvious.

XXXXXXXXX

A/N. Hope not too many get hung up on the Rasputin angle. I've always wanted to use a non-fictional character in a fictional way.

The Chameleon Lover - the Hag does come up with the cheesiest names for her students :lol: I would hate her too but she does know how to get the job done.

Harry is obviously not happy that Warren will be working with Hermione.

Up next a full plate…Harry's thoughts on that, Ginny in London and if we have time, the `ring'.

-->

A/N. Writing as Harry always gives me trouble so the relative quickness of this update surprises me.

For those who wanted more Hag – I apologize, she’s not in this one.

We know where the wand is and where the cloak is. Here’s the stone.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 36 – The Resurrection Stone

There was a lot of tossing and turning that night. It was late, so late he stopped looking at the clock after it hit one. What the fuck was taking them so long? How hard could it be training them to be convincing as a couple? They never needed this much time.

Harry had just fallen asleep when he felt her join him in bed. She slipped under the covers with him and he, half in a daze, instinctively reached out to draw her in closer.

He had to smile. She was completely naked.

She snuggled up against him, the feel of her bare skin in his hands instantly waking him up in more ways than one.

"Are you going to smirk all night or are you going to make love to me?" she asked impishly, her breath falling gently on his lips.

His eyes adjusted to the little light that was in the room and he gazed at the outline of her face as she inched closely. Her mouth brushed lightly against his, then again and again, while her hands roamed under his shirt

"Why...do I have to make...all the hard choices?"

She was undressing him and he was trying to keep up. They devoured each other with desperation, his to stake a claim, to reassure himself that he was still who he was to her, hers he wasn't sure what about. As she slipped his boxers off he rolled her onto her back and moved his mouth over her neck, kissing her impatiently. She moaned and writhed, the feel of her soft skin rubbing against his absolutely heavenly. Her fingers were in his hair, carressing encouragingly as he moved down to her breasts.

Her body, her flesh arched up to meet his, letting him partake of her as he pleased. He drowned in her scent, the hint of lavender driving him to want to taste her bareness all the more. His hands carressed what they desired to touch and what they knew she desired to be touched. Everything else was a haze of pleasant sensations, of her giving herself to him and of him taking and accepting her offer.

Their kisses became hungrier, more urgent, their lips locked, unceasing until they took each other's breath away. She spread her legs for him, moaning his name against his throat as her hot wet insides welcomed him.

He thrust into her deeply. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her fingers dug into his back. It wasn't long before they climaxed simultaneously. Right after, still breathless he gazed down and studied her.

"Are you going to smirk all night?" he threw her question back at her.

She chuckled and replied, keeping her eyes closed when she did, "Just until I fall asleep."

"How did the training go?" he asked, trying to make the question sound as casual as he had practiced all night.

"Okay, I guess," she answered. "The Hag says Warren and I are ready."

She just called him Warren. So it was ‘Warren’ now.

“When?”

“In the morning.”

“How long?”

“A week tops. We figured if he doesn’t make contact by then we’ll bail.”

They were going undercover in the morning, a few short hours away. All that practice to be mature about the thing since hastily leaving the conference room before he made a scene was now for naught. She must have noticed the change for she frowned and opened her eyes.

“You are okay with this, right?”

“I want to be but I’m not,” he said to her honestly.

She kissed him, sweet, deep.

“You have nothing to be worried about.”

“If it were someone else…who am I kidding? I can’t stand the thought of anyone pretending to be your husband,” he said what he didn’t want to say and just kept on going like a freight train out of control, “Let someone else do this.”

“Harry, you know I can’t do that,” she had a shocked expression that jarred him back to reality.

“Of course not,” he backed off, knowing now it was an unwelcome suggestion. He understood that this was her case, that this was part of her job and that it would be unfair to ask her to back out just because he didn’t like the idea of someone playing house with her, “I wish you could.”

He was a selfish bastard, putting her on the spot like this. She bit back whatever retort it was that came to her mind, choosing to not respond to his non-question.

“You’d tell me if he tried something asinine, right?”

“Everybody would know if he did,” she replied like it was a promise.

She would never let Warren get away with anything like that but the mere thought of Warren given the opportunity and reason to touch any part of her was enough to cloud his judgment again. He couldn’t talk about this rationally and he didn’t want a row. It was so tempting though because he was almost sure that if he explicitly asked her to decline the assignment for him, there was a fair chance that she would.

He shouldn’t. He wanted to and could sink that low but he shouldn’t.

Harry steered their conversation away. Earlier Dean told him about Saint Petersburg and Rasputin, about Gaunt being a Gaunt, and about the wand, the cloak and the stone. He wanted to talk to her as much as she did. They ended up having an argument about that.

“Anyone with half a brain can easily link you to the cloak and to the wand,” she pointed out logically.

“There’s nothing I can do about that,” he reasoned.

“That’s just it. There has to be something that you can do besides wait for someone like Gaunt to hound you and pester you about it!” was her impassioned reply.

“I am not taking the Professor’s wand,” he said it to her straight.

“The Professor is dead. He’d understand…”

“No, Hermione! This is not about him understanding! It’s about doing the right thing! I will not remove the wand from his tomb!”

She seemed to have finally heard him and calmed down.

“You’re right. That would be wrong,” she said with dejected acceptance, “But without the wand, nobody would challenge you for the cloak, nobody would probably want the cloak badly enough in the first place."

“I know you’re worried,” he said to her, taking her in his arms, “But we can't change who my family is and we can’t change what people know. And even if we move the wand, it’s not a guarantee that questers who find out about me will leave me alone.”

“Once one finds out the rest of the nutters will follow,” she predicted, “Don't you see it, Harry? It's going to happen all over again. This is just like Voldemort and his obsession that he had to kill you to survive. The Questers won't stop until they get what they want and you have something that they want. This could be for the rest of your life. You won’t ever have peace.”

He tried to make light of it, “No peace for the rest of my life seems a bit melodramatic don't you think? How about we deal with each crazy one at a time?”

She nodded but after a second he could tell she was crying.

“Ssssh,” he embraced her tighter, “Stop thinking the worse. It’ll be fine.”

She nodded again.

He didn’t go back to sleep after that. Neither did she but most likely for a very different reason than his. He watched her leave Grimmauld that morning, still kicking himself for not trying harder to make her not go. This Morpheus Gaunt case was getting on his nerves and it would give him no greater pleasure than to put the cause of his suffering behind bars permanently.

The days dragged on forever. They had not made contact which meant there was nothing to report. That fuelled the burning envy he felt from the torturing images of them he had in his mind. Four days ago Gaunt murdered a couple of Hit Wizards to let them officially know he was back in town. Every now and then there were Gaunt sightings in London that he and Dean would investigate. The git was taunting them, letting them know he was around.

He tried looking for the stone thinking that having the stone back would make Hermione less upset about his refusal to take the Professor's wand. But he couldn't find it. He went back several times into the Forbidden Forest at the spot where he dropped it and searched. He and Dean also poured over Ministry records of items confiscated from the Death Eaters and found in the area after the Battle of Hogwarts. The stone wasn't described in any of them. An animal could have eaten it, a being could have taken it and it looked ordinary enough that someone could have tossed it without second thought. It was anybody's guess where it was now.

Then there was his other case. As the Harpies and Flamers game drew closer details about Ginny’s and her team’s itinerary kept changing. It was bad in that he and his squad had to constantly revise coverage but also good because the lack of permanence in her schedule would make it more difficult for would-be attackers to plan how to do it. That meant they could really concentrate on what to do during the game.

He met with Ginny and her teammates after their most recent game so they could get to know his team, go over the plan, and ask questions if they had any. He finally got to watch her play, well, the tail end of the game which they won handily. It felt like the rest of the Harpies knew about them more that he would have liked. One of her teammates teased him about how Ginny had to have death threats for him to come and finally see her play professionally. The team had a laugh at his expense for which Ginny apologized.

They talked for a bit about how things were and she did ask if he was finally over her and seeing someone steady. He couldn’t lie although when pressed for a name he evaded it by telling her he’d introduce them when she was in London. She confirmed that she was seeing someone too, the Harpies owner's grandson. It was nice to know. It had been close to five months since their break-up. He wanted her to find the happiness and contentment he found with Hermione.

Then on the fifth day, Kingsley paged him. Finally. There was a breakthrough in the Morpheus Gaunt case. A high level meeting was going to take place and Kingsley wanted him to be there. Hermione and Warren were going to be in attendance too.

Harry Apparated into the Ministry Atrium and weaved his way through the sea of witches, wizards and beings that was now the norm there at this time of the day. It was noon, people were coming and going. The lines to the lifts were long and waiting was not an option. Summoning the emergency elevator, it arrived a split second later with its operator, the Free Elf Willy, welcoming him. Harry got in and told him where he wanted to go.

"Willy take Auror Potter there really fast, just like he did Auror Gates and Auror Granger seven point two five minutes ago," he said proudly.

"Thank you, Willy."

He sulked back. Seven minutes and she didn't even think of calling him. It had been five days since they'd seen each other, five days since she went under with Warren, and she couldn’t call him the second she could? He guessed she didn't miss him as much as he was dying to see her. While he realized he was acting more like a petulant teenager than a grown man he was too upset to fully acknowledge the insight.

"The Minister of Magic's Office," Free Willy announced and documented the drop off in his logbook.

Harry thanked the elf. He was the last to arrive and took the one remaining empty seat at the meeting table near the doors next to Max. Beside the Unspeakable was his boss Leo Jericho, then Kingsley, Hermione, Warren, John and Humptail. Three Floo fireplaces were open; the Canadian Minister, his Head Auror and his Head Unspeakable were joining them shortly.

Hermione was on the phone with someone when he arrived. She smiled and waved at him the moment he came in. He smiled back and absentmindedly acknowledged the greetings from the rest of the attendees. God he missed her.

A figure broke their line of sight. It was Warren, his hand on her arm, drawing her attention to him. The casual way the Canadian leaned in closer and whispered something in her ear irked him for a variety of reasons, foremost being the way she naturally leaned into Warren in return. And she ended her phone conversation for Warren but not for him.

Whoever it was who said love was not jealous didn't know what he or she was talking about. Watching Hermione intently listen to what Warren was saying was unsettling. It was like being suddenly set on fire and wanting to do the same to the person who caused it. He knew he shouldn't feel that way, he had no good reason to but he did.

For days he had been telling himself this was part of her job, this pretense. It had to be believable to work, just like they had to be believable that night when they pretended they were a couple at the Bat Cave.

The thought made him groan inwardly. For that they weren't even pretending for more than a minute. In comparison, she and Warren had been living together for five days. What the fuck was he thinking not asking her to decline the assignment? So what if letting her do it was the mature thing to do.

The Hag had done what he thought was impossible; she got Hermione to tolerate Warren. Harry preferred it much more when she hated Warren's guts. And as Warren nudged her and showed her something on his phone it took every ounce of will power to stop himself from telling Warren not to touch Hermione because she was his.

She was his. As wrong and as chauvinistic as that sounded he wanted to declare to the world and claim her as his. And not only that, he wanted her to be his forever.

But the declaration would have to wait and would probably have to be phrased better. Hermione would kill him not only for blurting something like that out here in front of Ministers and Head Aurors but also for having the prehistoric notion that she belonged to him. She would object to being an entity that belonged to somebody.

"Let's make this briefing short and sweet," Kingsley announced to the room then called out, "John, you should start."

Everyone settled down. All eyes fell upon the Auror as he recapitulated the Gaunt case related events of the past few days.

"Gaunt announced his arrival four days ago. He killed two MLE posted at Borgin and Burkes and left a note advising us that he was back in town. He was long gone before we realized the men were dead.

"In the last thirty-six hours we've had more reports of homes being broken into, some robbed, some not. The thief or thieves are taking cloaks and jewelry containing black stones. The HW's caught one suspect, a fifteen year old Muggle who was last seen walking home from school a few days ago. There was evidence of will tampering on him. Gaunt appears to be using the innocent to do dirty work for him again."

"And the professor's wand?" Unspeakable Max enquired anxiously.

"No attempts to steal it have been made. Headmistress McGonagall is starting to question our continued presence in Hogwarts," Humptail responded and proceded to look at his pager that had gone off mid sentence, excusing himself and leaving the room.

"What about Burkes?" Hermione asked..

John answered, "No luck there either. His counsels have managed to get us off his back. With Dodgey being a close call he has been more cautious. He hasn't attempted to contact Dodgey at all and we're staying off him hoping Gaunt will. Gaunt is wise not to."

"Why isn't he making a move?" one of the Canadian's spoke through international Floo.

It was obvious.

Harry replied, "He knows we're watching."

"But he can command an army to get the wand for him."

"True," John agreed, "Maybe he hasn't figured out a way to get through the Hogwarts wards yet."

"Or maybe he has but he's waiting for the right moment. He has to do it himself," Max spoke up.

"What do you mean?" Kingsley asked.

"Wandlore. The Elder wand, more so than any other wand, has to deem its possessor worthy," Max answered in a reverent tone that reminded him so much of how the wandmaker Ollivander once spoke of the Death Stick, "For centuries possession of this particular wand has been associated with violence, oft times with the death or defeat of its previous owner in the hands of its latest master. Without wrestling for its loyalty, its powers cannot be harnessed by its wielder fully."

"But if we think the Professor was its master after Grindelwald, that can't happen," John said to the group, "The Professor has been dead for years."

"If wandlore is correct then the mastership of the wand transferred to the wizard who murdered the Professor."

"Severus Snape was killed during the battle of Hogwarts," Hermione was quick to answer.

Max had a ready answer to that, "Yes, by a beast that's incapable of wielding it. The snake would have never gained its allegiance. If the wand is indeed in the tomb it has been there for five years and has been without a living master for quite sometime. Will it bow fully to a common thief or will it demand an act of greatness from its would-be master? No one knows for sure. Yes, he will want to take it himself and unaided. He will not want to take the chance that the wand will not work properly for him. At least that is what I will think if I were him."

"Or we could be lucky," Warren began, looking over to where he sat, ignoring the glare Hermione was giving him, "Maybe, Gaunt thinks the wand's master still lives."

"How?" the Canadian Unspeakable asked.

"The snake killed Snape because it was ordered to do so by its owner..."

The Deputy Unspeakable interrupted as it dawned on him what Warren was getting at, "Voldemort could have been the wand's master!"

Warren cast him a reprimanding glare for interrupting and made a futile correction, "Gaunt could think that Voldemort was the wand's master until Harry killed him. In which case, he'll want to challenge Harry and Harry will kick his ass."

All eyes were suddenly upon him, some with curiosity, others with amazement, still others like he was some dessert that had to be had. Harry found it amusing how as much as that their logic wasn't entirely accurate there was enough truth in it that the mastership of the wand still ended up pointing to him. Imagine that.

Hermione wasn't finding it as amusing as he was. She was in near tears from anger and frustration.

"Let him come then and let's get this over with," Harry responded in a flippant manner, not caring what it meant but just that he could actually put an end to all this.

His remark caused a bit of a mayhem.

"Harry!" Hermione cautioned.

"Now we're talking," Warren cheered. "We should let Gaunt know, advertise...ow!"

Warren winced and glared at Hermione who must have hexed him.

"That's not possible!"

"That is possible, in fact more possible than a masterless wand!" Jericho said, absolutely blinded by the possibility.

"How can you do that?" this was Max talking to him in a voice that drowned the rest, "How can you just sit there calmly and not claim the most powerful wand ever created when you are perhaps its Master!"

Hermione bit his head off, "Because unlike the rest of you he's decent and knows that true or not it would be absolutely wrong to violate the Professor's tomb. It's just a wand! One doesn't have to possess it to be a great wizard!"

"But he could be greater!" Jericho argued.

"He will be and he won't need the wand to do that!"

"Maybe we should take it out of the tomb and have Auror Potter use it," the Canadian Unspeakable was mental.

This encouraged his Brit counterpart, "Harry can test it."

She lost it, "Yeah, he can use it to try to make you less stupid!"

"Hermione," he warned her as the Canadians found the exchange amusing.

Embarrassed, Jericho defended himself, "Did you just call me stupid?!"

"Don't take it personally. It's not just you," Hermione was on a roll, "I think all the grown men in here acting like boys wanting the most powerful wand in fairy tale land are stupid."

The room fell silent with the exception of Warren sniggering beside her. Harry was quite worried. If she didn't stop there would be hell to pay.

"No need for insults in this room, Hermione," Kingsley scolded her, trying to settle her down.

"If it's the only thing that can get through to some of you...!" she glowered at the Unspeakables who glowered back.

"The wand needs a master," the Canadian Head Auror weighed in, "Auror Potter is the most likely person it will find worthy. He has an obligation to protect it from falling into the wrong hands."

"It's not about the wand! This is about the evil wizard you Canadians keep losing who wants to play in our backyard!"

Hermione continued to fight off the suggestion that they had argued about before she went undercover. Her complete 180 on the topic of him using the Elder wand was surprising and he wondered what made her so steadfastly against it now. And while the Canadian Auror's suggestion of the wand needing a master and that it was his obligation to protect it from the Gaunts of the world hit a spot, Harry had to put an end to this before Hermione got herself into deeper and hotter waters.

"Get a grip, all of you. I agree with Hermione. It's a fairy tale. The wand belongs to the Professor. His tomb is where it should be. You can forget about removing it in the guise of having me test it or use it. I will not. So let's take our heads out of the clouds and focus on how to capture Gaunt."

"Harry is right," Kingsley said with a finality, "Whether the tale is true or not shouldn't prevent us from doing what's right. The wand stays with the Professor; end of discussion. Warren, tell us what's been happening on your end."

Kingsley's decision significantly cooled the room down. He caught the exchange between the Unspeakables in the room. Hermione was spot on not to trust the two.

Warren shared what he had, "A man who calls himself Gregory Pasturin has been in touch a couple of times at home by Muggle phone. His story is he's a Canadian, that he recently found out he was adopted and is trying to trace his biological father's family. He said he was looking for long lost relatives who could answer some questions."

Hermione continued where Warren left off, "The name is an obvious anagram. We are positive it's Gaunt. He says that he would be in the area within the next few days and was wondering if we could meet for a few minutes. We've agreed, in principle."

"When was last contact?" Harry asked.

"Two days ago," Hermione fielded his question.

Something was not right. Harry couldn't say what it was exactly but something felt off to him.

"Are you sure he hasn't made you?"

"We have no reason to think he has."

"Why doesn't he send someone to rob you like he has done with the rest?" the Canadian Auror asked a good question.

Warren replied, "He has; the day before he called when we were both 'at work'. His thief came up empty."

"He has been quiet, too quiet. It's as if he's waiting for something to happen, to be in place before he makes his big move."

Warren dismissed his worries, "And we'll be ready when he does. That brings us to when he does make contact. He will scan Hermione's thoughts for pieces of information first and..."

"Wait," Harry interrupted, "You're going to allow him to look into your mind? I really don't like the sound of that."

She answered, "There's no choice. He will suspect something is amiss if he isn't able to."

"Can you not just arrest whoever it is that shows up?" Jericho suggested.

John answered, "He could send a decoy or be in disguise. It's the only way to get him to stay long enough so we can confirm that it is him and make sure everyone is in place. We won't get many opportunities like this. We have to be successful this one go."

"It can't be the only way," Harry was pissed, angry that no one mentioned this before, "Once you let him into your mind he could find something in there he doesn't like and use you. Or he'll just use you for no reason except for his amusement. We need to rethink this plan over!"

"Harry, calm down," Warren tried to placate him, "She has enough info to feed him and enough skill to keep him pre-occupied while we get everyone in place."

He disagreed, "It's too risky!"

"The risk is part of my job," Hermione said to him, determined to do it, " I can do this. And I can fight him off, if need be."

Arguing with her at this stage and in front of this crowd was pointless. He still didn't like it and would talk to her offline if she would even discuss it, which he doubted.

The Canadians had Aurors on standby and could send them as soon as Warren or Hermione gave the signal. The meeting was over so they left, trusting that Warren would keep them in the loop about other developments.

Kingsley got up and said, "if nobody has anything else..."

"Actually, there is one other thing I almost forgot to mention," Hermione spoke up acting embarrassed, "We need something tangible for when Gaunt comes. We need a hook to get his mind started off in the right direction. We're hoping the DOM can help us."

She turned to the Unspeakables in the room. Help from the DOM? What was she up to?

"Anything to catch this criminal," the Head Unspeakable replied for the record.

"After the battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry did a sweep of the Forbidden Forest in and around the area Voldemort and his group were camped at. A crate full of Death Eater belongings was sent to the DOM following clearance by the MLE. You have in your possession a black stone cracked along its midline, the one that looks like what Gaunt is looking for."

There was momentary dead silence. He tried not to look too shocked but doubted very much if anyone would have noticed since there was a more obviously surprised person in the room.

"How did you know?!" Max couldn't contain his initial reaction.

"It wasn't easy," she answered, "A technical glitch seemed to have wiped the records of the crate contents from the Ministry database. Fortunately a meticulous Auror thought it important to send paper copies to classified archives."

No wonder they could not find the stone. The Unspeakables had it alll this time and Hermione was now trying to get it back. Judging from Warren's reaction he was in on this political maneuver. It may have been him who picked up the thought from one of the Unspeakables and told Hermione about it. The classified archives bit was hogwash. That was Hermione trying to prevent the Unspeakables from knowing about Warren's ability. And she had the presence of mind to wait until the other Canadians left before opening the can of worms. Come to think of it, Humptail wasn't in the room either.

Warren carried on for her, "We'll need that stone with us when he makes contact."

"Absolutely not!" Max protested.

"Why not?" Hermione seemed prepared for that, "According to DOM records it's a worthless common stone."

"It's not just a common stone!" the deputy Unspeakable said much more than he should have.

"What is it then?" Kingsley joined in, directing his question to the stoic Head Unspeakable.

Jericho had knew better than to lie, "We believe it's the Peverell stone."

"It is the Resurrection stone. It is just as how it has been described in books and journals!" Max rambled off despite warnings from his boss not to say anymore.

Jericho tried to throw them off, "We have not been able to prove that. We have not been able to raise anyone from the dead with it."

Interesting. Or maybe the Unspeakable was protecting it and his ass. It would be harder to explain why they didn't offer the evidence to the group if they believed it was the Peverell stone. But true or not, what Jericho said actually worked in their favour.

"If it looks like the stone and isn't the stone then it's perfect," Harry pointed out, "We'll borrow it. Hermione will wear it in a necklace or something visible and distract Gaunt with it."

"Absolutely not! It's too valuable to lose!" Max yelled at him.

That did it for him; he got on his feet and in a carefully measured but threatening tone responded, "You won't risk losing a stone but it's okay to let an Auror risk losing control of her mind?!"

Kingsley intervened "Harry! I got this! Leo, I want that stone for their use, no ifs or buts. Where is it?"

"In my office safe."

"I'm coming with you to get it right now. This meeting is adjourned," Kingsley declared, then turned to the undercover Aurors, "How soon before you two need to go back?"

Warren gave Hermione a look and replied for the two of them, "Tomorrow."

He ordered, "See me before you go back. I'll have the stone ready for you. Let's go, Leo. John, Harry, come with me."

Harry could not blame Kingsley for the level of distrust he had for the DOM. They were capable of dastardly things and hiding the Peverell stone from the rest of them was proof that they weren't playing on the same team.

On his way out he overheard her thank Warren.

"You owe me. That's twice today," Warren responded, "Go home"

"I can't. I have to make sure."

"Harry has that covered. Get some rest. Frankly, you look like shit."

He heard them laugh just as he got out of the door and that made him feel worse. It was juvenile but he had to talk to her, to touch her, to kiss her, to know that nothing had changed.

But he couldn't do that right now. Right now he had absolutely no time for jealousy or insecurity. The stone. He had to get the stone from the Unspeakables. Hermione had done her part. It was his turn.

Just before they went into the Head Unspeakable's office, Kingsley wordlessly instructed him to keep an eye on Max.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione woke up to incessant ringing. She reached for her phone that was on the sidetable and answered.

"Finally," a familiar woman's voice greeted.

"Ginny?"

"I've been trying to reach you all afternoon. What are you doing tonight?"

She sat up and oriented herself. Grimmauld was very still and it was dark out. There was loud music and lots of chatter on the other end of the phone.

"I have to talk with, Harry,” she told the truth, “What time is it?"

"Almost six. I'm at the Burrow and Harry’s here. Come on over."

Harry was there. Of course he would be. Ginny and the team were in town and Mrs. Weasley was hosting an impromptu dinner for family and close friends. She told Ginny she’d be there.

She got out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Splashing cool water on her face, she examined herself on the mirror. Warren was right; she looked like shit. Five days on alert and sleep deprivation had taken its toll. When she got home from the Ministry around one she went straight into bed and crashed thinking and hoping Harry would come home and wake her up as soon as he got the stone.

The stone; did he get the stone? She quickly got her phone and scanned for calls and messages. There was none from him but as she listened to Warren asking her to call him back, something on her dresser caught her eye. It was an old moleskin pouch. Harry had scribbled a note on the parchment beside it.

I couldn't bear to wake you. See you tonight.

She remembered feeling him stroking her hair and kissing her but she thought that had been a dream. She missed him so much and really needed to talk to him. Staying in London tonight was necessary for her sanity. If not for that she and Warren would have gone back already.

Hermione emptied the pouch onto her hand and out tumbled the imperfect black stone with the Peverell coat of arms. Relief washed over her. She was certain the story about what happened after Kingsley took it from Jericho would be interesting but that have to wait. Her guess was that Kingsley felt it wise not to keep it in the Ministry where someone could steal it back.

It was curious that the Unspeakables claimed it didn't do what it was supposed to do. It made her wonder whether someone had already switched a fake for the real one or if Jericho was fibbing to not get in trouble.

There was only one way to find out. She clasped it tightly in the palm of her hand and closed her eyes as she turned her hand over and back thrice. Her heart started beating faster. She was no longer alone.

Hermione turned around and faced her father.

"Hi Dad," she said quietly.

"Hi kiddo."

He smiled back, the sorrow on his face when he passed away still evident underneath the mask he was trying to put on for her, or maybe that was her and her guilt imagining things.

"How are you?" she asked.

"I'm fine. And you?"

"Just fine."

"Still with him?"

She nodded, "I'm sorry..."

He dismissed it, "Don't be. It was unfair of me to ask. But I hope you do understand why I did."

She nodded again, tears streaming down her face as she remembered that day he died.

"I don't want you to get hurt like your Mum did.," he said it again, "You love him too much. You'd do anything for him. You need someone who will love you back and more. You deserve someone who does."

The reality of his observation brought about this gnawing ache within her chest.

She replied, choking back the pain. "I can't change what I feel and I can't chose who I feel it for."

"I know."

"Thank you for understanding."

It was what she needed to hear from him, the reason she brought him back. Hearing it she found the courage that she had been searching for for days. His understanding had always been important for her and having it now was closure.

"Just don't lose sight of who are. Don't compromise who you are for him or because of him.," he advised. "Your Mum did that for me and she was never the same after. Many times I wondered what would have happened if she didn't take me back after the affair, if she would have been as happy as she was before I broke her. But I was too selfish and too afraid to be alone."

"She loved you, Dad. She was happiest with you."

"Tell her I love her."

"I will, although I know she knows."

"Is there anything else, sweetie?"

She took a big breath in and exhaled. He would be the first she would tell.

"Actually yes. I have some good news," she found her most positive voice, "I'm pregnant with Harry's baby."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. The next chapter will be interesting to write. Big HHr scene coming up.

When I re-read DH it seemed that the stone was no longer on the ring. And here we see how low these Unspeakables can go. Hope that was believable.

A/N. Your reviews have been very helpful in so many different ways. I appreciate the time you take to write them.

My muse was on holidays this week and I struggled with this. Not much about the case in this one. It’s a full plate of Harry, Hermione, Warren and Ginny.

For those who read the Sacrifice – the title of this chapter refers to that ring.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 37 – The Ring

The familiar sight and sound of a Weasley family affair greeted Hermione as she appeared beside the broom shack in the backyard. Even from a distance she could hear loud laughter (likely from one of George's jokes) and the bustling clatter of forks and knives against plates. Dinner was underway. She caught a whiff of Mrs. Weasley's excellent home cooking and that immediately drew a reaction from her companion.

"This is what you had to live up to? No wonder you had scruples with Ronnie."

She turned to him, unsure if Warren meant to insult her or Mrs. Weasley but wanted to make certain he wouldn't do the latter.

"The Weasleys are decent folk," she reminded him sternly, "Behave yourself or I will un-invite you."

"Too late, I'm already in," he retorted, "And besides, this is because you owe me, remember?"

Warren was the only guy she knew who would do decent things in exchange for favours and would actually collect on them. This particular one was for agreeing to her request to spend the night in London.

"Why did you want to come anyway?" she asked, walking up the path to the back door, "This isn't your kind of party."

"Are you kidding me? I like big, happy family parties," he totally lied.

"Bullshit."

"Love it when you talk dirty."

She faced him squarely to get his full attention, "Seriously."

He looked her in the eye and said wistfully, "You have lots of happy memories of this place. I wanted to see what it's really like."

He was acting. There were definite downsides to working this closely with him. He knew a lot more about her now, things she wished he didn't. She knew private things about him too that he had already voiced his regrets sharing. This was part of the sacrifice the Hag convinced them make so they could work together. The Hag, in her infinite manipulative way, challenged their 'commitment' when they first refused and, when Warren agreed, she had to follow suit. After a few mental exercises, they had no choice but to completely trust each other.

"You want to meet the Harpies and..." she read his thoughts and her face immediately crumpled in disgust, "Ew!"

He laughed, purposely sharing that thought because he enjoyed it when she reacted to his lack of propriety, "Well, except for your friend. She's too hung up on you-know-who it won't be fun. I try to stay away from damaged goods."

"Two of them are married!"

"The married ones usually perform the best,” he explained matter-of-factly.

Hermione just shook her head and drew a calming breath in. It took a lot of energy not to judge and she couldn't anymore, not after what the Hag put them through.

She led them down the footpath to the back door. This mental connection forged over the course of hours with the Hag was still eerie and disconcerting. It was necessary, their mentor said, for them to be able to communicate this way if they wanted to be successful against the cerebral terrorist that Gaunt was. It was a skill similar to Legilimency but non-offensive in nature and involved giving each other access to each other’s minds.

It proved handy earlier at the Minister's Office. She picked up what Warren discovered from the Deputy Unspeakable’s thoughts when they arrived. The DOM had recently found out they had the Resurrection Stone and the Unspeakables intended to keep it secret. Their immediate concern was retrieval but Warren didn’t trust the Canadian Minister with the information either. The whole clandestine assignment didn’t sit well with him but he did it because he was not given a choice. The Canadians had to be excluded from the loop and Humptail too. Humptail was one that Warren couldn’t read and they were unsure what his intentions and where his loyalties were. This was moments before the meeting and she spent time on the phone with Dean finding a good way to get Humptail to leave.

"We're at a party. Can we stop thinking about work?" Warren complained.

"We're not at work. You promised not to listen in, or did you forget?"

"I promised to try not to."

"Tune me out," she suggested.

"Believe me I'm trying," he argued back.

Mrs. Weasley was the first to see them as they entered the kitchen. She was in her best apron and looking every bit the Mum she was when she had family over.

"Hermione, dear!" she exclaimed, giving her the familiar motherly embrace, "You finally got here. You're just in time for dinner."

"Sorry I'm late," she issued the token apology. She set her stuff down on a nearby table, something she did out of habit. The Burrow had been a home away from home for her for a long time and it showed, "I got tied up at ..."

She didn't finish for Mrs. Weasley noticed Warren beside her, "And who are you?"

"Warren Gates," he introduced himself, smiling, turning on his charm on the older woman, "It's a pleasure."

"And who are you to her?" she asked politely but a bit pointedly, scrutinizing him like she did potential Ron-replacements.

Warren was unflappable, looked over and deferred the question to her.

"I work with him," she answered simply.

"I thought Dean was your partner," Mrs. Weasley turned to her, confused.

"There's a few of us," Warren was eager to answer now. "She likes having multiple partners."

There was a tone of amusement in his voice. He was trying to see how far he could get Mrs. Weasley worked up. Hermione looked at him and he merely grinned.

That was lame.

I thought it was funny.

Stop messing with her.

I don't think she got what I meant. And besides, it wasn’t only her I was trying to mess with.

Being in this state concerned a significant amount of trust between them both and considerable fortitude on her part. The man’s mind outside of work was foul and offensive. And today was the first time since the Hag session he was acting like the complete asshole he usually was. For his amusement, he was challenging her resolve not to lose it and he bet her he could make her lose control before the night was over. She hated losing a bet.

"Well, there are a couple of empty chairs beside Percy over there," Mrs. Weasley motioned to the end of the even longer than usual table then announced, "Everyone, Hermione's here with Mr. Gates."

"Warren," he corrected.

This was followed by a seemingly endless journey to their seats as people said hello. Mr. Weasley looked well. He was at the head of the table, Mrs. Weasley to his right, the Harpies Team Manager to his left. George and Angelina smiled and waved from across the table, Bill and Fleur did the same and the Harpies players introduced themselves. No Ron and no Charlie tonight. Apparently they couldn't make it to dinner but were coming to watch the game tomorrow.

Hermione saw Harry seated midway down the table beside Ginny. It was great and not so great to see her. Ginny got up from her seat with a curious expression on her face and they hugged each other while Hermione's eyes wandered over to find Harry's. There was as much strain in them as she felt.

Ginny whispered in her ear with disapproval, "Now there's an interesting reason to be late."

She pulled away with a frown. Ginny was talking about Warren.

"We're not..."

"Ginny," Warren greeted, standing right beside Hermione, leaning slightly into her.

"Warren," Ginny replied coldly.

They knew each other. Ginny associated him with the 'Harry' that hurt her so naturally disliked him. Harry was on his feet too.

"Harry," she said to him.

"Hermione," he said back, unsmiling.

They hugged their usual public hug but she had to consciously let go. She craved for more of him, him alone and away from this.

"Hermione and I are famished," Warren said out loud, "That pot roast is just what I'm craving for."

Warren emphasized ‘craving’ unnecessarily which she ignored. Ginny gave her the signal that she desperately needed to talk in private. Hermione desperately wanted to avoid that.

Dinner went agonizingly slow, at least at their end of the table. She tuned out Warren's open flirtation with the team Beaters while she expressed her frustration at Percy about the years of construction hoarding in the Ministry Atrium that was causing daily bottlenecks to and from work. Audrey, his wife, sat between them, her eyes glazing over instantly which was a most normal reaction by most when Percy talked about his work.

Hermione found it hard to listen to Percy too. Her attention gravitated to Harry and Ginny. Ginny was sharing stories of the most fun things they did with another Harpies couple and hearing Harry laugh easily about them was very troubling.

Warren leaned over and requested more explicitly, "Quit doing that?"

"Mind your own business," she snapped at him.

If you don't want to hear my thoughts, stop listening.

They had very little secrets from each other, maybe even none at all. And it wasn't just facts but emotions. Warren had complained bitterly how she was torturing him with thoughts about her personal life. He had to put up with her as much as she had to put up with him.

"The selection of the artist is a huge undertaking," Percy droned on, "There are literally hundreds of applicants and recommendations that we have to go through..."

"The woman at the lingerie store pretended like she didn't see what we just did," she heard Ginny say then add over the laughter, "We figured we weren't the first couple she'd seen...you know..."

Warren nudged her, a plate of potatoes in hand, “Eat.”

She put her fork down on her half eaten roast and shook her head. The queasiness in her stomach had grown exponentially in the last minute.

Warren put his fork down too and muttered, "Great. There goes my appetite."

"We've narrowed the selection to ten," Percy concluded his monologue, "We're very close to a decision."

"The Harpies are going to win..." she heard the Team Coach predict from further down the table.

"Ginny's playing really well..." said the Manager to Mr. Weasley.

"We used to love to fly together..." that was Ginny again.

The voices kept coming and replaying in her head. She didn't feel so good.

"Excuse me."

Making for the bathroom quickly, she politely responded to those who enquired that she was okay. But she wasn’t. She was very nauseous. She spent a few minutes expecting to hurl but couldn't and didn't. Ginny rapped on the door as she splashed her face with cold water.

"It's me. Let me in"

Refusing would only mean more curiosity. She opened the door and Ginny joined her, their reflections bouncing off the mirror they were facing. The sharp contrast of her friend's vibrant attractive appearance to her ashen, haggard face struck her immediately. This was what Harry was seeing. How could he ever choose her over Ginny?

"What's wrong?"

"I'm just tired."

She was tired of fighting off the insecurities that plagued her when Harry was around Ginny.

"Tough case?"

She nodded, "Speaking of which it’s unlikely I’ll be at the game tomorrow."

And because she couldn't she had to tell her tonight. She wasn't prepared to tell her tonight. She felt like throwing up again.

"It's okay. You never liked Quidditch anyway," Ginny jibed with a knowing tone; there was no need to deny that truth.

They got out of the bathroom. The guests had moved into the sitting room and they had the kitchen to themselves. They made tea and chatted. Ginny did most of the talking, about what her life was like now, the popularity and the craziness that went with it, about how she wished sometimes that she could just play Quidditch without it but realized it was part of all the hype that made the sport the way it was. It seemed like it would be a good time to talk about Harry.

"What's new with you?"

She shrugged, "Not much."

That is not counting the fact that I'm in love with Harry and having his baby which he knows nothing about.

"So, what's with you and Warren?"

"Nothing,” she dismissed easily, “He's a prick, we both know that. What's with you and Harry?"

"I don't know. He's been acting weird these past few days, like he wants to tell me something that he can’t," Ginny shared, perplexed, "Actually I was going to do something crazy and I wanted to run it by you."

Hermione was sure she didn't want to hear it but Ginny was already telling her.

"Spending time with him this past week has been enlightening to say the least. I still love him," she declared what Hermione already knew, "I think he still loves me too."

"That makes two of us," she couldn't help but agree.

"I know I can live with the fact that he can't tell me everything about his work. I actually have for five months. I'm also okay with who he is now, and what he and he can't talk about with me," Ginny spoke candidly, "I want to ask him to take me back. What do you think?"

Hermione’s calm exterior masked the turmoil she felt within. What does she think about her best friend asking her secret boyfriend to take her back?

Knowing how beguiling and convincing Ginny could be her gut screamed ‘no’. What if Ginny asked and he said yes? She was so close to claiming her tenuous ‘ownership’ of his affection but a calmer voice of reason prevailed. It was presumptuous to think she owned his affection. She had no proof and therefore owned nothing.

And she couldn’t tell Ginny not to do it, not when there was a chance this was what Harry wanted and that he would take Ginny back. There was obviously something very wrong with her for thinking that way but she thought it anyway.

"You don't think it's a good idea, huh?" Ginny sensed her hesitation.

"What if he says 'no'?"

"What if I don't do it and he ends up marrying this other girl when I'm the one he really loves? What if he's just waiting for me to ask? What if he says 'yes'?"

"Good point," she sipped her tea and swallowed hard.

"It's the only way to find out how he really feels about me."

"Then you should do it," she said to Ginny.

The little encouragement was all Ginny needed, "No guts no glory, right? Wish me luck."

Cackles of girly laughter interrupted them. A couple of Ginny's teammates had overheard.

"Is this about getting Harry back?" Druhilda, the blonde Seeker and team elder, asked.

Ginny had obviously confided her woes with some of her teammates too. Her friend confirmed, her anxiety building up from thinking of doing what she was about to do.

She sought more advice, "Should I ask him tonight or tomorrow after the game?"

"I'd say tonight," the Chaser, Trudie suggested, handing Ginny a shot of firewhiskey, "If practice today was any indication you're pretty useless with this in your head."

"I agree with Trudie," Druhilda concurred and handed Ginny another shot which the latter drank as quickly as the first, "Get it done and over with, even better if you do it now. I honestly don't understand what you see in him. He's boring. He’s in there, working.”

They all chuckled, Hermione included.

Ginny sighed, "How do I look?"

Perfect.

"As smashing as always," her teammate answered honestly.

"You have nothing to worry about," the other one said, "He won't stand a chance."

"Right," Ginny replied uneasily, less confident than her teammates were, "It's now or never."

Their eyes followed her through the swinging doors. Harry had been in an animated discussion with Warren when Ginny interrupted. Then they disappeared from view, off to the one place in the house they would get privacy.

"Her bedroom," Druhilda laughed, "The little minx!"

Ginny summed it up. No guts, no glory.

It struck her that it was cowardice on her part to let Ginny do this. Ginny was braver than she was. She had guts and she would deserve the glory. Hermione should have asked Harry a long time ago how he truly felt about her. If things didn't go her way tonight she only had herself to blame because she was a fucking coward.

"So Hermione, tell us," Trudie said with mischief in her tone, "Is that Canadian Bacon yours or did you bring him to the party for everybody to sample?"

"Sample away," she replied knowing Warren wouldn't mind her saying that, though she did put in a word of caution, "Do remember that bacon may taste great but too much is bad for your health."

That made the girls laugh. They joined the others in the sitting room and mingled with the Weasleys. She needed to be distracted but they talked way too much about Quidditch and men. Steering herself away from them and avoiding Percy, she joined Mr. Weasley in his discussion with the Harpies manager about how they should learn marketing from Muggle professional sports.

Hermione half attended to the conversation as her thoughts were on what was taking them so long. It was close to half an hour. Harry would know that it would be inappropriate to spend that much time in his ex's bedroom especially with his ex in there with him. Ginny was pretty direct. She would have asked the question right away. How long does it take to say 'no'?

Dread was turning into panic and some other emotion she couldn't identify. The air thinned and the room began spinning around her.

"Are you okay?" someone asked.

"I'm fine," she replied, steadying herself, holding on to some sturdy dragon art beside her that the Weasleys must have picked up recently from Romania.

Laughter caught her attention. Druhilda had just said something hilarious to the team Beaters.

"Half an hour. I can't imagine them talking for that long," Beater one laughed, "Or doing anything that long."

“Maybe Ginny is showing him something,” one of them suggested suggestively.

"He must be getting the grand tour!"

More laughter.

"She's going to be wasted for the game tomorrow," Beater two chuckled, "Somebody should remind her to go easy."

"Pardon the pun but screw the game. The kid needs to have some fun," Druhilda dismissed, "She deserves it."

Hermione couldn't breathe. She had the singular thought of going to Ginny's bedroom and barging in. Her legs were already moving in that direction when a man blocked her path.

"Have some pumpkin juice," Warren said firmly, his eyes boring into hers.

Get a grip. It may not be what you think it is.

It's been half an hour! I need to know!

Ask him later. This is not the place or time.

Get the fuck out of my way!

The deal was we could stay tonight so you could do what you have to do and be focussed for Gaunt. Making an ass out of yourself will not do that. And do you really think he is capable of doing that to you? The guy's a fucking saint!

What could he be possibly doing in there with her alone for half an hour?!

You know him like the back of your hand. You tell me.

"Have some pumpkin juice," he repeated, shoving the glass in her hand.

Warren didn't know what Ginny was capable of. The mere thought that Harry and Ginny were...well, it was enough to set her off again. She gritted her teeth and fought off the tears as she took the drink from him and drank it, the cool juice washing away the lump in her throat. He took the empty container from her as he quickly downed his firewhiskey and Evanescoed the glasses away.

This was all her fault. She wanted to leave. She couldn't stand the wait.

"No, you're not leaving to wallow in self pity," Warren picked that up, "Come on, let's dance."

He was pulling her to the centre of the room even before he finished telling her.

"What! No, let's not..." she protested as she was being dragged to certain embarrassment.

"Why not?"

Eyes were starting to follow them and her mind had totally shifted to the more immediate task of preventing what was about to happen

"Because no one is dancing!" she hissed between her teeth.

"We'll be the first then," he shrugged, "This music is good. R. Kelly is one my favourites."

He started swaying to the beat, oblivious to the stares and howls of the people in the room while she stood in front of him, literally frozen in shock.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

"You call that dancing?" she was trying her best to keep a straight face; it didn't look like he was.

"It's more than what you're doing which I believe is called 'standing'," he yelled over the beat and did this arm waving thing that was popular decades ago. That made the crowd cheer and she had to shake her head and laugh. He was playing to them and was not embarrassed at all. George turned up the music and a few people joined them on the 'dance floor', "Come on. I can hear the Harpies Seeker thinking of joining me. You'll lose your spot. No one, I mean no one, has ever refused to dance with me before!"

"I suppose they did it out pity."

"Quit the yapping and dance," he ordered good-naturedly.

She relented, his earlier annoying coercion now a welcome diversion. He was right. There was nothing to worry about. Harry would never do that to her. She was having his baby. Reality wouldn't be so cruel. Maybe Ginny was just showing him her um...collection of Quaffles. They should be back soon.

Harry didn't dance so she had not danced in a while. Letting her body go with the flow of the music was liberating and she kept on dancing with Warren, who she realized was goofing around earlier and was actually a good dancer. The first song flowed into the next seamlessly and into the next.

At some point George, their designated DJ, put on a slow number. She had to draw the line.

"I think I'll sit this one out," she said to him.

"What are you afraid of?" Warren asked, probing her for the truth.

For a split second she considered doing it just to prove that she wasn't afraid of anything but that was exactly what he wanted her to do.

I am not afraid of anything.

Prove it. Dance this song with me.

You're hitting on me to piss me off. How low can you go?

If I were hitting on you I would be hitting on a woman I know is pregnant with another man's child. That would be an all time low for me.

He was smiling at her.

He was messing with her.

He was an asshole.

Time's up, Waterloo. Your boyfriend's coming. He's not very happy.

"Is there a problem?" Harry greeted, glaring at Warren openly.

"No," she replied, not wanting unnecessary trouble, "We were just dancing."

"Killing time," Warren explained with derision in his voice, "Keeping her sane while you were busy in your ex-girlfriend's bedroom."

Harry's reaction to what Warren just said was bone chilling. Her partner wasn't giving her anything to see but as far as she knew Warren couldn't get into Harry's mind either. Did Warren know what happened in Ginny's bedroom?

She was surprised that she couldn't face Harry and talk to him right now. She was angry at him for even going with Ginny and was having problems breathing again. She couldn’t stop thinking about what he and Ginny could have done in Ginny’s bedroom.

"I'm taking her home now," Harry said to Warren coldly, "Thanks for covering for me tonight."

"No problem. 0600 hours sharp, Granger. Don't lose too much sleep," Warren reminded her and turned away.

They said their goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and left the party discreetly using work as their alibi. They didn't say a word to each other on their way home, this enormous tension filling the silence between them. They Disapparated separately.

At Grimmauld, Harry followed her up the stairs to their bedroom. Feeling the nausea coming again, she went straight out the balcony to get some fresh air. Harry was the first to break the impasse. He walked over, stood right in front of her and made her face him, lifting her chin up so he could look directly into her eyes.

He didn't say anything at first. He just looked at her, angry and puzzled, making her wonder why he was upset at her. He was the one who stayed in Ginny's bedroom. Shouldn't she be the upset one?! Why did he even come back to Grimmauld with her? Why is he still here? Why doesn't he just say that it's over?

His hand came up her cheek and he softly brushed away the tears that had escaped without permission. He was no longer angry after that.

"Nothing happened," he said to her quietly, "She was crying and I couldn't leave her crying on her own. That's why I took so long."

"Do you still love her?" she asked in a voice that wasn't entirely hers.

"I think a part of me always will," he said honestly.

His answer hurt her. She looked away. She had to so he wouldn't see how that felt..

She said to him, "Then you should go back to her. She still loves you."

The frustration in his voice was obvious, “Why are you pushing me away?”

“You still love Ginny.”

“I can’t change that.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Do you want me to lie to you?”

“No.”

"Then what do you want? You told her to take me back. Was that your way of saying that you don't want me around anymore?!"

Hot wet tears erupted from her eyes again, "I don't want you around if you don't love me. You should be with the one you love."

"Hermione, look at me - please!" he pleaded and she gathered the courage to do so, "Don’t you see it? You are the one!”

“What…?”

“You are the one I love! You are the one I want to be with!”

“But you just said Ginny…!”

“I know what I just said and I can’t explain it in a better way. What Ginny and I had is over. I can’t change what happened. I can’t undo that I loved her first or change that a part of me that always will. But I’m with you now and this thing that I feel for you is different. This is it for me. You are it for me. For the longest time I didn’t tell you because I was afraid that you didn’t feel the same way about me, that I would spook you and that you’d run away. Well I'm done being afraid. Not telling you sooner was a big mistake."

Harry was out of breath, the despair in his voice due to his desire to make her understand. And she was trying her best to but there was too much information too fast. He said something about loving Ginny and loving her differently and not telling her because he didn't want her to run away. The perplexed reaction from her must have been obvious for he reiterated the high points less hurriedly..

“Hermione, I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else in my life. I love you forever. I love you unconditionally."

Then the floodgates opened, the dam broke, the cup runneth over. She was weeping openly. He finally said the words she had longed to hear from him and without her asking for them. It was more special that he said it on his own.

"I love you too, Harry," she managed to say coherently.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. They kissed; sweetly, longingly, reassuringly. Butterflies fluttered within her and carried away all her worst worries and fears. It was just like how she felt that first time at the pond; carefree, accepting and without demands or expectations. But this time was better because she knew in her heart he loved her too.

They stopped kissing and looked at each other with goofy smiles on their faces.

"So, you love me too, huh?"

She confirmed, "I love you."

"I like hearing that."

"I love you," she repeated for him, liking having the freedom to say it too..

He smiled, "And I love you. Was that good for you?"

She chuckled, "Just as I dreamt it would be. Did you say forever and unconditional?”

“I did,” Harry was amused at her mention of it, “And to prove unconditional, I love you even though you’re loopy and seem hell bent on getting rid of me by giving me back to my old girlfriend. You’re mad encouraging her to ask me."

“It was her idea,” she defended herself, “I couldn’t in good conscience stop her. I wasn’t sure what your answer would be.”

“Now you know what my answer is," he answered with her same seriousness, "Was that a test?”

“No,” she shook her head, “That was me being a coward.”

That was another thing about Ginny to feel guilty about. Hermione imagined how that scene in her bedroom played out and how hurt Ginny was when Harry turned her down, how hurt she still was and how more hurt she'd be when she finds out about them. Her cowardice cost her friend a broken heart and a bruised ego, and probably a lot more. She was a terrible friend.

Sensing her misgivings, he tried to make her feel better, “You’re not responsible for her happiness.”

He was right. She wasn’t. She was only responsible for hers and now Harry’s. Harry kissed her again, pulling her in a snug embrace as he did. They snogged under the soft moonlight, oblivious to time and to the rest of the world.

When he pulled away, Harry reached down and took something out of his pocket. It was a small, black, leather box. The sight of it instantly made her heart beat faster. She had a good guess what it was but couldn’t assume or conclude. She didn’t want to. She looked at his face, the anxious expression on him causing her to feel more uneasy.

"I stopped by Gringott's today and picked this up from the vault," he said as he took from within it a gold band set with several brilliant green stones, "It was my Mum's."

His hands were shaking; he looked so cute when he admitted, "I'm sorry. I'm very nervous. I've never done this before and haven't had the time to practice."

"Oh Harry…" she whispered.

She let joy-induced tears fall freely and found herself trembling too as he got down on one knee and gently slipped the ring into her finger. He looked up at her, his eyes an intense bright green very much like the jewels on her hand and took a moment to calm them both before speaking.

"Hermione Jean Granger, you are the most amazing woman I have ever known. My life is not the same without you. I love you and I want you in my life forever. Will you spend the rest of your life with me and be my wife?"

There was no need to think about it. If only her voice wouldn't let her down.

"Yes, Harry. Yes."

She was crying again. An overjoyed Harry scooped her off her feet and they kissed. There were no words to describe the elation she felt at the moment. Harry had just asked her to marry him and she just said yes. And they were going to have a baby.

The baby. She forgot to tell him about the baby.

Harry set her back down on her feet, "What's the matter?"

"I have something rather important to tell you," she said tensely.

"What?" he was worried.

She fidgeted.

"I know it was my responsibility and it's a very simple incantation really, I mean the spell was designed to be idiot proof for good reason. But I must have flubbed it or cast it a bit late or maybe in the moment forgot to cast it that one time...maybe a couple of times...or three.. And not to put blame on your skill or hope forgiveness through flattery but it was never a problem for me before except with you it is kind of hard to concentrate when we're. - well you get the picture."

He didn't get the picture, "Hermione, you're rambling. What are you trying to say?"

"We're having a baby."

She paused, cringed, anticipating some big negative reaction. Harry was stunned to speechlessness. She probably shouldn't have blurted it out like that but it was too late. There was intense compelling pressure to ramble on

"It's quite funny really, once you think about it, considering me being me, who would have guessed? I mean, I plan everything, to the detail, it is poetic justice of sorts that I would have an unplanned pregnancy, don't you think? Harry. Did you hear what I said?"

"You're pregnant," he answered tentatively.

"And I totally understand if this freaks you out. I freaked out when I first found out. Just ask the assistant pharmacist over at Glenhurst and Hillside. I cleaned out their entire stock of pregnancy tests and drank water like a mad woman so I would pee enough..."

"Pee?"

"On the test sticks - all seven of them because I wanted to be sure. Although I kind of knew already. I was late and the Hag wouldn't have mentioned anything if she wasn't certain but that's another story all together. And when I got home, you were asleep and I wanted to tell you, but I kind of thought what if you got really upset and didn't want to be with me anymore? So I showered and got into bed with you..."

"You were naked," he remembered.

"Yes, well, I wanted it to be memorable just in case it was our last. I fully intended to tell you after but we kind of argued and I had to leave in the morning. It just wasn't the best time to tell you we were having a baby. That's why I asked Warren if we could stay tonight so we could talk about it, only I didn't realize Ginny would be in town and then all of tonight happened," she took a breath in, "I can totally understand if you don't want to marry me anymore...okay...that's a lie. I won't understand but I'm sure you'll have a good reason - I mean you better."

He was laughing.

"Harry, are you okay?"

"I'm okay. But are you? You sound like you've gone a bit mental."

"What do you mean by...?!" she gave him a threatening look,

"In a very adorable kind of way," he qualified before she got really upset, "What are you so worried about? We're going to be parents! I'm going to be a father!"

He lifted her up and spun her around so quickly that made her want to throw up.

"Please don't do that again."

"Sorry, but this feels great!" he put her down and planted a quick kiss on her, "This is great news!"

He was a bit manic; that concerned her.

"It is?"

"I love you. I want to have children with you," he explained, "I admit, I didn’t think it would be this soon but it doesn't matter. I can't wait to tell the world! How far along are we?"

"Six weeks."

Did he say children? As in more than one? They definitely had a lot more things to talk about.

But she knew that wouldn't be for now. He got down on his knees again, caressed her belly at the spot where their child was growing and spoke to it gently as she looked on, "I love your Mum and I love you. I just found out that your Mum loves me too and she just agreed to spend the rest of her life with me. That's really a big deal. Then the biggest news of all is that we're having you. It's been a pretty amazing night for us and your Mum's been away for five whole days I really miss her..."

Harry straightened up, love and desire evident in his eyes as he gazed into hers and continued, "I want to make love with her tonight. Well, right now."

The sparkle of happiness in them was unmistakable. She made him happy and that made her happy. Gone were the insecurities of the past months. He loved her and their baby, he said so and that was enough. She had no reason to doubt him anymore.

The ring on her finger felt as if that was where it truly belonged. With him was where she truly belonged. They undressed each other and made passionate love.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I know this is close to perfection.

The next chapter should be the last full one of the past. I still haven’t decided how much to show of what happened between the next chapter and the present but I think most of that will be shown through flashbacks.

I apologize to those who had hoped the pregnancy revelation scene would be more serious. I had fun writing it.