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: Like a game of tug-of-war, the more our duo resists, the more time plunges them back into a past.

***

Chapter Forty-Seven - Stone

***

"No, no, that's not entirely true. Before Shakespeare, the ideology of romance wasn't shown as a worthy topic of discussion. Such plays as Romeo and Juliet, and Othello, conflicts of violence were often paired with romance because romance on its own wasn't viewed as tragic. The times of those days probably…"

"To defer, Shakespeare wanted to create an illusion of theatre, not so much a depiction of reality."

"'The world is but a play,' should that say enough? By any other means, Shakespeare was a modern-day psychologist. Aware of human biology and emotion, he could portray reality through catharsis, not just an artificial statement. Look at Othello. Now look at reality. Can we not make the same conclusions with people now in comparison to how Othello thought and acted then?"

"But to simplify it to a mere gender-based status quo…"

"I didn't mean the generation was felt through men and men alone. But, by any means, most men view the world through war."

The Literature Club. Analysis: Shakespeare, subject: reality versus fiction, specifically Shakespeare's conversation of tragedy. A once-emptied lesson room, a space about the size of an average room in Number Twelve, twenty-seven seats were taken by young university students. Some of these students were freshmen, like me. Others, the majority really, were upperclassmen and women. I'd been debating with a senior classman, Kirk Poole II, for almost fifteen minutes now. Twelve minutes over 3 PM, or when the club should have adjourned.

"That's still a sexist statement!"

"It's a correct statement," pushed Nathaniel on my left. I looked at him from our circle of chairs. "No one can deny the influence genders have, especially back then."

"Are you all quite through?" An irritated Marsha Hamlin, who had been checking her watch for the past ten minutes, jumped into the fray. She had her eyes on her watch when she said this. "I've got work at four and I still need to go home and change."

Her interruption pretty much ended the discussion with others following her in packing their bags and belongings.

"We'll meet back in room 217 next Wednesday!" yelled Kirk, several club attendees already out the door. "Have a good weekend everyone!"

I threw my school bag's strap over my head, the strap hanging off my left shoulder. Reaching back, I pulled out and reapplied my hair scrunchie, glancing over at Nathaniel who coughed into his fist. Windows on the far wall, without much wall, mimicked the time. How the sunrays arced at an angle portrayed the growing evening hour. My seat still sat in shade, but the ones opposite now shone in a struggling sunlight.

"Doing anything later this evening?"

I started my walk out, Nathaniel at my heels. I looked back at him, and then to my side when we crossed through the door. "Today's actually my first day of work."

"Oh?" We'd taken to the stairs, one at a time, together. "Where are you working? Maybe I'll show up unexpectedly to, you know, say hello."

I smiled, looking down at the last step before stepping off and onto the ground floor. We headed for the exit. "O'Brady's Pub and Restaurant. It's just a few blocks from-"

Nathaniel had stopped, and I hadn't noticed until his shadow left my sight. I halted my stride, turned, and saw him at a standstill. His mouth was wide open.

"What?"

"Do you-" He started, paused, and began again. "Do you believe in fate?"

"Is this another one of your analogies?" I placed my hand on my hip. "Let's see, the chicken crossed the road to get to…"

"I'm serious," He began his pace to me, poking his chest. "Because I work at O'Brady's."

"No way!"

"Yeah way!" He laughed and I did too.

He opened the door for me, and as I went on through I said in thought, "That's…sort of scary."

"Scary?"

"And cool," He picked up the stride beside me.

I could tell he might have been offended by my choice of word.

"I didn't mean anything by it. It's just-"

"It's…wow. So, what is Richard having you do?"

"Wait tables."

"I'm a bartender, but maybe I'll have to have Richard switch me to waiting."

I laughed. "When does your shift start?"

"Soon."

"Five?"

"Five."

I snorted. "Of course."

"Of course." He smirked.

"Well," We both stopped nearside a pathway going towards a parking lot. Nathaniel had shown me his car, a '93 Ford Mustang convertible. The teal blue dot could be seen on the flattop in the distance. "I've got to use the ladies room before heading off home. Guess I'll be seeing you tonight."

"Haha-guess so," He grinned and added. "Don't forget to remember those notes on the Odyssey. I'm sure the second essay will be on it."

"Right, and you better," I prodded him. "Be on your A-game next week. You've been silent now for the last two weeks in the debates. Who was the one who wanted me to join so badly to begin with again?"

"I know, I know… Could I use an `ill' card?"

"You're ill?"

"No." He shook his head in a smirk.

I pointed at him.

"Then no!" I laughed.

He chuckled, walking backwards so he could wave at me. "See you tonight. It'll be fun."

"Oh, it better!"

"Haha!"

"See you!"

"See you!"

I started off in the general direction of an office building…only to walk a little more down the path, Nathaniel none the wiser, and apparated without being seen.

I'd gotten quite good at this.

***

The tunes of Smashing Pumpkins competed against the hoots and hollers of the pub attendees. Thankfully, I'd begun working and working my shift in the middle of the Rugby season. I hadn't seen a room this packed since… Well, let's just say I had to do a little crab-walking, a little ballerina pirouetting, to shuffle through patrons amidst the bar, in the walkways laughing and having a jolly good time. Meanwhile, I had a tray of food and drinks in my hand, and sometimes had to elevate the tray whilst doing a balancing act. I swore those drinks wouldn't topple over.

My table quotas had increased throughout the night. The game was close, so more customers stayed as new dinner guests arrived. My table included a family of six. Within a black apron, sullied with bits of splattered essence from a child's temper-tantrum, swung a notepad nearly gone of blank pages. My pen had its workout tonight. My hair was wrapping in a tail, portions of the lighted pub still showing the shine from the conditioner; something so different, and ironic, from the tiredness I'd achieved. I didn't quite realise how demanding this job would be, but then again, it wasn't the worst "occupation" I'd held.

A smile on my face, my forest-green collared pullover and black trousers still their colour, I made my way back to my table-table 2E of table's 1B, 1D,and 2C I had-and propped up a stand-alone surface for the tray. The four children had devoured the appetizers of chicken strips and fried cheese. The father and mother, the mother shushing one of the children's screams, looked up at me as I served them their food.

"Grilled onion provolone burger with no pickles," I set that one in front of the mother.

"Bacon and mushroom Swiss burger with extra ketchup," I set that one in front of the father, only to be bumped from behind by one of what seemed to be a million bodies.

"Sorry!" called back a mum and her toddler, assumingly escorting the crying kid to the loo.

"Actually," said the father after I just smiled at the fleeing parent. "She had the Swiss burger and I had the grilled onion."

The mum of the four grinned, the burgers being exchanged across the table.

"I'm sorry. It's been a very long night," I set the four burger baskets with chips in front of the children's seats.

I blew a loose strand of hair from my face, beads of sweat formed on my forehead from the hot kitchen, lights, and body heat.

"It's all right, love," replied the mother.

"Yeah honey," said the father.

"Bartholomew!" yelled the mother, one of the kids dumping ketchup all over the table. The tot only wanted to do the pouring by himself.

"I'll go get some more napkins to pick that up," I said quickly, giving them what I had to clean, including wet-pads, after they'd used their own.

"Thanks, love," said the father.

Starting off, I wandered over to table 2C and gave them the four mugs of beer and an entire pitcher, along with a platter of cheese-covered chips. Four men, most of them hadn't seen me, their eyes glued to the Rugby game on the television screen. My feet were off, an empty tray in my hand, towards the kitchen and waiting lobby. I'd pass by Nathaniel's bartending, and as I did, dodging on-coming patrons with sloshing beer in their hands, was called by one:

"Hey babe, can you get us another pitcher of beer?"

We brushed against each other, the empty tray between us, squeezing in-between the cramped floor space.

"Um, sure. Let me go ask," I tucked strands of falling hair behind my ear. "What table are you at?"

"That one over there," the younger male pointed off towards a booth.

3B.

Jessica's table.

I nodded. "Sure."

"Thanks hot stuff."

As I turned away, I held my laughter from the rather charming middle-aged men until I saw Nathaniel and his flamboyant bottle-tossing. He had to be showy for the girls tending the bar, their hands on their chins, their eyes ogling how snug his collared shirt fit. He caught my eye, my smirk as he flirted with a slender ginger and her friends, and abruptly changed course.

"Hermione!"

Madonna's Ray of Light came on, as well as a myriad of cheers from the gathered crowds around the tellies.

The group of girl's all turned their heads and gave me the dirtiest of looks, withdrawing to-I'm sure-talk about me in whispers.

They sized me up as I walked to the bar, setting the empty tray on the counter. Nathaniel slid a bottle of beer down the bar to a man's open hand, and then went over to me those few steps.

"You look exhausted."

I had my hand on my forehead and huffed. "You're telling me. Is it always like this?"

"Quite the first night. Rich really took it to you," He put his elbows, his arms on the bar and leaned into me. Between the rowdy patrons and music, only we could hear each other. "Maybe next time don't write down you `enjoy multitasking' on your resume?"

I smirked, laughing through my nose.

He chuckled.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned my head to see Richard, the manager, an older man in his thirties who started the pub after he graduated from university with a hospitality degree. He took to his employees like friends than with a stone fist. He smiled at both Nathaniel and me, and then slid in to ask, "Tired?"

I nodded and laughed. "A bit."

"Think you could take the family of four that just came in?"

He motioned over to the four people that just came in, a young couple with two children that didn't look older than two. The host, Marcus, was seating them.

"Yeah," I pushed myself from the bar. "Of course."

"Tell me if you can't," He patted my shoulder. "Wouldn't want you scared from the job your first night with us."

I grinned. "I'm fine. Getting used to the swing."

"All right," He took off to mingle with his customers, saying to me as he went. "Penny will be back tomorrow from holiday. You're doing great!"

"Excuse me," A middle-aged woman had come up to the bar, speaking to Nathaniel.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Could I get two House mugs?"

"Absolutely!"

"I'll let you get back to work," I leaned from the bar. "I've got to catch Jessica in the back, anyway."

"Hermione!"

Nathanial caught me only two steps away.

I raised my eyebrows, a notion that I'd heard him.

"If you haven't lost it, have a beer with me after closing?"

With a smirk I nodded.

***

It was after eleven when the last customer left.

Nathaniel stood behind the bar. I sat on the bar stool in front of him, a cold beer in my hand matching his. He'd just said a joke, having me chuckle. Behind us the cleaning crew went about their business straightening chairs and tables, vacuuming trash and food particles left behind. I recognised the time for one, my beloved, and two, school in the morning. But we'd gotten into a discussion about literature, and I'd forgotten all about the time.

"See you guys tomorrow!" yelled a few of our fellow comrades, employees, opening the glass door and a bell chiming.

Nathaniel and I waved at them, Richard in the back having a talk on the phone about tomorrow's food shipment.

"Favourite Shakespeare play?"

"Romeo and Juliet."

Nathaniel smacked his hand on the bar and I laughed, the beer to my lips.

"I swear, we were meant to meet. We lived in the same neighbourhood, we're taking the classes together, and you ended up applying here…"

"It sure seems that way," I commented in agreement.

"Your love for literature is just the best."

I grinned. "It's nice to have another person to dive deep into the pools of literary antiquity."

He took a swig, setting the bottle on the counter after. "Hermione Granger."

"Nathaniel Blake."

"Where had you been all my life?"

I burst out laughing. "How ridiculously cheesy!"

"Hahahaa…," He snorted, which made me snicker.

"Did you go to a private school? You should've gone to the public school there if we lived in the neighbourhood."

With a drink, I shook my head. "Yeah," I swallowed and set the bottle down beside my folded arms. "Yeah, private school."

"Which? A friend of mine went to school near Carlisle."

I couldn't just lie to him, and I couldn't just pick some random place, especially when I hadn't known any. I could have easily said something, a town, and could have just been easily seen as a liar. Knowing my luck I'd pick one and the questions would have kept rolling in, so I diverted to:

"Actually, more like home schooling."

"Ohh. Well, that's cool. I wish I'd been home schooled. I tell you the times when I could have screamed."

I smiled, and breathed a sigh of relief.

These were the junctures I realised I had to maneuver within the so-called "Muggle society". I had a script ready in mind, but sometimes my head was off and I'd have to think in action. I hadn't known I'd find someone that was practically next door in every shape possible. Hearing him speak about what I could have done had me to think what could have happened…if I hadn't gotten that famous letter from Hogwarts that fateful morning in `91.

Amongst Nathaniel's schoolyard reminiscing, my ears at attention, the pocket of my trouser begun to buzz. I was startled at first, and then noted it was the mobile after looking down.

I'd gotten a message:

Wednesday 11:47 PM

From Harry:

You okay? Missing you.

I closed my eyes, seeing how late it was had me guilty.

I'd been sitting here for more than a half hour talking.

I was sure Harry wouldn't care when I told him, but… I cared.

"I've got to run," I slipped from the stool and put the mobile back in my pocket.

"Really?"

"Yes," I glanced at Nathaniel. "That was Harry."

"He wants you home, eh?"

"Not exactly…," I sighed, my eyes widening. I pushed the stool in. "I should have been home a while ago. He worries. I worry."

"Ah," Nathaniel began around the bar to meet me, my feet on the way towards the exit. "Sorry to keep you here then. Tell me what's up next time. Don't want to get anyone in trouble, especially you."

"It's fine," I had my hand on the door lever, and pushed it out. A rush of cool air came in through the crack. "I'll see you in class tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow. Need me to walk you out?"

"I'm a big girl," I smiled, the door now ajar completely and the autumn air swirling in its chill. I had my arms together.

"You have my mobile number."

I nodded. "See you tomorrow, Nathan."

He looked as if he was dissatisfied. "I can't just leave you alone on these downtown streets. I'd feel all sorts of guilty, and I'd call you ten dozen times…"

He pushed between me and out the door.

"I'm fine, really," I said, following him onto a bustling avenue.

"Wonderful," He spoke sarcastically, glancing back at me with a smirk. He waved his hand in the air and shouted, "Taxi!"

There was my lie.

I'd have obviously apparated.

"Nathaniel!"

A chrome-and-black carriage slid to the curb, a lit-sign reading "Taxi" atop.

Nathaniel opened the door for me.

"Mademoiselle?"

I stared for the longest time at Nathan, but finally climbed into and on the cab's black leather seats.

I huffed, arms crossed, eyes squinted.

"Keep warm," he stated in smiles while I just shook my head, sighed and proceeded to roll my eyes at him as I sat down inside the carriage.

"I'll see you tomorrow," his voice was loud, but muffled between him and the door.

He was waving when the cabbie took off down the road, to Number Twelve. I gazed out the back window to see him see me off, and then turned to face the front with yet another eye roll, slightly flustered…

…And, a grin.

***

The clock on the mantle chimed one o'clock inside Number Twelve. When I'd gotten home, Harry met me with a meal still hot in the oven. I nearly cried for the sake of his loving soul, always on his mind, knowing I wouldn't have had anything since I left for work. Vegetable soup, baked chicken and toast. He had made some crumble for the top, two pieces of chicken breast with garlic. He knew I had school in the morning and persuaded me to eat without a conversation, but I felt bereft. We sat coupled at the dinner table chit-chatting mostly about how my first day at work went and my school subjects.

The term that kept coming up was: exhausted. Even Harry, who told me he had a wonderful-full of heavy sarcasm-day, had bags under his eyes. I leaned into him when I was through, our voices ceased, and scratched his head. His hair was so soft and so silky, his skin that spicy bathing scent from his body wash. He purred at my touch and put his head on my shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me and embraced me tight, echoing his message on how much he…

"I missed you."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"Well, I am."

"I'm just so used to coming home and see you here. It was…quiet. It was weird, and lonely."

"Aww…"

We started to kiss, our kissing rising in intimacy to which I had to be prodded to move. He insisted a shower, a statement I'd made whilst talking, and come back down to relax. I was left on that note, Harry picking the plate, bowl, and glass from my seat and set to wash them. The faucet on, the soap dispenser in his hand, I went to his backside and kissed his neck. I saw him grin, his hands in suds, the cloth removing the natural oils the chicken left behind.

The hot shower was welcoming. I'd have to remember to bring my jumper with me to work. I wore one to school, so I hadn't come to the conclusion why I forgot it. Suffice to say, my mind was down for the count. So much had happened today, and all of it, thankfully, rinsed from my bare skin and was swallowed by the metal drain in the floor at my feet.

The bed looked inviting the moment I trekked by it. Towel in my hair, I dried the last remnants of moisture and threw the cotton in the clothes bin on the way out. One step, two step, twentieth step down, Crookshanks, the fur ball hopped right along with me. I hadn't shut the bedroom door, so he waited for me when I'd gotten out of the lavatory. He missed his mummy, nuzzling when I rubbed his teeny head. He slid up against my nude calves, in the casual sleepwear of Harry's wardrobe and hidden knickers where the bottom edge tickled the now-cleansed porcelain skin.

I sifted through my poofy disarray of locks, having brushed it a few times, but nevertheless decided to dry in fray. I attempted to fix it, but halted when the bushiness took over. I shrugged and walked around the sofa to see… Harry stretched out and asleep. He looked adorable. His glasses on the stand aside the armrest, he'd breathe and those dimples, however slight, would form. He looked peaceful, and I almost didn't want to wake him. Though, I knew if I'd done anything else he'd come looking for me, anyway.

The fireplace was lit, the flames licking a still scene. Upstairs colder than downstairs, the den was inviting, and something about the warmth nurtured my physiology into a sleepy state of mind. I yawned, and knelt at the sofa.

My hands lightly on his arm, I shook Harry.

"Mmm?"

"Love…," I whispered.

He yawned, fidgeted, though never opened an eye. "…Mm?"

His face was turned towards me.

I kissed his forehead, his scar, my fingers back brushing his hair.

I stayed that way for a while, until my knees hurt, when I asked him quietly to, "Lean up…"

At first he didn't proceed, but pushed by his elbows onto his bum. He squinted an eye open to see me sit behind him, sliding my right leg between the sofa and his form. I ushered him onward with my hands, taking the Gryffindor quilt from the back of the sofa where it always laid. Harry flipped around, carefully to not take me on with his full weight, and rested between my legs. I pulled the quilt so it surrounded us. His head on my chest, I cradled him in my arms, rubbing his head so rhythmically that even midst drifting I continued.

The clock on the mantle struck three o'clock.

Three separate chimes.

I believe I woke on the second, and not entirely, just enough to look around inside those few seconds. I felt Harry still on me, his warmth, and something… Something reminded me of the time…

"There's a reason I can hear them… The horcruxes…"

I separated myself from Ron…

He was…

Was he…

The blood on his face…

His blood…

Life…

"…I think I've known for a while… I think you've known, too…"

He let out this… This burdensome breath…

Anyone could feel the weight.

I did know.

I knew exactly…

…That's why I never left his side…

…Lied to myself.

"I'll go with you!"

A tightly-gripped hug.

Why I didn't…

The flames within the beating hearth rose lively, animated, and unnatural. I shook from my trance, my arms around him, a hand, fingers in his hair. His breaths subtle in a light snooze; though, interrupted when my form jerked at the face of who appeared in the coals of the dying wood. An oval-shaped head, eyes, nose, lips, chin were apparent even from my distance. I heard Harry hesitate a breath, disturbed. I went to move, to hear:

"Harry Potter!"

The boom of the voice resounded, deafening.

Harry nearly fell from my figure.

I put my hands over my ears.

Harry, having caught himself on the ledge of the sofa, jumped across the room to land beside the hearth. It wasn't every night this sort of thing happened. Bedazzled, and taking the quilt to cover myself, I joined Harry in mid-conversation with…

"…Minister Shacklebolt must have a word with you, tonight!"

"It's three o'clock in the morning…," Harry still was rubbing sleep from his eyes. "You've scared us half to death! What is it at this bloody hour?"

"As per the matter of…," The man in the fire stuttered to find exact words. "Grave importance! We need you here tonight, Mister Potter! Minister Shacklebolt-"

"Where is Kingsley?" asked Harry.

"He's right…"

The fire stewed, but lit up again.

"He's right here. But, I-"

"Let me speak to him," demanded Harry.

"Well, it's-"

The fire died, glowing bluish-orange coals resting where once carved a face.

My eyes were on Harry who stayed still in his squat.

I shrugged the quilt further around me.

The fire was brought back to life, and vividly bright.

"Harry."

Kingsley.

"Kingsley, what's going on?" Harry's speech went quick.

"You know I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important. But, right now, I need you here."

"What is going on?"

"Death Eaters."

An anvil fell from my throat to my stomach.

Harry hadn't have given a second thought, pushing up from the floor. "I'll be right there," he told the amassed charcoal that was the Minister.

"Eaton will tell you the Floo coordinates. You won't be coming directly to the Commons. You'll end up in my office on Level One and we'll take you from there."

***

We argued all the way up the stairs at a run.

"Why can't I come?!"

"It's dangerous, Hermione! Death-"

"And all the years-"

Trouser-less to trousers, I matched his stride in tugging on clothes, shoes.

"Yes! And all the years I worried sick about you! And months ago, when they breached the defense-they got to you!"

"I'm going!"

"Why must you be so stubborn?!"

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Why must we have this discussion every time something like this comes up?!"

"Hermione… I'm only trying to protect-"

I smacked into him.

Not with my fist, or a kick, no more words.

An embrace.

"I'm going with you…"

At first he didn't say anything, didn't move.

"Hermione," He begun after a dreadful silence. "…It's safe here. I know for certain it's safe here. The protection this house has…"

"You left me before… Look what happened, as you said," I tightened my grip, my arms about his neck. I felt his hands go to my hips. "…I'm safer with you. I want to be with you. Please…"

"Take my hand," He stated after a minute.

We released, my arms slipping away slowly from his neck.

He put his hand out between us. "And, never let me go."

"That's all I'm asking," I took his hand. "I love you."

We were off.

***

"But sir, we requested Harry Potter only, and not…"

Two robed men, one in grey, the other in plum, paced at a jog towards an open and waiting door. Beside them, myself and Harry in pyjamas jogged. The taps of our feet were louder than our own voices, the dead space helping to reverberate the tones indefinitely, making it seem like there were more than just four humans, but a sea of beings talking all at once. We were heading through a back entrance, or exit, I didn't quite know. Instead of seeing a cleaning crew, or a random businessman, we saw a blank, unlit corridor and a lift at the end. I'd taken to think this was something only Minister's knew, and only the most highly appointed officials. This route definitely wasn't known by the average person.

"She's staying with me," Harry barked back at Defense Secretary Eaton, his grey robes billowing behind his elderly-frame. "And if you don't like it, we can surely exit."

"Dennis, Miss Granger is as much Harry Potter as himself," We'd gotten into the lift, and I noticed the tip of Eaton's knobby finger move across the metal, a latch removing, some impressively large gears turning. Nothing the likes of any other lift I'd witnessed in the Ministry. "I would have been surprised if Miss Granger wasn't with Harry."

I smiled at Kingsley.

The lift made us all shuffle our footing.

I reached up and grabbed hold of the restraint before the lift changing course and shot straight down from its horizontal rush.

"This could be a serious breach of confidentiality…among the several breaches…" Eaton mumbled.

"I'm giving Harry and Hermione full clearance."

"As you wish, Minister. I'm not one to judge your decisions, just…with the weather…"

"Noted Eaton," Kingsley fell flat.

"'The weather'?" I asked during our jostled flight down. It wasn't like the Secretary was hiding code.

"Our current predicament," answered Kingsley. "I'm sure you've heard about it from the Daily Prophet?"

"No sir," replied Harry. "We've done away with the Prophet. We've abandoned the subscription."

"How do you communicate with this world?"

"We rely on The Quibbler."

"…We're in an investigation, many, on how such a story leaked into the Prophet. We've some disturbing news on the front; but, nevertheless, we had a breach while I was gone."

"Surveillance didn't pick out a soul!" cried Eaton at my side. He looked at me, his arm swinging, clasped to the dangling restraint. "Nothing! It was…a matter of the bizarre, and most intriguing. The Dark Arts…"

"…Death Eaters within the Department of Mysteries."

"I thought there was nothing more of such Department…?" my tone fell a bit uneasy, our past spectacles fresh in the mind.

"There is no such Department!"

"Dennis!" bellowed Kingsley's deep voice. "Harry and Hermione are not imbeciles. They will see with their own eyes that there is, in fact, a Department intact."

"But sir, will they-"

"I have complete confidence anything that may be seen will not be spoken about publically. Besides, we've doubled our preventative measures…"

"Isn't that-"

Harry's question was broken off by Kingsley's astute discourse:

"It is for the greater good of the country."

"Department of Mysteries," chimed the lift's soft feminine voice, the door re-opening to what resembled a stage after arson. What Harry and I had entered during our fifth year at Hogwarts was utterly burnt. Soot clinging, outlines of where fire would have been visible on the black brick walls. Ash had been swept into the nooks and crannies of the corridor's edges, its grey matter juxtaposed to the severely darkened room.

"You have my word."

"And mine," I said, following behind Harry's.

"I had no worries," the plum robes skirted the floor in haste. "Come my friends, this way. Let us not waste precious time. I'm sure you've better spent your time elsewhere."

Harry squeezed my hand when we left the lift, the Secretary behind us. Or, so I thought. From one of the adjoined room, a closed door opened revealing a slender figure in white robes, an Auror. The door shut behind by its own will, the Auror's hands around a long parchment with evident markings of writing upon the paper. She stopped the Secretary in his tracks by her appearance, the long hood covering anything human at all. The further we pressed on, the more I strained to hear something from this person in white. Something…

"Was anything taken?"

I turned when I heard Harry.

Kingsley stopped, his hand on one of many doors, its knob, and sighed heavily.

He closed his eyes.

"No," he said.

He opened his eyes once again and peered at us. "Thankfully."

He twisted the knob and we stepped into what appeared to be any normal office, abnormal and absolutely unordinary from…everything else. A desk, chairs, a lamp was all that was in here. Chalkboards were along the walls with scribbles I'd never seen: bits of the Latin language conjoined with terms unlike anything I'd ever read. Surrounded by this unknown knowledge, I was instantly curious, spurred on by the fact that we had an audience of Aurors, some in white to whom I'd seen more and more, their hoods covering their features. With them stood what I remembered from the Order: ordinary men and women in ordinary attire with an extraordinary talent of magical prowess bottled behind normality.

"Minister Shacklebolt," a young man with glasses and short brown hair acknowledged Kingsley when we arrived. At his chest held parchment, his hand a quill. His face lit when he saw us behind the Minister, and motioned a wave.

"Gregory."

"Yes, Minister?" responded immediately the coffee-locked young man. He sported a trouser-suit and tie, his hair displayed with mousse.

"Please announce aloud the report on the whereabouts of the Resurrection Stone."

"Resurrection Stone, sir?" asked Harry at the proclamation of the tool from the Deathly Hallows. A subject we knew much about to our…misfortune.

"Please, Harry, Hermione," Kingsley was on the other side of the desk. He motioned towards the chairs. "Do sit down with me."

Never once did our hands break. Interlocked, our fingers would fidget but never lost its partner. Harry took the chair I went to and pulled it closer to his own. He waited until I was sitting, and then lowered with Kingsley adjusting to his similarly-decored chair. I took several glances around the room at the various Aurors in waiting, assuming they were waiting to hear this report like Kingsley and us.

Harry's ears were particularly perked, his head aside mine on an equal level.

I squeezed his hand to let him know I was right there with him. He told me about the stone, what had happened when he used it, how he felt. I knew hearing anything about it would have him ripped apart again.

"Firenze has gathered more support amongst his centaur brethren. Before, as we know, they wanted nothing of the object. Called it `evil,' a `tool for foolish power'."

Kingsley nodded. "Go on, Gregory."

"Firenze told us that they've found `dirt, twigs, and lots of grass.' No Resurrection Stone."

"Why must we be searching for the bloody Stone, anyway?!" Offended, Harry spoke aloud. "I wanted no more of this! I told you that, Kingsley! Why am I here?!"

"If it weren't for those who seek it for sinister purposes, Harry, I wouldn't have called for you."

"I want no more of this!" Harry shot up, and my hand along with him. He looked to his side at me. "Come on, Hermione. We're going home."

"We were unfairly perturbed when we woke at any rate," he ended.

"Harry, listen to them. I'm sure Kingsley wouldn't have done what he said if not for genuine reasons…" I pulled back on his hand as much as I…didn't want to. We both wanted out, and badly. Things just kept pulling us back to an older time, or maybe…our reality.

"Kingsley," I went on to change the subject briefly, to go another route. "What of Xavier and what happened while Harry was gone? When I was attacked? Has this a connection to their hunt?"

Kingsley shook his head.

"…He's still at Hogwarts," Harry sat back down. "He's a disciplinary case, failing, but he attends. I won't allow him in my lessons. I don't know why he even goes."

"My eyes are always on Hogwarts as I know that is a potential target, once again, for attack. A high potential. Flitwick is a wonderful man stepping into the large shoes of his predecessors. I'd expect nothing less from him and the faculty."

"…What about the Stone, Kingsley?" Harry turned back into the conversation's progression. "What is it you need to know?"

I could feel he was tense.

I rubbed his arm to try and soothe him.

Try being key.

"I need to know everything you can remember."

"I've told you everything!"

"Tell me again, Harry. Please," Kingsley could see the remorse welling inside Harry, taking him down a path he so fought to never relive. "…For the country."

Harry swallowed hard, and then said very calm and very firmly, "Tell me something before I go back there."

"Anything Harry."

"Are the pieces of the Elder Wand here?"

Kingsley sat up in his seat and leaned his head back, though never took his eyes from us. He drew in a breath, sighed and said with a resemblance of discontent, "Yes."

Harry went stationary, rigid.

His eyes, the undamaged and damaged never ceasing to blink.

I kissed his shoulder, his pain crawling from his stance, to me, inside me, and slid in to give him a hug.

I heard him open his mouth to begin, his first words…

"…Headmaster Dumbledore requested the Stone be given to me inside a snitch after his death… I had no idea what was inside until…I finally understood…"

***

You'll be okay, Harry. You're a great wizard…

…There are more important things like friendship, and bravery…

…And Harry, just be careful.

He had to…endure a re-telling of his life from beginning to end. It was unfair, to say the least. His entire form, the fibre tense, his body struggling to cope with every loss he described up until the same revelation he'd given to me: the realisation of death, and death itself. The two entities were intertwined, and I could see him swallow when asked, again, what the Stone could do, and what it could reveal, and why it was sought after.

I understood Kingsley's plight, that the enemy wanted the three…but every single soul, beside me and Harry, never expressed any sort of emotion, be it remorse or others. All of them stuck to poker faces, including the Minister, when he told them about Remus and Sirius, his father, and especially his mother.

All of it was for "the country"…

…What about for Harry?

We were home, but something felt ripped from the innocence. The den felt colder, the hearth a void with only the ticking of time of the clock on the mantle. We were awake, Harry lying down upon me with his head on my chest. That's all I knew what to do: be there for him. I wanted to know how he felt, empathise, but I'd be lying to him if I told him I did. I had both of my parents, and that was the crux. The hole I tried to fill that could never be quite filled. If there were a way, I'd bring back what he missed the most. His mum, dad, Sirius, the Order-even Severus-who I wished, we both wished, to have gotten a chance to meet in normal terms instead of what we thought we perceived for years.

With my head on a pillow, propped by the armrest, I said in the striking silence, "…I've decided not to go to lesson tomorrow."

The lull resumed, the clock keeping check, until, "…I wouldn't want you to do that…just because I've sent Madam Hooch a notice of absence…"

"It's already decided," I breathed, my mind made up. "I'll be here."

He tightened his hold around me, shifted and hid his face within the soft fabric of his shirt I wore.

My fingers sifted through his hair.

"…I'm sorry for…," He was muffled, but became clear when he moved his from me to the side. "…I never meant to drag you into this."

"When I say we are in this together, that I am in this with you, I mean it."

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"…Do you remember what I told you when we visited the Forest of Dean?"

Harry became so still that I thought he'd fallen asleep.

I went to rise to see him look up at me.

"That I wished to `grow old with you'?" I exclaimed.

Harry lay back down and kissed the very first spot of my chest where his lips met. He started to lift, pulling me with him by hand when he stepped from the sofa. It didn't take any effort at all. With one scoop, he took me in his arms and set off in the direction of the staircase, and bed. Early morning, and with lesson and work beneath my belt, the moment I was wrapped around him intimately I settled as calmly as he did on me. My arms about his neck, his hands supporting me underneath, I kissed him, feeling the jostle of his figure prodding the bedroom door behind to shut.

***

Fatigued after a love spell, after a beautiful Biblical communique, I lay aside Harry with no other care in the world but him. Facing each other, it took effort to keep my eyes open, his hand exploring the bare curves of my body, keeping the nerves excited, the only true way of elevating my mind from sleep to faintly awake. He kept at my throat, caressing in the crook of my neck, my eyes closed and lips in a tuckered grin. The sheets and Harry around me, I knew if he stopped I'd soon fall asleep.

With a proportionate array of sunlight filtering the room from a probable drowsy state of London's sky, morning arrived; he halted his kisses and was brought back down to level. He stared at me with a matching grin and stated, contently, competently, affirmed, "I love you."

I clamored for him, my hands on his naked chest beneath a heavy comforter blocking out autumn.

He pushed from the bed a second to catch the alarm set for six o'clock, and then huddled back around me, and into a blessed drift to slumber.

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