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.

I hate remembering…but, I can't stand to forget - Anonymous

***

Chapter Sixty-Two - Hangover

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

QUINCY NOLPHO WINS!!!

***

9:38 PM, February 14^th, 2001

The Daily Prophet Amphitheatre, Violet Hill

"…To those who say things cannot be done, I say to them: we will get them done-today! Anything can happen!"

A wild cacophony of voices shout and scream, the amphitheatre at its maximum, one hundred thousand strong leap to their feet and cheer at the dot down below. Quincy Nolpho, in stylish, chic dress attire gazes upwards-seemingly towards the Heavens-the people reaching towards the cloudless, star-filled night. Camera bulb flashes streak the landscape, Quincy grinning and waving from behind a Ministry-embellished podium. He'd walked down a red carpet, the family, his tall, thin dark-haired wife behind him with their two dark-haired little girls.

"From this moment, as your Minister, I will change the policies that our previous Minister put in place to dynamically change our way of life for the better! You! You deserve better!"

The crowd cheers.

"For every, single one of you deserve to live in a world without fear! Without the hardship you all now carry every day! The past will finally be behind us! Forward to our future!"

A rousing "Nolpho! Nolpho!" chant is heard throughout the arena.

Enormous banners displaying the Ministry crest billow in the winds swirling within the bottom of the oval bowl.

"I will-we will-together-make this nation the best of what best can be again! The glory days of British Wizarding Society!"

Nolpho puts his hand in the air, "Yes we will!"

An uproar, with every able-bodied person jumping in their confined spots, chanting louder Quincy's name.

"Thank you, Britain, for believing in me!"

Two-story high magical screens show the handsome smile of the new, youngest Minister waving from one end of the amphitheatre to the other.

"Good night! Tomorrow will be a brand new day!"

The commotion could be heard miles away.

The Ministry anthem booms to life. Quincy takes his wife's hand in his left, and takes his youngest daughter up in his arms. He bounces her to the beat of the anthem, having her wave at the crowd, his white smile shining for all to see.

***

The Daily Prophet Amphitheatre, Violet Hill

In a heavily guarded annex and room established by the Nolpho Election team and financiers just after his winning speech…

"Hun," says Nolpho, stepping away from the door he'd just opened where people waited, stood by for him. He gives his youngest daughter's hand to his wife. "Take you and those two to the Ministry. My men will come for our things at home shortly. I'll be there soon after a little business meeting."

His wife nods, and after given a kiss leads her daughters down the hallway by black-robed escort.

Nolpho watches his lovelies exit and slips into the room, his charming smile catching on when his team of magical and human-alike begin their applause. He elongates a ravishing bow just before being bombarded with praise, especially of one Rita Skeeter and some of her elite Prophet Media cohorts.

"Just like magic…," Rita gives Nolpho a wink, snapping her fingers.

"All with your help, doll," He pats Rita's back within their hug, and stands with her to the side, his arm still draped about her shoulder. He leans in quietly and whispers, "Check with me tomorrow morning…"

Nolpho lowers to Rita's ear and says something inaudible amongst the riled party. The something's so good it sends a shiver and a produces a sly smirk on Rita's lips. "Hehe… Always the charmer, Quincy!"

"I do what I can." Nolpho smiles, giving Rita another shiver.

She clears her throat and motions towards the crowded room.

"A toast!" Rita announces, champagne high in the air. "To Quincy!"

"To Quincy!" they all exclaim.

"May our future be as lucrative as ever! And remember," She exclaims with an excited shrill. "There are just two rules in life! Rule number one: never lose! Rule two: never forget rule number one!"

The Nolpho members cackle at the sentiment and cheer, clinking their glasses together with partners.

Quincy toasts, and as he begins to take a swig back with everyone is pulled to the side. "Sir…," says a black cloak, a hooded figure. "…They've been…dealt with."

"All Kingsley's bastards gone? Every last one of them?" Quincy shoots back in whisper. "If I even smell their stench in my halls…"

"All have been…alleviated from their posts."

"Perfect," Quincy smirks and takes the champagne in one gulp. "What of those in the so-called `Order'?"

"Excommunicated from the Ministry the moment you started talking to the ignorant masses, the fools…"

"Too bad it'll cause a stir if we went after them now…," Quincy gives the black cloak a stiff pat on the back. "Tell the boys to take it easy tonight. You've all done superb-it's on Britain!"

He toothily grins.

"In time, sir," The cloak bows his head. "Thank you."

"If Kingsley or any of his men dare enter the proximity, see to it that under our `new protocol' they are…terminated…shall you?"

"Yes, sir…and the lesser ones? The ones that follow `Potter'? Granger? The pathetic Weasleys?"

"Tax them a bit more, raise their rate a bit… Remind me to write a law stating how their… What is it? A wheat field? That their field isn't under…'permit'." Quincy lets out a howling laugh.

The cloak chuckles. "As you wish, sir…"

"And, have Miss Granger be billed for the mess she made of my Ministry… Say…," Quincy wanders off with his eyes as if to really ponder the equation. "…We'll take all of what she'd earn from Potter's will. Seize his Gringotts vault and all that's inside it…"

"…Shouldn't be a problem with the goblins in our pocket…"

Quincy holds his stomach, laughing heartily. "…See to it that we retrieve that book Kingsley insisted on protecting for the Vatican… Now that he's been taken out."

"Yes, sir…"

He gives the hooded figure another pat on the back. "Well, mate, I've a party to attend!"

***

9:21 PM, February 14^th, 2001

Fourth floor, Visitor's Waiting Room, St. Mungo's Hospital

Huddled around a newly acquired television anchored into the corner of the waiting room, Ginevra sits with a large group of visitors and night-shift Healers watching the live feed of Quincy Nolpho's winning speech. She's left shaking her head, mouth slightly ajar, at how easily Kingsley was removed…to be placed with someone so…unknown, and frightfully so. After witnessing Voldemort…what he could do, how he could use, the power…

Quincy Nolpho looked exactly like the cover, and beautifully put as a politician.

The camera would show the crowds cheering wildly on their feet…

…And, Gin, her Weasley-red swaying with the subtle shake of her noggin, just stared.

Some in the room with her applauded, and she'd gaze over at them with…disgust.

"Do you even know anything about this guy?!" she finally yelled over someone's clap.

"What's your problem lady?" shouted back a sharply offended woman.

"Name me one damn thing this shithole has ever done besides, you know, being excommunicated from the Ministry!"

"Lady-this is a hospital, not a bar! We don't use that language in this facility."

"You'd think a Weasley would know."

"She's a Weasley? Ha! No wonder! With that Potter trash…"

For a second Gin thought to shoot over and snap the poor woman's head off…

…But, thought of Hermione.

"When you've come from your knees, hun, be sure to tell me how much you love this guy." Gin thumbed towards the TV.

"Excuse me," A Healer tapped on Gin's shoulder causing her to flick to that side, her hair and all swirling. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave the waiting room."

Some in the room began to applaud for the Healer's actions.

Gin stood up, taking a sip of her coffee. She eyed the Healer curiously, "Maybe everyone shouldn't forget what happened a few years ago…"

Gin began to walk out, but caught the side of the doorframe. She inclined her head back into the waiting room and smiled at the offended woman. "Ignorant bitch."

"Ma'am! Leave!"

"My pleasure!" Gin winked at the Healer, gave a shake of her hips, and gave a sort of Elizabethan wave to all those who clamored for Nolpho.

When she turned around, she ran straight into something, spilling some of her coffee down her front.

"For fuck's sake…," She whispered, a bit happy the coffee wasn't steaming hot, but annoyed that on top of everything else, of Hermione, and Harry, and Neville, and her apartment, the Ministry…everything…she just had to…

She glanced up, seeing black, and then black robes.

She instantly went rigid, feeling for her wand in her jean pocket.

The hooded cloak reached into his robe…

…Gin slowly eased her wand outward by fingertip…

…And, gave Gin two envelopes, each stamped with a Ministry wax seal.

She stared into the blackness that was the robe's face before he vanished in a poof of vile, choke-inducing smoke.

She held her breath and swished her hands to air the area around her out.

It was like he wasn't there, the hallway she stood in and the people walking around, going about their business per usual. Though, now, within her grasp held an envelope addressed to her, slightly off-white. She caught her nail in its sleeve, broke the seal carefully and watched as the parchment unraveled:

From the Chair of Quincy Nolpho, Ministry of Magic,

We are informing you that upon this day, at this hour, February 14^th, 2001, you, Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley, are hereby banished from the Ministry of Magic. All privileges and special interests you have used in the past have been permanently revoked. You have been removed from Ministry watch and are now considered against the Ministry for requisite wrongdoings. All securities, including and involved with all monies and land will be reviewed and you will be held to any and all consequences for your actions.

This action, given to and affirmed by me, the Minister of Magic, cannot be tried on the act of repeal.

Sincerely,

Quincy Nolpho, Ministry of Magic

The other envelope, as she went from the parchment, was address to a Miss Hermione Jane Granger.

The parchment addressed to, as she held it so listlessly in her hand, began to catch fire and as she dropped it turned to ash before it could hit the floor.

***

9:07 PM February 14^th, 2001

Undisclosed location outside of London suburbs

The sound of a cane echoes throughout an empty World War II bunker. The clink-clink sound sobers those watching the man pacing between them, the pitch-black tail from his fitted cloak flowing behind him. He'd been talking to those men, in white cloaks themselves, mostly, with others in once Ministry-owned attire, the golden "M" emblem evident on their breasts. The rest, in civilian-style clothing, look on, but are nevertheless important to the clique's whole.

A man, a white cloak, rushes in which abruptly halts the cane. "Sir," she exclaims, putting a fist to her chest. "The Hogwarts children will be safe. They're attempting a succession from the inside out all thanks to you."

"…His plan is working…," he murmurs to himself.

"Excellent," The cane begins to walk, wobbling over to the white cloak and gives the woman's shoulder a squeeze. "Your team has done wondrous work. I wish you to commend them for me."

"Thank you, sir." The white hood lowers in slight bow.

The cane swivels, the hand, the black cloak, the white-blonde hair and stone-grey eyes encircle the crowd before him. "This will not be a repeat of what happened before."

"But, sir-we've been removed from the Ministry!" shouts one from his audience.

"The people have spoken. To hush them would be against our honour," The cane begins its walk again. "We can only protect them now."

"But, they've been misled! We should attack now!"

"The Death Eater's will use the people's will against us. We have to be craftier and more cunning than them. They've the entire media behind them. A frontal attack would truly be our demise. We've only begun playing their game of chess-to weed out their pawns, go for their king-"

"If Kingsley had only-!"

The white-blonde male cuts into what would have been a dismissal of the previous Minister. "Kingsley was a man of integrity! He fought on and off the field for our backs!"

He turns towards the rest of the sweeping crowd in the bunker. "While every family slept, he was on the front line for us! I'll hear no more of that insolence from you, the greatest of gentlemen and women! Is that understood?!"

A rousing, "Yes, sir!" concluded.

"Sir!" A man had come in from one of the side hallways, standing near a board of drawn tactics.

"What news do you bring us from the Ministry?"

"Everything has been burned, sir!"

The stone-grey eyes light with the slightest of grins. "It'll be like we were never there… Can we still get inside?"

"They've locked down the entrances, including the more…unknown networks."

The cane leans on a table, the blueprint of the Ministry's various levels strewn out for all to see. Those grey eyes peer over the structures, its openings. "The more…valuable…objects removed?"

"Yes, sir!"

"…Just when you thought you had them all…," whispers the blonde, staring at the spot where the drawn lines move, Quincy's teams redoing the Ministry to their desires. The blonde states a hint above whisper, "…The invisibility cloak will certainly be of worth to us, as will…."

"The departments deemed…confidential…are in a bit of smolder…it'll take them ages to sort it all out."

"Excellent!" The blonde looks up with a curl at his lips. "Tell the White Knights they've done a superlative job. Any news on Azkaban?"

"The Death Eaters have taken complete control over Azkaban," announces a white hood, having the grey eyes flick to his left.

"When did the Rose Brigade come in?" The blonde smiles a wicked smile.

Under the hood one can hear a smug guffaw, leading to the unraveling of amateur prints drawn up of Azkaban's interior and exterior. A torn glove, leather-clad finger points to, and around, the outer edges. "They've begun setting perimeters here, here, and here… They're hiding something from us they don't want us to know about."

"Are you able to still get in there?" answers the exquisitely-garbed chief.

"Underneath the cloud of…jubilation they've received by civilians, the dementors have been…obtained, once more."

"Maintain disruption of the Ministry…," The blonde taps the drawn blueprint of the offices of the Minister. "This'll surely be where they funnel all their resources be it human or non-human."

"Understood, sir."

"And," The blonde replies with a haughty tone. "Do give them Hell."

"I want every able-bodied person on top of espionage from here on out-help your comrades above you do their work with proficiency," shouts the man back on his cane. "Be prepared for lots of sleepless nights!"

A familiar red-head appears beside the blonde commander, his hood down as it hangs about his tunic. "Sir, your orders?"

The stone-grey eyes go to him, "Weasley, your services have just stepped up a notch. You trained hard with me for this day. Are you ready?"

"I am, sir. I am ready for anything."

"You've changed into a fine Auror, Weasley."

"A bit ironic, coming from…"

The blonde commander smirks. "I never leave a promise unfinished."

"Weasley," states an astute director. "I am as sure as my family's name that the new `Minister' will banish Granger, your sister, and all the rest who are adjunct to the Order. He may even go so far as to excommunicate them, make them enemies of the country. If that happens you must go with her."

"I am hers."

The cane steps forward and wobbles. The man raises his gloved hand and places it on Ronald's shoulder. "Promise me you won't get yourself killed out there."

"Again…," Ron laughs a bit. "Hearing that for you."

"Weasley!" The commander sharply injects, but with twitch from the side of his mouth. "Remember: I am your commander now. Do as you are told and we'll be fine."

Ronald nods, hiding a smirk. "Understood."

His commander gives him a brotherly shove. "Now get on out of here!"

Ron salutes, a hand to his chest, before vanishing from once he stood…

"Weasley!"

"Sir?"

"Trust your instincts. Granger will pull through like Potter, as usual."

Ronald nods as his image slowly dissipates into a thinly-veiled mist of white.

***

9:27 PM February 14^th, 2001

Fourth floor, Room 447, St. Mungo's Hospital

I can't be here anymore.

I can't.

It feels like I'm suffocating…

I stared at the ceiling, the tear stains mere dried riverbeds now amongst the flawless porcelain skin. My throat, having clenched whilst weeping, now ached. My jaw, having tightened, felt sore. My mind raced, traveling through images of what I could remember. The more I remembered, the more those memories began to escape me. I remembered Albus…his words…echoing as if he whispered them to me presently… And, Harry, the last image of him, his hand on my chest, in my chest…

I placed my hand where I knew he touched me above my heart…my heart…

I could feel a pace, albeit a bit unsteady from crying, but I knew…without any doctor telling me…

…I'd changed.

The change didn't help.

I still was without Harry.

I swore up and down I'd given this change to bring back him.

Swap my illness for his life, keep me sickly, just to smell of him, taste of him, feel of him once more.

I sat up in the hospital bed. Looking at the back of my hand, I watched as I turned at my wrist to rotate the cuff, the IV stuck into the back of my hand. The plastic shone when it hit the light. I heard the various calls outside my room, and people…

Nothing mattered.

I couldn't be here.

I was alone.

I remember taking the backside of my hand and, with one hard pull, a tear shedding, ripping the IV from the back of my hand. I held my palm over the top, put pressure down on it, feeling wetness underneath. I closed my eyes, found Number Twelve, and in the moment before the picture of my room blinked out, I saw Gin-her Weasley-red swaying to and fro. She had crept into the room, and her eyes instantly lighted when she saw me vanish.

I'd appeared in the hallway entrance.

Number Twelve in a deathly silence, the bottoms of my trainers all its noise alongside an ever-ticking clock.

I stood in the den.

I looked over the sofa, the Gryffindor quilt still laying out where we had cuddled before I left for Ginny's that day. A tea kettle sat still on the range, waiting for us to have its beverage that night after trying on my wedding dress. The mail had come and cluttered up the windowsill. The meat I had laid in the sink, to which gave an interesting odor, continued to wait for that meal which never came.

Crookshanks met me from around a corner, feeling against my leg as I wandered upstairs. The pictures of us clouded my brain, as if they were mocking, every smile, every laugh, every bit of happiness in each frame-mobile or immobile-sought to tear me up. I fought the urge, needing to, wanting to…

I found myself in our lavatory, washing and re-washing where I'd yanked out the IV. I looked over the sink as I did, seeing his razor, his cologne…the towel he used to dry off after showering still hung over the rail…

After applying a bandage, some ointment, I trekked back into a darkened bedroom, a silent apartment. Crookshanks nuzzled me… But, I was lost in another place, another time. I'd been washing clothes before leaving… Harry had taken them out of the drier, the basket and some contents still on our dresser drawer, the closet slightly opened where he surely hung garments up. My vanity, the mirror's edges stuck with pictures of us… My reflection in contrast, as I moved on by dazedly, somber…

I fell onto the bed, the bed having never been made… I would have made it with the new linen, but was too excited, too nervous about the dress…

I fell right on my side, his side untouched, my head towards…nothing.

I could smell his scent, the ripe pumpkin spice, still lingering in his place…and the closer I moved, the more…Harry…until I had bundled myself in sheets and all, my hands, arms bound about his pillow…

…And, cried myself to sleep.

***

9:31 PM February 14^th, 2001

On the streets outside of St. Mungo's Hospital

"Ronald!"

The Weasley-red cried out, soaked to the bone as sheets of rain flooded the streets of London, the water like dirty streams as it poured into the sewers. Automobiles honked, Ginny nearly racing out into on-coming traffic, her mind pre-occupied, elsewhere. The Muggles surrounding the mad ginger stopped with their umbrellas to stare, gazing about as she'd appeared from practically nowhere.

"Ronald!" she shouted through thunder. "She's gone!"

A mother and father, unnerved, grabbed hold of their son's hand and dragged him off down the sidewalk.

Others motioned over at Gin, rolling their eyes and giggling.

A man actually laughed out loud at the hilarity of the scene.

"She's left the hospital!" Gin sifted her hands through the front of her hair, gripping it as she wrecked her brain as to where Hermione might have gone. She shouted again, in a shrill, losing her voice in the tainted element, "She could be anywhere!"

And in a flash, Gin popped from sight…leaving the bystanders in utter shock and disbelief.

***

11:14 PM February 14^th, 2001

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

Languidly, fixed intently at nothing in particular, I peered through the kitchen window at the dark, rolling clouds, the rain splattering heavily against the panes. The lightning that struck in front of my eyes, lighting up the atmosphere, didn't as much as have me flinch. My mind was gone. I was gone. I didn't even remember getting up, nor did I remember drinking not one, but two bottles of wine…

…The last bottle left in the fridge, the only bottle left…Harry's favourite…at the counter aside me.

Firewhiskey.

I didn't care for it… But, drunk… I didn't care much for anything.

Senseless.

I breathed only to retain life.

I didn't see much of anything, hear, nor taste, smell… But, I could feel the cold, the loneliness, my withdrawal, the frankness of getting absolutely arse-faced plastered. Something to numb the pain, and there was lots of pain.

Staggering to my right, I'd grabbed the neck of the Firewhiskey bottle and led myself, stumbling and stuttering, hitting a wall here, the backside of the sofa there, into the only semi-lit room in the home. The television was on, I'd somehow managed to find the DVDs I recorded of us…on holidays, on our side-trips, of our everyday lives…together…

The only remaining bastion of sanity.

To see him, and hear him, speak.

As if he was right there with me.

When I fell atop the sofa, I spilt some of the Firewhiskey on me… But, my attention wasn't on my present visage, that numbness never causing the stir, the reaction of what one would do when he or she spilt something on themselves. No, I saw Harry, and my past, his smiling face as we were bundled up on the very sofa I sat on, in the Gryffindor quilt, laughing and…singing a little tune…Harry out of tune…but, altogether…perfect…

I put the bottle to my mouth and fought a choke, the liquid burning me, my tongue, the sensitive flesh, and downward as it scorched my throat swollen.

I had tears come to fruition, amongst the ones already there.

"Say, `Good night,' Harry."

"'Good night, Harry.'"

"No… Hahaha… You're silly."

"You're silly."

And, he tickled me, my laughter like knives now, deep lacerations to my soul, cutting straight to the heart.

The telephone woke me from my trance.

A ring, and then another, and the next.

I rolled to one side, lost the bottle and had it pour across the carpet.

"Fucking hell…"

I'd only made it halfway within my drunken stupor when the ringing stopped.

I cursed, of course, at the confounded thing…the ruse in which kept me from entering that part of me, dark, depressing…alone, helpless, fragile…when the telephone rang again. I caught it this time, having a cough, a stumble as I landed hip-first atop the counter.

I knew it had to be Gin…or Ronald…or mum, who knew.

All I knew at the moment was I didn't want to speak to any of them-no one.

I wanted to be here, but gone, gone so very far away.

Maybe so far away that I'd end up…

"Hermione…?"

The voice caught me bewildered, and at first I didn't know how to respond.

"…Nathaniel?"

"Christ! I've been trying to call your mobile forever, girl… Where have you been? Are you all right?"

I put my hand to my forehead, a pounding beginning between my eyes.

I had to shut them.

"Nathan…"

"You sound awful-what's wrong? Tell me what's happened. Can I-"

"…I don't want to be alone…," I cut in, having him abruptly stop.

"Okay," he started. "Well, I can-"

"I want to come over. I don't want to be here. I need you."

The phone went silent a beat, for Nathan to pick back up. I could hear a jingling of keys in the background.

"Where are you? Do you want me to come pick you up?"

"No-no," I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. "…I'm coming over right away…"

"Okay, but just realise that if you're not here in a half hour, I'm calling the po-"

I dropped the phone, it falling and hitting the floor with a hard thump, the plastic breaking…but, I'd gone, apparated.

…To the front door of his halls of residence, and as I appeared, gave a fright to a man with a heap of laundry in his grasps.

"GODS!" He jumped. "You scared me shitless!"

Not so much ignoring the man, than… I knocked on Nathaniel's door.

I leaned my head on the cool wood a second…it felt good…heard other university-minded people wander passed me, behind me, when the door swung open…

…And, there was Nathaniel.

He looked astounded, wide-eyed. "Hey! Wow… That was fast-"

"Hermione!" His concern grew, sizing me up, my physical droopiness, bent over…feeling…out of place…removed. "What in Christ's-"

"I don't want to be alone…"

"You're not alone-come inside."

"I-I don't…," I took Nathaniel's hand, his arm, pushing inside, on him. He hadn't a chance to say a thing, my lips on his, my arms around his neck. I literally crawled on him standing erect. He had his hands on me, feeling of me, taking me, and then letting me go as if he didn't know how to debate this new concept.

I knew the ending, leading him somewhere, anywhere-his sofa where I pushed his body down on with all my strength; oddly, with his form more than double the size of mine. I climbed on him, straddling, our lips moving as one, our breaths thick and heavy, and my hands in his Oxford tee from underneath.

I tore it from him, over his head, across his arms, and pressed myself against his muscular figure, my fingers, the pads feeling his abdominals, his pectorals, and his enormous shoulders.

I could hear him say my name… I didn't know if he meant it one way, or its opposite…but I continued on, needing, wanting this-wanting to feel that connection, that passion, that love I missed.

When I stopped.

And, he stopped.

I felt it.

Everything.

My eyes bulged from their sockets, acidity taking form of taste in my mouth.

He knew the signs, the signals of what was to come-and soon. He lifted me straight from him and carried me off into his bedroom, to his bathroom, where I unattached myself and shoved him away just in time to lift the lid and violently vomit into the bowl.

It hurt so bad I held myself, my stomach, gripping the bowl so hard my knuckles were white. My whole body would tense, every fibre, every muscle when it'd come again, and tears, too.

I felt my hair being taken away, my back being rubbed.

Between one heave, I demanded, "Don't you dare look!"

"I'm not looking," he answered back, and quick, only my ears catching the sound for my eyes tensed right alongside my body with another twisted retch.

I lay my forehead against the bowl when I thought I was finished, to spit, keeping my eyes closed and nose far from what I'd done. I found Nathaniel, when my eyes blinked open once, having held back my hair, and his soothing run down my spine. I wish I could have smiled, but thought none of it, sick, and hurting.

I heard the toilet flush, and I could feel the water pressure.

I closed my eyes, opened them again to see Nathaniel behind me.

"You look severely dehydrated…and when's the last time you've eaten?"

When he spoke of food, I held myself, praying I wouldn't go again…and said in whisper, "Please…don't talk about…that…"

He just looked at me, my parts, my slumped over body, and then back to me. He hadn't ceased his back rub and he still had my hair. "…You going to be all right now? Got it out?"

I gradually closed my eyes…to feel myself being picked up slowly, and kindly, cautious Nathaniel was as he lifted me from the tiled bathroom floor and into his arms. I was a bundle of structure and skin, not moving…just there. He laid me in bed, his bed…for I knew he lived in his university flat alone as he had described so many times before.

I took to moving as little as possible, and thankfully, I noted, the room was dark besides the light coming from the bathroom behind me and the living space beyond. He cared enough to lay me away from the light prior to him turning it off. He left me but only for seconds, to come back in and sit beside me.

"Come," he slid an arm gently about my shoulder, propping me up.

"…I don't want to move…," my head throbbed…well, everything throbbed, ached, and…the sickness…

"You've got to drink, eat."

I'd been sat up, my head on his shoulder. "…No…"

"Yes, it'll help-trust me," He made a silent laugh. "Being a bartender for years, and being drunk once or twice myself, I've learned to get as much fluids and carbs in me to stave off a hangover-which you'll rightfully have soon if you don't drink and eat this toast."

I lurched when he said "toast," to hear him say, "Nah, nah…no, none of that. Get your mind away. Come on, the Coke first. I've even put a straw in the cup with ice."

He put the straw to my lips. "It's for the best, love. Honestly."

I hesitated…to open my lips that smidgen of length and suckle at the straw. The sugary sweet soda tasted good and cold.

"Drink as much as you can get down, and then the toast."

I'd curled up with him, to lurch back when he spoke of the toast again.

"No…come on, Hermione. The toast. There's nothing on it-it's plain."

"I can't…"

"Yes you can. It'll help you not get sick-sicker-more sick than you already are."

"Uhnn…," I groaned and bit down on what he offered, a small bite, and chewed the tasteless wheat bread.

I made a face Nathan grinned at. "That was cute."

I covered my face with my hand and hid myself.

Nathan laughed. "All right…all right… Now, it's time for some sleep."

"…I can't stay here. What about-"

"You're my friend, Hermione. She can get over it. She's a big girl."

He let me down easy, and I, for whatever reason, subconsciously stated in rebuttal, "…But, I don't want to take your bed…"

My head hit the pillow, and I gazed through slits up at him.

My head was swimming; so, as quick as my sight held, the quicker I shut that vision off.

"Don't worry about it at all-the sofa pulls out into a comfortable bed."

I think I said, "Okay."

I could have said, "All right."

Whichever I said, of all the options…I said in sleep.

***

12:47 AM February 15^th, 2001

Near Reading, England, just south of Oxford

A silhouette of a figure crouches atop a building looking towards the halls of residence of one, Nathaniel Blake. Between air vents and fire escapes, he sits, watching, waiting, neither emotional nor emotionless, completely in-tune with whichever action best suits the situation…

…So, he continues to wait, to care, to be there for her, her Guardian.

His Weasley-red matted down from the drenching weather and harsh gusts, the white cloak on his tunic flittering in the winds.

He peers up towards the blackened sky.

***

{Musical inspirations: Linkin Park - In the End, Staind - It's Been a While, One Republic - Apologize, and, oddly enough from that happy bunch, Carly Simon - Nobody Does it Better}

{Author's note: Been bogged down offline as of late; so, if things seem somewhat disjointed it's because I've written the chapter in pieces since the last upload. I wanted to get a chapter up since it's been a while}

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