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-three - Days

***

The Quibbler Headquarters, London

With a teetered step, aided by not only his father's cane but arm-in-arm with Pansy, Draco makes a wide signal with a hand at the new, improved Quibbler HQ. An inch or less is not comparable to the damage that had been done, no dust nor splotch of flame can be seen.

And, Luna, overwhelmed, looks around nearly in shock with evident tear-stains on her cheeks. She gazes at the renewed floors, the renewed offices, the cubicles, the chairs and the particular detail down to the same grain they were made of before the building's destruction.

"This is a thank you-" began Ambassador Balthier, an Elven team behind him.

"A thank you," asserted interim Minister Malfoy.

Balthier looked to his hume-brother and smiles before looking back at the innocence in Luna's face. "-A thank you for all that you've done for us."

Luna, still abashed, wiped the wetness beneath her eyes.

Ron, in full Auror uniform like the rest with the Ministry behind Draco, grins behind glistening pools of his own.

"Our brothers and sisters, as well as your Ministry's teams, took a great deal of time and dedication to give the same infinite love you have given us over year after year."

"I don't deserve-"

Luna, stopped short, was interrupted by Ron who said firmly, "But, you do."

And, her tear-stained eyes set on Ronald.

She smiled, as did all of those who watched her marvel at her progeny reborn.

She held her chest, and she began crying tears of joy once more. "My father built this company up with his bare hands. He was ridiculed over his dream, and people said The Quibbler wouldn't be what he wished it to be. And, when he died and left it in my hands, I thought I'd never see it how it once stood. A thousand thank yous, truly…"

She wasn't left alone.

More than the dozen souls who stood with Luna went to her, and like one family they gave her the biggest, warmest of hugs.

By the end of the night there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

***

Luna Lovegood's Office, The Quibbler

Even before the doors had been opened for the flood of everything from her employees, to the news, to next week's lunch schedule, the office of Miss Lovegood was lit amongst the lull. Diligently, she went about her work by lamplight, quick quills above her head signing and addressing fluttering parchment, and she'd talk out loud to herself on more than one occasion as the quill in her hand drew the distinct cursive of her personality.

In the middle of reading the piles of letters she had in backlog, a creak woke her from her trance. Tiny gears twisted and small, average, and large pieces of her glasses removed themselves from her eyesight. She smiled at the person standing in her open doorway.

The white cloak of Ron's attire shifted in his stance. He looked between the smiling owner of The Quibbler, to that of the plaque on her desk transcribing her name in gold, and then back at her. In return, he smiled just as genuine.

He had his arms folded at his chest and he leaned on the doorframe of her office. "Thought I'd come and check up on you after patrol."

"How are Hermione and Harry?"

"They've invited you to dinner with them. A celebration for Ginny after you gave her another chance."

"The invitation for her return to us never left the table," the smile wouldn't cease from her pink lips. "I wouldn't miss being with my friends for the world. I'll send an owl personally after I finish up here with all this paperwork."

"Would you like some company, or would I be averting your attention from," He pointed over at her crowded desk. "All of that."

She gave a sigh with an air of honesty in her tone. "Would you ever think I'd ask you to leave?"

Ron couldn't help but smile. He shrugged. "Thought I'd be courteous and ask."

He went to sit down in one of the two chairs in front of her desk, and noted as he did the picture frames including moving photographs of everyone in Dumbledore's Army back at Hogwarts, of them now, and of a photograph of both her and Aedi. He remembered the incident with the mirror, and that something inside him, and was about to formulate a sentence regarding a mixture of all of the above when Luna's voice pulled him back into reality:

"Speaking of Hermione and Harry-these letters-"

She gathered the hoards of sealed parchment in her hands and let them fall back gracefully to her desk. She gestured off at the sacks filled with so many letters the majority of them poured out of its seam and onto the floor.

"Not only are they in support of The Quibbler, but the large support still for our dynamic duo."

"All of those?" Ron was absolutely gobsmacked.

Luna nodded, bemused just the same. "It's not only breath-taking, but brings a breath of fresh air. The outpouring of kindheartedness in each letter-they say we give them hope. Some say that's all they have left, a light in complete darkness."

***

Morgan in the Morning, Wizarding News Network

In professional wardrobe and classy features, Kelly Morgan is surrounded by stock market tickers on both the top and bottoms of the screen. She's just ended one story about the metamorphosis of Gringotts Bank from its monopoly on the wizarding citizenry, and transitions into the next. With a picture of the Prophet Media Corporation's logo spinning beside her face, she peers into camera two, stating with a pragmatic air:

"But to our top story this morning. With allegation after allegation, what used to be the largest and most profitable company in the wizarding world was brought to its knees last night."

Rita Skeeter, and her new, Ministry-look, is shown now where the spinning Prophet Media logo once was. Though, she wears business-casual without any source of the Ministry upon her dress.

"In an exclusive interview with WNN, Rita Skeeter, the wizarding world's richest Briton, has relinquished her grasp of her own company. Our sources note that this news was done on her terms without a bludgeoning of the Ministry of Magic who has been quite vocal on the disuse of her company. One allegation, that Rita Skeeter was in cahoots with the Death Eaters during her tenure at Prophet Media. Another allegation was that she personally funded some of the Death Eater's including, and most notably, Quincy Nolpho."

"But what of its other shareholders? With Prophet Media in freefall on a global scale, and with its decline in the stock market, Rita Skeeter has given what is left of Prophet Media to Luna Lovegood and The Quibbler, an exchange she said would be for the best of everyone:"

The picture changes from Kelly to a recorded live interview with Rita Skeeter the evening before with Skye Vila.

"None of my employees are at fault for any of my decisions. I've taken responsibility for a lot of what has happened, and I've asked for forgiveness to those that I have caused harm to," In quintessential three-piece business attire, Rita sits modestly. Her body language shows just as much remorse as what holds within her face. Without her glasses, the true Rita Skeeter can be seen to all within the reflection from her naked eyes. "What I wish for, and what I've made sure, is that no more displacement is done to those who didn't do anything. My employees are hard-working individuals with families. I've asked Miss Lovegood that during the merger if she could with any certainty include those with merit."

"And, has the head of The Quibbler said she would?"

Rita nods solemnly. "Miss Lovegood has told me she will try her best to find outlets for the good people of Prophet Media. The problems lie with me, and not with them. They've done nothing wrong. I trust Miss Lovegood's good judgment, and I know she understands just how sorry I am and how I want the best for everyone affected."

The picture returns back to Kelly's definitive features.

"Does Miss Skeeter deserve all her recognition and given acceptance of her apology? Many citizens, magical and Muggle-born alike, who have come to the foreground with these allegations of intimidation and maltreatmeant-even going as far as muggings and murders-does Miss Skeeter have a leg to stand on? Our family here at the Wizarding News Network have stories, too, of bullying and suppression-I, myself, had been spoken to by Prophet Media management at the time to lessen my voice. So, we sympathize and empathize, but we can only report these stories to you, our faithful audience through all these uncertain times. You decide what is right for you and your family."

***

The Quibbler

Another Prophecy: Fulfilled?

Did Quincy Nolpho fulfill another prophetic vision for the End? His new direction and decision in mandating-but-not-mandating tracking of every individual is not only startling, but apocalyptic. Nolpho and his Ministry will forever know where you are at any given time. Our editorials and whistleblowers inside the Ministry at the time of the Nolpho exchange from Shacklebolt's administration note the insurgence of Death Eater hands. Of course, the provocation is suppressed by Rita Skeeter's rag, the Daily Prophet, which upholds the silent devastation Nolpho will ultimately inflict upon those who do not tote the line. Biblical in proportion, this has been considered the mark of the devil on many accounts. How many incoherent deaths, said to have been suicides, have been detailed throughout his time inside the Ministry? Every one of them dissent or have tried to flee the wrath of Nolpho's Death Eaters, including the brazen intimidation given here towards us at The Quibbler. Our reporters and journalists now find it a necessity to work for the people of Great Britain in the shadows. Walking out in the open is not a choice anymore, but we will continue to show the incredulous and evil nature of Nolpho's team as what they truly are: Death Eaters seeking revenge for the death of their Lord, Thomas Marvolo Riddle-Voldemort.

Meygan Brookes

Writer

Luna Lovegood

Chief Editor

P.1

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

We were expecting company, so when the doorbell tune jingled throughout Number Twelve we both looked at each other. First, she smiled, looking up from resting her head on my shoulder. We'd been resting, waiting for tonight's event while the celebrant took her time upstairs. We were to meet the Granger's at a posh restaurant in downtown London.

Her emerald satin chiffon cocktail dress swished in pirouette, showing her beautiful, perfect legs in matching heels. Turning, I watched her go for the door, and in pursuit I followed her. She glanced back at me, the emerald-green bow curbing her bushy brown straight along her back. My hand went to her lower back as she took hold of the large, antique handle and opened the door for our esteemed guests.

Mimicking Hermione's gasp, my brows rose to the scene before us.

Standing in a suit and tie was my best mate, Ronald, who looked nothing like himself outside of his usual Auror wardrobe. Imitating the green-motif, his tie came similar to mine with a dark green hue. And, arm-in-arm with him was Luna in a leggy, flirty hunter green sequined bodice and flared skirt.

Hermione had put her hands over her mouth when she gasped, eyes just as wide as mine, and then she threw her arms around Miss Lovegood when she had the chance-making the chance. Luna let go of Ron, and while in their embrace and giddy, little laughter gave I had the opportunity to shake Ron's hand.

I chuckled.

"A bit better than the Yule Ball, eh, Harry?"

I laughed a little louder. "Mate, you sure do clean up!"

"I'd say!" reiterated my beloved.

She laughed, too, surprise thick in the air.

We exchanged places, and when I went to embrace Luna while Hermione hugged Ronald did I make sure to be extra careful around her done hair and makeup. I heard Hermione repeat how cleaned up Ron was when Luna, still in embrace, said to me, "You two look as lovely as ever, too."

"You're as beautiful as ever, Luna," I replied, letting go as Luna kept my hands in hers.

"I left the butterbeer caps at the flat," Luna's smile glowed. "It's Ginny's night, of course."

"She's in high spirits ever since you gave her the sports editorial job back."

"She's really doing great, I can see it. And, what are friends for, right?"

"Thank you," I smiled.

She let go of my hands and reached around for a side hug, and I hugged her in return as we both looked back at Hermione and Ron. I reached out for my beloved with my free hand, and looked towards my best mate, motioning with a bob towards Number Twelve, "Let's get inside before we all catch cold."

***

Downtown London, England

The lighthearted celebration of Ginevra Granger's new job and promotion to chief sports editor came to fruition amongst a delightful meal full of laughter. Emilie and Frederick sat beside their newly adopted daughter, and Hermione aside her with me. Luna sat to my left and Ron to hers. With water under the bridge between Frederick and Ronald, the Granger's were even amazed at how clean-cut Ronald could be. Ronald casually stepped up to the plate with a joke about setting the bar too high to which garnered a response and chortle from Mister Granger.

Between cocktails and pints of lager, steak and seafood, and an assortment of varied desserts, there wasn't any silence amongst the seven of us. Being the first time the Granger's were introduced to Luna, they asked her questions and I could tell Luna was consciously trying to act "Muggle"-which gave me and Hermione a grin. I saw Ron whisper something in her ear when Hermione, Gin, and the Granger's talked amongst themselves. Luna nodded, and I could tell Ron addressed her worriment about anything and to be herself.

I didn't know if it were the drinks, but my brow did rise a few times at how friendly Ron would become with Luna, and Luna with him, when they thought no one noticed. He'd say something only she could hear, inwardly, and she'd smile, gazing at him. She'd say something quietly in their private proximity, secretively, whilst playing absentmindedly with her fork and he'd lightly laugh under his breath.

Hermione kept her fingers laced with mine out in the open when we were resting between courses, or beneath the table when we ate. The public displays of affection I loved, a kiss or dozen given amongst our conversations. I only left her hand near the end to place an arm around the back of her chair and cross my legs, leaning into her and her lively speeches with our crowd. I'd throw my two cents in, talking admirably about the prospects of our up-and-coming wedding and how Hermione and Ginny were deep within preparations with Emilie.

Frederick stood up with his lager and held it out in toast.

I held up mine.

Ron held up his.

Emilie held up her apple martini.

Hermione held up her long island iced tea.

Gin held up her mojito.

And, Luna, her screwdriver cocktail.

"I'd like to make a toast," announced Mister Granger in a crisp suit, dapper as always. "First, to Ginny, the addition to our Granger family."

Frederick turned to Gin at his side, the whites flickering in her eyes off the crystal chandeliers.

"Both myself and Emilie see how much potential you have and the goodness in your heart. We know your future endeavors at The Quibbler newspaper will undoubtedly be exceptional in part because you're a beautiful, wonderful young woman who is smart and knowledgeable," Gin began to tear up, and so did Hermione. Luna had caught the sniffles, too. "Emilie and I just want to say how much of a blessing you are with us now and that we love you and will support you in any way we can."

Hermione reached over and rubbed Gin's back while Gin wiped the wet from her cheeks with a silk cloth. She smiled at Hermione, and then uttered a muted apology as she tried to contain her emotions. Emilie, with tears, too, welled up, leaned over and gave her adopted daughter a hug.

"Cheers." Frederick raised his glass higher.

We all did as one, reciting, "Cheers!"

As Mister Granger sat down, I stood up and went to toast.

Before I could even begin, Gin retorted still drying her eyes, "You all are going to have me so stirred up all my makeup will have run!"

We all gave a laugh.

I looked towards Gin, and how she changed from when she first moved back in until now, physically and emotionally. How she assimilated almost seamlessly with Hermione's family, how she ceased her smoking, heavy drinking, and other assorted recreational activities. How she had grown up and looked rather mature, not only by her new shortened haircut, but by her posture and poise. She looked confident, and finally ready to take on the world.

"Gin, even though we fight and bicker like siblings," That made us laugh, and Gin did, too. "I care about you. You've become the sister I never had, and when times got tough you had my back one hundred percent. And, I truly thank you from the bottom of my heart. You're a part of, not only the Grangers, but you're a part of the Potters-"

"-Whether you believe that's a good thing or not," I ended, giving her and our crew another bout of laughter.

Gin smiled behind her tears, having to once again dry her cheeks.

"Hermione and I enjoy having you around Number Twelve, and you should know that I'll never toss you out-well, Hermione might-"

"Harry!" Hermione poked me hard in the side, and laughter consumed us all.

"To Miss Ginevra Granger!" I held the lager high.

The others did their drinks as well. "Cheers!"

As I went to sit down from the corner of my eye I saw Ron stand up and offer his glass.

Gin groaned, stating, "I'm going to be an absolute wreck!"

I laughed alongside the others.

"This'll be a bit shorter than the Mister Granger's or Harry's because they stole all the really good lines," Ron smiled, and we all did as well. "I'm not really great at these things, but I would like to say to my sister: I understand why things are how they are, and I'll never judge your choices because things happen in life and you have to search for what is best for you."

Hermione found my hand whilst Ronald spoke, and I looked back at her and her smile.

I smiled in return.

He continued. "And, I've always admired that in you because it took me a legitimate slap in the face to wake up and grow up. But, I still love you as your brother. You're my little sister, and I'll always defend you as if you were two or twenty."

"You're going to do great, sis," Ron held up his glass. "Cheers to you and your endeavors."

We all did in our somber state.

After hearing Ron, even I shuddered emotions, squeezing Hermione's hand underneath the table.

"Cheers!"

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

"What do you have there?"

She landed in my lap, having been in the kitchen after seeing Gin to bed. Feeling a bit of merriment still within me, and exhaustion, I'd flopped down in my chair and leisurely took my time flipping through the channels on telly until I found the Sports Channel. I had just sat back comfortably, hearing the sounds of the refrigerator opening and closing beneath the low volume of an old Quidditch game against South Africa and India.

"Sangria," she uttered softly. She took another sip, and sitting side-saddle put her free arm around my neck.

She let the wine goblet down in her lap and laid her forehead against my cheek, fidgeting to get comfortable, too, in my lap. I had my arms snugly around her, allowing my hands to roam the glossy, silky fabric clinging off her one shoulder. My hands found the arch of her back, my lovable arch, as I rubbed her where she finally settled. My other hand explored how smooth her legs were, the cut in her dress leaving both beautiful limbs much exposed when she sat. I could feel her warm, sweet breath against my skin, bringing goosepimples to life amongst where Hermione brushed.

I could tell she smiled whilst hidden against me, and when she brought the wine goblet back up to take another sip said after, "Tonight was wonderful… You, and mum and dad, and Luna and Ron-both of them looking rather charming-"

"I'd say…," I ushered, my eyes on the television, my attention on Hermione and her slight, mellowed movements. "I suspect our Ronald fancies a certain someone."

Hermione laughed from her nose against me, those beautiful, sweet breaths arousing the parts she touched with ease. "You saw it, too. Hm?"

"Ronald has never really grasped the concept of subtlety…"

Hermione laughed again, the arm she had around me moving as she would run her fingertips, and fingernails, up-and-down my arm. "…I'd say. But, they looked cute together. Luna looked marvelous and happy, and I think that's the third or maybe fourth time I saw Ronald in a tie…"

I smiled, reminiscing. "He's still sour over the Yule Ball."

"Those dress robes of his were…ghastly. Nightmarishly so."

I let out a laugh I had to immediately contain or wake the whole house up.

"I know this was Ginny's night, but, you," I had pushed up to the beginnings of her thigh whilst stroking her delightfully fair leg. Any further, by happenstance, her cocktail dress tightened enough to seclude me from revealing more. "You I couldn't take my eyes from."

I felt each, individual strand of hair leave from against my neck. She lifted a smidgen from me, enough to take a good look however close through her sleep-driven sight. When I looked toward her, too, those strands had fallen in face, giving a sort of curtain hanging in front of her grin.

"Stunning cannot express your beauty as your beauty truly surpasses everyone and everything," I stated as I gazed into her big, brown eyes. "You've captured my heart, and you'll forever have the key."

"Oh, Harry…," she didn't waste any time putting the wine goblet on the side table and pulling me to her. We found each other in caress, gentle at first, but began in fervor as we lingered by breath. Compact, I lifted her effortlessly and sat her back down. I led her to her knees, her legs on either side of mine, kissing from her lips, to her chin, throat, between her breasts until she was completely vertical.

At her fit stomach, I kissed her through her dress, grasping-and-releasing my strength when I'd grab her and hold her-everywhere and anywhere. I felt her hands on me, my hands, arms, shoulder, my hair where she pulled at me. Several times my glasses would come off in the chaos, and we'd share a laugh at how many times she'd repaired them in my lifetime.

The final time they had come off I just lifted her with me as I stood. She laughed, adjusting the now-sideways glasses as I went from turning the telly off and juggling her easily in my grip.

I threw her over my shoulder as the last light went off, patted her bum which made her giggle even more, and upstairs to bed we went.

***

"Faster?" I asked in a hastened breath at her ear.

Our lips had broke away, and between pants in the throes of passion her head turned to me and she nodded, resounding meekly for I did what was told, "-Faster!"

I watched her arch her back, watched her eyes close, watched her from trying to smile to forming a circular-shape with her mouth. I had her hands bound by my own against the mattress. She had wound her legs around my center, and as I drove quicker by her request, those legs wound more firmly and secure. Her toes curled, and in one moment she said my name, said "Christ!" and arched her back once more. This time, she didn't come down. And, I could see her on me, around me, tight-she wasn't about to let me go.

She tried a second to fight against my hands as she rode her wave of pleasure, but struggled, futile against my might and power.

She shook, clinching into my hands with her nails as she held on.

The pain she gave me ultimately left for pleasure, too, as I let the inevitable wash over me, pushing into her twice, three times before falling from my knees. I retook her, her hungered mouth satiated when my own pressed against hers. I let her hands go, caressed her forehead, nose, cheek, chin, throat aggressively, craving her taste and more of her.

I had her breasts and she had me. I felt her squeeze me as I suckled and kissed, felt her squirm when I prompted a moan from her as I gladly took my time on each perky nipple. Down to her torso, and at her abdomen, I actively lapped, leading my tongue wherever I could. I did what I wanted, hearing her laugh, giggle, squeal and moan when I'd hit one of sweet spots. I tasted between her legs and back up again, sliding against her slick form until we were together again, lips as one.

She was in smiles when we released, looking at me, looking away as she laugh at the mess we had made. I smiled, too, caressing her cheek, kissing her mouth when she lay back on the flustered bed of her wild hair.

***

"We're going to need more bed linen before the end of this." She grinned, a hand on my cheek.

We were close in more smooth, clean sheets. Our legs were intertwined together, and we played footsie beneath those sheets. I had my around her slender middle, reassuring how egotistically protective I was of her. And, she leaned back in and kissed my lips, running those splendidly soft fingers of hers across my cheek, my face, where they ended wrapped in the tufts of my raven hair.

When she released her caress, I added, "And thank Merlin for birth control."

She lit with laughter. "Oh, Harry…"

"What?" I grinned, seeing her settle from her laughter.

Our eyes locked.

"It's true, though."

She nodded. "I concur."

She went silent as she gazed around at my features, tracing by fingertip the curved and straight lines of my face. When she reconciled with my own, she simply asked and with a tinge of seriousness to her tongue, "But, would it be such a horror if I did have our child?"

"Never." I put without any hesitation.

She smiled at how quickly I responded.

I ran my hand along the slope of her waist. "…You know I only provide banter to get you riled when that topic approaches, right?"

She went silent again, her eyesight straying from mine, and I knew she was in thought.

She came back on eye-level, and recited rather soberly:

"I'd like a baby, Harry."

Taking my hand from her waist, I placed it on her head and begun scratching lovingly at her mahogany crown. I went from observing what I did to her, "Yeah?"

"Mum and dad had me when they were young-younger than us," she answered, her fingertip traveling just underneath my bottom lip where she watched. Her eyes went to me. "They did it so they could run around chasing me, and they did that very act. Not that that's our baseline, and I'd only want to conceive after we were married. But, I would like to be able to do those things without feeling out of breath in old age."

"Mum and dad know we live together, and surely know we have had sex once or twice. I wouldn't want to give them both a heart attack as they're quite traditional, and would really like it if I-that is if I was-pregnant, to be pregnant after we were married."

I grinned at how she ruffled through her words, and nodded, drawing close as I did when I kissed her quiet. I looked back into her eyes and resumed my nod, saying, "I understand, and it's always been your choice. But, what about school? A baby, Hermione-"

"Well, what about yours?" she retorted, utterly Granger. "You're not just a sperm bank, Harry. We're a team. I look after your aspirations as much as you look after mine."

"I flow right along with you, you know that," I replied, never ceasing to refocus from her beautiful, cinnamon-brown irises. "If you want to wait, we'll wait. If not, we won't. We have the house, we have the finances, you have my unconditional love either way."

She lifted almost instantly after what I said and gazed longingly into me. She placed an arm around me, and in her raspy tone, stated, "This is exactly the reason why I love you and only you."

I smirked, asking rhetorically inside the smirk, "Is that so?"

She rolled her eyes, and into a grin. Her eyes settled back on me. "…And why I fancy you, and how you turn me on, and how we always end up making love over and-"

Lying back, I put an arm behind my head and remained in that witty smirk. "Christ, I'm good."

"AND!..." She poked my side, eye lit. "…How I always give you a big head."

"Hmm…," I mocked as if in thought, placing a finger to my chin and drifting off from her. The smirked returned when my sight fled back to hers. "…Dare I touch that, or would it be too much?"

"Gods," Hermione sighed overdramatically. "What have I created?"

Her sight left my but once when she heard my growl.

She knew what was coming, and in turn went to flee.

But, I caught her in giggles.

"I have this-I have this reoccurring thought and dream."

"Hm?" I kissed her cheek, and nuzzled against her.

"We're in his-or her-bedroom, and I'm reading her a bedtime story, and when we're finished I look up and there you are in the doorway watching us."

I lifted from loving her, and she stared back at me.

"You really think a lot about this, don't you?"

With a winsome nod, she said something so softly that the words brought a shiver to me: "It's comforting."

I smiled, my hand reaching behind her to comb those wild strands of hair. The seconds summarized all I knew, and how special Hermione was to me.

We kissed in our smiles.

***

The Quibbler

Skeeter to Seek Out Reparations

Continuing along her turnaround, Rita Skeeter has come out from the shadows with an open wallet. "I haven't much to give anymore," she said in a recent interview with her old network, WNN. "But, I do have a little money left. I'm in no means trying to sweep this under the rug. By coming out on live television I believe I've gone passed the naysayers debating why I can't do more. Because I've literally nothing else to my name." Some people say that's not enough. Sympathizers say she's doing her best.

Rita Skeeter seems to have turned another leaf, but with her past anyone can see how one can be hesitant before believing her statements. She has given quite a number of galleons before and after her interview with WNN. Is it time to turn the other cheek? Can we as a nation beholden of what has occurred so rapidly after Voldemort give back as much as they took?

Time is our reality.

Meygan Brookes

Writer

Luna Lovegood

Chief Editor

***

The Burrow

A letter, written neatly, with each word precisely what its author wished to express. The letter lay solitary on the Weasley table, abandoned by the one who first placed her fingerprints on the parchment. The tears that had fallen from the addressee's genuine emotions had long since evaporated.

It was another quiet day at the Burrow.

The fire crackled in the fireplace, Missus Weasley knitted another scarf for one of her children, and Mister Weasley was gone to work.

The typical morning at the Burrow came to its end when the sound of something falling, rebounding off the hardwood floor. The sharp crash of what sounded like metal from around the corner led Missus Weasley onto her feet. She drew her shawl around her shoulders and found her wand close by. This habitual act had begun since that certain someone had showed up out of the blue and ruined Missus Weasley's perfect farmyard. It took time to straighten things out, and she wasn't about to let that person do it again.

She saw nothing when she peeked around the corner in the kitchen, and when she went to step towards the door to take a gander outside she yelped.

Something pricked the bottom of her bare foot, the object piercing skin with a pinpoint of blood produced in the center of her sole.

She uttered words beneath her breath and went to grab the piece of trash from the floor, mumbling how she kept her home orderly, and how this found its way on the…

She had to do a second-glance.

The rubbish: one of the hands from the Weasley clock.

Ginevra Granger smiled as she had always did in her moving portrait, though older, seemingly wiser, her hair cut short with an invisible wind blowing a bit of her Weasley-red above her golden-brown coloured eyes.

She peered into her mother's eyes with a sense of knowing.

With a face so foul, she hobbled on her injured foot towards her medical and safety kit.

On the way… She dropped the fallen hand into the bin, and acted as if nothing had ever happened…sans the real pain she felt in the bottom of her foot.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

The cool atmosphere held no vacancy. I felt it first when something continued to drone on and on outside my periphery, and then again, as if trying to get me to wake. I remember rolling over and making it stop, only to have it waken me again. This time, however, my warmth woke that smidgen along with me. She squirmed, the incessant noise having her groan inside the caverns of sheets and the pocket I created. Wiggling in my arms, she sighed heavily, perturbed, and shot up…

To have my pillow taken completely from me.

And then, to have said pillow smack my face.

"Ohh!" Hermione groaned, realizing what she did. She tried her best to comfort me with her hand after hearing, and then seeing the pillow-of which we both had laid on-land face first.

She leaned up as she doctored me, apologizing again behind sleep, and then sat further up. I hadn't very long, slumber calling my name, when I captured a glance or two of my beautiful Hermione covered only to her waist. I saw her turn towards the noise, to have me try to pull her back in bed with a, "…It's probably the neighbours and their construction again, come back to-"

"…Hermione?" I hadn't noticed the voice, but Hermione did. The muffle beseeched her once more, and then I heard my name in the mix. "Harry?"

And then, more knocks on our bedroom door.

"Oh Christ!" Hermione jerked off the sheets with her whisper, and began the treasure hunt for our clothes scattered about.

"What is it…?" Sleep hung in my grumble, and before Hermione could say something else I'd gotten another face full of boxers.

Pulling the dark garment from my face, and sight clear, I saw Hermione hopping from article to article lying about with one leg in pyjama trousers. When she managed her other, she found and readily tossed my pair of lounge trousers onto the bed.

"Gin! Yes! We're downstairs right away. Give us a moment-we were getting dressed to meet you before work!"

And, that's when it hit me, too, and I began just as frantically…though, not as agile as my beloved. Apparently, coordination was the last faculty to turn on, for I nearly fell face first onto the floor in my hustle. I heard Hermione stifle a laugh, and when I looked back at her she'd magically found every bit of us-and looked good, pulling her hair back with a scrunchie.

I looked over at the clock and saw it more than a half hour over the advised time.

"Tsk tsk," I played. "And, you're Hermione Granger."

"Hush you!" she threw a shirt in my face.

I laughed.

"This is your entire fault anyway."

I pulled the shirt down over my head, and when my chaos of a mane rebounded back to its rather messy position did my brow rise. "What?" I rebutted.

"Who stopped the alarm clock?"

"I think I blame it more on how much I tire you out…," I tried to put on my best suave tone, wriggling my brows, to have her sigh and roll her eyes.

She smirked, watching me come up to her with her hand on the doorknob. "Gods, you're incorrigible…"

"'Gods, you're incorrigible'…," I tried mimicking her with a spin of drama, and then swatted her bum and told her, "Just get downstairs before I earn the world record for, not only disrobing an individual, but tossing them back in bed."

"Now I almost want to stand here in rebellion," she retorted with another one of her smirks.

I placed my hand with hers on the doorknob and opened it up with a laugh, "Get down there!"

Within her first step, I patted her bum again.

When she looked back, she saw me coming, and in chase we made it one loud step at a time.

When we had made it downstairs, and after I bumped into the backside of Hermione at the kitchen, she had stopped and I smelled…

Breakfast, prepared and plated nicely on dining room table with huge stacks of newspapers wrapped in wire at the far end. Gin, casually sipping coffee from a mug, looked up from underneath her blue newsboy cap. Short tufts of Weasley-red stuck out from the brim. Ready for Father Winter outside, she wore a dark blue double-breasted cardigan coat with a light blue tie atop a white dress shirt. She uncrossed her plaid blue pants and stood up when we entered, gazing from me to Hermione, and then set down her mug.

She looked where our eyes were, and said, gesturing to one and then the other, "Breakfast was a way of saying thank you, and the newspapers-they came by owl this morning with a special letter addressed by Luna on top of this stack."

She motioned to the one closest to her.

"I didn't open it," she went from me to Hermione.

Hermione had more than walked up to her and gasped, pulling on parts of Gin's new outfit. I went behind them both, reveling in the fact that Luna had gone far and beyond a few newspapers to savor. It seemed as if she found a copy of every Quibbler starting after till the headquarters attack.

"You look absolutely stunning, Gin!" Hermione held her sister's shoulders after her once over.

"I do feel pretty good this morning," stated Gin confidently. "I haven't felt this good in…awhile."

Hermione gave her a hug. "You're going to do so well today! I just know it!"

I found the personal letter Luna had written as referenced by Gin, and shuffled a finger inside the flap to pop it open.

"Harry?"

I must've been incensed in Luna's outpouring of fine detail when it came to certain events she wished for me to see as per my question when I looked up from the parchment. I saw both my beloved, and Gin looking back at me.

"Doesn't she look so professional, love?"

Lowering my sight so I could see through my glasses at that distance, I noted how masterly and polished Gin appeared. "I think you look great and will make an impression on your first day back at The Quibbler."

"Thank you, Harry," Gin smiled, and then looked back at her Hermione. "Thank you guys for everything, really."

As Gin and Hermione began talking amongst themselves, I became very aware of another different piece along with the same shade of colour every Quibbler was in the first stack. Beneath the parchment I procured, two smiling faces stood out. Slipping the item out, my attention went to the front cover and under the title, Q: for the Now.

The picture we had taken for the magazine, the many articles on each page. There we were so faultless, none the wiser to the obstacles on the horizon at the time. Hermione in this grey, oversized short-sleeved shirt with these tassels hanging off the bottom. I could see the darker shade of grey under the tassels, and the ribbed texture of her shorts. She had this bright sunflower at her ear, looking directly ahead of the pursuer. By her face, she was seemingly caught unaware, eyes lit at me in smile after I had come behind her. My hands were placed on her small waist, projecting a sense of dominance and masculinity in a fitted grey suit and crisp collar. The object of my affection complemented each other, and it was like going back in time and falling in love all over again.

The subtitle, Our Very Best, was typed at the bottom.

And, I looked away from the past and into the future: my eyes set on Hermione sitting at the table with Ginny and smiling over a cup of tea.

***

"Hey-come over here and look at this."

Hermione had come back from upstairs and gone back to putting away the dishes from breakfast. Gin had left, seeing her apparate just before exiting the perimeter of Number Twelve's magicks.

On her tiptoes, Hermione shut closed the plate cupboard and set to dry her hands. I had to readjust my glasses over and over, my eyes deceiving me. In my hands a parchment alongside the daily mail directed to a Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter.

"Unbelievable," I resumed my distance from which I read even when feeling Hermione place her arms around my shoulders to look over them.

She gasped after reading what was written in plain English.

In agreement by my own expression, I looked over her own amazement featured greatly with a complimentary hand over her gasp. She glanced at me, and then back at the letter.

"One. Million. Galleons." Hermione annunciated every, single word.

The letter was signed by no other than Zoe Reynolds herself, and signed sincerely and with thought.

Both of you will know what to do with this meager sum of gold. Please use it wisely for the betterment of us all.

With love and admiration,

Zoe Reynolds

Hermione shook her head as I did, utterly spellbound.

"We can't accept this, Harry."

"Under the circumstance love, I don't believe we have a choice."

***

Inside a tiny, family-run coffee shop, London

A frosty, wintery London landscape stuck to each individual window pane, a collaboration of pieces to create the whole. Rouge, leather-fitted seats had just enough wear for ambience amongst a seemly century-old interior. Tilting to the panes, she used her breath to produce a palette and, using her fingertip like a brush, drew a heart onto the fogged glass.

She wrote "H+Hr" in the centre… And, I couldn't help but be uplifted in grin.

Automobiles would pass by almost relaxed in this quiet part of town, the automobiles just as timeworn as the intimate bistro. We enjoyed visiting these kinds of establishments because it took us away from the limelight; and, her and I, we had nearly suffocated by it. Though, it did give us the greater advantage of not being interrupted from our musings, and gazing into each other's eyes from across the small table.

Frankly, I hadn't necessarily cared for what I wore-just something to keep the cold out: a coat, some jeans, boots, a scarf. Of course, Hermione played a bit of dress up on me before heading out, giving me a once over, satisfying her Type-A personality. Regardless of her tidying me, I really cared for what she wore, and I swore-from her history-she knew how to dress to accentuate every bit of herself.

She said she paid no mind, really.

It didn't really matter to me if she fibbed or not. I watched every beautiful moment she moved. That may sound crazy, but it was true. Her cocoa-coloured lively irises closed only a second when she'd sip her frothy hot chocolate from a pale-green ceramic mug. She needed two hands to pick the mug up, but the instant she put it down our hands were together again.

We had gloves on, but that didn't negate the sensation of pure warmth radiating from her fingers, and the centre of her palm. That bit of mahogany would fall over her eye, and she'd smile, the natural peach of her lips curling upwards. In the subtle light, the hue of her skin wasn't exactly porcelain, but a light olive colour, complements of the atmosphere. With rose in her cheeks, she wore one of her striped newsboy caps, one shade of green darker than the other in forward lines. Her hair fell behind her ear, the volume framing her face, and when she'd laugh each lock softly bounced.

A striped scarf clung to her neck, striped similarly to her cap but with mint green and a much lighter hue together. She decided to wear this slightly faded, slight sand-washed styled jean-coloured peacoat that fit perfectly with her perfectly feminine outline. A hint of her beige blouse peeked forth from the V-cut the coat formed in the front, gathering at oversized dark-grey fastened buttons.

I could feel her petite boots against mine, having crossed her legs in a way so one foot stayed with mine on the floor while the toe of the other would run absentmindedly against the inside of my calf. She had her hand flat on the table, palm up, and for the longest time I drew circles by fingertip and traced my beloved's hand.

She said I gave her shivers more than the weather.

I smiled and laughed, silently of course, as another couple or two had entered to relieve themselves from the judgment out there. I took a sip of my coffee-and-cream, and glanced up when the door would open in its rare occasion. In hush, we spoke-about everything-especially our future, possible honeymoon spots a hot topic, and the noted sum of galleons we received this morning. The parchment altogether blindsided us, and I agreed with Hermione when she said:

"Charity?"

I always did wonder how mum and dad accumulated all the galleons they had left, and the extra sums of gold magically appearing within the vault over the years. I suspected Headmaster Dumbledore, or Sirius, but neither a soul I could ask now. I had enough for both Hermione and myself to live into our golden years, so having received the amount from Zoe Reynolds-and her broad request-I wouldn't pocket it.

"St. Mungo's really helped us over the years, fighting for you as much as I fought for you," I proposed, squeezing her hand after both "you's". "We can request it to be towards heart-related healing methods, or the cancer awareness and prevention areas Shade supported. What do you think?"

She smiled that smile I so fantastically adored.

She sat up, wriggling in her spot, wriggling with me and against me, and said as she leaned toward me in that low, raspy tone, "I think it's a great idea, Harry…"

And, she kissed me, taking my face into her delicate hands.

***

Within the outskirts of London

We walked the short distance down the path towards our next destination-wherever that may lead us. We hadn't an agenda, and merely strolled together taking in the sights of the quiet, old suburb.

We walked hand-in-hand, stopping every now and then by Hermione to window shop. One family-run shop followed the other, a variety of advertisements showing off their wares and discounts inside. Clothing, gadgets-even pets, as one window displayed puppies. Head over heels, Hermione bent down to play with them through the glass as their tiny faces followed Hermione's fingers as she moved them around in chase.

We kissed along the way, my gloved hand squeezing hers and she'd turn, smile that gorgeous Hermione smile in the crisp air, and our lips would meet in the sunlight. The environment still clung frigidly to its temperature, a dust of snow still blown from the streets along the curb. With their green leaves gone for the season, the manufactured trees in the antique district would flit the light casted down, dancing along her face when I'd bring her back again in another caress.

We passed by an elderly couple bundled up in their coats walking away from us. They were slow in each step, but they were happy. We greeted them with a "Good afternoon," to their equaled reply. Hermione looked from them to me, and with another squeeze she came to me. We kissed, Hermione standing by tiptoe that second in her lasted grin.

We ended up in a hometown theatre, too small to carry the big titles, but intimate enough for the few that were sitting in the old-fashioned red-clothed seats. The film was some documentary spoken in Italian with English subtitles, to which Hermione was interested enough in checking. It didn't matter to me in the end; the only matter of mind was seeing her cheery face when we stepped up to the refreshment kiosk to get something hot in Styrofoam cups.

I found it hard not to gaze at her throughout the film.

I didn't know what was going on on-screen, something about star-crossed lovers and a war, but between the foreign language and the heavy dialogue I couldn't keep up. What I did keep up with was the way her emotions would change in the bluish-light off the projector, from happy, to concerned, to sad, to crying at the end. I retrieved a handkerchief from the inside of my coat and gave it to her, and as I did leaned in.

I kissed the top of her head, kissing her lips afterwards when she finished dabbing her eyes and went to me with her own.

***

At the Minister's Chair, Ministry of Magic

"I'm putting my foot down on my decision, Kingsley," Draco, having made his rounds around the Ministry prior to being summoned to the Minister's office by Kingsley still wore his Ministry-adorned black trench coat. Pansy was with him, at his side, and both observed the redness erupting from Kingsley's dark features. Draco had his arms crossed, and he'd make brief motions with his hands whenever he wanted to emphasize his beliefs, especially when asserting his position on their debate.

"I'm allowing the press to investigate every last inch of the Ministry if they so choose to. We have nothing to hide to the public unlike those prior to our administration. This is an open door policy that I believe-"

"Rubbish!" Kingsley made jerky movements, uncomfortable in his chair until the anger overcame him. He shot up, making broad, sweeping gestures towards Draco. "At one time I was your chief advisor, but nothing-nothing now-I say makes it passed this obscene nature of trust for people! These are the same institutions that easily tore down the Order in years gone by! Why do you insist on the avocation for yet another one-two punch for what we've accomplished?"

Unblinking, Draco stared upwards at Kingsley. Levelheaded, he merely restated, "I have faith in our people."

"Bullocks!" The Muggle Ambassador waved Draco's assertion off in the air. "That's bullocks, and you know it, Draco! The credulousness of all this has begun to smell something foul!"

Draco remained silent and steadfast, and when Pansy watched her husband noted the confidence in his poise…and how he hadn't flinched a beat.

"You still obsess with this `Dumbledore doctrine'-thinking that one day he's going to reappear in that painting and set forth the second coming of the Holy Land," Kingsley motioned towards the painting of an empty chair without looking away from his appointed predecessor. He pointed to himself. "I used to believe in Dumbledore's words, too, and look at where that got me, Draco. Look at what happened. You're going to go right back down that path, and I won't-will not-pick you up when you fall this time. Because I've warned you, too many times, about how unsuspecting you are."

"Are you willing to allow them full access to the Department of Mysteries, too?!"

"Of course not."

The short, astute voice abruptly ended Ambassador Shacklebolt's tirade. From each of their positions they turned in tandem to Malfoy's Press Minister. Rita's straight, blonde hair cascaded down into the white hood of the Auror's cloak she still wore, standing with her arms folded as she took in all that had been said.

"You know as well as everyone else that that Department is off limits."

"But we've `nothing to hide'!"

"With all due respect, Kingsley, that's not exactly what my husband said…" the utterance of Pansy withdrew Kingsley from scowling at Rita. "…And, with all due respect, for someone of your stature you've double-downed on patronizing. We're only trying to help-"

"I'm trying to help!" shouted Kingsley, which roused Draco to stand on the spot.

"You've no right to shout at my wife! None!"

"I wouldn't have to shout at all if it weren't for the lack of respect towards-"

The double doors of the office agitated the already unsettled environment within when an Auror burst inside to say in haste, "I apologize for interrupting sir-"

"Out with it then," issued Malfoy with the tinge of disquiet in his tone.

"There's been an incident in the Department of Mysteries."

***

On The Wand, featuring Oliver Cane

A man in his sixties, with the acknowledgement of his years apparent in a receding hairline albeit with sophistication not only by his demeanor, but by his suit, sits in front of what could appear to be a thick, pool of the darkest blue water. "On The Wand," slowly scroll by vertically, horizontally, diagonally in transparent, darker text throughout the apparent blue ripples. A round table of sorts is stationed in front of him, and that of the blonde, classic look so like Kelly Morgan, calling back a time period long passed.

In a contemporary, yet simple black dress, she sits at arm's length, laughing a bit with her broadcasting comrade. The laugh is but a phase, for the joke from Oliver soothed over the nightmarish tale Misses Morgan told:

"You know me, Oliver. I'm not one to lie over and play dead," she continues to address the business at hand. "But, having received several death threats against my family when I wouldn't keep quiet about the truth-that's when I knew things had gone from bad to worse."

"It was an entirely new atmosphere, really, when Prophet Media took over WNN. Then, of course, as we all know now-what with the new revelations by Rita Skeeter-that Quincy Nolpho was what some had thought he would be. And, he wasn't the typical Death Eater. He was a monster, and that's not a word I describe just anyone."

"You say in your book how it was suffocating, and then you had to flee," uttered Mister Cane, his hands folded in front of him on the table, offering a bit of gesture here and there.

"I'm the spunky American here on set," she gave a slight smile at the jest she was given off-air about being one of the few Americans working for British-Wizarding broadcasts. "As a former attorney, I looked into killer's faces all the time and nothing ever made me do what I did with this case. My baby boy is going on two, and when Quincy Nolpho all but took over the network it became his way or the highway as they say in America. And, for the dissenters, the gulag-"

"And, thus is why you left."

"And, thus is why I left," Kelly repeats with a nod. "I told my husband it wasn't safe here anymore, and before things got really bad we were back safe in Syracuse, New York with my folks."

"And, under great care from the Elves who reached out to you."

"They did. They knew the horror, and by God's grace I was kept safe. I knew I hadn't needed to worry about my son's safety even if somehow my attention was diverted for whatever reason elsewhere. I wasn't confined to a home, but we did keep vigilance after being silenced, and then persecuted and pursued by Quincy Nolpho's Death Eaters."

"They wouldn't dare let me say what I knew was true and tell my audience their nature, how they were Death Eaters-"

"But, you did write several pieces for The Quibbler during your stead."

"Yes, that's the only way I could get my voice out over here. The Quibbler fought the good fight, and stayed in what could be considered Hell even if the middle class magician didn't know. All this happened behind the scenes; though, the partaking of the media was fairly evident. Quincy's team began to systematically cherry-pick their messages."

"We all went underground. I'm not agile like Kelly Morgan in her youth and spirit, but I did try and get out on the radio. At least for a little bit. I'm becoming an old man, Morgan, you know."

Morgan laughed. "I can laugh now. That's all I have after all that has happened to my family and others. I'm not particularly happy, but now that Prophet Media will be a part of The Quibbler, and it's such a sigh of relief when we can finally breathe-"

"And, you're right," she jabbed playfully. "You are getting up there in age, Oliver. I remember when I first started here and you had me on every now then-you were what? Eighty going on one hundred?"

They share a laugh.

"I think that `Most Influential Person' award is getting to your head, Morgan."

Oliver Cane looks off to Camera B.

"Kelly Morgan's new book titled, Truth's Asphyxiation: How a Death Eater's Coup D'état Silenced the Media Overnight, will be in stores tomorrow. Misses Morgan will also be at Flourish and Blotts tomorrow morning for her book signing and a general greeting to her audience members."

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

Warm under Number Twelve's protective arms, revelation after revelation of what once was the state of the world Hermione lived in as I chose my options gave a chill down my spine. Having read a bulk of The Quibbler's Luna sent over, a stack of what hadn't been read overshadowed the growing stack on the coffee table in front of me of what I had. Still, gruesome, eye-opening details of Quincy Nolpho and Sarilda Lestrange's affairs brought not only a halt to my breath, but the thoughts of what could've happened to…

I put the issue of The Quibbler down, seeing the bright glow of the fire as well as the crackling of the logs. I watched her fast asleep in my arms. She had the Gryffindor quilt over us. One of the books she found in her library lay closed in her lap. With her eyes closed, and the epitome of innocence in her face, fragility, really, of all I could've lost in my own past decision-I kissed her forehead. The caress lingered against the warmth of her beautiful skin, and I closed my eyes, letting the scent of what I cherish fill me to the very core.

To admit I became a little emotional would be an understatement: to read about, and to see, what others went through…their sacrifice, the murders, the forced coercion led by the Death Eaters in full parade…

I was assured, more than ever, about our joint decision about declining the invitation to the Ministry to put Hermione back in the public's subversive eyes. I wanted to believe that, deep down inside I did what I was supposed to do; to, give it all up in seconds to give her a better life… But-this life shown in the newspaper was the best I could afford to her?

I kept my eyes closed and kept content against the softness of Hermione in my arms.

I didn't know how long I sat there like that, minutes, I could've been hours for all I knew until they opened to the unlocking sounds at the front door of all Number Twelve's magicks allowing one of the few inside. It had been Ginny's first day back at The Quibbler running, now, the chief sports consultant and editor, and I knew Hermione wished to be awake for all the juicy details. I could see the door opening quietly, and the form of Ginevra Granger step into the hallway and close the door behind in the same quietness, thinking I assumed that we were sound asleep.

A lion to his lioness, I continued to lovingly caress and nudge her away until she came to. I did a nod over behind us to the noise as she aroused awake. And, where her eyes went led her to stand and meet her sister with questions and laughter.

And, as I listened to them both on the sofa talk about today's events with all her smiling… I couldn't help but well up without them looking, wiping beneath my glasses when it was optimally prudent.

She truly was the meaning to my existence and I could never bear the thought of losing her from my life.

***

Department of Mysteries, Magic and Medical-Science Division

"It's our first case, Minister. We began making more cultures to combat what we feared, but it'll still take more time."

Both the high-level Ministry Healer and Draco Malfoy peered through a one-way window looking into a quarantined room. Aseptic from wall to wall, the Healers inside took special precautions when walking around the one bed and monitors hook up to the male Auror who looked to be in pain. He'd grimace, and the intensity hurt Draco enough to finally jerk away from the heartbreaking scene.

"Systematic breakdown at a cellular level. Epistaxis set in and we couldn't stop the bleeding, an indication that something internal was happening. This Auror in particular-"

"He has a name," Draco's glare made the Healer uncomfortable. She looked away and into the room. "Let's address him as if he's still human. He is one of ours, and he should be respected as such."

"My apologies, Minister. I'm conditioned to state generalities due to confidentiality," The Healer glanced back at her superior.

"There is no need for generalities with me."

"Jayden," continued the Healer, corrected. "Jayden began bleeding from his nose. When assessed he complained of pain, but it was bearable until roughly forty-eight hours ago. He thought it may be normal body aches, but it's worsened since. I can't say for sure what will happen, but we're trying our best to at least prolong his life for the first batch of cultures. Then we'll pray from there."

"Jayden was one of the last of the men we pulled from that Hellhole at the bottom of Azkaban…," Suddenly, with an open-hand, Draco hit the wall, making not only the Healer beside him jump but the others inside look towards the noise, too. "Son of a bitch!"

"And, we're doing everything we can?!"

The Healer nodded guardedly, her superior in a frenzy.

"Sir!" The Healer called out, waving her arms in panic as Draco went for the door and into the decontamination area. She met him inside, and with his hand on the latch leading into Jayden's room. "You can't go in there! It may not be safe!"

"And what? Who's to stop me?" Draco lashed out. "It's already in me, so to Hell with protocol! I'm not leaving a fellow man behind!"

Knowing she wasn't going to keep him from entering at the rate the atmosphere ascended, she at least pleaded with him to, "Take this!"

She handed him a mask to put on, and a gown, and gloves-to which all of the above were thrown to the floor.

Posthaste, Draco had the door open with a flick of his wrist. Even with a hobble no one could stop him, proceeding bedside. The group of Healers inside began their disagreement, but Malfoy vociferated enough to keep them quiet. They were with him, however, when he took up Jayden's hand. The Auror turned to him, and at once felt at ease with his leader at his side. He couldn't talk with the various tubes and lines he had on him and in him, but Draco felt Jayden's appreciation, the response when the Auror squeezed his hand.

"We're not going to leave your side Jayden, we're not brother," Draco looked into his kinsman's frightened, dilated eyes. The interim Minister fought with his own desperation, at times his voice shaking. "I'm making it a mission to get you and all the rest well. You're going to go back home to Cassidy and the kids, mate. You are."

Draco squeezed his hand, and Jayden squeezed right back.

"You hang in there and fight this-you fight this!" Draco shook Jayden's shoulder with his other hand, and in synchronization felt Jayden squeeze his fingers in return. "I vowed to never leave one of my men behind, and I never break a promise. You fight this, you hear me?!"

***

{Author's Note: It's perplexing to see an average of one to two thousand hits on every chapter and read only one to three reviews. It's also very disconcerting to see other authors on Portkey ask why our audience isn't giving us an incentive to produce more work via communication with us. I've long had a conversation trying to figure the reason behind the severe lack of communication myself, and at first I thought it was merely because I was doing my job or the end of the Harry Potter series. But four years out, it's gotten unacceptable, and I see other notable authors on Portkey having left within these past years because there's just nothing keeping us here. The only silver-lining came from reviews stating that Life and Times deserved more appreciation than it has gotten, and I know other stories have garnered the same respect. This was more uplifting than you know and has kept me fueled to finish this fiction.

If any authors read this I want to give you big kudos. Without our dedication there wouldn't be Portkey.org or Fanfiction.net, or any other sites like these. That being said, I've pulled the plug on my other stories and have debated if this will be the end of my authorship after Life and Times. I have come to the conclusion that there is no incentive for me to continue to provide more material after Life and Times ends and will place my time and effort elsewhere. I do want to give a big thank you to those few who have spoken with me and stayed with me over the years. As this was my first endeavor into fanfiction, I'll remember each and every one of you who supported my endeavor openly.}

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