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.

Truth and deceit, success and failure, faith and disbelief: where is the line drawn?

***

Chapter Forty-Nine - Oath

***

The Quibbler

CHAMPIONING KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT

Minister Shacklebolt is a man of integrity, honor, and truth. He has come in and revitalized a painfully obvious state of corruption and evil amongst our governmental system. He has staved off numerous attacks against civilians, channeled support from magical creatures for the cause, and is humble during his successes. Walking down the streets of Diagon Alley, no one hears the outcry our counterpart suggests, throwing behind their endorsement for an individual who has been banished openly from the Ministry for his political ethics stated by Timothy Toulsen. Our counterpart is also being thoroughly investigated by means of harbouring Death Eaters, and Rita Skeeter has written book upon book glorifying Tom Riddle and demonizing heroes like Albus Dumbledore on the basis of his sexuality.

All of this added up sums to create a horrid potion of crookedness.

Do we really want to down this poison?

Luna Lovegood, as well as the rest of The Quibbler media, stands tall with sitting Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He is the best in decades.

Rebecca Greene

Writer

P.1

***

"What a riot, eh?"

"More than a riot…," I answered Nathaniel, sitting on a bar stool slumped over the counter. "Madness. I swear there's something in the water for that crowd to come tonight. Ugh."

I hadn't seen so many people at O'Brady's than in my first night working. The full employee base was there, and even so, we were all worn tirelessly to the bone. London's appetites were out, with or without a match on the telly. I think I could have skipped my waiting dinner and head straight to shower, and then to bed with my Harry-bear. I'd think about other things tomorrow, or whenever I'd get over the lag.

I put my hand to my forehead and just sat there a moment to breathe.

Thank goodness for closing!

I felt something at my shoulders, hands, and then a pressure. I opened my eyes to see Nathaniel having come around the bar behind me and was amidst giving me a shoulder massage. I sort of just laughed and shook my head. "I definitely need something," I admitted.

He chuckled. "Always enjoy lending a hand where needed."

"Well, I'm out for the night guys and gals!" Penny, bundled to her neck in layers, waved at us as she announced her departure from the door. "See you tomorrow!"

"See you!" I pushed myself to say, waving back.

"Later Pen," addressed Nathaniel. "Good night."

Others in varying degrees of exhaustion said their goodbyes to Penny from across the restaurant.

Nathaniel had found that little notch at the back of my neck with his thumb. I rotated my head, stating, eyes at a close once more, "You really should look into becoming a masseuse."

"Think it's a calling?" He laughed, giving my spine a nice scratch. "Think I should call my literary dreams quits?"

"No," I re-opened my eyes and turned to see him. "Don't you dare. The fiction you pursue is incredible."

"I'm quite flattered as to be complimented by someone so intelligent."

"Some might say I should permanently hang a book on my nose."

"Don't you dare!" He retorted in a smile. "…Hide that pretty face."

"You've caught me in a corner," I laughed, slipping from the chair and finding an abrupt end to Nathan's rub. "Touche, sir, excellent jab."

Nathan, leaning now on the side of the bar, watched me take up my bag. "I've been reading this new series analyzing Romeo and Juliet from traditional aesthetics to modern. You need to read it."

"Bring it to class on Thursday."

"Will do."

"Well, now I've got to go," I motioned towards the door, using Penny as voice of inspiration. "Long night, tired… Harry's waiting for me with dinner prepared."

"That lucky mate."

"I'm the lucky one."

"Ha!" Nathan rolled his eyes. "Want me to hail another cab?" He asked, eyeing me as he took his apron off.

"I think I can handle this one…," I grinned, moving onwards towards the door.

Nathanial made his way with me, behind me, putting his hand on a wall piece jutting out to make room for the entrance and exit of O'Brady's. He tilted beside it, looking at me, my hand on the doorknob, "Good night, Hermione."

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," I quoted, seeing Nathaniel light up like the sun he was whilst pushing outwards the door. "Good night."

***

I apparated right to the pathway to Number Twelve.

I opened the wrought-metal, waist-high gate and closed it behind me. The moment my feet stepped onto the pavement moving towards the Muggle apartments, a separate, sudden pathway came to life, concrete forming where there had been not. My feet, habitually and without thought, checking my purse to stop an annoying jingling sound within, continued onto this new route. Number Twelve shifted out, keeping watch of my pace, for pursuing a run would have it appear quicker.

I felt like any other Muggle coming home…sans the obvious. I'd gotten so into the steps, checking, looking, being vigilant of those who would see some fool running straight into a building's facade. I'd only a few steps up, my hand on the door handle. Another open, and another close into heat, a relief from a freezing element. I began, as always, my call out to Harry:

"Love, I'm home!"

In the hallway, I expected to hear the recall of my beloved by at least halfway down the corridor, per usual. Getting passed that threshold, however, my hands at the crimson-and-gold scarf around my neck, the Gryffindor emblem shown without a notion to what it was by any Londoner's soul, I stopped at the foot of the stairs and called back out into quietness.

I would have panicked if not for feeling, and hearing, a fire crackling in the hearth.

I would have panicked, not smelling food I'd come home to day in and day out.

"…Love?"

I did, however, pick up my feet, carrying them into the den where I saw first people of unknown origin sitting in my living space, and then others I had seen: Defense Secretary Eaton, Gregory from the Department of Mysteries, and then Kingsley in his plum robes. I halted my footsteps, scarf off and hanging in my hand. Every pair of eyes glanced towards me when I came in. Daresay I was, unnerved, wanting to reverse and come back in to a credible scene, something I'd see regularly. The Minister and his Defense admin…they certainly have never…I've never seen even Kingsley here since the Order.

I took in a breath.

No one talked.

The clock overpowered the silence.

I hated when that happened, in times like these.

Unhappy times, their faces not cheery, solemn as if someone had…

My eyes widened, flittering across the room to see…

"Hermione!"

"Harry!" I ran to him, adjacent to the other men. An invisible boundary I penetrated, slipping in-between Kingsley and his court to get to my beloved. Harry, in his chair, rose to meet me; though, I fell into him, with him, in embrace. He sat back on the chair by my force, aside him now and looking over at the eyes at our intimacy.

"What's going on?" It wasn't exactly a question. It was a demand. I looked back at Harry, and at a lesser distance could see him perturbed, angry, his jaw fixed. "Why are they here?"

When Harry couldn't look into my eyes anymore, I yelled, barking at Kingsley who also remained tight-lipped. "For crying out loud, can someone please say something?!"

"Show her, Harry," Kingsley's voice offered no solace. He was firm in tone.

"I didn't ask any of you to come here! In my house!" Harry bit back. Something scarily profound had to have happened just seconds before I entered Number Twelve, each and every face displaying the intensity, including Harry's to whom I'd taken to gazing back into. "This is my house, Kingsley! Don't you dare-"

"Show me what?" My voice went into whisper, though all could hear. When my mouth opened and spoke, everyone shut theirs. My whispers came exhaustive, my chest heavy.

"So she can be frightened, Kingsley? So fear can grow?" Harry laughed sarcastically, glancing at the fire, beyond me, and then back to Kingsley. "What do you want me to do? Create more chaos in my life?"

"Hermione deserves to know."

"Can we all quit playing mind games and tell me what the Hell is going on?!" I came at Kingsley, his choir behind him, and then to Harry. "Please?"

Harry's eyes pierced my own.

I knew he tried to forecast reasoning, to read me and what I'd do, how I'd respond.

I gave him no luck to dissuade my stance.

I wanted to know!

From the shadows, between his leg and the armrest, he pulled out a piece of parchment he'd hidden in the cushion. Knowing Harry, he'd put it there on purpose…probably when he heard me come in from work, when I called him, "Love," and between, "I'm home".

The parchment was enclosed, folded many times, and became my own Rubik's cube in unraveling. Carefully I went, seeing scrawled print here, disfigured, bits and pieces in the fire's light until…

Everything.

The words, crooked and red, the smell of the parchment's ink having me cover my nose:

thE MuDblOod's BlOod WilL FiLl THe STreEts

"Why does it-"

"Pig's blood," Kingsley interjected, knowing where I'd go. "Harry's office at Hogwarts."

Harry snatched the parchment from me, crumpled it up and threw it into the fire.

I watched the now-crinkled ball pop, heard the crackle, and saw how it burned to ash.

I looked back at Harry who kept his eyes at me, trying to figure my emotion; though, I lacked none than being worn. He saw something, I guess, pulling me to him, on him. I sat in his lap, his arms tight around me, protective, a shell. He kissed me, and with such fervor, taking me back at how physical he approached. I wasn't really… Well, at some level I was scared, but at another I forever saw the image of hatred bored into my arm by pocketknife. I lived with it, and everything of which occurred, desensitized me.

How could it not?

My lioness ways, seeing my lion's anger, fret to calm him, nuzzling him by tip of nose against his cheek.

He kissed me again.

"What about Xavier? Others?" I pulled away from Harry's cheek to see Kingsley. "What about-"

"I had a team trace their whereabouts after Harry sought Flit-"

"Will you let her speak for Christ's sake?!" Harry belted from his diaphragm.

"Don't speak to the Minister in such a tone!" sniped Gregory from Kingsley's shoulder.

Kingsley put up a hand, and Gregory stepped down from his defensive soapbox.

Kingsley's sight focused back on me, and then Harry. "I am merely answering her questions, Harry."

"You're fucking interrupting her every fucking second. She starts in, you go barreling right head on like she's some doormat! I told you before, and I'll tell you again-" Harry's entire body shook as he talk, and I swore he was going to hurt himself. "If you fucking interrupt her again, I swear I'll-!"

"Do you dare threaten the Minister, boy?!" Eaton jumped into the fray.

"Dennis!" bellowed Kingsley. "Hush this instant! Enough out of all of you!"

I caught him, my arms about his neck, cradling his head against my chest in aim to keep him cool. It helped, his shaking decreasing, the rate of his breath normalizing… He still shook, panting to which I could feel all over. His arms were locked vice-like around me. "Shh… It's okay…," I wouldn't let him go either.

"No, it's not `okay', Hermione…," My God, was he shaking. I started to rub him, his head, his shoulders, his arms… Nothing worked. "Nothing is `okay'. Nothing has been `okay'!"

The lights throughout Number Twelve flickered.

Crookshanks scurried from where he ran to aside the chair out of the room.

"Shh… Love, you're going to be in the hospital if you don't slow down…," My massages continued, my hands back in his hair. "I really don't want to visit St. Mungo's tonight, so please…"

He withdrew his face into the crook of my neck. I could feel the tingle on my skin when he'd breathe strong, fast breaths. I felt him kiss the spot he conformed to, my figure wiggling to his insanely ticklish maneuvers, but being very serious in thought and action when peering back over at Kingsley.

I stared at him for the longest time, his choir a background of blurs. I couldn't care less about them. I cared about my frantic Harry, his health at the moment, firstly. Kingsley next, for he'd come to help… I knew it. The endeavor wasn't a spot for tea time. There was something far consuming than what anyone beside him knew, and I wanted him to chirp like a pretty bird.

"I fear I mustn't continue," Kingsley shuffled his footing and began to stand. "I do not like how the direction is being digested. I swore principles, and I will not allow the words to cause affliction. Though, I must say-"

"Sit down," My severely maternal demeanor, astute, calm, straight in tone caught all these older men off-guard. I didn't move for how I held Harry, how Harry rested at my throat. My eyes led them, as if they were my hands, pointing to the sofa, the chairs, to where I wanted them all to sit back down…now.

The charm wasn't broken even by Kingsley's formidable stature.

He sat right back down.

My eyes could puncture holes in the man, staring him down, feeling Harry smell of me and every other sensation combining into surrealism.

"Now tell me very peacefully, and very collectedly, what the Hell is going on," I even went sarcastic at the end, peeking in speech. "It's that easy."

Kingsley didn't respond quickly enough, and it made the hairs on my arm rise.

I'd become a very livid lioness, and they were in my den.

"Well!?"

"To put it bluntly," Kingsley pressed his lips together, letting out. "From friend to friend… I don't know Hermione."

"Are you telling me with all the power you have in the world," I seethed. "That the Prophet is right? That you've become so incredibly incompetent? You can't find your arse from a hole in the ground?"

"Don't talk to the Minister like that!"

"GREGORY!" Kingsley swiped at him. "Did I motion you to speak, son? From now on, you're only to speak when I allow you to speak. Understand?"

He pointed to the rest of his crew. "And that goes for every one of you. Speak again and you will be punished!"

Kingsley came around and huffed. "It's not exactly black and white, Hermione. I work tirelessly to keep both you and Harry safe. But I also have an entire country to protect, lives to save. When I heard Minerva had been killed… Do you know what that did to me? How much it penetrated every, single security issue I've done?"

Harry started laughing, but I coaxed him to stop, pulling him into my neck, my bosom. I kept my eyes on Kingsley.

"I don't wish anything on anyone, sir. But saying that in the household held by my fiance is quite ironic, don't you think?"

"Maybe Rita is right then?" Continued Kingsley. "Maybe I've been over my head this entire time? Maybe there is someone out there better equipped to protect you, Harry, the world?"

"Sir," piped Eaton. "With all due respect to what you said about talking, you are a fine gentleman and a respected gentleman. Your heart is ten times the size of anyone I've ever known and what you've done…"

Eaton sighed through his whitened beard and mustache. "Only a few have died on your watch. Millions of others are at home, tonight, sleeping soundly in their beds. The standard you've achieved is excellent."

"Thank you for your words, Eaton," replied Kingsley. I could see him vulnerable for the first time, eyes sunken in from the angle at which he looked at to the Defense Secretary. He looked back at me as if he knew I saw that vulnerability. "I try my best by all possible means. The child you speak of, this Xavier Hart and his family. Xavier wasn't in Hogwarts today."

"He was," chimed Harry from his hiding spot, muffled at my clavicle.

"That's true, but the moment Flitwick called for action, when I stopped my trip to Moscow to speak to their leaders after their own threats, the first report that I got in my hands stated that this boy skipped to Hogsmeade with a few other Slytherin. Doing what these few do, they were caught nicking sweets from shelves and taking Witch Parfait magazines. These acts don't warrant a spell from the Inquisition, and they've been put into their place by Hogwarts's faculty."

"His mother was in Diagon Alley in these same, simultaneous seconds. She was window-shopping, walking the streets with friends, again, no warrant for arrest. When you, or Harry, give me this information I don't disregard it. I hold it highly credible, and I do send out Task Teams to investigate every possible lead."

"Not enough," Harry rumbled aside me. He'd gone so quiet I thought he had gone to sleep. I saw him look around me to Kingsley. "It's not enough!"

"Harry…"

"What do you want me to do, Harry?!" Kingsley shouted.

"Do you know how many of those parchments with pig's blood were in my office?! On the walls! On my desk! On the floor! It was like someone had gone in and slaughtered a pig right there in my room! And all the filth, disgusting, obscene language… Mudblood…"

He'd begun shaking once more.

"I already have teams specifically coordinated for your routes and Hermione's routes. Both of you are more covered by measures than my own personal security!"

"Then explain to me how this happened, hm?! Explain to me how hundreds of thousands of bloodied parchment with `Mudblood' smeared in pig's blood wandered into my office at Hogwarts, a place you've even said was being locked down by Aurors from the outside!"

"I cannot have my Aurors walking the halls, Harry. I can't have your team walking beside you," Kingsley's arms and hands were waving dramatically after every other word it seemed, declaring he meant what he said. "That would go against the fundamental fact that they are secret! They are secret because if Death Eaters find out just how many they are, they can act accordingly! Any cracks they could see couldn't prevent them from attacking! Everything must be confidential! I will not let that happen! I am doing my-!"

"You're not doing shit!"

"Harry!"

"Get up, Hermione."

"What?" I felt him moving me, picking me up.

"Get up!"

"What are you going to do?!"

Harry stood up and pointed directly at Kingsley. Slowly, he said in a very haunting way, "You promised me she'd be looked after while I was gone, Kingsley."

He pointed back at me.

"You told me and promised me and looked me right into my fucking ugly eye," He pointed to the blackish portion of his face. "That she wouldn't come to harm…"

I went to take Harry's arm, to take him back, but he shook me off.

"Nothing happened, Harry. She's fine."

"You're a funny, funny man. Your next occupation should be in comedy."

"Sir," Mumbled Gregory. "He won't listen to you."

Harry pointed at Gregory, told him to "Fuck off," and then set his finger back on Kingsley.

"You lied to me, Kingsley. You lied to me. Death Eaters swarmed her parent's house…"

"Swarmed?" Harry's use of the word had me to repeat it. No one had ever told me how many were there beside the handful I saw.

Swarm definitely isn't a handful.

"Harry," Spoke the Minister coolly. "Hermione would not have come to any harm. I promise-"

"And you come in here, knowing quite well what you see, the evidence, the word, `Mudblood,' `blood filling the streets,' `Mudblood cunt,' `Mudblood bitch,' and you tell me you're going to…increase…my security, the ones around me, and not around Hermione's?"

"Harry…," Kingsley put his hand out, palm to Harry, as if he could feel the rise in what was coming. "…As I've said here tonight, both of your lives are protected more than my own. The bounty on your head, Harry… I'm afraid if I don't-"

Harry took hold of the lamp on the sofa's stand, ripped the chord from its socket creating a surge, an electrical jolt spark. I shrieked, Kingsley's troupe gathered around him instinctively…

…And Harry threw the lamp at the far wall, away from everybody, it smashing into millions of ceramic and glass pieces.

"DO YOU NOT SEE WHAT IS ON HER ARM?! DO YOU NOT SEE WHO THE TARGET IS?!" I had to cover my ears, pulled into a ball on the chair Harry had sat in. The shouting from Harry blasted my eardrums, and caused me to cry. I wanted it all over. He'd only gotten this way a few times…long ago…

"FUCK MY LIFE, KINGSLEY! FUCK YOUR LIFE! FUCK EVERYONE ELSE! SHE IS THE ONLY ONE THAT MATTERS!! DO YOUR GOD DAMN JOB AND DO IT RIGHT OR TAKE YOUR TEAMS AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR ARSE!!"

"YOU SELFISH ASSWIPE!" Gregory started in at Harry, but Kingsley plucked him off the floor by his shirt collar and thrust him towards the fireplace.

Gregory stumbled in the direction, looking back as if he didn't understand.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE! ALL OF YOU!!" Harry inhaled an audible breath to tear another, "GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!!!"

"Get back to my office, Gregory, and do it NOW! Eaton!" The elderly Secretary, and his cohorts stammered to Kingsley. "You and the others follow Gregory back to my office on the double, and do it with finesse, will you."

"Yes, Minister…"

"Harry…," said Minister Kingsley looking back from within the fireplace. Everything came to a rush after Harry had thrown the lamp, while I stayed bottled up on the chair, weeping, hands still over my ears.

"Curse me all you want, but nothing will change me from protecting you. I owe, we all owe you a national debt and I will do whatever it is to repay that debt to you."

The green flash, familiar flames engulfed the lone Minister. "I hope to speak to you on easier terms."

Harry found a cup.

I don't know where, as it sat on the other stand, far away and no one drank, and threw it into a hearth in the process of shrinking back into a normal fireplace.

He screamed, hoarse, something in his voice trembling and breaking.

I heard him begin to cry and he stormed into the kitchen from the den.

I shot up, tear-stained, following him when I heard more breaking, more shattering and got a scene of kitchenware being taken from the sink and thrown at the walls. He took his hands and raked plates clear off their shelves, upturned chairs at the dining table and began punching the table as hard as he could.

"Stop it!!"

I yelled from the door.

His punches swallowed my screams, his tears, his own weeping taking shape. He cried and pummeled and pummeled the same spot over and over again, yelping when he hit the hard wood, but pushing on as if the pain benefitted. I saw his fist, the knuckles split-opened and bloodied.

I ran over to him, repeating what I'd said, "Stop it! Stop it!!!" My shoes crunched the shards of plate on the floor.

I got behind him, yelled for him more, and more, and more which only seemed to fuel him farther.

I embraced him, took my hand and went to hold his punching back…only to feel my own hand crushed beneath his, between the table and his bone.

I screeched, wailed and shot back, removing completely from him and holding onto my hand.

Harry had stopped as suddenly as he felt, and saw, what he did, whispering expletives at a maddening rate now at himself than Kingsley, or the Ministry.

His tears fell for me, picking me from the floor and setting me on the kitchen counter where he turned the faucet on cold and ran my hand under it. My hand hurt badly, bruised I'm sure if not broken.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Oh God, I'm sorry…!"

I'd have told him to stop, it was okay, but he'd begun to move my fingers around, the pain racing up my arm.

"Can you move this on your own? This finger?" Through continuous sobs, he tried to soothe me, fix me. He brought my hand, my fingers to his lips where he kissed them, all five, and then the inside and outside of my palm when I gave him a nod, reassuring I could indeed move my fingers.

Nevertheless his own blood streaking from the flowing water to my skin beneath the faucet.

"Christ…," He heaved, his body in that same state of shaking.

"Just please stop… Stop…," He hugged me, grasped me to him, my hand numbing from the cold water. I didn't care, breathing in and set upon, within, Harry's embrace, his caresses, his apologies.

He broke down and literally fell into me, his face in my lap, his weep unrelenting and pure of heart-ache.

All I could was offer myself, what I knew, a rub, some words, a different beat before getting him from the kitchen and upstairs to bed where he, and I, so desperately needed to be.

***

Harry fell into bed. He didn't take the sheets with him, falling right atop in a heap of weakened body, an exasperated soul. I don't even think he realised I was there when I fetched a clean cloth and ointment for his self-inflicted wounds. I didn't so much as move as I moved him, lifting his hand, sterilizing his knuckles, his fingers, rounded bits of ripped flesh…the one at his middle finger actually had the skin clinging on. Readily, as I cleansed the portion the semi-attached epidermis, so thin it was transparent, severed.

I thought Harry would snap awake any second, but kept still instead without a flinch.

I hoped I hadn't hurt him, and caressed the side of his hand after applying the cream, putting a bandage on, and setting his hand down on the mattress.

I left him to discard the wrappers, the tube put back in the medicine cabinet, the cloth hung over the shower stall. I felt it urgent to get with him, to get in bed beside him, and hurried to do so promptly. I didn't pay much attention to myself: my hair after removing my work clothes and tossing them in the bin, my makeup, the black about my eyes in a flourish of water and soap, the towel getting the majority when dried. I raked a toothbrush over my teeth a few seconds, spat, and was out of the loo in a minute's time.

I took up something-a hoodie-placed over a desk chair on the way over. Harry had put this on this morning to go for a quick jog, weather permitting. I didn't care to go after anything else, the wardrobe, the drawers simply too much of a big deal when all I wanted to do was to get in bed and wrap myself around Harry. I slipped one arm in, and then the other, not bothering to zip up and slid into the sheets.

I maneuvered Harry. My poor baby would get cold lying above the quilt and comforter. I needed to feel him skin-to-skin. When he settled, coming in and going out of awareness, he instantly clutched to my form. He buried himself in me, beneath the sheets, directly beneath my chin. He tightened his secure grip, breathed a long breath and sighed into my chest.

I put my arm around him and held him just as tight.

***

I don't know what time it was, faced away from the clock. I knew it had to be hours later, as when things started I found myself opening my eyes sluggishly, unprepared for what I witnessed.

First he kicked, and then another, and another.

He hit me the second time, and by then I was wide awake.

He started shaking, fighting as if something unknown grappled with him.

"Harry?" I lifted to my side, my hand on him.

He grunted and pulled on me, then pushed me aside.

I saw his eyes weren't open.

"Harry!" I shook him, feeling when my hand touched him how rigid he'd become, and then silence.

He suddenly settled.

His abrupt stop came with tinges of terror.

My mind reeled with the definition of the situation and how wrong the pattern went when the spectrum hopped from extreme to a polar opposite. I'd taken my hand off when he drooped in the mattress, shoulders slumped, falling backwards as if he were to roll over on his back. I went to feel of him again, my hand on the side of his face to find him snap, ferociously grab the hand, yank me and spew this…unimaginable…unintelligible…

…I hadn't heard parseltongue in ages, and how I was now face to face with my…beloved? He sneered, his eyes remaining at a close, issuing phrases I couldn't comprehend…other than they were the most sinister of sort, lashing.

He laughed, a guffaw of evil, this stench unlike Harry developing in his breath.

I was…petrified…at a standstill and frozen, looking into the slit, pinched eyes and then he screamed, pushing me off him and tumbling from the mattress.

I watched him, heard him yell as he held his head, grasping at his forehead. He clawed at his scar, as if to scratch it clear off and gasped. I saw him look at me, look right into my behemoth-sized pupils, wide stare of horror. He fell straight down, down on his knees and vomited amidst pleas to "Stop!"

I leapt clear across the bed right to him and put my arms around him. He pulled away, kept me from his face until he saw me…

Like he'd never seen me before, and in revelation of who I was found the epiphany he needed.

"I can't go back to sleep…," he heaved. His nose ran and his face was hot with a strong tint of red. "Don't make me go back to sleep…!"

"You don't have to go back to sleep, Love! You don't…," I spoke fast, distinctly. I looked over the acidic puddle of sick and began to lift him under his arms. "But we've got to get you up, at least onto the bed!"

He said as we went, standing up, "…I'm sorry, sorry…"

"There's nothing to apologise about, everything's okay," He sat on the edge of the bed. I made sure he was fine, sitting with him, until I acted again. "I must get something to get it off the floor."

I went to my feet for a towel in the clothes bin, something already used from a previous shower, whatever, and found the first one. I could hear Harry crying, and when I turned around saw his hands covering his eyes. I let the towel do its thing, sitting back with him. Nothing in the depths of my mind came to me, Harry saying repeatedly, "…I don't want to fall asleep… Please don't let me fall asleep…!"

I'd begun rubbing his back, letting him lean into me, when I said, "Let's get you downstairs, then. Get you a drink or you'll dehydrate. I wouldn't want that."

He stood up with me about him. Halfway across the bedroom he said, "I've got it…"

"You've got it?" I asked, supporting him.

"I can walk."

"I'll be right behind you," I let him go, watched him make it to the stair railing, and came back to the towel on the floor.

Depositing the towel in the sink, I raced downstairs to see Harry at the last few steps heading in the direction of the kitchen. "What do you want to drink?" I called out.

"I don't care…," He still held his head, changing direction. He went towards the sofa, lights turning on by our movements.

In the kitchen, I knew what made my tummy feel better when it was upset. I took a can of cola out of the refrigerator, took out a glass, and poured the fizzy beverage among a mountain of crystal ice cubes. In a flash I was back beside Harry, my toes at the floor, my feet never hitting its surface for very long.

He sat bundled up in the Gryffindor quilt by the time I came back, sitting down where we touched at the hip, my foot slipping beneath my bum. I sat at the side, looking at Harry as he looked off at a blank telly…if his hand weren't in the way. "Thank you," he said, feeling me there, accepting the glass of cola.

I let him drink in quiet.

I had a deluge of questions on my tongue, frightened as I was…he'd looked so…awful…

"Thank you," he said, again, between gulps.

I smiled when he glanced at me from the side, but the smile faded when he turned back.

"…I haven't had an episode like that in a…," He breathed as if he were still breathless. "…a while."

I squeezed his arm. "Take your time," I coaxed.

My hand on his bicep, I rubbed with my thumb in circles.

A third of the way through, he set the glass in his lap and leaned back on the sofa, the rounded incline at his arch. He stared at the ceiling briefly, and then shut closed his eyes.

I waited, peering in squint at the clock to see it passed four.

Class would start in less than five hours. I could easily skip if he needed me. The essay about Socrates's method of dialogue wasn't to be turned in until tomorrow, and it had been finished now for some weeks in advance. My algebra exam wasn't until Friday. Nothing stopped me from breaking allegiance from school, anyway; Harry was vastly more important than any literary or mathematical lesson.

I finally gave in, saying, "Was it…?"

"…A nightmare," He ended. "An utter nightmare…"

I frowned, leaned in, nose squished against his shoulder and kissed him. I slid my hand over his navel, running my fingers over his abdomen.

"…You spoke parseltongue."

"It felt very much like…," He paused. "…like I was…I was…"

"You grabbed me…"

At those three words, Harry stopped, stopped breathing, stopped blinking, stopped everything and looked at me. He read the fright, the horror I'd felt and feel…though, more faint than those minutes ago.

"I'm a monster."

His words, deliberate in sound, action, consciousness…

His eyes solid, fixed on me.

He truly meant what he said.

I shook my head. "You are not a monster."

"I am a monster!" He yelled. "A ghastly being that brings nothing but the worst and-"

I halted his barrage, taking him into my arms and pulling him down with me. I cradled him at my breast, his grip tight, and hid in the softness that was me.

He rubbed his face into my chest, his voice suppressed at the skin and cloth of the hoodie. "...And I don't know why you put up with me. Why you've always put up with me. I'm nothing more than a-"

"Harry," Interjecting, I knew it wasn't his fault. He knew it wasn't his fault, either. I couldn't demand him to relieve the constant bullying he'd do to himself. Like Tourette's, his motions were involuntary, his speech the same. I loved him, damn it, and I wished this all would go away-wished he wouldn't creep into this state of depressed mind.

All I could do, and all I knew how to do was to tell him: "You mean the world to me and I love you. I've always felt out of step…"

"I've never felt normal-I'm not normal, and I don't ever want to be," He glanced from my chest. "I've faced death, and loss, and pain…but, I've never felt stronger-more real, myself-because it's my world, too. I belong with you."

He kissed me where he lay.

"I'd be a right mess without you…"

"And, I'd be a right mess without you," I replied in unison.

I could tell he smiled even without a visual.

We went quiet, the ticking clock our noise.

My hand on his head, my arm snug around his back, I kept him on me protectively, motherly to a point. I'd seen him like this, vulnerable, scared, innocent…like a child, almost. I couldn't tell if this was a retraction, as much as he missed his mum, his dad, everyone connected by blood-Sirius-gone. But, I didn't care. To my breast, something felt very right. The organ of life lay beneath his ear, his cheek, his mouth; the same organ a symbol of happiness, warmth, love. I found it greatly reassuring, affectionate, and those two were so very welcome in summaries like this.

"You truly are the woman of my dreams…"

I smiled and swore to myself I wouldn't choke up.

There'd been enough crying for the both of us.

"…Don't let me fall asleep, love," He said, reliving the same statements. "Not, at least, for a little while…"

I took the cup of cola from his hands all the while reaching back, feeling for the telly controller. "Want the TV on, then?"

My orange furball came bounding into the den, having been left upstairs. He stretched at the side of the sofa and curled up between us and the coffee table.

"Yeah…"

"Anything particular?"

"…It should be on the Sports Channel."

When I hit `On', sure enough an old game of Quidditch was playing.

I set the telly remote back on the stand.

Stroking his cheek, my fingers combing his hair, the more I fought to keep him awake the more I struggled to keep awake. After a while I remember closing my eyes. It wasn't on purpose. I tried to keep them open, eyelids heavy…the end all being a kiss, from Harry, on the centre of my chest where the two pieces of the sweater fell open. He tugged the quilt upwards, warmth inviting…lovely…

I did my best, seeing the day slowly light the windows of the den…

…But eventually gave out from such a day filled with one anxiety, and then the next…

…I didn't think I'd be seeing university today.

***

A group of magical kin and human huddle around televisions projected around Violet Hill's Business District, all in earnest to watch a momentous occasion unfolding and to keep warm as snow falls slowly from an overcast sky. A ticker of today's stocks and commodities stream below these screen displays showing a down day in the markets as most of the numbers are in the red with arrows pointing south. In frame, a yellowish-green goblin in dress attire stands beside a picturesquely vibrant figure of Quincy Nolpho behind a podium. Thousands of flashes are going off, each flash dazzling his pearly-white, toothy grin. In the bottom left corner turns the WNN logo.

"…My brothers and sisters, magical creatures of this great country of Britain, I am ecstatic and happily accept Master Szrixx Steelknuckles's endorsement for Minister of Magic. What better an endorsement than the Master Goblin himself, the Grand Overseer of Gringotts? Master Steelknuckles's previous words, detailing that I am the right man for the job, brings about a truth to our downtrodden nation. As Minister of Magic, I will turnaround this road to Hell and make our cities, our Ministry, prosperous once again! We must take it to Minister Kingsley-take it to his front door-and demand for him to step down this second!"

Quincy Nolpho slams his fist down on the podium, bringing on an uproar of cheers.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt: leave your throne now!"

The Ministry Court's anthem swells behind his words.

The flashes erupt in number once more as Quincy Nolpho shakes hands with Grand Overseer Szrixx Steelknuckles, the alabaster facade of Gringotts of Diagon Alley in the background.

***

I ended up not going to school, staying home with Harry for the afternoon instead. I'd still have work later on tonight, but allowed that to come when it did.

My Love was the subject now.

We had eaten, beef and vegetable stew and toast, something hot with the snow falling outside. Harry was in the kitchen, at the sink where he washed, rinsed and dried the utensils. I would have been in there with him, but knew he'd run me out. Conditioned, I stayed on a cushioned seat aside the windows. I chose to start some future school work, days and days ahead of schedule. Scripture's from Ovid's Metamorphoses, sectioned and subtracted from his fifteen complete books. Professor Prewitt would have been mad to have us read all fifteen. Even for me, the jumping around was thick.

I had a notepad in my lap and would first say what I wanted to write down, and then actually write it down.

A habit I picked up in Hogwarts and used to be demonized, shadowed with ridicule by the kids, in my youth.

Children could be so cruel.

Harry thought it was cute.

I sat crisscrossed between the half-hexagonal windows, the plush white pad in deep contrast to my black lounge trousers and grey, athletic tank top. The fire in the hearth was exceptionally warm, breaking what could have been cold seeping in from the panels. I never once felt disturbed by the weather around me. The overcast was light enough to show some natural sunlight, enough to assist my sight.

I went from the book, to the notepad, to placing the pen's top on my lip, to further sticking my nose in the book, to…

"…figurative transformations are subject to as much danger as literal trans-"

I felt something crawling on my foot and leapt, bringing my foot, my knee, and everything else towards my chest.

Harry, on the other hand, the culprit, laughed hard in front of me.

"That's not funny!" I chided, wagging my pen at him. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! Some spider or…"

"Hahaha… I'm sorry…," He tried to stop, but continued laughing.

"You'll be sorry," I tapped the tip of his nose with the tip of my pen.

He knelt in front of me, his size at my height.

"Why are you in here?" He slipped his hands to either side of my hips, his index fingers sliding up into the brim of my shirt. Hooked, he twisted the thin, ribbed fabric around in his fingers.

I felt the tightening of the shirt from the pull of the small shoulder straps. "Because if I was in there," I pointed off towards the kitchen. "You'd shout at me. So, I took the chances and sought…"

I flashed the scripture book.

Harry bent down, and when he did, kissed the top of my foot just beneath a knee.

I'd gone back to sitting crisscrossed.

"How is it so far?"

I raised a brow, seeing and feeling him inch up my foot and onto my leg, "It's a lot less interesting than this."

He chuckled.

I laughed through my nose, observing the trail he made of pecks, closing in on the knee as he zigzagged up my leg. "What are you doing?"

"Dunno," He chuckled again, not so much as looking at me, concentrated on his business. "What am I doing?"

"It looks like you're caressing closer to my thigh."

"It looks like I'm caressing closer to your thigh," He glanced up at me. "Is that so bad?"

"Mm…," I laughed. "Not at all."

"Are you busy?"

"Depends."

"I'll tear that book from your hands."

"Haha…," I smirked at his smile. "And why would you do that now?"

"Because I'd like a…," His eyes went back to my thigh, kissing one peck-kiss to the inside.

He squeezed the grip of my hips.

"…Playmate, for a few minutes. If you can break away from that massively fantastic story or whatever…"

"For just a few minutes?"

Harry winked and smiled. "Minutes can go into hours, days, weeks…"

"Weeks, hm?" Grinning, I peered up as he rose from the floor. "That's quite a while…"

"Let's see how far we get."

I tilted my head back and laughed before being taken and lifted, picked straight upward. I dropped the book on the cushion, having my legs wrap around his torso, my arms wrapped around his neck. I snogged him, and snogged him hard. He held my bum in support, giving it a bit of a rub the short distance from the windowsill to the sofa. He watched me adjust, move my legs to meet the new place, unwrapping to straddle.

His hands slid from beneath my arse, to my shirt, under, and north as the thin material was peeled from my figure than removed.

When he'd gotten the snug shirt to my breasts he stopped, pulled me to him by the shirt and kissed me whilst prying it off to exposure. I went to lift my arms, the normal action in taking the article of clothing off, only to see him take me up and take one nipple into his mouth, and then the other. I closed my eyes and placed my hand on the backside of his head, in his hair, where I firmly attached, gripped.

I sighed and instinctively arched my back, scratching his head, feeling his tongue…

He pulled away, slipped the shirt the rest of the way off, and sat back.

Confidently smug, he stared at me with one of those egoistic grins. I just rolled my eyes, leaned my head to the left side and let my mahogany and cinnamon curls, my Hippogriff feather and crucifix necklaces shift slowly to the left.

I blushed, fell forward and kissed him, both hands utter engrossed in his severely dark tufts.

He went to go, to attack them by lip, my breasts again…but I shot back an inch, to his surprise. He tried again, realising when I went back once more I'd done it on purpose. He growled, lifted me off the straddle and laid me down on the length of the sofa. I laughed, giggling, Harry crawling to my lips where he kissed me and down to my chin, my throat, my shoulder… I thought he would go back to my nipple, but strayed, to my surprise this time, to the centre between my two.

…Kisses down my stomach, my navel, he nudged the tip of his nose into the little hole, getting me ticklish…

…Down below, my abdomen contracting to his lightness, to the elastic of the lounge trousers…

I breathed a heavy sigh, to feel him take the elastic and peel them down, knickers and all, my legs up, and then down, feet flat on the sofa. He resumed from where he stopped, to the top, the mound…

I reached down and grabbed his hair, seeing his eyes, his smile.

I breathed another sigh, felt his heat, gentle, one quick…

I let out a moan, arched back, let my eyes roll backwards and bit my bottom lip…

***

THE EVENING PROPHET

POTTER FOR MINISTRY OF MAGIC???

This is beyond hilarious if it's true. A poll shown on the Wizarding News Network this morning during McCrady's Corner tells the majority when asked who should become the next Minister if Kingsley is tossed out onto the streets, is…Harry Potter? Thirty-four percent said, yes, Harry Potter would be their man. Thirty-four percent of WHO?! Who did this poll? The credibility is astounding-only those numbed by the Cruciatus could continue to point their finger at Potter as the end all, be all!

Listen, those who polled in that thirty-four percent… Mister Nolpho has been discussing this indicator. Kingsley Shacklebolt was put in by no one-ghosts-no one knows how we went to sleep one night and woke up to a brand new Ministry. He has no credentials, no experience-nothing! He has no wife, no kids, no one knows where his family is or even if he has a family! He could be anything! We know he was an Order member, set out by Albus Dumbledore to do his bidding. We all know how that worked out. Why are you thirty-four percent now repeating the same failed experience over again? Just because Savior-boy touts himself as a god among us does not represent Minister-material.

On the other hand, Mister Nolpho has worked in the Ministry, has experience running measures, has governed constituents, has a wife, has kids-he is the package WE WANT! Potter is some random twenty year old pubescent portrayed as something he is not. The only one's defending him are those people who are believe to be dishonest-Order members or those associated.

The whole point in relieving Kingsley from his golden throne is not to put back in Kingsley II.

We want someone better, someone who knows how to run Britain and not run our country into the ground!

A slap is deserved to those who spread this "Potter" garbage.

Wizarding News Network Poll (26/10/2000):

If the seat was open, who would you consider for Minister of Magic?

Harry Potter - 34%

Quincy Nolpho - 22%

Rita Skeeter - 13%

Lee Jordan - 9%

Samuel Voss - 8%

Charity Ashewater - 6%

Hermione Granger - 5%

Luna Lovegood - 3%

+/- 3% margin of error, 1,000 polled.

Angelica Teivel

Writer

Page 1

***

"Baby," I announced, coming in from outside, coming in from work. The door shut behind me, my pink-and-black Converse trainers tapping the wood for a push. I saw a letter having been thrown into the hallway from the post slot in the door. I glanced at the envelope with confusion, the time an unfamiliar one at night. The post usually came in the morning.

Though, I immediately know who it was from, its rainbow-colour a dead giveaway. Not to mention the "Q" in the corner, and the signature Quibbler italics in white-gold cursive. In the centre read:

Missus and Mister Potter

I smiled, setting down my purse on the sofa stand, glancing around to see the television silent, the kitchen light off, everything rather…absent.

Weird.

"Harry?" I called out again, wriggling my pinky finger in-between the fold to open the letter from Luna. She hadn't contacted me by phone, so this came as a surprise.

Unrolling the parchment, it read:

Dear Mister and Missus Potter,

Luna Lovegood requests an engagement. As you may or may not be aware, The Quibbler is to announce a brand new endeavor entitled, Q. The magazine is set to be on shelves across the world next year, and will be presented in a way to showcase the goodness of people that goes unnoticed by many. Luna feels it a duty in a period like today that we put on a pedestal light against a lethargic woe. For our first issue we would like to portray the best of the best, a story like no other, of you and Harry. Others have been contacted to tell theirs as well, a sort of coming together of what Luna likes to consider, "our Angels".

Please discuss this with Mister Potter and we hope to hear from you!

Sincerely,

Stephanie Shultz

Public Relations

Assistant Press Secretary

I smiled, looking from the letter, walking to the base of the stairs. Harry hadn't said anything, and craning my neck to see upstairs, I saw our bedroom door closed. My hand on the railing, I stepped on the first step, and then the next, ascending the stairs, calling, "Harry…?"

With each new step, my heart sunk until finally, throwing open the door and seeing pitch black did it want to leap straight from my mouth.

I had to cover it, wrenching.

Nightmares.

All I felt in my very soul was…

He was gone, and after today, yesterday…

He would have put a notice if he had just up and left!

To say I ran downstairs would be a lie.

I hurdled downstairs, tears already welling at the ducts in waiting. Taking up my purse, I sifted inside until I found the mobile phone turned off. I hopped in place, jittery, hands fumbling, not wanting this bloody thing to take its time. The screen lit and I instantly held the number one, speed-dialing, seeing "Harry-bear" appear on the screen.

I put the phone to my ear and heard…

Hey, this is Harry. But, I guess you knew that already… Hahaha… Well, you know what to do.

Beep.

"Harry!" I shouted into the receiver. "Harry! Please call me back! Please, baby-I'm worried! I'm home! Please…!"

I wasn't jumping to conclusions.

We all knew, everyone, especially me…that there were those who wished for Harry to not…

…Exist…

I pressed and held number two, speed-dialing, seeing "Weasel" appear on the screen. I held the phone to my ear, crying.

"Please be there, please pick up…"

"Hello?"

"Gin!"

It was obvious, the emotion pouring forth.

"What's wrong?!"

"Have-have you seen Harry?"

"No… What's going on? Where's Harry? He's not there?!"

"He's not at home!"

"I told that bastard not to pull this shit…"

"Gin…! He wouldn't do this on purpose!"

"…Any ideas on where to start looking?"

I ran my hand the length of my hair, starting from the front and going back, sniffling. My hip touched the stand, propped by the wood and the sofa. "Kingsley came to the house last night and told us they found ransom notes for Harry! There were also these horrible-"

Gin went silent.

I could hear something whistling…the wind?

Was she outside?

"Gin?" I cried, alone.

"I'm here! I'm here…," she sounded distant, but came back with a clear, "Let me call Neville. He'll hunt down an Auror-have you already sent for the Ministry? Kingsley? Did Kingsley already leave? Did he leave today?"

"No-I don't know-I called you first-Neville-I thought maybe you-"

I frantically stumbled over my own words, spitting them out instead of actually delivering communicative strings.

"If I find him… I'll rip his nuts off! Let me call Nev… I told Harry to never-!"

A green flash lit behind me, displaying the entire atmosphere, the whole house a vivid shade of flickering lime. Whipping around, my hair in its entirety flipping from one side to the next with a snap, I saw…Harry, in suit and tie, stooping down to climb from the growing, transforming fireplace. Gin heard the roar of sound, the crackling, and said, "Is that him? Hermione? Was that him?"

"Hey! The M-" Issued Harry nonchalantly, as if he'd just wondered in the den from upstairs. No big deal. He then saw me, the state I was in. "What's-what's wrong? Who's on the phone?!"

"It's him!"

"I ought to come over and beat the living fuck out of-"

"I'll talk to you later, Gin." My words flew fast, the pace setting up a fresh mindset of anger.

How dare he do such a thing!

Without telling me?!

Leaving, just like that?!

With all the…the…the…!

"Love you."

"Love you."

I flipped the mobile off and put it atop the letter Luna sent for us. Stomping towards him, my tears streaming, my teeth gritted, my jaw hurt from tension to sudden relief… I stormed to him in my furry and smacked into him-gave him a firm slap, where I gasped when he did at the resolution, and began crying once more.

He looked in a daze, slowly turning to gaze back from his face being jerked to the side, befuddled, seeing me coming at him with fists hitting his chest. He took them in a hurry and made me stationary, asking, "…Why did you slap me?!"

I looked at him, fixed, puffy-eyed, runny nose, my fists in his hands, "Do you know what time it is?! Do you know I came in and you weren't here?!?!!"

I screamed.

"Christ! Has it…," He swiveled his head to see the clock, and I knew he now understood. The grip he had of me faded, and when he came back around to look at me he was confused no more. "I must have… I'm sorry. I know."

I hugged him tight, staining his neck with tears.

"I know…," He ran his hand down my back. "I know… I'm sorry. It'll never-"

"I tried calling you! No note! Nothing! Last night! Last! Night! You have been-!"

"I'm here…," He pulled me closer, clinched, gripped, tight… He wasn't about to let me go. "I'm here… I'll never go."

"You can't-" Hesitating in breaths, I tried to settle, and in trying caught up in tears. "You can't-don't ever leave me-"

"I'll never leave you."

"Just-Just don't do that-again."

"I'll never leave you ever again."

His tone felt that of a promise.

He lowered, bent down and lifted me up.

My arms secured around his neck, I never looked, my face within the crook, aside his throat.

"Have you eaten…?"

I felt the shift, the height, a repetition and knew he traveled, me, and him, upstairs.

***

Within a fragment of length, in bed, hunger sated, the delicate exploratory innocent ambience we went about bathing, reminiscent of the first few months where everything seemed so much easier… He'd told me why he'd gone to the Ministry, explained how during the day the vision of his affected eye begun to blur and needed those that helped him before to look at it…for if not, the fear of going blind… As much as I did care about this, him being here, me looking at him in our shortest of distance…that's what kept me sane.

He had an arm around me above the sheets, an arm beneath my head. Swallowed by his embrace, my hands on him, anywhere, chest, stomach, shoulder, arm, hand… I sighed as he pulled me to him, a small portion taken in bed by our bodies as one, breathed his therapeutic pumpkin scent in…

I lifted and caressed his eye, his forehead, the scar…

…slipping back to him, feeling him kiss the top of my head…

…I drifted to sleep.

Intervals in the night I would wake up. I'd wake up to know I could feel him, and with each waking moment I could feel that arm around me secure. Even when I pushed up and rolled over, spooning with Harry, he only lessened his squeeze of me by a margin, never removing his arm, to grab and pull me back to his body when I came down. His arm paralleled to my form, his hand at my chest, neck, shoulder, my arms twined about his arm like a teddy bear…

He never once left me…

…And I so desperately needed to feel that security, a rekindling of our bond.

The first image my eyes focused on, adjusting from new day's light, was the engagement ring upon my finger and Harry's fingers interlaced.

{Music inspirations: more from Audiomachine, lots and lots of Audiomachine with Sting's If I Ever Lose My Faith in You on loop in-between}

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