I apologize for the original formatting-something got screwed up. Some things were changed to fit the plot of the story better since I'm finally getting around to figuring out where this story should be going.
The story will probably be in rewrite mode for a long time, or, at least, until the one day I reread my work and it doesn't sound funky.
"What the-" Harry cried. "Where did I put my-"
As he heard the rustle of his piles of painstakingly tabulated and organized and perfectly 90-degree-angled papers fall off the desk, Tom growled under his breath. He dropped his leaking pen and rubbed his eyes in a tired and distinctly un-Tom-like way.
His research... He needed to invest in one of those automatic stapling printers. And file cabinets. Lots and lots of heavy, stable filing cabinets.
"Did I hear something fall over?" Tom called, innocently.
Harry paid him no heed and instead, bustled around the cramped office space, knocking over a couple more sheets of paper. "Give me a second," Harry replied, distracted. "I need to-where did I put my clipboard? You know, the one with the 'Neville Longbottom' sheet on it?"
Absentmindedly, Tom stroked the little penknife kept in his pocket. Then he removed his hand and sighed. It was too early in the morning for murder.
"Hermione! Hermione! Did you see-"
Hidden behind a massive monitor was Hermione Granger, his colleague and one of the members working on their organization's little side project. Unfortunately, she occupied the other half of his office but, fortunately, was rather agreeable when tired. Her favorite word was "ethics" and she was an intelligent idiot, although he was working on her rigid moral compunctions. Also, he had reason to believe that she did not own a hairbrush.
"You left it in the psychiatric ward, Harry. Remember, near Mrs. Weasley?"
Harry blushed a little, then, he brightened up at the prospect of seeing the girl. Tom sneered into his elbow as he faked a cough.
Harry James Potter was a snot-nosed little child who never had a single shred of respectability and responsibility. How Potter had impressed Dumbledore, their advisor, at his interview Tom would never know, but the old goat had always been senile. Unfortunately, Tom had to endure Doctor Potter twice a day because Granger was his friend.
"Gee, thanks Hermione, I'll get the prescription forms back to you in a bit. Uh, when do you need those filled out?"
Granger mirrored Harry's smile. "I'll need them done by 5:00. Tell me if his brother shows-"
Tom ignored the rest. He had two unstable experiments that needed to be check every half hour and a paper due in two weeks. He muttered a bit and returned to his papers.
...
Harry couldn't keep the grin off his face as he walked down the hall to Room 207, Ginny's ward. Ginny was the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful creature he had ever had the grace to set his eyes upon. And he couldn't even pay her enough compliments because she was just simply so modest. He turned at the door. The room, facing east, was aglow with brightness. Ginny, her hair flaming, sat in a pool of light.
Harry, half-blinded, forgot how to work his mouth for a couple seconds.
"G-Ginny, honey, how are you feeling today? You look...stunning."
The tips of her lips quirked up and her eyes crinkled at the edges. "It's nice to see you too, Harry, darling. But I've told you, I'm Luna. Luna Lovegood."
Harry laughed despite himself. "I'll play your game today, Luna. What will it be tomorrow? Susan? Hannah? Cho? Or maybe even Ginny?"
Ginny's eyes glittered. "I don't know, but the nargles sense danger."
Harry sat beside Ginny and wrapped an arm around her. "Dangerous, huh?" he murmured, gazing at her. Ginny crossed her legs and smiled beatifically. "Doctor Harry, what do you prescribe for me today?"
He snickered. "Stone from goat's stomach mixed with chopped slugs to sharpen the mind." Ginny laughed at that, a clear melodious sound. "Oh, silly, you've got the ingredients wrong!"
They smiled at each other, and discreetly, a hand slipped under cloth. Harry's smile curved into a smirk.
...
Hermione blew some loose strands of hair from her face as she scrolled through the hospital's records. Another tab was opened to a fake temporary email, and a third was a search for ethics of invasive nanotechnology.
Idly, she wondered why she had ever decided to work here.
As a postdoc mildly famous in the research community, she had been accepted to work at DG General Hospital, widely considered the best of the best. When she had been sent to the famously secretive ("unspeakable" her old dorm mates had called it) and highly advanced nanotechnology department of DGGH, everything in her life had seemed complete.
Wistfully, she recalled the old hopes of collaborating with like-minded peers and changing the world for better, but now...
It was best not to dwell on some things, Dumbledore had once said. What one person had thought was for the best was not necessarily what everyone thought. And what everybody thought was mis-informed half the time because nobody bothers to dwell on it for too long.
There definitely reeked of gobbledygook. Irritably, she combed a hand through her hair.
She had to admit that Tom was right; Dumbledore had an almost annoyingly unshakable faith in the progress of human success. Tom might have also been right when he said that "good" and "bad" were just human constructs, and that the only truly necessary thing for "goodness" was to keep people happy for the longest time possible using whatever means possible.
Hermione copied the contents of the records onto the end of her email. Usually, she hated breaking rules. She supposed she'd have to blame this on Tom's influence. Even though, technically, what she was doing was considered "good." In a twisted kind of way.
Because if people know what was going on here behind closed doors, earlier, then, well...perhaps it would make fewer people unhappy in the long run.
As her eyes scanned over her email one last time, her clicker hovered over the send button. Hopefully, she'd be in Florida by Friday, and no one would be the wiser.
Click.