Chapter Eight: On The Road To Recovery

"Can I come in?" Harry asked as he smiled weakly at the familiar dark face.

"Harry," Kingsley scolded. "You're not supposed to leave the room until we stop. Hurry inside."

Harry scooted through the door of Kingsley's windowless room. "Yes Minister, sorry Minister."

Kingsley sighed and invited Harry to sit down on a wooden desk chair. "It's no use calling me Minister anymore, Harry."

"Sorry Minister," Harry repeated stubbornly.

Kingsley laughed at him. "I see you have still not lost your penchant for defying authority."

"No, I haven't," Harry smiled grimly. "No luck with Hermione."

Kingsley sighed. "Well…maybe with time…"

Harry peered at the haggard Minister, streaks of grey starting to line the dark hair at his temples.

"Can everything be fixed with time?" Harry questioned him.

The Minister spoke softly, uncomfortable with Harry's delicate suggestion. "Not this time. We aren't fighting a Dark Lord anymore. We're fighting an entire society."

Harry glared at Kingsley. "You're giving up."

Kingsley just looked at him, exasperated. "Harry, there is no choice."

"There's always a choice," Harry said in a steely voice.

Kingsley stared wistfully into the distance. "Now you sound like Albus."

Harry frowned. It was the second time in two days his actions had been compared to the former headmaster. He didn't know how he felt about that.

"Where will you go?" he asked.

"Oh I don't know, maybe Canada? British Columbia looks like a beautiful place to live," Kingsley said. "I've always wanted to live near the ocean. It would be a nice change. Where will you and Hermione go?"

"We're going to the United States. In Washington, there are healers and supporters in contact with Neville who will help us. Then we will go to Australia to find her parents."

Then Harry levelled his wand at Kingsley's temple. The man smiled. "Just do it." He said nothing more, waiting for Harry to say the incantation. A burning question rose up in Harry, one that had never seemed to matter before.

"Why did you do it?" Harry asked curiously. "During the war…you put your life on the line and you didn't have to."

"Of course I did," said Kingsley.

"Why?"

"Family," Kingsley's voice spoke longingly and painfully. They sat in silence for a few moments. He was just like the rest of them. They never answered 'honour' or 'because it's the right thing to do'; it was always their loved ones. The wizarding world had truly never changed. Harry stood up.

"Thank you for all you did," said Harry quietly. "Stupefy. Obliviate."

Kingsley fell gently back onto the bed. Harry locked his door on the way out. The Minister of Magic would wake up to a new life, free from the pain of the past.

Harry crawled into his own sparsely covered bed, hoping his fresh start would come just as soon. Late into the night as he lay awake, he could still hear Hermione's gut-wrenching wails from the next room. Although he could not muster up the strength to silence them, each cry pierced his heart.

The next few days were a blur. They dodged Aurors as they hopped from train to train until they reached the dock. They boarded the Witchcraft Ship, a large wooden boat which flew through the clouds and eventually landed in a lonely port on the shores of the United States of America.

Harry guiltily Imperio'd a local family into giving him the keys to their sedan. They ran out of gas several hours later (Harry cursed himself for never learning how to drive properly) and he had to half-drag Hermione with him to the nearest town for assistance.

She was not very helpful, although she had stopped fighting him. Instead she opted for deadpan stares and silent tears. Not a word was spoken between them since the night on the train. Harry was just grateful he didn't have to use the handcuffs anymore even if her grudging company was rather poor.

They hopped a bus that a passerby told him would lead to Washington. It was wearily and with stiffness in their limbs that they crawled out of the uncomfortable seats at the bus stop into bright night-time city lights. Harry waved his hand for a taxi and they slid in. He gave the driver the address.

"That's not a good area for tourists," the seedy driver said gruffly.

"We're not touring," Harry sniped back, not in the mood for conversation. He was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep and his temper was short.

"Hmph," the man said, leering at Hermione who was leaning back with eyes closed, her hair and clothing in disarray. "She ok?"

"Yes," said Harry shortly. "We're tired from the journey. Please be quick."

The man mumbled to himself and drove haphazardly into a progressively shabbier area of town. Harry was beginning to question whether it was the right address himself when they finally spotted a dilapidated old hospital with a brightly coloured sign lit up brightly with what looked like neon lights. The sign was scripted in colourful letters that read: Washington Institute of Learning and Medicine and right next to it another read: The Washington Magical Embassy.

Harry sighed with relief. "'Mione," he shook her shoulders gently. She mumbled and woke slowly.

"'Mione?" the taxi driver snorted unkindly as he lit up a cigarette between heavily lined jowls. "What kind of name is that? Something only the Brits could come up with."

Harry glared at the man, annoyed. "Confundus."

He turned to help Hermione out of the car to find her already standing in front of him, arms crossed. The cabbie screeched away as soon as the trunk door slammed. They rolled their luggage up to a stately arched door. As they walked through the door an alarm sounded, making them jump, and several blue clad guards ran quickly up to them with their wands raised.

"Come with us to the visitor's centre please," stated the guards as they grabbed their bags and escorted them across a room with a large marble floor and high arched ceiling to a small room with old oak desk. When they were both seated behind the desk a short blonde, curly-haired woman entered the room swiftly. She would have reminded him of Madame Umbridge except for the kind, gentle smile that warmed her face.

"Hello, sorry for all the fuss, but we had a report just now that someone magical crossed the border illegally."

"That would be us," said Harry, immediately realizing this was the wrong thing to say. Suddenly all of the guards had their wands pointed at Harry and Hermione. "Put your hands behind your head!" a man shouted. "Now!"