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.

A true friend never gets in your way unless you're going down - Arnold H. Glasow

***

Chapter Sixty-Three - Rapport

***

Thankful for lucent curtains, what little light that tried to come in came in only where the cloth didn't protect. For, I had a headache, a pressure between my eyes and a throb near the backside of my head. I woke in the most awkward position, with a leg bent one way, my other going directly opposite, and my hand over my head. My back was stiff when I moved, slowly, covered in sheets I didn't recognize when my vision gradually formed. Dark, they were, from white, or Gin's forest green.

On the sheets embroidered some sort of animal…a lion, I thought, and I closed my eyes…thinking of Harry, when I realized where I was. In a rush, bits of memory began to convey until… Nathaniel!

I shot up, and wished I hadn't.

I held my head.

My head felt like a bowling ball, an anvil atop my neck, and I fell right back into the pillow.

My eyes caught the image of a digital clock, its red numbers aglow in the semi-darkness.

1:24 PM.

I'd slept for ages; but, I could believe it.

I remembered the drink, and I remembered…

Oh Christ…

I put my hand over my forehead.

I made a fool out of myself.

Damn it, Hermione…

That's when I could smell myself, the ripe stench of alcohol, of that whiskey I spilt all over my shirt. I'd laid right in it. Wonderful. Amazing. Brilliant. Alongside these comfortable jeans…

I just lay there a minute, gathering whatever faculties still clung to whichever brain cells I had left.

The irony? I still wanted it. I wanted to feel broken from this world, already broken, in dismay, wanting nothing more than to forget. A part of me was happy that I'd left home…for whatever it was worth. To be away from that portion of life, of the heartache, the mindless chaos, the cold loneliness. I needed to be around someone who understood me, but was so unlike me… I thought, at least, to myself. Maybe it was an excuse? Maybe I had other intentions… So warped, I couldn't gather upwards or downwards, let alone what was right or wrong. My life had turned into one big shade of grey, and it looked as if it would be staying there for a while.

I pushed myself up finally, feeling obligated even if I had that damned hangover. I held my head, my eyes closed for the longest time. I think I fell asleep, coming to again to see the clock a few minutes passed. The correct action would have been to lie back down. I was safe, Nathaniel always gave me that sense, but…

What would Trisha say? Some strange woman…well, not that strange as I'd met her once…but nonetheless, in his bed, and having been liquored up.

I tossed the sheet to the side and swung my legs carefully over the bed. I pushed up, my arms at either side of my hips and softly padded for the closed door of the bedroom. I could hear a television, what sounded like sports, an announcer calling out names of players, the score, what was happening now.

When I opened the door, expecting Nathaniel… I shouldn't expect things.

From the sofa, a man I had never seen before looked back at me.

"Well, hello there!"

He was a bit loud, having me hold my head again.

"…Who are-" I stopped, being in whisper, to change the question. "…Where is Nathan?"

"My apologies," the man said, gazing behind glasses, a sleeveless sports jersey over his shoulders of the local British rugby team. His dirty blonde hair, slightly in a mess, and of length, shifted as he did to see me. "I'm Donald, best mate of Nathan since practically nursery school."

I nodded, feeling a bit relieved, to hear him add, "Nate's at school still, and he told me to give you a message that he may be late, if you're still here, as he goes to the gym on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays."

"School…," I murmured to myself… I hadn't gone back since… I pushed what I could out of my mind, Donald helping me as he spoke up again.

"He also left you a note on the kitchen counter over there," he motioned over towards where the carpeting ended and the linoleum floor began, bluish counter tops along the walls with a gas range and oven. "It's near the telephone, the notepad on the wall."

I looked towards the white telephone on the wall, the notepad near a fire extinguisher.

I went over, as kindly to my eyes, the sunlight, however dim it lit the room from the windows, still had me in squints. I stood at the wall, my eyes level with the notepad, the writing, when Donald asked, "Wait-are you `Hermione'?"

I glanced over at him.

"Did I say it right?"

"Yeah…," I paused, ran a hand through the fringe of my hair. "Yeah… Why?"

"Ahh…," Donald smiled behind his glasses. "So, you're the Hermione."

"Excuse me…?"

"I've heard a lot about you from Nate-too bad I didn't apply to Oxford or I'd have met you sooner."

A bit flattered, a merely smiled back and began the read:

Hermione,

If you get this, I just want to say that you're welcome here. I don't know what happened; but, if you need to talk, I'll be back around five tonight. I'm writing this at eight in the morning, so I don't know if the breakfast I cooked you will still be edible. It's the dish covered in the yellow-plastic wrap on the stove. I didn't know what you liked, so I made a bit of everything. Remember to eat and drink. If you decide to leave, please either write something below this note or call me so I know you're safe and sound.

• N

Peeking from the scribbled note, my focus went to the dish centered squarely between the two farthest eyes. I wandered over, taking the white plastic in-hand and unwrapped the citrine-coloured cellophane, the food barely noticeable. In sections, the Tupperware plate held bacon, a fried egg, sausage, some tomatoes, and slice, buttered bread. Delighted, I beamed, to jump when I heard a voice from behind me.

On the other side of a bar jutting out from the main countertops, towards the living space, Donald had begun to say, "There's-" when he stopped, and apologized. "Pardon."

"You scared me…!" A hand to my chest, I spoke with a shudder.

"Sorry," he apologized again. "I only meant to say that there was OJ in the fridge, and milk-or beer if that's your sort of thing."

I made a face. "OJ."

Donald laughed. "Do you like rugby?"

I shrugged. "I sometimes watched it with my dad when I was younger. I know Nathan plays for Oxford."

Donald's mouth gaped.

"What…?" I suggested, a hand on the fridge handle. I cocked a brow. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"A friend of Nate's not loving rugby?!" He laughed a bit loud, and I flinched, poking into the fridge to find the orange juice in the door.

"He's losing his touch."

"We've discussed literature," I closed the fridge with my hip. "The glasses?"

Donald let out a "blech" noise. "…Literature," he shivered. "Odd people… Third cupboard from your left."

Finding said cupboard, I reached in and began pouring a glass half-full. I snuck a peek around at Donald, the bit of toast in my mouth. "Literature is amazing-you can learn so much. Try it sometime."

"'Learning,' Donald acted as if he sunk. He made a retching sound. "No, no-that won't do. Come on."

He motioned for me with a hand to the living space, the sofa, and the rather large screen television. "I'll do Nathan's job. Teach you all there is to know about this lovable sport. Then, you'll be hooked like us."

"Hooked, eh?" I laughed, turning around with the plate taken from the microwave and set on into the quarters.

"Absolutely addicted by the time Nate gets back."

"We'll just have to see about that."

"I like you already!"

"Hahaha…," I fell to the sofa with a bounce.

With a wiggle, Donald sat, too, and hit the mute off.

He pointed to the screen, the players, "So, you see…"

***

"Hey-could I get your phone number?"

"Get on out of here, Don!" Nathan chuckled and pushed Don who had already stepped halfway out the door.

Donald had been looking over Nathan's shoulder and gave a wave at Hermione who still sat on the sofa, another game of rugby on the television, its volume condensing the atmosphere to just an announcers voice.

"At least I gave it a try, mate!"

I silently laughed to myself, gave an eye roll, and studied the chaos of the sport.

"Go hit up Steph. She called me after gym wondering where you were."

"Steph, you say? Hm…" Donald gave a maniacal laugh to which Hermione's brows rose. "I'm on it!"

The door was shut, the noise having me turn to see Nathan coming on over. The sofa gave a bounce when he sat down, grabbed the remote control, and turned the sound down. "Sorry `bout that. He only does it because he likes you."

I laughed. "I got that notion…"

I shuffled around my legs, having them pulled underneath me. "Nathaniel."

"Hermione." He mused, setting the controller beside him on a stand and stretched, putting an arm on the backside of the sofa. "So, what's up?"

He glanced over at me.

"I'm sorry about yesterday-"

He put a hand up. "Eh… It's not like I didn't enjoy it."

I smirked, another eye roll.

"I saw that…," He peered at me as I peeked at him. He smiled. "But seriously, no need to let your mind worry. I get it. But you've got to tell me what's going on. What happened? And, why haven't you gone back to school?"

I fidgeted, elevating an arm, my hand, to bite on my nail. I thought, quickly, between truths and lies, what I could tell him and what I should and would tell him.

"Let's start at the beginning." He offered.

"Okay," I replied behind my hand, my eyes wandering off to come back to him.

He shifted in his spot, crossing a leg. "So, you got drunk because…?"

"Long story…"

"I've lots of free time. Try me."

My eyes widened, and I shook my head.

"Harry hasn't done anything to you, has he?" Nathan grew concerned, giving me that look over, the same look over I remembered him giving me while I was over the toilet.

"What?!" I snapped. "OH! No! No…"

"Well, it's not like I've seen the guy beyond pictures, Hermione. He could be the violent-type for all I know."

"How many times have I told you that I'm reminded of him around you? And, you're not the violent-type."

"Only on the field," Nathan gave a laugh. "But, I'd like to know if he hit you or-"

"He didn't hit me." I declared. "Harry wouldn't dare do something so outrageous… It'd be against his very soul."

"Then," Nathan's brow rose curiously. "What then? I don't understand. Did your friends do something? That `Ginevra'…?"

In a sudden burst of mindless thought, images of Harry, and Harry, and Harry… Of death, of blood-shed, of Voldemort, of those years of trial and strife, of loneliness, of confusion, of madness… Of all my innocence stripped away in seconds. I wasn't there when he died. I didn't go to his funeral. I'd given up on him. I felt worthless, and…

I threw myself on Nathaniel to his surprise as he was taken back, shocked. Crying, I couldn't help myself, my arms around him, having leapt a distance. I dug my face into his chest, hiding as I wept uncontrollably. I felt him put an arm around me and demand from me, "Damn it, Hermione. Tell me what's happened!"

"He died!"

Silence.

"…What? Who died?"

Intractable, I couldn't stop sobbing, the sleeveless exercise shirt of Nathan's my new home.

"Hermione-tell me who died." He slightly increased his tone, just to get over me.

I knew he knew.

I wished I hadn't said it.

But, did.

"…Harry!"

***

"So, it's official, yes?" Nathaniel looked over his shoulder, hunched over the stove as he cooked some vegetable and beef stew. "You're wanting to stay?"

Leaning on the bar opposite him, I gave a nod he saw, saying back, "If…that's all right with you. Just until I…"

"You know you're welcome here. I've got a little space, but you're welcome to it."

"And, Patricia…?"

"I'll handle Trish," He turned back around, stirring a rather large pot. The aroma alone had me salivating. My eyes would go to the pot, and to him, and back again.

"I don't want to be a burden or-"

"You? A burden?" He chuckled and turned around to see me. "Friends are never a burden, at least mine. Do you want me to go with you to gather your things?"

"No…," I sighed, not really wanting to go back to… But, had to, if not just to get these clothes off. I couldn't understand how the stench of alcohol hadn't turned Donald's or Nathaniel's heads yet. Then again, Nathan did have quite the stash of liquors and spirits lining the bar. I had guessed due in part of his work, and the university setting, parties… I'd never been to one, always with… Our own "parties".

I pushed from the counter.

"Are you sure?" He asked. "I can always turn the stove off and pick up when we get back."

"I've got it." I tried to sound as positive as I could.

I don't think Nathaniel bought it, but went along with it, giving me a stare. "All right then… I'll be here when you get back."

"Here," He had me look up. He went over to the belongings he'd come back with from the gym, to a sports bag in which he unzipped. Reaching in, he retrieved a black-and-grey mobile and tossed it towards me. I caught it. "Take my phone, and please, please call me if anything happens between now and when you get back."

I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and flipped the mobile open, the light coming on, its wallpaper the American flag.

"How do you think you'll be gone? `Bout a half hour?"

I shrugged, closing the mobile and slipping it into my pocket. "Sounds about right…"

"All right then," He gave me another one of his caring stares. He went over and watched me from the other side of the bar counter, his hands set atop. "I'll be watching the clock."

"I'll be okay, Nathan."

He nodded and gave a smile. "Call me protective. And, take my coat on the way out. Even though the sun poked its head out today, the forecasters said to expect a cold rain tonight."

I smiled.

Just like another person I knew…

***

I had my things packed, or what I could throw together. The more time I spent within Number Twelve, the more I cried, the memories too raw. So, in a rush I tossed whatever my hands came across, mismatched or matching, it didn't matter. Clothes were clothes at this point. Oddly surreal, as I stood in the hallway looking down towards the den, the lights out, upstairs quiet, Crookshanks purring in my arms… It felt like just yesterday I saw Harry wander downstairs, asking me what my hold up was, seeing me with another book huddled on the sofa completely lost for time. Then, he'd pick me up, take me into his arms and we'd be off to bed. Or, I'd come home from school and work, and we'd sit up talking, chatting about all the adventures his day took and mine. Or, discussing what we were going to do on the weekend, maybe the cinemas, a day at the park, or just a drive around the countryside.

The lone ticking of the grandfather clock was all that was left; that, and the darkness.

Wiping those wet lines from my eyes, I disappeared for the final time, saying a quiet goodbye to Number Twelve.

***

On the sidewalks outside Number Twelve, the streetlamps turned on all at once, nighttime resounding in London. Although Muggles went about their walks, not a soul could see the hidden apartment sans one: a white cloak and tunic in the shadows of a tree. He could feel her, looking towards the lot, the laughter of a few, the running around of small children unbeknownst to the sadness none could witness.

From beneath his hood he wiped away a tear with his cracked leather-gloved hand, the feeling of all the weight in the world fell to the pit of his stomach, his throat clenched… He could hear Hermione's thoughts loud and clear, and when she said her silent farewell, it nearly broke his titanium will. No training could shelter him from consuming her heartbreak, and the death of his partner in crime.

He disappeared when the first raindrops splattered against the cold asphalt and wrought iron gates leading to numbers eleven and thirteen.

***

"Hey…"

Nathaniel had left the door to his residence open. So, when I popped back to an area just outside and trekked the staircase up to the second floor, I was met with his eyes, Donald's, and… an alarmingly beautiful Trisha Carmichael.

"Hey!" Nathan came up from the sofa when he saw me, or heard me struggling with the two suitcases I brought with me alongside a fidgety orange fur ball. "Welcome back!"

I smiled at him when he went to meet me, only to see the blonde bombshell's vibrant blue eyes go into squints. My eyes broke from hers, to Nathan's, asking, "I hope you don't mind I brought along a friend. He's really no trouble, but-"

"Aw…come here," I was surprised at how well Crookshanks took to Nathan, a strange person plucking him from my grasps without getting swiped by a claw. The Kneazle just blinked his beady little black eyes at me and went ahead purring at Nathan's chin. "What's his name?"

"Crookshanks."

Donald grabbed my suitcases, shuffling in around Nathan who stepped away, petting a very stretched-out and relaxed kitty on his shoulder. "Pretty ladies shouldn't have to carry these heavy things!"

"Thanks," I grinned at Donald.

"While you were gone, Don brought over a nicely-sized cot so you wouldn't have to sleep on the sofa. So you wouldn't wake up with body aches."

"It's my pleasure, madam," nodded Donald from beyond the sofa. "Where do you want these?"

"Just set them off where they're not in the way."

"They won't be in the way," Nathan replied. He turned, saying to Don, "Put them on her cot."

"Come in, come in!" added Nathan, shutting the door behind me. The hallway was getting quite noisy with girls and guys running up and down the corridors, playing cat and mouse.

"Hi," I gave a wave towards Trisha when Nathan wandered off with Crookshanks, mumbling in some sort of child-speak. He went to the kitchen, alleviating the boundary from my view.

I noticed Friends was on television when Trisha, pausing, her eyes still on me, finally said, "Hello."

I came to the backside of the sofa, stopping on my way to where Donald was and the cot. I glanced at Trisha, her eyes forever stuck on me. "Oh… I've seen this one! Do you like this show?"

"Mm…," Trisha acted as if she pondered the meaning to life, but with me, and shifted around to look into the kitchen where she asked Nathaniel, "Isn't that your rugby coat, Nathan?"

I raised my brow at how…strong-headed, she was.

I peeked at Nathan who was in the middle of filling up a small Tupperware dish with milk. "Yes, Trish," he looked up from a hungry kitty at his feet. "I won't send Hermione out into the cold without a coat on."

"Mm…," She gave me a once over.

I tilted away from her, and edged on from the sofa to Donald.

I could tell this was going to work out swimmingly… When Donald could see, kneeling aside him with the suitcases, tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear.

"Don't mind her…," Don nudged me with his shoulder.

I gave a faintly smile at Don, and he nudged me again. I could hear whispers coming from the living space, of her, and then Nathan, but I couldn't make heads nor tails of the words spoken. That's when I was brought back to reality, Donald making a laugh, saying, "Er… I'll let you handle it from here."

He'd flipped open the suitcase to find my knickers on top.

I busted out laughing when his face went from white to a ripe shade of cherry red.

I knew right away Donald was genuine.

***

The rest of the night I got to know more of Donald thanks to any effort of my part to get to know Trisha smashed down. Not to mention, trying to talk to Nathaniel felt more or less like running out into a firing zone. I buried myself in the trenches and talked about a little bit of everything with Donald, of Crookshanks, my family, what my hobbies and interests were, what I wished to study at university-

"You know I'm going to harass you as long as you're around here," Nathaniel winked. The one time Trisha left us to go to the loo, the soda being a vestige in which I could actually converse openly with my handsome friend.

"Harass me?" I had my legs bundled up beneath my bum, sitting on one cushion whilst Donald sat to my left. Whereas I had one serving of the vegetable beef stew, the guys had two or three with half a serving still in Donald's bowl.

"Yep," Nathan stretched out his legs, patted his full stomach through a tee. A contestant on a game show had won, the woman jumping up and down, screaming, as she was told the value of her prizes beneath our voices. "Get you back in school."

My right hand in the dense forest of brunette hair, I scratched the back of my head and laughed, yawning, my pink-and-white striped pyjama shirt synchronized as a set with coupled drawstring pyjama trousers; though, a blanket held from my waist down. A tidbit of chill could be felt…even though the heater in the apartment was on, especially when navy blue boyshorts came bumbling back from Nathaniel's bedroom.

She hopped on his lap and curled about him, Nathaniel giving a huff at her leap. She took the blanket she left behind on Nathan's leg and bundled him along inside. She laid her head on his chest, his shoulder, her white cami pushed against him…affectionately, as if to tell the whole world-or her new enemy-that he was all hers.

"What were you all talking about?"

"Hm? Oh, Hermione and-"

"Ah," She cut in. Her eyes went to the telly. "So, who won?"

I was feeling more and more isolated until…

"Don't act like that, Trish."

"Excuse me?" she sounded offended, picking her head up to look at him inches away.

He gazed right back her, sternly, "Hermione's my friend. Don't talk to my friend like that."

"And, I'm your girlfriend. You shouldn't talk down to your girlfriend. I'm not a child."

"Then quit acting like one."

They both bore into each other, and I swore Trisha was about to slap him. Instead, and shockingly, she didn't, throwing her sheet from herself. "Okay-fine-I'm going to bed."

"Go to bed, then."

She gasped and shot upward. "What's gotten into you tonight?"

"What's gotten into you tonight?"

She took the sheets up into her hands and threw it over his head. Nathan jerked it off, watching her storm off towards his bedroom. I heard her whisper on the way, as well as, I'm sure, the rest in the room, "Fucking arsehole…"

I jumped when she slammed the door.

"You'll hear about that all day tomorrow, mate."

"When don't I hear about it?" Nathan laughed, albeit sarcastically. "I'll hear it the second I walk in there."

"I apologise on her behalf, Hermione," ended Nathan. "She's just had…a long day at work."

"It's not me?"

Both Donald and Nathaniel looked in my direction, the lights of the TV flickering off our whitish skin tones.

"Never," answered Nathan.

Donald gave me a smile and gave the universal "crazy" mime-impression, drawing circles around his temple with the point of his finger.

Nathaniel threw the sheets at him in which Donald laughed. "It's true, mate. All women are mad."

He turned to me and offered alliance with a, "No offense."

I chuckled. "Men make us that way."

"Regardless…," said Nathan quickly, lifting from his bum to catch the remote from the table in front of all of us. "It's only nine. Anyone up for a late night movie on cable?"

***

"Do you want me to keep the light on over the stove?" asked Nathaniel, standing cot-side.

I could see him near his bedroom door, his hand on the knob. It was as if he anticipated the Kraken inside, waiting, not so much as turning the knob, just holding the spherical faux-golden metal. Patting down the pillow, and adjusting another beside me, I glanced up in the semi-darkness to see him, and answered, "Nah, it'll be fine."

The pitter-pattering of freezing rain could be heard at the window, on the ceiling.

"All right," he hesitated a bit, turning the knob ever-so-slowly. "Good night, Hermione. Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams."

He cleared his throat, and stalled. "I'll see you in the morning."

I grinned at his delay; but, tried to give him condolence. Swallowing when I knew it was because…

"Harry…," I breathed within his caress. I'd taken him, when he'd taken me, having straddled him in the driver's seat. We'd been watching some crime movie in a drive-in theatre. Harry had put up a charm to tint further the windows, and, as much as our money was put towards screening this new film, our bodies couldn't help themselves. Or, I couldn't help myself.

And, Harry couldn't help it, either.

His strong hands grabbed at my thighs, my hips, sliding over my curved, thin torso, his thumbs stroking the breadth of my soft abdomen. I reacted like anyone who was obsessed, head over heels, with the love of their life-their soul mate. Harry had flipped on the radio, to drown out any of our happy-go-lucky noises, the giggles, the chuckles, how he'd tickle me with the slightest of his touches, how he'd, I'd, moan when we'd hit those sweet spots of ours.

Being with a person for so long was a perk, finding exactly where he or she desired to be touched, massaged, pressed, and held.

This wasn't the first time we'd gotten frisky in his automobile. At first, it was hilarious to see me, us, twist and turn to find room for both in his seat. But now, the leather seat and opposite, the roof, was just a thing of the past. Less head bumps, more kissing, teasing, and…

He had my blouse unbuttoned, the pale flesh at his fingertips. My mouth heavily on his, I could hear the Beatles' Something playing in the background. My hands at the nape of his neck, in his hair, I hung on as I slid myself until I could slide no more, pushed against him, laughing when he caught me and began attacking me with more caresses, now upon my neck, leading himself down between my breasts.

He grabbed my bum and lifted me straight up, causing a shocked gasp at how aggressive he was, manly, I grinned, feeling him lean his seat back…

I remember waking to someone shouting, muffled, but loud enough to drive over the falling rain. On my side, an arm curled around a pillow, I felt it go to lay the back of my hand on my forehead. I inhaled, and then exhaled, slowly, blinking in-and-out of darkness…and nowhere near that drive-in cinema. I lay on the cot in Nathaniel's residence… I closed my eyes, retraced that memory of him, of me, our time, and let out another pent-up breath of air.

I heard the shouting again, and this time, heard the door to Nathan's bedroom swing open.

"Why I came over, I don't even know!"

"Don't talk like that towards me and we'll be fine, Trish. That's all I ask."

"I'm leaving!"

I flipped over on my stomach and leaned up, poking my head to see the shadows moving about the living quarters.

"Fine, go home! No sweat on me. I'm putting my foot down. You treat people like people and we'll be fine."

"Oh, go to Hell!"

"Uh huh-I'll see you tomorrow, Trish."

And, SLAM-the front door of the apartment opened and then closed.

I heard Nathan huff, the refrigerator door light come on, brightening the room just a smidgen. I heard the sound of glass, bottles, and the door closing. I heard him mumble something, the television come on, weight coming down upon a chair as the old university chair creaked beneath his weight.

Gently, not being able to sleep…I got up, wandered around the corner to see the backside of Nathan's head, his hair, and him holding a bottle of beer to his lips. I guess he heard me, noting my silent steps, he must have had sonar hearing.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Did I wake you up? Did-we-wake you up?"

I shook my head. "I was up already. Couldn't sleep."

I came around, further into the living room, and sat down. Before sitting, he asked, "Not comfortable enough? Want me to-"

"No, it's lovely."

He went quiet, as I did, both staring at the low volume, the television flickering with pictures, their colours creating a rainbow across our faces, night clothes.

"Well, if I did wake you," He spoke. "I apologize."

"It's fine, really." I sat with my legs bent on the sofa, my hands in my lap. I watched him look at the telly, the beer half-empty. I took a risk, saying, "…Want to talk about it?"

He looked as if he thought about it in those seconds, and then asked, "Do you want to go get something to eat? I need to get out of here for a while."

"After midnight?"

"McDonalds is open right down the street. They're open all the time. That is, if you feel like it."

I shrugged. "I'm game. Just got to change out this. What about school in the morning?"

He sipped on his beer before replying, "No problem. Sometimes I get a craving for a Big Mac at two."

"I'll give you some company. Sure." After all, he did open his home to me.

"Great," He smiled in the flashing lights. "I'll give you all the time you need."

***

11:03 PM

Neville's flat, just north of London

A pitch owl flies lonesome in the rainy night. In its beak, a letter, the parchment rolled and tied with a white ribbon. Its direction of flight, the target, an opened window in the distance. Gracefully, the fowl flies in and takes aim around the spot beside a waiting Weasley. She pets the crown of the owl's peak, the bird stretching its wings as it drops the paper in her palm. The parchment untouched by the rain, a charm placed upon it, is unraveled as the owl takes flight once more into the storm.

In the kitchen, she studies the letter, reading its words as if her life depended on its very ink:

She's safe. With Muggle friends. - Delta

She gazed up, knowing if the post couldn't be intercepted by the newly-formed Ministry he would have said more, the drippings of ink just outside the last sentence showcasing his hesitation for writing in detail. The parchment caught on fire, and as she watched the scroll burn to ash heard a male voice come in behind her.

"Was it from him?"

She nodded, allowing the ash to sift through her fingers.

"Is Hermione-"

"She's fine…"

He could see her remorse…her on-the-brink emotion… slouched over the pile of ash with her eyes glued to the tiny grey mountain. He put an arm around her, and his other, embracing her from behind the chair she sat in at the dining table. She put a hand on his arm to let him know of her appreciation.

"If Ron says she's fine, then it must be true."

"I miss her so much, Neville…"

"I know you do, Gin…"

The Weasley-red dropped her head back, tilted on Neville's shoulder.

He placed his cheek alongside her. "You know, you can stay here for as long as you like. It's safe here. I like knowing you're safe and not alone in that apartment of yours."

She ran her hands across his arms and said, still her eyes on the pile of soot, "…Thank you."

***

"You always wear the most interesting clothes."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" My brow perked, as well as my ears, to hear an answer from his curious question. I sat with my legs crossed across the table in the dining area in McDonalds. The only ones in the joint aside from the third-shift employees. My Converse trainers on, one set parallel to the floor whilst the other I'd snuck my heel out, my toes dangling the weightless shoe.

I didn't quite understand, besides dark-washed blue jeans and a white belt, I wore a lightly pink collared tee with a lightly pink, a shade of green, and a darker shade of green-striped vest. A newsboy cap, olive green, set atop scrunchied hair. Short-sleeved, beneath his coat, the air-conditioned room felt cool to my skin, and even cooler when my lips sipped on the iced Coke through a straw. I picked up a chicken McNugget, dipped in mustard, and bit into it…all the while Nathan smirked behind a handful of chips.

"I only meant you've got original taste. Everyone else seems so…"

"'Normal'?" I mused with a smile, finding the irony.

"I didn't mean it like that," he sighed.

I laughed. "I'm only kidding you. Take it easy."

"I apologize for Trisha's behavior, again."

"And, I apologize for having to pay for me," I felt the plastic card in my pants pocket between my wand and my thigh. "I swear, it's never ever been denied. It's worked since I've gotten it years ago."

"Maybe you should call your bank and have them close your card out. You may have been victim to theft."

Gringotts had always been secure…

"…Maybe," I threw up a hand to say with body language how I didn't know. "So, how long have you two been going out? When I met her briefly at school you weren't."

"Just prior to Christmas holiday. It's only been a few months."

"And…you fight like that?"

"No-and before you look at me like that-just like that-yep, right there-it's not you."

"It certainly sounds and feels like it. I've got other friends-"

"Everyone likes you-Donald likes you."

"He does," my eyes widened, looking down at my bag of chips to get a few.

Nathan chuckled into his hand. "He's… He's friendly. He's been on-and-off with this girl, Stephanie. They're off right now…but they'll be back on next week."

"Ah… He's cool, but not my type. Very…uhm, sporadic."

"I'll let him know that."

"No!"

Nathan laughed at how fast I said "no".

"Don't you dare… You'll hurt his feelings. He's the type of guy I want to be around right now."

"What type is that?"

"Happy."

"Am I that way?"

I nodded, chips in my mouth. "I need to be around…happy."

"Well, I'm glad I make you happy," He grinned.

And, I did too.

"You make me happy, too." He added.

"Maybe that's why Trisha hates every fibre of my being."

"She gets…," Nathan's eyes wandered to the ceiling, but came back to me. "'Protective'-"

"Like you?"

"Sort of-but, more along the lines of… Needy."

"I'm going to bite my tongue."

"Don't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you've a lovely tongue and I wouldn't want you to bite into it."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh Lord…"

He smiled. "Actually, I like it when you say what's on your mind."

"I'm not going to get into your personal life. I've already got enough on my plate…"

He sat back in his chair. "Okay, okay… Let's talk about something more fun like-"

"Do you know this song?" I pointed towards the ceiling, the song playing just beneath our whispers.

"No, who is it?"

"Are you serious?" I gasped. "The next time the Dandy Warhols come to London we'll have to get tickets! You're too virgin to music…have to get rid of that."

His smirk was addictive, smirking too.

"I rather like that idea."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

***

He held an umbrella over my head on the way out, the cold rain having slowed, being gentlemanly-or Nathaniel.

"Mademoiselle," He opened the door to his car for me. "Your ride awaits."

I looked up at him as I sunk into the seat, always keeping the water from me, and I'd assume the cold if he could. I smiled, Nathaniel shutting the door and making a job to the other side. He slipped in, shook his umbrella off and tossed it in the back.

"I was thinking, too," I began.

"Hm?" He ran the defrost, igniting the engine. "What are you thinking?"

"Do you think I could get my old job back at the pub?"

He glanced at me and made a laugh, sliding a hand behind my seat to see where he was as he drove in reverse. "I'm sure I could put in a good word for you."

"Something to get my mind off of…" I gazed out the rain-splattered passenger window, at the streaks of streetlights, of the multicoloured street signs, at what few amount of people there were at this hour. "And, to pay you back."

"You won't have to pay me back for anything," He slid to a stop, the light red and looked over at me. "As they say, `It's on the house'."

"I'm at least going to pay for groceries, if not part of the rent."

"If you insist; but, I won't force you." The light went green and we were off.

"Wow."

"Hm?"

Slightly taken back, I always was used to… "Just like that?"

"Like what?" He chuckled. "What are you going on about?"

"Oh, it's…," My eyes went towards the smearing world outside my window. "It's nothing."

My lip gave a slight curl.

***

1:14 AM, February 16^th, 2001

American Task Force Team 414, Magical Unit from the DOD

Isle of Skye, Scotland

Camouflaged into the highlands, the tall grassy fields and the dead of night, a cell of three await orders from the distance. All three are dug into the ground. All three have what could be considered the resemblance of firepower to Muggles, which wasn't far from the truth. The US military using their sophisticated knowledge to…rewrite their munitions, stabilizing what could be considered an ordinary bullet into pure magical prowess.

The sniper in the middle holds his breath, his brothers beside him backups in case he missed…which had never been documented. His mark: an old gas tank outside a forgotten cliffside home, looking inconspicuous, a part of the environs. The elves had prepared the tank earlier, staying in cover until the men of the hour came…and come they did.

The espionage given wasn't at all difficult to be taken. The Death Eaters, or the amateurs, now flooded the Ministry…the new Nolpho government too big for their trousers, letting loose vital information such as this meeting here in Scotland's more out-of-the-way destinations.

A single blink of light from a mirror yards away was all that was needed, the plan in place, the visitors at the ready.

One of the soldiers said in whisper to the sniper, "Make it count."

The sniper held his breath, pulled the trigger, and a flash of vibrant lime-green light shot through the air and into the disheveled home. On impact, the house caught immediately to blaze, flames and smoke engulfing the night's sky. Cries from inside fled outside, and as the Death Eaters and non-human cohorts took shelter around the exterior's perimeter to watch the fire burn, the Elves in-waiting picked them off one, by one, by one.

Each cry would abruptly be hushed, until…silence.

By the last kill, those few Elves and their American comrades were there no more, the rickety house collapsing onto itself and smoldering to glowing embers.

***

"Good night."

"Good morning," I insisted with a tiny laugh. With a motion, I bobbed my head towards the clock on the stove with the time, the time being just a few hours until the sun rose.

He laughed, scratching the fringe of his hair. "I guess you're right."

He wandered over to me, unbeknownst to my peripherals, setting my bag down on the bar counter. When I turned around I was met with a hug, a warm one. My eyes widened slightly, but in turn smiled with an "Oh! Hey there."

"It'll get better," was all he said.

A chill ran up my spine, and those slightly widened eyes actually widened.

I heard Harry's voice in Nathaniel's, and then what heard like an echo throughout my mind.

Pulling me from my sudden haze, I felt him unwind, taking my newsboy cap and put it on backwards. He smiled. "Good ni-morning."

I sighed when he left me, stepping around to watch him go into his bedroom. Slipping a hand to my forehead, I brushed back those locks, the brunette curls falling away from me and around my shoulders as I took out the olive-green scrunchie. I blew out some pent-up air and made a laugh.

As I went to turn the last light off in the flat, I glanced down at my engagement ring upon my finger, felt the chain, the Hippogriff feather about my chest and gave a tiny smile. I slid into bed, bothering only to relieve myself of the newsboy cap and fell back into dreamland, and back with Harry.

***

5:27 AM, February 16^th, 2001

Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic

"Avada Kedavra!"

What was once white wisp of smoke tumbled forth, a human being, crumpled as its lifeless body hit the rumbled floor. Fire consumed every corner, every room, dense smoke clouding the eyes of those, both the aggressors and the defense. Shouts of spells, chants, colours streaking in-and-out of the thick smog found the only light aside from the violently bright white of those in chase, and being chased, by even blacker clouds.

"Tell me!!"

"Never!" coughed a white tunic, a billowing white cloak.

The claws of a Death Eater sunk ever-deeper into the soft flesh, cutting off the Auror's breathing, leaving only gasps of poisonous exhaust. "Tell me who the one is behind these feeble attempts!"

The Auror spat into the Death Eater's raging face, a massively off-colour stain now dripping from his eye socket.

The Death Eater, never flinching, put his wand to the most centre spot atop the Auror's unveiled forehead, the hood shaken away to reveal the cerulean eyes of a distinguishingly young woman, her short, straight hair swaying to her struggles against the wall.

Her struggles didn't last, the Death Eater grinning devilishly, as if he were feeding on the most delectable morsel… A green light enveloped the Auror's sight, and her body jumped when the Killing Curse struck, blowing away her skull, instantly killing her.

The limp carcass was dropped in a heap of white and red on the floor, and then kicked once, twice, a third time before the dark smoke fled into the smoke to chase after another from the White Knight's resistance.

***

{Author Note: To distinguish country affiliation, I wanted the US, Elven, and the British weaponry to all be a bit different. I once wrote a fic where HHr were led to the United States and the warlocks and witches over in the States used guns over wands, but projected the same results. It all comes from the mindset of us Americans and our gunmanship since years ago; therefore, I used that part of a past fic to show the US magical government's military as using devices similar to "Muggle" gunnery. The Elves use bows tipped with magicks and the Brits tend to stick to the traditional wand}

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