Unofficial Portkey Archive

`$A`$A`$`$aHIHH$H$HH$H$H0H$H$HH@IHpQHP`IH@haIHQHP8HpQHH@8LX8HpQHH@8H@PaH|pQH%'QH?H?H 'QHA,QH*!.HCH$H$tH$H$@BH$bH$L$ID$8M H'QH O&QH5&QL+QaHC0H4H 4H5 .LdCH$H$tH$H$@BH$bH$H$@L$IE8IL-&QL5%QL=)QH%QH$L%QHv%QL z*QLc%QbH O*QHL$H (QLD%QH$L`0L-V8L5.L=V8L$L%.L .H4L :L84Ll$L-:H V8LN4i aH`nQHYnQ@ `HKnQH@XH=nQHH@8f@HH)nQH"nQ@B H nQ'H!J*bHH@8HHmQHH@8H@PaHmQHa$QH*?H;?^ HH <$QL $QL)QL&QL;$Qb'HJH ?H?L m4L:LU8L.HH #QLb&QL #Q/b 'HmJH ?H?LU8L .HH #QH5(QL(QL (Q0'aH4JH?H ?H5;L.L CH$H$tH$H$@BH$b@H$L$IF8 H#QH 'QL"QL "Q;bHC0HT8H D4Lm4L .HHkQH x"QLI"QL z"Q@'L~"QL'QaH5;JH ?H?L>4L ?H?L.LCH$H$tH$H$@BH$bH$L$IG8}H"QH !QH5!QL&QaHC0H4H 4H5C.LCH$H$tH$H$@BH$bH$HH$HB8H"QH !!QL %QL #!QbHC0H^S8H .LS8L .HH QH5%QP'aHJH~?H ~?H5 C0H$H$tH$H$@BH$bAHH$H$HA8IL !QL%QLQHQH QH QXbMD$0L R8Lp4L4H .H+.H 4`'aHiQHiQ@ `H iQH@XHhQHH@8f@H5HhQHhQ@BHhQHH@8HHW$QH$QH $QHZ4H;H CH$H$tH$H$@BH$bAH$ H$HC8IH,?*H=%?*L%"QL-wQLQHQHpH YQLjQL "QLQ'Mw0L%Q8L-4L.Ho|?H|?H 4L.L K;LAnd here I was, thinking you would support my lifestyle choices." He smiled.

"How can you joke around at a time like this?" A tear made its way from her eye to her cheek before she wiped it away, "This isn't the time for jokes."

"No such creature." He contended, "Besides, everyone knows that women like scars."

"Yeah? How have your other ones worked out for you?" Ron said darkly.

"I have the most famous scar ever, Ron." Harry grinned.

"We're your best mates, you're a damned fool if you can't be afraid in front of us."

"Ron, it's not like that." Harry tried to explain.

"Then what is it like, Harry?" Hermione cut in, "Because for the last few years you've been Mr. Quick Wit, and we're all wondering what happened to Harry Potter."

"She's got a point, mate." Ron added, "I love that you're a bundle of laughs, I do. But there are these other, darker changes. You insist on working alone, you hide things from us, you flat out lied to me before, twice."

"Look, this is how I cope now." Harry pulled away from Hermione's embrace, "I'm not going to be the kind of guy that falls apart because he's scared. I'm a Gryffindor."

"There's a difference between courage and foolishness." Ron answered, "Trust me, few people like a good joke more than me."

"Well, glad we could have this intervention, guys. Smashing job, really cracking." He pulled out his chair and had a seat, "But if it's all the same to you, I think I'll save my panic attack for when I get home."

"Okay." Hermione said first, "I'm sorry, you have to understand our point of view-"

He raised his hand and cut her off, "You're scared and worried for me, and it seems like my being so non-plussed by it all is dismissive of your feelings."

"Well, yeah." She looked dumbfounded.

"Well, rest assured then. The fact that you guys care so much about my well being means the world to me." He looked at each of them in turn, "They grow up so fast."

Ron and Hermione blinked at one another, turned to look once more at Harry, who had begun flipping his wand up and down and humming.

"I don't know if you're brilliant or totally bonkers." Ron began, "But at the very least you're consistent."

"Well, I have to get points for that." He spun his chair around to face his desk, "Now you two get some chairs and nestle up to Papa. We've got work to do."

Hermione and Ron grabbed chairs from around the office and sat on either side of Harry. Hermione could see over his shoulder that he was composing a list of some sort. She smiled to herself when she realized that he was using one of the pens she had bought for him. Ron, on the other hand, smiled to himself when he noticed that Harry had misspelled 'under aged'.

"Okay." Harry said, I've got different notes and time lines here." He moved some things around on the desk, "You know, somewhere."

"Where should we start?" Hermione stepped into the situation despite Harry's disorder.

"We need to try and get a hurry put on the Pensieve me and Ron ordered. I can't for the life of me remember that kid's name from Lavender's report."

"Harris Podwell." Ron said aloud. Harry stared at him, "What?"

"You've been holding on to that gem, why?"

"I didn't know you didn't know the kid's name." Ron shrugged, "How am I supposed to know that?"

"You read the file?" Harry asked.

"Well, they dropped it on my desk."

"What if it had been personal?" Hermione asked, making a mental note not to leave notes laying on Harry's desk in the future.

"I would've been utterly discrete, kept the taunting to an absolute minimum. Twice, three times at most... you know, per day."

"Okay, anyway. That's one lead." Harry forced them back on track, "Ron how did you do with digging up dirt on Slanton?"

"Wasn't much there that isn't public record."

"You're going to make me read the trade journal again, aren't you?" Harry winced.

"Fine." Ron flung his arms in the air, "He had a spot of minor fame in 1989 when he invented a cure for a particularly nasty memory jinx. He didn't become a wildly recognized name until he began publishing essays in trade journals. These essays were, as well as being documentation of exploration in the field of jinxes and charms affecting the mind, pretty openly negative about Gilderoy Lockhart. He often cited him as a charlatan with less than passable skills as a thespian."

"Ouch. I hate agreeing with people I don't like." Harry said.

"He drew unfavorable public attention in 1992 when he criticized Dumbledore for hiring Lockhart to teach. His exact words were along the lines of, 'clearly the man is suffering the mental maladies of old age. He is quite senile if he expects anyone to actually learn under the tutelage of that two-bit grifter."

"And now, like magic, I feel better." Harry commented, "Anything else?"

"Not really, he's a scholar, widower, one child." Ron shook his head, "He was one of the vocal minorities who were anti-Voldemort in the 70s and 80s. Slytherin house, who didn't see that coming?"

"What house was Abby in?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know. Why would I know? She was only barely in school with us." Ron shrugged.

"Okay, we also need to look into this Thames Strangler. There's a weird connection there, I need to understand it enough to work with it or dismiss it. For now I say we divide these tasks among the three of us. We're losing time."

"Okay." Hermione agreed, "Who gets what?"

"Well, no offense, Hermione, but Ron and I are the only field agents here."

"You're going to stick me with reading up on Slanton aren't you?"

"I am. Treat it like a homework assignment. Overkill the shit out of it." Harry suggested.

"Ron, I'm going to give you What's his face Podsomething to look into."

"Harris Podwell." Hermione corrected.

"That kid then."

"And you get the serial killer part why?" Ron complained.

"It's the only part directly related to the Malfoy case. I thought you didn't want to work the Malfoy case."

"That was before it got interesting."

"Shoot you for it?"

"Deal."

The boys engaged in a bitterly fought three rounds of rock paper scissors, of which Harry emerged the victor.

"Next time it'll be thumb war." Ron whined.

"Okay, team Potter-"

"We are not going to be team Potter." Hermione interjected.

"Why not?" Harry asked, "It has a nice ring to it."

"How about, since Ron lost the fun case we let him name our team?" She suggested..

"Oh alright, Mother." Harry sat back in his chair, "What's it going to be, Ron?"

Making plans to meet up at start of shift the next morning the trio, now called Ron's Awesome Squad, departed the Ministry for their safe houses.

* * *

Love is defined by science as the right balance of a specific number of chemicals in the brain for a sustained period of time. Among the things listed that are believed to cause this mixture are, symmetrical anatomy, olfactory senses, and the right factors of location, age, and eye color. Under this clinical examination love is believed to be a psychological byproduct of the natural human instinct to propagate the species.

It is defined in many different ways by philosophy, but can be summarized thusly; Love is both passion and pain; both pleasure and heartache; both finite and infinite; both joy and disappointment, and all in equal parts. It is held among the topmost reasons for one's being born, and is believed to be chief among them by many people. Love is, as defined by philosophy, the touch of God in the lives of man.

Furthermore it is defined as, "An intense feeling of deep affection" by The Oxford English dictionary.

It is also defined as, "A battlefield" by Pat Benatar.

It was with these definitions, with the possible exception of Pat Benatar, that Harry was trying to extrapolate an idea of what love meant to him. He was sitting on his bed, the sound of running water coming from behind the closed door of the bathroom, where Hermione was struggling not to die of hypothermia under the water which refused to run at any temperature other than Arctic. Using the water to mask the sound of himself, he was trying to find the correct combination of words to change his world.

"Hermione," He began exactly as he had the last dozen times, "Love is this thing that glows on the inside, sort of like a night light. Love is a night light, you know? Rubbish." He took a breath, "Hermione, love is..." He smiled to himself, "it's mad. Totally mental, is what it is. It can make the most rational of people do the most idiotic things and, worse over, be proud they did them. It's like being caught on a roller coaster that won't switch off. It's so much fun, in one sense you're so glad it won't end. After awhile though it just leaves you bored, or making sick somewhere your friends won't laugh at you for it."

Harry shook his head, "That's not quite right, either. Why is this so hard?"

"It's not meant to be." He heard over the shower still running, "I can totally hear you by the way."

"Wonderful."

"I liked the night light bit. It was going somewhere, I think."

"Can we not talk while you're standing in there naked?"

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"Not at all, I always ask that people stop doing things I consider awesome. No, sir. I couldn't possibly accept yet another paid year of vacation time on your island made of cheesecake." He said dryly.

"Be that as it may, we're flat mates now. You're going to have to get used to the occasional uncomfortable moment."

"We're only flat mates until I solve this case." He pointed out.

"Oh? Think you'll solve it tonight?"

"No." He confessed.

"Well then, will you order something in for dinner, flat mate?"

"Yeah. What do you want?"

"Hold on."

"Why?" He asked, then he heard the water stop.

Emerging from the bathroom with wet hair and wrapped in a bath towel Hermione sat on her bed. She opened the drawer between them, "I grabbed a bunch of carry out menus on the way home tonight. I like to have options. I'm trying to watch my figure."

"I think I do more than enough watching your figure for the both of us."

"Aren't we bold tonight." She blushed.

"You're only wearing a towel. My mind has just put a down payment on a lovely gutter property."

"I see. Turn your back, then." She began to slowly open the towel, "Harry. Turn around."

"Right. I was just getting to that."

"Yeah, I'll bet."

Harry turned around, he could hear the sounds of her changing behind him. A very large part of his brain noted that she was naked in the same room as him, "So." He said to distract himself, "What's got you worried about your weight?"

"Is being a woman not enough?"

"No, sure. I guess. I think you look fine as you are."

"You'll forgive a girl if she shoots for something a little higher than 'fine', won't you?"

"Fine was the wrong word." He answered.

"What word were--hold on." He heard her pull an article of clothing over her head, "What word were you looking for?"

"Something in the family of fantastic."

"Well, that's sweet of you. You can turn around again, I'm dressed." Harry swiveled around to face her. She was wearing sweat pants and a tee shirt, Harry was disappointed. She continued, "I'm looking for something in the family of ravishing. Thus the dieting."

"I think you're ravishing." He said softly.

She pulled her shirt up to reveal her stomach. She gathered what little spare tire she possessed from her belly and shook it in her hands, "You don't see this kind of thing on ravishing."

"I would beg to disagree." He moved a pillow over his lap.

"Did you do that for comic effect, or are you seriously getting turned on by my gross stomach fat?"

"I like a little meat on my women."

"Be that as it may," She put her shirt down, though the pillow on his lap remained, "Thin is in."

"Count me out." He waved his hand dismissively.

"Like you have room to talk. You're fit."

"I have my drawbacks."

"Do you now?" She raised an eyebrow, "Off with the shirt. Let's evaluate these drawbacks."

"Hermione, I don't think that's a great idea."

"I'm not really giving you an option."

"Fine, but you asked for it."

Harry stood up and removed his shirt. He was fit, muscles defined, but not in a way that left his skin leathery looking. However, the drawback that he mentioned stood out like a sore thumb. Hermione raised her hands to her face.

"Oh my god, Harry. What happened?"

It began less than an inch under his right nipple and stretched to where his hip bone protruded slightly on his left side. The scar looked to be a burn. It was made up of dozens of light, crisscrossing, white lines. At its largest point it was about the length of her hand wide. Upon closer examination she noticed that this was just the most prominent scar. He had other, albeit quite smaller, ones scattered around his chest like a Pollock painting.

"I was hit by an out of control incendio." He said, "I had only been an Auror for a few months." He said, "It hurt like hell, but that's the life we lead."

"I've... I never knew."

"I'm sure Ron has his share of scars." He shrugged and reached for his shirt.

Hermione crossed the room and put her hand to Harry's chest, over his scar, "Wait."

"What?"

"Don't put it on yet, your shirt."

"Uhm... I feel a little exposed." He put his fingers over his nipples, "There, that's better."

"Harry, it's a part of you." She bent down and placed her lips delicately on his scar, "I love every part of you."

"Well..." He blinked, "No, never mind. I'm actually pretty speechless."

"You don't care that I'm not some super thin supermodel."

"I'd actually prefer you not be."

"Well, I like mine a little bit battle-scarred."

She looked up at him, her eyes great brown saucer plates. His skin felt like it had gotten too tight. He swallowed hard, but found no saliva to push his heart back into his chest. This is it. He thought, we're having a moment.

He opened his mouth, put his pointer finger in the air, and with a voice that rang with rehearsal he said, "Hermione, love is the ability to see the faults of another person as less of a-"

He had meant to finish his sentence, he had actually been pretty proud of where it was going. But she had closed her eyes, pushed up on her tip-toes, and kissed him. Which, all things considered, was the kind of interruption that he didn't mind.

When their lips parted, partially because he couldn't think of anything else to say, he cracked wise, "If you like that, I've got this great scar on my knee. I didn't get it fighting a bear or anything cool. Actually, I just cracked it off the filing cabinet last spring. Don't ever let anyone tell you that a filing cabinet can't be dangerous."

"Did you now?"

"Oh yeah. It's sort of shaped like Wales."

"Harry?"

"Yes, that's me."

"I don't care." She put her hands around the back of his neck and pulled his face to her own for another kiss. When they parted again he looked down at her, smiled and dropped his tee shirt.

"Yeah, It's a stupid scar anyway." He kissed her back.

* * *

An hour later the two had found themselves sleeping in the same bed. Hermione slept peacefully, nestled into him. They had not done anything more than kiss, but to her it had been the moment that changed everything. She intended to speak with him in the morning, to have a proper relationship talk. Harry, on the other hand, was unable to sleep. He was staring at the back of her head, trying to imagine a way that he could have done a better job of screwing up.

She had told him that she loved him, she hadn't used those exact words, but it was what she had said. He wasn't ready for love. What he had been trying to tell her before the snogging had started was that love was something that grew between two people and, if they could just take the relationship slowly, he believed that what would grow between them would be the most remarkable kind of love there is. He knew that they could actually foster true love between the two of them. He had instead bungled his way into his normal Harry Potter relationship.

His relationships were hot, heavy, and sudden. They always had been. The problem with that, no matter what any one might think, is that that kind of love burns itself out. Now he had little hope of being anything other than a rebound. The next guy (what was his name again?) she saw after Ron. What he was now building between the two of them, a fate he had wanted to avoid, was the couple version of a cover band. It sounded great, it preformed well, but it's a pale shade of the original.

Harry blinked. It was an odd kind of blink, not that he had special blinking powers. His blinks could not leap tall building or out pace trains. His blinks could fight. They could fight with the best of them. He had prize fighter eyelids. What they were, at that moment, failing to fight back were tears. With everything else, what was ahead of him the next day, and some crazed cult out to kill him, Harry was overwhelmed. He swore softly through his tears.

* * *

"Today's the day, mate." Ron said solemnly, "How are you feeling?"

"The day?"

"Yeah. After work today, mate."

"Merlin, right. The whipping."

Harry shook his head. He had slept next to Ron's recently ex-girlfriend the night before. This was a fact that Ron didn't know. It seemed that the more Harry let his best friend in on the case, the more he kept quiet about what was building between him and Hermione.

"Yeah." Ron moved his head back and raised his eyebrows with concern, "Are you alright, Harry?"

"Yeah. I'm great. Just preoccupied."

"Wow. Must be a big deal, makes a man forget that he's going to be publicly tortured."

"It is. It's the biggest thing ever."

"The case? You got a hot lead?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"What's up?"

"It's personal."

"Okay. Touchy." Ron raised his hands in the universal symbol of defeat, "Where's Hermione?"

"Why?" Harry asked, much too quickly.

"We're supposed to meet. Remember? To tell each other how we're going to go bout looking into our leads."

"Right. Sorry."

"You need a minute? Compose yourself?"

"Yeah. I could do." He confessed.

"Alright. You sit at your desk, breathe in the disorganized smell of it. I'll be back in a bit."

"Fair. Thanks, mate."

Harry sat back in his chair, his mind absently searching for some kind of order in what he had before him. His case was going nowhere fast. He had dead-end leads, suspicions he couldn't make pan out, and worst of all he was grounded by his boss. He was all of a sudden too high profile to hit the streets and get some real investigation under his belt. He didn't know how much longer he could even hang on to the case before he had to turn it over to another Auror. He had similar concerns for his sanity, but that was a battle for another day.

He took six long steadying breaths. He stared down at the wasteland of his desk. He hated to admit it, but Ron had been right. He found the chaos comforting. Everything else in his life was much more organized. His flat was neat, if not dusty, his bank vault was tidy, his glasses clean. The things that he loved, the few things in his life he longed for, were all out of order. His relationship, if that's what it was, with Hermione was so messed up he often felt like screaming, but he lived for it. His best friend was complicated, as he was both his greatest ally and his sole competition, yet he could ask for no one better to fill the spot. And of course, his desk. He loved his desk.

Harry wrote down a quick letter, folded it up into an airplane and sent it off. He waited a few minutes for Ron to come back over with a chair and sit at his desk, holding the airplane he had just sent.

"I thought you didn't trust these." Ron put the letter down on Harry's desk.

"I trust you."

"I see." Ron sat back in his desk, "This is your version of trust? I have to fight just to be included in this case."

"Well." Harry shrugged.

"Yeah. I'll take what I can get."

"Glad to hear it."

"You feel better?"

"I don't feel worse."

"Good enough." Ron put his feet up on Harry's desk, "So... How do you want to get around the whole we're not allowed to leave the office thing?"

"I honestly hadn't thought of it."

"You could always fire off another Dark Mark." Ron smiled.

"I'll get right on that." Harry put his feet up as well, "You make any progress last night?"

"Harris Podwell is fifteen." Ron removed a notebook from his jacket, "He's, let's see, he's a Hufflepuff, of all things. He lives out in Leeds with his family. Mother and Father, pure bloodline, no surprises there. Not much else. He's on his house Quidditch team."

"Sounds a likely suspect, apart from the Hufflepuff thing."

"He out flew the living hell out of you."

"He had a faster broom."

"Excuses, old man." Ron winked.

"It would be great if we could just go see him."

"There is a slight drawback." Ron winced.

"Yeah?"

"He'll have started school by the time we're able to leave this office."

"Shit."

"So, you make any progress?"

"Nope. I had a weird night."

Ron removed his feet from the desk, kicked back his chair and let his hands fall onto Harry shoulders. More impressively, he did it all in one fluid movement, "Did they attack you again?"

"No, nothing like that. Just... Uncomfortable safe house."

"Yeah, I hear that." Ron eased back into his chair, "I'm still with Ginny and the Parents. Joy. Joy."

"Sorry, mate." Harry smiled, "Could be worse. You could be getting whipped later today."

"Fair point." Ron shrugged, "So, are you okay with all that? You want to talk or something?"

"I'm not sure." Harry looked thoughtful, "You happen to know a way to make it so I won't feel it?"

"No. There'll be wards in place for that."

"Of course there will." Harry rolled his eyes, "We need to get some dirt on Slanton. If for nothing but payback."

"That's Hermione's job. Guess we'll have to see if she got anywhere."

"Yeah. Guess so." Harry said guiltily.

"Until then, what do you want to do?"

"We could try to weasel information out of Abby about that mystery bulletin board." He suggested.

"I don't think I'm going to have any luck there."

"Damn."

"Whoa." Ron held his hands up to indicate that his thought was unfinished, "I said I would have no luck. She wants you bad, Harry. You've got an outside shot."

"What?"

"Ask her out. You can totally get that information out of her. Over dinner, or on your back."

"Lovely." Harry said sarcastically.

"Look, mate. It's a fair point."

"What's a fair point?" Hermione had come up behind them with her office chair, planted herself next to Harry as casually as she could manage, "I hope this is polite conversation."

"It's not." Harry assured her.

"He's being a wimp." Ron said matter-of-factly, "A big, scared wimp."

"About what?" Her eyebrow went up.

"Ron wants me to ask out Abby to drill her for information."

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|91.207.5.139|prepared ipcc http://community.energy-speakers.com/members/Buy-Viagra-_2D00_-Online-Pharmacy.aspx||1272356395|wattsdansb|wattsdansb@spu.;What are you going to do?" She asked.

"Well, I can't ask her out."

"You could try just asking." She smiled half-heartedly.

"No, Ron's got the right idea about one thing." Harry shook his head, "If she lets her guard down she might actually tell me the truth."

"Oh Harry." Hermione whispered, "I don't think I could handle that. I'm not strong enough to handle that."

"I know. Yesterday I was living through 'Jesse's Girl' and today I'm in the middle of 'Long cool Woman', this is too much."

"Where did you ever learn about a Rick Springfield song?" She moved one hand to his desk and the other to her hip.

"Where did you?"

"Fair point." She shrugged

"You know what I miss about being a muggle?"

"You miss something? Is it the smell of the cupboard?"

"It was the simplicity." He said with a smile, "I lived in a room after awhile, you know."

"I know, but the cupboard is iconic." She waved her hand, "All of your biographers spend inordinate amounts of time explaining how horrid it was for you."

"You read my biographies?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Shut up. I didn't say that." She blushed.

"You're blushing. That looks like guilt to me, of course what do I know. I'm just a professional investigator."

"What was simple about being a muggle?" She tried to change topics.

"I'll tell you, I absolutely will. Once you admit to reading my biographies like an obsessed stalker."

"Fine. I may have thumbed through a couple of them, but it wasn't like that. I was just curious."

"About what?" He almost laughed, "I have green eyes, you could've just asked."

"You're loving this too much."

"Everyone likes to know that pretty girls are thinking about them."

"You're incredible." She shook her head.

"Don't forget, adorable. That's my favorite."

"So, what do you mean by simple?"

Harry smiled and leaned back in his chair, "I did what I was told, and if someone was out to get me I knew who it was. Simple."

"We had frighteningly different childhoods."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. I have a wonderful family. I was a bit ostracized in school, I was rather bookish. But, much more happy then yours at least."

"You don't have to get the idea that my childhood was totally miserable." He came back to face her, "It just didn't become amazing until I met you."

"Are you..." She blushed, "Was that meant as a compliment?"

"I... Yes. Did I do it badly?"

"No, you didn't." She smiled the kind of smile that made Harry's heart beat faster, "I just... You're wonderful. That's why I don't want you to ask out Abby. Call it selfish, but I only want you to be this way for me. Even if you're just pretending with her."

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