In Retrospect

cosmopolitan411

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 10/07/2008
Last Updated: 10/07/2010
Status: completed

FINALLY COMPLETE! Now a disenchanted Auror, Harry Potter struggles with his past, the mistakes following the war, and the path to redemption just as the murder of the century and an unexpected partner are, untimely, thrust his way, all forcing him to face the memories that had so long gone unearthed.

Chapters

1. Of Partners

2. Of Futures

3. Of Cadavers

4. Of Dinners

5. Of Sure Things

6. Of Work

7. Of Living and Dieing

8. Of Turned Tables

9. Of Probing

10. Of Hell

11. Of Fears

12. Of the Strangeness

13. Of a Tertiary

14. Of Reconnections and New Connections

15. Of Discombobulation

16. Of Pasts, Futures, and Maybes

17. Of the Strength in Numbers

18. Of Planning

19. Of Sexiness

20. Of a Friendship

21. Of Truths and Half-Truths

22. Of Looney Bins

23. Of Letters

24. Of Boxing Things In

25. Of Mommy Dearest

26. Of Dates and Coincidences

27. Of the Rules of Engagement

28. Of Happiness

29. Of a Vote

1. Of Partners

Disclaimer: I'm not making money off this, only having some momentary amusement…

In Retrospect

--

summary: he couldn't remember the last time that he was truly happy, and she couldn't remember the last time there was some life in his eyes when he smiled. How had it gotten to this point, anyway? And could one case really just solve it all, or were her hopes just set far too high?

--

Chapter I: Of Partners

--

She sighed as she looked at the drunk passed out in the corner of the pub, at the far end of the bar, and couldn't help but let out a small sigh of pity for herself as she anticipated the glances she'd receive. She already knew the sorry looks she'd receive when the patrons of the bar realized that she was the one left picking him up and bringing his sorry drunk arse back home. “Bloody ridiculous, is what it is,” she angrily muttered to herself, emitting a small growl as she determinedly made her way towards the pathetic sight.

“Harry,” she nudged him, trying to gain some sort of a reaction from the bastard who wasting her lunch hour with his stupid antics. “Harry?”

“Huh?” he slowly raised his head, drowsily cocking an eyebrow. “Mione, is that you?”

“Yes… and don't call me Mione, you know I hate it. Now, come on, up and at 'em, time to go home.”

“But I don't want to,” he whined petulantly with a less than dignified slur as he hugged the counter. “I wanna stay, Mione!”

She sighed, raising her hands to rub her temples slowly. “Come on, Harry, don't do this again, not now, please,” she begged. “Just follow me, let me take you home.”

He nodded, an action that actually caused him to fall of the stool and onto the floor—he truly had terrible balance when pissed. “Ow,” he groaned.

Hermione let out an exasperated breath as she slowly kneeled down, careful not to topple over in her tight pencil skirt, definitely not her attire of choice when having to pick up Harry like that. “Come on,” she said, latching onto his arm and helping him get up off the ground. “Let's go, yeah?”

He nodded slowly. “Can we pick up drinks on the way though?—Harry's out,” he explained with a small pout, stumbling, and nearly falling over on numerous occasions, as Hermione led him towards the exit.

“No, Harry, I'm afraid we'll only have time to pick you up some coffee, okay?” she patiently asked him as she helped him into the car, buckling his seat belt for him and taking care to lock the door before she closed it so he wouldn't drunkenly run off like last time she forgot.

“Oh… okay… another time then, yeah?” he asked her as she seated herself at the driver's seat.

“Sure, Harry,” anything you want,” she mumbled as she put her key into the ignition.

It was going to be a long day… a very crappy and long day.

--

“Potter?” he heard a distant and rough voice suddenly interrupt his thoughts, effectively pulling him out of his reverie.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Pay some attention already—constant vigilance, Potter, constant vigilance,” his department head, Buckley, told him, repeating his late mentor's infamous adage.

Harry let out a deep, frustrated, breath. “Vigilance turned on, chief.”

Even Buckley couldn't help but quietly snigger at the retort; he always appreciated a little attitude here and there. Supposedly, that came from spending far more time than was good for the mental health with Alastor Moody, but he preferred to think it was just due to him being an exceptionally tolerant and “cool” boss.

“Did you even hear anything I said, Potter?”

“No, not really,” was the bored, but blunt, reply that he received. “Honestly? I was just waiting for you to hand me over that case file so I could just get on with my day already.”

Buckley openly laughed at that one. “You got moxy, kid.”

“And you sound like a fifties film now—maybe even a character from `Casablanca'… you could even be Louie,” Harry quipped.

“Why not Rick?”

At that question Harry couldn't help but let a lazy smile cross his face. “Really, Humphrey Bogart? Don't you think you're setting your sights a tad bit too high there, chief?”

Buckley shrugged. “It was worth a shot—and, here, there's your file, but don't say that I didn't warn you, yeah?”

Harry nodded distractedly as he got up off his seat. “Yeah, got it… I can go now, right?”

“As if it really matters what my answer is,” Buckley grumbled moodily. “And your partner's waiting for you in your office.”

That last mention most definitely piqued Harry's attention. “Partner?—I thought I made myself clear when I said that I don't-”

“You have no choice, Potter,” Buckley stopped him, fully enjoying the dominance he had in the situation, who doesn't like a little power now and then anyway? He thought to himself with a shrug. “Besides, maybe if you were listening to what I was saying you'd know why. Maybe that'll teach you a lesson now… although I doubt it.”

Harry grinned. “You know me too well, boss… actually, it almost makes me want to swoon,” he announced as he batted his eyelashes obnoxiously at his superior, something that obviously terrified the man who looked as if he was on the verge of having a coronary, before making his way out the office.

--

When she stopped in front of his building she only let out a deep sigh, let the steering wheel go from the vice grip that she had held it with during the entirety of the forty-five minute drive to Harry's building, and let herself fall back into her seat.

Harry, who had done a sobering charm on himself during the ride, found himself only able to respond to the rather depressing sight with an “I'm sorry.”

He watched her intently as she bit her lip, wiping away any emotion from her face before turning to fully face him. “It's okay, really. Besides, you needed someone to be there and I was available… but, really Harry, the bartender told me you were there binge drinking for four hours—you started at ten in the morning?!”

He shrugged. “Nothing better to do.”

“There's always-”

“No!” he roughly interrupted her. “No, Hermione, for you there is, not for me. Just—no lectures… please, okay? I don't need a mother hen or a conscience… I can't have that from you… I just can't, not now,” he told her with a pained voice, his tone progressively getting softer with each word.

“Okay,” she nodded. “But can you at least shave?… You have such a handsome face, Harry, one of the most attractive I've ever seen, there's really no need to hide it behind that ghastly beard.”

He smiled tiredly at her, his eyes empty even when he was grinning at her. “For you, anything… listen, you want to come up for a spot of lunch or some tea? I mean I'm sure I can whip up something that's at least edible, even in my state.”

“No, wish I could, but I can't. I really should be getting back to work, this is my lunch hour; another time, yeah?”

He nodded. “Okay, I'd like that.”

“And, Harry, don't forget your coffee, I have a feeling you're going to need it,” she smiled at him as she handed him the bag that had been sitting in the back seat.

“Thanks,” he told her with a nod before leaving the car.

--

He let out a groan once he reached his office. Merlin, he hated partners—they were always so nosey, wanting to know what the hell it was that he were doing and whether or not it was against protocol.

Prats, the whole lot of them; annoying bastards that were just a nuisance—damn Buckley for going specifically against his wishes by assigning him a partner. Who really needs that bloody buddy-buddy system, anyway? After all, in reality, it got old after the first grade; everyone knows that for fuck's sake.

“Oi, Potter, no matter how long you stare at that door it won't just disappear, mate,” Golding laughed, clapping him on the back as he walked past him.

Harry merely threw him what he hoped to be a threatening glare as he grabbed hold of the knob and prepared himself for the worst.

He'd never expected, however, that the worst would be quite so attractive. “Hermione?”

She smiled at him from her seat atop his desk, a look that she somehow managed to make elegant rather than a raunchy pose from some porno. How, however, was totally beyond him. “Hi Harry!”

--

author's note: so this is my new fic, not quite sure how often it will be updated, as I'm also working on a LJ fic, and I've never actually worked on two fics at once… but I'll try to update as often as I can…

p.s. note: every Auror will be named after a favorite author of mine (since I really don't have the energy to think of my own names, really, I hate doing that part), can anyone guess which authors I'm referring to?

This chap's authors: Buckley and Golding.

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2. Of Futures

Chapter II: Of Futures

--

“What can I get you, love?” the bartender asked her as she took a seat at the bar.

“Screwdriver, please,” she smiled at him.

It wasn't long before she heard a groan come from the seat beside her. “So how'd you find me here anyway?” he asked her as he took a large sip from his abnormally oversized cup of whiskey.

She never knew they came in such bulky sizes, actually.

Instead of voicing those thoughts, however, she merely shrugged. “I heard about you and Ginny, figured you may be out trying to release some tension—this was the fourth pub in a twenty block radius from your building that I checked…”

He nodded slowly. “I'm fine, Hermione, no need to worry about me. Besides, I'm sure you have better things to do then fret over me.”

“Really?” she asked disbelievingly, raising an eyebrow at the annoyingly self-pitying implication.

“Well yeah, why would you need to spend your evening consoling your pissed mate when you could bee off with Ron enjoying yourself?”

She smiled slowly, with that charming beam that she knew he'd always fall victim to. Good girl or not, at times a woman was forced to use her wiles for the betterment of the bloke in question anyway, she reasoned. “And what if I were to tell you that consoling you is at the top of my list of favorite activities?”

“Then I'd say you're full of it,” he bluntly told her, chugging the rest of his drink before waving the bartender over for another one.

She kept her mouth shut despite the intense and palpitating urge to tell the server to cut him off for the rest of the evening. “Want to talk about it?”

He shrugged. “It was time—Ginny and I… well… we were just never meant for one another. She needs someone fun, she needs the boy wonder who can take her out and about around the town… I'm afraid I don't have the patience for all that absurd gallivanting anymore. Really, I just want some time to myself; I suppose what I need is some time to get over this.”

“What's going on, Harry?” she desperately asked him. “Ever since everything with Voldemort and the war ended two months ago you've been walking around aimlessly… what happened? What's going on? I want to help you, but I just don't know how anymore.”

He smiled slowly, but it killed her that there was no light, no warmth, in his eyes as he did so. “You being here is more than enough, love, trust me… I don't think there's any better therapy then your company.”

She blushed slowly. “Then how about you take advantage of this so-called `therapy' by talking to me a bit.”

He shook his head, and it was odd how he could make the action seem so… numb, if there ever even was such an oxymoron. “I can't… just give me time, Hermione, all I need is time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, nodding hopefully, and all the while desperately trying to remain positive as she playfully nudged his shoulder with her own.

--

“Hermione, what are you doing here?” he asked her as he walked over to her and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Well you sound surprised, but not quite as happy about the development as I had hoped,” came her muffled quip as she buried her face into the crook of his neck, relishing the feel of being enfolded in the arms of her best mate again.

He chuckled as he slowly released her from his constricting hold. “You know I'm always glad to see you, and, frankly, I'm utterly drunk with happiness now that I know I won't have to deal with some arse of a partner that I'd probably hate anyway.”

“Always the optimist, aren't you, Harry?”

“Oh yes, I'm shooting bloody rainbows out my arse all the time with all this optimism that I'm bursting with,” he joked sarcastically. “Seriously, though, I thought you were on assignment in Peru identifying victims or something like that…”

She laughed. “Well I'm so glad that you listen to me… sort of… to some extent, I suppose,” she teased him lightly. “And I came back yesterday—as if I could spend more than a week away from you and Ron anyway.”

“You should have told me you were back.”

“I would have but when my boss told me that I was `out on loan,' as he so eloquently and non-degradingly put it, to the ministry and that you would be my partner I figured I could hold it off a day and surprise you.”

He smiled. “It's good to see you again, love, I've missed you, Ron and I have been lost without you.”

“Oh please, my boyfriend acts as if I was never even gone, when I came back and said the classic `Lucy, I'm home,' with a Ricky Ricardo accent no less, and the bastard actually responded with a `when'd you ever leave?'”

He chortled as he listened to her tale, easily able to imagine the scene. “You know how much he loves to pull your leg.”

“Arse still thinks I need to loosen up a bit, bloody prick,” she grumbled in a way that only Ron could ever manage to get her to. “Well, at least I have you, I suppose.”

“You sound happy when you say that,” he teased her with faux derision.

“Don't worry, I'd never take you for granted… just may tease you incessantly… but, at any rate, I suppose it comes with the territory of my best mate role in your life, yeah?”

--

“So I heard you got accepted to that Uni you wanted to go to,” he said, mainly to divert the attention from himself and distract her with something, anything.

She smiled widely. “Yeah, I got accepted for the forensics program—God, I was so scared that I wouldn't get it, I mean it is the premiere institute for this, but I'm in!”

“That's great, Hermione,” he sincerely told her as he took a large sip from his drink. “That's really great, I'm proud of you, love, I truly am. Now, how about you finally explain what the bloody hell it is that you want to do anyway, because I'm at a total loss as to what a forensics anthropologist is anyway.”

She huffed. “Harry, I already told you.”

“When I was pissed, love, there was no way I could possibly remember.”

“And you're not pissed now?” she retorted smartly.

He grinned. “I promise that I won't get so pissed that I'll forget this conversation, how about that?”

She laughed merrily. “Okay… I'm basically going to work with bones-”

“Bones?” he asked her, incredulously.

“Well yeah, Harry, bones can tell you anything. They can tell you about injuries that a sixty year old man had when he was six… they're actually the only definite markers for hexes or curses that killed someone, since they leave a distinct mark that can tell you what was used to kill them.”

Harry grimaced. “Never knew you were quite so dark and twisted… I suppose Ron predicted it, though, didn't he?”

She shrugged, a small smile gracing her lips nonetheless. “I think it's fascinating, and at least I know I'll never get bored. It's like a constant puzzle just waiting to be solved, that was always more my shtick, you know that… more so the brains than the brawn, that was obvious enough.”

“More than enough,” he added with a grin as he placed a hand over hers, which was lying absently on the counter while the other stirred her drink, she always was very particular about her screwdrivers. Loved them to bits so she wanted to make sure each was perfectly proportioned and mixed. It was oddly comforting, really, one of those things that would never change and he reveled in that security.

“I'm really proud of you, you know that, right?—I mean, not just for this, although this is definitely worth its praise, but for all of it. You're always so strong, Hermione, always there to pick me up when I'm down. I can't imagine where I'd be without you, you know that, right?”

She smiled as a distinct blush overtook her face as she lowered her head in an absolutely futile attempt to hide it. “Thank you… I—I love you too, Harry,” she whispered shyly, never one for the spotlight and clearly unsure as how to respond to it, no matter how dim it may be. “And what about you, Harry, what are your plans? Will it be an Auror or quidditch player for you?” she asked him. Her face brightening as she beamed up at him excitedly.

He shook his head slowly as he took another large sip of his whiskey. “This,” he told her, in a raspy voice, raising his drink so it was in her line of vision. “This is all that I can handle right now, to tell you the truth.”

--

“So care to tell me why you're here? You've never worked for this department before,” he noted as he eyed her suspiciously.

“Ministry's finding that the usual form of trying to figure out what curse was used to kill someone just isn't working as well as it should, so they're resorting to using my department since bones are far more reliable,” she admitted with a shrug. “Not sure how much I like that really; it's all a bit too morbid for me.”

“This is coming from the chit who works with bones.”

“Uh… this is murder, Harry, murder.”

“No need for the repetition and extra emphasis, love, I'm very well aware of what department I work for,” he grinned. “And you were at Guatemala identifying victims of genocide while at Uni.”

She shrugged. “So?”

He chuckled lightly. “I suppose you always were a stubborn bint anyway so I really shouldn't be too surprised anyway, should I?”

She grinned up at him, preferring not to respond the question so as to avoid lying. “So care to tell me what this case is about?”

“Oh,” he said, looking down at the file in his hand. “Oddly enough, I actually forgot about that.”

“Well aren't you devoted to your field.”

“I try,” he shrugged.

“So, come on, let's see what it is,” she urged him excitedly.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, and were it not for the fact that she knew that he adored her and would be utterly lost without her she probably would have thought it was condescending of him. “If you act like that, Hermione, everyone's going to know that this is your first case. Besides it's not as if you haven't been doing this for ages, you finished Uni two years ago, and even then you were working as an aid for all six years, you really do need to learn how to bluff.”

“Well since you're so stellar at it, why don't you teach me,” she smiled coyly.

“And you've obviously been trying your hand at manipulation as of late, it's rather becoming actually,” he noted with a hint of surprise.

She laughed openly, slapping his arm lightly. “Just open the bloody file, Potter.”

“Oh, and downgraded to the last name, well if you insist—oh fucking prick!” he suddenly groaned upon seeing the contents of the folder.

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she sent him a quizzical look when she saw his reaction. “Why'd you throw it on the floor, Harry?” she admonished him, retrieving the folder that he had flung half way across his rather inappropriately massive office. She opened the dossier to only be met with a small note that was clearly hastily written onto a post-it.

Maybe this will finally teach you to listen, Potter,
although I doubt it.

-B.

P.S. they're waiting for you at the McMullan Hotel, London
Have fun!

“Bloody hell, Harry, why can't you be more responsible,” she moaned. “You're really lucky Buckley is amused by your preposterous behavior, other wise you'd be just as poorly off as you were before he took over this office. Honestly,” she huffed, pouting slightly. “I hate being unprepared like this, you know that.”

He sniggered slightly, unable to contain himself at the sight of her sulking while glowering at him. “I'll cover for you then, if anyone's going to look incompetent it'll be me. Don't worry, Hermione, you're bloody brilliant, no one could possibly think anything less of you anyway. Relax; you won't be on your game if you can't do that much, at least.”

She sighed as he moved behind her, rubbing her shoulders in a desperate attempt to be as assuring as possible. “I can't,” she sighed. “I'm not like you… I can't just close myself off like you do, Harry.”

He nodded. “Well then, just go with it, about time you took something from all these years with Ron and learned to let go every now and then.”

She smiled softly, turning to face him before pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered into his shoulder, a muffled sentiment that he almost hadn't heard. “If it were anyone else I'm sure I'd be far more insecure then I already am, terrifying possibility, actually.”

He grinned. “What are friends for?—Besides, I'd say you've been through much worse with me.”

--

author's note: a little background story on Hermione and Harry there, keep in mind, though, these flashbacks will not be any specific or chronological order but will be organized more so according to which correlates to the event currently passing in their lives.

Hope you enjoyed, next chapter we get into the case and see a side to Harry that was very dominant in chapter one.

Thank you, and please R&R

p.s. just a small shout out, and a pathetic attempt at displaying my eternal gratitude, to my betas, Searcy and MyUsedRomance, as well as Hana-xoxo, for the help with my summary.

please review!

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3. Of Cadavers

Chapter III: Of Cadavers

--

“Merlin, it's been so long since you and I last had the chance to actually do something like this,” she gushed, beaming at her boyfriend. “Really, Ron, thank you for this—all of it. Thanks for the dinner, for the fact that it's here rather than at some posh restaurant without privacy, for having been there for me, holding me up no matter what, this past year even though you were going through the same thing… I just—I can't tell you how much it means to me to have you in my life. You've proven to be so much more than I ever expected… thank you,” she repeated, her eyes brimming with tears as she spoke.

“Love, it's just pasta,” he teased her, but the distinct blush on his face was more than enough to assuage her that he appreciated her words.

She laughed merrily. “And what good pasta it is.”

“Happy anniversary, love,” he smiled, raising his wine glass and clinking his glass with hers. “There's no one I'd rather be spending-”

Ron's speech, however, was interrupted by a rather unwelcome guest stumbling into the flat, and into their coffee table where the food had been set.

“Oi, I'm not late, am I?” Harry drunkenly groaned as he lifted himself off the table, apparently not even noticing the fact that he had just come in contact with a rather hard surface or that he was covered in manicotti and fettuccini alfredo.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” Hermione incredulously asked as she got up off the pillow on the floor that she had been sitting on and moved towards him, picking the food off of him as she tried to keep him steady and prevent him from doing any further damage to the flat or himself.

“The dinner party, you invited me, remember?—Look, I even brought some whiskey… 'fraid there's only a bit left though… I think I got thirsty on the way back from the liquor store to my flat… or at least I think so… you're smart Mione, right?—Tell me if I did,” he rambled on without ever even noticing the pained expressions marring both Hermione and Ron's faces.

“Mate,” Ron gently interrupted his tirade.

“Oi, Ron, when'd you get here, you arse?!” Harry smiled widely, moving foreword to greet him only to trip over his own feet and fall into the practiced and already expectant hands of his friend.

Ron let out a pained smile as he went through a scene that was becoming all far too ritual for his own taste. “I've been here the entire time, Harry.”

“Oh?—you're not shitting me, are you?”

“No, Harry, he's not,” Hermione answered for Ron with a tired sigh as she felt all of her energy quickly dissipating as it somehow always did in Harry's company the past year. “Harry… the dinner party was three days ago… you didn't show up.”

“Well fuck, that's a shame if there ever was one.”

--

“This hotel has amazing strawberry daiquiris,” Hermione announced with a wistful look towards the bar as Harry led her to the lifts.

“I wouldn't know,” Harry admitted in a clipped tone as he roughly pressed the button to signal the lift.

She blushed slowly. “I'm so sorry, that was insensitive of me, wasn't it? God, I'm such a cow-”

“I didn't mean that, I was referring to the drink,” he told her with a slow quirk of his lips. “Figures you'd go for something as girly as a daiquiri.”

She scoffed, punching him in the arm as they made their way through the open doors of the lift. “You prat!—and it was insensitive of me… I'm really sorry, Harry-”

“Bloody hell, Hermione, don't be such a damn martyr. It's over with, that time in my life has passed, and it's primarily thanks to you that I got through it, I think that giving up on drinking is a small price to pay—besides, at least cumulatively, in those two years I drank more than most people do in their entire lives.”

She laughed lightly. “Don't remind me… please.—This is a nice hotel…”

“Yeah, I doubt you'll be singing quite the same tune when we get to the penthouse suite.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Penthouse?”

He nodded gravely, his eyes trained on the lights of the bar above the lift doors as they signaled what floor they were passing. “At the desk—when I showed them our identification, while you were off mooning over that bar—they told me that we were to be going to Andrew McMullen's penthouse suite.”

“McMullen… as in the McMullen of McMullen hotels?”

“Well you always were a bright one, Hermione, great to see that your brain is still so quick that you can come to such conclusions while we're in the McMullen hotel,” he teased her.

“Arse.”

He tutted her. “But a right one nonetheless.”

--

As he groggily lay on the bed, trying to fall asleep, a feat which he was finding to be surprisingly difficult even in his alcohol induced stupor.

“Hermione!” he heard Ron say in a whispered sort of yell, that despite how oxymoronic still held the same bite as any bellow.

“What Ron? What do you want me to do?” she asked, her voice tired as she whispered her retort, both unaware that Harry could hear them through the slightly open doors as they spoke right before them.

“You can't keep on coddling him like this—letting him walk all over you—over us. It's unacceptable, he has to learn to support himself but all you ever do is act like this bloody mother hen, watching over him at all turns!”

She scoffed, and Harry could feel the anger radiating off of her even if he couldn't see her. The imagination was a daunting thing, and that combined with the knowledge of the extent and clout of her anger was more than enough to make Harry wince before even hearing her response. Anticipation, after all, was often far more powerful than the actual thing.

“Oh don't tell me you're jealous now because I'm taking care of him—he's our best mate, Ron, you can't always let yourself-”

“No,” Ron roughly interrupted her. “No, it's not that. Hermione… bloody hell… I'll admit that I tend to get jealous of him, okay? I admit it. But this—this isn't about that, it's about you letting him walk all over you, it's killing you, having to put up with this, having to care for him. You're tired, you're depressed, and I hate seeing what this does to you, you don't deserve it. Just let him go,” he begged her.

“I'll let you go, Ron, if you ever even think about telling me to abandon Harry again,” she threatened him in a cutting tone, before storming away to the kitchen to prepare some hangover food for Harry.

“Fucking chit,” Ron groaned, banging his head on the wall before letting out a deep breath and following her to the kitchen.

--

“Oi!” Harry groaned as the doors opened. “Ugh, what's that stench?”

“A corpse,” was the dull witted response she got from an Auror walking towards them, handing them each a disposable face mask and gloves.

Harry chuckled lightly. “Hermione, Sam Ludlum. Sam, Hermione Granger.”

“Well, it seems as if miracles are possible, you finally got strapped down with a partner after all, wait until I tell Herbert, seems as if I've just gained ten galleons off of him. Knew Buckley isn't that accommodating,” he grinned with pride as he shook Hermione's hand. “Pleasure to meet you, love,” he told her with a small wink.

“I like him,” Hermione announced, a proclamation that only received a glare from Harry.

“Well of course, he flirts with everyone, how couldn't you.—Where're we supposed to go?” he asked Sam, trying to make sense of the ostentatious suite that was filled with aurors at every corner.

“Bedroom—that way, heads up though, not the prettiest sight I've ever seen in my life… few aurors even threw up at the sight—bloody hilarious that was, actually.”

Harry rolled his eyes, chuckling as he took Hermione's hand and led her to the direction they were pointed to.

“Well the fun just keeps on coming, doesn't it?” he asked her as they entered the bedroom.

“Oh my God,” Hermione gasped as she surveyed the room.

Even Harry couldn't help but wince slightly as he looked around the bedroom. “Well fuck…”

“Potter, there you are!” Herbert called form behind them. “About time you got here, when Buckley told me you'd been assigned I didn't think it would take two hours for him to actually fill you in.”

Harry just shrugged in response. “What the hell happened here?”

“Yeah… I don't even know how the hell whoever did this managed it. This suite is supposed to be fully protected; I mean, even for some muggle `technology', it's pretty impressive-”

“Muggle technology?” Hermione asked in surprise.

Herbert nodded. “Bloke's a half-blood; this hotel chain is apparently for muggles and wizards alike… I'm Robert, by the way, nice to meet you, Granger.”

She smiled weakly, still rather affected by the sight before her. “Nice to meet you too…”

He gave her sympathetic look. “As nice as it can be under the circumstances though, I take it.”

She nodded numbly. “This certainly is a messy case isn't it? I mean, even for my standards it's a bit out there,” she admitted shyly, cringing as she tried to ignore the distinct smell of burnt flesh that was accosting her senses.

He smiled slowly, sympathetically. “Just call me if you need anything, I have to go do some damage control, press is arriving and Buckley doesn't want anything to get back to him.”

“Brilliant, the head is still as antisocial as ever—bye Robert.”

“Nice meeting you,” Hermione waved before turning to Harry. “Here,” she told him, passing him one of the clipboards that she had, unknowingly up until that point, been holding, probably had been passed to her at some point when she had entered the room and was in a stupor.

Harry looked down at the board that had been thrust into his hands in surprise. “What, I'm your slave now?”

“I'm the brains you're the brawn. I'm the Scully to your Mulder, the 99 to your Smart…” she distractedly quipped as she approached the cadaver lying on the middle of the floor, before the enormous divan and chained to its legs.

“Oi, come on, the last one was just taking it way too far.”

She shook her head, tiredly. “Just take the notes, Harry, I have to make sure that this is even something in my area to begin with.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “What, you think it might not be?”

She shrugged. “You never know… hmmm…”

“'Hmm'? what the hell is that supposed to mean?” a bemused Harry petulantly asked her, slowly beginning to remember another reason why he hated partners so much, even if it was Hermione.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up…” she told him as looked at the scaring on the body. “Ready with the notes?”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“Okay, one incise extending across the midgut of the GI tract… not able to give you a sure estimate as to what curse, but it definitely was one and my guess is that whoever did this probably even created it…”

Harry couldn't help but let his eyebrows rise at that. “Created it?”

She shrugged. “Doesn't look like anything else I've ever seen, I'll give you a sure answer when I examine the bones. Just keep writing for now, I want to get out of here as soon as possible, we can talk about it later, yeah?”

He nodded, slumping slightly in defeat, but, still, it was Hermione and he had never been able to say no to her as it was. “Sure.”

“Also, note that whoever did this definitely made the slit in the GI tract postmortem.”

“Mhm…”

“Also write that each of the fifty or so scratches on the corpse are… exactly… five centimeters.”

“Right.”

“Phallus was-”

Harry stopped. “Phallus?”

“Penis, Harry, you know cock, dick, willy, shlong?!” she told him in frustration. “Just take the notes; I don't want to have to bring one of my interns with me every time we do this.”

He rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell you're bossy when you're working.”

“Harry!”

“But when aren't you bossy, right?—Go on.”

“The phallus was amputated through the use of another spell… seems to be another original… make a note to pathologist to see if they can find any definite markers from the scarring that can help me figure out which spell it is or any similarities to any existing ones so I can back trace and recreate it…”

“Right,” he told her, writing away on the parchment, all the while wondering how the hell she expected the pathologist to actually be able to read his infamous, and in a most horrible sense of the word at that, chicken scratch.

“Given that the phallus was roasted it's most likely that this wasn't what killed the victim either but a torture device of sorts…”

Harry cringed not for the second time that day. “Wait… that's the bloke's willy over there?” He asked with an unsubtle tremble in his voice that always came to any man at the prospect of any pain to their beloved member.

“Yep… note that for the murderer to have done this they would have had to use something to impede blood loss given the amount in the pool here-”

“Oi, there is no way there was any impeding' there-”

“Harry, as I said before, shut up. As far as I'm concerned, the body is my area, yours is going to be suspects, let's just stay within our own areas of expertise for now, yeah?”

“Fine, you're the boss,” he relinquished, all the while cursing whoever had come up with absurd idea of having partners.

“Based off of the scarring I'm going to assume that he's been dead for about fifty to seventy hours now, give or take. Given the amount of blood and the extent of burning on the phallus it could have been taken off as much ten or so hours before that-”

Harry groaned as he wrote down her estimations.

“Stop that, Harry, I'm trying to ignore the fact that this is positively vomit worthy and you're not making that very easy for me.—Okay, that's it,” she announced as she got up off the floor moving away from the body she had been kneeling before. “Tell them to send the body over to the pathologist—use Alexandru Ionesco, he works in my department, only one of them I can actually stand talking to as it is… and he'll do a preliminary autopsy to check if the murderer left anything behind so I can then get the bones and try to suss out whatever curses were used for this.”

“Right, well I'm going to have to stay here to look around and see if I can find anything, you want to stay with me or bolt?”

“Well… I think I'm more needed at the-”

He chuckled. “Just go, don't bother with the excuses, I'll see you at dinner tonight, yeah? You and Ron can come on over and we can celebrate your return.”

She smiled, nodding her head slowly. “Sure, what time?”

“Eight or so?”

“So eight,” she told him with a small grin, kissing his cheek as she left with a cheery goodbye, more than thrilled to be leaving.

--

author's note: so there was another chapter, no idea how well I did with this, probably totally mucked it up, but it's a pretty nasty case—a fact that can only be explained through the fact that I was actually watching “Carrie” while formulating this.

As for the notes on this being like bones, well I can only say I'm flattered that people think so. I actually only got into the show a month ago, after I started formulating this fic, which was while I was still writing Taking off the rose-colored glasses, but the fact that Hermione works with bones was deff. affected by the show since originally she would have been a pathologist, but I figured that she just doesn't seem like one for the gore… to that extent at least. I'm hoping to make this fic entirely separate of Bones, but if it does influence it too much, fell free to warn me.

author's used in this: Ludlum, Herbert, and Ionesco—can anyone guess which authors those were?

special thanks to my betas Searcy and MyUsedRomance as well anyone who reviewed! PLEASE REVIEW!

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4. Of Dinners

Chapter IV: Of Dinners

--

“I don't understand why you refuse to let me throw a party for the bloke, I mean he is my best mate as well, shouldn't I also have some say in how he spends his bloody birthday?” Ron grumbled as Hermione passed him a bag filled with food before closing the trunk of their car.

“Because he doesn't need a big party right now, what he needs is us, Ron, don't be such a prat just because you want to get pissed-”

“Oi, that's not the only reason.”

She smiled, cocking an eyebrow at him before turning to thank the doorman who had opened the door for them as they entered Harry's building.

“Well not the only reason…”

“Ron, he drinks more than enough for the three of us combined—hell, he drinks enough for your entire family, mine, and probably even our extended family. We really ought not to give him excuse to do so more as it is… besides, you know him, Ron, he's always preferred the private affairs, what better than a small dinner between friends for his birthday?” she asked him as they entered the lift and pressed the button for the penthouse.

“Mum's going to murder you for this, you know? She thought that she'd be throwing Harry's birthday party…”

Hermione groaned. “You still didn't tell her?”

“Have you met my mother?” Ron incredulously asked her. “I don't have a death wish, no matter how much of a risk it may be to not try to appease you.”

“Molly really needs to learn how to stay out of other people's business.”

“Oi, that's my mum.”

“And you're a mummy's boy, I know that, and I almost accept it… were it not for the fact that it makes you a total scared shitless dunderhead…”

“Come on!” he moaned, quickly growing agitated by the turn the conversation was taking.

“No, you come on, Ron! It's really about time you got out of that blasted nest! That woman has far too much control over you as it is so why do you keep kissing up to her? When are you going to finally grow up?”

He growled lowly as the doors to the lift dinged, signaling their arrival at the intended floor. “I can't keep on this whole affair if I feel like I'm not the only woman in your life,” she continued as she rummaged through her purse while walking towards the doors of Harry's apartment.

“And who the hell else is in my life then?”

“Your mother! I'm not into that whole incestuous affair shite, Ron; I have more self-respect than that.”

Ron cringed. “Hermione, I love my mum and all, but have you seen the woman? She's not particularly my type as it is so no need to worry about that, really.”

“Ugh, not everything is meant in such a literal sense,” she shrieked, not bothering to turn the key she had placed in the lock as she turned her full attention to Ron. “Either grow the hell up or I'm out, Ron, I swear to you, I'm out!”

“No need to get bitchy about it… all you had to do was calmly tell me your worries,” he mumbled, much to her gratification as he gave up.

“Good,” she smiled, returning to the key. “You have two weeks to leave the nest then,” she told him in a definite tone with a very self pleased nod. “now make sure to be quiet, I wanted to surprise him with this, all I told him was that I wanted to do something special today and I was going to surprise him at some point so he's probably not expecting us.”

“Because it's easy to be quiet when you're carrying ten kilos worth of food!” he grumbled to himself as he followed Hermione through the familiar path towards the sitting room.

“Harry?” she called out as she entered the room.

“Oh, you tell me to be quiet so you can ruin the surprise like that? How disappointing,” he pouted.

“Shut up, Ron; be useful, help me find the prat, will you?”

“No need to.”

“And why's that?” she absentmindedly asked him as she made her way towards the door heading to the library.

“You may want to look at that pile on the floor—you know, before the chesterfield over there…”

She didn't even turn as her body stiffened, and merely cringed. “No…”

“Sorry, love,” Ron sighed, putting the food on the nearest table and walking over to his mate who was absolutely sloshed and beyond comprehension.

She sighed as she turned, watching her boyfriend checking for a pulse… wouldn't be much of a shock given the amount of alcohol he consumed really, come to think of it. “Can you go and pick up materials for the `drunkards first aid'?”

He looked up at her, smiling pitifully, trying to ameliorate the already dreadful situation however much he could by mollifying her to whatever extent possible. “Sure, love, I'll be back before you know it, yeah?”

“Thanks Ron,” she told him with a weak, pained smile.

--

“Oi, we're here!” Harry heard a voice bellow from the first floor of his apartment.

“Ron!” he listened to another familiar voice chastise him.

“What?—this place is huge, if anything I was helping him, I mean the prat couldn't even hear us when I rang that blasted doorbell.”

“You're such an obnoxious bastard,” she huffed and Harry couldn't contain a chuckle as he made his way towards the salon where he knew Ron and Hermione would have sat themselves by then, as was already habitual since he had given her a key to his apartment years ago.

“Harry, mate, thank Merlin you're here, I need some salvation from this one,” Ron greeted him with a grin, taking obvious pleasure in the glare that Hermione sent him.

“Berk,” Hermione laughed as Harry embraced Ron before moving onto her. “How are you, love?”

“Oh, you mean since you left me at that hell hole?”

“Precisely.”

He smirked. “It was utterly disgusting, I actually had to-”

“Oi, as far as I'm concerned you two are the idiots to go into that business, not me, so I shouldn't be subjected to your regaling, I'd like to keep my appetite, thank you very much.”

“As if anything could possibly hinder it,” Hermione quipped.

He beamed at her. “Oh love, you know me so well, it's almost enough to make me swoon actually. Where is the food anyway? I don't smell anything.” Ron asked curiously, a small twinge of fear passing over him at the possibility of a lackluster and foodless evening. Reunions were great and all, just not as great without that main, vital component, as far as he was concerned.

“Ron!”

“I was just asking, besides, it's Harry, he expects as much. If you can't be yourself in front of your best and closest mates, then when can you?”

“He does have a point,” Harry acquiesced with a shrug. “And it's on the stove, finished it about an hour ago so I placed a heating charm over it.”

“How did you even find the time to prepare a meal after everything you had to do today?” Hermione asked him in awe.

He shrugged. “Needed something to distract me as it was, and I don't cook often so it's a nice change of pace every once in a while anyway.”

“Find anything?”

“We'll talk about it tomorrow, yeah?”

Ron sighed. “That's it; I'll just go put this wine to chill so that, on the off chance that you two won't be able to hold off this conversation, I at least don't have to bear witness to it.”

Hermione laughed as she watched her boyfriend leave the room. “He really is something… not quite sure what that something is half the time, but something nonetheless.”

“You two have been together a long time,” Harry soberly commented.

“Yeah… we have, haven't we?”

“On and off for eight years now, if that's not long I don't know what is… how are you handling Molly's hints towards marriage anyway?”

Hermione shrugged. “Ron and I both know we're not ready for that, as routine and comfortable as our relationship is, we just aren't ready for that. Plus, Ron finally learned to stand up to that cow so it's all good.”

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “`Cow'? I must admit, I'm impressed, it's such a rare occurrence that you ever speak ill of anyone.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, more so in aggravation at the thought of said cow than with Harry's quip. “I just—I hate how she has to control everything. I mean, God forbid that Ron and I don't get married and start popping out children as soon as possible so we can finally live up to this picture perfect image that she has set up in her head. The woman is delusional.—And then, to add insult to injury, she would barely stand the sight of you after the war while you were going through your issues, called you a disgrace even, but now—now that you're better, over it, you're suddenly good enough for Ginny again?! It's preposterous, the meddling hag just needs to mind her own business, it's terrible what she's doing to Neville at those dinners, purposefully hinting at you and Ginny being together like that.”

Harry chortled as he listened to Hermione's rant. “So I take it you're not a fan of her then?”

Hermione grinned sheepishly, blushing lightly. “Don't tell Ron.”

“Never… besides, I can't deny that she can be a hag at times as it is… almost makes me not want to attend the dinners… you know, were it not for the fact that it's a chance to see you two.”

Hermione laughed. “That's the only reason I attend anymore—to see you and the twins.”

“So what'd I miss?” Ron asked as he reentered the room, throwing an arm around Hermione's shoulders.

“Nothing,” Harry told him.

Ron sent him a doubtful look. “Nothing?”

“Nothing you'd want to hear,” she assured him, giving him a small peck on the cheek.

--

“Harry?” she called out, slapping his face lightly to try and get him to regain consciousness. “Harry?”

“Ugh…mn…fr…” he grumbled, swatting away her hand.

`Well at least he's not totally lost,' she thought to herself as she nudged him again. “Come on, Harry, it's time to take a shower.”

“Umnnffrrr…” he mumbled again, incoherently, as he raised his head a bit and just as Hermione thought she was making some progress she learned just what had forced Harry to sit up.

Or, more so, what couldn't make its path up Harry's pipe when he was lying down in the position he was in. And she found out far more than she would have liked as she found herself covered in that “compelling factor”.

She groaned, damning the gods for having such a useless scrougify that would never do much to truly rectify her current situation… there'd still be the residuals stuck to her clothes regardless, a fact that was painfully obvious as she examined the stains on her top after casting the spell.

“Okay, Harry, now that you've used me a your personal throw bin ,how about doing your best girl a favor by sitting up and letting me take you to the loo, yeah?”

He groaned from the floor, turning a bit so he could raise a tired and somehow oddly bleary eyebrow at her. It was an abnormal sight that just exuded this sense of wooziness. He finally sighed as he said “Help me up?”

“Of course,” she smiled, propping him up against her shoulder and slowly pulling him off the floor, amazing herself with her own strength, and were it not for the rather sordid situation she probably would have compared herself to Wonder Woman at that moment…

“Yer amazing, Mione.”

“Don't call me Mione, Harry, you very well know I despise that name yet somehow whenever you're drunk you have this inexplicable affinity for it—which, by the way, is far too often for my liking,” she muttered as she helped him off the ground, staggering under the weight of his strong body.

“And yer smarr... and beeuteefool... and lurve ya, ya know I lurve ya, right Mione?”

She smiled slowly, blinking back the tears as she helped him through the door to the master bedroom of his flat. “I know... I love you too, Harry, I really do. No one could ever take your place in my life,” she promised him as she clumsily led him to the bathroom.

He smiled goofily at her. “But I reaally lurve you, Mione... really.”

“Yes, well then how about you prove it by staying sober,” she mumbled to herself as she whipped off his shirt and slowly took off his pants before leading him to the bath where she seated him on the tub floor as she turned on the shower.

“Are ya tryin' to sedooce me, Mione?”

“Trust me, Harry, if I was, you'd know it,” she distractedly told him as she set the temperature for the water before turning to him and spraying him with it, handing him a bar of soap with the other hand, all the while praying he was at least capable of doing that much by himself.

Luckily for her, he was.

--

“So… last night was fun,” Harry commented as he and Hermione sat in his office reviewing the notes and pictures that he had received from all of the aurors that had inspected the hotel room the day before.

Hermione smiled, looking up from the files. “Yeah, it was; I really miss us just hanging out, it's been far too long since the three of us just got together like that.”

He smiled. “Hey, when's that bloke going to finish with the autopsy anyway?”

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. “Ionesco? He has a huge line of bodies he needs to finish with at the moment but he promised to get to mine as soon as possible so give it a day at most.”

“Why don't you just get someone that's free then?”

She shrugged. “He's the best, I trust him, besides, I don't need someone to muck up this case for us because they can't even do a decent preliminary autopsy.”

“Ever the perfectionist,” Harry teased her with a grin.

“You'll thank me for it—that much I can promise you.”

“And I'm sure I will…”

She cocked an eyebrow. “And yet you sound doubtful…”

“No… it's not that…”

“Then what is it, Harry?”

He shrugged slightly, frowning. “I was thinking about the case last night and everything you mentioned yesterday in your statement.”

“And?”

“And why would whoever did this get to the trouble of roasting his… well… his… you know…”

“Genitals?” Hermione offered with a sympathetic smile as she watched him stumble, clearly amused by how affected he had been by the unique form of torture.

“Yeah.”

“Probably personal.”

“You think?”

“Well, like you said, they roasted them, why do that when you could use a few well placed crucios or some other dark hex, there are more than you can count… this was revenge, that much is obvious…”

“It's twisted is what it is.”

Hermione nodded, biting her lip lightly. “Yeah, it is, but who knows why they did it.”

“At least it's the last one, yeah? I mean if it was personal it should be, right?”

“I think that you know as well as I do that now you're just being idealistic. We can't make presumptions like that, we can't afford to. Plus, when you assume-”

“You make an ass out of you and me, yeah I remember that one, don't know how many times you repeated that during the war.”

“Well you always were an impulsive prat, you needed that reminder. Good lord, I even made it easy to remember for you,” she winked.

He chuckled. “How could I forget, Merlin knows I'd be lost without you, Mione.”

She gasped. “Oh you're just a right bastard!”

He grinned as they both returned their attention to their files.

“Harry?” Hermione finally interrupted the silence, always one to fall victim to her curiosity regardless of whatever people may have constantly repeated to her about that pesky old adage about that can that got killed.

“Yeah?”

“I—I know that the whole roasted-'

He winced. “Please,” he begged, voice strangled. “Please, don't finish that thought—I know what you're talking about, that's more than enough.”

She smiled. “Right, well…”

“Yes?” he goaded her.

“I was just wondering…”

“And?”

“Is—well apart from the… well from that, is this what your day usually consists of?”

He sent her a quizzical look. “Why do you ask?”

“I don't know,” she shrugged helplessly. “I guess it all just seems so morbid.”

“Rather fitting, wouldn't you say?”

She shook her head. “No,” she honestly retorted. “That's why it confuses me why you'd join this department of all the other departments.”

“I'm good at it… it's been a long time since I've felt as if I was really talented at something. I suppose there's a sense of security and worth in that… I like it.”

“It's not the only thing you're talented at; you're worth far more than you realize, Harry.”

He gave her a small smile. “To each their own, yeah?—Anyway, we have work to do, we should cut the chit-chat as it is, Buckley would have a coronary if he knew how much we talked about totally unrelated issues…”

“But, Harry-”

“Let's go check the lab and see if they've at least finished with the biopsy, yeah?”

“Ha-”

“Come on, let's go, no dilly-dallying,” he stopped her, clearly unrelenting in his quest of avoiding the conversation that she was so adamant about instigating.

She sighed. “Yeah, okay… they should at least have some preliminary tests done…”

--

Author's note: A bit of a filler, but it was more of an interlude into their day to day lives than just the case which I'll be switching from on and off, I figured the case is a bit nasty, worthy of having a break from every once in a while as it is, lol.

Anyway, next chapter the focus will return to that as well as explain part of the reason why Harry was in the state that he was during that period displayed in the flashbacks.

wish me luck in getting out the next chap, I have a feeling it'll take a while, lol. so, in advance, I apologize for the wait

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5. Of Sure Things

Chapter V: Of Sure Things

--

“Where is he, Ron?” Hermione moaned, roughly pulling her boyfriend into a secluded corner so that she could speak with him properly. “He promised that he'd be here… you don't think he's hurt or in trouble, do you? I mean—oh Merlin, what if he needs us but can't get a hold of us and-”

Ron couldn't help but roll his eyes despite himself as he listened to her rant in a typical Hermione fashion. “Hermione,” he tiredly stopped her, rubbing his temples in aggravation over the extent of his mate's lack of regard for anyone else—especially Hermione. “Let's face it, he's not coming. He's not hurt or in trouble, no matter how much I'd prefer it that that was the case,” he added with a grumble, before quickly catching himself as he realized just what it was that he had said. “Well, I mean… you know, given the circumstances,” he offered in explanation, albeit a weak one. “But really, Hermione, you and I both know that it has nothing to do with that. He's a drunk, Hermione, probably pissed off his arse right now and forgot about your birthday,” he told her, pulling her into his arms, holding her in a tight clasp.

She looked up at him, softly gasping for air and eyes brimming with tears, as she forced herself to swallow the truth “But I—I really wanted him to be here though…” she admitted in a choked whisper. “I need him…”

He nodded, tightening his hold on her. “I know.”

“I miss him, Ron, I miss him so much.”

“I miss him too,” he admitted with a tired sigh, kissing the crown of her head before releasing her from his crushing hold to look her in the eye. “You can do this, we can do this. It's your birthday; let's not waste it, yeah?”

She smiled sadly, mustering up as much happiness as she could bring herself to fake at the moment. “Let's party-harty…” she sarcastically quipped.

He chuckled. “'Atta girl, that's the spirit.”

She sent him a withering look. “Oh don't be a condescending prick now, I'm already angry at one mate, don't make me have to add another to that list.”

--

“So… do you have any ideas as to who could have done it—I mean, based on what you know of the bloke?” Hermione asked him curiously as they made their way down to the pathology centre.

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in anticipation of the surely migraine-inducing reaction he'd receive from Hermione when he gave her the official answer. “Can't say anything at the moment… given the circumstances,” he told her with a practiced numbness that had been utilized far more often than he'd ever like to admit to her judging self. “The family has very high political ties apparently, so it's all being kept very quiet, why they've been able to even keep it out of the papers,” he added, purely out of guilt and in a desperate attempt to maybe pacify her.

“Oh don't you dare give me that,” she snapped with a light glare his way, no where near as potent as her usual but still enough to pack quite the wallop. “Tell me!”

“Can't… against protocol and you know it… just forget it,” he told her, stuffing his hands into his pant's pockets.

“No, I won't forget it,” she told him, affronted by the fact that he even might have considered that she might actually just “drop it”. “I want to know—no, I demand to know, I'm your partner and you should be more than willing to divulge that information in me, Harry, so tell me!”

“You don't have clearance,” he told her, silently begging her to just let up so he could finally have some semblance of peace.

“Then get me the clearance, I should already have it as it is!—Merlin, and here I thought I was your blasted partner… come to think of it, do you even know the meaning of that word, because in case you're drawing a blank here it insinuates that there be no secrets between us, in regards to this at least.”

He stared at her dumbly; shocked that she would even say something so ridiculous. “And how the bloody hell do you expect me to do that, Hermione?”

“With the fact that I'll pester you about it for the rest of our lives as incentive,” she told him as she put on a wide smile, one that did nothing to hide the threatening gleam in her eyes.

He groaned, tiredly dragging his feet as they walked towards the labs. “Be reasonable, I have superiors.”

“Then get them to `be reasonable'… jerk,” she mumbled haughtily, admittedly bitter over his answer, she really wasn't too fond of the idea of him keeping something from her—willingly or not. Still though, she told herself, it was a justifiable bitter.

“Now that was off base,” he complained.

“Get me clearance and it will be, for now, however, it's the truth” was her clipped response.

“Hermione-”

“Get me the clearance, Harry, I refuse to be some sidekick, I'm better than that. I'm the premier forensic anthropologist in England and I expect to be treated as such so grow some darn balls and get me the clearance, it's not as if you don't already annoy Buckley on a daily basis as it is, you've told me the stories and I distinctly remember chastising you over it!”

“Hermione-” he started with a definite whine to his voice, one that she quickly put a halt to with a glower. “Fine…”

--

“Harry, what are you doing here?” Ron asked him as he watched his mate haphazardly stumbled in through the front door and into the flat that he and Hermione shared.

“It's Mione's birthday, I wouldn't miss something as important as that…” Harry said as he wavered slightly, even while just standing in one spot, before leaning in to whisper to Ron “Oi, why are there so many people here, mate?”

Ron winced as he was accosted by the hot breath of his pissed mate. “It's her birthday…”

“Oh… any fun drinks here?” Harry asked, leaving a dumbfounded Ron, who was firmly rooted in his spot as he was hit with an increasing pain in the head caused by the daunting knowledge that his girlfriend's birthday definitely wouldn't go off without a hitch, as he wandered off on his own.

“Oi, Mione, where you are love-y,” Harry called out none too quietly, quickly garnering the attention of the entire room who watched, with rapt attention, the pathetic scene that would surely enfold. “Where's the alcohol, love?…”

“I'm right behind you, Harry,” she dryly told him, unable to stop herself from huffing right before he completely took her off guard when he turned and sloppily threw an arm around her, crushing her under his uncomfortably tight embrace, before soundly kissing her as he groped her arse of all things.

--

“Hi, Alex, it's been a while,” Hermione beamed at the pathologist as she and Harry entered his lab, immediately allowing the man to enfold her tightly in his arms—an action that she readily reciprocated.

“It's definitely been a while, Granger,” he told her as he released her from his crushing hold so he could get a better look at her, making sure to throw in a playful leer that was quickly met with a giggle and soft slap from her. He laughed, turning to look at Harry. “I take it that this is you `handler' then, the great Harry Potter, yes?”

“I prefer just Harry,” he gruffly corrected the man as he took his proffered hand and shook it.

“Well then, `just Harry', it's a pleasure to meet you nonetheless.”

“Alex, don't be such a tease… and a bad one at that… terribly unoriginal, if you ask me,” Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Well then it's a good thing I didn't, isn't it?” he winked at her teasingly. “Anyway I'm afraid I had our dearly departed friend McMullen sent back to your labs because some bint—new intern, you know how much I abhor the dolts—sent it out without getting any permission from me, calls it `being helpful' apparently-” he rolled his eyes bitterly.

“Alex, back on topic,” Hermione stopped him before, inconspicuously, whispering to Harry “great pathologist, but easily distracted and gets off track.”

“Right, well I went through your notes and have to agree that this is definitely original work, spell wise that is… but as I was looking through them and taking down notes on the toxin levels and blood and scarring patterns I had a thought… based off of it I think we might actually be able to recreate the spells without that much trouble or even having to use your experimental techniques.”

Hermione cocked a rather condescending eyebrow his way. “How come? I mean we've never seen them before and all the other processes have a twenty-five percent margin of error, Alex, that's the only way.”

“Here,” he said, handing them each a file. “Look at it, all of the pictures of the scarring that I took, all of it—the incision, the pattern of it, the amount of blood loss—it all coincides with preexisting spells. I don't think we're actually dealing with some ingenious spells master or anything like that but just someone that's good at arithmetic.”

“Wait, where does math factor into all of this?” a baffled Harry asked, making a mental note to ask Hermione to give him the abridged version of that meeting, one filled with considerably less medical jargon and vagueness.

“Well, theoretically, spells are all math based,” Hermione explained. “The idea is that while the commands for every incantation are basically just the Latin equivalent to what it'd be in English the hand movements themselves are believed to be dictated by what can be simplified to a mathematical formula that factors in the intention, the name, and the scope of it to create the pattern that you make out when you go through the movements—most of which actually, ultimately, create some geometric shape… it's all very hypothetical, really…”

“But it does make sense!” Alex retorted passionately. “I mean think about it, Hermione, a spell can't just be `abracadabra', swish with my mind, and aimlessly so, and then `poof', it just makes no sense. Everything in the world is math based in some form or another, and if we abide by that theory I think you'll find that for each of these spells used it will come down to already existing spells that were rationed and then combined into one, and using that ratio you should be able to derive that-”

“But it's all hypothetical!” Hermione argued disbelievingly.

“But your method takes two weeks, at least! Hermione, I wouldn't tell you this if I wasn't ninety-nine percent sure it was true. I really think that we're dealing with the combination of three spells—one for reducing blood loss, to prolong the entire ordeal, one for increasing the feeling of pain while not enacting more damage than sustainable on the body, and, lastly, one that acted as medium between the two to prevent any possible counteraction. You should be able to find out which three by looking at the markers on the bone and, theoretically of course, derive at a ratio based off of how often the insignia of each spell occurs.”

Hermione groaned, leaning onto an empty lab table. “I don't like it… it's not a sure thing.”

“Even your process is still in the experimental stages,” he reminded her.

“But I've used it before—this is a murder, not a three-hundred year old corpse or something, there's a murderer out there that we need to catch,” she huffed.

He shrugged. “I really think it'll work.”

She sighed. “What do you think, Harry?”

His eyes widened in surprise as he looked at her in shock, clearly baffled as to why she would even bother asking him. “I deal with the suspects, you two can have your bodies, and what nasty shite that is…” adding the latter comment with an incomprehensible mutter.

She rolled here eyes, mumbling “butt-head”, before turning to Alex again. “How do I get the exact wand movements? With this I should get about twenty-four possible matches, how can I narrow that down?”

“Bring a spells master in—you have that ex of yours, Crichton, he was fantastic when I worked with him on a case a year ago,” he offered.

She nodded slowly, and Harry could tell she was already writing out a new plan of action in her head as the two spoke, he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. She always was easy to read.

She sighed, clucking with her tongue as she considered her options. “Fine, I'll analyze the bones tomorrow, but I'll need you to come in Friday so I can bounce ideas off of you.”

“Why not your team?”

“I hate this year's interns too,” she admitted sheepishly with a light blush.

Alex smirked at her. “Told you it's a dense lot this time around…”

--

“Harry, stop!” she cried, tears streaming down her face as she pulled on his arm, begging for him to just so much as spare her even a glance.

“No, I won't stop! I came here for your blasted birthday and now you're kicking me out?!” he roared.

“That's not fair.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron interjected, “you stumbled in here drunk off your arse before grabbing Hermione for Merlin's sake. Just cool off, sober up, and we'll have a small celebration, just the three of us, yeah?”

Harry sent him a withering look, sneering at him. “Just not on her birthday, right? God forbid people know that you're associated with Harry Potter, the drunk who once was the-blasted-boy-who-lived, yeah? God forbid you're my friends when I'm not great! God forbi-”

“That's not fair, Harry, please,” Hermione sobbed, tugging on his arm again. “Please just listen to me, give me a chance to explain.”

“No,” he snapped at her, pulling his arm from her tight latch on it, sending her stumbling backwards a few paces as he did so. “You think it's easy, do you, to just move on like that? Well I'm sorry but I just can't, I can't and I won't… I can't be the perfect, dandy Harry Potter who sits on a chocolate frog card or cereal box and just smiles there, I'm not that and I'm sorry if it doesn't meet whatever fucking quota you have in your heads.”

Hermione gasped. “Harry, you know that that's bullocks. You very well know how much I love-”

“Oh don't give me that line, the truth is that I'm just some used, washed up commodity that no one needs anymore, and you two are just the same as everyone else, you've used me for what you needed me for and now it's over yeah? Well fuck this, fuck it!” he spat at them, storming out the room despite all of Ron and Hermione's protests.

“Harry!” Ron bellowed one last time as he helplessly watched Harry slam the door on his way out while his girlfriend was left in his mate's wake, reduced to nothing but hysterical sobs, on her birthday no less.

“…was that the Harry Potter?” was the only sound that could be made out from the stunned audience in attendance

--

“I—I really missed you, you know?” she suddenly asked him as the two sat at the counter of the island in his kitchen, eating curry take out as they “reviewed” the case notes and autopsy report, or had, at least, genuinely intended to during their lunch hour before going so off tangent.

He furrowed his eyebrows, sending her a puzzled look. “What are you on about now?”

“Well I know we've never really talked about it and that it's always been a bit of a moot topic, but… I don't know… I just figured it was time we did… and that you might want to know… you know, maybe…” she awkwardly stumbled, seemingly shrugging every other word as she continued to trip her way through that confession.

He sighed; putting down his fork as he slowly clenched and unclenched his jaw, something that did nothing for her rapidly increasing state of nerves. “Hermione, really, what brought this on anyway, we haven't talked about it in… well ever, so why now?”

She shrugged, again. “it's just been on my mind a lot as of late, that's all… as I said, I don't know why, but I wanted you to know that I did… and that if you ever want to talk about it I'm here…”

“I was always there.”

“And in a drunken haze too,” she quipped, smirking at him in a futile attempt to hide the bitterness in that last comment. “I just wanted you to know that I did miss you, Harry, that's all. I promise there's no hidden agenda or anything, too.”

He smiled at her, the corners of his lips slowly lifting upwards before they finally spread into a wide smile. “I'm here now, and always will be from here on out… and sober too, if it's any consolation.”

“I'll be holding you to that.”

--

author's note: so I've been dealing with a terrible bout of writer's bloke as of late, one that I'm still not totally cured of but here; my attempt at writing it out of me oxymoronic much? and I hope you enjoyed it.

Sorry for the wait and please review.

p.s. author of the chap: Crichton, can anyone guess who I'm referring to it's a pretty easy one?

special thanks to my betas Searcy and MyUsedRomance as well anyone who reviewed!

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6. Of Work

Chapter VI: Of Work

--

“Hi,” he quietly greeted her, taking a seat on the swing by her at the park that Ron had told him she was at.

She clenched her jaw, seemingly steeled with resolution not to talk to him.

“I'm a prat.”

Sadly, however, her defenses were no where near impermeable when it came to Harry, he'd always been her weak spot and she cursed him for it as he uttered those three simple words, the ones that spelled her undoing. “I like to sit here… watch the kids… I don't know why, it's not as if I want kids now or anything, more so the fact that I miss those days, I think. I miss when it was the three of us, like that, so close… we were great, amazing mates… I'd never expected to experience such an infallible form of friendship. Terrible how it's all gone to hell now, isn't it?”

He sighed, tiredly ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the follicles lightly as he tried to come up with something—anything to say in response to that. “I… I didn't mean what I said last night.”

“Don't lie,” she told him, voice clipped, an unadulterated anger resonating deep within him as he heard it. “You very well know you did, so don't lie to me of all people, I've put up with too much of your shite to have you lie to me too now.”

“But I didn't… I mean, not really. Part of it was true… I do feel as if after the war there just wasn't any point in me anymore… it had defined me for so long, every single aspect about me, that for some reason having it gone all of a sudden was just such a shock to my system… I didn't know who I was, what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go. For so long I'd only had this one mission in mind and it was the very essence of my being and then having it disappear like that left me… baffled, I suppose.”

“Bullshit,” she retorted, definitely taking him by surprise with that cutting rejoinder, so contrary to the usually appeasing and comforting Hermione he knew.

“What?” he practically squeaked.

“Bullshit,” she repeated, slower that time, taking great care to annunciate each syllable.

“Well—well I don't think that's very fair of you to decide,” he sputtered.

She scoffed, finally turning her head to face him, sending him a frosty look as she raised an eyebrow. “Harry, the truth is that this, whatever the hell it is that you may call this, isn't living. No matter how much you want to deny it, no matter how much you tell me that this is your way of living the truth is that it's all a lie, a load of shite that you're too weak to face.”

“You walking around numbly as if the world around you doesn't exist, but while you do that you still manage to hurt everyone that loves you, and the worst part is that all of those years spent fighting are suddenly just as worthless for me as they, apparently are for you, because the reason why I did it, the reason that I was as far deep in it as I was, isn't even really here to reap the benefits of it… I love you, Harry… but I can't watch you destroy yourself anymore… I just can't, not after spending so much time fighting for you to finally have a chance at a normal life and then watching you destroy yourself. I won't… I won't let myself go down with you! If you're going to keep doing this I want what's left of my heart to remain unshattered and I think… I'm starting to think that the only was I can be sure of that is if I stop… stop caring, stop fighting, stop worrying for you for no reason, it's not as if it's doing any good anymore, it's all just so pointless!” she told him, roughly wiping away at the tears that were streaming down her face.

“Hermione,” he whispered, raising a hand to reach for her cheek, only to have her slap it away before disapparating.

--

“Hm,” she laughed quietly.

Harry, however, was none too amused by her reaction, primarily the fact that he wasn't in on the joke, so to speak. He furrowed his eyebrows, raising his gaze from the file and onto her. “What?”

“It's just Alex's file; remember how he told us it was a combination of three spells?”

The confusion, ironically, was only growing on Harry's part as he gave her a baffled “yes” in response.

“Well I'm reading the file now, since I'm going in to start analyze the bones today and I just noticed that he wrote four spells, not three here. He forgot that there's one needed to make the actual incision... typical Alex, he's always so forgetful like this,” she giggled.

“Yeah,” Harry dryly agreed. “That's hilarious.”

“Oi, just because you didn't find it as amusing as I did doesn't mean you have to be such a prat about it, Harry,” Hermione chastised him.

He shrugged. “Hey... I have a question, why do you need that `medium' spell, or whatever the hell it's called?”

“You got it right,” she told him. “But it acts as a medium, it's not called `that medium spell.' It's primarily used in healing really, with so many different charms and potions that they have to use on the patients they need something to act as a medium so certain components of it won't counteract badly.”

“Oh,” he nodded. “Wait... does that mean we could be dealing with a healer or at least a medical student?”

She shook her head. “No, that would narrow it down quite a bit, though, but I'm afraid it's a simple spell, you learn it in the first week of Uni since it's such a vital one. You can find it in any medical book and it's incredibly simple to cast.”

He couldn't help but let out a growl as he heard her answer. He pushed his file away from himself as he clapped his hands over his face, groaning in aggravation. “What the hell is it with this case? Why aren't we getting anywhere?”

“Harry, it's only been a few days, surely you've spent longer on other cases.”

“Yeah, I have, but those didn't have a bloke who has a fifty page long list of suspects, all ex-girlfriends who would gladly roast his bullocks. It's preposterous! Between the 'hell hath no fury like a woman' M.O. and the fact that he gyps most of his business partners, and the fact that he's just a bastard there's no way to decide who the fuck it is.”

“Language!”

He moaned. “You're not seriously going to go off about that now, as if you don't have your moments as well.”

“Mine are in good humor,” was her tight lipped and superior response.

“That's one word for it.”

“Well at least it gets your mind off of your aggravation with the case,” she winked at him. “I have to go in now, Jenny told me the cadaver should be ready for me by now, meet me for lunch?”

He nodded, a petulant pout on his face as he grimaced over the fact that she'd been able to distract him so easily. Blasted chit! "I'll bring Greek over.”

“Ooh, my favorite! Bye,” she kissed him on the cheek before flocking off out of his flat.

--

“It was a bitch trying to find you, by the way,” he announced as he took a seat beside her on the steps the steps of Grimmauld Place. “Don't know why you're here anyway.”

“People watching,” was her monotone reply, completely devoid of any feeling.

He sighed. “But why here?”

She shrugged. “Somber place, somber mood… rather fitting, really.”

He nodded. “You were right… before, what you were talking about… I was selfish, I was being a useless drunk, and it was a waste.”

“That's not what bothers me though, not knowing the reason for it is what pesters me,” she openly told him, turning her body to face him, scrutinizing every detail of his stiffened form.

“What are you talking about? I told you.”

“No, you didn't. You told me bits and pieces, but there's something you're leaving out, I've known you long enough to realize that much, at least.”

There was no point in denying it, he realized, she was right, she could always tell. “Truth takes time… that's what they say, right?”

She nodded slowly, eyebrows strung together as she tried to make sense of the connotation.

“Well I need time.”

“Okay,” she whispered, placing a hand atop of his in reassurance.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she told him, more than a bit baffled by where the conversation was going, what with his sudden question.

“Do you—do you believe what she said… you know, the prophecy and all that other shite?”

“Honestly?”

“Always.”

“No,” she admitted, letting out a breath of a laugh, the most she could even bring herself to let out given her current state. “Don't believe a word of it—there were more talented people, stronger wizards, smarter men… I don't believe that there was anything about you that made you any better than anyone else…”

“Then why did you follow me like that? Why fight?”

She shrugged. “You're enigmatic; you demand this amazing sense of allegiance. I don't know… despite the fact that I never believed in everything everyone spewed and that I always thought that it was just another excuse for society—a way of finding a hero even if they had to do so forcibly thrust that title unto someone—it wasn't hard to love you or be willing to go to the ends of the world for you without the slightest thought. They—their fighting for you, in your name, and all of that… it may be politics, Harry, but despite that you were worth it… never forget that…”

He smiled slowly, feeling almost as if someone was literally pulling on the corners of his mouth to force him to. “I want to still be worth it, Hermione…”

She smiled up at him sweetly. “Then you will be… just takes work…”

“I think that'd be a nice change as it is, yeah?”

She giggled lightly, biting her lip. “Yeah, it would be.”

--

“You—you're Harry Potter,” the girl stuttered, staring up at him in wide eyed wonder and it took all Harry had in him not to sneer at her.

“Yes, yes he is, Jenny,” Hermione stiffly interrupted her intern, actually causing the poor girl to jump in surprise by the terse voice suddenly appearing from behind her. “And it's probably be best if you focused on closing your mouth rather than leering at him,” she huffed angrily and Harry couldn't help but send an amused smirk her way as he heard those words.

The intern, however, ignored Hermione completely, regardless of superiority or scare factor, as Ron referred to it. Instead she just widely smiled up at Harry. “You know, you're much handsomer in person. All of my mates told me you'd be, we even had a longstanding bet about it, but I just didn't believe it was possible... nice to know that miracles can happen though.”

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, that's okay, really.”

“One whom I'm committed to and would roast my bullocks were I to cheat. I've seen that fate now and take the threat rather seriously... but, uh... thanks I suppose.”

“Harry!” Hermione called out, and he couldn't help but wonder when she'd made her way to the other end of the lab, in front of what appeared to be her office. “I'm hungry and we have a case to discuss.

“Right, that'd be my cue, nice meeting you... Jenny, right?”

“Oh, it was my pleasure,” she sighed as he moved around her and towards a glaring Hermione.

“What?” he asked as he moved past her and into the rather comfortable looking office.

She threw him a dirty look. “She's six years younger than us, Harry.”

“I told her I have a girlfriend,” he assured her. “Besides... Christina is also six years younger, are you trying to say something about my relationship?” he cocked an eyebrow as he began taking out the food.

“Care to explain your unusually chipper mood?” he asked, sarcasm clear in his tone as he stressed the word chipper.

She shrugged; wrinkling her nose as she grudgingly admitted “I don't like her. it's so hard to get her to focus as it is, she's always going off about you and asking me questions about you, it's disgusting really.”

He chuckled. “Here, have some moussaka, that always makes you happy.”

She smiled. “You know me too well, Harry.”

“So... learn anything new?”

“Well Alex was right. Difficult part now is isolating the spells since the patterns that their trace markers leave have been combined, layered over one another, but the prat was right. I've been able to isolate one spell, though, the medium used, I went for that one first since from what I could make out of the depth of the etchings it appeared to be the top most layer, plus there are only about five different variations of it so it's easier to narrow down, this one's relaxo carmen. You may want to write a note about that for the profiler though, it's a very simple one, easiest there is really. You basically just point at your target twice while saying the words.”

He nodded, moving for a piece of paper off of her desk and grabbing a pen as he did what she told him. “And to think we thought that this might be some genius.”

“Well they did get past that security system,” Hermione offered pityingly.

He shrugged. "Still far from genius.”

“Well he or she must read journals... the one about the combining spells is very new and ground breaking stuff. They obviously read some sort of journal about magical studies, and only a few have even written on this. Most of the prestigious ones don't even want to broach the idea since they think it's so absurd... actually, the only premier one that even bothered to write something on it was Sweden's Magi Månatlig.”

“If it's Swedish how do you know about it?”

“It's in English actually—founder was Swiss—the only thing Swedish about it is its name, come to think of it. They have some of the best institutions for magical studies there though, primarily more liberal so experts from all around the world tend to flock there and they're generally the lot who submit papers for the magazine too,” she explained as she took a rather astoundingly large bit of her musaka... it really was a rather awe inspiring sight, the sort of thing a bloke would aspire to really. Showed some of Ron's influence on her actually, she tended to let loose more when alone with mates, paying less attention to eating as daintily as she did in public. Nice change of pace, he noted.

“So I was thinking.”

“Call the presses, Harry Potter is actually capable of thought, real thought,” she teased him good naturedly.

He laughed, nodding his head in acquiescence. “I was wondering if you'd like to go out tomorrow night, all of us—you, me, Ron, Christina... double date, I guess.”

She nodded slowly. "That sounds like fun, but highly improbable of happening any time soon.”

“Why?”

She sighed, putting down the shish kebab she had taken up after having finished her moussaka. “Ron and I are dealing with some stuff right now and I think we just need some one on one time, you know? it's been tough, with me just getting back after being away for two weeks, and then there's the fact that the second I got back I took on this time consuming case... there just hasn't been much time for what Ron likes to refer to as "Ron and Hermione time.'"

“Witty name,” Harry noted.

Hermione gasped. “I can't believe you are mocking it! You, the bloke who once actually considered naming his child 'Albus Severus Potter' just after the war ended.”

“Oi, short lapse in judgment,” he defended, grinning, as he pulled a piece of pork off his own shish kebab and threw it at her.

“Exactly my point—and, besides, you know Ron, he's too stubborn to actually go about admitting that it's a terrible name.”

He smiled. “So... trouble?”

“You know how it is; I'm a bit of a workaholic... not exactly the best trait to build a 'healthy relationship' on.”

“Some would call it admirable.”

“Ah but those don't have the Weasley reproductive genes,” she quipped wryly. “It's not that he's even pushing for it or anything, it's Molly that's the root of our problems. Since Neville knocked Ginny up I've apparently become a hag and am coming close to my expiration date. Ron's having a hard time with it; you know how the Weasley men are with their mum.”

“Pansies?” Harry offered.

“That's about it.”

“Well if it's any consolation, you're a rather sexy hag, all the blokes turn to stare at your arse, I swear, it's rather plump... and then there's the way it sways-”

“Oi,” Hermione stopped him, blushing profusely as she threw a hand over his mouth. “I get it, I'm not a hag, message received, Harry.”

“Well no need to be a prude, Mione.”

She choked on the water she had been drinking when she heard that word. “Now using the nickname was just cruel, Harry, cruel.”

--

author's note: so i was feeling inspired and wrote this up in about half an hour... not 100% sure about it, honestly, but I like the flashback so I'm going with it, lol. Anyway, i hope you like it and please review, opinions are always welcome!

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7. Of Living and Dieing

Chapter VII: Of Living and Dieing

--

“Where are we?” he asked as they sat in the car before a totally nondescript building in muggle London.

She sighed, letting out a deep breath as she held the wheel under a vise grip, refusing to look at Harry in hopes of retaining what was left of her calmness and not falling suspect to nerves. “You know… you know how I told you that it's time to stop living for others, to stop killing yourself because of others?” she slowly asked, licking her lips before grabbing the lower one and biting it.

“Yeah,” he slowly nodded, sending her a quizzical look that she couldn't see but could imagine perfectly in her head nonetheless.

“Well… this is how I propose you start.”

“This?” he asked, his voice filled with befuddlement.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “This is where they hold AA meetings… I picked this one since it's in muggle London, even sort of found a way around the law to get into enrollment records and checked if anyone was a wizard or squib in there… no ties to wizarding London at all…” she rambled nervously, her grip slowly tightening on the wheel more and more as she spoke, a fact that surprised her as she hadn't expected that it was possible to have a tighter hold on it as it was.

“AA…”

“Alcoholics anonymous,” she answered.

“Right…”

“I just… you need to get better, Harry,” she told him, finally releasing the wheel and turning to him. “You deserve more, you can get past this, but I'm not the one that can do it… this—this could help, I really believe it could do-”

“Hermione,” he stopped her.

“Yes?” she weakly asked, shying away slightly.

“Don't try to sell me on it, I'll do it.”

Her eyebrows shot up, surprised. “You will?”

“Yeah.”

Doubtfully. “You will?”

“I think I already said that,” he smiled weakly.

“You will?” she repeated.

“If you believe it'll help then so do I.”

--

“Oh, Christina,” Hermione gasped at the sight of a thoroughly tousled and underdressed model opening the door to Harry's flat. “Hi… um… I was just stopping by to talk to Harry about some—some work things,” she rambled, albeit a bit nonsensically for her usual standard of eloquence, eyes shifting relentlessly as she tried to avoid looking directly at the unabashed girl, more than a bit further embarrassed by the fact that she was the only one blushing out of the two. “I'll—I'll just go… yeah…”

“Right,” a clearly amused Christina nodded. “It was nice seeing you again, Hermione.”

“You too,” Hermione muttered with a small wave, already making her way towards the lifts, sighing as she heard the door close. “My God!” she gasped, in shock, still trying to wrap her mind around why someone would answer a door in just her boyfriend's shirt… much less when only about three or so buttons were actually buttoned. “Rather slag-like, really,” she murmured to herself, rolling her eyes as the doors to the lift finally opened.

The sound of a door being wrenched open, however, stopped her from stepping through the doors as she turned around in surprise, startled by the sudden sound.

“Hermione, is that you?” Harry asked, running out of the flat in nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his waist, rapidly scanning the other end of the hall.

“Right behind you, Harry,” she dully told him. “And what is it with you two, does the attraction lie in the fact that you're both such exhibitionists, is that it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement over her own joke while not even bothering to hide the fact that she did find the sight a very pleasant one… that time.

He blushed immediately, and she thanked the Gods that at least he showed some sense of propriety. “Sorry about that… or well, this. It's just I heard the door while I was in the shower and Christina got in before I could ask her, so…”

She nodded. “Well, I think I've seen far more than I ever wanted to see today, particularly of Christina, so how about you come by my flat later if possible? Ronald be helping the twins with some shipment and I'll be reviewing the notes so I just wanted to ask you.”

He nodded eagerly, a sweet smile crossing his face immediately. “Sure, I'd love to. Should I bring some food?”

“Well I wouldn't let you in if you didn't, so see you in a few hours?”

“Yeah, I should be over in an hour, just need to change and go to muggle London to that Serbian place you adore-”

“Oh,” she gasped, “you don't have to so soon—I didn't mean to ruin your plans-”

He shook his head, waving her off mid way through. “I want to, so an hour from now good for you, or what?”

She smiled, biting her lip lightly. “It's fantastic.”

“Good, see you then, love, I'll be sure to bring all the proper accoutrements.”

--

“How was it?” Hermione nervously asked when Harry yanked open the door to her Mini Cooper and glumly took a seat by her.

She watched him grit his teeth, clenching his jaw as he took a noticeable gulp. “If… if you ask me to go, I'll go… I owe you that much-”

“Harry, you don't owe me anything.”

“But I do," he corrected her, avoiding looking at her and, instead, staring at the building he had just come out of. “If you ask me to go to those meetings, I will, but… but I'm going to ask that you don't… don't make me go, help me find another way, but not this.”

“What happened in there, Harry?” Hermione concernedly asked, twisting in her seat so she could look at him properly, bringing a hand forward to move a stray strand out of his eyes, making a mental note to remind him to get a haircut.

He shrugged. “It's just… I feel like pulling my hair out during the shite, in all honesty.”

Hermione let out a laugh despite herself. “That bad?”

“Not that bad, just annoys me… looks like it works, but annoys the hell out of me.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “We'll find a way; I'll read up on it a bit-”

“You don't have to-”

“I want to so don't be an annoying prat,” she stopped him, leaning forward to peck his cheek lightly. “We'll come up with something, we'll get past this,” she promised him as he turned to look at her, smiling weakly at her.

--

“I come in peace… and with burek to boot,” Harry announced as he let himself into Hermione's flat.

“Really?” he heard an ecstatic shriek of glee from the other room as he made his way towards the dining room area where he found Hermione setting the table already.

“Also picked up some ice cream,” he added as he placed the bags on top of the table and started unpacking everything, sending the ice cream to the freezer as he focused on opening the various containers of food.

“Well you truly are a God send, aren't you?” Hermione laughed as she placed the forks, knives, and spoons in their appropriate areas. “Merlin, it smells amazing,” she gushed.

“I honestly don't understand your obsession with this; it's good… but not that amazing.”

She shrugged as she tore off of a meat burek and dipped it into the sour cream Harry had bought. “The mere fact that you can say that shows you have absolutely no taste in food… it's blasphemous, really,” Hermione chastised him.

“The influence Ron has had over you is far too prevalent; you do realize that, right?” Harry smiled up at her as he worked on opening the package of krofne.

“No, Ron will eat anything, I, however, just adore eastern European food, huge difference. Mine is an adoration for food, his is one for stuffing his face.”

Harry nodded amusedly. “How could I be so blind?” he asked as he took a seat at the table and placed a cheese and spinach burek on his plate. “So what'd you find?”

“I was able to isolate the four spells, there's the one that I mentioned, relaxo carmen, then for the incision I wasn't too sure at first because of the manner that the markers overlap but I brought in a friend of mine, John Wharton-”

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. “That bloke that's in graphic design?”

“Oh you remember him?”

“He wouldn't get his hand off of your arse,” Harry dully retorted.

“I know,” Hermione cringed slightly. “But when he's not a randy perv he's actually pretty interesting to talk to, and we've been working on limiting the petting, now he only touches it whenever we hug in greeting.”

“I thought you were a feminist, for fuck's sake, shouldn't you be against that?”

“Oh no, don't get me wrong, I abhor it, but he's also amazing with computers and has helped me out on a few cases even though it's not his job and he doesn't get paid for it so I put up with it.”

Harry nodded, snickering lightly. “And you look down upon hookers?”

Hermione sneered, reaching over the table to pinch his arm. “Don't be a prat; it's because of that randy man that I was able to isolate each of the tracers on the computer.”

“And that's good, I take it.”

“Very good,” Hermione corrected. “Especially given that because that I was able to narrow down any possibilities or doubt.”

“Right… so I hate him, but he's helpful so I can't break his hand next time he makes a grab at you.”

“Oh no, you can break his hand, it'll teach him a lesson,” Hermione assured him with a wide beam and a small, conspiratorial wink. “After all, I was always a bit of a violent person, never much of a lover not a fighter sort as it is, so it's not as if it'll do much harm to my reputation,” she shrugged.

“Oh thank Merlin,” Harry gasped. “Anyway, what were the other two?”

“Well the one that he or she used to impede blood loss was probably the most fascinating-”

“Why?”

“I was getting to that, patience,” Hermione chastised him, huffing slightly. “The murderer used decelerate corpus corporis which also explained why in the autopsy it didn't seem as if he struggled at all. From what Alex and I were able to suss out, whoever did this used the spell to slow down the bodily movements to the point at which any action is reduced to this inane amount, about a thousandth of what it generally would be, if my math is right.”

Puzzled. “Okay, so what would that have to do with the bleeding?”

“That's the brilliance in it,” Hermione exclaimed in an astounded wonder. “Well, I mean, you know… in a very bad… evil way, but still, it's genius. The spell actually slows down every bodily movement, including the speed at which the blood would escape the body—it goes against time and gravity, really. So, with this, one of those huge gashes that you saw, quarter of a meter, would actually let out blood at the speed equivalent to that of a three centimeter long cut.”

“Then how the hell was there so much blood?”

“He was being tortured for thirty hours, lots of blood escapes even a three centimeter wound in that time period.”

“Merlin,” Harry groaned.

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded, laughing lightly as she saw Harry scowl. “Anyway, to increase the pain McMullen was just made more sensitive through a simple amplification charm, ampliavi.”

He nodded, letting out a deep breath as he racked his mind to see if he had anymore questions that he was forgetting, well aware of the fact that there were probably well over a dozen that had slipped his mind—as they usually did in the most inopportune of times. “Wait, you said that there were different spells used for slitting the gut, the small scratches all over the body, and taking off the bloke's willy.”

“Phalus… and, yeah, same spells apparently, just different ratios, that's why it looked as if they were separate spells when looking at the skin.”

“Oh…”

“Yep.”

Harry, however, took her by surprise by moaning suddenly. “Am I the only one that's just tired of this case?”

“Oh come on, you must have had worse than this.”

“But it's so stagnant—and messy.”

“In all aspects too,” Hermione quipped. “But don't fret so much, you'll be able to find who it was, I know you will,” she promised him, reaching a hand over the table and placing it over one of his that was resting on the surface.

He smiled. “Thanks, Hermione; you always know what to say, don't you?”

“Well it comes with years of practice in stroking your ego and keeping morale up,” she teased.

He chuckled, turning his hand over under hers and squeezing back.

The moment, however, was cut short at the undeniable sound of Buckley's personal ring tone on his WiziCell, a noise that made Harry groan in distinct displeasure. “Don't you know the meaning of the term weekend?” he dryly asked the man in greeting.

“Sadly, however, cadavers wait for no man, even if they already have no where to be other than in a coffin or urn,” he dimly noted.

“I already have a case, Buckster,” he added purely for the sake of annoying the man, deciding that the momentary pleasure in aggravating him with the pet name was well worth whatever backlash from him. “Or did you already forget that you assigned me to one?”

“No, didn't forget… I just got a call in about a crime scene, the report… it's the same M.O., Harry, all of it…”

“Well, fuck.”

--

author's note: Anyway, short chapter to explain some things and a change in the memories, finally a bit less dark and drunk, lol. Hope you enjoyed and please review!

p.s. note: small changes have been made to chapter three so if you're interested you can go back to see that. It's nothing major but there's been a few minor changes I've been dying to make for ages.

Author mentioned in this chapter: Wharton.

PLEASE REVIEW.
and huge thank you to the ever wonderful beta Searcy.

-->

8. Of Turned Tables

Chapter VIII: Of Turned Tables

--

"Get off your butt," Hermione oh-so-cheerfully greeted him, swatting his head with her newspaper after having let herself into his flat with her set of keys and interrupted what he'd intended to be a calm day of pure relaxation.

"But there's a game on," Harry sputtered in indignation, admittedly while getting off of the chesterfield, but purely out of a sense of self-perseverance, as he kept an eye trained on the screen where the football game was playing out. "You can't possibly expect me to leave when Arsenal and Chelsea are playing one another!" He gasped at the sheer audacity of such a preposterous notion.

Hermione, however, was unfazed, and merely raised an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms and testily tapping her foot in answer to his exclamation. "Wanna bet?" she drawled.

Despite himself, a part couldn't help but be slightly threatened by the look on her face, it was a well-known fact that she was a force to be reckoned with; her treatment of Ron over the years was more than enough proof of that--and the fact that the bloke was most probably a masochist given the situations he purposefully put himself in with her. "Hermione..." he whined petulantly, not in the least bit bothered by the fact that begging may soil his rather manly reputation.

"Oh don't 'Hermione' me!" she stopped him before he even began. "It's not as if you even work for a bloody living so I'll be damned if you complain to me, you berk. We're leaving, now, and that's that so don't give me your bull shit, I don't care."

"You didn't even call!"

"And I don't care, I've made an appointment and we're going, so up and 'attem, you dolt," she ordered him, pointing towards the hall that led to his room in a silent order for him to change out of his boxers and Arsenal jersey and into something suitable.

He huffed and puffed in umbrage, stomping his foot a bit while an ugly scowl marred his face.

"Go!" she repeated nonetheless, his display obviously doing nothing for her.

He growled. "Fine! But just let it be known, I may be going, but that doesn't mean that I'm happy about it, you chit!"

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, I don't care. Just change. We're running out of time, and we can't be late for this appointment as it is." She waved him off, resuming his seat on the chesterfield and turning her attention to the match.

--

“You know the worst part?” Hermione grumbled as they entered the lift of the McMullen Hotel in Notting Hill.

“What?” Harry amusedly asked her, choosing to placate her.

“I had an appointment today; our broker found Ron and I a good apartment and we were going to go see it tonight, now Ron's going to go alone and all I get are some damn pictures. And I'll also probably have to contend with Ron's whining over having to go alone, joy!” she glumly admitted, pouting.

Harry sent her a puzzled look. “Since when are you two looking for apartments?”

She shrugged. “A few days ago I noted on my calendar that our lease is actually up soon and, with everything, we just thought it might be a nice change of pace… get a bigger place, make things a bit easier, I suppose.”

“Right,” he nodded, turning his gaze to the numbers lining the top of the lift doors, closely watching the light move farther and farther towards the right, a sight that, for some reason totally beyond him, he found oddly riveting.

She, however, sighed, leaning back onto the walls. “Harry?”

"Yeah?” he distractedly asked her, attention still focused on the numbers.

“Do you think it's really what they say it is? That it's the same person?” she asked him, shuffling her feet as she shifted nervously, feeling oddly stupid for asking such a naive and pathetically optimistic question.

He shrugged. “Well, I think that's what we have you and Alex for, to know for sure.”

She snorted. “Right, of course, figures really, doesn't it? Poetic irony, I suppose. Here we are trying to solve the case only to have the fact that we're nowhere get thrown in our face.”

He smiled. “How the tables have turned, now you're the pessimist? Really, 'Mione, I must admit that I'm a bit ashamed.”

She blushed, sending him a withering look. “Shush you, don't be mean. You know how I hate that name!”

He chortled. "Well, anger's a far better reaction than that pathetic self-pity.”

“Oh,” she scoffed, “because you don't know enough about that one!”

He laughed. “You're rather testy today.”

She scrunched her nose as she grimaced. “It's been a piss poor week.”

He smiled sympathetically, throwing an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her lightly in a comforting manner. “But who doesn't love to end their day with roasted testicles?” he dryly asked, winking at her, an action that drew a loud laugh from her.

--

“So… Harry Potter is it?” the Muggle man asked him, and Harry had to stop himself from snapping at the man since he saw that the bloke had a file with his blasted name on it.

“I believe that's what it says on the file,” he monotonously answered.

“And why are you here, Harry?”

“For therapy,” was his clipped reply as he gritted his teeth. That was the best therapist in London, seriously?

The man, Andersen, laughed lightly. “Yes, well that much I realized.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he lay on the uncomfortable leather couch. “You know, I appreciate that this blasted thing is expensive and all, but, honestly, what's the point in the excess if it's not even comfortable,” he groaned, shifting in the chair as he tried to find a comfortable position, which, in turn, led to many futile attempts and minutes wasted.

He nodded. “I'll be sure to make note of that next time I go shopping for furniture, but how about we turn this back to you now?”

“You're the therapist, your choice.”

“How about you tell me about the woman you came here with-"

"Actually," Harry interrupted him, "it's more like she dragged me here despite the fact that I was in the middle of enjoying a fantastic Arsenal versus Chelsea match on TV."

He heard the man chuckle lightly in response and Harry had to restrain himself from glaring at him, and only because the threats Hermione had given him on their ride over was continuously playing in his head. "Besides the technicalities then, she still seemed pretty concerned about you. Would you like to tell me about her?”

Harry stiffened before shrugging, muttering, “If you want… you're the therapist here, not me”

“I do. Now, tell me who she is.”

“She's Hermione.”

“Original name,” Andersen commented.

“Not the only thing about her either,” Harry admitted.

“Then tell me what else is.”

--

“Potter, late again,” a grim, balding man noted with a look of evident distaste sent Harry's way.

Harry smiled cheerfully. “Nice to see you too, Sartre. Ever the arse, I see.”

The bloke sent him a dirty look and Hermione tried to stifle her giggle as the grim bloke practically threw the masks and gloves at them before storming away as Harry darkly muttered “I hate the French—particularly that French pillock-”

“Well, if it isn't the lovely Miss Granger. Pleasure to see you again,” a cheery Sam Ludlum interrupted Harry's dour tirade. “And you too, Potter,” he added, clearly as an afterthought.

“Nice to see you again,” Hermione smiled while Harry scowled. “Any chance you can tell us where to go?”

“Straight ahead, third door to the left,” he told them, pointing towards the other side of the ostentatious suite. “I have to go handle some press, don't know how they caught wind of this so soon. We were actually trying to keep it low profile,” he sighed. “But I'll find you two later to give you whatever notes the crew's compiled.”

“Thanks,” Harry nodded before grabbing Hermione's latex garbed hand and pulling her towards the room.

“You're awfully cheerful today,” Hermione noted as they entered the room, distracting herself with talking to him to avoid acknowledging the fact that it truly was a sickening and repulsive sight.

The body was, once again, lying on the floor and chained to the bottom of the bed posts. She moved towards the corpse, frowning as she had to admit that it was most definitely the same murderer.

“Do you have anything to jot down notes on?” she asked him, eyes trained on the body as he stood at the door way, scowling slightly at the sight.

“Uh, yeah, someone just handed one to me… probably should have thanked him, come to think of it.”

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Naturally... note that the body appears to have been lying here dead for only about three and a half to four hours,” she ordered him.

“Well that's better than the ten hours last time.”

“Not too sure if that's something to be proud of, given that the bloke still died,” Hermione commented with a small grin.

“But still, improvement nonetheless,” he defended with a sheepish look, more so out of the principal of the matter than in defense of the Auror department's productiveness.

“What high standards you have,” Hermione laughed.

He smiled at her retort. “Anything unusual there?”

“Different spells… at least it looks like it from the scarring. When I see the tracers on the bone I'll be able to tell you for sure, but it could just be a different ratio for all I know,” she noted. “Oh god!” she moaned.

“What?”

" I just realized I'm going to have to go through that whole ordeal again. Figuring out the spells, putting up with Wharton, and now I have to figure out the ratio for both of them before sending it to a Spells Master,” she bemoaned, pouting.

He chuckled softly. “Way to look at the bright side, love.”

She turned around, sending him a glare before returning her gaze to the body. “Well, that's certainly odd.”

“What?” Harry asked concernedly, raising his head a bit to try to see the body past her head, an ultimately futile attempt as he didn't really even know what to make of the practically masticated corpse.

“Well, there's a light hand print around the neck… can't really totally make it out…" she told him, squinting as she eyed the marking around the collar. “I'll have to ask Alex to expand it, maybe have an IT see if they can isolate it and find a way to amplify it or something.”

“What, you think there's a fingerprint or something?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I doubt it. This person's too careful for that.”

“Usually, it's the simple things that people slip up on,” Harry offered.

“Yeah, but it's hardly difficult to remember to put on some gloves, particularly when dealing with this much blood,” she countered.

“Well then, it won't do us much good unless we find a suspect and try to match their hand print against that. Then, look at O.J. Simpson.”

She smiled at his example, turning to him again. “True, but a hand print could tell me the sex.”

He sent her a puzzled look. “How?”

“Men usually have ring fingers that are noticeably larger than their index while women have ring and index fingers that are nearly the same length,” she explained. “That could cut the list in half.”

“More if it's a bloke, given the astounding amount of women that he screwed over.”

“True,” Hermione nodded before returning her attention to the dead Dylan Sinclair. "But given what I can make out of this, it doesn't seem as if we're so lucky. The index and ring finger look like they end at about the same point. I'll have to have picture enhancement to see if the fingers were wrapped around the neck to be a hundred percent sure though."

"Right," Harry nodded, quickly writing a reminder for that.

"Who is he, anyway?” Hermione asked him as she moved her attention onto the scars marring the otherwise rather attractive man.

“You know blue-label firewhisky?”

“Yeah, of course, I don't live under a rock and I'm not nearly that straight-laced. Besides, it's practically Ron's life line… and yours too… before.”

“Well, his family owns it.”

Hermione's eyes widened a bit at that new found piece of knowledge. "My, my, what a high profile case we have here. Note a change in the length of the scars around the body, they're four centimeters long this time and there's a bit more…”

“Got it.”

Hermione turned to her right, eyeing the roasted organ that had, conveniently, been placed right in front of the late Dylan Sinclair. "Phallus was roasted with a simple aduro again.”

Sarcastically. “Joy.”

“By what I can see, everything except the spells used is the same. Even the incision across the midgut is the same length, unlike the cuts across the body. In all honesty, I can't tell you anything new until we get this to the lab," she admitted, turning to him, but somehow still managing to keep an eye trained on the bloke. "Can you make sure they send it right over, as soon as possible, and tell them that it has to go to Alexandru Ionesco?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Great,” she smiled widely, taking off her gloves and mask as they made their way out the room before giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Well I must be off then, seems as if Ron and I can actually make it to the showing after all. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“I'll pick you up instead and then I can drive us to the Ministry and tell you whatever we learn tonight on the ride over,” he offered.

She immediately smiled at the proposition. "Perfect, I'll see you then instead. Oh and remember-”

“Coffee and croissants, I know,” he smiled.

“Well, actually, I was going to say the file, but that works for me too. Bye, Harry.”

--

“She… she's always there for me, despite all of the shite that I throw upon her, she's always there for me… in all honesty, I don't really even know why she stays, but she does. I think she may be a little touched in the head, actually,” Harry added lightly.

“Sounds like quite the woman,” Andersen commented with raised eyebrows.

“She is… she really is, means the world to me,” Harry admitted. “I don't know what I'd do without her.”

“So then… care to tell me why it is that she forced you to come here?”

“She wanted me to come because I'm... well I've had problems with drinking, and she's helping me get past that. This is her idea of helping apparently.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

Harry groaned, turning in the couch to face his therapist with a pleasing look.. “Please don't tell me you're going to use that cliché line, are you?”

Andersen chuckled. “It's just that you sound rather bitter about it, care to tell me why?”

“Well, I don't get why I need to go to a therapist. In all honesty, I don't really like your lot, think therapy is rather pointless. Plus, I can't understand why I can't work past this on my own,” Harry grumbled, the bitter undertone in his words coming across loud and clear.

“Well, it doesn't seem as if that's been working out very well for you as of late.”

“Can't be much better with a therapist.”

Andersen let out a small snigger. “You know, some people actually think that it's easier to talk to a stranger… that somehow you can say you're deepest secrets to one because, at the end of the day, you don't care what they think of you, their opinion doesn't matter, and you finally got that weight off your chest by vocalizing it to someone.”

“Sounds stupid to me.”

“Really, so there's nothing that you want to tell me then?”

“Well… I suppose there are one or two things, you know, since I'm already here anyway.”

--

“Oi, I come bearing food,” Harry announced as he let himself into the flat that Hermione and Ron shared.

“Oh, thank Merlin, at least someone cares for me,” Ron cried out as he greeted Harry with a clap on the back before moving to set the table.

“Oh don't be such a baby!” Hermione scolded him as she entered the dining room, limping as she only had one shoe on.

“Nice look there, love,” Harry amusedly noted, eyeing her with clear hilarity in his expression as he watched her try to walk with one high heeled shoe on as she wore a rather constricting pencil skirt.

“Don't join in on the `torment Hermione parade,' I have some pointless brunch to attend because donators to the foundation are there,” she grumbled before turning to Ron. “Have you seen my shoe?”

“Hermione, you kick them off aimlessly, never paying the slightest bit of attention to where the bloody hell they land. How should I know? Try under the couch, most of them end up there,” he offered.

Harry laughed as he watched her limp out of the room. “Nice to know some things never change, she always was terrible with her shoes.”

“And we go through this every morning,” Ron rolled his eyes, letting out a deep laugh when a distant “Yes! Found it!” was heard from the other room.

“Anyway, how have you two been with the case? Read the paper this morning and saw that there was another one, sounds brutal.”

Harry sighed, tiredly pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat himself down at the dining room table, grabbing a chocolate croissant from the bag and placing it on the plate Ron had set before him. “It's getting out of hand, and people are starting to freak out, worried that they'll be the next target now.”

Ron's eyebrows drew together. “Where the hell did they get that idea?”

“From the fact that we haven't apprehended anyone yet. It's mass hysteria. They're making it sound as if this person's the next Hannibal Lector.”

“Loved that movie, too bad Hopkins was only on for about fifteen minutes of it. Shame.”

Harry chortled. “It was. Anyway, how did apartment hunting go last night?”

“Terrible, the flat had one bathroom and Hermione refuses to share one with me any longer, claims I'm a pig, but, honestly, you'd think she'd get used to it by now,” Ron rationalized, clearly joking.

“Oh don't be so dramatic. You leave wet towels on the floor, Ron. I can handle the rest, but that—that one I refuse to let go,” Hermione complained as she reentered the room, seating herself by Harry and across from Ron.

“And they say you have a stick up your arse, no idea where they get that one from,” he winked at her.

Harry chuckled, as he swallowed the morsel of his pastry that he'd just taken a bite of. “How are you two still together anyway?”

Hermione shrugged. “It's our shtick.”

“Works for us,” Ron finished. “How are you and Christina, by the way?”

“We're okay. Nothing serious, but it works for us, I suppose.”

“Hermione told me about the dinner you were talking about with the four of us. How about we do that next week? It might be fun.”

Harry's eyes bulged a bit despite himself, not having expected that in the slightest given what, regardless of how sparse and vague, Hermione had told him. “Oh I thought-”

“It's resolved,” Hermione stopped him, immediately sensing his next comment. “And we thought it'd be nice, it's been ages since we really had a chance to lay back and relax, together. We miss you.”

Harry smiled, nodding. “Okay, might be fun, I'll ask Christina. How about Wednesday? She comes in tomorrow from some runway show she had in Milan or something like that.”

-->

9. Of Probing

Chapter IX: Of Probing

--

“He's a poof,” Harry grumbled as he forcefully speared his chips.

“He is not. For Christ's sake, Harry, you know he's married!” Hermione cried with a small laugh despite herself. “Besides, you can't just go off declaring that someone's a poof just because you don't like the fact that he's right. It's rude—especially towards people of the sexual orientation, you insensitive pest!”

“That's a new one,” Harry wryly noted with a small smirk.

“And well deserved too,” Hermione beamed at him as she popped a chip into her mouth.

“He says I have post-traumatic stress syndrome. What the hell?”

Hermione cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at him as she sent him an utterly dumbfounded look. “Seriously?”

“What?” Harry asked, bringing his butterbeer to his lips for a large swig.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up as she noted how serious he actually was. “Then what would you call the past two and a half years, Harry?”

“An unadulterated adoration for alcohol?”

She couldn't help but snort at that response, shaking her head as she chose to leave the therapy to the psychiatrist, there was no way she was going to get into that messed up muck, if that was what Harry honestly liked to call his prognosis.

--

“I thought you said you two were having problems,” he suddenly burst out, unable to hold back his curiosity as he unknowingly tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

She shrugged, idly staring out the window as he drove on. “I suppose you could say that we still are,” she admitted.

“Then before, why'd you say it's solved?” he pestered resiliently.

“Because it is.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Now I know I'm not nearly as bright as you, love, but where the bloody hell is the logic in that?!”

She shrugged again, something that frustrated Harry far more than he'd like to admit. “We decided to just let whatever be be, I suppose.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?” he asked without missing a beat, his impatience getting the best of him as he let his exasperation become more than obvious in his tone and scowl.

She paused, puffing out her cheeks as she let out a deep breath, a sight he couldn't help but smirk at. “It means it might be over.”

He guffawed despite himself, well aware of how inconsiderate of a reaction it might come off as, but unable to help himself with the eternal Hermione-Ron saga. “As if that hasn't happened a hundred times already? Hell, it's practically become a requisite in your relationship. Why so hesitant about it this time?”

“Because—because this time it'll be for good if we do decide to… listen, I didn't get much rest last night, mind waking me when we get there?”

He eyed her warily as she propped her head up against a hand that was resting against the glass, sighing as she closed her eyes with a frown marring her face, much like his own. “Yeah, sure,” he promised her.

--

“So, you don't agree with my prognosis then?” Andersen asked with an amused smile sent towards the figure lying haphazardly across the new chesterfield he'd bought the week prior.

“No,” was the confident retort he received.

“Then what would you call it?”

“Honestly?”

Andersen nodded. “I think that is what therapy is supposed to be all about, anyway.”

“Okay, then. Well, I'd actually call it a mere love for the buzz.”

“Very aptly put,” Andersen said, trying to bite back the heaps of chortles that were just dying to burst out, only managing to control himself by writing, on his note pad: seriously delusional, deciding that, for courtesy's sake, some thoughts were best off left unsaid and penned for the sake of release.

Harry shrugged. “Better to be blunt than leave everything unsaid.”

Andersen's neck nearly snapped as his head shot up, immediately sensing an opening. “And I suppose you'd know a lot about that, wouldn't you?”

“What?” Harry suspiciously asked.

“Secrets.”

--

“Are you going to talk about it at all?” Harry asked her as she slammed the button for her office's floor in an uncharacteristically rough manner that actually made him flinch slightly as he heard the unprecedented sound of the impact.

“No.”

“And why not?”

“Because I just don't want to,” was her surprisingly cutting retort.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Is that really supposed to work on me of all people, your best mate?”

“I don't care,” she muttered.

“Hermione, what the hell happened last night?”

“Nothing,” she told him, gruffly moving a stray wisp of hair off of her brow before agitatedly running her hands through her locks. “Absolutely nothing," she repeated.

“Would you ever actually accept an answer like that from me?” he challenged.

“No, but what I told you is the truth, nothing happened.”

“Then why are you in such a terrible fit this morning?”

She shrugged yet again. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Too bad,” he immediately snapped, despite the terrible warning bells going off in his head, telling him that she could very well hex his bullocks off so that they were coming out through his nose or something equally as terrible, imaginative, and problematic. “We don't keep secrets from one another… not us, we just don't—we just don't do that, and I'm not going to let it start now. Whatever it is that's bothering you, just let it out. I can help, you don't always have to be the blasted martyr.”

She sighed, pouting a bit as she threw her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. “I know that,” she admitted quietly. “I just… I really don't like talking about it, I suppose.”

“So sad and, again, too bad,” he grumpily retorted, not at all enjoying her obvious reluctance when they were supposedly confidants.

She smiled wryly at the response, opening her eyes and lowering her head to look at him clearly. “Fine, if you're going to be a nosy jerk, I'll tell you what's wrong then! The reason is that I just realized how, despite everything that we'd been talking about, it was finally real. We might actually break up.”

“You were looking at flats though.”

She shrugged as the lift let out a loud Bing signaling that they'd arrived at their floor and Hermione led him out of it and towards her office. “Yeah,” she continued in spite of the interruption. “Because just in case something does happen we still want to live together.”

Harry stepped back slightly despite himself, absolutely baffled by the lack of logic in that baffling decision. “But you might break up…?”

Her lips quirked upward as he scratched the back of his head lightly in a classic confused pose that she'd never actually seen come to life before that moment, having only been reserved to films prior to that, it was oddly funny in a cliché sort of way, she decided. “Ron… after the war Ron and I… well we became each other's support system with everything that was going on. Maybe that's the only reason we even lasted as long as we did. There's something oddly safe and secure about having a constant like that in your life.”

“Constants can still come in the form of mates,” Harry grumbled moodily as he moved ahead of her to open the doors to the labs for her.

She let out a small breath of a laugh at the blunt snap. “Yeah, I suppose so, but… I don't know, that's just how it was, I guess. And it did work for us; I think we're just realizing that even if we could be happy together, it's just not meant to be.”

“And why are you sad about that, sounds rather amicable to me,” Harry muttered as Hermione opened her purse, lifting a leg and propping the bag on it as she shifted through a rather obscene, in Harry's opinion, amount of useless shite in her seemingly daunting quest of finding the keys to her office.

She shrugged. “Still, like I said, there was security in what we had, even with all of the problems we stood by one another through everything. He helped me get through a lot of things and was always there to protect me. It's difficult to accept the fact that I might have to let that go.”

“But you're not… and you still have me.”

She smiled, biting her lip slightly as she twisted her neck to the side to look at him. “That is true; I do have you too now, don't I?”

“And I am rather amazing,” he quipped with a small smile.

She laughed, moving back to her purse. “'Tis true… hah, my keys, knew I didn't forget them!”

He chuckled as he followed her into her office. “You're going to be okay, though, right?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, throwing her bag onto the chesterfield before moving towards a daunting pile of files on her desk. “Change is just hard to accept, I suppose.”

Harry nodded with a smile as he moved to help her tackle the obscenely large pile in search of the autopsy report.

--

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Harry stonily replied, clenching his hands discreetly, but not as much as he'd hoped as he noted how the therapist's eyes immediately took in that action.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Bull shit.”

Harry stiffened, his eyes widening as he heard the unorthodox reply. “Par—pardon?” he coughed, choking on air in his fit of shock.

“Bull shit,” Andersen repeated, and unabashedly so. “I don't buy it,” he elaborated. “You tell me that you're here to work past your issues, but you won't even accept the prognosis I gave you, even though it's clearly one that even a five year old could give you—albeit probably not with the same terminology, but it's an obvious one nonetheless. Then, you also tell me you're here purely because your attractive little friend in there-”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted coldly. “And I'd prefer it if you left her out of this… please.”

Andersen smirked. “You tell me you're here because she forced you… but I have to wonder if it's that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I can't answer everything here, Mr. Potter. I can lead you to the path, but you're the one that has to go down it—I'm the little munchkin, but Dorothy has to follow that yellow road without him, you know that story.”

“I hated it,” Harry grumbled with a small sneer.

“Well, nevertheless, it's your job to answer that question for yourself… but feel free to share and discuss my unparallelled brilliance when you finally do come to the conclusion,” he quipped.

--

author's note: I was going to add in more about the case in this chapter but in the end it didn't work out as well as I'd hoped when I did, just didn't match the chapter that had been so personal before that so I decided to leave it like this and save the next scene for chapter 10. Anyway, hopefully Ron and Hermione haters of which I, admittedly, am included will be sated.

Muchos Gacias to my wonderful beta Searcy!

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10. Of Hell

Chapter X: Of Hell

--

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” was the far too chipper greeting he received as he entered the room, back slumped and a grimace on his face as he walked, before gracelessly throwing himself unto the leather chesterfield.

He grunted as he made contact with the furniture, leaving that as his only acknowledgment of the therapist's existence.

“Nice to see you got up on the right side of the bed today,” Andersen quipped, an amused smirk gracing his face as he watched his patient's scowl deepen.

Harry uncovered his eyes, covered by his arm that carelessly had been thrown across them in an effort to block the blinding light. “Can't we hold off on the snarky comments for once?”

Eyebrows shot up and a jaw went slack at the retort. “I'm the snarky one now?” he gasped, confused as to whether he should snort or be offended by the off base comment.

“And you say I'm the one dealing with self-denial,” Harry grumbled moodily.

Andersen frowned. “It's going to be a hard day for the both of us now, isn't it?”

Harry shrugged.

“Care to tell me about what started this pissy mood, then?” Andersen pestered, long ago having found that when a person annoyed Harry just enough, he'd be willing to say anything to just get the gutsy offender to “shut the hell up,” as he so eloquently phrased it.

Harry sighed. “I think I disappointed Hermione yesterday…”

Well naturally it would all come down to her, Andersen wryly noted, mentally preparing himself for a surely wearing appointment.

--

She let out a deep breath, frustrated as she felt herself beginning to strain her eyes in order to read in a manner they hadn't since she was back at school and spending inane hours at the library. “Do you think it's a coincidence?” she suddenly asked.

“What?” Harry asked as he skimmed through the profiler's report, trying to stifle a groan as he read through it, he really hated psychologists—all high and mighty and the rest of that useless shite, who needed them anyway?

“That McMullen and Sinclair were best mates?”

Harry shrugged, setting down his file to look at her. “I'd say about as much as the fact that both were killed at a McMullen Hotel that had the same security measures.”

She nodded. “Well, it seems as if we have the same female problem with this one… and they shared a lot of the same girls too…”

“Classy,” Harry snorted.

“Isn't it just?” Hermione added with faux perkiness.

Harry chuckled, rubbing his temples tiredly. “So it's definite, then?”

“That it was a woman?” Hermione asked and he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, Alex called me last night to confirm it.”

“And the body?”

“Interns are isolating the bones as we speak.”

Harry winced despite himself at the choice of terminology. “That doesn't sound gruesome in the least.”

She shrugged with a small smile. “Well, we all have our dark side.”

“I suppose so, never thought yours would be so obvious though...”

“I'm just special like that,” Hermione winked. “Ugh,” she groaned, raising her arms and lacing her fingers as she stretched, before letting out a deep breath. “Hey, by the way, when are we going to meet the profiler?”

“Soon, have to warn you though, he's a prat, probably going to spend the entire time staring at your rather well displayed cleavage.”

Hermione gasped, bringing a hand to her chest. “It is not!”

“Sorry, love, but I'm a bloke, I know what I'm talking about. Although, I do have to admit, it's a rather fetching look on you,” he assured her with a crooked grin.

“Ugh… I thought Ron was just being Ron when he said that this morning… damn!”

Harry snorted. “You've been with him for how long now, and you still don't trust him?”

“I never claimed that it was the healthiest of relationships, ergo why it's ending,” she shrugged, albeit a bit defensively.

Harry rolled his eyes, pulling off his leather jacket and thrusting it her way in a less than chivalrous manner despite the courteous intentions. “Here.”

“What?”

“Take it. If the prat stares at your breasts the entire time I'll probably end up hexing him. If anything, think of it as doing the psychology department a favor, it's time for us to go anyway.”

“Fine,” she nodded, putting on the oversized coat and taking in the musky scent. “I like your cologne…”

Harry smiled as he got up off the floor and offered a hand. “Come on, we have to get going, I want to get you back here in time for when your interns finally manage to prep everything for you… can't have you whining about what a terribly distracting partner I am for the next year.”

“I don't do that!”

“Trust me, love, you know how to hold a grudge…”

--

“You think?” Andersen repeated.

“Well… no, I suppose I know,” Harry sheepishly admitted, a small blush rising, the sight actually placing Andersen in a paralyzed fit of shock for a moment, that reaction certainly was unexpected.

“Care to explain how?”

“I had a bad day at work yesterday-”

Andersen gasped from shock, realizing that he'd surely get a heart attack if the surprises kept on coming as they had that morning. “At work? Why was I not told about this new development?”

Harry shrugged. “It was Hermione's idea… she told me that it was about time I bucked up and did something with my life, followed my dreams, no matter how cliché they were… so I did, I joined the PoliceAcademy, currently going through training?”

“Cliché?”

“Runs in the family,” Harry elaborated quickly.

“Ah… so care to divulge about the hard day then?”

“It was just… I just got tired of it all…”

“Of what, saving people?” was the dry and unsympathetic retort Harry received from his therapist.

“No, not that… as much as I hate to admit it, I do have a 'saving people thing', as Hermione so annoyingly phrases it.”

“Then, what is it that you got tired of?”

Harry let out a deep breath, his nostrils flaring slightly as he thought back to what was bothering him. “The fact that the only reason I was accepted into the training program is apparently because I'm a legacy… famous.”

“And you already knew this…?”

“Found out a week into my training, not the best high in my life, that much I can tell you.”

“But that wasn't so much what bothered you… whatever it was that happened yesterday is then…” Andersen noted, a bit perplexed by what could be worse than the knowledge that his accomplishments weren't even his own.

“No, I could deal with that… I knew that if I worked hard I could prove myself despite it.”

“Then, what is it that made yesterday so terrible?”

“I found out that people still see me as a hopeless drunk despite my being sober for five months now… despite how much work I put into my training. It's all worth nothing apparently,” he admitted, jaw clenching when he finished.

--

“Hermione this is Phillip Süskind, Phillip this is Hermione Granger,” Harry gruffly introduced them, sending a warning glare towards the pervy little prat who already had his eyes set on the v-parting of Hermione's shirt that which was still visible even with Harry's jacket on—his eyes, in Harry's opinion, practically popping out of his head as he stared at the assets so intently.

“Don't throttle him until we finish, yeah?” Hermione inconspicuously whispered, causing a small smile to grace Harry's lips despite the increasing urge to hex the bastard's bullocks off. And he could, he'd learned that one from Hermione herself.

“Nice to meet you,” Hermione extended a hand.

“Pleasure is all mine,” was the smooth reply she received.

“Can we just get this over with, I have to get her back to the labs soon, she has a dismembered body to analyze,” Harry growled, teeth gritted as he spoke through them in an effort to maintain control over himself.

“Right, um… take a seat and I'll just go find the copies I made of the file,” he told them with a charming smile more so directed towards Hermione than Harry, before moving towards his cabinets, unlocking them as Harry and Hermione seated themselves across from his desk.

“Down boy,” Hermione whispered as Harry moved her chair closer to his own in a futile effort to protect her from Phillip, all the while wondering how the bloody hell the prat was the best in the ministry anyway.

“Right, here we go,” Phillip handed them each a file as he seated himself and opened his own. “Well… I suppose, first things first, all I can say is hell truly hath no fury like a woman's scorn. I mean this girl's sic,” he told them with a small chuckle that was only met with silence and two blank looks.

“How about telling us something we don't know, Phillip,” Harry stopped the pointless tirade with a disturbingly acerbic tone.

“Right,” Phillip gulped, for once taking his eyes off of Hermione's cleavage as he felt the piercing glare burning through him. “Well… um, as far as I can see it's all very symbolic… she takes off their phalluses to emasculate them and guts them… from what I can see… because they don't have any guts...”

“Now that's the most ridiculous shite I've ever heard,” Harry immediately snapped.

The exclaim from Harry, however, was apparently enough to prep Phillip for any spar, as he immediately retorted with the least bit hesitation. “Oi, I don't try and tell you what to do or how to do it, so don't just scrap my report like that-”

“I sure as hell will when it's utter crock! This is murder, brutal murder; there is no blasted symbolism like some damn Christie novel!”

“Who says?!”

“Every blasted murder we've ever seen before.”

“But this is different-”

“Of course it is, and I'm bloody-”

“Wait, Harry!” Hermione suddenly stopped him, gently placing a hand atop of his, which was roughly gripping the arms of the chair. “Harry… just stop for a second and think about it. I mean… what if he's right?”

Harry's eyes widened as he sharply turned to her. “You—you've got to be joking, you're agreeing with this prat?” he sputtered.

--

“Wow,” Andersen responded, left a bit at a loss for words, he wasn't actually expecting a substantial excuse from the, admittedly, often whiney prat.

“So I may have gone to a pub… and had a whiskey…”

“Ergo why she's angry with you, I take it.”

Harry nodded slowly. “It was just one, but that was enough for her… and I suppose I do understand why. She puts so much time into helping me through this and then I just throw it back into her face…”

“As much as I hate to admit it, and protect you, an alcoholic addiction is hard to overcome,” Andersen responded.

Harry shook his head resolutely. “Doesn't matter, she expects more form me, I should be able to give it to her.”

“But you also have to learn to be reasonable, realistic.”

“But I am,” Harry told him. “I've hurt her so much in the past; I want to be more… I need to be worthy. She deserves it. I—I can't keep on hurting her like this; it pains me too much to watch her cry over me.”

“Then why'd you do it in the first place? Why didn't that stop you from entering that pub?”

“I… I don't know… it should have been enough though, but it never even crossed my mind. Terrible, isn't it?—aren't I?”

--

“It's just—well…” she shifted uncomfortably, unable to grasp the right words as she felt herself wavering under his disbelieving look. “It's just that this all seems so terribly planned, don't you think?—And, also, there does seem to be a specific list, these aren't just random blokes that the girl off-ed, they were best mates…” she rambled on nervously. “I just think it would make sense if she went in with symbolism like that too… especially given whom the blokes were and what their history with women was…”

“Told you so!” Phillip couldn't help but rear his head in with.

Harry sent him a withering look before moving his attention back to Hermione, a desperate one taking the place of the previous as he eyed her. “I can't believe you're actually siding with him.”

She shrugged. “It's not with him, per say…”

Harry shook his head. “Go to hell,” her muttered grimly before throwing his head into his hands, oddly disheartened by the fact that she didn't agree with him. He sighed deeply, taking a moment to inhale before moaning loudly, all while Hermione sat by him, shifting in her seat as she tried to make sense of what she was supposed to do. Just as she was about to tap his shoulder he suddenly shot up, face harsh and determined as he announced “Fine, we'll go with that.”

Phillip gasped, offended. “Wait, you'll listen to her, but not the bloke with a blasted degree in psychology?!”

“Phillip, let it go and just continue with your analysis before Harry hexes you,” Hermione sharply stopped him as she noted how Harry's hand was inching closer and closer to his wand.

--

“Why do you suppose it didn't hit you that you might be doing something wrong when you first went in?”

“Honestly?”

Andersen rolled his eyes. “You've really got to stop asking me that question, we're in therapy, what else would I want form you?”

Harry chuckled lightly. “I… I think I knew, I just didn't want to admit it, it was easier to ignore the reality and just try to lose myself…”

“But then she found you?”

Harry shook his head, giving a croaking “no” in response. “I went and told her.”

Eyebrows shot up and a small fit of coughs ensued as the shock overwhelmed Andersen. “Never quite expected such a mature move, honestly.”

“Yeah… neither did I, but I had to. I finished my drink, paid for it, got up and went to her… told her all the sordid details.”

“And then what did she do?”

“She gave me a disparaging look as she told me she forgave me.”

Andersen stiffened. “But she forgave you…?”

“Yeah, and your point is?” Harry suspiciously asked.

“So why are you so worried if she forgave you?”

“Because I disappointed her,” Harry spat out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I was weak.”

“Everyone falls to that once in a while, especially recovering addicts; you can't just expect to go cold turkey one day and never fall to temptation. The world's not that perfect.”

“Maybe not, but she deserves more from me and I didn't give it to her.”

Andersen cocked his head slightly, clucking his tongue as he wanted the scowling man on the divan. After a pause he finally asked, “What's the limit? When will there be a time when you'll finally be enough for her?”

Harry became visibly rigid upon hearing that query, opening his mouth to answer but after a minute only closing it as nothing escaped it, barely even a breath. He mouthed something incomprehensible but no words ever came and after five minutes of wordlessly sitting there, he finally said, “I don't know… probably never.”

Andersen nodded. “Hell is others, Harry, remember that.”

--

“Well, also, I was looking at the list of suspects and I had a thought…” Phillip baited.

“What?” Hermione curiously asked.

“As far as options are concerned, what if it's not a girl they dated?”

Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he felt himself nearing a small little outburst that would detail just what sort of an idiot he thought Phillip was but he stopped himself when he turned towards Hermione and found her pensively considering Phillip's theory. So, instead, he let out a deep calming breath before asking: “And who would she be to them, then?”

“Well… I was just toying with this, nothing is certain, and it may very well be a girl that they dated…it's just it could also be someone that they didn't… maybe someone who wanted revenge for how the blokes hurt someone she knew…”

“Why?” Hermione asked. “Why don't you think it's as likely that these ex-girlfriends were the ones?”

Phillip shrugged. “I don't know, there's just something about it that doesn't seem to fit. While they all claim that they would gladly roast the blokes' bullocks they also entered a relationship that they knew wouldn't last, no matter how much they may deny it. It just doesn't work…”

Hermione snorted, turning to Harry. “If he's right we're screwed, aren't we?”

Harry just stared ahead of his, jaw slightly going slack as his mouth opened a centimeter or two and he gaped at Phillip. He shook his head wordlessly for a minute, trying to grasp the words to respond but his speech failing him. After a moment he finally regained consciousness, though, but just enough to utter the word “Yep.”

--

author's note: well I finally managed to sit down and write this out, haven't really been on the mood to honestly, but you get quite bored when bed ridden and having nothing on TV as well as no clue what movie you'd like to see at the moment so no other choice of entertainment either… sad, really.

Anyway, remember reviews are like chicken soup for the soul! And that was terribly hackneyed and cliché… I apologize; feel free to ignore that comment.

p.s. for any readers of Crypt Keeper be informed that I will be finishing the fic ASAP if I have enough time I'll try to get out the last 1-2 chapters in the next two days since I'm sick and bed ridden as it is. Also, for any Into the Dark readers I am so sorry for not having updated but as soon a Crypt Keeper is out I promise to focus on that piece again I just couldn't deal with writing two angst stories at once, especially given just how angst ridden Crypt Keeper is.

p.s.s. author mentioned in this chapter is Süskind, can anyone guess the reference?

And thank you so much to my wonderful betas Searcy and MyUsedRomance!

(seriously, they put up with all of my indecisive bullshit, lol)

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11. Of Fears

Chapter XI: Of Fears

--

“You know, I hear there are people who are actually capable of happiness… quite the novel idea, to be sure, but you have to wonder just how nice it must be,” Hermione quipped with a teasing smile that she hid behind her mug as she brought it to her lips to take a large sip of her coffee.

He chuckled, shaking his head lightly, before sending her a crooked smile as he spoke, “Don't be a sneaky little chit, it never suited you well.”

Hermione let out a shocked gasp, covering her mouth with her hand overdramatically. “Why, I never!”

Harry let out a bark as he watched her. “Seriously though, what's this about?”

She shrugged noncommittally and he felt goosebumps rising as she did so, immediately sensing he'd be leaving their lunch with a bitch of a headache.

“Nothing,” she innocently said.

“Hermione.”

“Yes?”

“Don't be annoying, just say it,” he snapped at her a bit too cruelly and immediately grimaced once the words left his mouth, regretting the words instantaneously.

She merely sent him a look in response and it was enough to send chills running down his spine, scary talent that was.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, lowering his head a bit in shame.

“It's okay,” she responded, tone clipped.

He sighed, raising his head again to look at her, clenching his jaw as he watched her. “I—I am happy, you know. I mean, I know I don't show it much, and I do have a tendency to bitch and moan quite a bit, but I am thankful.”

“Then why all the bitching and moaning?” she immediately retorted, her voice tense with frustration.

He shrugged and she felt the intense compulsion to wring his neck. “I'm just tired I guess.”

“Why?”

“I don't know… it all just feels a bit pointless, I guess.”

“Why?” she repeated again through gritted teeth, finding the answer far from satisfactory.

“You… you know the rumors, Hermione, you know what they say.”

She snorted disbelievingly, making it clear she didn't think much of his whining or the topic concerned. “So?”

“So I'm tired, okay?” he exclaimed suddenly, running a hand through his hair as he glared at her, suddenly angry at her. For what, he wasn't quite sure.

Her eyes softened slightly when she noted his frustration and he almost though she would just let him be. Almost.

“It'll get better.”

He only rolled his eyes in response, somehow he just couldn't quite believe her words, no matter how well intended they may have been and regardless off her odd penchant for always being right, he just couldn't believe in that fate nonsense, not anymore at least.

--

“Where do we even start?”

“Pardon?” Harry asked, looking up from his coffee that he had been staring at while zoning out and reminiscing a bit, suddenly hit by hordes of memories as they sat in the café that where he and Hermione had shared many conversations over the past years—as well as where he'd been berated on more than one occasion.

“Where do we start with this case? I mean, what do we even know about whomever it is that's doing this?”

Harry shrugged. “We know she's angry, that it's probably some sort of a vendetta…”

“But is it a personal one, or one against all men?” she pushed, running a hand through her hair in aggravation, pulling at the root lightly. “Both cases are so similar, even the security system that it could just be a coincidence since both blokes run in the same circle…”

“So you don't think it's personal as Phillip said?”

“I don't know… I just don't want to be too quick to judge really.”

He chuckled lightly. “Good lord, since when are you this indecisive.”

She shrugged. “I'm just afraid to make the wrong decision is all?”

“Trust your instincts, love. I know I do.”

She smiled at him shyly. “You do?”

“I think I've already made that one clear enough for you.”

She flushed, biting her lip. “By the way, when do we have to meet with Buckley?” She changed the subject, never one too fond of having the attention—one that she had so strived for back in school, much to her regret—solely on her.

“In an hour. He wants to update us on the case, apparently Süskind found a person of interest as he went through the lists and interviews and Buckley wants to meet with us before sending us to interrogate the girl.” Harry shrugged noncommittally.

“I'm going to join you?” she asked before taking a large bit out of her chocolate croissant, smearing a bit of the chocolate drizzle and powdered sugar on her face as she tried to maneuver the huge pastry into her mouth.

Harry shook his head, laughing as he moved to wipe the mess off of her face. “No,” he replied. “But I do want you there, I'm going to need a second opinion and I'd rather it not be Süskind's. I prefer to ignore him whenever possible.”

Hermione smiled, swallowing. “I've noticed. But he's not an idiot, Harry; I'd listen to him if I were you.”

“How about you just reiterate the ideas you like and I listen to you instead then?” he offered, grimacing at the prospect of actually, god forbid, listening to that damn Süskind.

With a laugh she said, "Sure.”

--

“No, it won't, Hermione.”

“Who says?”

“I do. The only reason they even let me into the academy was because of the fact that I'm Harry Potter, but that only got me so far. They no about my past, they know about my problems and won't even let me have any decent cases after two bloody years of training and working my arse off there! It… it was supposed to get better, Hermione. I worked for it all—sobered up, studied, got help, and stuck with it—and yet it all seems to amount to nothing. It's just so worthless.”

“It's not though,” she argued, voice weak with trepidation as she nervously pushed a hand forward across the table and atop his own, slowly covering it with her own and moving to clasp it.

But he wouldn't let her, he pulled back.

--

“I don't like it,” Buckley announced as the three of them sat in his office.

“You don't like what?” Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing at the abrupt declaration.

“What's going on?”

“Well I should hope not, it's a bloody serial murder, what's to like?” Harry bluntly retorted, a response that got him a rough jab in the ribs which he immediately followed with a loud yelp. “Oi, what was that for?” he accusingly turned towards Hermione.”

“Don't be rude,” she told him with a well practiced glare that easily sent chills down his spine. Not a fun look, not in the slightest.

Buckley chuckled lightly as he watched the two, paying particular attention to how Harry immediately straightened his back and sat properly in his chair rather than assuming his prior position where both feet had been propped up against his desk as Harry tipped his chair back slightly. “Kudos to you on actually managing to control him to some extent, I've been trying for years and it never really amounted to much,” he told Hermione with a small smile.

“He's hardly as manly as he likes to come off as. In fact, he actually has a rather low threshold for pain, just prefers to pretend that's not the case.”

“Must you go blabbering on about all these blasted secrets of mine,” Harry drawled, a scowl marring his face. “Anyway, Bucks, what it is that you don't like?”

“Don't call me that,” his boss sharply ordered him, feeling his accommodating nature dissipating more and more as the case wore on. “Just not now, Potter.”

Harry nodded, sobering. “Okay.”

“I'm sure you two have seen the papers.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured. “But it's hardly all that big of a deal, people scare easily, that's all.”

“It is a big deal when it's mass hysteria and the department is flooded with angry mail over how people are afraid to leave their blasted houses,” Buckley snapped, moving his gaze towards the window to the left of him, taking a deep breath as he watched the murky sky. Another rainy day, fan-fucking-tastic, he thought to himself.

“What do you want us to do about that?” Harry immediately attacked, a coarse reply that earned him a pinch from the girl sitting beside him. “What?!”

“Don't be a bastard; he has a lot on his plate, too. Get over yourself, Harry,” she ordered him through gritted teeth, puncturing his skin with her nails as she held onto his arm with a vice grip while berating him.

Buckley interrupted her with a sigh, turning back to the pair. “I need a press conference. I need you to give the press something, anything. I—it's not getting any better, as far as the case is concerned. I've read through this girl's—this Sharon Orsic's file, and it's total bullocks. Süskind only brought her in because he wants to have something to show for, that much is obvious. I need you two to just get them to calm down, I hate having to ask this of you, but-”

“You need our names,” Harry finished for him, clenching his jaw.

Buckley winced, nodding slowly, regretfully. “You know I wouldn't ask if I wasn't without option, Harry, you know I—you know I respect you too much to, but…” he trailed off with a sigh, running both hands through his hair. “We don't have anything at the moment, nothing to appease them, other than… well…”

Harry's nostrils flared slightly before he let out a heavy and shaky breath. “Okay. I'll do it.”

“Are you sure? I don't want to force you into a corner, Harry. This was a last resort, but I don't want you to do it if it makes you uncomfortable—if you don't want to.”

“I'll do it for you, but you owe me,” he told him, putting on a small, faux smile. Merlin, he hated press conferences. Fuck, what had he gotten himself into anyway?!

“And you, Miss Granger? Once again, I'd understand if you choose not to do it.”

“I'll do it,” she quietly assured him, but Harry noted the waiver in her tone immediately, turning his head sharply to face her, but found her expression clear of any of the worry he'd heard.

Odd, he though.

--

“You pulled back?” Andersen asked, shock evident in his tone.

“Yeah,” Harry only nodded.

“Why?”

“I—I don't actually know.”

Andersen eyed the befuddled bloke before him wearily with furrowed eyebrows, crinkled nose, tightly drawn lips, and all. “Might it have anything to do with your feelings for her?” he finally chanced, it was a question he'd admittedly been dying to ask for just over two years now.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Harry was quick to retort, but Andersen caught the brief flush that crept on his face before he managed to push the verification away.

His features loosened as a small smirk took hold of his facial features in the scowl's stead. “I'm sure,” was all he said and the rest of the forty minutes of their hour was spent in silence, and he let it… he had a feeling Harry might need the time and space to think anyway. No, instead, he'd leave his questions and pestering for another day.

--

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked her as the two of them exited Buckley's office.

Oxymoronically enough, she nodded numbly. “Yeah, I am. Are you sure you will be though?”

The cloud of worry that had been marring his facial features immediately dissipated as realization dawned upon him. “That's what you're worried about? Seriously?!”

“Well… yeah,” she admitted, her voice weak as she shuffled her feat a bit awkwardly, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her tweed pants. “I—I know how much you hate all-”

“Hey, don't,” he stopped her, placing a hand under her chin and pulling her face up to meet his when she tried to set her gaze downcast. “Don't,” he repeated pointedly. “If anything, I should be glad that my word means anything again.”

“Harry, be honest with me, please.”

He sighed. “I don't like it, the fact that someone can have this much clout over a society, you'd think they'd learn after everything, the problems with following someone so blindly… but I trust Buckley, and I know hwy he needs me to do this. If it were for anyone else…”

She nodded, and he didn't even need to finish. She knew.

“He did a lot for me over the years, you know that. And, if anything, I'm also doing this for our case, we can have our focus on everyone else's reactions to this mess, we need to stay focus on the one brewing within that lab of yours.”

She smiled softly. “If you're sure.”

“I am. Now let's go, we have a meeting with the Ministry's PR department and we also have a dinner to get to.”

“Okay.”

--

“The hour's up,” Andersen finally announced, carefully scrutinizing Harry, intrigued when he didn't even make a move to leave, but rather merely sat up and looked him dead in the eyes.

“Don't try to understand what Hermione is for me. Don't ask me again,” he ordered Andersen before abruptly standing up and leaving the room stiffly.

--

author's note: so sorry for the long wait but I've been bogged down with so much work that I really haven't had much time inn between swim team, studying, and friends. I have, however, returned and will not let this fic, or any other pieces, be left incomplete.

Onto the chapter, this one was a bit of a filler, I suppose, but it sets the scene for a lot to come next chapter—from the press conference, to the double date, to a surprising development in the case… as well as answers in exactly what it is that Buckley has done for Harry—so I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

Please review.

Many thank you's to my beta Searcy!

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12. Of the Strangeness

Chapter XII: Of the Strangeness

--

“Do you like me, Harry?”

Harry's head snapped up and he sent Andersen a look of utter befuddlement. “What?”

“Do you like me?” he repeated.

“No… not particularly, why?” Harry asked, the last word taking on a definite undertone of suspicion.

Andersen shrugged. “I just can't quite comprehend why you've been coming back here for a year now if you don't even like me.”

“It's not that big of a deal,” Harry muttered defensively, laying back down on the couch and crossing his arms over his chest.

“A bit nonsensical though, no?”

Harry shrugged, frowning. “I don't know,” he retorted and Andersen couldn't quite stoop himself from smirking at the petulant image.

“All I'm saying is that if you'd like to end these appointments it's be okay… you have recovered from your drinking problems quite fantastically actually so there's really nothing for me to do-”

“No,” Harry abruptly stopped him. “No, it'd be okay if I continued to come here.”

Andersen smiled. “Okay… that's good too, I suppose.”

--

“Thank you, Harry,” Buckley muttered as the two exited the city hall together following the press conference.

Harry nodded sharply. “It's no problem, mate.”

“No... It is, and I'm sorry I had to drag you into this... I just-” he cut off with a deep sigh, raising a hand and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I just don't know what to do... I'm tired of it all, Harry.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Come on, you know me, we've been working together for years now, you know I was never one for positions like this. I like to organize ops, yeah, but I also like to participate, not sit at the sidelines, delegating and dealing with petty nuisances...”

“Then why'd you ever take this job?”

He shrugged. “I don't know... seemed like the right thing to do... my country needed me, it was an honor, you know?”

He let out a small laugh. “Yeah... yeah, I do.”

“Right,” Buckley winced. “Of course you do.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I didn't mean it that way, Buckster,” he drew out the nickname just for the satisfaction of seeing the scowl that quickly overtook, marring, his superior's face every time it was mentioned.

“Don't be an arse,” he muttered bitterly. “And I know you didn't mean it in a self-deprecating way, but that doesn't change the facts… or history.”

“We have to get over it at some point, though, don't we?”

“Another lesson from that mentor for the loony?”

Harry chucked. “Yeah.”

Buckley nodded with a small smile. “He was good for you.”

“Yeah… he really was.”

“Do you still see him?”

“No, but every once in a while I get an invite from him for dinners or parties his wife throws.”

Buckley nodded again. “That reminds me; we got back some results from Granger.”

“How was that at all related?” Harry asked, eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“They're both your mates. Anyway, she's managed to derive at all of the curses used for the murders,” he informed Harry, passing a copy of the file to him. “According to her they're rather simple, just like the previous ones found, same formula and all that shit. I also had another profiler have a gander at the spells used, just for a second opinion—broaden our options—and he thinks that this is probably a reader, someone with a lot of time on their hands… very frustrated, definitely mentally unstable.”

“As if that wasn't obvious,” Harry roiled his eyes.

“No, not like that,” Buckley shook his head roughly. “He means that, regardless of this, this woman, whoever she is, is mentally troubled… he thinks it's rape.”

“But that's the absolute opposite of what Sï¿½skin said…”

Buckley sucked on his teeth, letting out a frustrated sound as he nodded. “Yeah.”

“So what the hell do you expect me to do now?”

“Dig… these blokes have deep pockets, Harry, there's got to be something they're hiding and I can promise you that you won't be able to find it with a simple Wiz-Internet search.”

“You really think it goes that deep? If these aren't random cases, then yes, I do…”

“If… if this is true, if they are hiding something, then it either traces back to the Minister of Magic or the Wizengamot, are you ready for that?—The backlash?”

Buckley shrugged, letting out a tired sigh as he moved his hands to rub his temples. “It's politics, it's corrupt… hell, half this office is corrupt,” he admitted.

Harry raised his eyebrows in response to that, never having suspected that caliber of bluntness even if they were mates—he was still the Head of the blasted department, after all.

Buckley shrugged, again, in response. “you can't lose perspective of things like that… you lie to yourself, blind yourself to it, then you'll just lose everything once you realize how false your reality is… you told me that once.”

“I was talking about hero worship.”

“Well it's just as how people blindly loved you only to have that destroyed after your breakdown,” he said so candidly that Harry actually even winced at the harsh, albeit true, choice of words. “if you always assume the best when you're working in something related to politics of all things, you'll just… hell, I don't even want to think of how an idealist would respond to realizing the dirtiness of it.”

Harry nodded. “Okay, if you're sure, then I'll do it… but I'll need to bring in others because if you want to search the ministry-”

“I trust you, do what you want, but you better be able to come up with some fucking fantastic alibis for those reports… and be careful with that girl of yours, she's a stickler for the rules.”

“No, she's not,” Harry shook his head adamantly. “her sense of justice overrides that any day, you should have seen what she did back when we were in school… she was the worst of the lot, she planned all of our escapades, it's why we were so successful,” he divulged with a small smile.

“If you're sure then go for it, but… just keep it quiet, Harry, I don't want the press in on this, we already have enough to deal with, let's keep the high from your PR stunt going.”

“Okay.”

--

“Do you love her?” Andersen finally asked that question that had been a thorn in his side for over a year, since he'd started seeing the prat who, seemingly, enjoyed the prospect of crying himself a blasted river.

His head snapped up in alert. “Who?”

“Hermione Granger is her name, I believe.”

“Of course I do,” Harry responded tightly, his muscles bunching at the mention of her, just as they always did. “She's my best mate, after all, why wouldn't I love her?” he asked, scoffing at the preposterousness of the question.

“I don't mean in that respect.”

“Then in which do you?” Harry asked, purposefully playing stupid, and they both knew it.

“you know, so I won't bother insulting what little intelligence you may have by drawing it out for you,” Andersen bluntly told him, having gotten very used to their dynamic over time.

“Maybe I don't,” Harry grumbled petulantly.

Andersen shook his head tiredly. “You've been avoiding this for so long and, I guess, what intrigues me more than when you're going to admit to it is why you won't…” he admitted.

“There's nothing to admit.”

“Of course not,” he sarcastically quipped.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You very well know what it means so stop asking pointless questions. All I'm going to say to you, Harry, is this: if you want to change the path you're going on then you're going to have to do it. No one can do it all for you, you have to take the steps to reach that goal and—and if you do so too late, you just might lose it all. Time's up, go.”

“I-”

“Just go, Harry… think about it on your own a bit.”

At the end of the meeting the only thing written on Andersen's pad was five words: “pathetic—love struck and pathetic.”

--

“I want to go,” Hermione announced.

“No, you don't,” he informed her, despite being well aware that she may very well hex his bullocks for that proclamation.

Instead, though, he got off rather lucky as she only sent him a glare that sent shivers running down his spine. Very luck, indeed.

“Yes. I. Do,” she told him through gritted teeth.

“Don't be so demanding, Hermione, not attractive at all.”

“I'll show you unattractive,” she murmured. “Harry, you said I could be a part of it all, and I want to go!”

“No, simple as that. Listen, I don't want you to go so just, please, do me a favor and let it go. It's already four anyway and you have to get ready for our dinner, I shouldn't be too long so I'll meet you at the restaurant at eight, like we agreed.”

“It's not fair, I hope you realize that,” she bitterly informed him, arms crossed huffily and a small pout on her face.

He smiled. “I know, and I'm sorry, but I just can't have anyone else involved… you're already the only one I've told about what we're doing, I just can't have you further involved… trust me on this, Hermione.”

“Okay,” she begrudgingly said. “But I don't like it… I hate not being a part of it.”

He grinned, pulling her into his arms for a tight embrace. “I know, and I am sorry.”

“It's okay,” she spoke softly, into his chest. “Just… just don't get hurt, okay?”

“I won't, I promise.”

--

“Do you ever ask yourself if you made a mistake?... if—if every decision you've ever made in your life was just this terrible error in judgment that you can't take back anymore?” she asked him, staring out the massive windows of his library.

“Of course, I'm a fucking recovering alcoholic,” he gruffly told her.

She slapped his leg lightly. “Don't speak like that when you don't need to,” she chastised him. “And… and I don't mean like that. I—I mean romantically.”

“This about Ron?”

“No… yes… maybe?—I don't even know anymore, honestly. I feel so confused. We work, we really do, and to a certain extent we even make sense… but I just can't help wondering if… well is this really it? Is this all?” she admitted with an embarrassed look on her face.

“What brought on this sudden epiphany?”

She paused for a second before slowly responding: “it's not all that sudden, really… not at all sudden, actually… rather old, in fact.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“But you're still with him?”

She took a noticeable gulp. “I—I think we both can't let go even though we both know we should, how pathetic is that? Regardless of anything that happens we just can't seem to let go and, for the life of me, I can't comprehend why that is, but, still, here we are. Together.”

“If you really wanted things to change, though, you'd finally let go, wouldn't you?” he asked her, rather sagely. So much so that it left her in a catatonic state of shock for a moment—jaw dropped and all.

“Yeah… I guess you're right,” she finally mumbled, nodding her head slowly and continuously—why, she wasn't quite sure.

--

“I need a favor,” he finally tells him silently after sitting across from him at a booth in the back of the bar for the past fifteen or so minutes.

“I figured as much,” Herrick sighed. “But I hope you realize how terrible it is that the first time we've talked in a year is over a favor you need.”

He smiled weakly. “I'm sorry… really, though, I do feel terrible about it.”

Herrick just nodded understandingly. “I get it, life gets in the way. About this business though, how sensitive is it?”

“Do you have somewhere private we can go sensitive.”

“Follow me,” he ordered, leading him to the back of the bar and up a staircase to one of the apartments above the establishment. “This one's currently not being rented out to anyone so I sometimes use it as a second office, for now,” he explained as he took out a key and unlocked it, leading Harry in. “Take a seat,” he told him, motioning to the chesterfield in the sitting room.

“Thanks,” Harry said, seating himself as Callum did the same, placing himself across from him on a chair.

“So what's this about?”

“I… I need your help, mate.”

“Figured as much. Does this have anything to do with that glitzy murder case of yours?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “I think we may need a drink for this then, you still drink non-alcoholic beer?” he asked.

Harry smiled slowly. “Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem, it's utter shit, but it gets me through, glad to have a buddy who's on the same boat there,” he spoke as he left Harry to go to the kitchen. “Here you go,” he handed him an opened beer when he returned. “Now speak.”

“Buckley, the chief, he thinks that it may have something to do with deep pockets, that the families are hiding something so he wants me to investigate, double check all of the facts.”

Callum whistled. “Rather ballsy move there.”

“He doesn't want anyone to know, and… and you're the only other person I trust who I know also has the connections to do this. Any chance you'd be willing?”

“For you, Harry, anything, but I don't know how long it'll take—big fish and all that crap,” he explained, waving his hand carelessly.

“I know, I don't expect a miracle overnight, but I just—I didn't know who else to go to.”

“I'm glad you came to me, only wish that we were seeing each other again under better circumstances,” he assured Harry with a small smile. “Now, tell me, who's the bird I saw you with when watching the press conference? Is it the Hermione Granger that I think it is?”

“You know who she is, don't play coy.”

Callum rolled his eyes playfully. “Just tell me a bit about her already, I'm curious as to what's changed!”

--

“What scares you, Harry?” Andersen asked him.

Harry paused, clearly struggling with whether or not to answer the question. The answer was there, on the tip of his tongue, that much was obvious; the only question left was whether or not he wanted to say it out loud. After a good five minutes, though, he finally uttered the word: “disappointment.”

“I take it you've been disappointed a lot in the past,-”

“No,” Harry said, voice raspy. “No,” he repeated, that time for firmly. “It's not that, that I'm afraid of, but the idea of disappointing Ron and Hermione.”

“But especially Hermione, right?”

Harry winced. “She… she's not perfect, I know that, but… but at the same time she is… she's so good and, in so many ways, innocent. I'm afraid of fucking it all up and that she might finally realize how much better she'd be without me,” Harry finally admitted.

And, after two and a half years, Andersen finally got a truly honest answer out of his patient.

--

“I still just can't believe that you two actually broke up,” he walked in to hear Christina cry.

“We just felt it was time,” Ron stiffly told her, clearly uncomfortable with the subject manner, his arm draped across Hermione's chair out of habit, squeezing her arm lightly to comfort her.

“It's not that big of a deal, really,” Hermione said as they still hadn't noticed Harry's appearance.

“I know, it's really just such a shame, though, you were such a super couple, really… the sort that makes a person believe in love, romance, and all that jazz,” Christina admitted with a small sigh.

“No reason to cry over the past, Christina,” Harry said with a smile as he took a seat in the empty chair next to her.

“Hey, mate, how are you?” Ron warmly greeted him with a grin.

“Alive and shakin', is the quote, I believe.”

Hermione snorted lightly.

“Very feminine there, love,” Harry quipped.

Hermione batted her eyelashes playfully. “Why thank you, I do try!”

“You three are really just so cute, it's a wonder how people can be so close,” Christina commented, watching them with rapt interest.

“Comes from slapping these two around so much during our formative years, they're perfectly trained now, thanks to me,” Hermione winked with a saucy little smile, the sort that women send to one another when they're in on a secret that they believe could not possibly deciphered by men.

And Christina tittered right on queue.

“I think I speak for both of us when I say we resent that,” Harry announced.

“And I think I speak for all women when I say who cares?” Hermione immediately retorted with a sly smile.

--

author's note: so there was supposed to be two more scenes to this, but it didn't work when I tried to add it in so rather than the cliff hanger that was going to be here it'll start off the next chapter.

Also, though, I am so sorry for the long wait for this, I don't know why, but I've been having the most terrible time trying to write this chapter. Quite pathetic, really.

PLEASE REVIEW!

HAPPY NEW YEAR and, once again, thank you to my amazing beta Searcy!

p.s. for updates on when I'll be posting and etc. go to my homepage

p.p.s. author's name used: Herrick

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13. Of a Tertiary

Chapter XIII: Of a Tertiary

--

“So how's the new boss?” Hermione asked when Harry plopped down onto the seat of the booth in the back of the pub where they were eating lunch.

Harry paused for a second, thinking before settling on a word. “Confusing.”

“How so?”

“This bloke, his name's Buckley… and… well, I really just don't know what the hell to make of him,” Harry admitted, looking at her sheepishly.

“Why not?” Hermione asked, taking a sip of her coke as she sent him an expectant look.

“He's… he's just so confusing.”

Hermione sent him an amused look at that exclamation. “And, yet again, how so?”

“Well he called me into his office today.”

Hermione looked puzzled for a second before slowly retorting: “Well that's not too surprising, you are the famous Harry Potter, after all.”

“Yeah, I know,” he waved her off, “but it's not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“The second I walked in he didn't even bother introducing himself or anything, he just told me that I'm on the Depardieu case and to scram, basically.”

Hermione's eyes widened. “The Depardieu case?”

“Yeah…”

“Harry,” Hermione squealed, immediately grasping his hand and squeezing it tightly. “That's amazing! This is a huge case; Aurors have practically been tripping over each other for a chance to get on it since everything broke out last week, why aren't you more excited?”

“I am,” he assured her. “I just… I don't understand why I'm being put on. I mean, this case is getting a lot of attention and… well you know the sort of work I've been given since I joined the department.”

“Well then don't cock up this chance!”

Harry grinned, his smile widening slowly. “Hermione Granger, did you just say a proper curse?”

She beamed at him. “Well it's a special occasion and I thought you'd appreciate it, consider it my congratulations gift.”

“You always did give the best ones,” he winked at her, squeezing her hand lightly in return.

--

Harry pounded on the door impatiently waiting for someone to open it, getting more and more aggravated with each second he waited in the hallway without response.

“Harry, mate,” Ron finally jovially greeted him as he pulled open the door, seemingly oblivious to Harry's frustration. “Glad to see you had time to come down to the new apartment.”

“Can't talk,” Harry muttered as he pushed his way through. “Which room is Hermione's?”

“Um, last door to the left,” Ron confusedly answered.

Harry stalked towards the room, hands balled up into fists as he made his way down the path, not even bothering to knock as he barged in.

“Harry?” Hermione gasped in shock as she looked up from her bed where she was reading some book or another, Harry didn't care much which as he was too furious to even bother sparing it a glance. Instead, he threw a paper at her. She quickly opened it, careful not to tear it as it had already been in delicate condition from Harry balling it up in his hands and, apparently, clenching down on it quite a bit.

“Oh my God,” she gasped as she read it.

“Can you believe it?” Harry asked, throwing himself down onto her bed, beside her.

She stared at the paper. “When'd you get this telegram?”

“Buckley sent it to me as soon as he received it. How the hell could this happen, Hermione? It's New York… the Pierre Hotel, this changes everything!”

“How—how did they know to contact us?”

“When the department there saw the case the head apparently noted the similarities to the cases here since, by law, we're obligated to share reports of serial murderers with other countries…” he rambled on.

“Right… um, okay,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Just… um, let me change and we can go. I assume they already have a portkey ready for us?”

Harry numbly nodded.

She smiled down at him sadly, rubbing his back. “It'll be okay, Harry, it will! If anything, this can tell us a lot about her!”

“I'd rather just not have another case,” he grumbled moodily.

She nodded sympathetically. “I know, and me too, but we don't have much of a say in it, now do we?”

He turned to face her, smiling at her weakly. “I guess you're right… but still…”

“I know.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I'll wait for you in the sitting room, maybe calm down a bit more, okay?”

“Perfect.”

--

“So things have been turning up then?” Andersen asked Harry.

“Yeah, they really have… I finished this case, we call it the Depardieu case,” he informed Andersen. “And, anyway, it wasn't so much that that was such a big deal, but… well, ever since my… my problems, I haven't been able to great on any really—well time worthy cases, I suppose you could say. And, well… I mentioned how I got a new boss, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well the second he came in he just put me on it, heading it, and… the entire time it really just bothered me…”

“Why?—It sounds like an amazing opportunity to prove yourself, so why so skeptical?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess I just didn't know what to make of it and that bothered me… I wanted to know why he did what he did after no one else at the department would give me a chance. Why now, why him sort of thing, I suppose,” he admitted.

“And did you get your answer?”

Harry nodded. “The second I finished the case I went to his office and just bluntly asked him why he chose me.”

“And what did he say?”

“That it's time someone believes in me… and that things would be changing if he had any say in it.”

“That sounds… well, great,” Andersen admitted, clearly impressed.

“Yeah, I just… I guess I'm still, in shock over it—reeling, really.”

Andersen nodded. “Well it is a pretty astounding development.”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled wistfully. “Hermione was so proud of me, too.”

Andersen tried to keep the smug smile off his face and was greatly thankful that Harry couldn't see his expression when he bent his head down to pretend to write something as he said “I'd imagine she would be—with reason, too.”

“She threw a party for me…only our closest friends. It was nice, relaxing actually. I've never been one for big parties… but, I don't know, I somehow felt comfortable.”

“Did you spend a lot of time with her that evening?”

“She wouldn't leave my side that night; she claimed she was too proud to be able to go without having me by her side so she could congratulate me whenever she felt the compulsion again.”

“I'd imagine you enjoyed that… having her by your side and all.”

Harry shifted a bit nervously. “Well, we're mates, we've known each other since we were eleven, of course I'd like her company.”

“I'm sure that's the only reason,” Andersen nodded knowingly.

Harry didn't say anything in response to that.

--

“It's the same, everything's the same,” Hermione announced as she exited the bedroom and went to meet Harry in the middle of the living room. “Even the chains are the same brand!” she informed him, exasperatedly.

“Calm down, love,” Harry distractedly told her, flipping through a report. “We can't have you like this when we go interview the girlfriend now, can we?” he rhetorically asked her.

“The one that found him?”

“Is there any other?”

“Well with the sheer amount of porn lying around that room I wouldn't be very surprised,” Hermione admitted with a grimace. “He has a very broad spectrum of sexual appetites, got to tell you.”

“Good to know,” Harry laughed. “He's also a slob who leaves used condoms lying about everywhere, according to the maid, and is a total arse who doesn't even bother tipping, according to the bell boy.”

“Well that's nice,” Hermione sarcastically replied.

“Anyway, are you sure everything's exactly the same?”

“Even the spells, I can't be absolutely sure, but it looks like she's reusing ones from the first and second murder… which should make this a lot easier since I only have to observe the tracks and compare them to previous ones we have noted.”

Harry nodded. “Well then let's finish up here as soon as possible so we can have everything sent to the lab, okay?”

“Lead the way.”

--

“Is it ungrateful for me to say that it makes me uncomfortable?” Harry asked, getting up from his lying position on the couch to sit on it and look Andersen straight in the eyes.

“Depends.”

Harry furrowed his brows and shifted slightly in his seat. “On what?”

“On why it makes you so uncomfortable.”

“Hmmm…” he nodded.

“Are you going to tell me why?” Andersen curiously asked.

Harry sighed, throwing his head into his hands and tugging on the strands lightly as he just sat there silently sulking. Finally, however, he answered. “I just don't get why. I don't understand why he seems to believe in me, it makes me wonder if something shifty is going on…”

“Really, shifty?”

Harry looked up, nodding. “It sounds terrible, I know, but I just can't comprehend how a person can so blindly take a chance on a person like that.”

“From what you've told me, it's not an entirely blind choice as you're rather famous in your parts, aren't you?” Andersen asked.

“Yeah, but still… I just can't understand it and that frightens me. I mean, after everything that went on… my addiction and all that, it was… well it was public knowledge and that did nothing to benefit my image. I don't know why he'd take a chance on me like this, why he'd risk the backlash he surely got for placing me on the Depardieu case. It just makes no sense!”

“It doesn't?”

“No, no one does that solely out of kindness, there has to be another reason.”

Andersen nodded. “So Hermione does what she does for a reason other than the fact that she loves you?” he asked, going for the Achilles' heel.

“Hermione is different,” Harry replied through gritted teeth. “Buckley, though, he has to have another purpose—he's a politician, after all… he can't just be doing this because he believes in me, there has to be more!” he said, steadfastly believing each word.

“Harry, have you ever considered that maybe it's not the world that is against you, but you yourself?”

Those words shocked Harry to the core, so bluntly put that that they could resonate with anyone, be they true or false. He didn't know what to say or what to do in reply, so he did nothing. Instead, he merely sat the rest of his hour through, contemplating those words and wondering where the hell to go from there.

--

“I—I just don't understand how this possibly could have happened… I mean… they promised, they said we'd be safe so long as we didn't stay at that blasted McMullan Hotel. Besides, we're in New York for God's sake, how the hell could this happen like this?!” she exclaimed tearfully.

Hermione cocked her head to the side, observing the girl, and couldn't help, but feel a tad bit jealous that she was capable of crying so prettily. There was no heaving or gasping for air, merely a bit of stumbling with words, nor did her face turn red or anything of that sort, instead she had two seemingly perfect streams running down her face that, had they been wiped away, one wouldn't even ever believe she had just cried.

Harry, however, wasn't quite as concerned with such details, responding: “Well, Ms. Gellar, you have to understand the circumstances-”

“No, I won't!” she petulantly interrupted him and it took all Hermione and Harry had not to roll their eyes at her words. “He's a bloody Dermott, I'll have you know!”

“We're aware of that,” Hermione answered with a slight edge to her tone despite how hard she tried to restrain herself.

“No, I don't think you understand what this means!” the girl fumed, her face contorting, marred with a look of absolute fury. “I was supposed to marry him! I mean, sure, there wasn't a ring or anything yet, but I was working on it. Do you know how much time I've wasted on this?!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air.

And a pin drop could be heard given how quiet the room went at those words.

Harry closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So you two were serious?”

She guffawed. “As if I didn't make that clear enough?... I mean, he did like his booze and women, but I didn't mind that—never really liked sex much anyway so having him split up his attentions like that was fine for the both of us. We had an arrangement, I was going to be the next Mrs. Dermott—do you know how filthy rich they are?!”

“We're aware,” Hermione glibly answered.

“I don't think you are.”

Harry couldn't help, but roll his eyes at that one, and even had to grasp onto Hermione's arm and squeeze it lightly to stop her from attacking the girl for making, what she considered, a comment on her intelligence—or lack thereof. “Don't worry, we are,” Harry simply said. “And I think this is all we'll need from you, feel free to go.”

The girl huffed and puffed, fuming as she strutted out of the room, making a purposeful spectacle of her exit.

“If I could, I'd gladly hex her,” Hermione admitted as she glared at the spot that Roberta Jovovic had just left.

Harry shrugged. “Just call her Robert in your head as retaliation, it's what I've been doing.”

Hermione laughed. “Nice, Harry.”

“You go see if they've managed to find anything, and I'll just go outside to make a quick phone call.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “But don't be too long.”

“Sure,” he assured her as he quickly left the penthouse, making his way to the emergency stairwell where he took out his WiziCell and typed in a number that he was becoming increasingly familiar with after going so long without using it.

“Hey, Harry, don't you think it's a little soon to check up on my progress?” Callum's familiar drawl floated through the receiver.

“It's not about that, mate… there's another victim, his name's John James Dermott.”

“Ouch, poor bloke's parents weren't very creative, were they?”

Harry chuckled. “No, I suppose not… listen, I have to go, Hermione's waiting for me, but I just wanted to give you a call, keep you up to date.”

“Sure and… good luck, Harry. Don't get yourself in too deep or in too much trouble.”

“Thanks, you too.”

--

author's note: so I felt rather guilty after the ridiculously long wait for the last chapter and began working on this one as soon as I finished the last. Hopefully you'll enjoy this one.

p.s. I have to ask, was the last chapter really so terrible? I only received one or two reviews in response while readership was very high… I've been agonizing over this for the past few days, and I just wanted to know if there was something particularly unlikable about it or something as I have no problem going back and revising.

p.p.s. there was originally supposed to be a kiss in this chapter, but I'm afraid I had to take it out for flow issues. SORRY!

Once again, thanks so much to my wonderful beta Searcy—your opinion means so much to me!

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14. Of Reconnections and New Connections

Chapter XIV: Of Reconnections and New Connections

--

“Tell me about Ron,” Andersen requested, in Harry's humble opinion, rather suddenly.

Harry stiffened ever so slightly at that order. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“Because you never mention him save for when you're telling me some story or another that includes Hermione and he happens to be there. So, I'm curious, I want to know his place in your life, what he means to you, what you think of him, etcetera,” Andersen explained.

“I think he's the luckiest sod on the face of the planet,” Harry answered honestly.

“Why?”

Harry's muscles tensed, making it clear that he wasn't too fond of the direction the conversation was taking. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well is it because he had the chance to grow up in a large family whereas you were an orphan at an early age in your life or, perchance, is it something else?” Andersen asked, trying to keep a smug grin off of his face as he cornered Harry, he so did enjoy their little games at times.

“You know why,” Harry muttered through gritted teeth.

Andersen shook his head innocently. “No, I'm afraid I don't unless you tell me, Harry.”

Clearly aggravated, Harry rolled his eyes. “Because he has Hermione, happy?”

“Very,” Andersen simply retorted. And, really, he was.

--

She knocked on the door impatiently, not caring that her actions were so rough that they were bordering on the point of pounding—and at six in the morning no less.

A haggard Harry wrenched the door open with a glare firmly put in place, but it quickly melted into a look of utter astonishment and bafflement as soon as he saw who it was at his doorstep. “Hermione, love, what the hell are you doing here at this hour?” he asked, scratching his stomach as he yawned—drawing, what Hermione considered to be, unwanted attention to his irritatingly well-defined chest and stomach.

“I want to spend the day together.”

He stared at her dumbly. “Now?!”

“Yes now,” she retorted as if he'd asked the stupidest question ever. “We haven't really just spent time together in what feels like ages, it's always work with us as of late and I was up all night last night thinking about it… it really bothered me, Harry, so we're going to rectify that today,” she resolutely informed him with a decisive nod just for authoritativeness sake.

“Now?—as in, right now?”

“Yes! Go get dressed, we're leaving, I have an itinerary here and we're already behind because of all of your whining so go!” she shooed him as if her request wasn't entirely preposterous, but he instead was the odd one in the scenario.

He dragged a hand through his hair, eying her warily before finally sighing. “Fine, I'd rather not have to deal with you possibly harming my `shlong' if you don't get your way, I'm rather fond of it as it is and enjoy it being intact,” he spoke as he made his way towards his bedroom, leaving her laughing at the jibe at the term she'd once used as she let herself enter and closed the door behind herself.

She only laughed in response to that, listening to him grunt and moan as he begrudgingly prepared for their day out on the town.

--

“Ron and Hermione… it's hard to give an exact definition to that relationship,” Harry explained. “They're more fucked up than me at times, honestly,” Harry said, an admission that actually made Andersen snort. “Really, though, half the time you don't know what to even make of them. They can be so great together while so utterly terrible at the same time and you don't even know whether to say it's a good sort of contradictoriness or not. It's capable of giving you a terrible migraine really, trying to rationalize it and all.”

“But they don't see it that way?” Andersen ventured.

Harry shook his head. “No, they do… but, still, they can't stay away, they always come back to one another… not quite sure why though.”

“You never asked Hermione?” Andersen asked, genuinely surprised.

Harry shrugged.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Andersen cocked his head to the side, observing Harry critically. “And why not?”

“I don't know.”

Andersen paused, openly staring at Harry by then. “…but… yet you do.”

Harry snorted. “I highly doubt that if I said I don't.”

“You're lying,” Andersen said, calling him on his bluff. “And I know it, as do you, so just tell me why not rather than playing games and fishing for answers today because, chances are, I already know the answer… what really matters is that you say the words, you need to.”

“Do you really believe the shite you spew?”

“Yes, I do.”

Harry didn't respond and Andersen just sat patiently and silently, waiting for Harry's move. “Fine, I'll say it.”

“Okay, go.”

Harry paused, sighing deeply. “I'm afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of her answer.”

“Why?” Andersen asked the million pound/dollar/galleon question.

Harry turned, his heated gaze moving to Andersen's for the first time during that session. “Because what if she says that despite everything they're meant to be… what if she tells me that he's it for her? Where do I go then? What hope is there then?”

Even Andersen was shocked by the blasï¿½ response. He certainly hadn't expected that caliber of honestly, so he paused for a minute before finally collecting himself and asking: “And you need this hope?”

“You know I do as well as I do, let's not B.S. here, Doc,” Harry said before slapping his legs with his hands and hopping off the couch, leaving the office with a bang of a finale when he slammed the door on his way out.

--

“This was an… interesting idea,” Harry admitted as the two walked through Grad in Dubrovnik, Hermione's chosen destination for their “Harry and Hermione Day”—as she'd chosen to name it.

She shrugged, licking her ice cream. “I was here a few years ago, this place is so old, one of the oldest cities in Europe, Harry… there's so much history and beauty here… I fell in love with it immediately and I wanted to finally have a chance to share it with someone.”

“You've never taken Ron with you?” Harry asked, genuinely surprised.

She shook her head, turning to look at him with a small, impish smile. “I've always thought about sharing it with you first, honestly… I don't know why, but I thought it'd be the perfect place to take you some day so, last night, I thought why not just do it today,” she admitted with a slight blush.

He grinned broadly at her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his side. “I'm glad you did.”

“So you're not mad at me for the impromptu visit at six in the morning and the whole forcing you to go ordeal then?”

“No,” he shook his head with a small chuckle. “I'll admit it's a shame that it's not summer since this is the Adriatic and a swim would be nice, but it's amazing here nonetheless.”

She nodded. “It is a beautiful country.”

“So, honestly now, what really brought on this whole epiphany of yours?” Harry asked her as they turned the corner, entering a small square where a piazza was placed, Hermione stopping at a booth where bags of dried lavender were being sold as Harry spoke.

She winced at his words, putting down the bag with a smile at the old lady managing the stand, before turning to look at him. “I... I don't know, really. I just... I've missed being with you, really being with you, you're my best mate, Harry... my confidante and one of the most important people in my life, but it doesn't feel like that as of late, it feels... I don't know,” she sighed, dragging a hand through her hair as she closed her eyes in an attempt to collect her thoughts. “As much as we've talked, we also haven't... I miss freely talking about anything and everything with you... I miss those moments when it's just us and the entire world disappears,” she admitted with a light flush. “I know it sounds terribly dramatic, but... well, I suppose you can't choose the way you feel...”

He smiled down at her, taking her hand in his and leading her out of the piazza and towards the cafe right by the church that they had passed only moments before. “How about we take a seat, get some coffee, and talk, sound good?”

She beamed up at him when she heard those words. “I'd really like that,” she shyly admitted, her flush only growing.

--

“We broke up again,” she cried, throwing herself into Harry's arms as soon as he opened the door to his place.

He winced at her words, well aware of what the night would entail. “Shh, it'll be okay, I have strawberry sorbet in the icebox and Nutella in the pantry,” he whispered into her ear as he led her towards the kitchen, stumbling a bit as he walked since she was still enfolded in his embrace.

He sat her down on a stool at the island in his kitchen before bringing a bowl, sorbet, whip cream, and nutella to her. He immediately moved to prepare her favorite dessert—placing two scoops into the bowl, smearing on some nutella and topping it all off with whip cream. He placed the dessert before her, taking out a spoon and putting it in her shaky hand. She took a large bite of it, her body considerably less shaky once the food was in her mouth and Harry couldn't help but smile at how that was so like her own personal calming draught.

“Now, care to tell me what happened?”

“It's—it's always the same, Harry… the same arguments over and over again, and—and I think I've finally had enough of it,” she admitted, taking another huge bite, sniffling as she chewed.

Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. “You have?” he asked, disbelievingly.

“Yes! Honestly.”

He merely stared at her.

“Really, Harry, I have! Look, I'll prove it,” she responded by pulling his face towards her and crushing his lips with her own. He sat there in a paralyzed shock as she continued to kiss him and, despite everything, he sat there as stiff as a plank.

He didn't know what to do, how to respond—or at least to what extent as the maneuvering definitely wouldn't be a factor he'd have a problem. Particularly not with her, to be sure. He was at a total loss as her lips stayed glued to his, it just wasn't right. That wasn't how it was meant to be—no, he had had it all planned out in his head, the penultimate moment, and now she'd just bollixed it all up with that kiss there. She was supposed to be stable and sane the moment that it happened, her tears, if there were any, were supposed to be of joy, and it was supposed to end with a slow and sensual shag that'd then be followed by a right kinky shag.

It just wasn't right, and what the hell was he supposed to do now?

When Hermione finally pulled away her eyes were wide in shock. “Oh my God, I can't believe I just did that! I am so sorry, Harry… I didn't mean to do that, I was just angry and… well, I don't know why, but I think it has to do with Ron saying I'm never impulsive and don't do anything surprising… but, still, please don't hate me…” she cried. “Ron just got me so mad with those comments, and I wanted to prove him wrong—and… and it was so wrong to use you like that… I actually can't believe I did, and for retaliation of all things… oh God,” she moaned. “I'm so sorry!…”

As Hermione continued rambling on about how apologetic she was Harry could only stare at her and curse the fact that that was how their first kiss went. A fucking error in judgment—a moment of anger, of all things. “Well, fuck,” he thought to himself with a grimace.

“It… it's okay,” he finally muttered.

--

She smiled as she made her way onto the balcony of the villa she'd, unbeknownst to either Ron or Harry, bought during her last stay in Croatia. “They call that beach there Banje,” she informed him, pointing to the beach that he'd been staring at as she handed him a drink.

“It's beautiful,” he murmured, taking a sip of the citrus concoction.

She smiled wistfully. “Yeah, it really is… people here aren't really the nicest, at least as far as tourists are concerned, but the country is beautiful, to be sure.”

He hummed in agreement before silently turning to look at her—watching her watch the water. “What made you decide to buy a house of all things here?”

She shrugged. “I wanted to do something… I don't know, shocking, I suppose. “Un-me, maybe.”

“And what the hell is wrong with you?” Harry asked, rather affronted by the prospect.

She smiled at his question. “You're sweet, too kind to me, really… I don't deserve this pedestal you put me on, Harry, and you should realize that sooner or later because it'll be a ghastly thing to overcome once you see me fall… once I don't meet expectations.”

He, however, adamantly shook his head, gruffly replying with a “No.”

She winced. “You… I—I can't live up to those standards, Harry… I'm not the girl you see; it's time you see that.”

He rolled his eyes, laughing loudly as he looked at her, shaking his head. “You really just don't get it, do you?”

Her eyes clouded with confusion—that definitely hadn't been the reaction she'd been expecting, to say the least. “What are you talking about?” she incredulously demanded.

“I don't think you're perfect, at least not in the manner you're speaking of,” he honestly reassured her.

It did not, however, have the results that he may have hoped for as she only raised a doubtful eyebrow and asked: "Really?"

He simply nodded his head.

“Are you being honest, Harry?”

“I don't think you're perfect, it'd be scary if you were, honestly, imagine the standards I'd have to live up to then—as if it's not bad enough now!”

She giggled despite herself. “But you do put me on a pedestal, and that's entirely undeserved nonetheless!” she argued, a dangerous flicker in her eyes as she put both hands on her hips.

“Trust me,” he assured her, yet again. “It's not undeserved… not in the slightest.”

She guffawed. “How can it not be, Harry?”

“Because.”

“Why?” she persisted annoyingly, letting her arms go slack and sit at her sides.

He rolled his eyes, clenching his jaw and increasing the vice grip on his drink as he looked at her. “Just… don't… please, just don't, Hermione,” he pathetically pleaded with her.

And, regrettably, to no avail as her only response was: “No, don't be a prat, don't string me around, tell me the truth, I need to know! There's something you aren't telling me, Harry, that much I can see for myself, but what is it? How can you justify putting me on some blasted pedestal as you do? I don't—I… I need to know, Harry,” her voice slowly weakened with each word, reaching the point of merely whispering. “I—it makes me feel so inadequate, I need to understand… I don't see how I can live up to this image you have and I'm so afraid of disappointing you… of seeing the look on your face when you realize I'm no better than anyone else in the world.”

“That's not true,” he gruffly promised her.

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it's not, and you won't disappoint me… ever.”

“How can you just know?" she cried desperately.

“Because… because… ugh!” he groaned.

Neither he nor she knew how what happened next exactly came to be, it was all a blur. One moment each was trying to stop themselves from wringing the other's neck and the next moment she was being pulled to Harry's body, his lips crashing down upon hers, their tongues melding together in a heady kiss. It was raw and hot, to be sure… it was also quick to end, a mere ten or so seconds at most.

She pushed him away, both gasping for air when they separated. She stared at him, eyes wide, trying to collect herself before finally saying: “That was a mistake.”

--

author's note: so I got into a terrible argument with my boyfriend over my having paid more attention to soccer than him yesterday [he actually have the gall to accuse me of emasculating him by being the very definition of the man in the relationship] so once I realized that that relationship had pretty much just gone to hell I hoped to compensate for my severely lacking love life with some HPFF romance.

Hope you enjoyed it!

Thank Searcy for the wonderfully quick update, she got this back to me in a matter of hours!

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15. Of Discombobulation

Chapter XV: Of Discombobulation

--

“I'm sorry,” Harry said as he sat across from Christina at his dinner table, where he'd prepared lasagna for their private dinner.

She shook her head, stopping him before he could get ahead of himself. “Don't… don't say that.”

“No, honestly, Chris, I'm really sorry, you deserved better than that.”

She sent him a bittersweet smile. “Harry, don't say that. I mean… we've been together for a long time, but we both knew it wouldn't last. There's a reason why we kept our distance, after all. Really, though, I'm not surprised you kissed her… not anymore.” She sighed, bringing up a hand to pull her hair away from her face. “You're one of my best friends, Harry; I want you to be happy. I think… well we were good together, but it's just good, isn't it?” she asked with a small shrug, her lips crookedly screwing up a bit.

“You're giving me an easy way out here, Chris.”

She laughed, the sound light and airy. “No, I'm not, honestly. If it were anyone else I'd be fuming right now, lots of hitting and all,” she joked. “But, really… well as great as Hermione and Ron are together—and I really thought they'd be together in the long run—after things ended I think it brought everything into retrospect for me. So many little things between the two of you became clear, you know? I'd always thought it was just friendship, that maybe you missed your moment and got to the point where it could only be platonic… once this case started, though… well I think that things shifted then. It all became more obvious, you didn't hide it so much anymore, at least not with me.”

He winced. “I'm sorry.”

She softly smiled at him, shaking her head reassuringly. “Don't be, Harry, I'd rather you be honest anyway. I knew what I was getting myself into; we were both careful not to fall in love, we knew the reality of this. You and I are polar opposites, I love the fame and glamour that comes with my life and… well you're so scared of it that it grates on my nerves sometimes,” she admitted with a small blush. “But you do mean the world to me… I don't want to lose you. It stings to know I never had a chance at being number one, but it's sweet too. Your story and all, well it's almost epic, I think; gives me hope, too.”

He smiled, reaching across the table to grasp her hand in his own. “You'll still stay here when you're in town, won't you? I mean it's not like you're from here nor have a flat here…”

“You sure Hermione would be okay with that?” she asked with a disbelieving look.

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “She said it was a mistake,” he finally admitted.

Christina immediately rolled her eyes. “Don't listen to that.”

“Hermione doesn't say things she doesn't mean.”

“No, but maybe things that she denies to herself…”

Harry shook his head. “I'm not going to push her; I want her to want it on her own, Chris.”

“She does, take a girl's word for it.”

He shrugged, a bit uncomfortable talking to Christina about that. “Just promise.”

She smiled, nodding softly. “If it's not any trouble, I'd love to spend time with you whenever I can.”

“Good, that's what I wanted to hear.”

--

“What are you doing with your life?” Andersen asked.

“What do you mean what am I doing with my life? I'd say a hell of a lot given that I've given up drinking and started working,” Harry defensively retorted without the slightest pause.

Andersen shook his head. “I know that, Harry, and I'm not trying to debase any of your accomplishments, but what's it all worth, really?”

Harry stared at him blankly before groaning as he came to the epiphany that they were surely about to broach some long and odiously philosophical topic. “What are you on about now?”

Andersen smiled at the predictable reply he received before saying: “there's this little saying, not really known who originally penned it, but it goes: ““It hurts to love someone and not be loved in return, but what is the most painful is to love someone and never find the courage to let the person know how you feel.” Do you agree with that, Harry?”

“I don't know… haven't really experienced something like that so can't judge blindly. Remember, you warned me about that?” Harry reminded with a cheeky smile.

“Don't divert,” Andersen immediately snapped, not rudely so much as didactically. “You love her.”

“Who?” Harry played dumb.

“Hermione.”

“I never admitted to anything of the sort.”

“Ah, Harry,” Andersen smiled, genuinely and fully. “Sometimes silence can be a greater indicator than any words, you can't lie then, you know?”

“And sometimes it can just lead you to assume… and you know what they say about that…” Harry drawled.

“Harry, may I be blunt with you?”

Harry shrugged. “It'd be better than your usual sneakiness.”

Andersen wisely chose to disregard that jibe and remain on the topic that had Harry's back stiffening more and more by the minute. “You're a pussy.”

Those words left Harry so shocked that he actually managed to fall out of his seat—the logistics of how he managed that, though, was something that would baffle both Harry and Andersen for the rest of their lives.

“P—par—pardon?!” he sputtered, eyes wide in shock.

“You're just always so sad, but you never do anything about it. You love to mope, Harry, but you don't have cause for it, not anymore. If you want her, then do something about it.”

“I can't.”

“And why not?”

“Because I can't do that to my best mate, Ron deserves better than that.”

“Then move on already!”

--

“That was a mistake.”

Those ominous words rang in his head repeatedly, just as they had been for the past week since she'd first uttered them. He hated himself for not being able to let go and then, to add to his torture, being incapable of getting up the guts to just ask her that simple question: why? It had been a week and he hadn't made a move—nor, as admittedly expected, had she—and it was grating on his nerves more than he'd ever like to admit. He just couldn't, for the life of him, figure it out.

Finally, he turned to Hermione, who was basking in a huge serving of chips. “Why's it a mistake?” he asked, absolutely tactlessly.

Her eyes widened and the chip she'd just popped into her mouth dropped as her jaw went slack. “Why was what a mistake?” she asked, her tone very cautious.

Harry, however, was in a nonsensical mood and merely rolled his eyes at the query before tersely asking: “why was the kiss a mistake, Hermione?”

“Harry, come on…”

He shook his head. “No, I'm serious, Hermione, tell me why.”

“Harry... Harry, you had a girlfriend,” she explained. “It was all so wrong. I mean, she'd never been anything, but nice to me… I can't believe I did something like that to someone; I'm not that sort of girl. She deserved better than that.”

“So it's just that then?”

She winced as she realized the connotation there. “Don't do this, Harry… don't push like that.”

“Why are you pushing me away?” he asked, his voice strained and frustrated.

“I'm not pushing you away.”

“Yes, you are,” he immediately refuted. “Fuck, Hermione-”

“Hey!”

“I don't care about that right now, Hermione,” he waved her off, a gesture that left her completely taken aback as it was so uncharacteristic of him; usually she, at least, received a sheepish apology. “You want to ignore it, you want to pretend it never happened, but I can't do that. I won't, Hermione, not this time.”

She stared at him, mouth gaping unattractively, but she couldn't bring herself to care about that at the moment as she just sat there in a stunned silence. “Wh… ugh,” she stopped herself before she even began with a sigh. “What do you want from me, Harry? What am I supposed to do after that?”

“I don't want anything, not really... well, at least not anything you don't want to give,” he said, plastering a small smile on his face in a fruitless attempt at a joke to bring some light to the situation.

Sadly, it didn't do much for its cause.

Hermione just shook her head. “I don't know what to say,” she admitted.

“It doesn't matter what you say, just say something.”

She nipped her lip, averting her gaze to the window. “But I don't know what… I don't know where to go from here, Harry.”

--

“But what if I can't move on. I'm not over her,” Harry argued.

“Unless you put yourself out there try to get over her, you never will. You need to finally let her go, let this idea of the two of you go, or you'll never be in a healthy relationship. You can't live your life pining away after something that you'll never even fight for. You can't live like this, Harry… it's what got you into this mess in the first place-”

“It was not!”

“You felt lost, Harry,” Andersen bluntly told him, his tone cutting. It was a rare sight to see the therapist so emotional and it left Harry dumbfounded. “Get over this 'woe is me' crap and live your damn life. Stop wondering where your place in the world is and questioning if people even care for you or your blasted name, it's not healthy! Carpe diem and memento mori, there's a reason why they've become so cliché, a very good one too. You need to get over this, you're the only one keeping yourself in this rut, no one else is attributing to it in the slightest,” Andersen spat out the last word, furious. “You've grown so much in the time I've been seeing you, but also not at all.”

Harry paused; clenching his jaw as he furtively eyed the man sitting opposite to him. “I'm not weak,” he informed through gritted teeth.

Andersen cracked a semblance of a smile. “Then prove it, take a chance, try to be happy.”

--

“You… you confuse me so much, Harry. You're so hard to understand.”

“Not really, of anyone you know me the best.”

She smiled sadly, her gaze still focused on the people passing by the window by their booth. “Then that really doesn't say much, I think.”

He eyed her confusedly, just staring at her in astonishment for a few minutes before he finally took initiative and, lightly, grasped her chin and moved her face so she was turned to him once again. He held onto her, bringing forth his other hand and moving them both upwards to cup her cheeks. He gently began rubbing circles into her skin, watching her carefully—taking particular note of her stiffening back and how she took a large gulp.

Soon, however, she let herself relax, all the tension releasing as she closed her eyes and leaned into his left hand.

“I'm confused, Harry… where did all of this come from?” she timidly whispered her question as she continued to fall into his gentle strokes.

“Not out of nowhere, I promise.”

Her eyes slowly fluttered open as the connotation hit her. “What do you mean?”

He drew his hands away form her and stuffed them into his lap, pulling the table cloth into his clutch, nervously wringing it as he spoke. “It… it can't really be that much of a surprise, can it, Hermione?”

“What?” she asked, genuinely lost.

“You're the one that's always been there… always stood by me when no one else would. Understood me when no one else could… you mean the world to me…”

Not knowing what to say she took the safe route. “Well I should hope so; we are best mates and all… I'd hate to see that sentiment not reciprocated.”

“Not… not just in that way, Hermione.”

Her eyes widened. “You're really confusing me, Harry. All of this… it—it's so much to take in, I don't know what to think right now.”

“Come on, it can't be that shocking,” he smiled weakly. “Why else wouldn't I want to just forget it?”

She shrugged. “I honestly thought you just wanted to avoid the awkwardness by facing it head on…”

“I… I've wanted that kiss for a long time, Hermione,” he admitted, taking a step that he was sure would qualify him for finally-a-non-pussy status in Andersen's books. “I don't regret it, but do you?”

“I don't know, honestly,” she admitted, immediately wincing at the crestfallen look that soon marred his face. “It—I haven't considered this possibility in a long time… I haven't let myself, not since you and Ginny…” she rambled, releasing a shaky gasp. “Like I said, it confuses me.”

“Is there any chance it could change?”

She silently took her upper lip, nervously pulling it into her mouth. A minute late, releasing it, she finally said: “It's not a good time for either of us, Harry. We're both on the rebound here.”

“I'm not.”

She shook her head, adamantly. “You just got out of a relationship… I'm not—maybe later we'll be able to, but now… it's all just too much, so sudden. This is a big thing here, Harry, we need to be ready… sure.”

He clenched his jaw as he took in her words, his gaze hardening ever so slightly at that last word. “What if I already am?”

She wavered a bit when she heard that question, unsure how to respond at first. It caught her off guard; she hadn't seen Harry that open since back in Hogwarts, not even with her. Something about his air, aura, altered entirely and she didn't know what to make of it. His gaze was more… open than usual, no hesitation or wavering, there was simply an innocence to it that shocked her.

She let out a shaky breath. “I… but I'm not,” she finally admitted, not sure what else to say, but the truth.

--

“I met a woman,” Harry suddenly announced.

Two graying eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Her name's Christina, she's a model.”

Andersen groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “A model?”

Harry laughed. “No, not that sort, honestly! She's actually really nice and can hold her own in a conversation. May be no Hermione in intellect, but few are anyway. I like her… I don't think she's the love of my life or anything, but we have fun, she can make me laugh.”

“That's good; you deserve to laugh every now and then.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out.

“And are things serious between you two?”

Harry sighed. “With the pressure of my work and her hectic schedule we don't have the time or energy for something like that, but we are exclusive.”

“And you're not holding back because of…” Andersen purposefully trailed off, letting Harry make what he will of the statement.

Harry's lips thinned, but his expression didn't become grim so much as pensive. “I can't help it, I love her… but, still, I know it's not healthy, you made that one clear enough. I'm trying, and Christina… well she means a lot to me, even if she isn't Hermione. I care about her, I do.”

“Are you distancing her?”

Harry paused, his eye contact with Andersen wavering. “I don't mean to.”

Andersen nodded as he moved his chair closer to Harry's and patted the younger man's shoulder comfortingly, as a friend would. “You're trying though, that's good… very good.”

“I love her.”

“I know.”

Harry sighed, throwing his head into his open and awaiting hands. “I don't want to give up,” he admitted, voice muffled by his hands. “I really just don't want to.”

Andersen paused, watching the young man before him, a look of absolute perplexity marring his face. Finally, after a good five or so minutes, he uttered: “I don't know what to tell you, Harry… I honestly just don't know what to say.”

--

“Hi,” she hesitantly greeted him the following morning when she entered his office.

Harry took a moment to respond, deeply invested in some file before him, but when he looked up she couldn't help, but flush. He blatantly looked over her in a way he'd never done before, at least not to the extent of her knowledge, and it was at that moment that she realized everything had changed, irrevocably.

--

author's note: so I apologize for the wait for this chapter, but I've felt utterly uninspired as I lost this ENTIRE chapter, how still perplexes me, and couldn't remember what it was exactly that I put in it as I've been writing paper after paper as of late… and, well… URGH! LOL.

Anyway, I pray that it wasn't too disappointing, and please review.

Searcy, my beta, thank you… particularly since you had to read that catastrophic initial rewrite.

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16. Of Pasts, Futures, and Maybes

Chapter XVI: Of Pasts, Futures, and Maybes

--

“That's one scary case you've got there, mate,” Callum announced as soon as he heard Harry enter the dank and inhabitable “hotel” room where they'd set up their meeting. “It makes my balls ache, honestly… I mean, seriously, the mere thought of it has me wanting to pull down my pants and take a quick peak, just to check…”

Harry laughed as he closed the door behind him, moving towards Callum and doing a quick cleaning spell on the seat across from the chesterfield where Callum was laying and reading a file. “And it comes with a stench, too…” he informed his friend.

Callum grimaced. “I don't know why the fuck you went into that business. It's messy and disgusting.”

“That's two words for it.”

“So do you know anything?”

Harry shrugged. “Everything that Hermione was able to come up with.”

“Being?”

“How the murder came up with the spells, the spells themselves, a timeline for the torture, order of events during the torture-”

Callum chuckled. “And your role's just been pointless here?”

Harry shrugged; sighing as he tiredly rubbed his face in frustration. “There's something there, Cal. I don't know what it is, but I know that there's one piece that we're missing. I mean, these blokes they were mates, went to a wizarding division of Eaton for primary school and then Durmstrang… there has to be a reason why they're being targeted. We're missing something.”

“And you think it might be in their records?”

“It's the only thing that makes sense, the only traceable thing that might be the key to this whole mess…”

Callum nodded simply, silent for a moment before replying. “Well I agree with you.”

Harry's brow furrowed. “So you found something then?”

“I haven't been able to hack into the records and find out what it is, but the names did come up on some case, they were sued for something… and it's something big. I mean, the clearance level on this case…” his voice died out as he let out a whistle. “Whatever it is, I think it's going to be dark.”

“Magic or what?”

“It would make sense, wouldn't it?” Callum asked. “It's too soon to say or know for sure, but why else would they work so hard, pay so much, to hide this? I barely found what I did; it was just luck that I learned this. These files, wherever they are, they're hidden, Potter.”

“Will you be able to get to them though?”

The look on Callum's face wasn't the most positive or reassuring one. “I'll try… but for now I'm also pulling out their school records, trying to find out whatever I can about them, see if there's anything that might help us or give us leads for uncovering this case. Do you have anyone at the ministry-?”

“I can't,” Harry cut him off, adamantly shaking his head. “You've seen these names, Cal; they've got their money in the pockets of the ministry, just look at how much they donated towards the minister's campaign last year, that should tell you enough. I don't want them to get into trouble—they're traceable, you aren't.”

Callum nodded understandingly. “I'll do what I can… but, for now, how about you tell me about Hermione. How's she been faring anyway?” Cal asked, an impish gleam to his eyes as he spoke.

--

“What are you thinking about?” Andersen asked Harry, who had been blankly staring up at the ceiling.

“You know, I told myself—I constantly told myself,” he amended, “that if I worked hard and persevered and all that extra shite, however it is that the adage goes, I'd get the girl in the end... because—because that's how it happens in the films, isn't it?—In the end, though, it didn't really matter what happens in the films, books, epics... I didn't get the girl; instead, I watched her snog another bloke... my best friend...”

“Do you think that there's any way that that could have been you? That if anything was different it would have?”

“No,” Harry regretfully shook his head. “Ron… Ron proved that he's not a total bone head the day that he noticed Hermione. He noticed her before almost any of the other blokes at school did, bushy haired, bossy and all… he loved her even then. I… I was stupid, I was so caught up in the sexy, sporty girls that I failed to ever see her as anything more, I didn't notice just how special she was. But Ron… Ron saw her, and he got her. I came years later, it was too late by then and I knew it.”

Andersen couldn't help the regretful look that passed his face. “When did you first notice her?”

“I don't know,” Harry honestly replied. “I think that it may have been late into this case that Hermione and I were working on…” Harry replied, using his usual pseudonym for the war. “We were leaving—without Ron since he had to stay back as his brother had recently passed away—to get this book that was supposed to help us. Anyway, we were headed to Serbia and while we were traveling… well I don't know how it happened, but at some point on that train ride there everything changed, irrevocably. I saw her; it was as simple as that. I saw her for the first time and was lost after that.”

“I don't know whether to call that utterly romantic or just about the most pathetic thing I've ever heard,” Andersen quipped.

--

“It's weird.”

“How so?”

“I guess… well I told her,” Harry admitted, the words flying out of his mouth before he even realized it, he'd actually been hoping to hold back that embarrassing little detail from Callum. The bloke was a great friend and all, but he could be a right arse when it came to pansy things like feelings.

Eyes widened and a jaw went slack as Callum sputter out a confused: “Wh… what?! Seriously?”

Harry nodded mutely, admittedly surprised that there was no jibe accompanying the worry—although it was a most welcome revelation.

A smile grew of Callum's face upon hearing that, “well it's about time, mate! Bloody hell, you've been stuck on her for as long as I've known you, bout time!”

Harry smiled weakly. “Well it wasn't as great as you might think…”

Callum's expression immediately, regrettably enough, sobered. “Why?” he asked, his tone much quieter and less rambunctious than usual.

“She just got out of a relationship… and, well, Hermione is anything if not careful. She's afraid to get into things with me after ending a decade long relationship… she's worried about entering and not being fully invested. She wants to be sure that she wants it, on hundred percent sure—two hundred, if possible… or so she assured me the next morning. She wants to be able to be fully invested with nothing lording over her in the back of her mind…”

“What sort of bull shit is that?!” Callum asked, rather feathered by it on his mate's part.

Harry shrugged. “I shouldn't be surprised, honestly. I know her, this should be expected, that response… it's entirely her, to the core. I just… I think that I'd hoped that maybe, despite that…”

“She might forget that, jump into your arms, and snog you silly?” Callum quietly offered.

Harry smiled sheepishly. “A bloke can fantasize, can't he?”

“And they can be right sexy, too… but what are you planning on doing now?”

“I'm giving her space, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Well I'm sure as hell not letting her forget about it, but I won't push her, I know her, she'll just resent me for it and feel pressured. I think that she wants it, too, I really do, so I figure if I've waited eight or so years now, I can do another month or two.”

Callum nodded. “That sounds like total, utter bull shit, you know?”

“You don't know Hermione and your definition of romance is a woman bringing you a beer and kobasica while you watch a football match before moving to the bedroom to warm the mattress for when you finish,” Harry wryly reminded.

“And you say that like it's a bad thing…”

Harry laughed. “You're ridiculous.”

“And you're pussy whipped…”

--

Harry smiled wryly. “I'd say pathetic given the outcome of it and all…”

Andersen nodded. “True… you know, I have a question.”

“What?”

“Do you ever think that maybe you put her on a pedestal?—So much so that you've created this perfect relationship in your head, one that would never be possible in reality.”

Harry was, admittedly, taken aback by that blunt question. It was the last thing he'd ever expected to hear from Andersen, a person whom he knew to hold Hermione in rather high esteem from the few times he'd spoken to her and the levy of times Harry had spoken of her. “No.”

“Really?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Hermione… she's not perfect, I realize that. The girl is fucking volatile and has a temper that… well it's right scary, emasculating at times, even. Still, though, regardless off that, she's the only person I know that will just stick with you through thick and thin. She doesn't give up on a person… she wouldn't even let me push her away when I tried to, she stayed. And… well, even her faults are endearing on some twisted, semi-masochistic, level.”

“But what about a relationship? Are you sure it could work, that there's enough sustenance there to last through something that isn't simply platonic, but sexual, too?”

Harry paused for a second, trying to hold back the impulsive, defensive reply and actually think his answer through—a feat that Andersen noted and greatly appreciated. “You can't ever really know, I think… but I'm surer about this than I've ever been about anything in my entire life. Does that count for anything, Doc?”

Andersen smiled wryly upon hearing that last word. “It counts for more than you'd think, Harry.”

--

“Hey,” Harry greeted her as he let himself into her office.

Hermione immediately looked up with a bright smile and small blush on her face. “Hi,” she softly greeted him.

“What are you working on there?” Harry curiously asked as he plopped down onto one of the chairs across from her.

“Oh, just catching up on some work… there are a bunch of bodies from the war and the ministry sent them over since they still need to be identified so we can contact families…”

“Morbid.”

“Yeah,” she laughed softly. “But, at the same time, it's sort of nice, I think. It gives a sort of closure, being able to give the person a proper burial, say goodbye appropriately… you need to shave, by the way.”

He self-consciously raised his hand to his chin, rubbing lightly on the scruff that was growing there. “It's not that much.”

“I know,” she smiled. “But, still… your face is too handsome to be covered by that,” she admitted with a small blush as she ducked her head in a futile attempt to cover it from his vision.

He chuckled softly. “Well then I'll be sure to shave tonight, promise.”

She looked up at him, biting her lip softly. “I'm… I'm not ready yet for… well for whatever it is that might happen, but you should talk to Ron, you know? He's sensitive and overly temperamental, it'd do you a lot of good to speak with him before anything does happen.”

He smirked. “So does that mean that something will happen then?”

Her blush became even more inflamed, if that was even possible. “Maybe,” she slowly admitted. “I just… I need time, you know? I just got out of a relationship, I'm afraid to rush things and just muck it up, Harry. I just… I need time.”

“I know,” he nodded. “And I won't push it, I promise… I just also won't let you forget.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Now, how about we go get that lunch you mentioned?”

--

“Tell me,” Andersen ordered. “What do you think a relationship with Hermione would be like?”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“What do you imagine it would be like, on a daily basis?”

“I… I imagine that we'd disagree… a lot,” Harry admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Really?”

“Well yeah, she's a spit fire, to put it lightly, and likes to be in control of a situation… almost to the point of being an alpha, so I imagine it'd be a constant struggle to find a balance, for a while at least. I think… often, I think that we argue so that we can come to an agreement, there's always some sort of consensus… each side gives in a bit…”

Eyebrows shot up in clear surprise. “You've really thought this through, haven't you?”

“Well yeah… I mean, it'd be totally different than how it is now, it can't not be… and it's hard, you know?”

“What is?”

“Making that transition… accepting that there can be something more and not being afraid to go after it. Fucking scare the hell out of me when I first realized I really wanted her—that it wasn't just a passing fantasy or some other shite like that.”

Andersen nodded with a slow smile spreading across his face. “So you think you two would be volatile?”

“At times… and in a good way. She—she's so passionate, it's enthralling. She gives herself entirely to whatever it is that she's doing, and from watching her I've learned to gain that same devotion to my work.”

“So, in effect, she's trained you?” Andersen couldn't help, but tease.

Harry chortled. “Yeah, I suppose she has… both Ron and me. It's not a surprise really, it was bound to happen, just like we showed her how to let loose every once in a while.”

“Reciprocation.”

“I guess… but it was also the simple, little things with her.”

Andersen nodded. “Those are usually the ones that make it last. But tell me more, how do you think it would be, realistically?”

“It's hard to say because I've never had a chance to experience it and Ron is so different from me that I can hardly put myself in his shoes… but I think that there are moments that I'm with her, just sitting on the couch and watching a film, and think that that's what it could be like.”

“How?”

“At peace, I think… it's hard to describe the feeling, but it's like…” he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I don't know, I can't really describe it without sounding like an even bigger pansy.”

“But it's a good feeling?”

“The best.”

--

author's note: this chapter was a bit of a filler, but it's a crucial one (I promise). Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed it nonetheless, and please review!

Searcy, thank you again!

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17. Of the Strength in Numbers

Chapter XVII: Of the Strength in Numbers

--

“Do you ever feel pressured by your work, Harry?”

“Where's this coming from? You usually like to focus on my nonexistent love life,” Harry chortled.

“Thought it might be time for a change, is all. Plus, your working conditions are rather high stress ones with the sort of cases you must work on—given what little you've told me about your work.”

Harry fidgeted when he heard that last comment, not quite sure what to say to Andersen in regards to that note. “I… I just can't tell you anymore than I already have. I mean it's not that I don't want—”

Andersen shook his head with a small smile. “I understand, Harry. You work for the government, it's only natural that that would call for certain precautions, and that's not even my worry, it's more so the repercussions that this might have on you. Who do you talk to when you need someone, Harry? Where do you go when it's too much?”

Harry merely shrugged. “No one, nowhere.”

Andersen gaped widely, and Harry couldn't help that little tug of pride that hit him when he realized he'd actually achieved in rendering the therapist speechless.

“That—that's not very healthy…” Andersen commented.

Harry cocked hi head to the side. “Who says? I'd say I'm a lot better off than I was before.”

“Harry, the very thing that led you to your previous problems was primarily due to not talking to anyone about what was going on in your mind,” Andersen reminded. “You need some sort of cathartic release for this, it's not right. With what you see everyday… you deal in murders, Harry, that has to leave some sort of impact on you.”

“No,” Harry shrugged, “not really.”

--

“Hey, you called?” Harry greeted Callum as he entered the empty pub his friend owned.

“Yeah,” Callum muttered as he took a large sip from his Rakia. “You may want to sit down and grab a bottle first though.”

“I don't drink,” Harry replied, his expression incredulous after hearing that. “You do remember that, mate, don't you? I mean you can't possibly be that pissed, you are still sitting up straight…”

“No,” Cal reassured him, his voice hoarse as he spoke. “No… but you may want to reconsider that.”

“I'd rather not.”

Callum shrugged, muttering: “suit yourself.”

“So why'd you call me, anyway? Sounds big, given this reaction.”

Callum nodded, mutely, as he took another sip. “It is.”

“So?” Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow as he watched his friend who seemed to be trying his hardest to avoid making any eye contact with him.

“I found information on the case. There was nothing on the plaintiff, but some about the defendants… enough.”

“Well that's great,” Harry exclaimed, his face breaking out into a smile when he heard the news. “This is a huge break for the case.”

“Uh, yeah,” Callum nodded, unenthusiastically. “I guess it is great in some ways.”

Harry's back stiffened upon hearing that lackluster reply as a cold wave of trepidation surged through his body. “What exactly did you learn, Cal?”

“Well, firstly, I have our victim list… the entire thing, I'm almost positive about it.”

“Wow,” Harry gasped. “I can't really see the problem then, to be honest.”

“Yeah, it's more so the details of it,” Callum admitted, letting out a deep breath before finally continuing. “Andrew McMullen, Dylan Sinclair, John James Dermott… all three of them were best friends from childhood. Add to that though John Kerouac, whose father practically has a monopoly on porn in the western world, and Colin Kelly, whose father—”

Harry's head snapped back a bit in surprise once he heard that last surname and he let out a large guffaw. “The Minster of Magic in Scotland, you're fucking with me, right?”

“Nope,” Callum shook his head with another sigh. “Those last two went to school together in Switzerland, but they met the other three at Oxford later. Five peas in a pod, they say…” Callum drawled, sending Harry a sarcastic look before downing the rest of his drink and pulling out a bottle of grappa from behind the bar, along with a thin flute-like shot glass for it.

“You shouldn't mix—”

Callum cut Harry off with a dark look that sent out a silent, but very understandable “fuck off.”

Harry nodded. “And the case?”

Callum let out a humorless laugh. “That's where we get to the fun stuff,” he sarcastically quipped. “It was sexual offense… against all five of them.”

Harry's eyes widened and he found himself short for breath after gasping in shock, so hard that he could swear he almost swallowed his tonsils. “You're shitting me; please tell me you're shitting me.”

Callum scoffed. “I wish I was. There's only one thing this can be, Harry… if it's against all five of them in the same case…”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out, his body becoming paralyzed under the shock of the revelation.

“Yeah,” Callum reiterated, angrily gritting his teeth. “I mean, I have to ask, why the fuck would they have to gangbang some poor girl? Hell, there are hordes of slags that would gladly have a go at them; they're fucking rich, there's never a lacking of women then. Admittedly, they're not the most respectful sort… but still, once you enter that category, a cunt's a cunt.”

Harry couldn't help, but snort at that, only Callum could ever add an almost comedic light to rape of all things. “I don't really know why anyone would ever do that, but maybe that's just me…”

Callum heatedly shook his head as he let out another livid breath. “What are you going to do? I mean there are two more blokes on this list here, Harry.”

Harry shrugged, still trying to regain consciousness after that shocking disclosure. “Uh… I guess I'm going to go to Buckley so I can get a warrant to question them, find out the details… who she was.”

Callum nodded, tiredly pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to tell Hermione?”

“Yeah, I think so… she deserves to know.”

“Good… um… listen, we should split now, I've had a few problems with the law as of late-”

“CAL!” Harry groaned.

Callum merely rolled his eyes, waving Harry off. “Don't be so overdramatic, Potter, it can't be that much of a shock. Anyway, I'll call you if I can find something more, but I'll keep looking, don't worry.”

Harry sent him a half-smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I'll see you around, mate, yeah?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah… just be careful, okay?”

Callum shrugged. “I have this nice bottle of grappa here to help sort me out, you don't… if anyone, I think you're the one we should be worrying over, what's going to help you with this?” he noted before making his way out of the bar and through an inconspicuous door on the wall to their left.

--

“How is that even possible?” Andersen asked, absolutely flabbergasted. “How can it have no impact upon you at all?”

“It does have an impact, but not enough to leave me dwelling over it constantly. People are mostly crap, I realize that and I'm over it. The most I can do is try to help, there's no use in crying, it doesn't really get me anywhere… I've realized at least that over the years, if nothing else.”

“So what, you can go in there and see all the mangled bodies imaginable and feel nothing?”

“it's not that I feel nothing, it's just that I don't feel as if there is anything to cry over when I could just do my job and actually help, however much so is possible after that sort of thing. Why talk the problem out when you can solve it?”

Andersen frowned. “I worry about you, Harry, and… and I shouldn't. After everything you've gone through, after all that you've managed to conquer, I trust you to know yourself, I honestly do, but… but I can't help, but fret over you. I don't know why, but I do,” he admitted.

Harry sat up, smiling. “Come on, Doc, don't get all touchy-feely now, you're supposed to give me some sort of biting retort that smacks some sense into me.”

Andersen chuckled. “What can I say, Harry, you've convinced me.”

“Well I'll be damned…”

Andersen cracked a grin at hearing those words. “But it's still undeniable that you've watched too many cowboy films.”

Harry shrugged. “What can I say, there's just something about Clint Eastwood…”

--

“You can't go after them, Harry,” Buckley told him.

“But—”

“No,” Buckley just shook his head. “Look at these names, Harry,” he ordered, shoving the paper into Harry's face, pointing to each of them as he repeated all of the surnames. “They're untouchable; you can't just expect to talk to them about what you learned.”

Harry gaped, absolutely dumbfounded. “But it's for their safety, surely they'd want to help the case then, maybe even tell us—”

“No,” Buckley repeated, his expression pitying and sympathetic. “You'd have to explain how you learned what you did, and… you know how it is, Harry—you better than anyone else. There's nothing we can do here, you'll just have to work from what you do know.”

“But it's to help them!”

Buckley shook his head, sending Harry a sympathetic look. “And do you honestly think that that's the first thing that they'll note?—Over how you know about their involvement, really? Can you honestly say that that's what will catch their attention?”

Harry gritted his teeth. “This is ridiculous. Without them—”

“It's just how it is, let it go and move on, Harry… it'll be easier and healthier that way. This whole cathartic approach, it's bullshit in cases like this. Don't dwell on it, move on.”

Harry slumped back in his chair, his brows drawn together as he processed what his mentor told him. “There's really no hope here, is there?”

“At least you know what you know, we can work from there,” Buckley offered, but the inspirational words were met to deaf ears as Harry's grim look didn't falter in the slightest.

“Can… can I at least tell Hermione?”

Buckley nodded acquiescingly. “The more minds the better, but no one else… security risks and all.”

“Right… thanks,” Harry said, his voice soft and defeated as he slowly pushed himself up off his chair and moved to leave.

“Oi, Harry?” Buckley's voice stopped him mid-stride.

“Yeah?” he asked as he turned to face his boss, only to see the graying full head of hair bent down under his desk as he heard the distinct sound of a safe being unlocked.

Finally, Buckley got up from under the desk and threw three bags at Harry. “Give these to your source. They're untraceable; I made sure of it myself.”

Harry caught them, but immediately shook his head once he realized what it was, and just how many galleons were in it. “He won't take this, he did it as a favor to me, he'd be offended.”

Buckley snorted. “Offended or not, he did good and I'll want to employ him again, most likely, so give that to him and pass on the message, will you?”

Harry shrugged. “I'll try.”

--

“That's some fucked up shite there,” Ron muttered as he put down his newspaper, what he didn't expect however was the hard slap that hit him across the back of his head as soon as the words left his mouth. “Oi! What the hell was that for?!”

“Language,” Hermione chastised. “Goodness, Ron, why can't you ever use an apt term or something?”

“I'd say that that's plenty `apt', did you see the shite going on there? It's fucked up is what it is!”

Hermione scoffed, turning her chair from Ron's so her body was fully facing Harry's. “I hate him,” she informed him.

Harry sent her an amused look. “So I hear.”

“Hey, aren't you even going to try to help a mate out a bit? Defend my honor!” Ron interrupted.

Harry chuckled as he watched Hermione scrunch up her face and roll her eyes. “Sorry, Ron, but I've learned to stay out of these things when you two are on one of your `off phases.' Safer for me, hope you understand.”

That earned Harry a brilliant smile in reply from Hermione. “So, Harry, how is work? How'd you handle that awful case—I mean their bodies were strung up like the lambs my mum used to buy at a butcher shop; it's not a very nice association, quite honestly.”

Harry smiled. “You learn to deal, love; it's the secret of the trade.”

--

Harry blew out a deep breath as he raised his hand and knocked softly against the hard wood of the door, almost hoping that there'd be no reply. Sadly he wasn't so lucky as the door was whipped open and a bleary eyed Cal stood before him.

“Hey,” Callum simply greeted him before turning and going back into his flat, throwing himself onto his chesterfield. “You took a risk,” he told Harry, his voice muffled by the pillow his voice was buried into. “You took a risk coming here, so I suppose it's important… crucial.”

Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. “Yeah, you could say that,” he replied as he entered, closing the door behind him.

“So what is it then?”

“The case… we can't pursue it, at least not this lead.”

Callum's body shot up at those words. “What the hell are you trying to say, Potter?” he asked, his tone frosty.

“We can't go after them… not if don't want to admit how we hired you, breaking protocol entirely. We're on our own; we have to figure it out from what little we have.”

“You're kidding me… you—you have to be,” Callum accused, running a hand through his hair as his body went limp, falling back into his seat.

Harry shook his head as he took a seat in the sofa chair across from Cal. “They've got connections, a lot of them, and they know how to use them. We don't stand a chance against all five families; we have to go about this on our own.”

Callum rolled his eyes, crossly clenching his jaw. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry admitted, voice soft and defeated.

“What do we do now, Harry? I don't know how to hack into that system, not anymore than I have, to get the information; I had to call in a whole number of favors to even get what I had.”

“I'm sorry,” Harry muttered.

Callum tsked, waving him off. “Don't be sorry, it's not your fault. People are shit, that's what it is.”

“Yeah,” Harry intoned. “I guess they are.”

“There's no guessing there, Potter, only knowing…” Callum reminded Harry with a small, sad smile.

A staid laugh escaped Harry as he nodded. “Anyway… I just came by to tell you… and my boss wanted me to give you this,” he told Cal, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trench before pulling out three heavy bags.

Callum eyed them disbelievingly for a second before shaking his head. “I don't want your money, Harry… neither yours nor your boss's.”

“He thinks of it as an investment for the future… he wants you to do more work for him.”

“I don't get along well with the law,” Callum reminded.

“Well neither does him, not the one we have.”

Callum laughed dryly. “Seems like my sort of man, minus the whole law abiding shtick.”

Harry nodded. “I think you'd like him.”

“I still don't want it, though; I don't need it. You're a mate; it was a favor, that's all.”

“It's just money, Cal, take it,” Harry pleaded.

“Okay then, put it on the table by the door on your way out… it's not safe for you to stay here too long anyway, especially given everything with this case.”

“Yeah, I'll talk to you later?”

“I'll call.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered as he got up. “Bye… and—and I am sorry.”

Cal weakly smiled up at him. “It's not me who we should be sorry for, is it?”

“No, I suppose not. Not anymore.”

--

Author's Note: I realize that it's been ages since I last updated and I sincerely apologize for that, but I even took away time from my Easter Celebration to give this chapter another look through before posting, so hopefully that will earn me some brownie points.

Anyway, this was a rather huge chapter and I'm still questioning how I pulled it off, but, knowing me, I can go on like this for a month so I figured I should just get it over with and post it as soon as I got t back from my beta and gave it another look through.

Please review, I'm on pins and needles with this one, seriously.

And thank you, again, to my wonderful beta, Searcy!

-->

18. Of Planning

Chapter XVIII: Of Planning

--

“You two are ridiculous, I hope you realize that,” Harry informed her with a small smirk.

Hermione sighed deeply, shrugging helplessly. “I don't know what to say, honestly. Sometimes… sometimes I really do believe that we're a hopeless cause, that there's no point in us trying again… but…”

“But?” he goaded.

“But, at other times, I can't help, but remember how, at the end of the day, he's probably one of the people who know me best. I know that that's not a good reason to stay in a relationship, especially when it's as tumultuous as ours,” she admitted, dragging a hand through her hair as a pink tinge grew on the tips of her ears. “-yet… even when it's so wrong, it has its moments when it feels so right, too.”

“Not exactly a picture perfect romance, is it?” Harry dryly questioned, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “No… I suppose not.” She ducked her head, looking down at her mug of coffee and when she raised her head Harry was shocked to see that her eyes were glistening and a terrible frown marred her face. “We… we're really wrong for one another, aren't we?”

And he wanted to say yes, he wanted to tell her that they were just hoping for something that wasn't there and that she should give the whole best friend clichÃ© a go with him, but he didn't. Instead, he said: “I… I can't tell you that, love. If you think that it's right, then who's to say that it isn't?”

“I...” her voice broke a bit when she uttered that word so she raised the mug to her lips to take a sip, clearing her throat. “I don't know… everyone says we're just so perfect, and I want to see it, too… I want to believe in it,” she honestly admitted, ducking her head in embarrassment, yet again. “We try to let go, we try to let things run their course into the ground,” she admitted with a bitter laugh. “But it never works, we always find our way back regardless… it feels like we have no control, no say, but I know that we do. I just can't figure out why we can't let go already. I want to, so badly at times, but I also can't… something pulls me back in every time.”

--

“So,” Hermione drawled as she barged into his office, not even bothering to knock before making her way in. “Ron told me to tell you that he expects you to meet him at that Austrian pub he loves promptly at eight this evening so he has company while he stupidly downs drink after drink as you watch and have one of your girly fizzy drinks… that last part was his words, not mine.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Why does he want to get pissed this evening, it's the middle of the week?”

Hermione shrugged as she took a seat on the sofa in his office, leaning on his side as Harry threw an arm across her shoulders, gently pulling her closer to him. “He claims to have had a terrible day. I honestly think he's just disappointed with himself since he hasn't had a chance to get right pissed in a month… you know his whole little speech on how it's his duty to alcohol to get drunk at least twice a month.”

Harry winced. “Yeah… I remember that little argument of yours—ended with four stitches for him, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Yep, and he even still has a little scar there since I refused to let him go to a healer, but a doctor…”

“That was a tad cruel,” Harry murmured, kissing the crown of her head lightly. “I hope you realize you're crazy.”

Hermione laughed, turning her head so she was looking him in the eyes. “I've heard talk of it…”

He smiled down at her, lightly squeezing her shoulder. They sat there in silence for a few moments, each just looking about aimlessly, enjoying the peace for a bit, but Harry soon ended the moment. “Listen,” he finally interrupted, his voice a bit hoarse, causing him to cough. “There's some new information in the case,” he continued, his voice clearer that time.

Hermione cocked her head to the side, turning back to look at him. “What is it?”

“We may have a break in it,” he carefully replied, slowly annunciating each word as a terrible chill of trepidation ran through his body.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first, her jaw seemed to simply lay there, slack and unmoving. Finally, however, she appeared to regain consciousness when she slowly replied: “I should be excited… I know I should be, but… Harry, you're scaring me now.”

He sighed tiredly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I have a source, and… and he was able to uncover some information on the victims. Apparently they and two more blokes were involved in a rape case.”

“And you think that the girl—”

He nodded. “Yeah,” he throatily replied.

She nodded. “So... why haven't we brought them into questioning then?”

He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the rapidly growing lump in his throat, as he leaned forward and grabbed a notepad off of the coffee table in front of them. He silently passed it to her.

She read it quickly, perplexity drawn all over her face and she appeared to re-read it numerous times before a look of comprehension finally dawned upon her. “Oh,” she gasped. “It… please, tell me it's not because…”

He interrupted her with a regretful nod.

She scoffed, letting out a bitter laugh as her eyes began to get a bit misty. “And here I thought that that sort of thing only happens in the films or a Robert Ludlum novel…”

He shook his head, regrettably.

“Fuck,” she murmured, to the shock of Harry and herself. “I mean I know that it happens, and rather often, but still… the reality of it and all… regardless of how common you know it is, it's terrifying and… and daunting, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” he muttered in reply.

She let out a deep breath as she let the note pad fall out of her hands and into her lap. “So what do we do next?”

He shrugged. “My source doesn't know who the girl is, yet, but I'd say that that would be the next step.”

She nodded mutely, not sure what else to do.

--

“Are you ever jealous of Ron and Hermione's relationship?”

Harry cocked a disbelieving eyebrow Andersen's way at that absurd question. “Are you seriously asking me that now? I thought we got past that stage now and entered that of acceptance…”

Andersen smiled. “I didn't mean it in that facet, but in regards to their friendship.”

Harry paused, his back stiffening at that query, it certainly wasn't what he'd expected in the least. “I shouldn't be… I know that.”

“But you are?”

Harry nodded mutely.

“Why?”

“I don't know,” Harry sighed. “I—I guess it just feels like I missed out on so much during those years. I wasn't there for her or him and they turned to each other. I used to be the bridge between them, the only reason why they even spoke to one another… it's scary to wake up one morning and see how much that's all changed. Before… all of that I'd always been the one that they would go to for advice or a listening ear, but during that time… well I suppose with their relationship and my being… well not very active in that sense, they turned to each other. It makes me sad, that reminder that it'll probably never be the same again.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Harry shrugged. “Well why shouldn't I?”

“Well, though I've never met Ron, Hermione seems to care for you a great deal, she's gone above and beyond the call of duty as a friend, I'd say.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “she has… but that still doesn't mean that I didn't let her down.”

“No… but it also doesn't mean that you haven't made her tremendously proud in the past couple of years we've been seeing one another,” Andersen retorted.

Harry snorted, mumbling: “hardly.”

Andersen shook his head though. “You really don't see it, do you, Harry?”

“See what? There's nothing to see.”

“But there is,” Andersen refuted. “She… I've watched her come in with you, more sparsely with the more progress you made, but still every time that she did… Harry, I've watched her,” he repeated with a hard look harry's way. “-And you, along with everything that you've done, has made her so proud of you. You can't see the way that she looks at you, but I can.”

Harry let out a deep and self-deprecating breath.“I wish you were right, it'd make things a lot easier for me, but it's just not true.”

Andersen shook his head disapprovingly. “You're a petulant and stubborn child, Potter.”

Harry cracked a small smile. “So you've told me… time and time again.”

--

After what felt like hours of silence, Hermione finally spoke up again. “What… what if it's not the girl that—that they abused?” she asked.

Harry's head snapped up in surprise and he quickly turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well… remember that conversation we had with the profiler?”

Harry furrowed his brow. “SÃ¼skind? What about him?”

“He… he mentioned that it might not be a case of direct revenge, but maybe it's someone trying to avenge someone else…”

Harry sighed, lowly murmuring something akin to “Merlin's hairy testicles!” or “Jesus Christ!” as he slowly dragged two hands down his face. “Let's first find out who she is and then we'll look into her history—friends, family, and everything.”

“Okay… well… how are we going to find out who she is though? You mentioned before that you were going to get outside help, so this is obviously outside of our clearance, how are we going to look into this?”

“My friend, the source I told you about, is still on it so I'd recommend you pray,” he told her with a wry smile.

“I have to admit, I don't like this… I feel helpless.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed. “I know the feeling,” he told her as he threw his head back, ignoring the pain when it slammed against the wall.

“Careful,” Hermione tenderly whispered, but the slight, and intended, undertone of warning was enough to send the desired message. “You know, I… I'm not the fondest of psychiatrists and all the sort; you know that, but… well maybe we could use one—”

“No,” Harry quickly stopped her before she could get any more ideas into her head. “This… they're influential men, Hermione, we can't afford to bring anyone else into this, it has to stay quiet.”

“I know,” she reassured him, bringing her hand down upon his and squeezing it softly. “But… well rape is rape in any society… we could go to a muggle psychologist… like say Andersen?”

Harry merely gawked for a few minutes, absolutely dumbfounded by the idea. “I… I do still keep in touch with him…”

She sent him a small smile that widened more and more by the second. “You do,” she intoned.

“Okay,” he nodded resolutely. “I'll talk to Buckley about it; he might be able to help…”

“So… so you agree?”

He smiled, looking down at their hands before opening up his fingers and watching as she let her own fall between the cracks he'd created. He moved them back together, squeezing hers lightly, reassuringly. “Yeah,” Harry softly replied, turning to look at her. “We don't know who she is yet, but we might be able to learn a lot about her through this… you're right.”

She playfully nudged his shoulder with her own. “Those two words… they're like music to my ears, I hope you realize.”

--

“Do… do you think that there might actually be a chance for us, Doc?—even after everything?” Harry finally asked, feeling as if a terrible weight had been lifted off of his chest once he finally voiced the question that had been pestering him for far longer than he'd even like to contemplate, much less admit.

Andersen, however, provided a rather lackluster response when he merely shrugged. “I guess it all has to do with whether or not you finally take some initiative and make a move towards more.”

“I… I can't…”

“Then I guess the answer's no,” Andersen bluntly told him.

Harry's shoulders sagged and he immediately let himself fall back onto his seat, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Cheer up, old chap,” Andersen teased, grinning. “There's always the chance that you do finally grow a pair and fight for what you believe in… it's doubtful that you will, but you never know…”

--

“Hey, thanks for coming,” Ron muttered, sending Harry a cool nod as he seated himself.

Harry nodded in reply, taking a large sip of his coffee as he watched Ron call for the bartender to send him a beer.

“You look like shite,” Ron announced when he finally turned back to Harry.

“You, too.”

“What a pair we make… some golden trio, huh?” Ron rakishly grinned.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed. “…listen, mate, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about for… well, for a while now.”

Two brows drew together in confusion. “What is it?”

“Well—”

Anything Harry was going to say, however, was quickly interrupted when the bartender sent over Ron's drink and a look of holy bliss plastered itself onto the man's face.

“Oh, Merlin!” he moaned in delight as he took his first sip. “I love… love… love you,” he continued muttering between sips, closing his eyes to fully appreciate the sacred experience. Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes, and it was only then that Ron finally remember who his company was, having entirely forgotten him for the ale. “Sorry,” he quickly apologized, turning an unattractive red. “I forgot myself there.”

“It's okay,” Harry reassured.

“Anyway, you were saying?” he asked with a yawn before fusing his lips to the mug, again.

“It's about Hermione…” Harry carefully said.

“What about her?” Ron distractedly asked, still staring at his ale as if it was the most magnificent thing to ever grace him with its presence-the Holy Grail of Ron-Land, as he'd once referred to it.

“I—I don't think you're going to like it, honestly,” Harry warned with a wince.

Those words managed to gain Ron's rapt attention as he carefully put down his drink and turned all focus to Harry. “What is it?” he asked, slowly and with a definite air of foreboding.

“It—it's nothing that bad…”

“What is it, Harry?” Ron repeated, but that time his voice held a certain edge that was surely brought on by a fear for her safety or something of the like. “Just spit it out, tell me what's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” Harry admitted with a shake of his head. “I… I… well fuck, this is hard to say!”

“Just let it out, whatever it is,” Ron instructed, worry etching itself all over his face.

Harry took Ron's advice and just spoke, his words jumbled and tripping over one another as he did. “I'm in love with Hermione and I want to be with her.”

Silence followed that abrupt and rushed proclamation. Ron just stared at Harry blankly, unreservedly staggered. There was no movement for a good five minutes until Ron picked up his mug again and downed the entire thing. Following that, he finally spoke again.

“Shit, Harry… I mean what the hell?”

Harry winced at the cruel glare that Ron sent his way. “Well that came out all rushed and awkward, and I… I know it's probably—”

He scoffed, wildly shaking his head. “Oh don't even try to bullshit your way through this, how long has this been going on? Have you just been going after her the entire time I was with her or what?”

Harry stumbled a bit, fumbling with his words terribly. “No—”

“And to think,” Ron continued to rant, paying absolutely no heed to Harry's excuses. “Every time I began to think that maybe there was something more I'd tell myself that I was just being delusional… that I just didn't understand your friendship. Fat lot of good that trust did for me.”

Harry scowled. “Oi!—”

Ron rolled his eyes. “I knew that there was something suspicious about the way that you looked at her, but I convinced myself… I told myself that I was just being stupid. What an arse I made of myself, accusing myself of being a poor mate for being so stupid as to think that you'd been mooning over my girl when you actually were!... how long?”

Harry gulped, not quite sure about how to broach that loaded question. “Well… a… a long time,” he finally safely replied.

That reply sent Ron reeling a bit and he paused for a reflective moment before regaining his frowning countenance and sending Harry a hard glare. “Exact time,” he gruffly ordered.

Harry shrugged helplessly. “Since the war…”

That left Ron utterly stupefied, and for a second Harry was worried that he might fall backwards off of his chair. “Wow. And… and you never tried to—?”

“No! I'd never do that to you, I kept it to my—!”

Ron snorted, sardonically asking: “really?!”

“I know it's a lot to grasp, Ron… but I've wanted this for a long time, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I just… I figured it was better that way.”

Ron begrudgingly nodded in agreement. “'Prolly was,” he gruffly added.

Ron raised his hand, however, effectively stopping any words from leaving Harry's mouth. “You know what? I shouldn't even care. It's not my business anymore and I get that… I really do. If she wants you now then… well then that's her prerogative, I guess,” he decided, tone stiff and no-nonsense like.

Harry almost fell over in his surprise, gaping widely at Ron—it was rather resemblant of a gold fish, Ron noted silently. Finally, Harry spoke up: “She means the world to me…”

“I know, I'm not that dense… some of Hermione's genius had to rub off on me after all that time.”

“You sure about that?” Harry grinned. “But, honestly… you don't mind?”

Ron shrugged. “Whatever Hermione and I had ended a long time ago, we just didn't want to let go… I'm sure she's worried I'm going to hex you regardless though.”

“Yeah,” Harry sheepishly admitted.

Ron chuckled lightly. “Typical of her, always fretting. I won't, though, I'm happy for her… and you. But, Harry, I swear to God, if you hurt her I won't hesitate to wring your neck. She's my best friend and means the fucking world to me so if she wants you then I just want what's best fro her, but if you in anyway endanger that happiness I'll gladly hurt you.”

Harry blinked wildly, not sure what to say in reply to that.

“Well say something!” Ron finally ordered, quickly growing tired of the sight of a flabbergasted Harry.

“Um… thank you?”

Ron glared. “Oh shut up and get me another drink; this conversation is far too serious for what was supposed to be a night of debauchery.”

--

author's note: a rather anticlimactic chapter, I'll admit, but a break from the drama might be a good thing, plus this really sets up the scene for the penultimate moment—in the case and HHr…

anyway, I must admit that this chapter has given me a terrible deal of trouble, between dilemmas with the actual chapter and a virus on my computer... but, still, I need it so I'm going to go through with it regardless, even though I truly do abhor fillers—especially ones of this sort.

Thank you so much to my amazing beta, Searcy!

-->

19. Of Sexiness

Chapter IXX: Of Sexiness

--

“Why'd you put a box that looks suspiciously like a… ring bearing sort of box down onto this table?” Harry asked, eyeing the velvet box with apprehension.

Ron stammered nonsensically for the next five minutes, emitting odd sounds that all just came out like random, garbled letters forced together in his confusion. Harry personally found it to sound something like this broken down car he'd once heard gurgling ostentatiously in some film or another. Nevertheless, it wasn't a pretty sound.

“Ron,” Harry finally cut in, much to Ron's relief. “Just enunciate, it's not that hard… really,” Harry guided him, all the while silently praying his voice wouldn't break in his fear over what was to come.

“I… I was thinking…”

“Well that's never good,” Harry quipped, trying to keep the mood light—most primarily for his own sake.

Ron let a semblance of a smile cross his face, but it was more pained than anything else. “I bought this ring… for… for Hermione.”

“Oh,” Harry gasped. “Well that's surprising.”

“Yeah,” Ron weakly agreed, another pained smile flitting onto his face.

“So… you're really serious about this?”

Ron shrugged, and not the most enthusiastically, Harry noted. “I love Hermione… that girl is my life, she's made me… she made me be a better man. Hell, she made me a man in general, without her I'd still be a lost petulant boy, we all know that,” Ron admitted with a sheepish smile. “Still, though… at times it feels like everything we do is because everyone else tells us how perfect we are for each other—opposites attracting at their best-and then there's my mother,” Ron added with a suggestive look Harry's way. It wasn't a very nice suggestion. “But, then again, at other moments, I just think about us… our life… growing old together, and I like the picture. The picture is bloody brilliant actually, it's only that there are moments, sparse ones, when I consider if there's a better picture. But that… that's normal, right, Harry?”

There were so many things he wanted to say to that, so many things that he could have said that would have stopped all of the nonsense before it ever even began, but all he said at that moment was: “well they don't call it cold feet for nothing, I guess.”

Ron's hopeful look faltered for a second, it clearly wasn't the reply he had wanted from his best mate of all people, but a second later he regained composure and nodded brightly, letting out an overdramatic breath. “Yeah, that is true.”

--

The incessant knocking was giving him a migraine and he was honestly considering just grabbing his wand and hexing whoever it was who actually had the nerve to wake him at three in the morning on a Saturday, of all days.

Finally, with a glare and bemused frown firmly and grimly set in place, he whipped the door open, prepared to tear off the terrible, anonymous offender's head.

“Hi,” Hermione chirped before he had a chance to process anything, much less reply. She quickly pushed her way into his flat without the slightest regard for propriety—such as asking him for permission before hand, he noted.

With a low growl he slammed the door shut, slouching a bit as he realized that he couldn't really bring himself to chastise her for her rude awakening, and much less so when she was so happy.

“Hermione…” he tiredly sighed as he followed her into the den.Â “What are you doing here at three in the morning?”

“I… I need to talk to you about something.”

He smirked slightly as he let his body fall onto the chesterfield next to him. It was odd how she'd gone from smiling and bouncing about one second to frowning worridly the next. It was a bit disconcerting, but as he watched her pace before the fireplace he just let out a large yawn—though making sure to cover his mouth so as not to get slapped upside the head by her again.

“Clearly,” he finally muttered.Â “But about what?”

“It… it's rather difficult…” she evaded the question.

“Well then how about I go to bed to make it a bit easier for you?—you can come back in the… well later in the morning and we'll talk about it then, yeah? Yeah… sounds great, I'll be off then?”

“Stop,” she curtly ordered the second he got off the chesterfield, moving towards him and pushing him back down into his seat. “Don't be an arse right now, Harry, I…”

“Yes?” he goaded.

She groaned, plopping down onto the coffee table and throwing her face into her palms. “I hate you,” she announced, her voice muffled by the hands covering her mouth. “Why must you make this so difficult for me?”

“Well if I didn't then who would? Wouldn't wan life to get boring now, would we?”

“I hate you,” she repeated, adding a little more spite to the fire that time.

Harry couldn't help the amused smile that crossed his face then. “And why so this time?”

She slowly picked her head up, almost making it look as if it weighed a ton with the amount of effort that she put into the action, and looked him in the eye. “Because—” she cut herself off with a loud breath, clearly trying to force the words out. “Because,” she repeated, more slowly that time, obviously struggling with whatever admission it was, “you've been giving me entirely un-platonic feelingsÂ and it's distracting me.”

His eyes widened and jaw suddenly went slack upon hearing that unexpected but very much so appreciated, announcement. “I… I cause un-platonic feelings?” he reiterated once he finally regained composure, letting a smirk take over his face.

She scowled, whimpering and letting her head fall into her hands, again.

Harry chuckled. “Oh come on, don't be like that. I mean, it's not every day a bloke gets the honor of learning that he distracts the Hermione Granger from her work, it's quite the privilege…”

Her scowl deepened as she sat up and sent him a dirty look. “You don't get it, do you? This is utterly detrimental to my work! I've been trying to go over case notes and pathology reports for the past six or so hours, but nothing! I can't concentrate because all I can think of is you and your… your damn advances.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow, smiling widely. “Advances?”

“It's a variation,” she defended. “You—you put your hand on the small of my back whenever opening a door for me and helping me in… you'll—you'll take my hand once in a while as we walk…” she stumbled on a bit nonsensically. “And—and you're chivalrous. I hate that about you, you know? It makes everything all the harder as I realize I can't ignore you or my damn feelings, you—you jerk!”

His eyes twinkled with teasing, she grumpily noted. “Sure, love,” he drawled.

She raised her hands, waving them about in an almost lunatic-like manner. “Oh and there you go, again.”

He let out a snort. “Well I'm sorry, Hermione, what would you prefer I do?”

“Something other than just sitting there and mocking me, that I can assure you.”

At that… well his grin became perfectly wicked then.

--

“You… you knew that he was going to ask me to marry him and you didn't warn me?!” Hermione shook with anger as she shrieked at Harry.

Harry's jaw was slack, not having expected to have Hermione suddenly just apparate into his room in the middle of the night with steam practically coming out of her ears. “I… I'm sorry?” he tried.

She sent him a glare before grabbing the beer that he had been drinking and letting herself get comfortable on his bed before moving to shut off his television. “You are a prat,” she informed him.

“I just… I didn't think it was my place though.”

“Psh, please, don't give me that bull, Harry, I deserve better than that.”

He shrugged helplessly. “I honestly thought that you'd prefer to be surprised when it happened.”

“Me?” she gasped, bringing a hand to her chest as she scoffed at his audacity. “Me, even with my history with Ron? Really?!”

“It sounded good at the moment, I swear,” he defended pleadingly.

“Harry,” she sighed, slumping against the headboard of his bed. “You should have given me a chance to prepare.”

His brow wrinkled as he eyed her questioningly. “Prepare for what? Feigning surprise?”

“No,” she quietly refuted. “To let him down easily,” was her meek admission, one that had the church choirs singing praises of “hallelujah” in his head.

Harry felt as if his eyes were practically bugging out of his head when he heard that one and his voice cracked embarrassingly as he asked, “you did?”

Hermione nodded solemnly, taking a large sip of his beer. “It's not the right time, especially not when Molly is breathing down his neck for this. If… if it ever does happen—the stars align for us, and all of that useless tripe—well I guess I just want it to be real; I'm girly enough for that, at least.”

Harry smiled slowly as he watched her. “Yeah, I guess I can understand that.”

“But, Harry…?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time Ron tells you something important concerning me I will castrate you if you don't tell me right away, I swear to god.”

“Right-o… and I'll get us some more beer, too…”

“Good thinking.”

--

She didn't know who was the one to make the first official leap—to lean forward first, to make the shift from friendship to… something else permanent—but she did know she was thankful for it. The second their bodies met, the second their mouth conjoined, the second she felt the heady pressure of his tongue against hers she was lost to it all. It was… sexy. There was simply no other word for it, and she wanted to beat herself for not having indulged the second she was given the opportunity.

There was something terrifyingly masterful about his technique—something that possibly foreshadowed many fights lost on her part if he was going to use that particular skill on her often. He was rough and gentle all at once, though she didn't quite understand how he managed to do it. His touch was so gentle, but his hold on her so strong, and she reveled in the feel of it all. He controlled the kiss, probing her mouth and leaving no crevice unexplored as he expertly massaged them.

She felt her knees weaken and he immediately hoisted her up, allowing her the chance to wrap her legs around his waist as he moved to push her against the wall for support. They continued to snog for another minute before Harry suddenly wrenched his lips away from her neck—where he had moved his attentions to, and begun doing the most delicious of things on this special little spot at its base—taking them both by surprise, and unpleasantly so.

Hermione's legs slid down his body and made their way back to the ground before Harry backed away from her, eyes wide with shock.

Hermione cocked her head to the side, worry prevalent in her wide eyes, as she asked: “wh—why did you stop?”

She couldn't help the plethora of terrible possibilities that ran through her mind at that moment. Each was more disturbing than the next as she was struck with the paralyzing fear that he might be over her. Was it possible that she may have waited too long and now he had moved on? Maybe he had come to realize that maybe she wasn't really what he wanted after all now that he had had a taste of her. Oh sure, he'd put her down politely, as he was Harry and her best friend, but still… he'd be rejecting her nevertheless and that hurt more than she had ever imagined her heart could bear.

“Hermione? Hermione?!” Harry waved a hand in front of her face, pulling her out of her terrifying reverie.

“Huh?” was her most ineloquent reply.

A crooked smile was sent her way at that response. “I… I was just asking you something…”

“Huh?” she repeated.

He laughed softly as a hint of rouge touched his cheeks, but she didn't even have time to note it while lost in her fears.

“I was wondering if you'd let me take you out this weekend… you know, give it a go… the right way,” he elaborated, stumbling along the way as he nervously dragged his hand through his hair.

She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding back as a wide smile took over her face. “I'd say my answer to that is a bit obvious wouldn't you?”

“Let me hear it anyway; just in case, we wouldn't want it to be lost in translation or anything.”

She moved towards him, bringing her lips a hairsbreadth away from his, taking an immense amount of pleasure in his sharp intake of a breath as she brought her hands up to rest on his naked chest. “I'd love to,” she told him before bringing her lips to his.

--

“I don't know what it is with people your age,” Andersen suddenly announced with a large sigh.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked with a curious look as he took a sip of the coffee that his therapist's receptionist had provided him with.

“You're all so… mopey.”

“Mopey?”

“Yes, you all love to mope.”

Harry snickered. “I got that much, but I can't understand where the proclamation came from.”

“Look at yourself,” Andersen glibly replied. “All you do is bitch and moan, but you never act.”

“There's reason-”

“I know, you've listed them so many times that I don't know who you're trying to convince, me or yourself.”

“Don't be a bastard,” Harry scowled.

Andersen smiled softly, pityingly. “I'm just stating the facts, Harry. All you talk about is change, and you've accomplished a great deal of it, but the one thing that hasn't changed is that you're still not happy.”

“That's not true, I'm very happy. I mean… I have an amazing job, fun girlfriend, the best friends you could ask for… no addiction…”

“Still doesn't mean you're truly happy. Let's be honest, Potter, it's more so out of obligation than the fact that you truly do feel fulfilled, so stop with the bullshit and face the real problems in your life.” He let a frown mar his face, pausing before continuing. “You're a good kid, don't muck up the rest of your life over fear. Take a chance.”

“I will… sometime…”

Andersen shook his head disappointedly. “Just don't croak before that time comes, yeah?”

--

When she woke up she found herself completely disoriented, all that she knew was that she found the position extremely uncomfortable as Crookshanks found himself lying across her waist.

“Urmf,” she groaned. “Crooks, move,” she pleaded.

The animal, however, didn't budge. Instead, a very un-orange and un-fluffy arm turned her over so she found herself facing a grinning Harry.

A blush immediately overtook her face as she realized her mistake and she ducked her head in embarrassment. “I… I thought it was Crooks…”

“So I heard,” he grinned, using his pointer finger to force her view to his face. “Morning,” he huskily whispered.

She smiled, biting her lip lightly. “Good morning to you, too… we should go, shouldn't we?”

He nodded disappointedly. “'Fraid so, love, we have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Then… I should go… home, to change,” she noted as she looked down at her body, still clad in the pajamas she'd arrived in the night before.

“Shame,” he frowned. “I'm rather turned on by the tiny shorts and Liverpool jersey… just have to ask, you don't actually have a crush on Torres, do you?”

She laughed. “Nope… I find myself leaning more so towards the tall, dark, and handsome sort. Especially when they have hair that just won't stay in place, I love the quirkiness,” she winked with a teasing tone.

“Good,” he said, tightening his grip on her waist. “But you should probably go… now, before I decide to find a reason to lock us up in here all day.”

She paused for a moment, her cheeks reddening again. “Maybe… maybe I wouldn't be entirely adverse to that…”

He groaned as he pushed her away from him. “Go, you wench,” he groaned, rubbing and pulling on his face with both hands.

She let out a small giggle despite herself and how much she'd always mocked those sorts of girls, apparating out of the bedroom with a small smile sent Harry's way.

“Eventful evening?” Ron asked from behind his newspaper as soon as Hermione popped into the kitchen.

“Very,” she replied with a surprised laugh.

Ron whistled, putting down his paper with an expectant look her way. “Well he better not have been a prat and screwed you right away.”

“I hate you,” Hermione growled as she took a seat opposite of him and stole a piece of bacon from his plate.

--

Author's note: I know, I'm terrible for not having updated in ages… and I feel horrible about it, I promise. However, like any good procrastinator, I do have my fair share of excuses (and they're good, I swear!):

1. Finals

2. Moving

3. Vacation—went away

4. Founding out I'd lost my USB while moving. NOTE: this USB had all of my notes on In Retrospect (along with a few chapters I wrote between studying for finals) as well as half of the rebooted Into the Dark and a good 5 chapters of my rebooted I Know that You Sleep with My Boyfriend

5. Feeling no inspiration to write after losing everything since I only keep it on my USB and not my laptop…

but after finally allowing the guilt to take over and having the amazing luck to find a FULL copy of IF LIVE GIVES YOU LEMONS, THROW THEM BACK online and reading through it I felt so inspired (and in HHr-love) that I wrote up this new chapter. It's totally different from what little I remember of the original version of this chapter (as I hadn't had the time to revise/go through it again, yet) but hopefully for the better.

p.s. trying to work my way to maybe writing smut, idk, you can tell me what you think (honestly!)

PLEASE, take pity on me, review.

And, again, a thousand thank so my wonderful beta Searcy.

â€¨

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20. Of a Friendship

Chapter XX: Of a Friendship

--

“I was a selfish bastard for those years, you know…” Harry suddenly announced, breaking the comfortable silence that always seemed to take over them whenever they began a session.

Andersen shook his head with a tinge of disappointment, arguing: “But that epoch… it's over, Harry, maybe it's time that you forgive yourself for those missteps; allow yourself to finally move on.”

“But… I can't… I wish I could, but I can't.”

“And why not, Harry?” Andersen threw his head back in exasperation, rubbing his face with his hands as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of the perpetual self-imposed misery before him.

Harry ducked his head, gritting his teeth as he tried to force out the words. “You… you weren't there, you don't see it.”

“Don't see what?” Andersen cocked his head to the side, questioningly.

“The way he looks at me.”

“Who?”

“Ron.”

Eyebrows shot up in surprise. “The best friend, you mean?”

“Best mate… Hermione's the best friend, there's a difference,” Harry rambled on a bit nonsensically. “But yeah, that's the one.”

Andersen nodded his head in acquiescence for the former statement and sent a quizzical look for the latter, silently forcing Harry to elaborate.

“You… you don't see the way he looks at me. I mean, yeah, we're still mates, but he also still resents me for it all, I can see it and it hurts. I hate knowing that regardless of what I try or do, there's no changing the past, there's no way to mend that bridge.”

“I think you might be getting a little overdramatic there, Harry.”

Her let out a frustrated breath as he dragged a hand through his hair, roughly tugging on the strands. “You know what, Doc? I really hope that you're right and I'm wrong this time… I honestly do.”

--

A knock sounded at Harry's door and he immediately looked up to see a fidgeting Ron standing at the open doorway, leaning against the frame. “Hey… can we talk?” he asked, a slight nervousness to his tone as he spoke.

Harry nodded, silently motioning towards the empty seat in front of him as Ron entered and closed the door behind him.

“We need to talk… about Hermione.”

“Okay…” Harry slowly replied, not quite sure what to expect.

“I need you to understand something, mate… Hermione…” he paused as he let out a deep breath, resemblant almost of a blowfish as his cheeks expanded exponentially before he released the sigh. “She and I may have had a terrible history as kids, but she's my best friend, Harry,” he slowly admitted, struggling with each word, his voice coming off almost strangled as he spoke. “Those few years… I practically hated you for a time. I hated how I'd have to sit up late into the night so often watching her cry over the fact that you'd lost yourself. I hated the way that you made her blame herself for not being able to help you, for making her hate herself because she couldn't do anything. You put her through so much pain that I didn't think I would ever be able to forgive you, but I did. You… you did exactly what she had always believed you would; you changed, again, but for the better. She never lost faith in you, even when I did… I was always there for you, but I wasn't sure if you could pull yourself out of it after a while. She—she and her happiness mean the world to me, Harry… I love her more than anything else and, I swear, that if you hurt her you'll mean nothing to me. She comes first, maybe she hasn't always, but after everything we've been through she does now. You just… I only wanted you to know, you deserve to know the truth, I think, no point in having any fake pretenses here, yeah? Plus, I wanted you to see how lucky you are to have her and her faith…”

Harry was stunned into a stupor, he didn't quite know how to reply to that so he simply sat there, staring at Ron. He tried to muster up the words for some reply, any, but he couldn't.

Ron ducked his head, flushing. “I… I'm sorry, you know? I'm coming off as a total bastard, I know… I just—I get protective of her and after watching her stumble into our kitchen this morning wanted to be sure that-”

“That I won't hurt her, again,” Harry croaked.

If possible, Ron turned even redder. “Yeah,” he embarrassedly confessed.

“I'm not the same person anymore, Ron,” Harry quietly told his friend.

Ron nodded slowly. “I know, but it's easy to hurt a person without even realizing it… I should know that one more than anyone.”

Harry cracked a shadow of a smile. “I love her, Ron… truly, madly, deeply and all of that other cliché shit. I mean it, I promise.”

Ron nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “I'm glad, she loves you to, you know… in that way. She may not have realized it before, but she does… I can see it now, ever since you told me about your feelings…”

“And… and you're okay with that?”

Ron let out a low chuckle. “We've been over for a long time and we both knew it, we just weren't ready to let go yet. We knew it wasn't going to be love of a lifetime ever since that proposal-”

“You didn't tell me that,” Harry cut in, shock plastered all over his face as he looked up at Ron with wide eyes.

Ron shrugged. “We knew it, but we weren't ready to face it yet, not after having been through so much together. We needed time to let go… to be ready to live without the other's support. Makes me sound like a whipped little prick, doesn't it?”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, a bit, I guess…”

“Eh, what can you do? She's special like that, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “She really is.”

“Right…” Ron awkwardly shifted a bit before slapping his highs with both hands and hopping up and out of his chair. “I'm gonna go now since you probably have some… work to do…”

“I know it's a very foreign concept to you,” Harry ribbed.

Ron chortled. “I do what I can to avoid it, but I hope you're not-”

“It's fine, really, I get it and I appreciate that you're looking out for her.”

Ron sent him a disbelieving and slightly anxious look. “You sure? —Because I know I can come off as callous… and very often, Hermione makes sure to remind me of that on a daily basis…”

“Well you didn't this time, seems as if her training is starting to set in.”

“Psh, either way you're far more whipped than I am,” Ron waved him off before giving a small wave as he left the office.

--

“Do you ever regret saying no to him?” Harry suddenly asked one month following the disastrous proposal.

“God no,” Hermione laughed as she leaned her head on his shoulder and continued to watch the soft flickering of the fire before them. “Our relationship has never been better, actually.”

Harry sharply turned to face her, expression utterly befuddled. “Really?” he asked, disbelievingly.

“Yeah,” Hermione smiled, nodding slowly against his body. “There's not any pressure anymore… plus, Molly is off his back which lifts a huge weight off his shoulders since you know the Weasley men are little bitches when it comes to her will…”

“Hermione,” he gasped in faux outrage. “How could you curse like that? And saying such rude things, too… tsk, tsk, tsk, naughty girl,” he teasingly waved his finger in front of her face.

Hermione giggled, blushing a bit. “But we both know it's true, they are utterly hopeless when it comes to that overbearing woman, it's ridiculous. Now that she's breathing down my neck rather than his we've lost a lot of the tension and pressure over thoughts of the future. We're just letting the pieces fall where they may…”

“Smart.”

“Yeah, that's just what you get with me,” she turned to face him so she could send him a cocky smile.

Harry turned his body to face her fully, grinning mischievously. “Why Ms. Granger are those the tell-tale signs of a pompous ego there? —Because, if so, I really should do something to get that under control.”

Her eyes widened as she caught on and she quickly moved to back away, stumbling as she walked backwards, trying to move as fast as she could out of his library. “Oh come on, Harry… we wouldn't want to do anything drastic, would we?”

He merely cocked an eyebrow in reply and she quickly turned and ran for it, and he followed.

--

Just as Harry was about to take a bite of a blissful looking morsel of lasagna the distinct sound of “Bennie and the Jets” rang through the air and he was forced to, very reluctantly, drop his fork as he scrambled to find his cell phone. Two missed calls later, he finally found the cell and furrowed his brow at seeing a blocked number.

“Hello?” he tentatively asked.

“I had to call you three times before you were able to find that blasted shite, care to explain why?” Callum's distinctly gruff accent greeted Harry.

“My desk is a bit messy and it was under all the piles of paper work,” he replied, referring to his mobile as he turned to searching for his lunch, which he had misplaced which searching for the phone.

“Well I wanted to call to tell you something.”

“What?” Harry distractedly asked.

“I have a name.”

Harry's entire body stilled and he was left in a paralytic sort of shock after hearing those four words. Slowly he spoke: “you do?”

“Yeah, Andrea White, that's the girl who was raped. I didn't have time to pull much of a background check or anything, called you right away when I got the Intel. Do you need me to though? It won't be too difficult.”

“No, it's okay,” Harry managed to breathe out. “I can take care of that, but… um, thank you.”

“It's no problem, mate, just… keep me updated, please?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, not too sure why he bothered when Cal couldn't even see the action, but he did nevertheless. “I'll tell you as soon as we have more information, but for now I should call Hermione to tell her.”

“Okay, good luck, I'll see you around?”

“Will do… and thanks, again,” Harry repeated, and the next sound he heard was a click before the dial tone sounded. He put down the phone and immediately went to search for a blank piece of parchment and a pen so he could write down the name before he forgot all the while failing to realize that his food had ended up on the floor from having been hit by a folder that he had thrown about while scurrying about in his searches.

--

“We don't really hang out as much when Hermione's not here, have you ever realized that?” Ron asked Harry one day over a spur of the moment lunch over their breaks when Hermione was away on yet another excavation trip.

“Hmm,” Harry hummed softly. “I guess you're right, now that I think about it, actually.”

Ron frowned. “That's weird, isn't it? I mean before, as kids, it was usually you that kept us all tied together and now… well it's Hermione now, isn't it?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“What… what happened, Harry? Why do you think that changed, I mean you're still my best mate… I still tell you everything, but why does Hermione need to be here for us to be as close as we can be? Why can't we do that on our own?”

“I… I don't know,” Harry honestly replied.

“I was thinking about it last night, Harry, and—and I don't want us to be like that. You're my best mate; we've been through so much together… I don't want to lose you…”

“I don't think that's possible, Hermione would never allow it.”

“But that's the problem, Harry, we shouldn't ever allow it either,” Ron argued, his eyes wide and pleading, the fear throwing Harry off as he was struck with the reality that Ron honestly thought that their friendship was capable of falling to tatters.

“It won't though, no matter what I'll always be there for you and I trust that you will, too, for me. You stood by me last time, if we can get through that… well what can't we get through…”

“Yeah… we got through that,” Ron's frown deepened, as he nodded his head, not too believingly though, Harry noted. Quickly, though, Ron composed himself and a grimace no longer marred his face as a bright smile overtook it. “Thanks for that, Harry… I guess the prospect of the future and growing up and apart just scares me a bit at times, I needed this… thanks.”

“No problem, I'll always be there for you,” Harry smiled in return.

--

“Okay, so I have a report with our names on it, a wondrous little thing that will probably call for an all-nighter, I'm afraid,” Harry announced as he barged into Hermione's office without the slightest hint of warning before his booming proclamation.

Hermione sighed, picking her head up to send him a dirty look. “Can't you see that I'm busy with another case right now?”

Harry raised a brow. “Is it about a relevant death?”

“Every death-”

“As in has it happened within the past ten years… or even in this century?” Harry clarified before she had the chance to spew some bullshit or another.

“No,” she meekly admitted before closing the file and pushing it aside as he made himself comfortable on her couch and motioned for her to join him. “Still doesn't mean you have the right to objectify my job with those condescending looks, though,” she grumbled as she made her way to the seat next to him.

Harry merely chuckled in reply as he handed her a copy of the file.

Hermione glanced down at the folder before her and sent a questioning look.

“Open it,” Harry ordered, and she followed. “That's the girl,” he told her, his voice dying just a bit as he informed Hermione.

“Oh,” Hermione gasped, riveted by the picture that had been included in the file, touching it softly with a slight tremor of trepidation.

“I skimmed the file beforehand, I hope you don't mind.”

“No… that's fine,” she shook her head, but didn't look up at him. “It's so weird… almost surreal, t me. I'm used to working with bones, you know?… it's odd… putting an actual face to it all like this. I mean… we do that, too, but not quite like this… not with cases like this, really… and I'm making no sense at all, am I?” she rambled as her cheeks turned a harsh red. “I just… it's more real, I guess…”

Harry didn't quite know what to say so he simply nodded in reply, not making a move to touch her, but letting her dictate what she needed as she let her body fall into his, her side leaning against his as her head fell against his shoulder an she took her free hand to wrap his arm around her waist.

“She looks very…”

“Small? Fragile?” Harry ventured.

“Yeah,” she breathed out. She took another deep breath to recollect herself before asking: “so who is she?”

“Andrea White. She was eighteen, muggleborn, taught in the Salem Academy in America, moved here after her exams and lived here for three months before being admitted to the St. Augustine psychiatric unit for mentally tortured witches and wizards-”

“An insane asylum?”

Harry shrugged. “I can't get the details on the court case, as you know, but I'm guessing they used the insanity plea to brush off her case… I don't know, but we can always find out.”

“So we can interview her?”

Harry paused. “No…”

“Harry, are you serious?” Hermione pushed away from him, turning in on him. “You're not really going to allow more of this elitist bull to get in the way of the case, are you?! We finally know who she is and we can't do anything, this is our main lead in the case, someone is avenging her or she's the one doing the retribution! Either way, we need her.”

“It's not that simple, though,” Harry tried to cut in, but Hermione didn't give him the chance as she just continued ranting.

“It is that simple, though. You march up there and flash your pretty little badge and show your scar if you have to, and then-”

“Hermione,” he tried again, his voice gaining a severe edge as he struggled to get a word in.

she adamantly shook her head. “No, I wont put up with some innocent girl losing the chance to plead her case, defend herself—”

“For fuck's sake, she's dead, Hermione!” Harry suddenly burst out, not having meant to yell it out. “That's what I've been trying to tell you… it had nothing to do with me following protocol or anything,” he added, that time far more quietly, his tone embarrassed after his outburst.

Hermione blinked rapidly and successively as her jaw went slack. “W… what?” she stuttered.

He let out a deep breath. “She committed suicide after being there for five months, somehow managed to get up and onto the roof and then threw herself off of it,” Harry told her, his head ducked as he spoke.

“Oh,” was all she said as a silence befell them both. Finally though, a good five minutes later, she spoke again. “So… so what do we do now?”

“I talked to Buckley already, he told me to go and meet the psychiatrists and healers who were treating her, but he doesn't want us to make an appointment just incase the families are keeping an eye out on the facility… you never know…”

“Yeah,” she nodded, not too sure what else to do.

“We go tomorrow, but for now we need to go through this file, see if it has anything we can sue since I only skimmed it. Any leads we can get would help, and I have her entire family's history in my bag.”

She bit her lip lightly as she moved her hand reaching for his. He clasped it immediately and intertwined their fingers without a moment's hesitation.

“Let's get to it then, yeah?”

“Sure,” he nodded, trying to ignore her blatant trepidation and focus on the case.

--

author's note: so finally getting somewhere with the case, thank god, and hopefully this chapter also explained a bit of the new dynamic between Harry, Ron, and Hermione… hopefully. Also I am sorry for the late turn out as I know that I promised to get it out in a week to some, but since I lost my notes on this story I did have to rewrite an outline of sorts for this story and also re-read some details on the murder since I forgot who is alive and who I've off'd, lol. There should, however, be about 6-7 more chapters in this story…

please review, I'm always happy o hear thoughts and/or suggestions.

Again, many thanks sent my beta's, Searcy, way!

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21. Of Truths and Half-Truths

Chapter XXI: Of Truths and Half-Truths

--

“I… I can't believe it's actually been six years,” Hermione managed to breathe out in a choked whisper as the two sat in a bench staring up at an atrocious likeness of them and Ron in bronze.

“That's got to be the fucking ugliest shite I've ever seen,” Harry scowled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Normally I'd scold you for the language… but, God, you're right. I mean honestly, is this how you commemorate the anniversary of the end of the war, this blasted trophy?”

Harry shook his head disappointedly. “I just can't believe that it took Pope six years to complete it. Why waste so many years of your life on this shite?”

“I think that the plaque in front of it, that one there with his name below ours, would be the reason why,” Hermione pointed out.

Harry rolled his eyes, his scowl deepening. “Does it really have to be almost three meters though?”

“I'd still rather stare up at this monstrosity all day than attend tonight's ball…” Hermione admitted with a sigh before a silence fell over them. Suddenly, however, Hermione took him by surprise by bursting out into a fit of giggles. “Sorry, but I was just thinking… you know what Ron first said when he heard about it?”

He sent her a curious look. “No, what?”

“'At least you know I'll be packing a hell of a knob if I'm that tall,'” she laughed. “Lord, I wanted to slap him when he said that… but still, it's just so…”

“Ron?” Harry tried.

“Yeah,” she nodded with an impish smile. “I used to hate that about him, but I don't now… I'm growing to like the off-color jokes… in small quantities, of course.”

Harry shrugged, uncrossing his arms and throwing one across the back of Hermione's seat. “It's true though… just imagine how big it must be, you know if we could see it…”

“When flaccid or erect?”

Harry turned to Hermione in surprise, an eyebrow cocked. “Why, Hermione Granger, I didn't know you had it in you!”

“What can I say, I'm learning from Ron,” she told him with a proud beam.

--

“Hello, I need to speak to whoever acts as head of the hospital,” Harry addressed the girl at the front desk, unable to help the chill of unease that ran through his body as he observed the… sanitary and sterile environment. There was something so daunting about how white it was and how it radiated of antiseptic. Just wasn't natural.

Harry was quickly pulled out of his reverie when Hermione elbowed him after noting how he'd gone off into la-la land, gesturing at the receptionist who still had her head bent over some book which he was willing to bet was a romance novel of some sort.

“Excuse me?” Harry repeated when she didn't say anything.

“Dr. Browning is unavailable, he's a very busy man and it should be obvious that you can't simply barge in and expect an audience with him,” the girl haughtily snorted, still riveted by her erotica—or so he supposed.

Harry turned to Hermione with a cocked eyebrow, smiling a bit as he noted the way she gritted her teeth and sent the girl a glare that he was surprised she didn't drop dead from. Finally, Hermione rolled her eyes and actually knocked on the girl's head.

The girl—Matilda, he saw when she raised her head and her nametag became visible—looked up, positively aghast by Hermione's audacity, which had astonished even Harry.

Hermione, however, merely sent Matilda a challenging look, daring her to try her on. “You have a job to do, so I suggest you do it,” Hermione stonily ordered. “Now, my partner needs your help, how about you go do that?”

The girl sent Hermione a furious look, scowling as she unwillingly turned to Harry. The pout, however, quickly turned to a look of awe once she recognized who it was before her. “Y—y—you're-” she stuttered.

“Yes,” Harry dryly replied. “Now can I see Dr. Browning?”

She gasped, sending him an apologetic look that Hermione quickly rolled her eyes at, crossing her arms over her chest when she noticed the doe eyes the little strumpet, as Hermione liked to refer to her as, was sending Harry.

“Well, you see… the doctor is actually currently dealing with our annual audit and has asked to be left alone-”

“Well I highly doubt he was expecting Harry Potter to come, either,” Hermione drawled, purposefully putting emphasis on his name in an attempt to hurry up the process.

“That… that is true,” the girl nodded her head, still wide eyed with adulation.

“So don't you think he'd be most disappointed if you were to turn away Harry Potter,” Hermione goaded, her voice laced with annoyance as Harry merely stood there, watching the scene unfold with blatant amusement.

“That is true…” the girl repeated.

“So can we go see him?… it's Auror business, too…”

“Well you two don't have an appointment.”

“He's Harry Potter, many would say that's appointment enough,” Hermione pushed.

“I… I... that is true…”

“So can you take us to him?” Harry finally, hopefully, interjected.

“Well, for you, anything,” the girl smiled sweetly up at him and Hermione frowned.

And so, ten minutes late Harry and Hermione found themselves outside of an office, sending each other disbelieving looks as they listened to the commotion coming from inside.

“B—but Dr. Browning, if you'd give me a chance to explain-” they heard Matilda the receptionist stutter as she tried, and failed, to reason with her boss.

“No,” he roared. “I told you to leave me alone so I can finish up this work. Honestly, I ask for one day of no interruptions, are you such an imbecile that you can't even handle that much?”

Hermione sighed, shaking her head disappointedly. “Go.”

“Inside?”

She nodded. “One look at you and you know he'll let us in.”

Harry scowled. “Fine, but you owe me.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Harry,” she laughed. “Just go,” she pushed him off his seat and propelled him forward.

As Hermione sat outside she heard a surprised gasp that was quickly followed by another tirade. “Matilda, how could you keep Harry Potter of all people waiting outside? I mean, really, it's as if you have no sense of propriety.”

“But I tried-”

“Shush,” he cut her off. “Bring us some coffee and then leave us,” he ordered and Hermione sighed, shaking her head, again.

When Matilda rushed out of the room she immediately turned to Hermione. “Go, go in, now,” she said, waving her hands like a shepherd, Hermione couldn't help but note as she followed the girl's explicit directions.

“Hello,” she greeted with a tight smile as she entered the room.

The doctor's already wide eye immediately became even larger, a feat which Harry hadn't thought possible. The man looked as if he was salivating. “Why Dr. Granger and Mr. Potter what brings you here?” he asked with a charming smile as he motioned for them to get comfortable after shaking both their hands and moving to sit back down in his own seat.

“Please, call me Hermione,” she said, smiling. Harry, however, made no such offer.

“Oh… well thank you,” the old man blushed and Hermione couldn't help but notice how such a frail and tiny man had quite the lungpower, given the beating he'd given Matilda only two minutes prior. “Yet I still cant help but be curious as to what I could possibly help you with?”

“I'm—we're,” Harry corrected after a sharp look from Hermione. “Working on a case currently and I was hoping you could help me with a lead of ours.”

“Well, gladly… anything for the two of you,” he beamed as Matilda made her way into the office with three cups of coffee and plates of biscuits. “What information is it that you need?” he asked as he took a sugar cube and slowly mixed it into his coffee.

“We were hoping you could tell us about Andrea White.”

Browning's actions stilled when he heard the name and his body immediately tensed. “Pardon?” he asked.

“Andrea White,” Hermione repeated for Harry.

“Well… I mean, that's quite a peculiar case there, and I'm afraid that there are certain… how should I say… constrictions there.”

Harry growled lowly, but deeply in his throat and Hermione subtly moved her hand to rest over his on the arm of his chair. “Doctor-”

“Ben, please,” the man grinned.

“Ben,” Harry repeated. “You are aware that by not giving us information you'd be holding up an investigation, right?”

“Well if you don't even have a warrant it's can't be that important,” the man reasoned.

“We were hoping to keep this quiet… for everyone's sake, but if you'd like me to get one… well that can get a bit public, but it's no problem for me…” Harry drawled, looking over at Hermione to see her ducking her head to hide a small smile.

“Public?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so. This is a rather popular case with the papers…”

The man paused, his lips thinning as he considered his options. “I don't know much about her, though…”

“Then maybe you could point us towards someone who does, set up an appointment…”

He slowly nodded. “I can't give you her file though… the family…”

“We understand,” Harry nodded. “But an appointment would be crucial then.”

“Well okay, her doctor was Carroll, so I'll set that up and then contact you with the confirmation, I sup-”

Browning, however, was cut short by the distinct sound of “Bennie and the Jets” ringing through the office and Harry let out an exasperated breath as he pulled his hand out from under Hermione's and dug into his pocked for his WiziCell.

Looking down at the screen, he frowned. “I'm sorry, but if I could just be excused for a minute-”

“Oh, of course, it's no problem… I'd love to pick at Dr. Granger's brain a bit anyway,” Browning smiled.

“Hermione,” Hermione corrected with a small impish smile, causing the man to redden again as he enthusiastically nodded while Harry made his way out of the office.

Flipping his phone open when out of earshot from anyone, he spoke. “Buckley, you know I'm in the middle of a meeting with the head of the asylum, why are you calling me right now?” Harry brusquely demanded in a harsh whisper.

“Don't be a pretentious prat, Potter,” Buckley immediately scolded. “I have a very good reason for calling—not that I should ever need one, given that I'm your superior and all.”

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. “What is it then?”

“There's been another hit, this time it was at the bloke's place.”

Harry's eyebrows shot up far farther than he had ever imagined possible. “W—wait… what?” he sputtered.

“Colin Kelly was found in his friend's home… slaughtered. I need you to come now and stay for the sweep; it's 2-6 Notting Hill Gate.”

“Aw, hell, Buckley,” Harry leaned against a wall, dragging a hand through his hair as he let his head fall against the wall.

“You're telling me. Listen, I have to go now, but be there… fast.”

“Yeah… sure, bye,” Harry muttered before turning off his phone and heading back towards the office. Putting a charming smile on his face he reentered the room. “I'm sorry Doctor Browning, but I'm afraid that a small emergency came up and Hermione and I have to leave. Still, though, I just wanted to thank you for all of your help today… especially with setting up that interview with Ms. White's therapist, it's a tremendous aid on your part.”

Hermione who was turned facing him cocked an eyebrow his way, her face amused, before shaking her head slightly as she turned towards Browning. “It was a pleasure to meet you, sir, and, like Harry said, thank you so much for all of the help,” she smiled, extending her hand to shake his.

“Well… it was no problem, honestly, it was my pleasure. I can just imagine what my son will say when I tell him I met the two of you, he's quite the fan Ms.—Hermione,” he quickly amended, blushing ever so slightly as Hermione sent him a smile before waving as she passed Harry, who had been holding the office door open.

Once they were both outside of the office and out of earshot from the doctor she turned to him with a curious look. “What happened?”

“There's been another hit, we have to go patrol the sweep.”

“Oh, lord,” Hermione gasped, grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers as she let him lead her.

“Yeah, I know, could this day get any worse?” Harry questioned with a groan.

“Sorry,” Hermione offered her condolences with a sympathetic sigh, squeezing his hand a bit as he led her towards the hospital's appiration point.

--

“Hey, Harry?” Hermione timidly asked him as they swayed on the dance floor.

“Yeah?” Harry asked.

“With… with the monument unveiling, the anniversary ball and everything, I can't help, but think about the end of the war and, more importantly, well everything that followed it, and… and…”

“Yes?” he goaded, tightening his hold on her just a smidge as he steeled himself for whatever was to come.

“I just… I have to ask. Did… did it really make everything better for you?” she asked, her voice dying as she spoke.

He swallowed a huge lump in his throat, taking a deep breath as he tried to find the words to properly reply.

“Harry?” Hermione asked a minute later and he couldn't help, but wince when he heard the tremor of fear in her voice—fear that maybe she'd offended or hurt him.

“I'm still here,” he assured her, his voice raspy. “No… it didn't make things better, but… well it sure made things easier.”

She tightened her hold on him, too, moving closer so their bodies were only a hairsbreadth apart. No longer were they dancing so much as just standing there in the middle of the dance floor, hugging and oblivious to everything else.

“How?” she finally asked.

He shrugged. “I… it was nice to be able to forget, to be ignorant and happy.”

“You didn't look happy though.”

“But I was happier than I was when without it.”

She wasn't able to contain the gasp that escaped her lips after hearing that, and her first reflex was to squeeze him even more, repeatedly whispering in his ear: “I love you, thank you for coming back to us.”

For the rest of the song, and the following two, she just stood there holding him and repeating those words over and over again.

--

“I'll go see the body, you get the details?” Hermione confirmed as they made their way through the security measures blocking off the entrance to the townhouse.

“You won't need help with notes?” he asked as he moved a piece of tape, lifting it so she could pass under before he let himself through.

She stopped just at the end of the entrance, turning to him with a small, sweet smile. “I'll be fine, promise,” she squeezed his arm softly, reassuringly at the last word before walking off to find direction towards the corpse.

“Be careful with that one, mate… she's got the whole innocent vixen vibe about her, not safe for us… gives you the wrong impression, gives her the upper hand…” Sam ranted with a small shiver at the end to further emphasize his point.

Harry, however, merely rolled his eyes as he turned to face his peer. “You're a hell of an arse, Ludlum. You very well know we've beet friend most of our lives so let's not pull the `women are manipulative and coercing bitches' speech this time.”

“I'm just trying to be a mate… warn you off and all that, you were looking pretty… love struck there,” Sam defended, scrunching his nose a bit in distaste as he neared the dreaded “L-word”. “She's got you wrapped around that delightful little finger of hers.”

Harry groaned. “Oh god, don't make this dirty, please. Anyway, get on with the report—I'm guessing that's way you came here.”

“Well that and the fact that you're pussy whipped…”

Harry growled. “Sam.”

Sam rolled his eyes petulantly. “Well if you're going to get bitchy then fine, we'll play it your ol' boring way.”

“Just get to it,” Harry ordered through gritted teeth, clinching his fists as he held back the all-consuming urge to strangle Sam. Truly, there was only so much he could take from the ever-cheerful bloke who never knew how to shut up.

“Well there were quite a few security measures here that have Kelly's magic marker all over it. It was rather advanced magic so I'm guessing he had someone teach them to him or something because based on what I've heard of him he's a whoring imbecile and, really-”

“Back on topic, Sam,” Harry reminded as he moved through the house, slowly eying everything to see if anything seemingly innocuous might catch his eye. It didn't.

“Right. Well it looks like he knew he'd be the next target, if that helps at all…”

Harry nodded, ending Ludlum a thankful nod. “It does, might help us with a lead even,” he assured. “Is anything different though?”

“Well we still can't recognize the magic marker that broke through this, I think it might be because from what we can see some fairly basic spells were used-”

“Basic?”

Sam shrugged. “I've read over some of those reports from Granger and looked at the magazine issue she mentioned, it was actually pretty interesting, I've got my self a new subscription to it-”

“Sam, what does your reading preference have to do with this case?”

“Oh, right… well according to the same author of that exact same issue, just another article… I think it was in one of the replied to the last issue, actually, where he made this argument-”

“Sam, tell me something I care about,” Harry ordered in a low, but dangerously promising tone.

Sam sent him a sheepish smile. “Right, well with the right calibration it's possible and less detectable so whoever did this could also manage to put a masking incantation over this.”

Harry blew out a deep breath. “Yeah… I think Hermione mentioned something about that possibility once…”

Sam smirked. “Think?”

Harry shrugged, grinning weakly. “I'm tired, give me a break.”

“Right, mate. Well one thing you might want to note… the only other difference I could find.”

“Yeah?”

“She kissed his forehead.”

Harry cocked his head. “You found DNA… anything?”

“Nope, just a red lipstick mark. I think she's taunting us, not him… I think she might be mocking us…”

Harry nodded slowly as he turned towards the bedroom and looked at the massacred body, sighing. “Well if she is then she's doing a hell of a job at it, don't you think?”

--

“What is your main motivation to move on, Harry?” Andersen asked from, what Harry believed to be, out of nowhere.

“In what way?” he asked with a yawn.

“Be a better person, move past your addiction, get your life back together,” Andersen listed.

“I don't know.”

Andersen closed his eyes, gritting his teeth together. “yes, you do, so please don't insult me by putting on any fake pretenses now.”

“But I don't know… I mean, I guess part of it is for me… then also I feel guilty for what I've put everyone through-”

“By everyone,” Andersen cut in, “I assume you mean Hermione.”

“Well… her more so than others, I'll admit.”

“What's your main reason then, Harry?”

Harry didn't reply so Andersen continued to goad him. “Harry?” he repeated. “You can't just randomly put up walls like this, I deserve better than that from you, I believe.”

“Yes,” Harry admitted, his voice croaky.” Yes, you do.”

“Then would you kindly reply to my question?” Andersen pushed.

“Hermione… I want to make her proud.”

“I thought so,” Andersen sighed. “That… you need to realize, Harry, how unhealthy that is.”

“Why?”

“She can't be your main motivation, you have to do this for yourself.”

“But I am.”

“Above all others,” Andersen clarified. “It may sound selfish and self-serving, but, Harry, you need to be comfortable in your own skin, that's part of where this mess all started anyway. You need to find your niche, not the niche that others expect of you.”

“Andersen,” Harry gruffly cut in, staring down his therapist with an intensity that the man had never before witnessed from the boy.

“Yes?” he asked, clearly intrigued.

“I am doing it for myself… my `niche' that you're referring to, it's with her, I know it… I just want to be good enough so that she'll let me find it in her and that I won't… so I won't always be afraid of disappointing her. I want to feel comfortable and safe if I get the chance to be with her…”

--

“I don't like this, Harry,” Buckley suddenly pulled Harry out of his trance.

His eyebrows pulled together as he turned to his boss in surprise. “Chief, what are you doing here?”

“Honestly? wanted to see it myself, figure out what the fuck is taking so long… what the hell makes it all so complicated that no one has a definite answer yet.”

Harry raised a brow. “Technically, someone had the answers… we just couldn't take full advantage of them…”

“But they don't,” Buckley retorted motioning to the horde of people in the room. “Over twenty people here compiling notes and taking samples, but what the hell do we have to show for it? The public is so far from getting antsy, Harry. They're fucking hysterical by now, questioning our department's efficiency… where tax payer money is going…”

Harry shrugged. “Want me to host another press conference?”

The corner of Buckley's lips pulled upwards ever so slightly at that offer. “Thanks, Harry, but it won't be enough this time… I'm getting pressure from all sides, and we're looking at severe budget cuts if we can't bring forth better statistics. It's fucking ridiculous, honestly, but…”

“Politics.”

“Yeah,” Buckley nodded. “We… we need this finished as fast as you can, Harry… I'm serious, I'm pulling you off of all your other cases and same with the girl you fancy-”

“It's not like-”

Buckley sent him a condescending look. “Kid, I'm too old for bull shit, just learn when to shut up. The inter-office liaison shtick… been there done that, can't judge so long as you don't let it get in the way here. Point is, I need you to pull out all the stops here… really, Harry, the department needs this… I need this. The audit isn't going well, we're looking at a twenty-five percent cut in funding at the moment.”

Harry's eyes widened slightly. “Fuckers.”

“Yeah,” Buckley nodded. “I'm going to go out now, the reporters are starting to flow in so I'll release a statement then go back to the office to work on reassignments on your Marlette case.”

“Send Donahue on that one, he's good with sensitive cases,” Harry advised.

“I'll be sure to do that then, he doesn't have anything too big at the moment anyway. Night, Harry.”

“Bye,” Harry waved.

--

author's note: this one was a bit of a filler, I know, but kind of crucial in setting the stage for the penultimate moments. Hope it was okay, at least.

I couldn't quite get through writing this chapter, probably because I found it so dull between preparing for the real drama, etc. but I was listening to Portugal. The Man, more importantly People Say, and I felt astoundingly inspired to write this chapter out of nowhere. (Recommend the band for any indie lovers, by the way, genius band that's also amazing live, sound exactly like they do on disc.)

Please review.

p.s. authors: Pope, Browning, and Carroll.
p.p.s. LIVERPOOL FANS: who else was as crushed by the announcement of Xabi Alonso's transfer as I was? I was checking the site every five minutes today for an update since I knew Rafa was meeting with real officials yesterday, but I was still kind of hoping… the team definitely wont go as far as I'd hoped now…

Thank you to my beta, Searcy, for all of the help.

-->

22. Of Looney Bins

Chapter XXII: Of “Looney Bins”

--

“I hate drinking alone,” a sudden voice announced, pulling Harry out of his reverie as he turned to face the brute-like man who sat himself beside him. “Name's Callum, you?” he introduced.

“Harry,” he replied with a suspicious look.

“Yeah,” the man said, sending a sober smile. “I'm half-way to utterly pissed though, so wasn't quite sure. Nice meeting you though… and I guess propriety demands that I thank you or some bullshit like that, but… then again, I figure more than enough people have already done that to last you a life time so how about a drink?”

Harry couldn't help the small tug at his lips as he listened to the man ramble. “Brandy.”

“Mmm, I know just the one then. Oi, Kaljevic! —Kindly send a bottle of Rakia this way, would you?”

“Which kind?” the bartender asked in reply as he gravitated towards the shelves of full bottles racked against the wall.

The man, Callum, turned to Harry with a raised brow. “How strong do you like your drink?”

Harry smirked. “Let's just say I can never turn down a good brew.”

“Make it the plum then,” Cal ordered, as he eyed Harry with a crooked smile. “I like you,” he announced, “and I'm sure you'll like this drink then… seventy percent alcohol content.”

“Damn,” Harry whispered as the bartender surprised him by bringing out a plastic bottle from below the bar. He sent Kaljevic a questioning look as he wearily eyed the bottle.

“This one's my own personal stash,” the man confided, replying to the silent question. “Private distillery, Cal here loves it,” he informed before walking off to serve more guests.

Callum grinned as he grabbed two flutes and filled them. “This, dear hero, will make you believe in God.”

“That good, huh?” Harry asked as he took a whiff of it.

Callum only smirked, again, in reply before rising his glass. “To new drinking buddies, may we get shit faced like never before!”

Harry couldn't help but laugh as he raised his own drink. “Cheers.”

--

“Thank you so much for being kind enough to meet with us, Dr. Carroll,” Hermione smiled sweetly at the man as Harry pulled out a chair for her in one of the Auror department's interrogation rooms. After she seated herself, sending Harry a thankful smile, she eyed the folders that the doctor was holding.

The man immediately noticed where her line of vision was focused and moved to hand the pair copies of the file. “That's all of the information this hospital has on Andrea White, any notes or medical records… it's all there. I hope that you understand that we'd prefer not to have the fact that we gave this without a warrant come to light.”

Harry gruffly nodded. “We were also hoping you might be able to give us some direction on her, form a more personally standpoint… as her therapist and all. More specifically, her stay there and what you two talked about.”

The doctor shrugged. “She was a sweet girl, but damaged.”

“I'd say understandably so, wouldn't you?” Harry retorted immediately, a hard edge to his words.

The doctor paused for a minute and Harry hated the fact that the man was so obvious in how he was analyzing Harry, scrutinizing him before replying. “Can I be candid with you two, Mr. Potter?”

“I'd prefer that you be.”

“I—this wont be made public, will it?”

Harry shook his head. “I've taken the measures to insure that this meeting isn't recorded.”

“Well Andrea was initially brought in under the claim of exhibiting erratic and delusional behavior as well as being a pathological liar—all following the court case.”

“Do you know details about the case?” Hermione couldn't help, but interject, despite having promised herself to give Harry the lead on this one.

Carroll solemnly shook his head. “Not much, but… Andrea—well I don't think that there was anything wrong with her other than depression. If what she says was true, she was a virgin when those boys accosted her. After that… after being accused of lying on the stand when she accused them of raping her, there was never a chance for her,” Carroll shook his head again in an almost regretful manner. “She was too far gone.”

“So did you believe her?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, I did,” Carroll admitted with a slow nod, frowning. “In that file there I also included the doctor's report… the one who diagnosed her before me, and it didn't really seem to… fit. Not every case is the same, you can't simply put everyone into these little boxes based on a generalization of the symptoms of the malady, but… but with Andrea it just never fit. She wasn't crazy, she was just an innocent girl who'd been irreparably damaged and wanted a way out.”

“Did she have anyone to talk to? Anyone who believed her claims?... Is there anyone else who we should talk to, more specifically?”

Carroll heavily exhaled as he propped his chin against his fist, leaning forward a bit as his eyes clouded over in deliberation. “Her… her mother was quite the champion for her case until, according to Andrea, suddenly, about a week after she'd been committed to the asylum, she stopped fighting. She just… let it go. It was odd, she seemed to entirely disconnect herself from Andrea—called just once a week to have short, terse conversations and never visited. It was quite the anomaly, actually.”

Harry nodded. “Is there anything else you can tell us about her?”

“Apart from the fact that she was a sweet girl, not really. I tried to get her to open up, but you can't just force someone to open up. And she just didn't want to… to anyone. She didn't have any friends at the hospital, she kept to herself and when people would even try to approach her she'd sometimes go off, crying hysterically… scared out of her mind, really. Though, that's to be expected, after everything, don't you think?”

Harry nodded. “Right, well then that's all, I guess. Thank you, again, Doctor,” Harry smiled tightly as he got out of his seat and turned to help Hermione as well.

“It's no problem, really… good luck,” he offered, as he stuck out his hand.

Harry grasped and shook it with the same tight smile, but slightly, barely, more relaxed.

--

“I like you,” Callum suddenly announced with a wide smile, taking Harry utterly by surprise.

“Um… I like you, too?”

Callum shook his head, grinning mischievously as he poured them both another shot of Rakia. “Is that a statement or a question there? —Because, honestly, I'm not one for faux friendship or anything of that sort, I hate fucking pretenses. Fuck them all!” he passionately intoned, bringing up his flute and waving it in the air as he made his exclamation.

There were a few cheers though Harry suspected that the men had no clue what thy were cheering for, but merely joined in because they were pissed out of their minds and thought it would be great fun. Harry wasn't drunk enough for that, yet.

“So yeah, that's pretty much how I cuckolded that old geezer in the back there-”

“What?” Harry was suddenly pulled back into reality as he heard those terrifying words escape Callum's mouth.

The serious look that had seen so permanently etched upon Callum's face quickly evaporated as he fell into an uncontrollable fit of chortles. “I like to do that.”

“What? —Give a bloke a fucking heart attack?! I thought you were some gay, kinky rapist. Scared the fucking shit out of me, I'll have you know.”

“It was supposed to. Now, care to tell me why the great, oh-so-honorable, venerable Harry Potter is in a seedy bar getting drunk off his blasted arse?”

Harry shrugged. “It might be a bit dumpy, but it's got a hell of a collection.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“I figured the evasion gave it to you, but if not then I'll make it plain and clear: no.”

If possible, the beam on Callum's face grew even wider. “I like you,” he reaffirmed.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head disbelievingly. “You know, I think might actually like you, too… God help me.”

--

“I love food,” Hermione cheerily announced, practically bouncing in her seat as she popped another chip into her mouth and merrily chewed it.

Harry smirked. “I can tell.”

“Come on, try one,” she goaded as she turned in her seat so she could fully face him, dangling the chip in front of his face as if it was supposed to seduce him into some sort of submission. “They are amazing, really!”

“Then I'll let you feast on them,” Harry murmured as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat of his booth and then used his arm, which had been wrapped around the back of Hermione's seat, to pull her a bit closer. “I'm not really hungry and, if I was, the semblance between you and Ron just now would scare it away.”

She laughed softly as she let her headrest on his chest, reaching across towards the table to grab another chip to munch on. “It's fried potatoes, what's not to love there? Utter perfection, Harry, truly!”

He grinned, cracking an eye open to look down at her. “So you've noted… time and time again.”

“Please… try one?”

He opened the other eye, a smile tugging on his lips. “Depends, what's in it for me?”

She scoffed, swatting him softly. “Why should we have to barter for you to eat a chip?”

“Well it wouldn't be just if we both didn't get something out of the deal, don't you think?”

She grinned, moving up to quickly peck him on the lips before stuffing a chip into his mouth. “Chew,” she ordered with a small smirk before reaching for another and taking a bite of it. “I like it when you smile,” she noted after finishing her bite. “You don't do it often enough anymore.”

His brow furrowed in befuddlement. “What are you talking about?”

She shrugged sheepishly. “You smirk… you send an amused look… you don't really smile or laugh as often. I like it when you do, though.”

“Well if it means that much to you I'll put in the extra effort to do it more often then.”

She let out a scandalized gasp, her eyes widening in shock. “Don't you dare, it wouldn't be right!”

He cocked his head to the side, sending her a truly perplexed look. “What the hell are you on about?”

She let out a long and exasperated sigh—purposefully exaggerated to grate on his nerves—before she turned fully in her seat so that her body was facing his entirely before she moved to wind her arms around his neck. “Because, Harry, it's just not worth anything if it's not natural… you can't just force it… when you laugh… it has to be real. All I'm saying is that you should simply let yourself, don't become emotionally impaired…”

“Emotionally impaired?” he repeated, quizzically.

She grinned, nodding. “It's a terrible thing, you know?”

A shadow of a smile-like-thing crept across his face as he murmured “so I've been told” before leaning forward and capturing her lips with his own.

He felt a smile grow across her lips as she responded, slowly entwining her arms around his neck as she allowed herself to indulge in a very rare display of public affection that—

—That was promptly disrupted by the blaring sound of David Bowie singing “Rebel, Rebel”. Harry groaned as he pulled away, sighing regrettably as he leaned his forehead against hers and sent her a pleading look as she sent the phone, that was sitting innocently on the table, a rather dirty one.

She growled deeply in her throat as she unwound her arms from round him. “Take it.”

--

“I have this friend… Callum,” Harry suddenly announced.

Andersen sat up a bit straighter at the sudden proclamation, humming with interest as both his eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh?” he finally asked.

Harry nodded. “He's a good mate… he's no Hermione, but… at times, I feel more comfortable with him than with anyone else.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… it's weird, but I feel like I can be myself with him, I don't ever have to worry about disappointing him,” Harry paused for a second, his mouth opening and closing in a rather unattractive fish-like manner as he tried to grasp the words that clearly just weren't coming.

“With Hermione, I'm always worried about fucking things up, about disappointing her and then, with Ron, I'm just scared shitless about the prospect of being left with broken ribs or something for failing or upsetting Hermione. With Cal, he's just a loyal mate, you can do whatever the fuck you want with him and he… he accepts the faults, and he doesn't set these impossible standards. If he likes what he sees he stays and if he doesn't he leaves. It's simple.”

“Well Hermione and Ron can always leave, too…”

Harry shook his head. “Nah, Hermione would never give up on me and Ron… well the chances are really slim of it happening—he's just not that guy anymore, honestly—but even if he wanted to he'd stay for her sake, at the very least.”

Andersen nodded slowly, his head bobbing in the most unattractive way for a good three minutes before he finally replied. “If you ask me,” he slowly said, “that's a magnificent gift if nothing else.”

“I know, right?!”

The reply honestly shook Andersen, it being the last thing he'd expected. “Then what seems to be the problem?”

“Well if you're one of the few people lucky enough to have friends like that then you should do everything in your power to appease them, right?—To ensure that it's a reciprocated relationship, and all that?

“Well I certainly can't fault that logic…”

“Well then, clearly I've fucked up there… repeatedly. Just look at what I've put them through.”

Andersen sighed. “Harry, you don't know this Callum enough, but if he's becoming as good of a mate as you seem to claim he is, you'll just be faced with this same dilemma all over again. You've got to let go of this. There's so much hatred towards yourself there, it's not healthy.”

“What am I supposed to do? Am I just supposed to forget how I hurt them?”

“No, but forgive yourself for it… like they have. They're proud of you, one look at Hermione cements that opinion in my mind… it's time for you to share that opinion already. We've been running in circles for months now, and all over this. It has to come to an end already.”

--

“I'm sorry I ran out on lunch,” was Harry's sheepish announcement as he hesitantly made his way into Hermione's office, closing the door behind him.

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she sent him an inquisitive look. “You're not getting off that easy and you know it,” she informed him with a haughty smile as she tossed down the file she'd been reading, slipped off her reading glass, and pushed herself out of her chair.

Harry flashed her a small grin as he moved towards her and pulled her into his arms.

Hermione shyly smiled up at him, breathing out a “hi” before pulling him in for a kiss.

Harry was quick and more than eager to respond, but Hermione wasn't nearly as forthcoming as he would have liked as she left it off as a mere peck before untangling herself from him and sending him a pointed look, silently ordering him to tell her why he'd cut their lunch date early.

“Carroll called, he said that he remembered that there was one girl who Andrea sometimes let in. Her name was Natalia Botelho, but he wasn't her therapist and she's gone from the clinic so I called Cal and asked him to see if he could find anything on her. Hopefully, this one will be easier,” Harry explained with a shrug as he pulled Hermione into his arms and led her towards the chesterfield in her office, pulling her down onto it with him.

Hermione quirked a brown, her interest clearly piqued. “Callum?” she asked with a faux nonchalance that was almost painful to witness.

“Yep.”

“So…?” Hermione pushed, goading Harry to say something, but he had no clue what. None whatsoever.

“So?” Harry asked, and Hermione immediately groaned at the lackluster reply, rolling her eyes and burying her head in his chest as he, apparently, gave her the wrong reply. “Listen, love… if you want to know something, you should probably just ask because I'm going to cock up all this hinting bull every time,” he told her with a gentle pat on her back, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice as he amusedly watched the scene before him.

Hermione frowned as she picked her head up and looked him in the eyes. “But then I come off as nosy…”

“Well… you are…”

Hermione bit her lip as she let out a slow laugh, a rouge quickly building across her face. She shyly wrinkled her nose a smidge as she asked: “I really am, aren't I?”

“'Fraid so,” Harry nodded.

“Well… if it's already to be expected and all, I may as well just ask already. Who is Callum, Harry, really?”

“He's a friend,” Harry carefully replied.

Hermione nodded. “A close one?”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed as he turned his attention to twirling a lock of hair around one finger as he splayed his other hand across her pant-clad thigh.

“Who we've never met?”

“We?”

“Yes, Ron and I,” she primly elaborated, making it clear that she was none too pleased with his monosyllabic evasion.

“Then no.”

“Care to tell me about him?”

“We met at a bar… got pissed… both support Liverpool and Puddlemore… and we like to do manly things, like belch inappropriately and curse repeatedly, together,” Harry replied with a crooked smile, purposefully infuriating her.

“I loathe you sometimes, I hope you know that.”

Harry laughed. “He's in the black market… for alcohol mainly, or that's just all I know of. I don't know, we don't talk about work much, but he's a great friend, discreet and has lots of connections so I asked for his help here. That enough?”

Hermione nodded.

“Good then, because there's this freckle here… see right there? Right on your collar bone… and it's been distracting me this entire time…” he fingered the mark slowly with the calloused pad of his thumb as Hermione turned to face it.

“Harry, what are you talking—oh,” she gasped.

--

author's note: I don't know about this chapter, really, but I've been trying to push through my writer's block and this is what was produced so hopefully it's decent enough. Sorry for the wait…

please review.

And, Searcy, thank you!

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23. Of Letters

HI!

So, no, I'm not dead. Sorry to say that the alternative is far more douche-like than that, it's quite a shame, really…

I suck, and I'm well aware of it. Not only was my last quarter in school particularly hellish, but I've been working on the latest chapter for months, rewriting it over and over again, second guessing myself at every step, and I STILL don't completely like it.

I don't know what's going on with me though, I just feel so pressured, honestly. I mean I've strung readers along for so long and now that there's only 5 chapters left I feel this intense pressure to get it all just right. I want a Harry and Hermione that are sexy and imperfect, who are real and happy. I want the case to not be so fucking corny and leave everyone (myself included there) utterly disappointed. All of that has just left me guessing at any decision that I make. I have an intense outline that I'm following, but making it al come to fruition is awfully difficult for me at the moment.

Currently, I'm not sure what my next step will be. I have finished the latest chapter, but have been wondering if it may be better to just hold off on posting it sicne idk how long it will take me to finish and maybe it's better to be able to ensure a more regular posting schedule when I finally do put it up…

I honestly don't know… but I am terribly sorry for all of this. I feel terrible and it has been eating me up inside just because I don't want to NOT complete this story, but how long it's taking me is becoming ridiculous.

Many, many, many apologies,

Cosmo
xx

p.s. thoughts/opinions are always welcome, especially in regards to my posting schedule.

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24. Of Boxing Things In

Chapter XXIV: Of Boxing Things In

--

“I'm just a regular guy.”

“An `average Joe', as the American saying goes?” Andersen asked.

“Exactly,” Harry nodded with a smile. “And that's what I want out of life. I want a good job that doesn't leave me bored and hankering for more, I want a woman who… she doesn't have to be any fucking Helen of Troy, but I want her to be the woman for me.”

Andersen eyed him wearily. “For an `average Joe', you sure do have quite the list of necessities there…”

Harry's ears were tinged the slightest hue of pink. “Well I've found the job…”

“And the woman?”

Harry paused, biting the inside of his left cheek for a second before releasing. “Sometimes I think I have. I don't really want something that has to be a constant romance movie; I've grown up and don't really want that cliché anymore. I want a life. I want someone to be happy with; I want someone who I can talk to, someone who gives me comfort and… someone who challenges me. I don't like constant flirting; I'm terrible at it and end up offending a girl more often than not when I try to delve into that whole thing. I also don't like constant fawning, I need to feel as if I'm not the central figure in a person's life so much as one of the central components.”

Andersen sighed, wearily. “Potter, it amazes me how you can be such an imbecile at times. It's really incredible how you go around in circles trying to describe something that doesn't even exist.”

“It-”

Andresen shook his head. “Until you fight for what you really want, it won't ever exist. This image you have painted, it's a pointless ideal that you're hoping someone will fit into. Do you really want a mold, Harry?”

“Maybe not,” Harry sheepishly shrugged.

Andersen had to hold back a growl at that. “What do you really want?” Andersen asked, well aware of the answer and begging for actual vocal conformation.

“I… I'm not always sure.”

“Are you sure about that?” he doubtfully asked, slouching in disappointment over the reply.

Harry paused momentarily. “No?”

--

“Can I help you?” they heard a voice ask through the door after Hermione noticed the peephole opening when Harry pounded on the depressingly grey apartment door.

“Natalia Botelho?” Harry asked.

“Yes?” she asked, not bothering to hide the tinge of hostility in her tone as she spoke, clearly skeptical about their appearance, whoever they were.

“My name is-”

“I know who you are,” she snappishly cut him off. “What I want to know is why you're here.”

“Well, I tried calling you-”

“Did you leave a message?” she cut him off.

“Well… no…” Harry sheepishly admitted. “But I have called you dozens of times during the past two days-”

“And I screen my calls,” she mockingly retorted and Hermione couldn't help, but snort at Hurry's predicament. “What do you want?” she crudely asked.

“We were just hoping to talk to you about Andrea White,” Harry replied as calmly as he could as Hermione slowly took his hand in hers and squeezed it lightly.

“Why do you suddenly care about her? She's dead,” the girl spat out, and Hermione imagined that there was probably a sneer to accompany it.

“We were hoping that maybe you could tell us a bit about her death and why she was at the hospital to begin with since we're currently inspecting five men we think were associated with her: Kelly, Dermott, McMullen, Sinclair, and Kerouac. You may recognize some of them from the recent-”

Harry, however, was interrupted by the sound of chains moving and locks being opened before a small wisp of a girl pulled the door open with an astounding amount of strength. She stood before them in a ratty outfit that consisted of an oversized shirt and boxers that were reminiscent Harry found reminiscent to his own uniform while living with the Dursley's. She was a frail little thing, skin and bones, so it shocked Harry to see her wrench open that door so roughly.

“It wasn't a hospital, but an asylum. Get your facts straight,” she ordered in a clipped tone before moving into her studio flat and making her way towards a rather… defunct couch. She motioned for them to sit after Harry closed the door behind Hermione and himself. “It's not much, but it's comfortable, and I got rid of the moths,” she dryly informed them.

Harry couldn't help, but send a glance towards the stacks of newspapers and magazines littered across the flat and, despite how inconspicuous he had thought he was, Natalia still caught the look.

“I like to read… and re-read. Anything wrong with that?” she defensively asked, more than ready to start a tirade before Hermione interrupted.

“You order National Geographic, too?” she asked with a surprised beam. “I didn't know there was anyone else in the wizarding world who even read that!” she turned to Harry with glee, but the look in her eyes was anything but. Silently, she willed him to simply sit down and shut up.

Natalia raised a brow. “Neither did I,” she frostily noted, but the scowl on her face at least managed to thaw. “You wanted to ask about Andrea?” she then queried.

“We were hoping you could tell us about her… whatever you might know.”

“They raped her, that's all there is to it. I don't know what I'm supposed to say here, it's not as if you're actually even going to do anything about it,” she nonchalantly noted.

“How much do you actually know about what happened to her?” Hermione slowly queried.

Natalia shrugged. “Not too much, Andrea wasn't exactly social after she was unjustly committed,” she noted with a sarcastic edge to her tone. “She barely shared anything with me, whatever I learned I had to fight for her trust for. She was really scared to divulge anything after seeing what it cost her the first time.” Natalia paused before continuing, “Why do you care anyway? Last time around, everyone was in a frenzy to do whatever they could to hide it and now you suddenly give a fuck? Isn't it a bit late for that, given that she's dead and all?”

“It has to do with a coinciding case,” Harry crisply replied.

“Well, unless it's to send the people who did that to her to jail, I don't care anymore. Leave, we're done here,” Natalia ordered, pointing to the door with a resolute air about her.

Harry was about to retort, but before he could Hermione grasped his hand, squeezing softly to catch his attention before nodding to the door—silently bidding him to listen to the order. With a roll of his eyes, he heaved his body upwards before turning back to Hermione and bringing a hand forward to help her up.

Hermione sent him a small smile as she let him help her up, before turning to Natalia. “If you do change your mind, though, we'd really appreciate any information. It could help us a lot… maybe even in helping Andrea.”

“She's dead, I don't see what you can do,” Natalia dryly, mockingly noted.

Hermione shrugged. “Doesn't mean she doesn't still deserve some proper respect.”

Natalia remained stoic, and Hermione took her cue to leave as she dragged Harry out the door.

--

“She's a good woman, Harry, but clearly she won't ever be yours. That much, at least, is clear after speaking to you for the past few years,” Andersen sadly admitted.

There was such a strong look of regret etched onto his face, so deeply ingrained that Harry had to wonder how far in it ran. It was a thought that chilled him to the core, that disillusionment was aimed towards him. The one thing that he'd been trying to fight over the years since he'd begun his therapy, since before even that if he was honest with himself, was disappointing someone he cared about ever again.

“I honestly thought she could be yours one day, but maybe I was just fooling myself… I honestly don't know anymore, Harry. All I know by now is that I've breached the line so many times… I've begun to care about you and kept you coming here, but there's nothing I can do for you anymore. You're a different person, Harry, you've grown… you've grown far past anything I ever imagined possible… and far less than I hoped in some respects, too.”

“What… what are you trying to say, Doc?” Harry asked.

“I'm saying that your therapy is over, Harry. It's been over for ages now, but I… I guess I just didn't want to see it,” Andersen admitted with a frown, that time it was aimed towards himself.

“But-”

“Don't, please. Harry, you can always call me if you need something, but… but the truth is that, with any therapy, the goal shouldn't be for you to continue coming and speaking to me, finding your path with my aid. The truth is that your goal here isn't to fix your life, but to find a way to do everything that we do in here on your own… for yourself. You're there now, Harry, you can do it.”

“But… but I don't want to just stop,” Harry tried to argue.

Andersen offered him a weak smile. “But you should, it's for your best,” he said, pausing for a moment. “You… you should leave now, Harry.”

“But our hour isn't up…?”

“This one's on the house,” Andersen nodded towards the door, ushering him out.

--

“Hi,” Hermione greeted him with a smile and a quick peck as Harry let her into his office. She quickly maneuvered through the various piles of papers strewn about the room as she made her way towards his coffee table where she set out the lunch she'd picked up for them.

“Want anything to drink?” Harry asked as he brought some plates and utensils out from a cabinet he kept.

“Um… water's fine for me, really,” she assured him when he sent her a doubtful look.

“Fine,” Harry nodded. “Oh, and get the file I left on the chesterfield by the windows. I had Callum check some details for us; I haven't read it yet,” Harry told her as he left the office to go to the kitchens to fetch the both of them drinks.

When he returned to the office Hermione had set out a rather elaborate meal of shish kebabs and roasted potatoes. “You didn't take out the file yet?” he immediately noted.

“Nope,” she shook her head with a smile. “I know we have work to do and everything, but for now I just want us to relax… have fun.”

“The Hermione Granger shirking work for fun, really?... never thought I'd see the day,” he teased with a smile.

She laughed as she doled out the food onto their plates. “I wanted to make up for the fact that we missed our date this past weekend.”

Harry sent her a befuddled look.

“It's okay, that you forgot, honestly… I did, too, until I checked my planner earlier today and noticed our previous plans. We were going to have our first real date…” she broke the news to him, secretly reveling, just a bit, in the way that his eyes widened in shock as he fumbled for words—most likely to form some sort of apology for forgetting. “Calm down,” she stopped him when he'd finally stopped absently opening and closing his mouth in a fish-like manner and looked as if he'd found the words, which she didn't know nor really care about. “Like I said, I forgot, too. It's been a hectic few days with everything that's come up in the case. Let's just let it go and eat, the food's getting cold.”

He nodded mutely, following her orders as he helped her into her seat and then took his own.

“You may speak, you know?” Hermione informed him with an amused smile after a good few minutes of Harry just silently eating.

“Food's good,” he grunted with sincere approval.

She laughed. “I hope that you have some better dinner conversation than that or I just don't know how long this relationship will be able to last,” she quipped.

Harry shrugged with an impish smile. “You said you didn't want to talk shop and, honestly, that's just about all I can think of right now,” he sheepishly admitted.

Hermione sent him a surprised and perturbed look.

“Well we are in my office, it's inevitable. Plus, you're the one that forced this whole responsibility trait onto me, this is just karma coming back for you,” he quipped with a smarmy smile.

--

“He… he just cancelled on me. Just like that, as if it was nothing. I can't believe he ended our sessions!” a furious Harry ranted to Hermione, pacing in front of her fireplace.

“Well…” Hermione meekly began.”

Harry turned on her with wide and furious eyes. “Oh no, I know that fucking tone. `Well'?! Really, Hermione? You're siding with him.”

She sent him a weak shrug. “That's how it works, Harry. He's right. He's helped you all he can; now it's your turn to learn to move forward on your own. You've gotten through so much already, you're ready for this,” she told him as she got off of her chesterfield and moved towards him, keeling and placing a soft hand on his arm. “I know that he's grown to mean a lot to you over the past few years, but he is looking out for you by making this decision. It is for your best. Plus, he did say that you can always call him if you truly need help.”

Harry adamantly shook his head. “But I… I don't feel ready.”

“All the more reason to be forced into this position then. Harry, you know that you still have me… and Ron, right? We'll always be there for you, you're our family.”

He sent her a small smile as he pulled her into his arms for a tight embrace. “I know, but… there are just some things that I only felt like I could talk to him about.”

He felt her stiffen almost immediately and was surprised by the development. Her tone turned slightly cold and jealous when she asked, “what?”

“It's not that big of a deal, it's just-”

“Why can't you talk to me?” she anxiously asked.

“Come on, Hermione, it's not as if you can talk to me about everything either.”

“Yes, I can… I do,” she surprised him in reply as she extricated herself from his hold. “I… you're the only person with whom I ever feel entirely comfortable with… I just… I guess I kind of hoped it was a mutual thing,” she admitted, her gaze focused on the ground.

“Hermione,” he reached out for her, but she pulled away.

She plastered on a fake, fighting smile. “Don't,” she shook her head. “It's not a big deal, I know that. I'm just being emotional is all; forget it. Besides, there's this film I've been dying to watch and I've been waiting with bated breath for you to be available so we could watch it!” she clapped her hands as she started making her way to the DVD library near her TV.

“Hermione!” Harry called, incredulous.

She didn't turn around, but her actions stilled, her hand hovering above the selection of films. “Harry… don't, please, for my sake just don't. Let's just watch this film and have some fun, like the good ole days,” she quipped.

He bit his tongue in reply; unsure as to what else he could do at that point.

--

“Apparently Natalia suffers from `dissocial personality disorder'… what the hell is that?” Harry asked, yelling, as he let himself into Hermione's flat, immediately making his way towards the kitchen as he spoke.

“As much as it pains me to admit it, Harry, I don't actually know everything,” Hermione admitted with a grin. “I took only a few psych courses while at school, all of which were rather elementary. It never interested me as much as I thought it would before enrolling into them,” she informed him with a shrug.

“Hmm,” Harry hummed. “So wiki for me then.”

“Looks that way,” Hermione distractedly murmured. “My laptop is on the island,” she directed him as she finished cutting the potatoes before placing them into the pot with the chicken she'd prepared for dinner. As Harry opened her computer she popped the food into the oven.

“Why don't you go to Suskind instead of wiki, by the way? I mean, much as I adore the site, I'd sooner trust the professional,” Hermione commented as she washed her hands.

“Because Suskind is a prat… and he's not at work anymore. I'm too impatient to wait till morning, I want at least some answers,” Harry admitted with an impish smile as Hermione walked towards him. She moved behind him so she could wrap her arms around his middle as she propped her chin upon his shoulder and read along with him. “This is such crap,” Harry rolled his eyes.

“What is?” Hermione distractedly asked, her eyes furtively roaming over the words on the screen.

“Well how can they just decide that everyone has to fit into some mold created by their diagnoses? I mean look at Natalia, she wasn't exactly a gracious host, but I also wouldn't call her callous and entirely unconcerned with others feelings. She clearly cared about Andrea.”

Hermione shrugged. “We also don't really know her well enough to make any sort of diagnosis, Harry.”

“Doesn't mean the doctors did either,” Harry grumbled with a scowl. “This is ridiculous.”

“You also said that when you first met Andersen… and then look at what happened,” Hermione pointed out. “According to this, even though common attributes are low tolerance to frustration and a low threshold for discharging aggression, as well as a disregard for any sort of social contracts, there's also an incapacity to maintain relationships. By this definition she shouldn't care enough to do something like this,” she paused, breaking off into thought. “She should have the capability of it, but no desire to avenge anyone save for herself,” Hermione mumbled, speaking more so to herself than him. “I honestly think that our best bet is investigating the mother. I just… I don't think that it was Natalia. I'm not even sure who it was… there's just something suspicious about the mother… something missing.”

Harry turned his head, nose to cheek with Hermione before inching a bit closer and leaving a soft kiss on her cheek. “You better be right about that because I'm going to trust you here. I'll also call Suskind in the morning and make an appointment.”

Hermione nodded. “Remember, dinner with the Weasleys, too.”

Harry groaned, burying his head in the hollow between her neck and shoulder. “Fuck me!”

Hermione smiled softly, moving a hand to pat his head. “Not yet, love.”

--

She suddenly stopped the film, taking him completely by surprise. “Harry,” she whispered, the first word spoken to him since the outburst that had taken place an hour and half ago. It was a very welcome sound, one that filled him with relief and peace.

“Yeah?” he asked as he turned to face her.

“I'm… I'm sorry,” she apologized, bowing her head in shame. “It was ridiculous of me to act that way, and… I don't… well I do know what came over me, but it was terribly petulant of me. You didn't deserve that outburst. It was ridiculous. Of course you have the right to talk to other people. I know that, I recognize that… I honestly do!”

He cocked his head to the side as he observed her, letting his hand creep towards hers before, finally, softly grasping it. “Hermione, what the hell are you going on about? What's this all even about?”

She looked away, a flush spreading across her face. “I just… it's terrible, I know it, but I hate the thought that someone could… that someone can replace me in your life-”

“That's not-”

“Let me finish,” she stopped him with a soft smile, bringing a finger to his lips to stop him. “I just… I don't know where I'd be without you, Harry, and there are so many people… better people out there for you, who could easily replace me. I just get insecure because I know you'd be fine without me, but I… I don't think I could function anymore if I were to lose you,” she admitted before lowering her hand.

“You're an idiot, you know that? A genius, but also an idiot.”

Her head snapped up in surprise. “What?” she asked, brow furrowed.

“You're my best friend, Hermione. There's no one in the world who I love more than you, there's no one I trust more than you. Don't be rude and discount my feelings for you. Don't be annoying and get prissy over the slightest detail. I love you, Hermione, plain and simple. Now get over this shite and let me finish watching the film, I want to know if the guy actually gets the girl or not,” he announced, turning his gaze back to the TV.

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling widely as she shifted closer towards Harry and curled up against his side, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Oh please, Harry, it's a romantic comedy, you know how it's going to end.”

“Still, I want to see it all happen,” he admitted with a shrug as he took the remote from her and hit play.

--

Hermione raised her eyes from the coffee table, where they'd situated themselves on the floor for dinner after Hermione convinced Harry that a bit of rustics would do their lives some good. She lightly bit her lip as she looked over at the person sitting across from her.

Harry, as if sensing her deep securitization, raised his head. He cocked a questioning brow in reply.

“Harry…?”

“Yes?” he goaded.

She blew out a deep breath before moving across the table, softly grasping his face between her hands and pulling him towards her. She pulled away just as quickly as she'd begun the contact, smiling shyly. “Hi,” she breathed.

Harry merely sent her a befuddled look. “What was that for?”

Hermione immediately rouged. “I just… I've wanted to do that for a really long time. I… I don't know why, but I sometimes feel as if I don't know exactly where we stand and… and I guess it's just nice to do that sometimes… to move forward more.”

Harry laughed as he got up off the floor and moved towards her side of the table, kneeling before her. “Feel free to do it anytime. I'm just following your lead here, Hermione, like I've always done, even when we were kids-”

“Oh, please! You always ignored my warnings!” Hermione scoffed, lightly slapping his arm.

Harry grinned. “True, but whenever we did something you were generally the mastermind who got us through unscathed, too. Albeit, you were a… slightly reluctant one.”

“I didn't want you to get hurt,” she admitted, toying with the hem of his button down. “As I've said before, you may be a prat, but you're my prat,” she informed him before raising her head and delivering a bold smile before pulling him closer to her and forcing his mouth towards hers.

--

Author's Note: long time, I know. Between a particularly straining quarter at Uni and the fact that as I've been approaching the final chapters of this fic I've become increasingly self-conscious in terms of the story I just haven't been able to finish. I've gone through about 10 drafts of this chapter and this was the least bad of the lot, in my opinion. There's an added pressure for this story, one I haven't faced with others. Making HHr truly come to fruition and finalize this case without turning it into a corny mess is something that I'm so terribly terrified of and left me with the worst writer's block. Anyway… blah.

Please comment, I could use the thoughts—good and bad.

Cosmo

AGAIN, many thanks to my amazing beta Searcey!

p.s. next chapter is finished and awaiting my beta's perusal and a second revision from me before posting so reviews will really help me focus on any problem areas!

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25. Of Mommy Dearest

Chapter XXIV: Of Mommy Dearest

--

“I just don't get how someone so young can be so serious…” Callum noted as he cocked his head to the side, his face the picture of bafflement. “He's only twenty-two or so. What the fuck?”

Harry chuckled as he took a sip, but the merry look was quickly replaced with one of utter repulsion. “Mate?”

“Yeah?”

“Please never buy me non-alcoholic beer again,” he pleaded, causing Callum to turn away from the game on the television before them to send Harry a look of pure appall.

“Well sorry for trying to be sensitive towards your wimpy ways.”

Harry laughed, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the ManU v. Liverpool game. “I was a fucking alcoholic you prat.”

“Oh please,” Callum scoffed. “Sometimes I drank what you drank in three days in one.”

“It really scares me how that actually somehow made sense to me,” Harry admitted. “And you weren't trying to get pissed, I'm just a wimp in comparison to you,” he grudgingly allowed.

“Right you are,” Callum nodded, satisfied. “Now, explain why Torres is such a morbid bloke, he's a striker for fuck's sake!” he shook his head in dismay as he crossed his arms over his chest. “This is why ManU is so much more fun than Liverpool, at least they don't look like they're attending a funeral.”

“Oi!”

“Oh please, the only reason you even support the team is because of that Granger girl's adulation for it… and the only reason she loves the team so much is because her dad raised her to support them. It's hardly organic,” he shook his head in clear distaste.

“How did you know?”

Callum smirked. “You're quite chatty when you're drunk, let's just leave it at that.”

“Still, though, maybe before,” Harry admitted. “But now I actually do like the team. Gerrard and Torres make a great duo, better than Ronaldo and Rooney.”

“I'm just… I'm not going to have this conversation with you; I doubt I'll be able to remain your friend after it, I'm afraid.”

--

“Well if it isn't the beautiful and talented Miss Granger,” Suskind winked upon her entrance into his office. “Where's Potter?”

“He was pulled into some publicity event by Buckley.”

“I take it he wasn't too glad to send you here on your own then,” he grinned.

“Can't deny that one,” she smiled as she took a seat. “When are you finally going to tell him that you were being crude solely to goad him?”

“You went along with it, Hermione…”

She blushed, having the decency to bow her head in embarrassment. “I can't deny that it was a bit fun to rile him up like that,” she admitted, lightly biting her lip.

“I'll tell him next time, but if he tries to hit me, your lover boy won't be so pretty anymore,” he warned, but a warm smile never left his face as he spoke, regardless of how threatening the intent behind the words may have been.

She raised her chin, defiantly. “I don't know you well enough to comment on that. Anyway, I had a few questions.”

“About the case? You learned something new?” he asked with an excited little trill to his voice, one that Hermione found quite unpleasant to the ear, even if it was amusing.

“No,” she shook her head regretfully, repeating what Harry had asked of her. “It's about a cousin of mine… I've always been pretty close to her…”

“Don't know what I could do to help, but you're looking quite fetching so anything to keep you here longer,” he smiled, waving his hands in allowance for her to continue as he leaned back in his chair.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head with a small grin. “You're such an incorrigible rake.”

“So you've told me every time I tried to flirt with you. I don't know why you won't just give me a chance; you've known me for years… kind of. Still, all of those lovely medical conventions where I'm your sole ally! Have you no respect for such a strong bond?”

“Not really, no.”

He closed his eyes in exaggerated pain. “How you wound me, Granger!”

“Seriously, though, I do have to get back to work soon… what can you tell me about `dissocial personality disorder'?”

“What do you want to know? I mean I haven't ever worked with such a case so all I can give you are some text book definitions… if you'd like, though, I can refer you to—”

“No,” Hermione stopped him. “I'd rather not discuss this with many people when I could go to her. I just… I need an idea of what I'm dealing with here. What's going on with her?”

“Well… there are three primary classifications used in that. Creative, aggressive, and… um…” he paused massaging his neck as he got lost in thought for a second. “Inadequate.”

“Don't sound so sure there,” Hermione winced.

“You'd be better off going to a text book,” he grinned sheepishly. “Never had a chance to work on those kinds of cases. But the gist of it is that what's really crucial about it is how people with this kind of an issue are generally marked by a proneness to either blame others or find some plausible rationalization for any form of misconduct. They're also said to have an incredibly low threshold for aggression so they can be incredibly dangerous. It's all really muddled and dodgy. The general consensus is that they're actually incapable of ever being aided towards proper healing because of an incapability to ever experience guilt. I mean… the culmination is pretty catastrophic. They'll never see anything wrong with their actions, no matter what they do one of these facets of the illness will deflect for them.”

Hermione's lips thinned as she listened to him. “So… how would they ever be allowed out of a psych ward if they're such a possible threat?”

“Well, in the wizarding world at least, they wouldn't… not unless it was discovered that the prognosis was wrong and they were re-diagnosed. I mean, it's entirely possible for a diagnosis to be wrong, the mind's such a tricky thing and all…”

“Mmm,” Hermione hummed, pausing to think. “She's about to go into treatment, in the muggle world…”

“Well I can check out regulations in the muggle world if you'd like?”

Hermione weakly smiled, shaking her head. “No, that's okay… I can do that much on my own, at least.”

“Fair enough.”

A sudden beep from her WiziCell quickly pulled Hermione from her thoughts as she took out her phone and saw a message notification. It was from Harry, and abrupt: “Meet me, ASAP, in my office. Aid saw something.”

--

“So even the loony bin rejected you?” Callum quipped with a teasing smirk as the two later sat at Harry's dinner table, enjoying some fish and chips that they'd ordered in.

“Apparently,” Harry grunted.

“If I were your lady love I'd tell you not to grunt because it's rude,” Callum tutted.

“If I weren't such a gentleman, I'd kick you.”

“Good to know.”

“I kind of miss going, is that weird?” Harry couldn't help, but ask between sips of his soda.

Callum shrugged, swallowing a chip. “How the hell should I know? Whatever works for you, though, right? I mean, fuck what everyone else thinks, if you miss him then who should fault you for that? Just means you're a loony is all…”

“Ah, but I got rejected, remember?”

“Eh, everyone makes mistakes, clearly they messed up in your evaluation. I mean, I just have to look at you to see all of the fucked up…” Callum grinned.

Harry chuckled. “Hermione and Ron broke up.”

“Again?”

Harry nodded. “Yep,” he sighed.

“And?”

“And what?”

“And… is there a particular reason for mentioning that?” Callum goaded.

“Andersen says that if I never do anything, nothing will ever change.”

“Well, that's true…” Callum nodded. “But I'm not your shrink, mate, and the whole point of not going to one another was so that maybe you'd solve your own problems. Don't ask me for my opinion, do whatever the fuck you want to do.”

“But… I don't know what I'll do or if I should even do anything. Doesn't seem right.”

--

Hermione stared down at the paper, utterly dumbfounded, as Harry drove. “Are you sure though?”

“Hermione, it's over a million galleons deposited into the White family bank account soon after Andrea was shipped off to the psych ward. What else am I supposed to think?”

“But what… what kind of parent does something like that?”

Harry shrugged. “The greedy kind?”

“I… I just can't believe it, it's all… it's downright terrible. Loathsome…” Hermione frowned, leaning her head against the window, tracing patterns into the door.

“Yeah…” he softly agreed.

“You know, Harry, I never asked, but why do you drive?”

He shrugged. “I like it, it's relaxing. Besides, I thought it might be nice to get some time with you in between all of this drama.”

Hermione turned towards him. “Only to have it follow us into the car, huh?”

Harry grinned. “You win some, you lose some… and here we are…” he commented as he pulled into a long driveway.

“Did you call?”

“Nope.”

“But what if—?”

“I don't know,” he cut her off, sending her a smarmy grin; well aware of how much she'd hate it. Harry made his way to the other side of the door and helped Hermione out. “Come on,” he held her hand in his as he led the way towards the door, knocking immediately.

A woman was quick to answer. She paused for a minute at the sight of the two of them, cocking her head to the side in sheer befuddlement. “You… you're Harry Potter?!” she finally announced in wide-eyed shock, her words rushed and scrambled.

“Hi,” Harry greeted her with a charming smile. “And yes, I'm Harry Potter… of the Auror Department and this is my partner, Hermione Granger,” he flashed her his identification and motioned towards Hermione. “I was hoping to be able to get a quick word in with Mrs. White.”

“Um yes, of course, this is she,” she said before wincing at her reply. “I meant to say I'm Mrs. White… Helen White, to be exact. It's such a pleasure to meet you,” she said as she urged them in, leading them towards the sitting room. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Oh no, not for me,” Hermione shook her head.

“Me neither,” Harry smiled. “I just need to go over a few questions and statements, if you don't mind?”

Her eyes widened even further. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not necessarily, just some routine factual checks that are related to a case of ours.”

She seemed to regain calm, letting out a deep breath as she said, “oh, of course. I understand.”

“I've recently been looking into the death of you daughter—”

Her back stiffened as she tightly asked: “why would you need to do something like that?”

“There have been a string of murders that have been related to her rape, mam,” Hermione explained.

“Well,” she blinked rapidly, floundering a bit. “None of that was ever even proven, it's quite well known that my daughter was a bit… sick.”

“We have enough proof,” Harry confidently informed her. “Including this,” he placed a pile of bank statements before her.

She curiously picked up the papers, rifling through them. Her lips thinned more and more as she took in each word before her. “I… I'm not sure what this is supposed to prove.”

Hermione sent her an understanding smile; one that Harry knew to be faux and lethal, despite what appearances might have Helen believe. “Mam, we're both a bit strapped for time and it really would be better for your sake if you didn't impede upon an investigation as then we might have to actually further look into this… and that could get… problematic for you if it drew as much attention as I believe it would.”

“We simply need to know which of the families gave it to you and why you agreed. What's done is done, your daughter is dead, it's not as if actually beginning an investigation into this would help any party,” Harry further explained.

She let out a deep breath; her cheeks puffing a bit as she begrudgingly complied. “I honestly don't see how this is at all related,” she argued.

“Well we believe it is, so we'd really appreciate it if you just told us,” Harry tartly retorted.

She frowned, pausing before answering. “It… it was the McMullans. After the case had finished and we received the results, found out that Andrea was sent off to a bloody psych ward!” she threw her hands up in exasperations. “Well I had to confront them. So… I went to his office… I stormed in, actually,” she admitted with a bitter laugh. “His secretary was chasing after me, but she couldn't stop me. I don't even know what I hoped to achieve then, but I demanded that he stop lying, that he stop accusing my daughter of… well what they were all letting their lawyers say. I told him I would take the entire thing public, I wouldn't let the case be out of the paparazzo's eye, I threatened them with utter ruination. And… and do you know what he did? He just looked at me… stared for a minute before he opened up his drawer and took out a checkbook. He asked me how much I wanted. Just like that, any number… and I have three other kids to think about as well… a future. We weren't going to win against them, I could hope however much I wanted to, but it wouldn't really make a difference. Either way Andrea would be stuck in that hellhole, so I thought… well, why lose everything, right?”

Harry paused, sighing before asking, “and then you cut off contact with Andrea?”

She nodded, a stray tear making its way from her glistening eyes and training down her cheek. “It may have been the smart thing to do, but it doesn't mean it was the right thing, even I could see that. I couldn't bear the guilt, couldn't continue on some faux sort of contact. She deserved better, at least with that.”

Harry mutely nodded. “I think that that's all for now. Would you mind if we contact you again, should we have more questions?”

“No,” she let out in a defeated whisper. “I understand… but… but you must see that it was the thing I had to do… for my family. Don't you?”

“I'm not in a position to comment,” Harry stiffly replied before grasping Hermione's hand and all, but pulling her out of that house.

--

“So you're not going to do anything?”

Harry shook his head, staring into his glass of water as if something miraculous was suddenly supposed to happen. Nothing did, so with a sigh he took a sip before replying. “Probably not.”

Callum let out a sardonic laugh, grimacing as he furiously shook his head. “You're ridiculous.”

Harry sat up a bit straighter at that proclamation, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“You're a useless and self-absorbed twat, Potter!” Callum very kindly informed him.

“And you're a dolt.”

Cal rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore that comment. “All you ever go on about is this self-deprecating story on how terrible your life is, but it's like your therapist said: you never make a move towards change. You never do anything. Even with that bloody Christina… she's a nice girl and you're kind of happy whenever you mention her, but come on, Harry! It's just another fucking noncommittal relationship. If you want something more then go for it. The sight of you is sickening after a while. It's as if you never learn!”

Harry gaped, his mouth opening and closing in a very fish like manner as he tried to recollect his thoughts. “But… but I'm trying, can't you see that?!”

“No, because you're not… not really. You stopped drinking and got the majority of your life in order, but as soon as it got to the point where you were supposed to fix what really mattered you just stopped. You're a fucking disgrace! You can spew on all you want about anything you've achieved or anything that's stopping you, but it's all a lie. You're just a bloody farce of a hero and I'm so sick of it. I'm tired of you and your useless crying. I'm tired of your idiocy,” Callum spat.

Harry's jaw went slack. “Well then leave!” Harry roared. “If I'm too pathetic for you… well then you know where the fucking door is. Just go!”

“Fine,” Callum replied through gritted teeth before storming out, leaving an utterly dumbfounded Harry in his wake.

--

“Oh, Hermione, dear!” Molly squealed as she enveloped the girl into a tight embrace that left Hermione gasping for air. When Molly finally allowed Hermione to extract herself from the vice like grip it was merely for a second before Hermione was smothered by dozens of pecks that were littered across her face. “How great of you to finally join us, it's been so long!” Molly commented when finally finished, awe painted across her face as she made sure to comment on Hermione's recent absences from the Weasley's weekly dinners.

“Hello, Molly,” Hermione weakly greeted the Weasley matriarch, wishing she could be as excited about the dinner.

“Hi, Molly,” an overly chipper Harry cut in and Hermione had to control herself so as not to laugh at the faux cheer.

Molly, however, shocked both when she merely replied with the word “Harry” and a curt nod, before turning back and making her way to the kitchen, again.

Harry paused, moving his head to the side as his brows drew together in utter perplexity. “Did… did she just—?”

“Yeah… I think so,” Hermione nodded, just as thoroughly befuddled. “Maybe we should just go in?”

“I'm not so sure that I'm welcome after that cold greeting,” Harry chuckled.

“Well, I want you there, so she can just deal with it or I'm leaving,” Hermione brightly smiled before taking her hand in his, entwining their fingers, and leading him towards the common area.

Harry sighed as he let her lead him towards the chesterfield where Ron, Ginny, and Neville were seated. “So Molly seems quite pestered by my presence, anyone have any idea why?”

“Fucking hell!” Ron groaned. “She already got to you?!”

Hermione's eyes snapped onto her friend and as immediately turned on him. “Ron, what did you do this time?”

He sent her a sheepishly apologetic look. “I may have told her about you two.”

Hermione immediately let out a miserable groan. “Why would you do that? You knew that we wanted to keep it quiet for now. Did you even stop to think that we might be the ones who wanted to announce it?” she fumed.

“Well… it's just that, for ages already, she wouldn't stop telling me to go to you and get you to forgive me for mucking things up,” he fumbled as he explained, turning redder by the second.

Hermione groaned, grasping at her hair and tugging at it. “Merlin, that woman is so infuriating!”

Ginny shrugged. “Come on, Hermione, it's to be expected. She already lost the dream of Harry and me… you were her last hope. Besides, you were supposed to change Ron for the better—”

“Oi, I'm fine as I am!” Ron cut in, turning on Ginny with fury written all over his face.

Hermione merely laughed—it was a weak one, but an improvement nevertheless—as she let Harry pull her onto a chesterfield, slowly leaning her head against his shoulder. “On a scale of one to ten, how furious is she?”

“Innumerable,” Neville admitted with a grimace. “Gin here managed to goad me into coming early so that she could help mum prepare the dinner. Molly's spent the last four hours berating the situation… and Merlin knows how many more.”

“Well… I figured she wouldn't take it very well,” Harry admitted with a frown.

“But this is ridiculous, and I refuse to have to put up with it,” Hermione scowled, disentangling herself from Hurry's soft embrace before stampeding towards the kitchen.

“Things are about to get hellish,” Neville murmured.

Harry, eyebrows rose farther than he ever believed they would be, mutely nodded in agreement. “…Do you think—?”

“Don't even try!” Ron warned. “I've seen the battles between those two before, you don't want to be collateral damage, especially not this soon into the relationship!”

“And if there's one thing Ron knows, it's how to cock things up with Hermione,” Ginny chimed in. “Best to just wait.”

In a matter of minutes, Hermione's sudden roar was heard throughout the house “You self-serving, self-absorbed… urgh!” Quickly following was the sound of a crash.

“Don't worry,” Ginny chimed in, stopping Harry as he was halfway up to help Hermione. “It's just the cheap china, Hermione's always careful about that at least…”

“Well I'll say!” Molly's shrill shriek replied. “Here I am doing you the motherly service of trying to protect you and your heart—”

“Hah!” Hermione guffawed. “You are not my mother so stop trying to take her place, Molly. You have your own children; you can't always come first in everyone's heart, no matter how much you try to force your self into that role. You're not my bloody savior; I don't care what you think! I love him, you damn… damn… urgh!” Hermione shrieked before storming out of the kitchen and out the door, followed by a scrambling Harry.

“And there you thought things would change around here after she and I broke up,” Ron commented as he took a leisurely sip from his butterbeer.

--

“Your friend said that to you?” Andersen asked, utterly flabbergasted. “Your friend?” he repeated, annunciating the word with more care than was necessary as he tried to enforce the point that Callum was clearly failing in his role.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.

“Well… that's quite a terrible thing to say, isn't it?”

Harry shrugged hopelessly. “I still can't help, but wonder if he was right. I mean he was callous, I know that… but he also likes to joke that his name is Callum because of the name's striking resemblance to that word.”

“Odd thing to joke about,” Andersen muttered. “And I'm not sure whether that suddenly makes it at all excusable, either.”

Harry laughed. “It's just like him to do odd things like that. Listen, Doc, I know you asked me to stop coming, but I wouldn't if there was anyone else I could talk to about this. You're the only one other than him who knows everything. I can't just go to Ron or Hermione about anything that involves my love life in any way.”

“It's okay, it's been a while,” Andersen smiled. “Plus, it's nice to see you out of my leather couch and in a normal place, Potter. I like this café, too,” he motioned towards their surroundings.

Harry smiled. “I've missed you.”

“Thanks.”

“But I mean… the issue is that I can't get his words out of my head. I don't feel like I gave up, but at the same time I wonder if I've led myself into believing that I haven't. It makes sense, what he said. I'm tired of fighting and I've stopped, but I think… I think I might be ruining myself by stopping. It… it might be premature.”

Andersen nodded. “Albeit terribly voiced, he told you what I've been trying to say for months, Harry. You're not happy, not really. You're content, and barely even that, and you feel the inadequacy… others can see it, too. It's your choice whether you want to continue moving, but you might want to consider how you could just lose everything if you don't… like you did with Callum.”

--

“So…” Harry finally intoned when he felt it was safe enough to speak, a good hour of aimless walking following the epic clash between Hermione and Molly.

“It's not that big of a deal, it's quite a common occurrence between Molly and I, especially while I was dating Ron. You know, it's really quite odd how I can simultaneously like and loath her…” Hermione noted.

Harry chortled. “That wasn't what I was going to comment on… I've heard of the battles between you and witnessed a few, too, need I remind you?”

“Oh,” Hermione blushed a deep red. “Um… then what were you going to comment on?”

Harry stopped, pulling Hermione so she stood face to face with him. He lowered his mouth to her ear, reveling in the way he felt her knees slightly buckle at the proximity. His voice turned hoarse as he whispered, “So you love me, huh?”

If possible her blush became even more potent as she let her head drop into the crook between his shoulder and neck. “Well I mean… yeah… it's not exactly the way I'd… I'd like you to find out… but yeah,” she rambled on as she let him pull her into a tight embrace, kissing the crown of her head.

“I love you, too, you know?” he spoke into her hair. “And in the way a best friend doesn't love a friend, but a woman who he fancies…”

She smiled as she let her head raise, a shy and wide smile plastered across her face. “Yeah?”

He grinned while nodding.

“Let's… let's go back to my place, I'm parched,” Hermione said before apparating the two, leaving them at her doorstep.

“I… I should probably go,” Harry said as she began rifling through her purse for her keys.

She stilled, stiffening the slightest bit. Her attention waned from her keys and moved onto Harry as she raised her head to look him in the eyes. “Come in… please?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it a bit. “I don't know if that'd be such a good idea, Hermione. If I go in there—”

“I know, and just maybe I'd like that… a lot even,” she blushed as she made the admission, watching his eyes turn from a forest green to a hue so dark it was shockingly close to black.

His voice was hoarse. “You… you'd better be sure about what you're say—”

Before he could finish, he was stopped by the hot feel of her lips upon his, her tongue making its way into his mouth, imploring, exploring. She had him taken aback for a moment and it took him a bit before he managed to recollect himself, but when he did she was left helpless as her purse fell to the floor as he pushed her against her door and her grip grew limp.

Luckily, however, the sound was enough to pull Harry back to reality as he pulled away, his face still centimeters away from her own as he softly rubbed her cheek with a hand, still breathing heavily. “We… we should find your keys. I know how much you'd hate it if your neighbors thought you were a scarlet woman or something.”

Hermione nibbled on her lip. “I'm starting to wonder if it'd be worth it, honestly,” she admitted as she pulled his face back down towards her.

Harry groaned at the feel of her lips against his and the sensual way in which her body molded against his own. He gulped, gasping for air as he wrenched himself away, entirely that time.

Hermione moaned at the loss, her head lolling back against the door. “Harry, why?!”

The sight of that was enough to leave him ready to burst. “I'm going to do this properly, I will…” he muttered determinedly as he dropped to the floor and scrambled to find her keys.

--

As Harry made his way to his door he reached for his wand at the sight of a shadow by it. It was hunched over, sitting by the frame, so he couldn't make out who it was… or maybe even what. As he got even closer, however, his grip weakened as he was struck by shock.

“Callum?” he whispered feeling a slight quiver throughout his body. He hadn't been expecting to ever see his friend again after receiving no contact in well over two months since Callum”s outburst.

Callum looked up, eyes bloodshot and, oddly enough, tear stained around the rims. “Harry,” he croaked as he tried to pull himself up. He was in such a poor state, so terribly drunk and… well Harry wasn't sure what else, but there was definitely something off with the air about him.

“Harry,” he sniffled, ramming into Hurry's body and pulling him into a tight hug. “I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… you're… you're my best mate, I… I didn't want to push you away. Not… not like everyone else. I love you, Harry. Please forgive me.”

Harry was dumbfounded by his words. Not so much the apology, but the realization of just how much he meant to Callum. Albeit close friends, he would never have imagined that he played such a poignant role in the man's life. As he retuned the hug he murmured: “of course, mate… always.”

--

Author's Note: this one definitely came about much faster than the last, thankfully! Hopefully I may have the same luck with the next one.

Please review, I'm not entirely sure about this one… and I'm also not sure if it's my nerves or the chapter, too, so comments would be appreciate to direct me in possibly revising this chapter. THANK YOU!

Thank you, again, to my wonderful beta: SEARCY!

-->

26. Of Dates and Coincidences

Chapter XXV: Of Dates and Coincidences

--

She pushed him through the door with more force than he expected, or knew she was capable of and had him pinned to the wall by the doorframe within seconds as she kicked the door shut. In the deep recesses of his mind, Harry register the sound of a shocked gasp just before a loud slam was heard, but he couldn't bring himself to care as Hermione leaned her body into his, pressing and rubbing.

He kissed her in reply with jut as much force as she gave, his mind whirling as he let himself become ensconced by the moment. He kissed her, and ardently so, as he tried to put everything he thought into his actions, silently praying that they'd be translated in the way that he held her. He needed that moment to be everything that he'd been waiting for, lusting after. He desperately needed them to be what he had pictured for so long. So it was with a heavy and regretful swallow that he forced himself to pull away, and even pushed her away a smidge in an attempt to control himself.

“Hermione, stop. Just wait a second,” he ordered, trying to ignore the huffy look she sent him in reply. Regardless of the tinge of fear that struck him at the sight of the murderous eyes upon him, he forced himself to continue. “Are you sure you really want this? I know… I don't want this to be because you're caught in the moment or something. I don't… I don't want you to regret this tomorrow. That… I can't deal with that, not that. I—”

She looked at him, her mouth going slightly slack at hearing the question. “Harry,” she sighed, “you have got to be kidding me!”

“No,” he shook his head, not apologetic in the least. “I'm serious right now, Hermione. I want you, that's pretty clear,” he said, motioning to himself, “but I don't want you to regret this I don't want to move too fast for you. I don't want to fuck this up, Hermione. I know… I know this is new for you, but I've wanted this for too long to watch it get mucked up over something as avoidable as this.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “God, Harry, don't you see?!”

His forehead wrinkled a bit in bewilderment. “See what?”

Her lips fell upon his in a sweet and short kiss, one that had a deep flush enveloping her face when she pulled away and shyly bowing her head. She tugged on his shirt, fisting it in her state of nervousness. “I…I don't want you to have to doubt me ever again, Harry. I… I know I'm not like you all of the time. I know I'm not as vocal as you and I know I didn't fight as hard as you for as long as you did… but I do love you,” she said, her head finally rising with those last five words. “I…” she paused, floundering letting out a frustrated breath as she desperately grasped for words.

When she finally managed to regain her thoughts and the ability to speak, despite a terrible sense of self-consciousness over the proclamation she suddenly found herself making. “I know… I know it might be hard to believe and I get it if you doubt whether we're at the exact same place, I do. But I'll do whatever it takes to convince you,” she promised. “I'll even share my every thought. I'll tell you more… everything, if you'd like. I do have to warn you though, I think you might be a bit terrified by what a terribly large percentage of my thoughts revolve around you.”

An almost shy smile lit up his face, so awkward and reminiscent of the boy who she knew all those years ago at her early Hogwarts career. “Yeah? Really?”

She bit her lip, nodding slowly before fusing her lips with his again. This time there was nothing sweet about the kiss, instead it was hungry. Lips crashed against lips, pulling, tugging and devouring. There was nothing neat about it and Hermione was glad for it. It wasn't the perfect moment that was practiced for hours to create the perfect finale kiss for the end of a film, but raw, heady, and passionate.

Harry let Hermione guide him to her room as he kissed her hairline, his fingers making their way up her shirt, slowly tracing patterns into her skin as he tested the boundaries. He so desperately just wanted to rip off the vestiges of her clothing, but willed himself to retain whatever control possible. He was devoted to doing it right, regardless of how much it pained him, especially physically, to hold back.

They slowly and haphazardly stumbled through the flat, but somehow still managed to find themselves before her bed without incident, save for a minor bump into the doorway as Hermione tore at Harry's shirt.

Harry's hand was still slowly inching its way up her torso when Hermione finally grew frustrated enough that she simply pulled away from him and yanked her blouse over her head.

“Merlin,” Harry couldn't help, but groan at the sight, suddenly feeling all sense of consciousness leave him, absolutely sure that he was dreaming, it was so surreal.

For her, there was something oddly terrifying and exhilarating about that moment. It was an action that shouldn't have left her as shy as it did, but it was at that moment that she was ensconced by a sudden sense of reality. It was real, she was actually with Harry and there they were, about to cement their relationship.

She moved towards him, her fingers sensuously trailing across the lines of his defined body. He as so smooth and so hard that it left her desperate to touch crevice, embed every detail into her memory. “You should know that I'm happy… really happy,” she whispered with a timid little smile that was so opposite of everything that she was doing to him.

Harry sent her a wolfish grin in reply as he pulled her tightly to him, crushing her body against his as he forcefully brought his lips down upon hers. As he kissed her, his hands worked her bra, his knuckles grazing her back and sending shocks down her spine, the sweetest agony she'd ever experienced. She felt it in every part of her body, the shocks feeling like torrents of electricity running through her veins. It was brilliant.

“Fuck, I want you,” he hoarsely let out with a low, guttural groan against her lips as he slowly pulled her straps down.

“Then take me,” Hermione replied with a wicked grin, as she moved away from him, letting her bra drop before she moved onto his pants, focusing on removing them. She let her eyes fixate on the impressive bulge that was straining against his green boxers, biting her lip in anticipation. The delightful trail pointing to the area below his boxers called for her, and she found herself helpless to resist, her hand inching closer and closer to the elastic band that held them up.

Yet before she even had a chance to finally grasp them, Harry pulled her up, kicking off his pants as he pulled Hermione to him, moaning at the feel of their naked chests melding against each other. He desperately worked the zipper to her skirt as they kissed, tugging it with zeal. All the while, the kisses that he rained all over Hermione only paused for a second so that she could kick off her skirt, before Harry simply picked her up.

Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, tightly squeezing against him, and Harry was convinced that it was the most erotic friction he'd ever felt. Hermione let her fingers bury in his hair, coiling around the strands as Harry carried her onto the bed, carefully bringing her down onto the mattress. His body hovered above hers, rubbing delightfully against all the right places as he moved his kisses to her pulse point, alternating between lightly biting, licking, and dropping heady kisses around the area. She sinuously scratched his head in delight, her toes curling just a bit in anticipation.

With a moan Hermione found herself forcing Harry below her as she flipped their positions. She ginned when she was suddenly straddling his lap, reveling in the change of positions, the ability to do whatever she wanted to him. She immediately gave her hands unfettered to every inch of his body. She took her time, sensuously tracing each line properly, massaging and caressing, not allowing herself to be distracted by the pained moans she heard escaping him. She was intently focused on his body, trying to memorize every part, solely devoted to continuing her goal of burning the picture into her memory. She was analytical and sensual in her approach, adoring.

“This,” she gasped, her voice hoarse as she pulled against his boxers, motioning for him to raise his hips. “Is coming off, immediately.”

Harry groaned at the sight of Hermione wiggling down his body, slowly unwrapping him with her eyes transfixed upon the sight of him. He reached his limit the moment she whipped them off him entirely and soon his hands were everywhere, touching any part of her body he could get to as he quickly made work of her panties, in stark contrast to her approach.

When finally free of all constraints, he bent his head down, taking a breast in his mouth, pulling her nipple taut between his teeth, tugging in a delightful way that left Hermione's eyes rolling back in utter bliss before it was then intensified by Harry suckling it with fervor. As he worshipped her body he pulled her legs around his waist, letting her wrap them around him, squeezing.

A low hum escaped her as she pushed her chest forward, encouraging him best she could in her state of half-consciousness as she let those sensual feelings wholly envelope her.

When she pushed her hips against his in just the right way he didn't know what to do or say other than the obvious. “God, Hermione, I need you. Please,” He begged between chaste kisses that he littered across her chest and throat, kissing whatever parts he could get to first.

It was miraculous, the way those words left her completely undone. The way that his hot breath was fanning against her skin, as he tried to reign himself in, left her… completely unraveled. It was simply amazing.

She mutely replied by widening her legs just a bit. It was a slight difference, but enough for him to understand. She was too far-gone and at that point to need words. She had him and he understood her, she didn't want to lose a moment to something so futile as words when she could grasp his face between her hands and pull his face to hers. She and he were finally there, and she had never felt happier to cross a line or break a rule.

She sent him a small smile, nothing erotic, but simply adoring, and it left him completely undone, more so than anything else she had done.

He immediately leaned down and kissed her sweetly. “Fuck, I love you,” he muttered against her lips as he settled himself between the apex of her thighs, ready at her entrance.

--

Harry slowly wiped Callum's head with a cool cloth, trying to help him regain total consciousness.

“Thanks,” Callum murmured, his lids dropping as he leaned towards the soft hand that was slowly caressing him. “I'm sorry, I know I was a total berk… don't really deserve this…”

Harry laughed. “It's fine… I've done worse.”

“But, still... it's nice of you to… you know, look after me and all.”

“I've been in a worse state; even learned from personal experience and Hermione how to take care of hopeless drunks,” Harry grinned. “But, mate, I've never seen you like this before… what the hell happened?”

“I'ono,” Callum shrugged. “I guess I was lonely.”

“That's not exactly a hard thing to fix,” Harry said, dropping the cloth onto the coffee table and taking a seat on the chair across from Cal.

“You don't get it, do you?” Callum asked, groaning a bit as he raised himself to sitting position so he could properly look at Harry.

“Clearly not,” Harry muttered, not at all resentful so much as befuddled. “You might not want to get up, you'll get a hell of a headache and that urge to upchuck'll probably be ten times stonger.”

Callum growled a bit, ignoring Harry's last words as his nostrils flared in frustration over the fact that he'd actually have to voice his feelings. “I'm not good with friendship, Potter… I have tons of acquaintances, but not many people who I actually enjoy talking to. The past two and a half months have been crap for me… I kind of really missed having you to talk to, even if you're a sober pansy.”

This body slightly jumped back in surprise, and he couldn't help but cock his head to the side as he tried to come up with an even halfway decent reply. Ultimately, he decided that the prat approach might be best—after all, it seemed to work for Ron—and so Harry chuckled. “That was heartwarming, truly… you've given my heart palpitations!”

“Shut up, you fucker.”

“Well, if it's any consolation, I kind of really missed you, too, mate,” Harry grinned.

Callum, however, simply rolled his eyes. “Well of course you did, I'm fucking amazing, how could you not?”

Harry snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of course.”

--

Hermione's lashes rapidly fluttered as she slowly stretched.

“Morning,” Harry's hoarse voice greeted her from the doorway, causing her to cock a questioning eyebrow as she pulled her body up so she could properly look at him.

She couldn't help the intense rouge that soon covered her body at the sight of him totally and unabashedly naked with solely a spatula in his hand. Slowly, her hazy mind managed to register the sound of what she believed to be bacon in the frying pan.

“That's got to be unsanitary,” she dryly noted.

Harry sent her a careless shrug as he sent her a self-satisfied smirk upon seeing her flush. “Maybe,” he drawled, his voice purposefully deep and hot, touching her to the core. “But that doesn't mean you're not enjoying the view nevertheless,” and with those parting words he turned and made his way back towards the breakfast he was preparing.

Hermione couldn't help, but bite her lip at the sight she was left with upon his exit, letting herself fall back onto the bed as she felt all control leave her. “Mmm,” she cried pitifully, her eyes tightly closed. “He'll probably be the death of me,” she resentfully grumbled to herself as she clutched at the sheets around her, twisting them in anguish.

With another drawn out moan she forced herself to regain consciousness, slowly taking in her settings with confusion. Tilting her head to the side, she looked around the room she was in trying somehow reconfigure everything as she moved to the drawers, pulling out a large t-shirt and boxers and putting them on.

“Harry?” she asked from across the flat as she took her time walking from the bedroom to the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

Finally dressed, she reached the doorway when she asked, “how come we're in your flat?”

Harry shrugged. “I figured Ron might not enjoy returning to the sounds of us so between rounds one and tow I apparated us back, you just didn't notice. Your living situation is awkward.”

Hermione shrugged as she hopped up onto the counter. “I don't think so,” she defiantly retorted.

“Whatever, we're still going to spend nights at my place, not yours. That's a bit too much like a threesome for my tastes, in all honesty,” he admitted with a bit of a tint to his cheeks.

Hermione let out a light giggle as he gaze moved to the pan he was prepping their breakfast in. She'd been wrong, it hadn't been bacon, but crepes…

Her eyes widened in recognition of her favorite desert. “Really?” she squealed.

Harry chuckled. “I thought you might appreciate it,” he informed her as he took the finished crepe off the pan and placed it atop a large pile of them. “Come on,” he motioned with his head towards the dining room. “I've already set up the table, let's go eat.”

“But, Harry…” she stopped him, taking the food for him. “Seriously, please just get dressed… I'll set the table for us.”

He chuckled, shaking his head a bit at her words. “Makes you nervous then?”

“Not quite,” she bit her lip, and met his gaze as she replied, willing herself not to let her voice shake or face turn any brighter as she spoke. “More like it makes me want something else and I think I'd need some actual sustenance for that.”

“That a promise for later then?” he asked her with a sly smile.

Hermione grinned, wrapping her arms around Harry's neck, awarding him a peck on the lips. “So long as you get dressed before the food gets cold, love.”

“I'll be right back then,” he promised, leaning down to award her with a hasty kiss as he lightly squeezed her waist before shuffling towards his room.

In the end Hermione learned that they were hot, delicious crepes that left her mouth watering and filled her senses with an unparallel foodie satisfaction.

“I called Callum earlier, while you were still sleeping, and he said he may be able to get a hold of some more information on Natalia,” Harry offhandedly mentioned as he smothered a crepe with nutella, rolled it, and handed it to Hermione.

“I don't know, I still think that we should continue looking into Helen,” Hermione argued as she took a bite of the nutella filled crepe that he had prepared for the two of them for breakfast.

“Hermione, she dumped her daughter for galleons,” he argued as he moved to refill her tea.

“I know, but she clearly felt guilty about it… it could be a means of easing her conscience. She betrayed her daughter and most likely played a large motivational factor in her sense of abandonment and desire to… to… you know,” she motioned with a grimace. “Can you think of a greater means of avenging Andrea than that?”

“I don't know, it all seems a bit extreme to me.”

“Well you've seen the murder scenes, that's raw emotion there, Harry. Just ask Suskind…”

Harry shrugged and Hermione couldn't help, but frown at the careless action. “Yeah, but given everything that we know about Natalia, too, she seems like the perfect candidate.”

“Yeah, sure… that is if she really does have dissocial personality disorder.”

Harry's brow furrowed. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know,” Hermione admitted. “It's just something that Suskind mentioned that's been bothering me.”

“What did he say?”

“The way that he described someone with this disorder… well I mean it's like a Hannibal Lector in the making or something…” she winced after the depiction escaped her lips. “That was a horrid description, I know… but, truth is, I don't even know what to make of it, in all honesty. But when I asked him why they'd ever be released from an asylum and he said that with wizarding regulations they wouldn't be unless they were misdiagnosed and then properly treated. So why would Natalia ever be released then? It makes no sense, and that's what has me doubting it. I don't want to jump on her just because she may be a bit… well, not right,” she tried to be as careful as possible, but had to wince at how terribly she had failed. She truly was terrible when it came to euphemisms.

“You couldn't have explained that any worse,” Harry had to chortle.

“I know,” she nodded, her tone miserable.

Harry sent her a small sympathetic smile. “Listen, I won't let go of the mother a possibility, but, Hermione, I think you're wrong here. I trust you, so I'll follow up on it, but I've worked with people, and I just don't feel the same way you do about her.”

She nodded, smiling. “Still, thank you I really appreciate it.”

“Care to show me how much you appreciate me for it?” Harry asked with a wink and roughish grin.

She couldn't help the red that colored her face after hearing his question and the heat that crept through her body at the sound of his voice. “Maybe later, but right now I'm enjoying a pretty fantastic crepe,” she replied with a smile, before grabbing another crepe and a knife.

--

“You know… you were right.”

Callum stiffened, his brows rising farther than he had ever believed to be humanly possible. “About what?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You know… about my moving forward and all that shite…” he shyly admitted, hating that he felt a bit of heat hitting his cheeks as he spoke.

Callum sent him a self-satisfied smirk. “Well I am pretty fucking genius, in case you've yet to realize.”

“Honestly, though… I even talked to Andersen about it.”

Callum's eyes bulged. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, scratching his neck as he ducked his head a bit. “He agreed with you… thought you were an arse for how you said it, but that at least you got the point across to me… finally.”

“I'm sorry though, I was an insensitive jerk,” Callum apologized, mouth slanted in a regretful look.

Harry simply shrugged in reply. “You were just being honest… and, like I said, you were right. You may have been a total prat, but you were on point.”

Callum paused, calculating. “So… what does this mean for you then?”

“I think that maybe it's time to just give up on the idea of Hermione.”

--

“Hermione thinks that it's the mother,” Harry informed Buckley as he lay on the couch in his boss's office, carelessly tossing a memento quaffle from Buckley's display case.

“And what do you think?”

“I don't know,” Harry muttered. “I don't want to jump into things too soon, get too focused on just one person… I'm afraid of missing something. None of it quite fits yet so I'm too hesitant to choose a route, I guess.”

“Can't fault caution,” Buckley admitted.

Harry blew out a deep breath. “I just don't know what to do at this point, it feels like it's been years that we've been after whoever this is.”

“Harry, it's only been a few months, just let it go. No one faults you for not being able to solve this n ten minutes or less. You have an amazing track record, don't fret, and your other cases are being handled well.”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “That's not it. It just… it feels like we're at a perpetual dead end. With Hermione's findings we could do a trace on these spell combinations on anyone's wand, but the ministry doesn't want that, especially on such a public case. So I need to find other pieces of evidence to bring someone in so that we can get a warrant for the trace, and… and it's all just so convoluted and messy.”

“System sucks.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah… it does.”

“But listen to me, Harry. You're doing your job, and fantastically so don't fee guilty about anything. Shit happens, it's life. Move on and get over it, grow a pair,” he tersely ordered. “Now, care to tell me about these rumors I've heard about you and Granger?”

Harry's expression immediately turned pained upon hearing that question. “So you heard about that, huh?”

“Yes,” Buckley replied, his tone curt. “Potter, you very well know how unacceptable I find this.”

Harry let out an audible sigh as he pushed himself up off the chesterfield and into a sitting position so that he could face his boss. “I know it's kind of against regulation?”

“Kind of? Try totally,” Buckley sputtered, utterly aghast. “I did this as a favor to you, I specifically requested that she be your partner and you go… and… and do this. You royally fuck up,” Buckley lambasted. “You know, if this were anyone else, Harry, I'd pull you two apart immediately. Regrettably, you two have actually made great strides in the case so I can't just dismantle the duo just yet, but, Harry, from now on you're never to work with her again.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Buckley stopped him with a resolute shake of his head. “I'd trust you with my life, Harry, but I can't trust you not to get distracted, not if this is serious, and that's just not something we can afford. I'm letting it slide here, but even you have to see what a liability this is, Harry. You can't wholly focus on the case like this and you and I both know that that's not a risk you'd ever take in the right frame of mind.”

Harry let out a disgruntled grunt with a begrudging nod.

“Good,” Buckley said with a satisfied nod. “Now, care to tell me how the fuck you two ended up dating? I thought that she was with your best mate…”

“Well… she was when the case first started…”

“Well fuck me,” his eyes widened. “You schtupped your best mate's girl?!”

“'Ey! It wasn't like that, not entirely. It was quite a bit after the case got under way. They officially ended, forever mind you, before I ever made a move… and I also talked to Ron before really doing anything.”

“Mhm,” Buckley let out a teasing hum, very well aware of how much the doubt would pester Harry.

--

“Wow… that's big… huge even.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded with a deep sigh. “It just… it seems like the right thing to do. I mean I keep on dwelling over her, but let's be honest here, I'm probably never going to make a move. The only logical step would be to let go, to try to move on and be happy.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?... don't you want to maybe consider… I don't know, going after her? Don't you think you'd be happier?”

“Maybe, but I know I won't do it either. What else am I supposed to do?”

Callum shrugged, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let his head fall back. “I dunno,” he muttered, “but all of this is giving me a head ache.”

Harry slapped his legs as he hauled his body up and made his way towards Cal, slowly pulling his friend up, ignoring the groans and threats that followed, and helping him into his guest room.

“You need me to wake you at any time?” he asked Cal as he pushed the heavy body off of his shoulder and onto the bed.

“No,” Callum grumbled. “You don't have to do this… I can just go home.”

“And probably splinch yourself while apparating.”

“Please,” Cal carelessly waved his hands while lying in the bed. “I'm used to apparating while pissed, it's one of my few talents.”

Harry snorted, shaking his head as he pulled off Callum's shoes and rolled his body onto the middle of the bed so he'd be sure he wouldn't have to wake up in the middle of the night to a string of curses from the room across him when Cal would, undoubtedly, manage to roll off of the bed. “Mate, just stay the night here.”

“Fine,” he drawled. “If it means so much to you, I guess I have no other choice… it's the honorable thing to do and all.”

“Of course, I humbly thank you for your charity!”

Callum, mouth muffled by the pillow that was momentarily swallowing his face as he turned to lie on his stomach, replied, “ne rien.”

--

“Hey, love, I've got new files for you,” Harry announced as he let himself into Hermione's office, ignoring the protests of her snippety interns who claimed she was busy with other work and not be disturbed.

Hermione raised her head, tired eyes falling upon Harry. “Is it something really important because I actually have a ton of work to do here and it's pretty crucial.”

Harry shrugged. “You can decide for yourself. Callum was able to get some files on Natlia.”

Hermione's eyes widened as she eagerly reached across her desk and snatched the file from Harry's weak grasp on it. “How'd he manage that?” she asked as she flipped the file open, immediately taking the information in.

“Apparently there's an overly flirtatious and easy strumpet for a secretary there,” Harry informed her with a knowing glance.

Hermione frowned. “While I'll admit that she did look overly eager to pull down your pants, I do doubt that she's actually a harlot… hmm…”

Harry's brow furrowed. “What's with the humming?” he asked as he let himself fall onto her office's chesterfield and pulled another copy of the file out of his leather messenger bag.

“There aren't any details on why she was released here… I can't find any notes that give any hints as to why she may have been released…”

“Well… I guess I can call Cal and ask him to look into it, see if he can get more of her file, would that be better?”

Hermione raised her head to send him the sweetest smile she could muster. “Please?”

With a small chuckle and a shake of his head, Harry pulled his WiziCell out of his pocket, dialing.

“Cal's House of Pain, Jack the Whipper speaking.”

“That's just disturbing,” Harry groaned in reply to the perplexing greeting he received.

“I thought you might at least appreciate it a bit. What do you need?”

Harry, affronted, asked in a hurt tone, “who says I need anything?”

“You're calling me during the work day, and not near enough to the end to mean that you want to go out and grab some dinner with your oh so very lonely mate. So what is it?”

“Um… well Hermione thanks you for the file, and—”

“Did she actually say that or are you assuming that she would?” Cal cut in.

“The second,” Harry amusedly answered, looking over at Hermione, whose whole attention was focused on the texts before her.

“Right,” Callum noted and Harry could just imagine the smug grim marring the man's face. “Well in payment for whatever this is I expect to meet her, I want to see if she actually deserves you or is just another stuck up snot who is stringing you along.”

Harry's jaw went slightly slack from shock over the statement, or more so the fact that it was said in such close proximity to Hermione, and he had to stop to recompose himself before he could even bring himself to properly reply. “She's not—”

“I don't care,” Callum stopped Harry's defensive argument. “Deal or no deal?”

“Well of course it's a deal, you berk.”

“Good, so what do you need?”

“Well, Hermione was reading the file and she noticed that something was missing, and—”

“Harry?” a feminine voice interrupted his conversation, but Harry ignored it.

“I was hoping that maybe—”

“Harry, um… this is actually quite pivotal…” Hermione meekly tried again.

“Yeah?” came Harry's distracted reply as he pointed to his phone, signaling for her to hurry up with whatever it was that she had to say since he was in the middle of a call with Callum.

“Well there's something really important that you might want to know about Andrea's mother…”

--

Author's Note: I was actually planning on taking a week long break from this story as I focused on my finals, but I have been receiving a ton of reviews from a reader who just started this story a few days ago and they were so kind and inspiring that I immediately felt the compulsion to finish this story ASAP in thanks!!!

Anyway, this was my first ever sex scene so please do me the favor of reviewing because I am incredibly insecure about it at the moment… I never thought I'd actually end up writing one, honestly. I doubt I'll ever delve into this again, I have a feeling it's absolutely horrid!

Again, many thanks to my incredible beta Searcey!

-->

27. Of the Rules of Engagement

Chapter XXVI: Of the Rules of Engagement

--

“'Ey,” Callum grunted as he made his way into Harry's kitchen.

“How'd you sleep?” Harry asked as he put down his newspaper, turning his attention to Callum.

“Well,” he answered, tiredly shrugging before rolling his head to crack his neck before making his way to the counter. “You don't look like you got any,” he noted as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “What's with you?”

Harry shrugged in reply. “I don't know,” he grumbled.

“Somehow I doubt that,” Callum replied, taking a seat across from Harry at the table he had set up in the kitchen. “But if you want to ignore it then fine, you're letting me stay at your place at the moment I'm not about to piss you off…”

Harry gave him a weak smile. “It's not a problem per say, and… I don't know…” he heaved a heavy breath. “I was just thinking. Couldn't sleep last night so I was thinking…”

“So then it wasn't that you couldn't sleep last night because of your thoughts?” Callum challenged with a doubtful look.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Whatever you say, mate, but, honestly, I'd prefer it if you just told me you don't want to talk about it. Don't lie to me… you never know, I might choose to get vengeful,” he added with a smirk as he took another sip from his mug.

Harry smiled. “You're right.”

Callum paused, waiting for something, anything, from Harry. Harry, however, wasn't feeling too charitable and refused to continue. “Am I supposed to be surprised now? How about telling me something that's actually significant? I mean, mate… you've had to clean up after me upchucking. I'm currently living with you because you're too scared to let me head off after that sight a week ago. You're hardly going to lose any dominance in this friendship after that. You just can't get much worse than that on the humiliation scale…”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I suppose you're right about that…”

“So out with it then!” he goaded. “I'm not sympathetic and all that crap like your other friends, I'll annoy you like no other until I force it out of you.”

“You were drunk last night…” Harry slowly began.

Callum groaned, obviously disappointed in the evasion. “Oh really, Sherlock? How'd you come to such an astounding deduction? It was a Friday night, of course I got pissed, it's what I do.”

Harry grinned, “dunno, guess I'm a genius after all… who knows, maybe I'll even be able to give Merlin a run for his money.”

Callum scoffed, sneering as he rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he sarcastically intoned. “Get to the point, Potter.”

“You were going on nonsensically, just rambling on and on, going off on tangents every other second—”

“How is this at all relevant to your point?”

Harry glowered. “Well maybe if you'd let me finish then you'd know,” he stiffly said through clenched teeth, a surprising reply that left Callum a bit flustered. Rather than giving a smarmy answer he chose to simply raise his hands in surrender instead.

“As I was saying,” Harry prissily continued. “You were going on and on about all of these plans you have how happy you are in life… how glorious the world is—”

“Merlin, I must have sounded like a fucking pansy!” Callum groaned, his face scrunching up in repulsion. “Just how perky was I?” he asked, a hint of hesitance to his question.

“Close to a scene out of The Sound of Music…”Harry smiled widely as he made the admission.

Callum scrunched his nose in distaste, groaning a bit more. Shaking his head, he spoke, “so glad I don't remember a thing about last night, but why the hell were my drunken rants so pivotal? I can't even remember them, they can't be that important!”

“I just… it stuck with me,” he admitted, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Cal, I don't know what I want… not really. I reached the goal, but I don't know where I'm going next.”

“Well you don't have to, take it day by day. It's fun, trust me,” Callum encouragingly grinned.

Harry adamantly shook his head. “But, Cal… I don't know if I'm happy.”

--

PREVIOUSLY:

"Harry, um… this is actually quite pivotal…" Hermione meekly tried again.

"Yeah?" came Harry's distracted reply as he pointed to his phone, signaling for her to hurry up with whatever it was that she had to say since he was in the middle of a call with Callum.

"Well there's something really important that you might want to know about Andrea's mother…"

Harry sent her a weary look as he asked, “how important?”

Hermione clicked her tongue as she searched for a proper reply before settling upon, “make it or break it important.”

Harry's brow lifted, crinkling as he stared at her with surprise and she sent him a sheepish look in reply. “Cal, can I call you back later? Hermione needs me for the case at the moment.”

Callum let out a long-winded sigh, “of course she does. I just hope that this `help' doesn't involve any humping—”

“Cal!”

“Well, you know what those American films say, don't you? `Bros before hoes,' mate… bros before hoes.”

“You're so fucking twisted, I'll call you later.”

“You better,” Callum smirked before ending the call.

Harry shook his head a bit as he pocked his phone before turning to Hermione. “What's wrong?” he asked, moving behind her. He used his arms for support as he placed his hands on opposite sides of her body, leaning over her right shoulder to look down onto the file she was intently focused on.

Hermione paused for a second before replying. “I'm not wholly sure what to make of all of this.”

“Of what?”

“I don't know if I'm being too presumptuous here… I need you to look it over, too, maybe you'll be more discerning,” Hermione rambled on nonsensically, at least as far as Harry was concerned.

“Hermione,” he cut her off. “What are you talking about?”

“I… I think you're right,” she admitted, turning her head and cocking it so that she could look him in the eyes as he hovered over her. “I think it maybe it really was Natalia after all.”

Harry raised a brow. “Why's that, just moments ago you were saying it was the mother?”

“Look here,” she pointed.

Harry squinted a bit at the sight, trying to mouth the words she pointed out to him before finally giving up with a heaving breath. “Hermione, I can't even pronounce that, much else find any significance in it. What are you trying to tell me? Just say it.”

“It's Magi Månatligagi… and over here,” she rapidly flipped to the next page. “She has Morse Manipulations and Révolution: Redéfinir Magic!”

Harry stared at her. “And? She's in an asylum, Hermione; she has to be allowed to read something. I'll admit, it's a bit bookish, but you'd read it, too,” he rambled, helplessly shrugging his shoulders.

“That's the thing, Harry!” she screeched so passionately that Harry couldn't help, but stumble back a bit, forcing Hermione to turn in her chair so that she could look at him. “I do read them, and do you know what they all have in common?”

Harry's gaze was blank. “They're less interesting than my periodicals?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “While I do commend your adulation for the National Geographic and The Economist: A Wizard's World, that is wholly unrelated to this,” she unabashedly chastised him. “Harry, each of these magazines has featured the spell making tools implemented in this case in the past three years. I've even previously noted Magi Månatligagi!… though I can't imagine how I managed to forget about Morse and Révolution…” she babbled on, going off on a tangent.

“Hermione, forget about that,” Harry stopped her with a small smile. “Are you telling me that we have enough for a search warrant?”

“Well, yes… but what good will that do us?” Hermione asked. “It's not as if we can expect her to have a severed penis lying about her apartment to link her to the case or anything…”

Harry chuckled a bit. “No,” he amusedly agreed. “But we can expect her to have the magazines, she's a pack rat, and if she has those specific issues then we have enough to be able to take her in and get a handprint.”

“But, Harry, that's not enough to link her. We don't have any fingerprints, just a rough outline of a hand. There are at least one hundred people in London alone who can match that hand's profile. It's not definite at all. The only thing on those corpses that could give us finite proof is a magical marker. If you get me her wand—”

“We don't have enough for that,” Harry shook his head. “The Ministry is stringent about that, they don't want the public to think they're abusing their right over magical rights.”

Hermione gawked at him before nodding with a helpless and defeated pout. “I don't know what to say,” she admitted. “Unless we get her with a severed penis, I need her magical mark. I don't know the spell so my results won't be a hundred percent accurate, but I can calculate the accuracy and I suppose that with a handprint match will be enough. But, Harry, only that will be enough.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “But if we can get that to match than Buckley can argue for a permit to review her magical marker. You said that there are a lot of matches, but I can argue that only a few on that list would actually be related to the case's proceedings to this point, I suppose…”

“Oh,” Hermione's eyes widened as she bit her lip, a small spark of hope immediately bubbling within her. She tried to contain the blisteringly large smile that was breaking across her face as she looked at Harry with that optimistic look she knew he loathed. “And then we can review the spells that she's done in the past year!”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “That'd be a lot easier, but the case is too high profile for that, Ministry won't want to draw attention to the fact that they have that on database. You'll need to review every mark and compare it to her magical signature.”

“Okay,” Hermione nodded. “But Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I know I have a tendency to be impatient and all…” she admitted, “but you're not making any move at all right now, so I'm just wondering: when are you going to call Buckley?”

Harry let out a short snort of laughter in surprise at her retort. “I'll head off now to take care of it. If everything works out well, Buckley'll probably be phoning you to take care of a handprint verification.”

Hermione nodded. “Okay, good luck though,” she wished him with a small smile as she moved out of her chair and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Harry cracked a smile. “Mmm,” he hummed, “just hoping it'll pan out. Can you message me the exact issues we have to look for, volume numbers and all?”

“No problem,” she promised before raising herself up on the tips of her toes and kissed him.

--

“Hello?” Hermione answered her phone between bites of lasagna that she was eating in her office during a dinner break she set for herself before heading off to do more research.

“Ms. Granger?”

“Yes, this is she…” Hermione replied, her brow furrowing in puzzlement as she waited for a reply, unsure as to whom the stranger calling her private number was.

“It's Buckley, Harry asked me to call you. The team managed to find the issues of the magazines that you specified, nothing else, but it was enough to get a warrant for a handprint that is being sent over to your office right now. Could you please go over that as soon as possible?”

“Oh,” she let out a in a surprised yelp like tone. “Yes, of course, Sir.”

“Also, the Auror bringing it will have to stay with you as you review the two prints. It's all just a matter of protocol regarding string of possession.”

Hermione nodded. “Of course, I understand.”

--

Harry let himself into Buckley's office without even bothering to knock on the door, falling into one of the chairs across from the Head Auror with a loud grunt.

Rather than bothering to chastise him, well aware of the fact that it never did much good anyway, Buckley chose to ask, “Finished questioning her?”

Harry nodded, sighing as he let his head loll back. “She has nothing to say apparently. Just told me that we're gits and that I'm wasting my time with her rather than persecuting actual criminals. She even refused an attorney, says she won't need one since we won't be able to hold her on anything. She's innocent and that's that, according to her.”

“Helpful,” Buckley sarcastically chortled. “I just got the results from your girl Granger,” he informed Harry as he continued analyzing the papers before him. “According to her findings it's a 90-95% match so you'll have to file paperwork for the warrant now.”

Harry heaved a heavy breath before nodding. “Give me a minute, it'd been a long day… I'd gladly just nod off right here.”

“You're just a lazy prat,” Buckley retorted with a smirk as he handed Harry the document. “I'm leaving for the day, but call me to keep me updated, the wife's away on a business trip so I won't have to worry about being chastised for bringing work home.”

“Classy,” Harry murmured. “But, seriously, d'you mind if I take a nap in here after I finish filing and wait for a reply?”

Buckley snorted, shaking his head as he collected his things. “Don't you have a couch in your own office?”

“Not as comfortable, trust me… I've studiously compared the two.”

“Well then go for it,” Buckley allowed with a careless wave of his hands. “I'll just be at home, sitting in front of the telly with some ribs. Bianca has me on some terrible low fat, tasteless diet and I can finally comfortably sneak some good food into the house.”

Harry guffawed. “Just be careful, make sure you're not near the fireplace in case she calls you mid-bite. I've met the woman and know that she'd have your head for it, I have no doubt about it.”

“True,” Buckley chuckled. “Good luck with the warrant, I'll see you later.”

“Thanks, I'll need it.”

--

“Harry,” Hermione smiled as she answered her phone once seeing the name on the caller id. “What happened? How was it?”

“Natalia's denying everything at the moment, and I've just finished filing the paperwork for the warrant that we have grounds for because of the handprint now. Thanks for that by the way.”

“No problem,” her smile widened. “You sound tired, Auror Potter…”

He chuckled softly. “Think I might like it when you call me that.”

“I'm glad… but, Harry, maybe you should go back home; someone can always call you and you can be back at the office within minutes.”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “It'll take too long to get through those blasted security measure… plus, we've been working on this case for so long now that I just want to get it over with. I need to be here, but you should go home, I'll call you when the warrant's approval comes in.”

“No, I wouldn't be able to… especially not if you're back at the office. I'll be here. Just send over her wand once you receive verification and I'll call in my team. I won't be able to have all of the verifications right away since there are slight variations with every spell's mark, but as soon as I receive confirmation for one I'll send over the evidence and then get to work on the rest or meet you at home.”

“How long do you think it'll take?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don't know the exact spells she used so it'll probably be around an hour to two for each spell's trace.”

“Right,” Harry sighed. “Sorry.”

Hermione cocked her head to the side, raising a brow. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“Sounds like a hell of a lot of work I'm leaving you with…”

“Yeah, but it's my job… and I love it. Don't give me pointless apologies, Potter, I'd rather you just make it up to me later… much more fun,” she grinned.

“Mmm,” he moaned softly. “I can't wait for this fucking case to be over.”

“Me, too… then we can celebrate.”

“You're killing me, Granger, you know that? I'm alone in a room, lying on a couch… and all I can think about is all the ways I'd like to celebrate with you.”

“Well that's good, then you can make a list,” Hermione noted with a smile, biting her lip a bit at the thought.

Harry groaned. “You just be ready for it.”

“Promise.”

--

“I'm not going to say anything unless you have something substantial linking me to the crime. I watch Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, I'm not an imbecile,” Natalia crossly informed him.

“I know you're not,” Harry admitted as he closed the door to the interrogation room behind him. “And you don't have to talk, I will.”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes.

“Based on what I see in Carrols' notes, you were friends with Andrea, she was the only person that you were close to and likewise for her. You saw how her family distanced themselves from her after she entered St. Augustine's, right?”

“Yeah, and?”

“You two were close… and then you watched her die. Based on what I see in Carroll's notes, she showed clear signs of depression in the months before her suicide, all of which you experienced with her, too. You cared about her and you had to see her die.”

Natalia refused to reply to the claim, instead she simply sat there with her gaze focused on him, her expression apathetic, and arms crossed across her chest.

“I've got a match for your handprint around Dylan Sinclair's throat which got me a warrant for your wand so that we can match your magic tracer to the markers left on his body. Once we match that we'll begin with the other bodies.”

Again, Natalia simply stared at him in reply, her gaze completely blank.

“I'm supposed to get the results within the next ten minutes, figured I might as well wait in here with you,” Harry informed her, leaning back in his chair, Natalia gave no indication of continuing the conversation. Instead, she rolled her eyes, leaned back in her chair, and shifted her gaze to the ceiling.

The next five minutes of silence were the most awkward Harry had ever been forced, or better yet put upon himself, to endure. Natalia”s sudden interruption, an unexpected outburst, was well welcomed. The stiff shush as they awaited the results was excruciating, and Harry was just thankful for a distraction, regardless of how offensive.

“Your entire department is a joke, you know that?”

Harry frowned. “It's not perfect, but I wouldn't mock it.”

Natalia lowered her gaze onto him, her expression mocking. “No, of course not… I mean it's not as if the ministry isn't plagued by corruption or anything like that…”

“I'm not the ministry.”

“No, but you're a sect of it.”

Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “The system doesn't always work… I know that, I've seen it myself, but the job that I do, I'm at least proud of that.”

Natalia shook her head, sneering a bit at his words. “How good for you. The savior of our world as we know it is happy, should I be surprised? You didn't die and you're a celebrated hero, of course—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” an auror in training apologized as he let himself into the room, effectively cutting Natalia off. “But Ms. Granger sent me back with the results and—”

“Hand them over,” Harry gruffly ordered, not bothering to turn around to face the girl, but rather just extended his hand, only pulling back once he felt the envelope fall into his hands. “Thanks,” he grunted as he tore open the envelope and retrieved the file enclosed, quickly scanning the pages.

“What's it say then?” Natalia asked when Harry made no move to tell her anything.

Harry paused, his body stiffening for a second before replying to her query. He raised his gaze to her, “you're a match, 96.567% match,” he informed her, sliding the results towards her so that she could see them. “Any chance you'd like that attorney now?”

She shook her head as she read them. “Nope,” she said, popping the p-sound when responding. “So… I guess it's really over then, huh?” she asked, a bitter smile crossing her face as she spoke.

“Yep,” Harry nodded, retrieving a paper of his own and whipping a quill out from his back pocket. “Sign this then.”

Natalia wrinkled her brow. “What's this?”

“Read it before signing,” he ordered. “It confirms you waived your right to an attorney.”

“Of course,” she nodded, her eyes skimming over the document's words. “Ministry has to save its arse and all…”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Okay,” she signed the paper and slid it across the table. “What do you want?”

Harry shrugged. “Did you know why she was admitted to the hospital?”

“Asylum,” she stiffly corrected him. “And yes. I know about what those perverted fuckers did to her, if that's what you're asking,” she informed him, tone clipped, but vibrating with anger. Short, succinct, and fuming as a glare marred her face.

“So it was all to avenge her then?”

“She was my best friend,” Natalia told him. “I may not have known her long, but she was a great friend and I don't have many… or any of those. I couldn't do anything to help her while she was alive. I could only sit there and watch her deal with the fact that five bastards raped her and got away with it. Those five bastards took everything from her. Do you know what that's like, huh?” she asked him, clenching her fists as she spoke, her entire body tensing with them.

“No,” Harry truthfully answered, shaking his head. “I don't… I can only imagine.”

“Well that's just not enough,” Natalia informed him, her tone absolutely resolute, leaving no room for dissent. “She was branded as a slut and crazy, and her family deserted her. She deteriorated right before my eyes. I might be cold… people can call me apathetic all they want, but even I'm not that listless.”

Harry nodded. “Must have hurt.”

“It did,” she agreed. “And those bastards deserved what I did to them. If they can't use their pricks properly, then they don't deserve to have them, as far as I'm concerned,” she tartly informed him.

“So you killed them?”

Natalia scoffed, sending him a bitter smile. “You really need me to say it then, huh?”

Harry shrugged. “It helps, makes things a lot easier on the forensics team, too…”

“Of course,” she drawled, extending every syllable as she exaggeratedly rolled her eyes. “Well what do you want me to say, Mr. Potter?” she asked, cocking her head to the side as she unclenched her fists and let herself fall back into her chair a bit.

“Whatever you'd like.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “I can tell you that I loved every second of it… hearing their screams and groans for help. I loved listening to them beg me to let them go… for me to have some mercy. Nothing made me happier than having to point out that they never showed that supposed mercy to Andrea. I loved forcing them to stare at her picture as I hacked away at their bodies. I made them stare at her picture as I mutilated them and I loved every second of it,” she promised him, punctuating the word “every” with a sharp nod at the end of it. “They tortured her and it killed me to have to watch who she was becoming because of them. They deserved it. I'm glad I did what I did,” she confirmed, bobbing her head once more for good measure.

Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to say in reply to that.

“Well?” she asked, frustrated by Harry's silence. “Aren't you going to say something, Potter? At least thank me for my honesty. I think I deserve that courtesy…”

“Thanks? I don't know what you want me to say, Natalia. You killed them, there's not much more to do here other than to send you into lock up.”

“Of course, but the fact that there's still a rapist out there… that doesn't really matter at all, does it?”

Harry shrugged. “Never claimed it was a perfect system. Wish I could say otherwise.”

“It's disgusting,” she spat. “Andrea deserved vengeance.”

“You're right,” he agreed. “She did, and it's a shame she'll never get it… not really. Even this one was essentially at the cost of your life, doubt she'd want that if she was as amazing as you say she was.”

“But I don't mind,” Natalia rebuked. “I'm happy. I don't have a single regret.”

“You don't?”

“Nope,” she simply said.

“Right,” Harry nodded as he retrieved his file and the waiver. “Then I guess there isn't much left to say.”

“I don't think so,” she concurred.

“Then I'll be sending in Auror Browning to take care of booking you and he'll also handle any calls you'd like to make,” he told her as he got up and made his way towards the door.

“Of course,” Natalia drawled. “You know… I actually do have one question.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked.

“You couldn't have just waited a week more, huh?”

Harry sighed. “Afraid not,” he informed her, clutching the knob as he spoke before yanking the door open and exiting.

“Shame,” she hummed regrettably. “That's all I needed…”

--

“Hi,” Hermione widely smiled at Harry from his bed when he opened the door to his room.

“Hey, how are you?” Harry sent her a tired smile as he slipped his shoes off before throwing himself into the bed.

“I'm good; I was just waiting for you. It's late… or early, I guess,” Hermione noted with a side-glance towards the clock that informed her that it was already six.

“Lots of paperwork,” he explained as he rested his head on her lap, closing his eyes, “but I'm off until tomorrow, you?”

“Same, then I have to start going over every mark on those corpses.”

He shook his head. “No… you won't need to. All you need to do is compare the fatal marks on each, not every wound. She admitted to the crime.”

“She did?” Hermione asked, her tone surprised. “Wow, that's surprising. It's unusual, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, heaving a sigh as he pulled his body up and began to take off his coat.

Hermione eyed him curiously, silently assessing him before approaching him. “Harry?”

“Yeah?” he grunted as he got off the bed and pulled off his pants.

“Why don't you sound as excited as you should? Months have been spent on this case… I… shouldn't you be happier?”

Harry shrugged as he climbed back into the bed, seating himself by Hermione's side, his back against the headboard much like hers. “I don't know, she was forthcoming… too much so. I'm guessing she's going for an insanity plea…”

Hermione nodded. “Well, can you blame her? I mean she does belong in an asylum… I don't even understand why she was released, there's nothing in her file indicating that she should have been.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry admitted. “I guess it's not even that.”

Hermione looked at him, befuddled as he blankly stared at the wall in front of them. “Then what is it, Harry?”

“I don't know…” he whispered. “I guess I just hoped I'd feel more satisfied when we finished the case,” he admitted, rubbing his neck as he spoke.

“What's wrong?” Hermione asked, moving towards him and trailing a soft hand down his cheek as she turned concerned eyes on him.

“What'd she die for, Hermione?”

“Andrea?” she guessed.

He nodded. “Yeah. You know those blokes'll still get away with it, no one'll know what happened to her. Every one of those men will die an innocent and there's nothing we can do about that. Natalia'll be lambasted by the press and, as much as I hate what she did… I can't totally blame her.”

“I know,” Hermione softly murmured, bowing her head.

“Hermione, if that happened to you… I'd do the exact same thing. I can't blame her for what she did,” he admitted, turning to her with eyes filled with desperation.

“Don't talk like that, Harry. I'm safe… everything's well with us. Don't… don't open that can of worms if it's not necessary. You'll only hurt yourself if you dwell on that possibility and you know it,” Hermione argued.

“I guess I just don't know what to think about it all.”

Hermione offered him a sad smile. “Harry, sometimes you just have to let it go… let it be. Things can't always be perfect, in fact they're pretty terrible most of the time…” she regretfully admitted, “but when it's good, it's amazing.”

He nodded mutely.

“And Harry?”

“Yeah?” he asked with a morose timbre to his voice.

“It's pretty amazing for me with you, so I'd really hate to lose you as biased as that might make me,” she admitted, her smile morphing into a shy one.

He allowed himself a grin, turning to her with a curious smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. Like before… when you came up behind me, while we were talking about the case?” Hermione asked, biting her lip a bit as she broached the topic.

“Yeah?” Harry drawled raising a brow as he took in the rouge that was slowly spreading across her face.

“It took everything I had not to jump you right then,” Hermione smiled coquettishly as she slowly wrapped her arms around his neck. “The sight of your arms right there with your button down's sleeves all rolled up…” she murmured, lightly pressing her lips against his. “As I felt your breath against my neck,” she moaned at the memory, placing a light kiss to his pulse point. “It made me want to do very, very bad things to you.”

Harry groaned, closing his eyes as Hermione went back to lavishing attention onto his skin, kissing him everywhere and anywhere she could. “I wish you would have,” he muttered.

“We had work,” she rationally explained.

“Priorities, I know,” Harry managed to breath out. “But fuck, Hermione…!”

Hermione giggled, burying her head into his chest. “You like then?”

“You can't even imagine how much… the things I would do if I wasn't so fucking exhausted right now!” he told her as his grip around her waist tightened before he dropped a kiss onto the crown of her head. “I love you, you minx.”

Hermione giggled. “I love you, too, Potter. Let's sleep,” she offered.

“Mmm,” he hummed, moving to lie down. “Deal, but in the morning—”

“Afternoon—and that's if we're lucky, given that it's already six-fifteen in the morning,” Hermione corrected him.

“Yeah, then,” Harry chuckled. “Then, can we make up for today and just now?” he asked as he loosely wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Deal.”

--

Author's note: long time coming, I know. It's been ages, but thankfully I the epilogue is complete so I'll only have to revise it a bit before posting within the next few days!

Please review.

Additionally, thank you to my amazing beta Searcy (amazing author by the way!), both for making it through this story with me—it's been a long time, after all—and all of the wonderful work on it. I owe her everything, motivation to continue with this story and the direction in revising it to something that I can at least be semi-proud of!

-->

28. Of Happiness

Chapter XXVII: Of Happiness

--

Four months later…

“How was court?” Buckley asked as Harry let himself into the office.

“Insanity plea, as expected,” Harry told him and he carelessly fell into the couch. “Hermione presented the details of the case, I gave my testimony, defense showed the taping of the questioning, and questioned her doctor at the asylum.”

“Hmmm,” Buckley hummed. “Waiting on a decision then?”

Harry nodded. “We'll be called back in tomorrow with a decision. I'm guessing a life sentence to a sanitarium… probably another one since this one released her.”

“Makes sense, she should be in one anyway,” Buckley sighed. “How's St. Augustine dealing with the fallout of all of this?”

Harry shrugged. “Deny, deny, deny.”

“Really?” Buckley asked, cocking a brow in surprise.

“Yep, the board is doing damage control. Browning, their head, is being pinned for it all.”

“Cut the symbolic head of the dragon off… good move, I suppose.”

“Yeah, except for the fact that he wasn't the only one to blame, there was Natalia's therapist as well… and every other person who treated her.”

“Yeah,” Buckley admitted with a sigh. “But the public doesn't know that and that's all that really matters, you know that, Harry.”

“I do,” he confirmed, “but it doesn't mean that it won't bother me regardless.”

Buckley let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, but you work for the ministry, kid, get used to it.”

Harry laughed. “Thank you for your undying sympathy.”

“No problem, now get up from over there and sit across from me. I need to talk to you about something important,” Buckley ordered him, impatiently snapping his fingers in hopes of pushing Harry along.

Regrettably, it proved to be ineffectual since Harry still moved at a snail's pace when heaving his body up off of the couch and moving himself to the chair. Frowning, Harry let out a heavy and pained sigh. “You're really retiring then, huh?” he asked.

Buckley's eyes bulged a bit in an unattractive fishlike manner. “How'd you know?!”

Harry smirked as he admitted, “Your wife told me you were considering it when Hermione and I were over for your thirtieth anniversary dinner.”

“Blasted kids,” Buckley sneered at the recollection. “As if we really wanted to spend our anniversary with a bunch of people we know… regardless of how much we might like them. It's our fucking anniversary!” he complained, just as he always did whenever reminded of the evening.

Harry grinned. “Terrible, I know. But, yeah, she was warning me… wanted me to be prepared, I guess.”

Buckley smiled. “Good woman… and she was right. As you're kind enough to remind me on a daily basis, I'm old, Harry. I can't keep on doing this job, I've been at this post for years now and I love it, but at times I hate it, too. I need to go.”

Harry nodded. “I know, doesn't mean I like it… but I do understand.”

“Good,” Buckley nodded, expression relieved. “Harry, I meet with the Minister tomorrow to discuss my replacement. I know you're young, but with the whole savior of the world tag… well you'd have a good chance at the position. I think you should consider having me recommend you for it.”

Harry shook his head. “Come on, Buckster… you know I'd hate that. I would be terrible at this job, I'd just yell and argue. I hate the ministry and your job is just bureaucrats and paperwork. It's ridiculous, I'd never put myself up for such a boring and political post.”

“Thanks,” Buckley sarcastically quipped. “Very kind description there, expecially given that I've wasted away at this post for years now…”

Harry beamed at him, chirping, “No problem.”

“Well,” Buckley sighed. “Can't say that I'm surprised, but it's a shame. How's Müller?”

Harry shrugged. “Hates me because, apparently, I'm annoying as fuck.”

Buckley nodded. “So yes then?”

Harry shrugged, again. “He's respectable enough, and let's me do whatever I want if it means I'll leave him alone.”

“Good then,” Buckley nodded, resolute. “I think he'd make for a fantastic replacement, too. He's a great auror and public speaker. Of course, you can have my couch for future naps, since I don't think Müller would be all too willing to share his office with you whenever you decide you want it.”

Harry laughed. “Thanks, appreciate the sentiment.”

“Well I don't want this whole department to go to hell just because you're large enough of an arse to possibly send Müller to an early grave.”

“I'm not that bad.”

“To Müller you are,” Buckley simply retorted. “I still remember those horrific counseling sessions I had to hold between the two of you when you were working on the Brighton case,” he said, wincing a bit at the thought.

“Well then, for your sake, I promise to try to be nicer to the priss… even if he does seem to have a stick perpetually lodged up his arse,” Harry begrudgingly obliged.

“Thank you,” Buckley said, smartly choosing to ignore the latter part of Harry's comment. “…And any chance you're hungry? I'm dying for some lunch.”

“Sounds good, let's go.”

--

“I can't believe he's really retired,” Hermione murmured as they approached the front door.

“I know,” Harry agreed shifting the bottle of wine from one hand to another as he rang the doorbell. “It's so weird… first I learned about Buckley and then later that day Andersen called me, completely out of the blue, to invite me to this. It just seems kind of surreal,” he admitted with a helpless look sent Hermione's way.

“I know,” she smiled. “For me, too, but you said that he sounded ecstatic and that's all that really matters, right?”

“Well of course he is, he's moving to some Greek Island with his wife, doesn't get much more—”

“Harry, dear!” Mrs. Andersen whipped the door open with a gleaming smile sent his way. “Oh I'm so glad you could make it!”

“Mrs. Andersen, I think you get more beautiful every time I see you,” Harry said with a charming grin as he moved to kiss both her cheeks. “You're absolutely stunning… it must be something like with Helen Mirren, Julie Andrews, or Meryl Streep where you just get hotter with age,” he playfully winked at her causing a deep rouge to settle into her face.

“Oh you're terrible, feeding on my love for films to manipulate me like that. Absolutely conniving, Harry!” she chastised him as she ushered them into the house. “And you,” she turned towards Hermione, “you must be the famously fantastic Hermione Granger.”

Hermione blushed in reply. “Yes, but I think the praise is a bit too high,” she admitted, nervously rubbing her neck.

“Nonsense, my husband is an incredible judge of character and he holds you in quite high regard so I must trust him. Harry, however…” she conspiratorially winked at Hermione, a warm smile gracing her features. “Now,” she turned to Harry, “tell me why you brought me a bottle of wine. That's highly inappropriate, I'll have you know!” she chastised him. “We're hosting, not you.”

“That made no sense whatsoever, in my opinion,” Harry admitted with an amused smile. “But it's just a small congratulatory gift. I was never much of a connoisseur when it came to wine, but my mate is and he says that this one will make the heavens sing to you… you'll be able to speak to God, if you'd like.”

“Well… sounds utterly deific. I'll just go place this in our private collection then,” she accepted it when Harry handed it to her. “You've been here before for dinners, Harry, you can show Hermione to the dining room, you'll also find my husband there.”

“She's nice,” Hermione noted as Harry placed his hand on the small of her back and led her, as directed.

“She is,” he nodded. “She's one of the most welcoming women I've ever met.”

“I like her.”

“Good,” he grinned at Hermione before returning his gaze to the path before them, eyes searching for Andersen as soon as they entered the dining room.

“Harry!” a rumbling voice bellowed from his left, causing Harry to turn with a wide smile.

“Andersen!” Harry smiled as the man pulled him into a hug, excitedly clapping him on the back.

He scoffed as he released Harry. “Oh hell, I've told you to call me Michael, you're hardly my patient any more.”

“Can't,” Harry admitted with a sheepish look. “It'd feel too unnatural.”

Andersen rolled his eyes at Harry before allowing his gaze to rest upon Hermione. “And Ms. Granger, what a pleasure to see you again.”

Hermione ducked her head as another flush of pink took over her face. “You, too, sir,” she replied as she shyly raised her head.

“Oh please, none of those formalities. I'm not even a bloody doctor anymore,” he shook his head.

“Okay, if you say so,” she smiled. “You two probably have some catching up to do, can I get you both a drink?” she offered.

“None for me, already have one,” Andersen shook his head as he raised a half-full glass of scotch.

“You?” she turned to Harry.

“Whatever you think I'd like.”

“Okay, deal,” she smiled before heading off.

“So,” Andersen drawled, raising an inquisitive brow. “Last week when I invited you and you mentioned bringing her… I didn't realize it was like that.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Harry replied, choosing to feign ignorance.

“Of course,” Andersen's grin widened. “She didn't even have to say anything, Harry… it was that obvious. Someone only has to look at the two of you and they know,” he informed Harry. “Congratulations, Harry. I know how much you wanted this… and you look happy, you look really happy with her. I'm proud of you.”

Harry ducked his head as a small smile made its way across his face. “Thanks,” he murmured. “That means a lot, doc,” he admitted as he turned to face Andersen.

“I'm glad. You deserve this; you know that, right?”

“I think I might be starting to believe it…” Harry admitted. “I think—”

“Fanta lemon, hope I chose well,” Hermione interrupted.

Harry chuckled. “Always.”

Hermione giggled, shaking her head as she looked at Andersen. “He'll say anything to get in my good graces. He's terribly manipulative… shame that even you were unable to take care of that one…”

Andersen sighed, shrugging helplessly. “We all have to have our fallacies, I suppose.”

“But such a shame…”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered as he took a sip of his drink.

Hermione kissed his cheek. “No problem!”

--

“I had fun tonight,” Hermione admitted as she and Harry made their way into her flat. “I had a lot of fun.”

“I'm glad… and tomorrow you can look forward to meeting Callum, too.”

“Are you—”

“Hey,” Ron greeted them as he entered the living room, on his way to the kitchen. “How was the dinner?”

“I had a lot of fun!” Hermione smiled. “How was your date?” she asked as she began slipping off her shoes to put them away in the hallway's closet.

“Eh,” he shrugged. “She didn't like quidditch.”

“Neither did I,” Hermione pointed out with a befuddled look.

“And look at how well your relationship turned out,” Harry pointed out. “Just saying… you may have lasted years, but they were tumultuous ones.”

“My point exactly!” Ron agreed, passionately nodding his head.

“Stop that, you're starting to look like your Krum bobble head,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “If that was your only problem with her, Ron, you may want to at least try going on one more date with her before making a final decision.”

“I'd just recommend not mentioning that you live with your ex, I think I'm the only person kinky enough to be unfazed by that one,” Harry noted with an amused expression as Hermione sent him a dirty look, his smile widening as he noted her fuming. “Don't look at me like that,” he chastised her. “You know I'm right, you'll ruin his chances with any girl he might bring home if they realize the truth…. Or they might just assume that the three of us have some sort of depraved threesome,” he added on second thought.

“I…I…” Ron stuttered, his face marred by stupefaction. “You… you two just scare me,” he admitted with a shake of his head as he turned around and completed his journey to the kitchen.

“You scared him,” Hermione blamed, poking him in the chest to punctuate her words before heading off to her bedroom.

Harry snorted, following her. “Oh come on, Hermione, you share an apartment with him, that's intimidating for someone new. Not everyone can understand your friendship.”

“Well… too bad then,” Hermione retorted as she unzipped her dress and stepped out of it, moving to the closet to throw it into the hamper.

“Well… what if it doesn't have to be?”

“What? You want Ron to lie to them then? I'm sure they've seen reports about us in the news, Harry; you know what the Prophet's like.”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry replied, watching Hermione as she slipped off her tights. “I do, but… well, what if you didn't live here? What if… what if you moved in with your boyfriend?”

Hermione whipped her body around to face him, her eyes wide with shock, brows raised as far as they could go, jaw dropped. She was the picture of shock.

“I know this is kind of out of nowhere for you,” Harry admitted. “But I've been thinking about it for a while now and I think it could be good for us. I mean, we're always with one another, really just alternating between apartments and it's not as if you won't be able to see Ron or as if he can't easily pay this rent on his own…” Harry continued, refusing to look at Hermione as he went off on a tangent. “I just… I think it could be good for us, and you aren't making any move to say anything so I have to admit that I'm kind of scared right now…” he rambled.

“You—you're serious…” Hermione stuttered, awe struck. “You're actually serious?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “But if you don't want to or are unsure, I mean… you don't have to move in with me. No pressure—”

“No,” Hermione shook her head, barely breathing. “I—I want to. I really do.”

“You do?” Harry asked, too scared to smile right away for fear that he might be hearing things.

“Yes,” Hermione bit her lip as she smiled. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well… good then,” Harry nodded once, resolutely.

Hermione released her lip, letting her grin spread across her face. “So, do you… do you think we should celebrate then?”

Harry laughed, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her lower waist as Hermione pushed her body towards his, letting their bodies meld. “I think it'd be better if we do it at my place then… a christening of sorts.”

“Oh,” Hermione gasped. “Well then… we should get on that right away I suppose, lots of ground to cover and all,” she winked.

--

“Should I be worried?” Hermione asked, squeezing his hand so hard that he felt the blood flowing to it be effectively cut off.

“Hate to admit it, but yeah… Cal's really protective of me and he's a bit bitter about the fact that it took so long for you to reciprocate my feelings,” Harry sheepishly admitted as he opened the door to the pub for her.

“Great,” Hermione drawled. “Fantastic… he hates me already. Your best friend hates me! I honestly don't know how you can be so calm and… and blasé about this,” she frowned.

“You never know,” a voice joined their conversation and Hermione turned around in surprise, her face paling at the sight of the burly man before her. “I might grow to like you one day, but you do get credit for acknowledging me as his best friend. Callum,” he offered his hand to her.

Hermione, so shocked that her body had frozen, had to be pushed by Harry who raised her hand for her. “H… hi…” she breathlessly stuttered.

“Hi,” Callum shook her hand with an amused smile when he felt the limp hand helplessly lie within his as he moved it up and down. “Come on,” he motioned to an empty booth with his head before guiding them to the table. “So you're the infamous Hermione Granger, huh?

“Cal…” Harry warningly growled.

“Oh piss off, Potter, this isn't between the three of us, but just Hermione and me. It's okay if I call you Hermione, right? Or would you prefer Ms. Granger?”

“In… infamous?” she stuttered, shocked as she tightened her grip on Harry's hand, and effectively cutting off circulation to it.

Callum laughed, tilting his head to the side as he assessed the sight before him. Wrinkling his brow, he asked, “You're really scared, aren't you?”

“Petrified,” she replied, gnawing on her lip once the admission left her lips.

“Well… good then,” Callum nodded.

“Cal, don't be a prat!” Harry chastised him.

“Oh do shut up, Potter,” Callum rolled his eyes. “It is good, it means she cares about you.”

“I… I do,” Hermione cut in. “I love him,” she added.

Callum grinned. “Good,” he nodded. “Good,” he repeated emphasizing his approval. “Harry deserves that.”

--

“Mr. Potter,” Andersen called after Harry as he began to exit his office.

Harry stilled for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He stood frozen for a good minute before he finally turned around, slowly asking, “Yes?”

“I know that this whole ordeal isn't exactly your choice, but Hermione brought you here and you seem intent upon fulfilling her wishes. You did well today, but I can't help you if this first session is any indication of how things'll progress. I won't waste my time here, I need to know that there's at least some goal in mind here,” Andersen bluntly admitted, a frown marring his face as he spoke. With a heaving sigh he asked, “What is it that you want, Harry? What is it that you need most?”

“I… I don't know,” Harry admitted, shrugging as he let his body lean against the door behind him, placing most of his weight upon it.

Andersen sighed, disappointment etched onto his face. “I don't know what to tell you then, Harry. This whole therapy is pointless if you're just doing it to appease her. You need to have some driving force, too… and, honestly, I'm not for wasting my time with a hopeless case. If there's no point to this, tell me, Harry.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, slowly tugging at the ends of the strands as he composed himself. Clucking his tongue he waited. “I…”

“Yes?” Andersen goaded when Harry cut himself off at just one syllable into a reply.

“I want to be happy, that's all.”

The corners of Andersen's mouth tipped upwards at those words. He nodded, “okay then.”

Fin.

--

Author's Note: Just around this time a year ago I began this story and since then I've seen my prose progress and this story has actually changed a lot, in terms of plot and story line. Some things have been added, some removed… but I've had a lot of fun.

Thank you for reading! Additionally, thanks so much to my amazing beta, Searcy!

Cosmo

xx

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29. Of a Vote

Hello All,

With the end of “In Retrospect”, I have finally decided to go back to “Into the Dark”. This is a story whose premise was good but I somehow managed to fuck up with when bringing it to fruition.

I am still inspired by the idea, however, and hope to totally scrap the original (save for a few short scenes that will be totally renovated) and rewrite the story.

I have completed the first two chapters and a general outline for it. My question, however, is whether people would prefer that I update it as I write or wait until I finish and then regularly post it. For me, personally, it makes very little difference so I'm leaving it up to readers to give a preference and I'll go through with that.

Best,

Cosmo.

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