Unofficial Portkey Archive

Life and Times

Rating: R

Ship: HHr (main emphasis)

The (unlovely) procedure: all rights go to JKR for previous plot and characters, Scholastic, Warner, and whoever else has their hands in HP.

Author Note: When the pressure's upon you, sometimes things are said. Mix in several painkillers…

***

Chapter Forty-Five - Stress

***

Brownouts.

The lights above my head flickered on and off.

So fast, the dark-to-light got me…

Bedridden.

Sick, I felt like I was going to throw up again.

I wished them all to stop, small lights and large lights, thin lights and thick, some were coloured and some weren't.

I had to close my eyes.

Tired and weary… It actually took effort to close my eyes.

That's when I heard something. A voice, inaudible and toned down which spoke in murmur. It sounded like an argument, or people just talking loudly. I couldn't make out anything, as if I were underwater, my sight matching the same blurriness. My eyes, squints, I tried to focus on the smear and blobs, all black, all shadow, except for those lights which had stopped their incessant blinking.

I tried opening and re-opening my eyes, to clear away the fog.

I heard something, a compression, a waft of cooler air hit my face, hitting my mouth and noise.

I smelled pumpkin, but I saw only black.

Sharper, now, after squeezing my eyelids and trying my best to find similarities of any resemblance, something as these blobs moved around me. I knew I was lying down, a distance between them and me-them, multiple, two, three? Three people…maybe I fourth… I couldn't quite tell. The hospital… St. Mungo's, right? Were these doctors? Why was everything…

Black?

Black…

My eyes shot open and I began to squirm, to grip at everything and anything.

Death Eaters!

I shook the bed I was in, grabbed hold of some strings on me, kicked my legs to free myself from the tightly wrapped sheets. I had to get out. I needed to get out. They were here… They were here! Help! Help! I tried to scream out, but voiceless. I remember gasping, fighting…for seconds…

Pumpkin… I'd gotten so involved in piecing the puzzle…

Warm pumpkin…and a cool hand on my forehead…

I stopped struggling and relaxed…

I remember taking a deep breath and letting it out easy, slowly… In a daze, my eyes flittered, exhausted, body languid… I turned my head towards the hand, the blob… Harry? It had to be…

I went to stretch out, to move…reality becoming cleaner, less grainy…

I looked over, wanting to see more, wanting to hear more…

They were talking again… Talking… Talking to someone-someones…

Suddenly the clearing happened. Suddenly I saw it all, or one, platinum blonde hair slicked back, strong-jaw and robotic, a mannequin in every way and shape possible. Glowing pale skin, striking grey eyes, evident cheekbones carved into what could be considered malnourishment. A lustrously silver snake head poking from black leather gloves shown through fingertip, gazing at me in a fright, mouth open, teeth bearing to bite…

…Draco.

I found myself waking up. My eyes rolling to consciousness, the lights of the room I was in remained…stationary. No flickering. The exhaustiveness I felt before bombastically decided to stay, the very muscle and bone within me so very tired, so tired I really didn't want to move. But, a pain started in my side, and that cold waft of air kept tickling my face.

I began to turn, having to use every bit of my strength to do so. Difficult, but I managed…with help. A hand in my own, I had the pillows adjusted underneath me without actually knowing there was a pillow beneath me. The hand had left mine to do this, only to slide back in my palm and fingers. I held it, whoever it was, for it was…familiar, friendly.

I looked and saw flaming red hair, long, flowing, curly. She wore pyjamas, the various light bulbs surrounding me on, indicating nightfall outside. Not a fashion faux pas by this hour of the night. I smiled at her, Ginny, and she leaned down to my height, and thankfully… Looking up made me nauseous.

"Hey…," I said through this clear mask on my face. I realised it had to be giving me oxygen, having had something similar on me before.

My voice cracked and I coughed.

"Shh… Shh…," Gin combed my hair by running her fingers through the front. She delivered a soft kiss to my forehead. I closed my eyes, only to open them again to see her back at my height.

She looked me over. "You know, we really must stop meeting in places like this."

I smiled.

She smiled, too.

"Harry…," I got out in a raspy whisper.

Gin grazed my forehead by fingertip and said with a nod, "He's just outside. I'll go get him."

I straightened my form, squirming to get on my back. I saw a bouquet of roses bedside, the fresh perfume rousing, but not enough. Grinning at my perceived gift, I felt my eyes close. I tried so very hard to keep them up, but ultimately succumbed to sleep the second I found myself surrounded by an aroma of spiced pumpkin.

***

"What happened?"

"You had quite the fit, that's what," answered Harry, our hands together on the white sheets of my hospital bed. "I'd never seen you that way before, and I've seen you sick. It…"

The three of us were waiting for Doctor Stevens to come in, and any minute now. A nurse had relieved me from many of the lines, the mask on my face when she knew I could breathe on my own, and had given me some water for a severely parched throat. The plastic cup was empty now, fairly thirsty, the ice cubes helping nicely.

Gin was curled up in a chair by the wall. She kept her eyes on me, and Harry, her arms folded, knees up to her chest. The emerald-green pyjamas emphasized that Weasley-red, Saint Patrick would have been proud. She didn't talk, listening.

"I blacked out. I don't remember everything… Like splotches of memory."

"You went limp after having this…," Harry glanced away, but came back to me.

"But, you're okay now," He ended.

"I had this…," I paused a beat, to find the right words. "You know those dreams I keep having…"

"About Dumbledore?"

"No…well, yes," I continued, taking the single ice cube left in the plastic cup. I felt it melt cold in my mouth. "But, this time…"

I sort of laughed and shook my head. "…I saw Malfoy."

"You're having dreams about Draco now?" Harry huffed, sarcastically, playing.

I smirked, but the smirk fell callous. I shook my head again. "I swear he was right here, right where you are…with two other people. I think? I don't know. I'm so exhausted…"

"They drugged you pretty well…," told Harry. I hadn't known they did anything, but it made sense. I was in a hospital after all, and very…high. Sound, I'm sure they'd send me home.

"Hm… Yeah, drugs would be the only thing that would help me swallow Draco to begin with, let alone him paying me a kindly visit."

Harry and Ginny laughed.

"He hated me."

"Nah, he didn't hate you," he leaned over and kissed my cheek. "No one could hate you. It's impossible. He was just…well, misinformed. Brainwashed by his father's hate."

My eyes went a bit wide and a bobbed my head to proclaim a `yes'. "But, he hated everyone…"

"Well, I know someone who doesn't hate you," Harry turned in his chair to Ginny. I looked over at her.

"How did you…?"

"It was…" began Gin. I felt her uncomfortable at that moment. "I mean…"

Harry picked up where Gin stumbled. "She called me. She-"

"I don't really believe in this, but…," Gin fidgeted, switching her legs around. "…I don't know. I was asleep on Cho's sofa, and I mean really zonked out…No, not by alcohol, so quit giving me that look of suspicion…and I just… I just felt this nagging weight to contact Harry. I didn't know why. I still don't know why. I'd never felt something that intense before, and when I heard Harry's voice…"

"We all were scared," Harry added, kissing the corner of my mouth.

He'd already tried to kiss my lips, but I didn't want him near my mouth. At least until I could get a toothbrush and mouthwash. The area was off-limits, but Harry, as usual, wanted it anyway.

I smiled at him and clenched his hand.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione. I'm glad I trusted the instinct, but I really want to apologise."

My eyes immediately returned to Gin.

"I apologise, Mi," she said again. "For being such a…witch."

"I'm happy you're here, Gin."

Harry put his forehead on my side, his nose at my cheek. He nudged me with the bridge of his nose, and I saw Gin smile at our intimacy, but look away indefinitely…or until the door opened and a white-robed Doctor Stevens walked on in. Then, everyone in the room stopped what they were doing or thinking and looked up.

"Ah, Miss Granger! I see that you're awake now and looking well!" Doctor Stevens took the clipped pieces of parchment from the door, the medical records. "Did someone bring you something to drink? I've asked the nurse to bring you something coming up."

"They did," I held up the emptied plastic cup.

Doctor Stevens gave the cup a once-over. "I'll be sure to get you something better tasting than plain ol' water. Some blueberry juice, freshly made downstairs in the cafeteria. But, first…"

Doctor Stevens sat down in a rotating chair, quill in hand and dipped the tip in an ink vial. He scribbled quick writing, and Gin stood up while everyone went busy with watching the Doctor.

"I'm…," She pointed towards the door. "I'm going to let myself out."

She said this so only Harry and I could hear.

"No, you don't have to-" I started to say, to see Gin out the door before I could finish. She just looked at me and smiled faintly, her form disappearing. The door shut quietly.

Doctor Stevens gazed towards her exit, the quill and parchment levitating by themselves after he had removed his hands, and looked at us.

"It's okay," expressed Harry. "She's a friend and just stepped out for some air."

"Ah, okay," He rolled on over beside Harry, aside me, and put his arm up on the hospital bed's rail. The quill and parchment followed. "Well, everything seems to point to a lack of fluids, dehydration. The headaches, the vomiting-sometimes in a case like yours with the daily heart medication you'll need to drink a little more than usual. I'm not saying loads, but an above average intake would suffice greatly."

Dehydration…really?

"What about her heart?" spoke up Harry.

Doctor Stevens adjusted his eyeglasses and gave us both a grin. "Everything checks positive with Miss Granger's heart, beating stronger than before. When I first read the synopsis, her heart never came to mind. Not to say there isn't relativity with the matter-Miss Granger won't have to come in this month for a check-up-but I wanted to know from those who checked her out when she came in if she'd, for example, ate a bad diet."

I sighed, having not the energy I'd like to argue a case… I was sure, by a quizzical look Harry gave Doctor Stevens, that he'd make my case for me.

"She hadn't eaten anything bad," Harry began to counter-argue. "Quite frankly it was the best meal we both had in weeks…"

Then again, the truth would have made us look mad.

I took in a breath, sliding back into bed after hearing things was looking fine. The voices started to combine into one droll, numbed.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry, a deep-seated concern in his voice.

"Oh, nothing…," I exhaled. I turned my head against the pillow to look at him one more time before shutting closed my eyes. I smiled, or I hoped I did. "…Just tired, that's all."

"She's had it rough, poor thing," stated Doctor Stevens. I could see him no more, but could hear him wheeling back to the desk. He procured the quill and parchment, scribbling away as he had so prior.

"She certainly has…," Harry sighed aside me, his lips caressing the side of my forehead.

I felt his hand in my hair, a stroke. I nudged into his palm, and he gave my temple another kiss.

***

Wizard Watch, 211.7 WM, 8:57 AM GMT

{A mix of pop music and metal greets a new morning hour of Lee Jordan's Wizard Watch}

A dark-skinned Lee Jordan sits behind a low-tiered desk with an early talk-radio microphone blocking most of his face. A white collared shirt and navy blue trousers, a Union Jack pin dangling on his shirt pocket. He sets a mug of coffee down, the steam visible off the top, and moves closer to the microphone after the Wizard Watch anthem plays.

A red flashing sign, "On Air," stops and remains lit.

While the introduction music ends…

"Shit has really hit the fan. Mud-slinging everywhere and who is to blame? Coming up… Now!"

Lee lights up a cigarette and stuffs parts of his shirt into his trouser.

"The economy is falling amidst concerns of terrorism, Death Eaters running amuck with a government in full throttle to produce a miracle out of essentially a cynical country," Lee dives into his monologue. "Welcome witches and wizards to the Wizard Watch program. I am your host, as always, Lee Jordan. If this is your first time listening to our exquisite program, well, you are in for a treat. I don't welcome falsities. I don't welcome hypocrisy. I am a learner of truth and I search for what is true. In the studio with me this morning is my good friend, Bill McDawson. Good morning, my friend."

"Good morning, Lee. Happy to be here again. Ready to take on the kingpins?"

Lee sighs angrily into the microphone. "To echo The Quibbler, what a week this has been, eh? What a year 2000 has been for us."

"It definitely has been an interesting three-fourths of a new millennium. Time to ready a red carpet."

"Where do we start first…? That is the question. When the monkeys toss their feces, one doesn't know where to begin cleaning up," Lee takes a long drag of the cigarette. "Let's start with Miss Rita Skeeter's agenda against the wizarding world, and I'm not just talking about within the United Kingdom. This broadcast goes beyond Union Jack. Have you been reading this shit spewing from the Prophet?"

Bill leans over his own, smaller, modern microphone. "You know how I despise that journal, if you want to call shit journalism. It's journalism's black eye."

"Well, to inform any listeners who don't follow the Daily Prophet-and I'm definitely not advertising for that filth-but there are a select few reading the Prophet who will know what I'm speaking of. That is, this notion of rioting."

"What?"

"Yes, Miss Skeeter's new personal agenda is to create riots. That's exactly what we need right now when our economy is in the throws and murderers are on the loose. Good job, dumbass."

"I saw on WNN how people were picketing the administration's decisions in the Commons of the Ministry," Bill chuckles. "Lee, you're really on it this morning."

"I wouldn't have to be on if I didn't see what is so blatantly real. I hate people who purposely mislead the general public into thinking something as radical as, and I will testify to this remark, an anarchist. Skeeter and her troublemakers at the Prophet are gathering a crew of thugs to stir the proverbial pot. At this very moment, she is calling upon her readers worldwide to take up arms and oppose authority. By all means it is our right as citizens of a country to debate the politics of one's nation, but there is a difference between asking Parliament and rioting. Asking questions and producing riots is not the same thing."

"Let's say this, Miss Skeeter. Let's take this into consideration," Lee coughs into his fist. "Let us take any order out of government. Better yet, let us not have a government at all. What do you think will happen then, Miss Skeeter? Will the economy miraculously rise out of its slump? Will the murderers, Voldemort's lackeys automatically cease to exist? Can someone explain to me how this woman can justify her own noxious statements?"

"Don't ask me. I've always thought she was a loon," chirps Bill, drinking his own coffee. "Haven't subscribed to the paper in nearly a decade."

"Not only do we have an anarchist breeding other anarchists," breathes Lee. "She's now being investigated by the Ministry on the basis of sheltering Death Eaters. Sheltering the same people who killed our loved ones. I was at Miss McGonagall's funeral and it definitely wasn't old age that got her. The same damn thugs she may or may not-let's say she will-bring into…"

Lee abruptly stops. "I can't even go on. It's all so stupidly stupid-bloody stupid, fucking stupid. Thank Merlin we have other news outlets uncovering this plague in our existence. Does anyone think three years ago, four years ago-Hell, five years ago we would be having this conversation?!"

Bill shakes his head in dismay.

Lee looks over at Bill. "And now she's side-stepping. Her agenda is to piss on those who helped-not hurt as she's doing-helped this country back on its feet, cleaned out the hatred. Again, I don't believe we're actually having this conversation!"

"She's pathetic," Bill puts his hand around the microphone and fidgets in his rotating seat. "Do people actually take her seriously?"

"Yes! People actually take her seriously!"

"Her actions are quite transparent."

"That doesn't mean anything," retorts Lee, dragging on his cig. "Sheep need a shepherd to follow. To some, she is their shepherd and she knows it. That's why she can do and say whatever she wants and gets away with it! Look at what she has on her plate now. She owns the biggest newspaper company in the world. Unfortunately, what she likes to continuously state is true. Millions on millions of copies are sold, and nothing, nothing compares. Not even The Quibbler holds a candle, though The Quibbler is making strong strides. Their profits increased around ten percent last year."

"Didn't I read in the notes that the Prophet doubled their profit margin by nearly thirty percent?"

Lee points at Bill. "And that, my friend, is why I'm on the air. I feel the need to teach those who weren't there. Well folks, I was there in the War. While the previous administration called for a mass exodus of cities and towns, took measures to secure the Muggle citizenry, I faced Voldemort's army head on. Rita Skeeter, on the other hand, was one of the hundreds of thousands to flee Britain. She tucked her tail between her legs and ran."

"I didn't know that at all."

Lee nods. "I think she went halfway across the world to escape. Laid low in Australia or something. Regardless, she doesn't know the shit she's talking about. Without Kinglsey, without Dumbledore, without McGonagall, without the Order she loves to dismember as the true criminals."

Lee counts each person and construct on his fingers. "Without Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger, without Luna Lovegood, without me, there wouldn't be a world where she could breathe."

"Did you expect any less from her, Lee?"

"No," Lee sharply answers, crumpling the cigarette in an ashtray. "And that is why I am scared. Every morning when I wake up I see something from her passed on. The hatred she spews given a pass."

"And that is why I ask you, listeners," Lee gets close to his microphone. "I ask you, the thinkers, the learners, the believers, the future. I ask you, not to gather torches and pitchforks, but to read and ask questions. I don't expect the Minister to make everything better. I don't expect the media to make everything better. Each of us, every human being out there can make a difference. We all can make this world a better place. The truth is out there, listeners, the information readily available. All we need to do is open our eyes and open our ears. The truth is in front of our faces."

{The Wizard Watch theme plays, preceding a commercial break.}

"We'll be right back after these brief messages."

***

The sunlight shining into our master bedroom woke me up. I couldn't tell if it was morning or the afternoon, but I could tell it wasn't overcast. Crookshanks, the naughty kitty, had jumped onto the bed. Wound beside me, he fit into the half-circle my form portrayed through the sheets. I didn't care. Any other time I'd scolded him for getting on the bed, but I was sore. Having come home from the hospital, that last fit really did a number on me. I ached from head to toe.

Crawling upwards was a chore. By wobbly arms and hand, I pushed myself to sit. The orange ball winked open his beady black eyes and stretched his stubby little legs. I slid my hand across my cheek, against the side of my nose, rubbing my eye. A slight headache still within, it was nothing like that night thank goodness. I scratched the backside of my head, fixing pillow-hair patted down. I noticed Harry gone, the king-sized bed to myself.

I could have, and really should have lain back down. But, I craved tea, thirsty, or at least something cold to drink. I inched the sheets off me, Crookshanks hopping down. He stayed at my feet, my feet on the floor while I drew in a breath, seated at the edge of the bed. I felt woozy the moment I pushed off and had to shield my sight, darkness soothing my low, throbbing pound. Wandering over to slip my Merlin slippers on, I paid close attention to my steps. Each step played challenge, my equilibrium gone after being drugged for pain.

I buttoned the large-printed red-and-black flannel shirt I wore. The size of the shirt pointing towards Harry's closet sort, a tent on me which hung passed pink-and-white knickers. With each new fastened button the less cold I felt against my exposed abdomen and chest. I rolled the sleeves further and had to catch the doorknob, swallowing hard and closing my eyes, Crookshanks about my ankles.

"Crookshanks… Go on now… Don't trip mummy…"

He went in front of me, stopping when I did to grasp the rail at the start of the staircase. He'd look back after each stair, watching my slow descent down two bloody flights. I halted on the second floor to catch my breath, fatigued from a constant wash of sickness. I heard the telly on the closer I got to the ground floor. I heard someone in the kitchen, Harry, closing the refrigerator door, doing something with plates, the sink faucet turning on.

A spherical top at the end of the railing is what I held onto, my feet off the last stair. My mind took control, my world swirling. I put my hand over my mouth for I wanted to…alleviate the quavering sickness on my tongue. I burped instead, a wave of uneasiness, a wave of wet cold clinging to the parts of me unclothed. Crookshanks sat in front of me for that bit, and then scurried off into the kitchen.

I re-opened my eyes to see Harry coming from the room with a dish cloth drying a bowl.

"Hermione!" He said, and a tad too loud. My eyes shut again. "What in Christ's name are you doing down here, love?!"

He dropped the bowl and cloth on the sofa, the hard ceramic giving a bounce.

Crookshanks galloped at the pace of his stride over to me.

Harry stroked my arm. "You've got to get rest, baby, or you'll stay sick. You heard what Doctor Stevens said when we left-"

I brushed his hand from me. My eyes gently slipped open a crack, the sunlight completely draining the living space to my unfortunate current state. "I came down here… For a drink…"

"I charmed that cup beside the bed, remember? Like a Walkie-Talkie. All you had to do was talk into it. I would have come up there with whatever you wanted."

"I…," I swallowed and took a breath. "…I wanted to come down here…"

"'Mione…"

My lips were straight across, those slits for eyes on him.

"Come on," He whisked me, taking my feet from the floor in one careful swoop. "You've got to remain in bed and rest."

He started ascending, my body wiggling within his arms after each additional stair.

I scowled. "I've been resting… All I do is rest… My life, as I know it, is one. Big. Sleep. I'm tired of resting… I want to do-"

We were back in our bedroom.

"No," He cut me off. "I don't want to see you back in the hospital. We already go there once a month, and once a month is too much…"

The corner of my lips twitched, the scowl certifiably stuck in frown.

The second he put me down, my feet, my legs against the edge of our bed, I pushed him away from me.

I had to grab the bed, having bounded backwards by my push, stumbling with the painkiller clouding my head.

"Leave me alone!" I shouted. Crookshanks, who had followed us back up, hissed at me and fled from the room at the shout.

Harry, taking a step back, eyes wide, gave me space.

He kept stationary, watching me breathe harder after exerting that bit of strength to force him away.

I flipped my annoying flock of loose hair from my face, staring at him through a daze. "I'm tired… Of you always… Treating me like I'm a child!"

"I'm not an invalid, damn it!" I stomped my right foot.

"Now," My chest inflated, and then deflated after a long breath. I gritted my teeth. "I'm going to the restroom… Can I piss by myself or do you want to come in to wipe me when I'm done?"

He threw his hand up in surrender.

He didn't so much look at me after my tirade and merely pivoted one-eighty and left me to myself…like I wanted.

That throbbing headache picked up and I had to hold the sides of my head, eyes closed.

I felt my way to the lavatory blind.

***

Shuffling with kindness back to the bed, noting how the sway would hurt or help by how light I walked, I finally sat back down on the ledge of the mattress and shifted into the sheets. It wasn't sickness that gripped me, something far deeper keeping my focus…however worthless I felt. I didn't want to shun him. For Christ's sake I loved the man with all my heart. I wore my engagement ring like a Medal of Honour and would only take it off if I knew I'd tarnish the piece which literally and figuratively showcased my whole world.

I just…

He…

I didn't know what was going on inside me.

Harry knew everything, exposing it like his own instances, of dreams he had so many times before but never quite understood them. The people he looked to assist his understanding of the dreadful material were gone, deceased or otherwise not with us anymore. He could write to Kingsley, but Kingsley is no Albus Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall. They were a rung of the ladder by themselves. Talking to anyone else would garner insanity, and I'm sure would be leaked into the newspapers and other media ad nauseum.

We didn't disregard anything… But, what could we do?

Like Kingsley told Harry, and I could hear his bristly voice as if I were there when he said, "I'll take it from here".

I wanted to live my life with Harry, and we were trying…taking unmitigated detours down rather badly paved roads. Harry was right. Once a month I would go to St. Mungo's for Doctor Stevens to check my heart. Once a month I was thrown back into a situation where everything wasn't right, something was wrong. Surgery? We've been down that route… I had plans now, and I did feel better… Just not like five years ago when even I, Hermione Granger, could take on the world.

Something was afoot, and nothing to my vast amounts of knowledge connected the dots. Maybe that's why I'm having headaches? I kidded myself.

Leaning over, I took hold of the tiny, ornately-painted porcelain cup and whispered the name, "Harry…"

I waited.

I closed my eyes, both hands wrapped around this tiny cup, and asked again, "Harry… Harry, please come upstairs, I-"

The knock startled me.

My sight went to our bedroom door.

Harry was inside the frame, still open from when I left it going downstairs.

At his feet ran orange fluff, in his hands held a glass of tea.

"I was just calling you…," I set the charmed cup down on the stand aside the bed and rolled over to exchange it with a cold glass of tea. The outside of the glass was drenched with perspiration, an indication of what was to come…cubes of ice hitting my nose as I took as much of the much needed fluids in as I could.

Harry kept his eyes on me, vigilant of each sip, for I drank fast.

When all was well, he started out, and I caught him at the door with his back to me.

"Harry…," Though my voice soft, he stopped his trek.

He put his hand on the doorframe and turned around to look at me. He lifted his chin, to say that he recognized my call, and asked in whisper, "…Yes?"

Sliding on my bum, I shifted to the far side, closer to Harry but still at a distance, "I didn't mean to shout…"

"I don't want you to shout… I'm only trying to-"

"I'm sorry…" I started to weep.

"Sweetheart…," He came back over to the bed, to me, and slid in alongside me. I had to make room, and did so, needing him, Harry pulling away the sheets to get inside.

My voice cracked, Harry pulling me to him. "…I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me. Stress, I-"

"Shh…," He had his arms around me, my head just below his chin, my body warming against his. He slipped his hands up-and-down those portions of me which weren't covered. "My, you're cold."

He withdrew, only to grab the comforter and throw it over us.

Cradled by Harry in the pocket he created, I soon felt loads, and loads better, his aura infinitely times better than any medication. I settled down, Harry wiping away the tears from under my eyes and down my cheeks.

"I don't want you to hate me, I just get so emotional when I can't-"

"No one hates you."

We went silent long enough for me to run the tip of my nose, the philtrum, the skin of my lips along his chest where I hid inside the sheets.

"…I don't know what I'd do without you." I said this at his chest, the echo drumming off his smooth muscle.

"You're loved by so many people," I looked at him, and in the moment he lowered to kiss me. His jade irises, the undamaged and damaged, kept to my own as if to define what he had to say. "Always remember that you're never alone."

***

I remember briefly waking up to Harry. At my neck, caressing my throat, I'd turned over so my back faced him. He had his arms wrapped around me tight, his head within the crook, breathing in smooth skin and an abstract of cinnamon-and-mahogany strands. Drugged and feeling as if someone casted a Levitating charm on me, I reached backwards, eyes closed, lips in a grin, body like liquid, and clutched deep within his wild curls. He scratched my tummy, lightly grazing from fingertip along a breadth of unyielding flesh and feminine muscle unopposed by buttons. He wasn't rough the slightest, knowing quite well my brain was like the leftover pumpkin after they'd squeezed all the juice out.

He was just expressing, without using his voice… Hey… I love you.

Calming down, he fell back around my slim figure after leaning to get at my hollow, the inside of my shoulder and the upper parts of my chest. He took me up, his front flat against my backside, his arm beneath my head, his arm paralleling my form, between my breasts where I clutched him, and I subsided once more into a medicated slumber.

His hand over my heart.

***

THE EVENING PROPHET

ALLIES ON THE RUN

Long-time allies of the Ministry, of human governments worldwide, have decided to, "Leave this one alone," says a top official in the British Ministry. With the world stretched thin with War efforts against He Who Must Not Be Named, the Elves assisted in filling gaps. Strongly against the Death Eater uprising, questions have been raised if they see confidence in Minister Shacklebot's new administration or if this is a future epidemic of other magical creatures allied with humankind leaving the International table. Yet, another feather in Minister Shacklebolt's cap. Will the Goblins be next to back down? Time will only tell. Gringotts Bank hasn't been doing well. The supporters of this, our two thousand six hundred and seventy-first administration pride themselves in telling lies. What will happen when we're all alone in the dark? Without the Elves, the Goblins, we would have never had the upper-hand. So, keep on telling yourself good things in the mirror. I'm sure that'll get you very far.

We need a new administration with some brass.

Gus Perwinsky

Writer

Page 2 (cont. on pages 3 and 4)

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