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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Eighty-one - Placebo

***

It's one of the best feelings in the world seeing "Potter" written in gold along Hermione's back.

I couldn't sleep. A multitude of memories and emotions washed over me time and time again. One situation continued to bare itself more times than I wanted to remember, and that was witnessing Missus Weasley-Molly-hit my beloved. My mind would dive deep into the past, a past that seemed like ages ago, when I felt like one of them: a Weasley boy. But, now, I felt…removed, apart from that life and onward with this one.

I think I accepted it, and in fact, relished in my Hermione wrapped in my arms, but still…

…Remembering all of us around the Weasley table, the happiness, the laughter, joyful, warm thoughts…

…I couldn't get passed it, and continued to hear the echo the slap made in my ears.

I would've been on top of anyone who would have done that.

Why didn't I then?

I smelled of Hermione's hair.

Tasted her skin when I snuck into the crook of her neck and caressed her.

And, then removed myself from our bed, slipping off the side softly and fixing the sheets behind me. I looked back at her sleeping so soundly and smiled, my hand on the doorframe before heading downstairs one quiet step at a time. Crookshanks followed at my heels, helping himself to my feet, and more than one time got in my way almost playfully.

"You're as awake as I am this morning, aren't you?" I laughed a little at his peek up at me.

He meowed, rubbing against my leg as he did, and stayed with me as I made my way into the den.

So much had happened between my…death, and now.

I remembered when the television was static, or most of the channels; but, after finding the remote and hitting the power button, the news came to life. These small things bubbled unremitting within my faculties, giving me a headache… Headaches… It was funny how I knew I had undergone a type of obliviation. Usually the patrons who undergo such a spell never know they've been obliviated. And, knowing I had, we had, came a greater sense of unknowing. I began to want to know, and wanted to know, hearing Hermione as that little voice in my head curious as to what happened between the past and present.

I knew the Ministry would tell me what they wanted me to know, if anything; knowing Malfoy would keep certain…undesirable memories close to the vest at best. I had thought about asking him, or Kingsley, outright, but knew I'd only get that far.

My sight sort of glossed over the flickering television, having plopped down in my recliner.

I shook out of it, chasing memories like water swirling around into a drain that was a void in my mind.

Hermione had left some of her school books on the coffee table in the centre of the den, and I noticed, going in-and-out of the present, pieces of loose leaf scattered about. I knew she wouldn't care if I took one as I did, picking up a pen and getting down Indian-style on the floor. Crookshanks ran against me as I started to write, knowing at least one person I thought would get me what I wanted to at least fill parts of the hole in me.

Dear Luna,

I'm sure you're aware by now that I've come back. I don't know how else to put it, and if you didn't know, well, I'm here. I'll be here, and I hope you can help me. I know the Ministry will probably see this before you, but I'm asking for anything, newspapers, about any important events that happened after I died. I just need to know, and you're the only one I know who'll understand.

Your friend,

HJP

I got up off the floor and wandered into the kitchen. At the window looking out from the sink, I leaned into the counter and pried open the latch. Pushing the two windowpanes out, I took to rolling the loose leaf up and found one of the numerous rubber bands at my disposal inside one of the top drawers. I whistled, the wintery chill brushing along my naked torso.

Glancing down at my bare feet, I had felt one become extremely warm and grinned when my little orange furball mate rested alongside my right foot. He looked up at me and meowed, purring as he scratched his ears against my dark lounge trousers. In those mere moments a gust of wind took my attention, and with it saw a snowy owl now perched on the windowsill. His wings were outstretched as if in those seconds he had appeared and adjusted to being flightless, hopping from one side of the sill to the other.

A flood of more past memories welled up in me, and I was suddenly that eleven year old boy again.

Reaching out, I scratched where I'd scratch Hedwing atop his head. The owl leaned into my hand and hooted in satisfaction. "Take this to Luna Lovegood, she'll know what to do."

The owl responded as if he understood me, bobbing its head in a way that resembled a nod after retrieving the rolled-up paper from me in his talons.

"Wait a second," I said, walking to the refrigerator and back again. The owl stood there in wait. I'd come back with a treat. "I know it's not a juicy rat, but I hope this'll do for the road."

Chirping, the owl happily ate the bit of meat from my palm and squawked a bit afterwards in delight. He hopped to the side, and then hopped towards the sky. With one big leap, he jumped, wings outstretched and flew into the early hours of the morning.

I went about shutting the window again and hugged myself warm, igniting the hearth with a swish of the wrist as I went on by. I sat back in my chair and sat thinking, about everything and anything, the warmth of the crackling fire settled Number Twelve.

I lay back, paying not the slightest bit of attention to the silent television and rested my eyes…

***

Driven from drifting off in my chair, I was instantly shaken awake when the noise from the television suddenly stopped. The blinking lights from the moving images also ceased in the semi-light environs of the Number Twelve's den. I hadn't known my eyes closed, in deep contemplation of the past, the histories I left behind, staring into the fire which had died down between then and now.

I jumped, startled really, when the den grew that smidgen darker. Literally hopping in my seat, I pushed off, pushing in the leg rest and hearing the popping of the metal mechanisms inside beneath me. I was about to address the figure moving about the light and dark cast from the crackling hearth when I heard her, and then her shushes:

"Shh… Shh…"

She was at me, my Quidditch jersey showing with "Potter" emblazoned in gold. I watched her put the television remote on the coffee table amongst the riddles of her work and literature. Crookshanks followed the remote, hopping onto the table as he watched his mummy climb into my lap. She had grabbed the Gryffindor quilt on her way and threw it over us.

"I'm sorry, I-"

She put a finger on my lips, looking at me in the subtle lights before curling up against me. She had the Gryffindor quilt up to both our necks, and before I could instinctively wrap my arms around her she had wrapped around me. I smiled, albeit sluggishly, as everything happened so quickly in my sleepy state.

She had her head on my chest, and I could feel the softness of her hair beneath my chin. "…I just didn't know where you were, and I couldn't stand not being with you."

"But everything is fine," she rubbed her warm cheek against my chest. "All's well now."

"I didn't know I'd fallen asleep…" My fingers combed within her hair, giving her head a light scratch.

We stayed in silence for a bit, lovingly petting her all the while my sight following the orange lines across the floor. I stared into the fire for the longest time, my hands doing what felt naturally as Hermione rested in my lap.

"…Is something the matter?" She moved a bit in my lap, feeling her hand run itself down my chest and up again.

Silent a beat, my focus would go in-and-out amongst the flickers of flame. "…After you expressed earlier how you felt about the Ministry and that feeling of emptiness, I just couldn't put your words passed me. I sent an owl to Luna asking if she could send anything, any newspapers at all after I… Well…"

She adjusted uncomfortably now.

I felt her nod at my chest. "…Mmm…"

She felt me swallow in our quietness, the sputtering fire the only sound in our distance.

"Do you think I've done everything that I could possibly do to keep everyone safe-to keep you-"

She lifted from me, and as she did placed her hands on my face. She turned me from the flickering flames, and when we met, eyes locked together, did she say in only the way my Hermione could speak to me, "You've done everything-we've done everything-marvelously, Harry…"

She began looking me over, her eyes watching each and every feature in detail. Only she could understand me, even the words which never spoke. She ran her hand across my scar-less forehead and back in my messy crow's nest, framing my face once again. "…Don't think you have to save the world, Harry. Please. I know you're strong, love, but all that you've done…"

She kissed me. "It's enough."

She kissed me again, looking back into my eyes when our lips left one another's.

"I love you," she said.

"What if I ask you not to go to the Ministry, to get involved?"

That pierced the heart of the situation.

She had watched my lips move in the small gap between us, and then gazed back into my eyes. "As much as I wish and want to help the Order… I wouldn't do so if you believe or feel it may harm me, or you."

"I just don't know what to think anymore, Hermione-"

She brought me back to her lips, kissing me.

"Then don't…," she said in a breath, resuming her caress, and then our caress as the love behind hers gave way to the passion in mine. "…Don't think right now. Don't…"

She had me in her arms, with her as she climbed onto her knees and stood above me, our mouths still as one.

She smiled after a while, lowering my recliner back with her. The jostle made her grab onto me, and then to hear her laughter and see that glowing smile so genuine…

I was so in love with this woman.

***

The chime of the hour made my first fidget. Blinking awake, I yawned and went to rub the sleep from my eyes when Hermione fidgeted, too. I smiled, quietness ensuing where there wasn't movement, little murmurs from my beloved as she stretched in my lap and got back into her comfortable spot beneath the Gryffindor quilt. I made a laugh through my nose, seeing that adorable smile appear on her face as she re-snuggled up against my chest, completely content in her sleep.

My stomach grumbled, and I made another laugh for she had heard it, too. Her beautiful brown eyes peeked at me and she laughed a little. "…Hungry?" she asked in a yawn.

"Mmm…," I caught her just when the yawn finished, kissing her mouth, making her climb that inch to my lips.

Instantly, she wrapped her arms around my neck and traveled up with me slowly, drifting atop me. The Gryffindor quilt fell from her shoulders, and from me, exposing the bare back of Hermione to Number Twelve a second before her long tresses cascaded down to her lower reaches. I kissed her mouth, leading to the corner, to her cheek, to her throat, her shoulder, all the while she clasped to me. She made these short, silent gasps within each morning caress.

She kissed me atop my head, her fingers deep in that chaos of messy hair. Buried in her chest, I wound myself as snugly as one could to emphasize my possession, that sense of "mine". And, I wasn't about to give it up for the world. It was just bearable enough to share her; but, right at that moment, she was every bit unshareable.

When looking up from my height, her hands were on me, cradling my face back to her. She kissed me in her smile, our noses meshing. With my hands all over her, I must've hit a sweet spot, her ticklish spot, when she jumped in my lap and giggled out of our kiss.

I laughed, seeing her eyes light up as my fingers purposely grazed that spot again to see her retract in that oh-so-adorable way.

She bit her bottom lip when her eyes set back to mine, and I warned her, "If you keep doing that we won't ever leave from this position."

"Would that be so awful?" her raspy voice articulated.

My stomach grumbled before I could another word.

"Shush!" I tried hushing my stomach to the amusement of Hermione.

She started to lift off, stepping out onto the floor. "What's your fancy?"

Hopping to my feet, I grabbed her from behind.

"You."

She looked back behind at me and in smile took me by my chin and led me to her lips.

We stepped together when my foot found my lounge trousers bundled up on the floor. I looked down, and she did, too, when I halted our connected trek towards the kitchen. She laughed when I bent down to gather them up and began putting them back on.

"These might be useful while cooking," I mused with a bit of a smirk, seeing as I stood up where I'd thrown my Quidditch jersey off her form earlier this morning: upon the coffee table, half on and half hanging off the side. And, Crookshanks made the bundled jersey his bed, only really making a move now that we'd caught him.

"He certainly loves you," I scratched his head enough to lead him from the jersey and snatched it from the table. He meowed at us, stretching out as he watched me flip it from inside-out.

Hermione smiled, helping her put the jersey back on, the golden name of "Potter" across her back. "He's mummy's boy, spoiled rotten."

Hermione and I went to kiss when we heard Crookshanks meow in rebuttal, and we stopped, looked at each other and laughed.

"Come on, Crookshanks," Hermione lowered to the floor just enough for Crookshanks to leap into her open arms. She turned around towards me at her heels. She smiled, saying, "Let's go make daddy some breakfast."

***

The Atrium, Ministry of Magic

A bedazzlement of camera flashes lit up the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Amongst the golden gleam, and the pirouettes of water, added another amongst its kin. Standing tall with the other magical kin, and that of the centre human wizard, a dark elf stood with his bow aimed and at the ready. A symbol of their new bond, ever increasing in brotherhood, and so much like the two of whom stood in the middle of the atrium shaking hands.

Draco Malfoy, his pale skin and blonde hair striking against his Ministry-emblazoned wardrobe, has his hand outreached for a partner. And, that partner accepted him, the dark skin humorously mismatched Malfoy to which they had a laughed. The Elf fit in extravagant scarlet and salfron-gilded chest armour. Measured downward lay similar coloured robes. His gilded mantle showcased to the photographers the pride of the Elven family, more like golden wings and less like shoulder pieces.

He stands with Malfoy, their body language mimicking the other's, with bold yet gentle expressions of gratitude on their faces.

Glancing at each other, Malfoy, his backdrop the Ministry `M' and his Aurors of ivory cloth, gave the elf another shake of their hands and said to him, clearly for all to hear, "We couldn't have accomplished such a feat without our Elven companions and friends."

Propped on his cane, he balanced himself as the elf placed his other hand atop his own and shook once more, together, "An olive branch for our future, and hope for generations would not have been without undeniable human bravery."

"We praise the Elven genius and mourn with you."

"As do we all, my human brother."

Eir pai shi eir.

The adorned Elf's backdrop is of their banner, a teardrop-shaped shield of azure diamond with a gold, bold aves, its wingspan embracing around the middle. Lined with silver, the emblem captivates the metallic sheen, shining as if one could remove the shield from the banner. Leaves of gold envelop the dark, plum colour surrounding the ancestry-given arms. In front of the banner, and like the Ministry, stand fellow Elves of who spoke so eloquently their language after their elevated comrade.

More camera flashes dazzle the spotlight.

In the background, Rita kept her eyes on the scene playing out, making sure her first assignment goes off without a hitch. She smiles a smile only Rita could do at her success, seeing only positives in the fledgling journalists Quick-Quills and a fairly large first page on tomorrow's Quibbler. She's hidden beneath an ivory cloak of her own, incognito, taking down mental notes for coming attractions.

Having said their words of encouragement, and the strengthening of human-and-magical creature solidarity, the atrium all but disperses, leaving lone journalists asking questions to lingering Ministry officials. With Rita spying on them, the interim Minister and his team take lead with the Elves for a genuine English brunch and tea. Chatting on their way, the gilded elf is suddenly taken to by a curious, and unique-looking, woman.

And by taken, the elf is all but toppled over by an embrace.

"Balthier!"

"Oomph!" The Ambassador took a step back from the woman's momentum. She had appeared from a doorway, unbeknown to him, as he trekked casually on by. Unaware, the team springs into action, but is quelled by Draco when he learned who leapt on the Ambassador:

Luna.

"Lady Luna!" Balthier chuckled. He laid his uncovered hand atop Luna's golden crown and hugged her to him, too. "My have I missed your loveliness gracing our Woods!"

"Come on, men!" ushered Malfoy, motioning onward with a hand as he proceeded further down one of the many Ministry corridors. He left the Ambassador and Luna to their moment, knowing by dossier what would unfold.

"You look…," Luna took a look at him in their small distance, their hands still together. She glanced back up at him after memorizing the new Elven garb. "Different."

"You always did speak your mind, Lady Luna," the Elf chuckled again. He stood proudly, his crimson eyes aglow, a smile creasing his perfectly-sculpted face. "I've been promoted."

"Really!?"

His smile widened. "You're looking at the Elves' first Ambassador to the Ministry of Magic!"

"Balthier!" Luna smacked back into him, as if she were but a child who hadn't seen her best friend in years, and hugged him. "I'm so proud of you! With everyone!"

Balthier embraced her, too, an arm draped about Luna's shoulders and a hand atop her head, due to the fact he was nearly double her height.

"You'll do great, I just know it! And Aedi-she…!"

Her voice trailed off a bit in his mind, blinking from her, and his smile with her, to blinking at the person who stood a bit down the corridor. He leaned on the wall, his white tunic and flaming Weasley-red conspicuous in the rather aged, antique Ministry hallway. He watched them, or rather her, until Balthier's incandescent sight matched to the Auror's stillness.

He nodded to him in greeting, knowing just who he was.

Ronald gave a wave, but slipped his leather-gloved hand back beneath his arm, crisscrossed, as he continued to monitor Luna's friendly actions.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

We stood side-by-side, and I don't think our smiles ever left each other. I'd wash a dish and hand it to her. She'd dry it and place it in the rack, waiting with the dish cloth for the next, a pan this time, and then a bowl. The sky outside was the same dreary London sky seen every winter, but inside Number Twelve the atmosphere was so vastly different.

At one point I messed with her.

Because, I could, and got a laugh when she went for the plate in my hand only to realize I wasn't going to give it up.

She pulled and I pulled until I let go.

She just sighed and rolled her eyes with that grin of hers.

We were almost done when the phone rang.

I would have gotten it if she weren't closer, and if she didn't go for it before I could dry my hands off.

"Hello?" she said into the receiver, spinning around so I could see her, and that gorgeous smile. I'd been all caught up in her that when she said, "Hey mummy" I suddenly remembered there was more to this world than her.

At least, that what was said.

My world was her.

A moment later, Gin rolled through my mind after Misses Granger when the smiles stopped, hearing first, and then seeing, Hermione crying. She'd been talking, and now-crying?

"What?" I asked, hoping for the best, but dreading the worst. With our luck…not something else. I don't think I could take one more thing when Hermione just shook her head, her free hand wiping beneath her eyes.

"I'm just so proud of you, Cupcake-and your father, too," stated Misses Granger on the phone to Hermione. "We're so proud to have brought up such a bright, beautiful young woman. I cried last night when it dawned on me how you've grown up, and are growing up before our very eyes. And, now, you're about to get married to a wonderful person like Harry. He respects you, and shows you the value of true love, and not only do your parents see it-everyone who sees him with you takes notice and tells us how great you two are together. Your father and I are just so proud of our baby girl and Cupcake…"

Hermione mouthed the words, "Mum's proud of me-of us," and that was enough for me.

I understood why she was in tears, and I felt the same heartstrings pull, a strong beat in my chest.

Wrapped an arm around Hermione, I pulled her into me and kissed her forehead.

***

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Back when I went to Hogwarts all we had to worry about was a dementor or two," An Auror said to his equal, another Auror in observance of the corridor spanning from the courtyard to the Great Hall. A group of second-years ran by them as both white cloaks took their stroll, chasing each other and all around being kids. One dropped their school books, and the Auror bent down to help the student before he was off again up the staircases. "And, then the War-"

"And the other," replied the second Auror, peeking into the Great Hall at all the students snacking, studying, playing games of wizard chess and exploding snap. Fellow ghosts would go in-and-out of the windows, showcasing the falling snow outside. The fire roared within, and each pedestal illuminating the castle gave more than light, radiating their heat, too. He saw amongst them all other Aurors stationed in the Hall, going about their vigilant business.

Post had come, owls swooping in from hidden openings. The flock flew over the two Auror's heads and into the Hall, dropping off parcels and packages. The two had to sidestep out of the way of a flood of more Hogwarts children rushing in to check their mail.

"Just like old times."

"You'd think nothing ever happened here," The Auror looked back inside the Hall at the new ruckus, at the owls flying in and escaping out of the castle when they dropped their belongings, and then to the rolling hills, the frozen lake, and white-covered trees. "Or, out there."

"Thank goodness for the help from our magical kinsfolk," The second Auror watched a group of fifth years run down the moving staircase in race with each other on who would get outside first. "If not for their help, we couldn't do what was best-"

"Protect our next generation."

"You know…," they both headed up the grand staircase one heedless step at a time in unison. Their voices quieted the farther they removed themselves from the shrieking hallway, busy now with kids zooming in and out for recreation after morning lesson. "…My son will be old enough to attend Hogwarts next year…"

"…Is he already that old? Time flies by fast, doesn't it? My two already…"

The Aurors vanish into hurried crowds.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

She said did this because it relieved the stress.

And, I couldn't take my eyes off her.

So elegant, Hermione would move gracefully across the plush white rug in front of the crackling fireplace. The blistery exterior couldn't compare to the warmth of the interior, and the arresting show she put on whether she knew her actions or not. I couldn't believe in those seconds, once again, that I had obtained such an awe-inspiring woman like herself, doing some sort of movement where her back sloped and she arched towards the sky in pose.

From just over my glasses I watched my beloved's engrossing yoga. I put the Quibbler down, one that was dated years ago and was left in the hallway the day I died. Not even the cumbersome news could distract me from loving her as I did, seeing both her expression and her physique in her poised language.

Droplets of freezing rain would hit the window panes, and nothing mattered, in her element and in mine under Number Twelve. And, in my watch, our comfort, and how open she was-and I was. Not to say the movements she did obscene, the beautiful curves of her body showcased in a pinkish sports bra and black tights, but I would become quite jealous if she moved herself like this in front of any other man. Like magic, she captured me with just a flick of her hair, a bend of a leg, an arc of her back.

She would meditate in those moments, stretching herself out in her varied movements with closed eyes.

And when she opened them, now facing towards me going in-and-out of twists and turns, she smiled.

I didn't shy away either, as if caught in the act, but confidently smiled in return and continued watching her from the Quibbler now lying in my lap.

***

McLaggen's flat, Sheffield

Gin picked her crumpled self up off the floor, her arms and legs positioned in a way that they weren't supposed to be. She didn't remember how she got to the restroom, or even if this was a lavatory, a ceramic, white toilet her pillow. An acidic aftertaste was left in her mouth, and she groaned underneath a pounding, pounding headache struck her head. She felt as if someone had pummeled the backside of her head with a bag of bricks. And, she was suddenly fearful, and alone.

She stumbled to the sink and held herself up by the countertop edge. She saw herself naked in the reflection. She couldn't remember, or didn't want to remember why or how she was like this… With dark bags beneath her eyes, her cheek bones sticking out from either side of her face, and the black mascara smeared down them as if she'd been crying.

A crusted, brownish line traced down from the right corner of her lips, and when she saw it, smelled it from within her mouth, she vomited again in the sink, toppling over and down onto the floor.

Flashes of Neville went through her mind as her body smacked against the ground, and she knew swiftly where she was, and all the memories that led up to this sickening second.

It took all her strength to pick herself back up, and through tears she found every bit of herself-and that of her clothes-intermixed in all the drug paraphernalia, the empty vodka bottles, the pill bottles, the marijuana in packets, the scattered bongs, and-

She had to get out of there.

She saw a sleeping Cormac McLaggen, the supplier of all she now loathed.

And, she had to get out, leave, escape from her prompt claustrophobia, out of breath.

After what felt like hours to Ginevra, she buttoned the last button, zipped her jeans up and found the exit… And, did so into the frozen, desolate London suburb.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

I didn't remember what we were watching, being lazy on the typical cold, sleet-filled London day. The rain had come in droves, beating down on Number Twelve for a while now. But, the temperature remained just above freezing, keeping the sodden weather sulky and inclement.

My eyes had moved back to her for I'd taken to the floor rubbing her bare abdomen. I'd taken it upon myself to, however casually, shift her grey top up just enough to gather around her navel and tease it so. She had her eyes, too, towards the television on low when my fingertip crossed over her button. They flicked to me and stayed there. Putting my arm up on the sofa she laid on resting after her yoga workout, I positioned my chin to sit at a level where I could keep my eyes on her, and did so, watching her watch me.

I don't know who blinked first, but I know I broke our savored silence when her hand grazed my forehead, and then sifted through my fringe by saying rather confidently, "I am terribly, horribly obsessed with you."

With one long inhale of breath, she let out in exhale and in smile, grasping those tufts of my black hair, "I always adored how my father was with my mum; almost jealous, too, really. I wanted to know how it felt to have a man who would touch me so and couldn't take his eyes from me, and I always had the thought that I'd always be another bloke in the crowd…"

Her voice kind of trailed off, and so did her sight a moment, as if she were in thought. Her beautiful brown eyes set back on me. "Wait… Did that sound odd, or weird, or anything?"

I laughed and just shook my head, my chin pivoting on my forearm whilst the other continued its gentle massage. "Not at all. I've seen how your father treats your mum, and if I am only a percentile of that-I'm doing well."

"Very well," she abruptly added. Her sight floated from me, towards the television, and then back to me. "…So, your fiance had an Electra Complex. Not at all embarrassing…"

"Oh, you…," I lifted onto my knees and hovered over her. I kissed her. "Such a-"

I kissed her again. "-Silly-"

And once more. "-Silly girl."

I sat on my feet and watched her watch me some more, running that hand from her stomach up her side farthest from me. I could feel that sports bra beneath her top and all the softness beneath. "So, what do you want to do today? I was thinking maybe the theatre, or-?"

Hermione, her hand on my cheek, tilted her head back to see the wash of rain on the window panes drench the side of Number Twelve, and then returned to me. "It's positively dreadful out there…"

"And besides…," She sighed with a tone of defeat. "She may come back and we'd be gone, and then what? She's out there all alone-you've spoken to Ron?"

My gut feeling told me not to tell her what I knew, that Ginny was with McLaggen. I thought about it, as I so often thought of many things racing through my scattered brain, and even if I told her: where would we be? Ron was right in his assumption. Even if we did run to save Ginny, and it was difficult, being Harry Potter, to not do so-what if she didn't want to be saved? What if she told me, told Hermione to shove off-then what? Then I'd have Hermione broken all to pieces, and after being dragged through the mud all the time… I just couldn't do it. Ginny was an adult, she wanted to be an adult and told us this.

Ron looking after her was enough, and Ron could with all his training…or whatever mess this was.

"He's searching for her."

"Maybe we should go help him-"

She went to lift off the sofa by her elbows when I interjected, placing my hand back on her abdomen. "Or, maybe we ought to do as you suggested…and realize that if she wants to come back, she'll do so on her own terms. I don't think I could bear it if she were to tell you off if we found her-"

Hermione shook her head. "She wouldn't-I know her. She wouldn't tell me-us-off so haphazardly."

"She's done it here more times than I can count on one hand."

Hermione went quiet a moment, and then fell back onto the sofa with a bounce. She put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. Within a deep breath she said, "…It just pains me to know she may be out there hurting and we're sitting here."

"Maybe we shouldn't sit here?"

"What do you mean?" Her eyes opened and she turned to me.

"Would you rather lay here and wait for her until we're old and wrinkly?"

"Harry…!" she gasped. "That's not fair. You know I'm doing my best."

I shook my head this time and sighed.

Intertwining my fingers inbetween her delicate digits, I brought up the closest of her hands and caressed its top. I peered at her, "And, I want to be with you-and do things with you-"

"You are undeniably the one person I love more than everyone else, but Harry…," Those big, brown saucers twinkled with tears. "She's my best friend, and I've only one of them. It's been so long, and I just want her to be safe."

***

The Dutchess, London

Flaming locks of hair dipped back and swayed when she finished the glass. She sat the glass down on the sticky, abused bar, balancing herself by her elbows. She could feel the slime beneath her skin, huddled up in a corner of the pub drinking her life away. She raised just a finger, having ordered her number, and the one-eyed bartender did a nod and began serving up another whiskey and cola.

Gin's muddled sight peered over at the other sort, some rather fond of her presence as they watched her. A group of rather dingy, unsuited men years ahead of herself ogled, their years unbeknownst to their lust. Or, they could've been concerned albeit with…steady attention. Gin gave it no bother, knowing her way-or thinking she did. Having been through all that she had, and now fallen into that dark morass those others of once were spoken about as headlines after the War many years ago. Alcoholics. Drug-seekers. The mind-numbing affects to persuade the mind to not think-or not want to think-about all that has happened, had happened.

And, so as the bartender slid down her fourth whiskey and cola, she grasped its consuming cold, the cool condensation at her fingertips, and tilted her head further back.

When she had set her new, and now empty glass, down atop the counter, hiccupping, she wasn't prepared for the person who had sat down next to her. The patrons of the bar had stayed out of reach, their eyes the only connection as of now. So, as her sluggish stance fell back towards the countertop, and her falling eyelids drooped as well, she nearly fell out off her barstool when an old man beside her lifted his hand and asked for:

"Lemonade, please."

She hadn't seen him since she'd gotten there, and knew not a single soul had entered for a while. The air inside would grow ever deeper in chill when the door would swing open and close, and the pub had continued to be just slightly above freezing to her bones. Buried in her clover coat and hood, she hugged herself and observed the old man retrieve a pocket watch from inside his pin-striped suit.

He took his bowler hat off and set it atop the counter, a shine to his graying hair reflecting off the poor, dim light.

"I hope I'm not too late," he sighed. He had a certain… Gin didn't know what. His face held his age, but he seemed…almost youthful. He didn't hold himself like the other older men-and there were enough to compare. His features wrinkled, his eyes wise with history, he looked over at her and smiled. He said while putting his pocket watch away, "My friends, you see. I'm to meet them, but I haven't the foggiest idea where Park Lane is at."

Gin chuckled. "…You're a little overdressed and out of the way for visiting Park Lane."

The old man leaned back to get a good look of Gin, which reminded her of her current environs. She remained on defense with or without liquid courage.

"I apologize," The old man noted her manner and sat back comfortably as he was. "But, in the light you hadn't looked like someone I knew until you turned to me and-"

"Look, Mister," Gin didn't find it at all amusing for a man of his age to be coming onto her whether it be in this hole in the wall or the next. So, she shut him down. "I don't know who you are and I don't care. I wish only to be left alone. Park Lane is on the other side of London, and is worth mentioning; you've taken a wrong turn and you're about to take another."

The old man just smiled. "…You look just like my daughter."

"Here," he offered a flourish of his hand a moment as he delved back into his coat pocket. Ginny's brow rose, and to say she wasn't taken by the sudden…turn of events could have been considered whiplash. She resumed her withdrawal to the man until he procured a wallet and showed her a girl who could have been her…

…If she looked opposite in every way, Gin mused.

The old man looked happy, however, and divulged his sincere smile with stories of his daughter's life. The warmth of the occasion became almost instant as she suddenly realized how the charm of the father figure lulled her away from the empty whiskey glass staring at her to the genuine questions she asked the old man about his daughter, and then his daughter's whereabouts.

The old man drew in a breath, and then let the breath out slowly. "…She was brutally assaulted."

"I'm so sorry."

"Taken away…in her youth and the innocence of her life."

Gin kept quiet not knowing what to say.

"We loved her," The old man's eyes drifted away from Gin and across the bar at the lines of alcohol gathering dust, and then back again. "Which is why, I guess, I took a liking to you. You look so much like Ana."

Gin's smile was brief and faded.

"And I wonder if, like myself, if I knew my daughter was in a rather…unpleasant pub…what I would be thinking. Or, why she was visiting such an…unwelcome estate."

"I've no family left…," She didn't know why she felt at ease and opened up to the man…maybe it was because she felt that bond, as if she knew him in another time, another place, another universe entirely. "My mother…"

Gin's eyes washed over with memories as she gazed at nothing in particular until she was met with her image staring back at her in the mirror. She looked tired, exhausted, and…broken.

"…My mother utterly abhors me. I believe if she could she'd outright strike me from our family tree. I've done…things she doesn't agree with, things she didn't want me to do-but I wanted to do-and I've made my fair share of mistakes-"

"We all have," Addressed the old man, making Gin look back into his caring blue eyes. "It makes us human, and no member, family or friend, should ever abhor one another because of it-even if that mistake is grave. There should be a sense of understanding, trust, and love for one another. That is what breeds its brother."

"And father…," She just shook her head. "He puts up with mum. He loves me, but I do not know to what cost. I've spoken to him, and he knows what's in my heart and how I feel and… But he's married, and I guess he's happy where his daughter is not. And, why would she when her mother absolutely detests her?"

"May I ask what your father told you when you told him your true feelings?"

"That he loved me."

"And, what did you say in return?"

Gin looked away and across the room at the patrons watching the duo, and quite the pair: a bedraggled ginger and a dapper man of at least a hundred years.

"…That I loved him with all my heart; but, I couldn't, wouldn't take mother anymore. I cannot live as a human being, let alone as their sole daughter, in that sort of atmosphere. Either I'd attempt the inevitable, or she would."

"I wish I had a mum," Gin tried to smile, looking back over at the old man watching her like his own. But the smile fell. Tears were evident in Ginny's eyes, but her stubborn Weasley-way kept them from trickling down. "I do. I wish I had a mother, and a father who understood…"

"…Like I can sense you did with yours." Gin's sight kept to his and between them but breath was heard.

The old man finally glanced from her and around the odious pub, and then shot back to her. "Why did you come here?"

"Because…," Gin laughed a little in her breaths. She shrugged. "It's the only place that didn't question me when I ordered a drink."

"You have friends? Loved ones who you know care about you and look out for you?"

Gin drew in a deep breath and let her words out within the exhale. "I don't think any of them want me around right now… I've done, said, so many things that were cruel and unforgiving. I've done the unspeakable for the people I love, the person I loved, and…"

"…I don't think I would want to be around myself, honestly."

"I believe they're out there," The old man leaned into her and lowered his voice. "Those that care about you."

He poked her arm.

"Those who-right at this very moment-are thinking about you, have thought about you, and wish you'd come home to them."

"And, I believe…," He leaned back away from her and took a long sip of the lemonade of which had been sitting in front of him. "You know in your heart that that is truth."

He set the mug down and wiped his mouth with the backside of his pin-striped sleeve.

"You don't want to be here anymore, be like this and think like this anymore-just like I wouldn't want my daughter to be, so do this old bloke a favour and go to them."

He leaned into her as he stepped off his barstool and looked Ginevra in her eyes for she'd lowered them when he stood. "…They await with open arms, those loved ones, your friends, that you call home."

He stood back up and gave a little stretch, pulling at his grey beard with a hand. He looked behind him and out the pub window and the ice of which collected on the panes. "You said Park Lane is just off that way?"

In a trance, thinking of Hermione and Harry, Gin shook out of it to answer, "Yes, yes-just take a left and go west. When you've met the lights and lavish homes, you'll know you're there."

"Thank you," He bowed to her, reaching out with his hand.

She reached out to shake it and the old man placed his other warm hand on hers.

"You'll be okay out there in the real world," How his eyes met with her led her to stay locked, if not for that moment, again, having thoughts that she had seen this man somewhere in her history before. But she couldn't quite put her finger on it…

"Go home," He shook her hand, encapsulated with his own. "You don't deserve to be in this place. You're a wonderful, beautiful person, and you need to be around people who tell you that truth."

She nodded, not believing herself at first, but when the man continued to stare into her did her nods become more hopeful.

"Promise an old man?"

"Promise," the word came out before she could think.

The old man smiled. "Well, I must be on my way. Thank you again for the directions, Miss…?"

"Weasley."

"Weasley," the old man smiled and nodded. "And, thank you for hearing an old bloke out."

Gin stood and watched the old man wonder out into the cold London landscape. She leaned into the bar and watched his figure move across the window and out of sight. Inside, her mind continued to retrieve pictures of all the older gentlemen she'd encountered in her life and compare them to the one who had been talking to her.

She dismissed the stranger, thinking, again about Hermione, about Harry, and about herself. She thought about Neville, and how much she loved him… She thought about how she wished she could relive memories she tossed to the side, and how she could mend those memories to how she felt now. However hardened on the inside she was, her Weasley might finally succumbed and let drop a tear.

She wiped her cheek with the backside of her coat pocket and went to go home, to pay her tab when she noticed the bowler hat the old man had left. She dropped whatever money she had on the counter, grabbed the hat and made for the door.

She thought maybe she could still see him down the street, still see him walking in the direction of Park Lane. She wrapped herself tight in clover, pulled the hood down over her head, and shouted out into the frigid, England countryside, "Sir!"

She was only met with stares from onlookers, especially seeing as she'd come from a seedy pub. She looked around at those that stared, thinking maybe one of them could be him…

None were.

She looked the hat over, believing she could find maybe something there, something to track the man down or at least to give a clue to the police where the old man could retrieve his rather expensive head piece…

Two cursive letters - P.D. - were embossed in gold in the centre of the white, silky hats lining.

Gin looked up, thinking she could possibly see him again…

…And, when she went back to look at the initials…

…Her hand was vacant.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

We were having a time with a certain crumbling scone.

Do away with the strawberry jam, every time we bit-sharing the savory cake-it'd crumble to bits. I swore to her I hadn't made it any differently, especially when she tried so very hard to catch one of the crumbs with her mouth after feeding her a bite. Instead, she almost take a bit of my shirt off and rolled on my side, laughing. We had more fun cleaning up than snacking, Crookshanks rather interested in those bits we hadn't found on the floor.

We were watching Sleepy Hollow, a movie picked out by Hermione after the admiration of Tim Burton and Johnny Depp when something that rarely occurred did:

Number Twelve's doorbell rang.

Suddenly, our life together stopped.

I looked back behind the sofa and down the hallway, or as much as I could at an angle.

And, Hermione did the same, jerking her head back just as I did.

A myriad of thoughts of what could be there ran themselves raw in my mind, and as sooner as I began to deduce those thoughts did I feel Hermione quickly get up.

"Hermione!" I was up now, taking hold of my wand which lay on the side table adjacent to the sofa.

She had already rounded the sofa and was four steps away from the hallway. "It's her!" she repeated, backing towards the corridor. "It's her, Harry! I swear it is!"

"After what we've been through nothing is set in stone!" I shouted. More or less leaping over the sofa, I found footing and grabbed hold of her hand.

"Harry!" she tugged at my firm grasp, but I wasn't about to let go.

I had my wand at the ready at my side and continued to peer down what seemed like the longest hallway built.

Only a few people could openly see Number Twelve, and of those I knew they'd contact us beforehand and not use the antiquated doorbell. If so, I'd have known about it, such as during holidays when I knew more than a couple people would show up. And, I wasn't about to let her ran to the door and fling it open just to see a Death Eater, or worse, behind it. We had security, I knew this, but what I didn't know is if there was a possibility-even the slightest-that one, or a dozen, could be standing in wait. They were bold enough to do it, which was for sure.

"Stay here." My vigilance left for her.

"But, Harry, it's-!"

My eyes went back to the door, and then back to Hermione. This wasn't the time for arguments, and I was more than whipped up into frenzy because of the mystery. "Stay right here, damn it!"

I shouted at her, which was another strange occurrence amongst the new pattern. Hermione went silent, and I knew-or hoped she knew-my shouting meant well. I did rub off that rebellious spirit, but be damned if something would happen to her after all this.

She did as told, staying feet behind me, and when I had a hand on the doorknob she said in plea, "Even if this isn't-and I know it is-Harry, the powerful enchantments Dumbledore placed on Number Twelve! But, it is her, Harry! It is!"

I looked back at her, and with my wand-hand placed a finger upon my lips to shush her.

I really disliked, hated even, acting like this…but I couldn't and wouldn't take any chances.

I could feel the sleet hitting the door, the frigid London atmosphere on the chilled metal handle. I took a deep breath and readied that spell, if it came to it, on the tip of my tongue.

I let my wand swish down and heard all the various locks undo.

Slowly, I opened the door and within an inch or two yelled louder than the pelting, frozen raindrops, "Who is out there?!"

"It's Ginny!"

"Harry!" Hermione begged, nasally.

"Riddle's Diary, how was it destroyed?!"

"Basilisk tooth! And I was possessed by him, Voldemort! And, I hated myself all summer until the following school year when you took it upon yourself to find me and tell me you understood, and we're not all perfect! In the Gryffindor Tower, just before I went off to Muggle Studies which I slept in, and-"

I flung the door open, and standing there soggy and saturated to the bone was a very waterlogged and shivering Ginevra Weasley. She looked like the epitome of dishevelment, and as pale as she'd ever been. Before I could take her in on my own, Hermione pushed me aside and pulled Ginny into her arms, soaked and all. Ginny began to buckle in Hermione's arms, dragging her further into the cold rain. I was there in a hasty second, taking Ginny's lifeless, frozen form from the mistreatment of London's proper winter weather and into the warmth of Number Twelve.

When Hermione shut closed the door, following my shadow inside, I heard all those various locks latch back and my home became, once again, that fortress of the Order.

***

At the Minister's Chair, Ministry of Magic

"I'm glad we're able to speak in such…frank terms."

Malfoy, sitting back in the Minister's Chair, looked across the Minister's First Desk, and into the smoldering shine of Balthier's luminous eyes within the play of shadow and light. The fireplace cast the single light in the office.

He folded his hands in his lap and replied, "I understand previous Ministry's had…difficulties with your kind and wish to amend any wrongdoings. I wouldn't consider the likes of Fudge or Nolpho examples."

"Cowards, one more evil than the next…I don't sense that from you and your Order."

"I'm pleased to hear that, and wish to work with the Elves in any matter."

"We must lean on each other in these fragile times."

"Indeed."

"Which is why I must issue a warning, for our kind is at a loss of words…"

Malfoy instantly sat up, those folded hands now beneath his chin. "…Please, continue. You've my full attention."

"Some of our men have come down with a sickness we know not of, and it has truly baffled even our most intelligent medical minds. We're going to tap on our American brethren, but as you've encountered something similar…"

"…We have?" Malfoy asked, perplexed as he tried to discern the warning.

"Maybe it better if we were in a proper setting," asserted the Elven Ambassador. "Could we possibly move this conversation down into your medical facility, but remain…consciously intimate so we do not…disturb a potential sleeping beast?"

Malfoy kept silent a beat before nodding, "Certainly, we'll leave at once."

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

(Hermione's Perspective)

I'd come from our upstairs bedroom with clean clothes for Gin. She'd come in benumbed and hypothermic. She came in with tears, and my heavy heart cried with her. I tried to stay calm, but be damned if I wanted to break right along with her. My scuffle with Molly kept creeping up in my head, and I knew why Gin had run… I knew it personally, for I'd done the same, and it tore me to pieces, too. Like her, and like so many others, I wanted to-needed to-be for her.

And so when I came through the partially-opened guest bedroom door, shutting it back at that slight angle for privacy, I went straight to the lavatory door. I left her with a hot shower in those few minutes as I gathered up comfortable sleepwear for her. She said she had her belongings in an enchanted bag, citing me for the knowledge and inspiration all those years ago. But, I told her we'd unpack tomorrow, or whenever-right now there wasn't anything else that matter more than her well-being and state of mind. And, friendship, as I offered companionship in these sad moments.

I stopped, for I couldn't hear the sound of the running water anymore.

I put my ear to the door, and when I did heard what I dreaded.

Crying.

I didn't bother knocking, taking hold of the knob and entered. "Ginny…?" I asked cautiously, closing the door behind softly.

The misty silhouette of her form still stood in the steam-covered shower, but her hesitant breaths and sniffles were more than enough for me to progress inward. I placed the sleepwear on the sink counter and found the clean towel hanging up on the wall. I think she tried to say my name, but all that came out were hiccups.

I pulled the door open and coaxed her to me, wrapping the white towel around her snugly and bringing her to the loo where she sat. She trembled, a complete mess, but her skin had definitely warmed to a suitable temperature rather than the Weasley-red icicle we had found on our doorstep.

Kneeling to her level, I sat on the heels of my feet and ran my hand up and down her back, just being there for her. My heart twisted and turned, knowing and consoled by the fact that she was here with us, me, in front of me…but nevertheless with the knowledge of her elopement to McLaggen's and that of which she told me about her mum. How Molly treated her, like an outcast, the very words used verbatim boiling my blood.

The more I thought in that moment about what I'd done I began justifying my actions. I hadn't buyer's remorse, and I swore there wouldn't be an apology after this.

"…I know I asked this before," I began, trying to soothe her by touch and by presence. "But you should tell us if he hurt you. I will personally rip him a new arse, or at least hold him down while Harry does the bidding."

Ginny shook her head and tried to calm herself long enough to speak. "I-I-I'm just so embarrassed, `Mi…"

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I love you, and Harry loves you. We think nothing less of you. At all."

Her reddened, puffy eyes looked up at the ceiling, her chest heaving. "I did it-I went right back to him. Cormac. It felt so easy-to leave-to leave-leave-"

"Just slow down…," I could tell how hard it had become for her to open up. "…Take your time."

"And, I fucked up-I messed up-I confessed my heart, fucked up my relationship with Neville, and went to Cormac because I knew he had what could take it all away. Just take away the pain, and it felt good-until I woke up and it wasn't-wasn't at a-a-all…"

She looked at me, her eyes bloodshot from all the tears. "I promised you I wouldn't anymore, and I did-and I-I-I…"

"Shh… Shh…," I rubbed her arms, her hands to keep them warmed up. I held onto her hands and squeezed them in mine. "I love you, and everything's going to be okay now."

With tear-stained cheeks and sticky, matted Weasley-red in patches up, down, sideways, and across her face, she looked back up and then back down at me when she said in near-whisper, just for me to hear:

"I had sex with him, `Mi… A-And, I don't remember if he used protection…"

***

(Hermione's Perspective)

"Is everything okay up there?"

Ron had come when he heard the news Gin left McLaggen's and was now safely with us. He said he'd been at the Ministry with Luna, discussing something… I hadn't the foggiest idea, and rather jumped from rock to rock, memory to memory on the murky lake of which became sudden reality. I pressed by him in the kitchen's entryway where he stood talking quietly to Harry. Harry had been fixing a pot of beef and vegetable stew, something rich with nutrients and vitamins, and was hot on this gelid, numb night.

"I don't know-," I'd been in the apothecary cupboards and had my hands full with the beginnings of a composition better suited for the…female aspect of society. I knew the men wouldn't know of this certain mixture, and never did I think they'd even ask what it was all for-or at least by the notion of testing for pregnancy. I'd have said it was for scrapes and bruises, or something along those lines, making something up for the time being-maybe. But then those consequences had their own…

I couldn't think!

"Where's the vanilla extract?" I went from one kitchen cupboard to the next, looking through all the spices and tripping over Harry to get to more. I snapped when I couldn't find the damn bottle and flared up at Harry when he got in my way again. "Where the Hell is the damned vanilla extract?!"

I didn't even think he was getting in my way because…

…He had found it, handing it to me guardedly.

"What did he do, Hermione?" I heard Ron from behind me, looking slowly from Harry's concerned eyes, and back down at the bottle of vanilla extract now in my hand. "I'm not as daft as I was before, remember?"

"Why are you making a potion, love? Is Ginny hurt-did McLaggen hurt her?"

I almost dropped the contents jostling in my arms when I put a hand to my furrowed brow, trying to think, trying to figure out, adding and subtracting, multiplying and dividing the equations to get the precise product I wanted when-when-

It'd come out sooner or later, and I couldn't control my own emotions in the moment.

"She might be pregnant, and-"

"WHAT?!" Ron sputtered, and grew angrier by the second. "THAT SON OF A BITCH!!"

"I don't know!" I shouted back at him, my eyes lit and large. "I don't know! Just let me fucking do this-one fucking step at a time-please!"

Harry just sort of stood there, agape.

He could've been thinking anything, and Ron, Ron fumed.

But, I had one damn job to do-and he was in my way.

"Move!" I pushed Ron out of the way with a shoulder and hustled on upstairs to where I knew Ginny waited patiently…and scared.

I was scared, too.

***

(Hermione's Perspective)

"You're just going to put a drop of this on your tongue, and-" My hands had shaken all through the crushing of the assorted herbs, the sifting through of vials labeled with this and that, and books-books-books everywhere describing pour this then wait this time while warming this up with tepid water here. The vanilla extract was added at last, and according to this book all that was needed was for her to taste it…

…And, if the taste ended up sour rather than sweet…

…We'd still have to go to the St. Mungo's, or the Ministry, or somewhere else for validation. This was just a household test, something I never thought I'd actually have to do-something girls like us in school would giggle over for we'd never be in this predicament. We were perfect little…perfections… Or, something. Something ignorant with the realities of life. That, anything could happen. Anything.

"I just-like-I just-"

"Yes-just like-"

"But what if-"

We were fumbling around, her and I, with myself doing most of the fumbling as my nerves were shot and I finally had to clear the air with a shout I certainly wish in retrospect I hadn't done:

"Just put a drop of it on your tongue for Christ's sake!"

Gin just looked at me with those big cinnamon-ochre irises scared simply to death at everything-everything going so fast.

"I'm sorry," I immediately apologized, shaking my head. "I'm sorry, I just-I don't know-I'm supposed to be the calm one!"

"…I don't know if I'm ready for-Or-Or if I'd be even capable of…"

"I know…," I brought her to me and hugged her, and hugged her tightly. "But whatever happens, Gin, I'll be there for you-we all will."

"A drop on the tongue…?"

I nodded, watching her take her pinky and dab it inside the stone mortar.

"Christ, it smells…"

In fact, the whole guest lavatory had that…odor.

I didn't say anything, just watching her close her eyes and place her pinky in her mouth.

"If it's sour-but if it's sweet-"

I stayed in my knelt stance toilet-side and kept careful sight at every miniscule detail Gin gave off. Any quiver of her lips, any gag, any BLECH! from that horrid taste would indicate…

My eyes lit up when her watery eyes shot open and her pink tongue slipped out, the universal sign that what she tasted wasn't pleasant at all. She made that noise, that sensation that what she tasted was absolutely gross…and everything, just everything dropped to the pit of my stomach and out my feet.

I leapt and hugged her, and she started crying…

…And, so did I.

***

McLaggen's flat, Sheffield

The glow of the red-and-blue lights of Muggle police cars rotating against the blackness of the night led the curious watcher to his or her window. A small few strayed just outside, maintaining distance from the freezing rain pouring down in the midnight. Emergency calls streamed in from every corner of town after a tumultuous noise of what sounded like an explosion rocked the suburbs of what typically garnished the quiet part of town.

The door to McLaggen's flat had been blown off its hinges, and a rather ostentatious, splintered hole now became the main entryway. The deluges of frozen drops easily fell onto what could be seen as the hallway into the abode, the carpeting and walls dowsed with dripping wetness.

The lights inside continuously blinked on-and-off, and the worried police officers took studious effort to keep the populous calm and hollered by bullhorn for whatever or whoever to, "Come out with your hands up!"

A rather white, naked male raced out into the night covering his privates with merely his hands. With no material to his name, he yelled for the confused, befuddled police that the intruder was still very much inside. The police ordered the very naked male to put his hands up, the red-and-blue lights pulsating against the hue of his white skin so alike the pulsation surrounding the neighbourhood.

The male youth pleaded, taking but one hand from exposing himself utterly to the world and everyone watching to point up at the bedroom window, the one large window facing the street.

And, at that very moment the glass from the bedroom window blew out. The flat groaned and shuddered, the foundation falling to another explosion, this one with fire, grandiose flames and smoke lifting high into the night's sky.

The male and the police unit were taken off their feet, dropping to the ground.

The earth shook around them as the flat crumbled to a fiery dust in front of their very eyes…and not a soul but the naked male came off as culprit number one.

***

{Music: AWOLNATION - Sail, Rockers Hifi - Going Under, Audiomachine - The End is Near, Audiomachine - Breath and Life (Gin and the mysterious encounter scene), Jon Secada - Just Another Day, Natalie Imburglia - Torn, Sheryl Crow - My Favorite Mistake, Meredith Brooks - Bitch, Coldplay - The Scientist, Robbie Williams - Angels, Deathly Hallows Part 1 Soundtrack - Obliviate}

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