Thanks as ever to Maggie for the beta-work. I hope it's worth the wait! I'm going to get the other chapters up as soon as I can, but real life is busy and full of many projects requiring my attention, so I'm not going to commit to a specific time frame. I AM working on it, though, I promise!

Without further ado, please enjoy!

Honoria Ridgeton had a problem and his name was Al Potter. He had plagued her for years, which was particularly infuriating given that she had only officially met him seven days ago.

For most of her life, Honoria had been engaged to Scorpius Malfoy, who had been best friends with Al Potter since the age of eleven. The more time Honoria spent with Scorpius, the more she heard about Al, and the more obvious it had become that Al Potter wanted nothing to do with her.

"Let me guess," she'd said more than once in the two years leading up to her planned Bonding ceremony with Scorpius. "Al can't make it?"

This phrase was usually uttered when Scorpius met her somewhere in London for drinks or dinner or some sort of outing alone when he was supposed to meet her with his mysterious best friend in tow. The question was nearly always greeted with a sheepish look and some excuse like, "He's just swamped at work right now," or "A family obligation came up," or "He came down with a sudden headache."

When Scorpius had used that last one, Honoria had laughed with a dry humor. "Like a Victorian lady at bedtime?" she'd quipped, to the telltale reddening of Scorpius's ears. "If he doesn't want to meet me, he can just say so," she'd said then, trying to act as though she didn't care one way or the other — which wasn't even close to being true. Al Potter hadn't even met her! What reason could he possibly have for so steadfastly avoiding an introduction? If she was going to marry Scorpius, which she'd committed to doing and fully intended to follow through on, she wanted to at least be on speaking terms with his best friend.

Her comment had finally earned something close to truth from Scorpius. "It's . . . a complicated situation," he'd said quietly, and Honoria had spent quite a bit of time honestly wondering if Al Potter might not be in love with Scorpius himself. After all, he and Scorpius were obviously close, and Scorpius had never mentioned a girlfriend in connection with Al . . . But if that were true and Scorpius were aware of it (as he obviously was), would he be so comfortable with the complicated situation? She had no idea, and Scorpius made it pretty clear that it wasn't a subject he was interested in discussing. Honoria did her best to respect that.

It's also possible he's just one of those guys who doesn't want his friendship to change with the insertion of a committed partner, she eventually reasoned. Either way, his dislike of me clearly has very little to do with me personally – how could it? So it really doesn't matter in the slightest.

She'd tried to move forward and not let Al Potter bother her, but that had been easier said than done. And that had all been before she'd even set eyes on him. It was slightly irksome to her that, like many of the females of her generation, she had an inescapable fixation with Albus Potter. But at least, she tried to reason, hers had nothing to do with his father. No, it was the man himself driving her insane. That he was Harry Potter's son was, in her case, purely incidental.

And then she'd realized she couldn't marry Scorpius, conspired with him to call off their wedding, and learned that there was a girl he'd been in love with for years but hadn't allowed himself to be with because of the promises he'd made Honoria. And when she'd learned that the girl in question was Rose Weasley, cousin to one Al Potter, well. A lot had suddenly made sense.

"You might have told me that Al didn't want to meet me because he thought I had usurped his cousin's rightful place at your side," she'd scolded Scorpius at lunch with the happy couple the day after their engagement had been announced. Scorpius had rewarded her with that sheepish look again. Rose had rolled her eyes.

"Are you trying to tell me that Al honestly refused to meet Honoria for three years?" she'd demanded of her fiancé. "Merlin, he would, that stubborn arse." The words had been spoken with a certain amount of affection.

"That loyal to you?" Honoria had asked her.

"That irritatingly old-fashionedly romantic," Rose had corrected. "Honestly, as practical-minded as he is about everything else, my cousin is remarkably . . . I don't even know what to call it."

"Stubborn about clinging to the childlike belief that true love should be fought and held out for above all else?" Scorpius had supplied, and Rose had nodded at once.

"Yes. That. Excellently put."

"I've had a while to compose the wording."

Honoria had nodded and tried to laugh in exasperation at Al with them, but the truth was, what they had said had resonated with her in a very real way. Wasn't that, after all, why she had called off the wedding in the first place? I want love, she'd told Scorpius. I want to lose my head and do crazy things, all in the name of some guy I know I can't live without. I want to find the person I'm supposed to be with.

So Al Potter's position? It made perfect sense to her.

Rose and Scorpius had been married a week ago. They'd invited Honoria, but quietly. Honoria had gone, keeping to the back of the chapel, sticking to the edges of the crowd at the reception, but as Scorpius and Rose had shared their first dance as husband and wife, she had seen Al Potter standing by himself at the edge of the dance floor, and she hadn't been able to resist. She'd been trying to meet this man since she was seventeen years old, and she hadn't known if she'd ever get another chance. So she'd gone up and started talking.

A week later, she still couldn't quite believe the way she'd spoken to him. She must have sounded insane. She'd tried to be mysterious and alluring, tried to keep him off guard the way he had with her for years, albeit unintentionally. But she was the one walking away off balance. She'd just wanted to leave an impression, but somehow, he'd had gotten caught firmly under her skin, and she'd left the party after sharing a single dance with him because otherwise . . . well, she wasn't sure what she might have done.

A week later, she was still fixating on Al Potter. She just kept thinking about their conversation at the wedding, the things she had said to him, what she had told him she wanted.

I want, so badly, to experience the craziness of love. To lose my mind and my reason and my senses. To speak once with a young man, and have him possess my thoughts and my daydreams for days afterward.

Her face went red and hot as soon as she remembered the way he'd looked at her that night, like she was a puzzle or a mystery, like he wanted nothing more than to make sense of her. And oh, the way her dreaming and daydreaming mind filled in the blanks about how that might happen . . .

"Honoria?"

She jumped at the sound of her name, her quill splattering ink across her data sheet. Cursing, she pulled out her wand and siphoned the ink off the page. "Sorry," she said at once. Her friend and coworker Saoirse slid in across from her at the worktable.

"Honey, where was your head?" Saoirse said, sounding a bit concerned. "You were looking at that data sheet, but you were a million miles away, and that's not the first time this week. I've covered for you three or four times with Stephen."

"Saoirse, I'm sorry, I didn't—"

Saoirse waved away her apology. "'Noria, I don't care, you know I don't," she said with a laugh. "God, how many times have you covered for me? I'm just worried about you." She reached over and laid a hand over Honoria's. "I saw that Scorpius Malfoy got married this past weekend. Are you okay?"

Being heartbroken over her former betrothed's marriage was so far from the problem Honoria was dealing with that it took her a moment to wrap her mind around what Saoirse was suggesting.

"What? No. I mean –" She shook her head, trying to clear it. "This isn't about that."

"Because I know how hard it can be watching an ex move on," Saoirse continued. Honoria just shook her head.

"Scorpius and I were never romantic," Honoria reminded her."It was arranged, and I'm the one who called it off." Saoirse shrugged like that didn't matter.

"It doesn't mean you can't be upset about it. I'm the one who broke up with Deirdre, but I still felt like punching a wall the first time I saw her out with someone else."

"No," Honoria said with another shake of her head. "Scorpius is not who I'm pining after."

She hadn't intended to reveal that much; it had just slipped out. But Saoirse knew romantic intrigue when she heard it, and her whole body visibly perked up. Honoria buried her face in her hands. "Shit," she said, and Saoirse clapped her hands together and grinned.

"Come on. You and I are getting a drink. Like, right now. Don't even try to get out of it."

Saoirse was a force of nature Honoria had long ago learned not to try and fight. Their shift was more or less over, so Honoria allowed herself to be packed up and Apparated away to The Leaky Cauldron to talk about romance over shots of Firewhisky.

"You have to find him," was Saoirse's immediate response when Honoria had finished the whole saga. Honoria blinked.

"What?"

"Yeah," Saoirse said, nodding with great enthusiasm, completely caught up. "Oh, 'Noria, you have to find him! This is exactly what you wanted, exactly what you told him you were waiting for! You have to find him, and you have to tell him how you feel, and I know you're about to tell me that's crazy," she said loudly, speaking over (and correctly identifying) Honoria's attempted interruption, "but that's exactly why. You have to do it because it's crazy!"

Saoirse's words sparked a fire in her that Honoria tried desperately to ignore. She shook her head emphatically, at a loss for words. "I — I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because! I —" She faltered, trying to find a good reason. "I don't even know how I'd find him."

Saoirse's eyes lit up in victory the moment Honoria said it, and she knew exactly why, couldn't deny the damning evidence herself. Because that wasn't something you said if you weren't going to do a thing. That was something you said when doing the thing was inevitable.

"You can ask Scorpius," she said to that, and before the words were out of her mouth, Honoria said, firm and unyielding, "I'm not asking Scorpius." Saoirse smirked.

"Okay. Then, do you know where he works?"

With great regret, Honoria answered in the affirmative. "St. Mungo's," she mumbled. "He's an intern there." Saoirse's eyes lit up even more, and she leaned across the table.

"Is he working tonight?"

"I don't know his schedule, Seersh, I'm not a stalker!" Honoria protested violently. Saoirse just smirked.

"Go to Mungo's," she said, voice low and intense. "Say you're sick and you have to see Healer Al Potter."

"And in this sexual schoolgirl fantasy of yours, what exactly am I supposed to do when he shows up in the exam room?" Honoria asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm. Saoirse just gave her a highly suggestive look, and Honoria shoved her from across the table. Saoirse laughed.

"Tell him how you feel," she answered. "If he doesn't feel the same way, you leave and you never have to see him again." Honoria's focus turned inward as she sat, still and silent, considering all angles of the situation within her mind. "Look," Saoirse said then. "Here's the bottom line as I see it. Do you want to see him again?"

Honoria didn't hesitate, but quietly answered, "Yes."

"Then go see him again." She said that like it was that simple, that obvious a solution, and Honoria wanted to argue that it wasn't that simple, but she knew in her heart that it was. This was what she wanted. She had expressed this desire to Scorpius, to her parents, to Al himself, and here it was, in front of her, the mad, impulsive gesture carried out in the name of love, the emotion that overwhelmed her, had been overwhelming her for a full week now.

She'd once told Scorpius that she was, at heart, a selfish person, someone who went after her own desires and happiness before anything else. She'd been seventeen when she'd said it, young and idealistic, and the words were no longer true in the way they had been when she'd said them. She still wanted that which would make her happy, but she also wanted that to be something which would make the people she cared about happy as well. She would not have called off the Bonding if Scorpius hadn't wanted it, too. She would not pursue a something with Al Potter unless he made it likewise clear that it was also his desire.

"I have to find him," she said. Saoirse grinned.

"Yeah, you do," she said. "Go get him!"

Before she could second-guess herself again, Honoria stood, drained the last of her drink, and marched out of the pub, purposeful and direct.

She Apparated to St. Mungo's without hesitation, and when she made her way up to the Medi-Witch at the check-in desk, her story came out easily. "Hi," she said, "there's no real rush on this, I know you are probably very busy, but recently I've been suffering some dizzy spells and periods of distraction that are very unusual for me. I had one just as work was ending, and I don't feel safe Apparating home without it being looked into. Better safe than sorry, right?"

She was directed to an exam room on the second floor and told that someone would be in with her shortly. Seated on the raised table, hearing the click of her chart full of false symptoms as it slid into its slot on the door, she kept her thoughts focused firmly on Al. She had to. If she didn't, the enormity, the utter foolishness of what she was doing here would catch up with her and she would walk straight out before she had a chance to talk to anyone.

It wasn't until a young blond Healer-in-Training walked through the door that Honoria realized what she'd forgotten to do.

Stupid, stupid lovesick girl! she berated herself. If you're faking an illness in order to see a specific Healer, you might, at some point, want to ask for that specific Healer, you imbecilic—

"Well, Miss Ridgeton," the Healer-in-Training said in a friendly voice, referencing her chart, "I hear you're having some trouble with dizziness?"

"Yes, off and on for a week now," Honoria said, thinking fast. "Actually, I know that, uh, Al Potter is a Healer in Training here, and he was actually present when I had the first attack, so . . ."

She trailed off at the look on the Healer's face. His smile had frozen in an almost beleaguered way, and Honoria cursed herself again for her lack of foresight as the Healer-in-Training said, "Well, Healer Potter isn't working the second level today, but I assure you that all the Healers available are well trained to meet your needs."

Salvage, salvage, salvage, she thought frantically, trying not to let her franticness show on her face. She gave her best sheepish but winning smile.

"Oh, gosh," she said, aiming for disarming. "I know what I must sound like. I bet you get that all the time, right? Young women coming in, claiming illness, looking for Al Potter?" She did not mention that technically, she was one of those women. "But listen, Healer Greer," she said after a quick glance at his name-tag. "I'm asking after Healer Potter only because he was there when my symptoms started, at a wedding a week ago."

She was tempted to say more, to argue that she really did know Al, and if he'd just go and get him, he'd see. But she was also aware that the more she said, the more she would sound like one of those girls who probably, yes, did come in here all the time. So she forced herself to stop talking, to keep smiling, to meet his suspicious gaze and not look away.

After a long moment, his eyes dropped to her chart. He cleared his throat, saying, "Excuse me for one moment, would you, Miss Ridgeton?"

When the door clicked shut behind him, Honoria slumped forward, heart pounding in her ears. What the hell was she even doing here? Now that she had lost the momentum fueled by pep talks and alcohol and love-induced insanity, it occurred to her that there were probably about eight million better ways to get the attention of one Al Potter than lying about medical symptoms and hoping that fate would send him, out of all the Healers in the hospital, to her exam room. It was official – she had gone insane.

She was still in her Ministry uniform – why hadn't she Conjured an envelope of some kind and posed as a messenger with a top secret missive that she'd been charged to put into only Al Potter's hands? He was the son of the Head Auror – she was pretty sure no one would have questioned it.

Or she could have posed as a visitor – she knew the names of plenty of long-term patients here. She could easily have said that she was visiting on behalf of her department and some exploratory research they'd uncovered or conducted, and then waited to be admitted, skulked through the halls until she heard his name, followed the speakers until she knew where he was, then casually waited for him to pass by so she could pull out the "Oh! Fancy meeting you here!" — No, on second thought, that scenario made her out to be much more of a stalker than the situation she currently found herself in.

Ugh, was it too late to just slip out and disappear and try to pretend like this had never happened? As long as she never got sick or had to come back here and risk seeing Healer Greer again, she might survive the mortification.

She pulled out her wand and cast a Hearing Extension charm to ascertain whether or not the corridor was clear, but damn it, she was having the worst possible luck today (or the best?) because Healer Greer was now clearly audible coming back down the hall, with another set of footsteps in addition to his own.

". . . a little different from your usual groupies, is all. This one claims to know you."

"Don't they usually claim to know me?"

Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice, which was just irritating. Shit. Her plan had worked. He was right there.

"Yeah, but this one was more specific than most. She said you treated her symptoms at a wedding this weekend, and I know you were at a wedding this weekend—"

"The whole wizarding world knows I was at a wedding this weekend, and I didn't treat anyone for anything. But it's fine. I haven't personally dealt with any of my groupies for a while, so I'm due. What's the girl's name?"

"Uh . . . Ridgeton. Honori–"

"What?" Al broke in, his tone completely different. "Honoria?" And with barely any warning, the door to her exam room burst open, and his eyes were on her, and it was suddenly a bit difficult to breathe. "Are you all right? What's wrong? Where's her chart?" That last was directed over his shoulder, to Healer Greer, who handed over the grey clipboard, looking sheepish.

"You do know her then," he said to Al. Then his gaze shot up to Honoria. "Sorry for doubting you, miss," he said to her. "It's just, you hit it on the head, we get a lot of girls who—"

"Apology noted, thanks, Will," Al said then, shutting the door on his coworker and turning back to Honoria. "Dizziness and distraction?" he asked, reading off her chart. "You didn't seem to be having any problems when we talked at the wedding, but you did leave abruptly. If you weren't feeling well, you should have said something. I could have —"

"Al," she interrupted, because she had to, because his sudden presence was a bit overwhelming, his hand against her forehead testing for fever, his eyes boring into hers, looking for symptoms of vertigo they wouldn't find. "I'm fine."

The words had the desired (undesired?) effect; he took a step back, frowning at her. "Symptoms like these aren't ones to dismiss lightly. You should have come in before now." And he reached for her face again, and she didn't want to think about what she might do to him if he touched her like that a second time, so she stopped him with one hand.

"Al," she said again, trying to sound firm and not breathless. "Al, truly, I'm all right. I'm not sick." He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"If you're not sick, then what are you—"

"I had to see you."

It came out in a rush, and he reacted immediately, freezing, almost on guard, and Honoria had to work to hold back her irritation with herself for being so abrupt. What happened to the mysterious, alluring girl of a week ago? She took a deep breath and started again.

"I have been getting distracted at work, every day this week. And the dizziness . . . well, it's not dizziness so much as feeling like my feet have been knocked out from under me. But I know exactly what both of those things are stemming from, Al Potter, and it's you. I can't get you out of my head. For a week now, all I can think about is you. And I'm here right now because —" She made the mistake of looking up into his bright, intense green eyes, and she faltered, losing her breath. "Because I had to take a leap. I had to see you. I had to know if this is all me, or if there's even the slightest chance that it's you, too. Merlin and Circe."

She dropped her face briefly into her hands, trying to compose herself. After a deep breath, she raised her face again.

"This is the maddest thing I've ever done," she assured him then. "Absolutely the maddest. And when I told you a week ago that I wanted to be overwhelmed by love, I didn't expect it to happen so quickly, and I didn't expect it to happen with you, but on the off chance that it's not just me —"

She made the mistake of looking him in the eyes again. He was staring at her like he was only just beginning to process everything she was saying, and she was struck suddenly with the terrifying notion that there was a chance that when he could speak, it would be to tell her that all this was just her. That thought took her breath away more surely than his eyes did.

"Anyway," she said in another rush, standing and conjuring a card of parchment and a quill. "I'm not asking you to say anything at the moment," she told him while scribbling her address on the card before she could second-guess this decision. "In fact, I'd prefer if you didn't. I know that seems to run counter to this whole declaration, but the truth is, if you're going to tell me it's just me, then I'd rather not hear you say it. And since there's a 50% chance that that would be your response if I let you talk — "

Her eyes dropped down to the card in her hands as she brushed it against her fingertips. Finally, she held it out to him. "This is my address. When you're off work, when you're able to, if it's not just me . . . come find me? If you don't . . . that will be answer enough. I'll never bother you again, we can pretend it never happened. But if you feel this too . . . if you're willing to take a leap with me . . ." She trailed off, meeting his eyes one last time. He was still staring at her, frozen in place.

He made no move to take the card from her hands, so she crossed to him and slipped it into the pocket of his lab coat. Her fingers lingered on the pocket for the briefest moment, then she looked back up at him. "I'm hoping to see you soon," she said in a whisper, and then she left, slipped from the exam room and left the hospital and didn't stop until she had Apparated back to her flat. Sagging, weak-kneed, against the closed door, she slid to the floor of her entry hall and tried to wrap her head around what she'd just done.

It was almost dusk, and she hadn't eaten, but she was too keyed up to eat, too keyed up to anything other than pace the length of the flat, chewing on her lip and weighing the odds of Al Potter wanting anything to do with the mad ex-fiancé of his best friend who had randomly showed up in his exam room today, raving about being in love with him after meeting him once.

But she meant what she'd said, and if he didn't show up tonight, she'd have her answer. And she'd leave him alone. She would. It's not like they were people whose paths would often cross. And if they did in the past, she'd be pleasant and polite and cordial and never speak of this, and eventually, this infatuation would disappear. She'd return to rationality. She could pretend this had never happed. She could.

When the knock came, at half past eleven, she almost didn't answer the door. She almost believed she'd imagined the sound of the knock, willed it into being somehow, and that if she opened the door, it would just confirm that she had gone round the bend. But when she made no response, the knock came again, and then she was at the door in a heartbeat and had opened it before she had a chance to consider the action.

And there was Al Potter, hand raised to knock, hair tousled, eyes worried and hesitant, but he was there, and he was looking at her like that, and all she wanted to do was launch herself at him, but she forced herself to hold back, to wait, to hear what he had to say.

He was silent for a heartbeat or two, just looking at her, and then he said, "It's not just you."

"Oh, thank God," she said, throwing herself across the threshold and into his waiting arms.

To be continued...