A/N: I felt like uploading another chapter. The previous one may have been slightly disappointing…or confusing…or creepy…or—ARRGH!!! ENOUGH! Whoever said "I am my own worst critic" must have been a sage…

P.S. This story takes place in world without Deathly Hallows and after Half-Blood Prince. Kinda would have been good to know…

Disclaimer: *a Harry-like sigh* If only, if only, the woodpecker cries… as if I'd be a rotten, good-for-nothing, plot stealing author! The nerve of some people…

Chapter One: Ludicrous (A/N: NOT as in music!)

*Three Years Later…*

Harry James Potter swept through the corridors of St. Mungo's intent upon his mission to contact a certain special Healer. Billowing robes swirled around his still-thin figure, just a bit too short for his long and lanky frame. Harry had always argued with his wife over these 'trivial' matters, claiming that a person in authority need only command authority, not wear it. Needless to say it fell on deaf ears.

The Great War had aged Harry, for even the aftermath was a battle to be fought. Helpless survivors, turncoats, spies, anarchists, media damage control in the Muggle world…the list was endless. Even now the harried Auror's mission was that of post-war business. Harry gave an internal sigh while dragging his right hand through his jet-black, shaggy mane.

His features had lately taken on a slightly haggard appearance, though the weariness was only apparent to those who truly knew him. The raven-haired man gave another internal sigh as he glanced at his pocket watch and realized it was already the start of a new day. The pocket watch had been a birthday gift from his wife—a woman whom was now probably thoroughly cranky and impatient; she tended to have insomnia when he wasn't there sleeping next to her, or so she so sweetly proclaimed.

Harry now rubbed at his sleep-deprived eyes with his free right hand, as his left arm was burdened with a perilous stack of paperwork. He had long since dispensed of his spectacles in exchange for what his close friend had insisted was clearly much more practical. Harry chuckled to himself, a smile breaking past the storm clouds of exhaustion as he remembered the "most obvious decision ever".

Really, he thought to himself while shaking his head. Whoever thinks of Muggle laser eye surgery as practical?

It had, of course, been his ultimate decision. Harry had come to find out about Severus Snape's self-sacrifice first-hand. And though he had never really honored his former professor's methods as a double-agent, Harry felt that by removing the somewhat high maintenance spectacles it would give everyone a better view of his eyes—his mother's eyes. Now he held himself with pride, causing those who spoke to him to draw their attentions not to his scar, but to the searing gaze of Lily Potter's—his—emerald green orbs. After stating his reasons, Harry's wife simply nodded and told him he looked dashing. And somewhat electrocuted.

Harry smiled to himself again, wishing now more than ever to be near her, instead of traversing the halls of St. Mungo's, intent on delivering what was shaping up to be bad news. After speaking to several healers in the proximity, the weary Auror strode with more purpose through certain hallways, up some stairs, and finally toward the eleventh floor. He was fortunate. His target stood not but a few doors down, involved in some deep discussion with several other wizards.

She was a stunning, self-assured woman of wavy, close-cropped dark brown hair. She was the only one among the group of individuals who held real compassion in her warm chocolate eyes. But sharpness was present as well, a distinctive glint that never completely faded, not after having seen a huge chunk of her generation annihilated before her eyes. A bold and striking balance, this woman managed on a daily basis; just enough cushion to soften the fall. For many a man had sought her out as a challenge, lulled into a false sense of security by the curve of her shape and the empathy she felt for her patients.

Hermione Jane Granger was not to be toyed with.

"Hermione!" Harry called out once he saw the other wizards beginning to depart. Hermione's face broke out into a smile as she spotted her close friend making his way down the hall.

"Harry! But to what do I owe this pleasure?" the young Healer grinned mischievously. "Surely you had not thought to visit me simply out of want of company?"

Harry failed in concealing his abashed look. "I'm sorry Mione. I know I've got no real excuse." He sighed. "It's for work. A real basket-case, this one."

"I'm starting to wonder if the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic really has it all together…" Hermione trailed off, still teasing.

Harry was trying his best to look sheepish and humble. "Mione, you know I wouldn't come to you if the situation wasn't completely and utterly hopeless." He held her eyes with emerald sincerity. "You're really my last hope—"

"Enough," Hermione said, cutting him off. She looked up at him, the smile bestowed with genuine warmth. "I know. But you should come to me first once in a while." The formidable witch arched an eyebrow. "I'm starting to feel like a last ditch effort here. But before we start discussing business—how've you been, Harry? It feels like I've been living on the other side of the world for all the catching up I've managed to do with my closest friends. How's Ginny? She's due to see me at the end the end of the week, isn't she?"

Harry grinned back, happy to have been let off so easy but then gave another tired sigh as he ran his fingers through his thick, black mane. He really was going to start losing his hair. "I've been just swamped with work, Hermione. All these remnants of Voldemort's influence…where could they all be coming from? And lately, there seems to be some sort of crescendo to the madness. The mother lode is what I'm actually here to talk to you about—but as for Ginny…well, let's just say those mood swings mirror the intensity of her hair…"

Hermione laughed. "Quite the poet, are you?"

Harry gave a tight grin. "Promise you won't tell? She'd start hexing me if she found out that I'd given less than perfect reports of her condition—"

"My lips are sealed, Harry. And as far as I'm concerned you gave me a perfectly normal report. I think you'd be cranky too if your waistline slowly but inevitably began to disappear. But getting back to what you were saying before: what's this fiasco that's got you so worked up, hmm? Seeing as you're here it's got something to do with my area of expertise…"

"What isn't your area of expertise, Mione?" Harry asked with mock exasperation.

Hermione sniffed. "I'm currently trying to learn kickboxing, I'll have you know."

"From a book," Harry deadpanned.

"Books contain vast and infinite stores of knowledge!"

Harry was shaking his head. "You need to get out more, Hermione. You've become like a hermit. That's why I'm hesitant to even tell you about this guy, seeing as how you're all 'committed to your patients' and all. You get far too attached, like it's your personal mission to see them well and whole again—"

"It is," Hermione quickly cut in. "And this time it's a man?" Her eyes brightened considerably. A new case, a new challenge, another way to make things right…

Harry had caught the look and proceeded to put his free right hand on Hermione's left shoulder as if to still her. He looked her gravely in the eyes. "Take it from someone who's had it beaten into their brain time and again—you can't save everyone, Hermione." His emerald eyes softened their intensity. "We've all had to cope with some loss or another."

"This isn't about loss and this isn't about coping. It's about fixing. Now will you please enlighten me of this case before I go crazy and hex someone?"

Harry sighed once more and then promptly caved. "It's a man, yes. What's left of him, that is." He handed her a file of papers from the top of the precarious stack he had clutched in his left arm. Hermione glanced briefly through them as Harry continued.

"Apparently he's been lurking the countryside for years, causing disturbances around Muggle neighborhoods, 'haunting' forests, the like. What's disturbing is that we've just now found him." Harry fixed Hermione with a serious look. "Hermione, he's—he's a proper wreck. Completely broken—mind, body, and now we're sure of his spirit. I've—in all the years I've come across Voldemort's handiwork I've never seen anything like this. Hermione," Harry paused, as if to gather strength. "Hermione, we think he knows something big, something that we've been missing all this time, overlooking, ignoring, whatever."

Hermione was enraptured by Harry's report. She'd never seen him react like this before. "Harry?" she said gently, putting a hand on his limp arm.

Harry's voice was somewhat rough. "Hermione, when I looked at him it was like I was looking at cruelty incarnate."

The glint in the young healer's eyes was fully visible now. "Well," she spoke calmly, the epitome of resolution. "Well, I guess I'll just have to get right on that. Is he lucid? No, I'm guessing. I'll be working on both the inside and the outside of him it seems…"

"Mione," Harry spoke again, grave. "This bloke…he's no joke. He's dangerous."

"You've apprehended his wand, haven't you? Then there's no problem. Bring him in—"

"Mione. He didn't have a wand on him."

Hermione froze. "No—no wand?"

"None." Harry swallowed. "And I don't think he needs one."

A/N: I am no good at these cliffhangers at all. Please review! I promise the story'll get more intense! Honest!

Thank you, Lady Arianne Of Ambers Valley, for my first review! I'll keep those chapters coming…