Yes. Yes, I know that this chapter is grossly overdue, but all I can say that my imagination temporarily parted ways with me, and other stories distracted my attention.

The first cracks start to be revealed in this chapter, so I hope that you enjoy it. And I hope even more fervently that you express that enjoyment in the form of a review.

Also, just as side notes, I would like to point out that I have started two other Harry Potter stories since then. They're still in thei infancy stage, but I hope they will progress fast now, and soon become fully developed.

The first one is Memories of a Death Eater. It has a pairing of Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black. Its out of order, and full of angst. Its also rated T.

The second is The Chosen One. It has a pairing of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Its a 'Neville is the boy-who-lived' story. It's just barely started. It's also rated T.

Thanks,

~conorlover~

Chapter 4

Secrets through Cracks

She remembered that she had put her arm around him once, when he was sleeping, to pretend that he was hers, if only for a second. He had sighed and pulled her closer to him, draping himself around her. Her heart had skipped a beat, and, for a moment, she had allowed herself to visualize a future that was nonexistent.

But then she had seen the thin golden band on her finger, a noose, a tie binding her to the one man she wanted to be as far away from as one could possibly be. It was eternal, unchanging. She would always have that noose round her neck, and he, too would forever be bound to someone else. Someone that he loved, and who loved him back. Someone whom she was hurting very much right now, but didn't care, because she was a selfish, cruel woman who only cared about her own desires and satisfaction.

It was no wonder that the world hated her. It was a surprise the no one else had thrown an Avada Kedavra in her direction already.

It was better not to dream about dreams that wouldn't come true. It only hurt so much more when you were brought back to the harsh shades of reality.

"The startling increase in the population was noticed only after the 1980's, as better medical supplies made it possible for the aged in Third World country's to live longer. Britain, on the other hand, noticed both an increase and decrease in its population – the native British were procreating less frequently, but with Britain's name firmly established in the list of developed, First World countries, the citizens of poor nations generally migrate to Britain to work, as they can find gainful and better-paying employment here. This, of course, has led to a slight differentiation in the amount of wizards in the Magical World, as wizards do not generally tend to migrate unless fleeing from dictatorial rule However, some people, like Cho Chang's parents, for example, are migrants from a relatively backward country, China, and the Patil twins in my year were from India, another relatively backward country with an oversized population."

"That doesn't add up - there's barely any foreign descendent students in Hogwarts during our time. If nearly 33% of the population is non-ethnic, like you said, then shouldn't the availing figures also be the same? However, I can safely say that I only noticed about 5% of Hogwarts' school body to be non-British by descent."

"That's because most parents prefer to send their children abroad to their own countries, where they are taught their own culture, or do not come to Britain at all. The wizarding world has remained relatively stable over the last few centuries. The only major blips that took place in its record were Grindelwald and Voldemort."

He winced just a little when she said his name, because, he, after all, had seen him first hand and been under his wands power. Quickly getting over it, he continued with the discussion.

"If parents prefer to send their children to their own cultures, then why do they migrate to Britain at all? The wizarding world is fairly stable and equal in terms of safety and income, you said. Then why migrate to Britain at all? Since most wizards live a life completely divergent from that of muggles, the muggle state of being and economy should not bother them at all."

"Most non-indigenous wizarding families that you see in Britain now migrated here during the Grindelwald era. Because of Dumbledore, this seemed the safest place to come. Economic stability, while important, has nothing on personal and familial security. A person would beg to eat if it meant that his family would be safe, you know."

It was an overcast day, and she was wearing robes to match. Steel gray and formal, severe. He wondered if she had some official duty later today.

Mrs. Weasley – no, Hermione – smiled at him, clearly pleased at having found a willing listener to her thoughts on the increasing influx of Muggle migrants into the United Kingdom. Although he had not managed to glean anything personal from her in the last hour – another failure to add to his rapidly elongating list – he found that he did not mind. Muggle culture and behaviour was so fascinating. Cedric had refrained from taking it in his third year out of peer pressure and the fact that nobody he knew would be able to help him in the subject, but now he wished that he had studied a little of muggle culture and behavorial patterns. How could another race, similar, and yet so very different, exist right beside them with him knowing nothing about it.

"I'll tell you about Hitler next week," Hermione said, putting her little yellow legal pad back in her tiny, magically extended handbag. "The similarities between muggle and human mindset were so prominent at that time, I wonder how anyone didn't notice it."

"Hitler?" he asked, confused.

"He was a historical figure, and a rather infamous one, if I might add," she explained, picking up the little beaded bag. "He was a German, and Britain fought a war against him in the late 1930's and the early 1940's. But I don't suppose that it affected the wizarding world in any way, so there's no reason for anyone on the other side of the border to know."

He leaned back in his chair, eyes again focusing on her severe wardrobe. Unbidden, the question slipped out. "Are you going to some meeting later?"

She seemed surprised at his question, then answered. "Yes, there's an executive meeting of all the Heads of the major departments today at twelve. I suppose I shouldn't have been so very formal, but there's a few discrepancies amongst the paperwork, and I do have a meeting with some prospective immigrants from Romania…"

"Romania? What for?" he asked, puzzled.

She frowned and bit her lip, obviously unhappy with the said Romanians also. "Something about a dragon breeding center. What I don't understand is why they would choose Britain of all places to open a dragon breeding center. We have one of the smallest all-wizard area in all of Europe, not to mention the fact that the Department for Magical Creatures would make their life hell, what with all of the paperwork and lease sanction problems. I don't understand why they wouldn't apply in France or Belgium, which are relatively magical creature-friendly countries. Of course, Romania itself is the best for dragon breeding – nearly 8% of the government's revenue comes from it, in fact. Perhaps I will set up a committee to verify their story…" she finished, decisively biting her lip.

"Well, Romanians or no Romanians, I hope you have a very pleasant day," he said, smiling heartily. "And don't forget, next Monday at 10 sharp."

She snorted. "As if I ever forget anything, Cedric. If I did, then Harry and I would still be camped out looking for ways to defeat Voldemort."

She smiled, then, and left. He had been looking for a relaxing time, but suddenly, when grasped with a cookie, startled up.

It was the first slip ever. She had inadvertently revealed some information that she hadn't meant to. And it was in pleasant conversation. Well, if that was all it needed, he should have utilized it years ago.

He briskly strode over to his enormous filing cabinet, which was hidden behind some very expensive curtains. Pulling the curtains apart, he promptly drew out his wand and murmured "Accio Hermione Weasley's file."

A thick black ledger came zooming towards him. Deftly catching it with his hand – he had been a seeker after al – he stopped for a second, adjusting his arm to its weight. It was not the thickest file that he had – those would be the more clinically depressed patients who had been coming for years – but it definitely held its weight for someone who had only been coming for a few months. Most of the information inside was gibberish, consisting of what he had been able to discern about her living habits. He had pored for hours over it, trying feverishly to find a single slip or hint or clue, and had failed miserably. He had been unenthusiastically looking forward to another such night tonight, when a single phrase had opened up a new route.

He hurried back to his desk and opened the enormous folder, the pages fluttering as he did so. Dipping his eagle feather quill into the expensive, first class ink that had been a birthday present from the former Minister, Cornelius Fudge, he promptly scrawled a few words into the ivory-white page.

Patient mentions search for solution to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named in very end, informal manner. Comments on the fact that she and her friend 'Harry' would still be on the search if she forgot things.

Minor discrepancy. Patient was on the search with said friend 'Harry' and current husband 'Ron'. Possibilities?

Deliberate omission? Unlikely. Patient has refrained from mentioning her husband in the past, but has been very careful in her words not to omit him from something.

Unnoticed and surprise omission? Likely, but to what result? Relation between patient and said husband are notably strained (*discerned from media coverage and patient's own behavioral context of avoidance of any topic relating to said paramour). Nevertheless, patient has been very careful to maintain a very generic-looking relationship between them, carefully crediting him in several of her past memories.

Possible conclusions: Patient has tried to make a blanket coverage of husband, thus trying to block out painful memories.

(To be added)

It was weak. But it was present. Maybe, just maybe, it could lead to something. And then he would finally get to solve the great riddle that was Hermione Weasley.

The little girl was tugging on her father's hair, pulling his cap lower.

Dean pursed his lip as his hand moved fluidly, capturing the scene on a sheet of paper. It was these moments, moments in which a person would be so completely unconscious and uncaring about how someone else was seeing them, that he loved best. The scene before him was so sweet, he could hardly resist. A tiny little blonde pigtailed girl had come for a chocolate sundae with her father, and he could see the tiny bits of ice cream still stuck to her cheek. She was playing with him, pulling at his cap and hair as he lifted her higher and higher. Looking at it, he was reminded of one of the pictures at his mom's house, in which his own father had been lifting him the exact same way.

He put the last touches on the little girl's face, and smiled at the picture. It was a perfect memory of times that would fade so very soon. No parent could ever really bear losing a child. He knew that experience first hand. But now wasn't the time to think of it, not on a bright, sunny Monday afternoon sitting under one of the umbrella's outside one of London's favorite café's.

A slender, white hand fell on his shoulder, and he looked up smiling as he saw his companion. She smiled back at him, the sunlight highlighting the golden strains in the mahogany hair that framed her heart-shaped face.

"You're late," he said with ease. He had been waiting for some time, but he didn't mind. It had been gainfully employed.

"I know," she replied, gracefully moving around the table to sit on the plastic chair on the other side. "I couldn't help it – all those foreign immigrants, and the meeting with Kingsley ran late. On top of that, Grissom refused to help me, so I'm on my own now."

"Grissom? Henry Grissom, from the Department of Magical Creatures? Why would you need help from him?" he wondered. She was usually so independent, refusing to take anybody's help.

Hermione smiled, pushing a lock of stray hair behind her hair. "I thought I would get a little back info on some Romanian's that have been plaguing me for an immigration permit to open a dragon breeding center in Britain. I thought something was off, so I requested Grissom to help me out. He refused. Chapter closed. Is the salad any good."

"Not for lunch, it isn't. It's the veal today, and nothing else. Robertino really went all out on it. Half of London's out here gobbling it, so be sure to order soon."

Her laughter cut through the warm haze like butter through a night. "Dean, if this was half of London, well then we wouldn't have any population issues at all, and half the paperwork lying in my office would be nonexistent. Not to mention your housing problems would disappear in a flash, too. Did you get anything apart from the student dorms?"

"Not yet, though I've been trying. Most of the apartments I look at have insanely expensive rents, and the ones that already have a tenant just don't have a spare room or aren't interested in living with a black guy."

Her mouth fell open. "Dean, that's awful! Don't tell me they really were that racist – this is twenty-first century Britain, after all. Surely a difference in race would matter?"

"Well, most of them didn't say it to my face – I guess they were worried about any racism charges. But there was this one guy who yelled at the guard to "Get the fuckin' nigger outta his building," so I don't have any problems understanding that."

"It's times like these that I feel good about the wizarding world. No matter all its blood prejudices, at least it was secular and non-racist throughout history. I can't believe that not even a single battle took place in the name of religion."

The waiter, a bright, fresh-faced fellow probably in his college years, came. She ordered the veal, and he the same.

"Have you thought about it? Living on the other side of the border, I mean."

"I did for a little while, but it just isn't possible. For one thing, the rents are impossibly high, and they're in galleons, for God's sake. How is a poor young artist in art school supposed to come up with cash like that? And on top of that, Diagon Alley doesn't have much affordable tenements that are open to Muggle-born's. The Leaky Cauldron is pretty nice, but just a teeny bit outside my price range. Besides, its too far from where I work, and I can't apparate in the middle of London, you know. I guess I have to get some place that's close to the coffee shop, and the book shop, and the boutique, and the university."

"There is another option, you know." She looked up beseechingly with great big mahogany eyes that vaguely reminded him of a puppy.

But he was firm in his decision. "No, Hermione, no. There is no way that I'm accepting any charity from you. If I have to make my way in this world, I'll do it on my own two feet, without being held by the hand like a helpless toddler."

"But it isn't really even charity! Just a bit of – of financial assistance, that's all! Besides, its not like I'm really even giving you my money. Just look at it like a loan, or as payment for all those beautiful paintings you gave me! I have to pay for them, you know."

"They were a gift," he said quietly. Something subtle in his voice had changed, and she shrank back into her chair like a meek little girl, knowing that he was firm this time, and that he would be upset if she pressured him more. "If you make any sort of payment for them, I would consider it an insult of the highest order."

They were quiet for a minute, and she looked upset. He was anxious – she was one of his closest, no, only friends, and he didn't want to drive a wedge between them. Had he been too cold? But he didn't want to always be spoon fed. He wanted to make his own way in this world, to stand up on his own two feet like a man, to be responsible for himself.

But, in a moment, the clouds cleared from her face, and then there was sunshine again. "Did I tell you about Luna? She's planning to go for another Crumpled Snorcack expedition. Wants to leave that crazy Bonnie in charge of the Quibbler. I tried to back her out of it – Merlin knows that she ends up coming home with that awful allergy every time after those expeditions – but she won't listen to me. And Xenophilius isn't any help either. I thought he would be upset about leaving the Quibbler in the hands of a non-Lovegood, but he's completely absorbed with the expedition. He's absolutely sure that they've found it for sure this time – and in Sweden, no less!"

"Well that's Luna for you," he replied back easily, mimicking her smile with one of his own. He could hardly prevent himself from smiling when she did. And besides, Luna was another person on his friend list, even if one that he listened to rather dubiously. You could never truly understand what she was saying. "Once she's got a Snorcack on her mind, that's it. She's not going to let this go, you know – you just have to let her go, and when she's disappointed, make her some Gurdyroot tea."

She pulled a face. "Oh, that disgusting vegetable! I'm not even sure that it is a vergetable, you know. I always get the feeling that I'm swallowing a little bit of Venomous Tentacula along with it. Maybe it's a cross breed…"

"Knowing Xenophilius, that's far from unlikely. I wouldn't be surprised if he snuck out one night to steal some from the Hogwarts greenhouse when he was in school either. That kind of mundane, prankish, eccentric thing seemed right up his alley, I think."

"Oh, absolutely! You would not believe the things he says. All after I saved his life, too…"

Her brow creased as she relieved her memories of the war. He hastened to change it. He himself had lived through it, and those were some of the worst memories of his life. He knew that she had had it a hundred times worse – her tortured screams in Malfoy Manor still haunted his dreams, and he cursed himself a million times over for doing nothing to help her at that time. But now wasn't the time to be thinking of that either. It was a bright, sunny day, and not one overshadowed by anything darker than the fact that West Ham had lost once again.

"So what was it about those Romanian immigrants?" he said, trying to change the subject. He was relieved when it worked – the frown disappeared from her face, and the indignant sparkle returned to her eyes.

"You won't believe that pair. First of all, they come to England and apply for an immigrant status when this is their first visit! Can you imagine that! The very basic criteria for applying for even temporary residency is living in the country in question for at least twenty five years! And immigrancy requires so much more than that. You need a stable livelihood, which, by the way, these two gentlemen do not have, and some sort of connection to this country – whether it be a relative or a patron. Or else some valid reason to leave your current country. But there's no war or strife, no sort of commotion at all in Romania. They weren't even affected by the recent financial crisis in east Europe! Their economy is thriving on that, for that matter. And dragon rates are higher than ever. Romania protects dragon breeding by its national law, so not only does it make obtaining the license that much easier, it also grants them some state-related benefits! Not to mention that they're Romanian citizens, so they don't have through any sort of hassle at all. Now, in Britain, it's a completely different matter. Dragon breeding is not the most popular occupation, and its not exactly ga-ga in the Ministry either. They'll find it incredibly hard to get a license, not to mention that fact that the Department for Magical Creatures will make their life hell. And their immigration criteria is completely nonexistent!"

"Then why are you even considering them?" he asked coolly, finishing of the last of his meal. Robertino really had outdone himself.

"Because Kingsley doesn't want the Romanian government to think that we're snubbing them. Now, I know that the man is a genius in the Auror department, and he's a good Minister, too, but he does not know anything about the International Liaisons department!"

"Kingsley thinks that the Romanian government would think that we're snubbing them? Why?"

She sighed impatiently, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Because they feel like we're still far too cluttered. They've always been slightly frosty ever since the 56th Amendment to the Vampire Act – considering that they consider the vampire their national emblem, and he's protected under their law, I'm not really surprised. And then there's the matter about the War. They haven't forgotten Grindelwald, you know. Theirs was one of the countries that he was strongest in. His defeat by a British wizard slightly bettered their vision of us, but then Voldemort came along to ruin everything. They tried to close diplomatic relations with us once it became obvious that the Thicknesse government was just a sham, and they just about succeeded. They didn't want to be connected to another blood-purity maniac in any way. And even after his defeat, when the Shacklebolt government came to power, they were one of the most reluctant to open connections again. Kingsley kept on insisting that Voldemort was dead, and that the Death Eaters had disbanded, but they pointed out how the exact same tune had been bleated when Harry had 'killed' him sixteen years ago. They didn't trust our word, and they made very sure that we knew that. Even now, when they've opened communications, all we've been really doing is exchanging tentative dates from a meet between our Minister and theirs, to discuss trade policies. Moreover, with the war trials still going on, they've tried to distance themselves as much as possible."

"But what does that have anything to do with immigration?"

"If they think that we're denying two authentic Romanian citizens access into our country, moreover two citizens that perform the very activity that is protected by law in theirs, then they could go ballistic. It'll be like another Amendment all over again. That stupid law against vampires nearly caused us loss of an ally in East Europe. We know that region doesn't like us – Ukraine made it abundantly clear what with that forced detaining and torture of those witches about five years back. If Romania turns against us again – which is likely, considering their anti-Voldemort nature, and how shocked they were when he was so easily able to topple the Ministry, not to mention get the entire society under his control – then they could potentially influence Belgium, Serbia, Bosnia, Liechenstein, and Albania to turn against us. Albania is already miffed at the fact the Voldemort lived in their forests for years, while we did nothing about it. And because all of these were united post-Grindelwald, the connection is stronger than ever. He had a very strong hold over these countries. And that, coupled with the fact that we weren't able to protect Albus Dumbledore, their hero, from a very planned and certain death, well, they aren't exactly our biggest fans right now."

"And Kingsley's afraid that if you appear picky or dubious about Romanian citizens, then Romania will take offense and cut off all diplomatic relations with Britain?"

"That's right. I get some of the logic behind it, but we cannot just allow a person into our country without verifying why he is here. I'll try to explain it to Kingsley when I see him today, which is at exactly four 'o' clock."

He checked his watch. "Which is exactly fourteen and a half minutes later.

"And so it. Well, Dean –" she got up, pushing her empty plate away and dropping a few cash bills onto the table, "– thank you for a lovely lunch, and I hope you do something about your apartment pretty quick. We'll be meeting up for lunch next week?" she inquired.

"Absolutely. I'll owl you and let you know when I'm free," he said. His art class finished just before lunch time next Tuesday, and he hoped that he could use that slot.

"I must be going, then. Lovely to meet you, as always. Owl me about the time."

And with that, she briskly walked away.

Dean Thomas looked at the woman he loved walking with a strong, confident stride on the warm, illuminated pavement, with the sun in her hair, and then looked up at the sky – at that bright blue expanse of nothing, with little white fluffy clouds forming fantastic patterns.

Yes, today was a very good day indeed.

I hope you enjoyed it. And I'm a total review hog, so...

~conorlover~