Disclaimer: All characters belong in JK Rowling.

A/N: Hello, everyone! Sorry I haven't been updating too recently. Midterms! I hope you enjoy this chapter. You should know going in that Harry's going to be fighting a lot in this chapter. Poor boy. The next chapter is already planned out so I hope I can get it to you guys relatively quickly.

Please READ and REVIEW! I love your comments! They really keep me going!

Chapter 8: Hermione's Task

All in all, Harry could only tolerate eight minutes in Hermione's room at St. Mungo's. Eight minutes of Mrs. Weasley crooning over Ron. Eight minutes of Ginny telling forced jokes. Eight minutes of Healers and assistants walking slowly by their room to peer unabashedly through the blinds. But most of all, only eight minutes of watching Ron stroke Hermione's hand.

It was close to three o'clock. The Healers had informed Harry that Hermione would wake up in a few hours as the Muggle painkillers faded. They could have simply used an Enervation spell to wake her up, but the Healers thought it was best to give her a few more hours of untroubled sleep.

Lakey had left ten minutes ago to attend to some paperwork. As for Harry, he desperately wanted—no needed—to get away from Hermione's crowded room. He needed to think, to reassess, to decide what to do next. Harry thought briefly of returning to the AD. He certainly had paperwork to file regarding Hermione's incident and he would have to analyze the evidence they had recovered from the site of Hermione's attack.

Yet, somehow the prospect of leaving St. Mungo's—and Hermione—was unfathomable. Moreover, Harry simply wasn't ready to see Hermione's scarlet-soaked clothing and the gruesome slab of stone dipped in her blood. He didn't think he could stomach that right now.

Torn, Harry turned towards the door.

"I'm going to find some food," he lied. He had not eaten since six that morning, yet he was not even remotely hungry.

Only Ginny turned around to look at him.

"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked.

"No," Harry answered too quickly. "You should stay here with Ron…"

Ginny glanced at her brother. Ron's face was still white and he was absently listening to Mrs. Weasley while he played with the end of Hermione's blanket.

"All right," she said softly. She walked towards Harry and gently took his hand. Harry did not look at her. "I'll message you if there's any change. If you see George down by the lobby, tell him where we are. Ron said he would be coming shortly."

"Fine," Harry said, slipping his hand out of Ginny's. He was glad George was coming to see his sister-in-law, but the thought of one more person in Hermione's small room simply made Harry more ill at ease.

He turned on his heel and strode into the hallway. A small gathering of assistant Healers quickly pretended they were not waiting to catch a glimpse of Harry Potter and became occupied in reading their charts or with talking to one another.

Harry barely looked at them and turned down the nearest empty hallway. Hands in his pockets, he stared at the white, marble floor as it passed beneath his feet. His thoughts swirled around Hermione—her colorless, yet exceedingly tranquil, face.

After the Healers had sealed her wounds and re-grown her hair, it now appeared as though she were merely sleeping. But, Harry could not get the image of Hermione in the Muggle hospital out of his head. How very small and fragile she had appeared. He had felt as though his heart my fail just looking at her. He had not been so scared in a very long time. Years, perhaps decades.

Harry's feet had taken him down a deserted hallway. He looked up and down the corridor, gazing at the unfamiliar surroundings. At the very end of the hallway, however, there was a sign. It hung over two double doors: The Janus Thickey Ward. It was the long-term care ward, the ward Harry had visited in his fifth year after Arthur Weasley had been bitten by Voldemort's snake, Nagini.

Harry stared at the sign for a moment. The Visitors' Tearoom was one floor above him, if Harry remembered correctly. Yet, Harry did not turn around. He began to walk towards the gleaming doors.

Harry stopped before entering and peered through the small square windows set into the top of the door. He could see a few Healers moving around inside and perhaps eight to ten beds lined up against the wall. Before Harry could discover what was so interesting about the ward, he was nearly knocked to the ground as someone abruptly pushed through the door.

"Chief Potter?" Healer Waltham exclaimed in surprise as Harry regained his balance. "Is everything all right? Has there been a change with Mrs. Weasley?"

Harry had to think for a moment as to which one he meant. "Um, no. I was just…walking," Harry supplied, lamely.

"Oh," said the Healer. "Yes, well I was just checking on a few patients here in the extended stay ward. I'll come check on Mrs. Weasley in a bit. She shouldn't wake up for another hour, I expect…" He paused, as if suddenly remembering something. "In fact, I was just attending to the Camerons. Hermione visited them just this morning before her…incident."

"The Muggle family?"

"Yes," Waltham said sadly. "I'm afraid to say there hasn't been much of an improvement."

"How bad is it?" Harry asked, not really caring.

The Healer paused again. "Well, I could show you if you like? If you have the time…"

Harry thought fleetingly of the tearoom and food, but the prospect of eating simply aggravated the queasy feeling in his stomach.

"Er, all right. I really don't have too long…I have to return to the Ministry," Harry lied, following Waltham as he pushed through the doors again.

"Of course," Waltham replied.

Harry quickly looked around the small ward. There were about twenty beds in the room. Natural light was flooding through several high windows at each end of the ward. Harry saw two solitary patients at the far end of the room. One was asleep and the other was reading the Daily Prophet upside down.

Harry smirked. That's the only way to read that piece of shit, he thought bitterly.

Waltham was leading Harry down the opposite end of the ward. There, two sets of white curtains cordoned off the last quarter of the room. Waltham separated the curtains and ushered Harry inside.

At first, Harry thought he had walked into someone's apartment. The walls were covered with pictures, some in frames, but mostly Muggle photographs taped to the walls. There was a small Persian rug in the center of the space and a Muggle television tucked into the corner. Four beds took up the rest of the room. Harry caught a glimpse of a young girl laid out on the closest bed. Something like a foamy, blue mosquito net was hovering above her.

Harry didn't have a chance to examine the curiosity as Waltham was directing him towards two other beds. An older gentleman looked up quizzically at the Healer.

"Fred? What's this?" the man asked. He set down what appeared to be a crime novel and sat up a little straighter against the pillows of his bed.

"Walter," the Healer said slowly and clearly, "you have a visitor. This is Mr. Harry Potter. He's a very important man with the Ministry I was telling you about. He's come to see how you and the family are doing."

Harry thought Waltham's explanation was a bit much considering this was a spur of the moment visit, but Harry held out his hand anyway.

Walter took it. He had a strong, warm grip.

The older man considered Harry for a moment, smiling. The man had light blue eyes that seemed oddly filmy, as though he were half-asleep.

The Healer directed Harry to the bed adjacent to Walter Cameron's.

"And this is his wife, Theresa."

Harry shook her hand as well. It was cool to the touch. Harry got a faint whiff of clean laundry and lilies. The woman had light brown hair with white streaks in certain places. It was obvious she died her hair as there was about a quarter inch of grey roots all along her scalp.

"It's a pleasure," Harry said awkwardly. The woman also had a milky gaze and Harry wished he could stop staring.

Harry often berated himself for being unable to interact perfectly with Muggles. After all, he had been raised as a Muggle and though the word "raised" didn't quite describe his upbringing with the Dursleys, he respected Muggles. He in no way thought of them as inferior to wizards. Yet, interacting with them (after decades of living as a wizard) made Harry somewhat uncomfortable, like he was meeting an estranged second cousin.

"What a handsome man," Theresa said, smiling absently. "We've had so few visitors, Walter."

Walter nodded in agreement. "Very few."

Healer Waltham smiled sadly. "Only Counselor Granger has visited with them," he explained. "Of course, we haven't been able to inform the family's relatives about the Camerons' condition as that would require divulging their situation…which is quite hard to explain to Muggles even if it wasn't against the law..."

Walter laughed at Waltham's words.

"I wish we understood our situation!" he said jollily.

Harry looked at the Muggle, confused. "What does he mean?"

Waltham sighed uncomfortably. "We're still testing the limits of the damage the Camerons sustained to their memories. None of them remember the attack clearly, but there are other, more troubling lapses…. For instance, Theresa doesn't always remember she has two children. Sometimes she only remembers her oldest child, Nicole. Walter occasionally seems to forget his occupation. He's a banker…like the goblins at Gringotts," Waltham explained more for himself than for Harry.

"Just like a goblin!" Walter said proudly as he listened to Waltham and Harry's conversation.

"Is this permanent?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"That's hard to say," Waltham said slowly. "We're giving them daily tonics and fiddling with the correct amount of Memory Potion in each dose. It's been rather difficult, actually. Muggles don't seem to respond well to our treatment. It must be something about their genetics that we don't understand. We have several Healers consulting on the case, but at the moment we're at a loss as to how to restore their memories."

"Direct counter-charms don't work?" Harry questioned.

"Not in the slightest. If Theo Callahan attacked this family, he may have used a memory charm so severe as to be irreversible in Muggles. We've never had a case like it, so we're doing the best that we can."

"How long will they have to stay here, then?" Harry said, trying to avoid Walter's dreamy gaze.

Waltham sighed again. "I wish I could give you a better answer, Chief Potter. Some of the Healers are beginning to worry that this is an inalterable condition. If it is, they may not be able to function in Muggle society…If Mr. Cameron doesn't remember his occupation and Mrs. Cameron doesn't remember both of her children…it will be quite impossible for them to return to their normal lives."

"Well, surely she remembers everything that's happening now? Can't you just tell her she has another child and she'll learn to consider the child as her own?" Harry tried to reason.

"I wish it were that simple," Waltham answered, turning away slightly from Mrs. Cameron's bed. "On the days where she doesn't remember her son, Duncan, well… she acts very violently towards him. She won't even allow him to be in the same room as her. So we've been sending him to the children's ward every time that happens…of course, the boy is very upset. He still remembers who is mother is…"

Harry's mouth felt dry. He tried to think of a response to Waltham's words, but nothing filled his mind but a distant memory. Some twenty-one years ago he had seen one his close friends visit his parents in this very ward. They too did not remember who their son was…

Neville Longbottom's parents had died five years ago. In the end, they had been in an advanced state of dementia and could not feed or care themselves. Neville took his ailing parents back to their ancestral home and stayed with them until they passed away. Harry had attended the small funeral—not many people remembered the horrible crime that had befallen Frank and Alice Longbottom so many years ago. Harry could still envision Neville's tear-stained face…

"But they are functional…" Harry said quickly, trying to find something to redeem the situation and push Neville's face from his mind.

"Yes," Waltham replied. "We are hopeful that we'll eventually find some sort of solution. In terms of functionality, we need them to remember what's happening now, not necessarily what happened in the past."

"I guess that means they won't be able to provide testimony against Callahan…" Harry pondered, looking at his feet.

"Most likely so," Waltham said. "I told that to Counselor Granger, but she did not seem particularly concerned. Besides, it would be unprecedented to have a Muggle testify against a wizard. Most irregular," Waltham chuckled.

Harry disliked the Healer's dismissive tone, but he had to agree. He tried to remember any case in wizarding law in which a Muggle had testified against a wizard. Harry was rubbish at History of Magic, but he was sure he would have remembered a detail like that. A Muggle's testimony simply wouldn't count for much in a wizard court.

Harry looked back at Mr. and Mrs. Cameron. Mr. Cameron had obviously become bored with their conversation and had re-immersed himself inside his book. However, Mrs. Cameron was looking across the room, a troubled and somehow achingly lost expression on her face. Harry followed her eyes to the young girl lying on the bed a few feet away.

Waltham followed her eyes as well.

"Oh, yes," the Healer said. "I haven't introduced you to the children."

Waltham guided Harry to the two beds at the opposite end of the room. Looking past the young girl, Harry's eyes landed on the last occupant in the room.

A young boy of twelve was sitting up on the bed. He had light brown hair with a few flecks of gold. His face was pale and small, making his eyes appear larger and brighter than normal. Yet, they were lovely eyes—blue like his father's, but with flecks of sea green. He was watching Harry and Waltham approach with growing trepidation.

"Duncan?" Waltham said to the boy. "I'd like you to meet Mr. Harry Potter. He's come to check how you are doing."

"Hello, Duncan," Harry said, leaning forward.

The boy did not respond. He glanced briefly at Harry's face before he ducked down, hiding his eyes behind his shaggy hair.

"He can be very shy," Waltham explained to Harry. "Counselor Granger is the only one he seems to open up to. Even so, we've been able to get some information from him. He told Counselor Granger that on the night of the attack, he and his sister had been sleeping when they heard shouting downstairs. Duncan says he knew it wasn't an argument between his parents. It was a stranger's voice. Apparently, his sister wanted to call the Muggle police from their room, but Duncan ran downstairs. His sister followed after him. And that's all he remembers. It's the closest Magical Law Enforcement has to an eye-witness report of the incident."

Harry watched the boy sadly. As Waltham was speaking, the boy had quietly crept underneath his covers so as to hide his face completely.

Harry turned and took a few steps away from the bed, so as to give the child some privacy. "What else has he forgotten?"

"Actually, very little else," the Healer smiled. "He knows exactly where he is and what is happening around him. He also seems to remember everything from his past. For instance, he knows that he's missing school right now. He understands there is something wrong with his sister and that his mother has trouble remembering him. I am most hopeful about his recovery. Even if the others do not improve, Duncan can likely reenter the Muggle world—if they find a proper adoptive family."

"He must have godparents," Harry protested.

"Perhaps, but we're not in a position to find them, are we? We can't inform his godparents why Duncan would need to be adopted. Moreover, there's no Muggle liaison at the Ministry, for example, who could place Duncan in an adoptive program. I truly don't know what will happen to him."

Harry nodded. Just then, however, he heard a sound from underneath the covers of the boy's bed. It was the crisp sound of a page turning.

Harry spun around. Duncan was sitting up in his bed, though the sheets still covered him completely, creating a tent for himself. In that instant, curiosity seemed to grab a hold of Harry and he took a few hesitant steps towards the boy's bed.

"Duncan?" Harry called out calmly. "What have you got there?"

The boy grew still under the sheets. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Mrs. Cameron looking curiously in their direction.

"Come out now. It's okay," Harry said gently.

Slowly, the covers slid off the boy's head, pooling in his lap. The sheets landed on what appeared to be a rather large book resting on the boy's legs.

"What's that you have there?" Harry asked again, reaching forward.

"It's nothing!" the boy cried in a frightened voice. He moved towards the edge of the bed away from Harry.

"Don't worry," Harry placated him as he slowly seated himself on the far corner of the bed. "I just wanted to see what you were reading…"

With anxious eyes, the boy stared at Harry for a long moment. He seemed to come to the conclusion that Harry meant no harm. He pushed the covers away and as Harry expected, he saw an enormous book bound in handsome burgundy leather. Yet, as Harry looked more closely, he was surprised to see that it was actually a wizard medical book.

"What's this now?" Waltham exclaimed, catching sight of the book as well and coming towards the bed. "Where did you get that, Duncan?" he asked sternly.

"I-I-I found it, Dr. Waltham," the boy said, panicky. "I-I found it in the… lib-library."

"Duncan, I've told you the medical library is off limits."

The boy nodded sullenly, though he was stroking the book absently, almost lovingly. Harry looked down at the page—it was a moving diagram of a wizard brandishing his wand over a broken leg. The leg was snapping in half and healing itself in a perpetual loop.

The illustration was strangely beautiful…Harry could see why the boy might like it.

"Wait, can you see that it's moving?" Harry asked the boy, gesturing to the page.

Duncan seemed confused until he followed Harry's eyes to the diagram.

"Yes, sir."

"Huh," Harry nodded, considering this. "I didn't know a book's magic worked on Muggles…"

Something changed in the boy's face. He pulled away from Harry again. "Why wouldn't it work?" the boy snapped. "I can see just like any of you!"

"Calm down, boy," Waltham said, an edge in his voice. "Mr. Potter was simply asking you a question. Apologize to him right away."

The boy looked angrily at Harry before he looked down. He reluctantly shut the book in his hands. "You can have the book back. I won't apologize."

"You are being very childish, Duncan. Mr. Potter is a very important person. You mustn't shout at him."

"He's being childish! Calling me a stupid name!" the boy hissed under his breath. If Harry had not been sitting right next to him, he might not have heard it.

"Stupid name?" Harry said, confused.

"It's that name," the boy returned, anguish coloring his voice. "It's the name all of you use around here: 'Muggle.' Everyone says it. It means we're stupid right? Me and my family. That we aren't like you."

Waltham coughed uncomfortably while Harry stared at the boy. Duncan refused to look at the two older men, his eyes fixed on the far corner of his bed.

Those greenish eyes set into a determined face reminded Harry of another boy… A boy he missed very much…

Harry slowly reached up and patted the boy on the shoulder. "Do you like these books, Duncan?"

The boy shrugged off Harry's hand. "Yes," he answered curtly. "I like the pictures and how they move."

"What do you think about what is written in them?"

The boy seemed to relax slightly. "I like it a lot," Duncan supplied. "I think it's amazing! They say a lot of funny things, and incantations, and spells. I didn't think all this was real before."

Harry smiled slightly. Twenty-six years ago, he might have had the same reaction when he opened his first spell book…

However, the difference was that Harry actually had the ability to perform the spells found in those wonderful books. Duncan could never take more than an intellectual interest in magic…if he was even allowed to remember encountering it.

"Be that as it may," Waltham was saying. "You'll have to return the book, Duncan. They are needed for the real Healers. And you aren't to go wandering outside of the children's ward anymore."

"But no one talks to me there…" the boy whispered.

Harry glared at the Healer for a moment. Life inside the walls of a wizarding hospital did not seem particularly easy for a Muggle child. Going to the library was probably his only refuge. Thinking this, Harry was reminded of a woman he knew very well…a woman who viewed the library as a refuge…

"Do you like Counselor Granger, Duncan?"

The boy's head lifted immediately. He was wearing the first genuine smile Harry had seen on his face. Even then, however, it was a guarded smile.

"Oh, yes," he replied empathically. He began gently kicking his legs under the sheets. "She's wonderful. She brought us our TV and all these pictures. She's the only one who comes to visit and she's just so…" He stopped.

"What?"

"…beautiful…" the boy whispered, his cheeks coloring.

Harry laughed. "She is, isn't she? Well, Duncan, she's a very good friend of mine. I've known her since I was eleven."

The boy stared at Harry with newfound respect. "Do you know when she'll be back?"

Harry hesitated. It was probably best not to tell Duncan about what had transpired that morning. How could the boy understand that Hermione had been the target of an attack? An attack based off of the fact that a subset of the wizarding population believed she was too much like a Muggle, too much like Duncan….

"I don't know," Harry answered. "I'll ask her, okay? And maybe next time we'll both come and visit you. We'll bring you some magic books so you don't have to take them from the library."

The boy smiled again. "That would be great. Thank you…"

There was a light cough from behind them. "Finally some politeness out of you," Healer Waltham said to the boy. "Chief Potter, if you'll come with me, I'll tell you about the girl's condition."

Harry stood up and patted the boy's head before he followed the Healer to the bed closest to the curtains.

"Nicole Cameron. Fifteen years old," Waltham said. "We've had her in a magical coma since we collected her from her home. We ran a diagnostic spell on her brain and found that portions of her frontal lobe had been severely damaged. This includes the inferior frontal gyrus, which controls speech. We have a Muggle doctor consulting on the case. He calls the area Brogga's area or Broca's area? I can't remember. In any case, the damage may have severe repercussions on her speech, motor skills, and her ability to recognize those around her."

"Have you tried waking her up?" Harry asked, looking down at the girl. The blue haze that surrounded her bed obscured her face slightly. Yet, Harry could see her light brown hair spread across the pillow and her serene face.

"We did, once. It's hard to say whether she fully regained consciousness. When her eyes finally opened, she was unable to speak, though it looked as though she was trying. She did seem to recognize her brother when he came to her side. So, that's reason enough to remain hopeful."

"So what are you trying to do to help her?"

"Well, we are hoping to replicate some of her brain matter that was lost in the attack. That's what this blue spell work is for. It keeps our spells in a highly concentrated area where they can penetrate her brain repeatedly. Of course, we're having the same problem that we had with all the others—Muggles don't seem to respond well to magic."

"Can it be…that perhaps they should be shifted to a Muggle hospital? Surely this sort of thing…brain damage…happens to Muggles. Don't they have some resources to deal with it…?"

The Healer laughed derisively. "Chief Potter, I think these Muggles are rather lucky to be here than in some Muggle hospital. They cut into people's heads down there and sew them up like dolls…it's practically medieval."

"Yes," Harry whispered, annoyed, "but you said the Muggle doctor saved Hermione's life with just those techniques…"

"Perhaps, but had there been a Healer on the scene, Counselor Granger would have been cured in an instant. Instead, she had to go through some ghastly procedure. It's a miracle she survived and you were able to transport her here…"

Harry ground his teeth together as the image of Hermione in the Muggle hospital overwhelmed him. A light prickling sensation ran down Harry's back and he shivered. He didn't want to contemplate the thought that the Healer had just voiced…that he may not have reached Hermione in time…

Waltham was still speaking.

"Besides, these Muggles have sustained a magical injury, which suggests that they will need a magical cure. I'm very hopeful that we'll begin to see some progress with their condition as we refine their potion dosage."

Harry nodded.

"Well, that's really the whole of it, Chief Potter. I can take you down to Counselor Granger's room if you like. It's been nearly an hour. She may be beginning to come to."

Harry needed no further instigation than that. Before he passed through he curtains, however, Harry turned and glanced at the Muggle family. Walter Cameron was absorbed in his book, scratching his head absently. Nicole was immobile as always, her chest rising and falling peaceably. Mrs. Cameron was gazing at Harry, her eyes eerily foggy. She gave him a hesitant smile. Last, Harry's eyes landed on Duncan, who was watching Harry closely. Harry gave the boy a wide grin and cheerful wave goodbye. The boy smiled as well, his greenish-blue eyes crinkling in the corners. The magical book was still clutched in his arms.


When Harry returned to Hermione's room with Healer Waltham, he was dismayed to find it more crowded than ever. George had arrived with his wife, Angelina, and several more Healers were standing in the corner of the room gossiping to one another.

"Harry," Ron called from Hermione's bedside. "Come over. She's been moving around a bit and muttering. We think she's going to wake up soon."

Harry quickly moved towards the bed. Ron was still seated on Hermione's right side, Mrs. Weasley just behind him. Ginny was on Hermione's left and Harry quickly wormed his way next to Ginny—or more like subtly pushed her further along the bed so that he could have prime access to Hermione as she stirred.

And indeed, she was stirring. Her eyebrows had drawn together and her fingers were slowly flexing and un-flexing themselves.

"Healer Waltham," Mrs. Weasley said to the Healer standing just behind Harry, "Do you think we could just wake her up? It's been long enough, don't you think?"
Waltham pressed to the front to peer at Hermione more closely. The other Healers had also moved to the bed, creating a ring of people around Hermione. Harry wanted to curse them to pieces, so annoying did he find their presence, but he restrained himself. Instead, he watched as Waltham let his wand hover over Hermione's troubled face. A faint pink light emitted from the wand and Waltham smiled.

"Yes, yes," he sighed. "It will do no good to fret over her like this. I'll go ahead and wake her."

Waltham flicked his wand at Hermione. "Enervate!"

Hermione's whole body jolted as she came to. Hermione's eyes shot open and flitted across the swarm of faces above her.

"Wha—" she mumbled. Her eyes landed on Ron first. "R-ron?"

Ron picked up her hand again. "Yes, darling, it's me. You're in St. Mungo's."

"What? What's going on?" Hermione mumbled again, pulling her eyes away from her husband. Hermione seemed to be both mortified and petrified as her increasingly lucid eyes scanned the faces that swam before her. Her eyes stopped when she saw Harry. Then they widened.

"Harry!" she cried, trying to sit up only to have Healer Waltham push her back down. "We had an appointment! I'm so sorry! I—"

In another context, Harry might have laughed to see Hermione so upset about missing an appointment while she was lying in a hospital bed. Now, he only picked up her other hand and rubbed his thumb across her palm.

"Shh, it's all right. You had an accident and everything is all right now," Harry said as calmly as he could. In actuality, he was just so damn happy to see her eyes again. To hear her voice. To know she was fine, alive…back to him.

"Accident," she repeated, her eyes still on Harry. "I—what? I was just heading to your office…"

Healer Waltham cleared his throat. Hermione turned her head at the noise.

"Counselor Granger, I'm Healer Waltham, the Head Healer assigned to your case," he said kindly to her. "It appears you sustained a pretty nasty head trauma this morning. You were taken to a Muggle hospital until Chief Potter located your whereabouts and brought you to St. Mungo's…"

"A Muggle hospital…" Hermione repeated, shocked.

"Yes. The Muggles there seemed to have performed amiably and they stitched up your head. Fortunately, as I said, Chief Potter came and transported you here so that we could heal you properly."

"Harry transported…" Hermione said, turning back to Harry. "Harry. What's going on?"

Harry hesitated. He looked quickly around the room. Everyone, from the random Healers at the foot of the bed to Ron clutching Hermione's hand, was staring at Harry.

He cleared his throat. "I'll explain everything," Harry whispered to her. "I'm going to need your account of what you remember from this morning. Unfortunately," Harry said, turning to address the others in the room, "I'll need to get her account in private. This is now an official matter for the Auror Department," he said with finality.

The Healers looked uncomfortably at each other, as though they had been denied a delicious treat. However, they hurriedly left the room. George and Angelina nodded and followed after them. Healer Waltham patted Harry on the back before he too moved towards the exit.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, "surely you can have family in the room? I don't want to leave Hermione at a time like this."

Harry shook his head. "It will only take a few minutes, Molly. Let me discuss it with her alone, and then I'll call you back in."

Mrs. Weasley looked as though she might protest, but her shoulders slumped and she began to move towards the door. "Ginny, come along," she called.

"Harry?" Ginny said, looking up at him. She obviously wanted to stay as well.

"Just a few minutes, Gin. I promise," Harry said glancing momentarily at her.

She followed her mother out of the room. Finally, it was only Harry, Ron, and a very confused Hermione.

"Do you really need me to go too, mate?" Ron asked. He had not moved from his chair and was still holding Hermione's hand tightly in his own.

Watching Ron's pleading expression, Harry felt his resolve waiver. Harry truly wanted to be with Hermione alone—to confirm for himself that she was fine, to rejoice in the fact that she was alive and well. Yet, he reluctantly realized that Ron, as her husband, needed that same confirmation as well. It would be selfish of Harry to deny Ron access to his wife.

"Uh, sure. Fine," Harry said.

Refusing to let go of Hermione's other hand, Harry removed his wand from his cloak, conjured a chair, and sat down. Hermione watched him worriedly.

"Hermione, what's the last thing you remember about today?" Harry asked gently.

"Um," Hermione mumbled. "The last thing?"

"How about you start when you left the house? It was just after I told you to meet me for lunch in the AD," Harry supplied, hoping to kick start her memory.

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, recollection dawning on her still overly pale face. "Well, after that…I went upstairs and got dressed. I apparated to the Ministry and I spoke with John and did some work for about two hours. Then, I decided I would come…here, actually. To St. Mungo's. I wanted to visit the Camerons in the extended stay ward."

"The Camerons?" Ron spoke up. "Who are they?"

"They're the Muggle family Callahan attacked," Harry answered quickly, his eyes still locked on Hermione. She smiled at him.

"Yes, I visited with them for maybe…I don't know, forty-five minutes to an hour? It was then I realized I was going to be a bit late for our appointment. I should have just apparated back to the Ministry, but I didn't…"

"What? Why?" Harry demanded.

Suddenly, Hermione looked exceptionally guilty. She ducked her head down and her hand twisted uncomfortably inside Harry's. He held onto it more tightly.

"Hermione," Harry said in his most authoritative tone, "tell me what you did."

"I didn't do anything!" Hermione said, indignant.

Harry raised his eyebrows and Hermione glared at him for a moment before she sighed. "Okay, look. When I left the Camerons, it was probably just about noon. I figured you wouldn't mind if I was a little late, so I decided to walk back to the Ministry."

"Walk?" Ron repeated, as though the word was foreign to him. "Why?"

"Well…because I knew it might be my last chance to do so," Hermione explained, looking down at her sheets. "At least it was my last chance without a security unit in tow. The Ministry and St. Mungo's are only about eight blocks apart. Is it really so bad to want to enjoy your last moments of complete solitude by taking a walk? The weather was beautiful. I figured you wouldn't mind waiting, Harry. So I just took off towards the Ministry…"

Harry nodded slowly. This answer seemed to make perfect sense. It had been a beautiful fall day, and considering the fact that Hermione was only going to find a paranoid best friend with a team of bodyguards waiting for her at the Ministry…well, he could see why Hermione might want to postpone the inevitable.

Still, he would have to be harsh.

"Hermione," Harry said gravely. "What were you thinking? You had just received a number of death threats. What possessed you that you thought walking around without protection was a good idea?"

"Harry," Hermione said, exasperated. She removed her hand from his. "It was a Sunday in Muggle London. It was daytime. It's not like it's a particularly dangerous part of town either."

"But Hermione, you had death threats. Do you understand that?" Harry demanded, angry with her for the first time. He missed the secure sensation of having her hand in his.

"Of course! But, it's not like anyone was going to attack me there!"

"Well, that's exactly what fucking happened, Hermione. You were attacked."

"What?" she said, disbelieving. She eyed Harry like he was crazy. "N-no I wasn't!"

"You were. Someone threw a brick at your head. You were knocked unconscious and bled out onto the sidewalk until some Muggles found you. They called an ambulance and you were taken to a hospital. Apparently, your brain was swelling and one of the doctor's had to crack open your skull to save your life. So yes, you were fucking attacked and I was the one who had to find you all beaten up and bleeding and take you back to St. Mungo's!"

Hermione stared at him, stunned. Harry suddenly regretted speaking so harshly to her. He hadn't meant to divulge the gory details of her attack…But she should know, shouldn't she? He never wanted to go through that experience again. It would kill him, of that he was sure. If he scared her straight…it was worth it, right?

Slowly, Hermione reached up a hand to feel the back of her head. She winced slightly.

"A brick?" she said, breathlessly. "How do you know it was thrown at me? It could have fallen, right—?"

Harry sighed. He had been hoping to delay this precise detail of the incident as well. "Something was written on it," Harry said, picking up her hand again. She did not pull away.

"What? On the brick?"

"Yes."

"What did it say?"

Harry looked down. "'Muggle cunt.'"

A ghastly silence met his words. It was Ron who reacted first.

"What?" Ron hissed, getting to his feet. "Those bastards…. What the fuck kind of game are they playing? This is fucking ridiculous!"

"Shh, Ron," Hermione chided, pulling him back down by the hand that was still locked around her own. "Calm down."

She turned back to Harry quite unperturbed. "Is that all? No other details?"

"The words were burnt into the brick by a spell. I have Aurors running tests on the rest of the evidence we recovered from the hospital. I don't know how much we'll find out."

Hermione nodded silently. Ron was fuming, staring at his shoes.

"Hermione," Harry said, his voice low. "I need to know the exact last thing you remember seeing on your walk."

Hermione studied his face for a moment. Now that she knew she had been attacked, she seemed to take the matter much more seriously. "Well, I was walking rather fast since I was already late for our appointment. I was looking into the shop windows as I past them…most of the stores were closed. I think I was about four blocks away from the Ministry when…I don't know. I think I was by a camera shop? I remember seeing expensive Muggle cameras in the window and rolls of film…. That's the last thing I remember."

Harry nodded. "You didn't see anyone approach you?"

"No. No, not at all. The street was completely deserted. I only saw maybe five people on the walk. A homeless man and a few other Muggles. But, the street was empty when I was by that camera shop…"

"So, you have no memory of being hit?"

"No. None whatsoever."

"All right," Harry said, thinking quickly. "It's possible your attacker apparated to the scene, threw the brick, and disapparated."

"The street was very quiet," Hermione said quickly. "I would have heard someone apparate."

"Maybe an Invisibility charm, then? Or a Disillusionment charm?"

"That means whoever it was may have been…stalking me for several blocks?"

"Maybe. Perhaps just as you left St. Mungo's?"

"Perhaps…"

Harry looked down at their entwined fingers. Despite the subject matter, he smiled slightly as they came to this conclusion. It was almost like the old days when Harry and Hermione finished each other's sentences as they figured out some new clue or spell. He wished it did not have to be such a gruesome puzzle they were figuring out this time.

"Why are you smiling?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Oh, uh," Harry sighed. "I was just thinking that you are so getting a security detail once I get you back in the AD."

"Hahaha," Hermione said lightly, though she was smiling. "What do you want me to say? That you were right?"

"That would be nice," Harry laughed.

"Fine. You were right. I needed a security detail. But I do not think it was wrong of me to want a few moments of peace before a group of Aurors starts shadowing my footsteps."

Harry's smile faded. "Hermione, it is wrong for you to want that when there are known death threats against you."

"You're one to talk," Hermione said, her grin fading as well. "Like death threats ever stopped you from sneaking into Hogsmeade or infiltrating the Ministry or…."

"This is different," Harry interrupted.

"How is it different?"

"Well," Harry sputtered. "Well, I was thirteen and an idiot…"

"Oh!" Hermione said sarcastically. "So after all these years, you finally admit it? I've been waiting a long time to hear that!"

"Well, apparently you haven't learned anything at all then," Harry shot back, his voice low. "You're thirty-seven and still acting like an idiot."

"You are such—" Hermione began.

"Hey, hey!" Ron shouted. "Do we really have to get into this now?"

Harry and Hermione quieted, still glaring at each other.

"God!" Ron said, exasperated. "Don't force me to be the mature one here!"

Hermione smiled at his words. Her hand was still entwined with Harry's, even through their fight. She slipped her hand out now and gently patted his hand.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Hermione said reluctantly. "It was risky. I should have realized that. Even if, you know…it was entirely safe and I shouldn't have to be on the look out for crazies..."

"Wow, great apology Hermione," Harry said, with a sardonic half-smile. "And yes, you shouldn't have to look out for crazies. That's what a security detail is for."

Hermione let out a frustrated growl, but she did not reply.

"So," Ron said, getting up and stretching. "What do we do now?"

"Well, I have to some work to finish…" Hermione said, straightening up against her pillows.

"No," Harry said sternly. "You're going home to rest while I finalize your security arrangements."

"What?" Hermione sputtered. "Are you a Healer? Who said I needed rest…"

Harry did not wait for Hermione to finish. "Healer Waltham!" Harry shouted.

The door immediately snapped opened and the Healer strode inside with Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, George, and Angelina in tow.

"Yes, Chief Potter," Waltham said coming up next to Harry.

"Does she need rest?" Harry demanded, waving a hand towards Hermione.

Waltham hesitated, looking between Harry's slightly threatening stance and Hermione's pleading expression. "Um, well yes. I would suggest you take at least a day off, Counselor Granger, so that you can let your bruising go down…"

"Thank you," Harry said satisfied, patting the Healer briefly on the back.

"But what if I didn't, Healer Waltham?" Hermione questioned. "I would be fine, wouldn't I?"

Waltham chuckled. "Well, someone is eager to return to work, aren't they? I would suggest one day off nonetheless, Counselor."

Harry passed her a wide grin.

"But…Harry," Hermione said more softly, a look of genuine concern crossing her face, "I'm cannot miss work tomorrow. If I do, everyone is going to think it was due to the Prophet articles. I can't have that. They'll think I'm ashamed to show my face when I actually couldn't care less about what was written about me."

"They won't think that," Harry said soothingly. "Once they find out about the attack, everyone will understand."

Hermione's face abruptly grew furious. "They are not going to find out about the attack, Harry!" she said ferociously. "I won't allow it!"

"Hermione, I have to file the paperwork. People are going to find out."

"Well, don't file it in my name," Hermione pleaded through clenched teeth. "Say it was some unidentified witch who was attacked. Write down whatever lie you have to so that no one will know something happened to me today."

The room went silent. Harry stared at her grimly, knowing this was one matter in which she could not be swayed.

"I'll make you a deal," Harry said slowly. "I will make sure your name is disassociated from the attack. In exchange, you have to take one day off of work."

"But—" Hermione sputtered. "I…that still doesn't stop people from thinking I'm laying low because of the Prophet."

"It's that or people finding out you were attacked," Harry said plainly, "which I personally think everyone should know."

"You would want that," Hermione spat. "You'd like everyone to know Hermione Granger was knocked out by a brick."

"No, no," Harry said, momentarily hurt. "I'd like everyone to know you're getting a security detail so they won't try and fuck with you."

Hermione considered him for a moment before she sighed. She pressed a palm against her forehead. "Fine. A half-day off."

"Hermione."

"A half-day," she said again, with finality. "I'll go in after lunch."

Harry was about to protest when Ginny stepped in.

"Well, that's settled then," the redhead said quickly. "Ron, you should take Hermione home so she can rest." She took a hold of Harry's arm.

Ron nodded and moved to help Hermione out of the bed. She brushed him away, however, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. At that moment, Hermione realized she was completely naked except for her Muggle hospital gown.

"Wait," she said, her toes dangling over the floor. "Where are my clothes?"

"They were taken to the AD," Harry replied.

"Oh…well, I guess I can just apparate home. I don't really need my clothes to do that…" She looked around again. "Where's my purse? My wand?"

"Your purse is also at the AD," Harry answered her, recalling a small leather reticule splattered with blood.

"And my wand?" Hermione said, a flicker of panic crossing her eyes.

"It wasn't in the purse?" Harry asked.

"No," Hermione said with certainty. "I keep it in my cloak."

"Maybe it's with your clothes then," Harry assured her.

Hermione still looked concerned. "Could you check somehow?"

"Um, sure. I'll ask my assistant on the case if your wand came in with the rest of the evidence," Harry said.

Harry pulled out his own wand. A giant silver stag erupted from its tip and charged out of the room almost too fast to see.

George and Angelina moved forward.

"Well, I guess we'll let you get settled then, Hermione," George said, coming towards his sister-in-law. He kissed her on the forehead and then stepped aside so that Angelina could embrace her.

"Thanks, guys," Hermione said embarrassed. "You really didn't have to come."

"What?" Angelina scolded her softly. "You were in trouble, Hermione. We had to come. You're family."

Hermione smiled somewhat ruefully and waved them goodbye as the couple moved towards the door.

"I should probably head back as well, Hermione darling," Mrs. Weasley was saying. "I left Xenophilius in charge of Hugo, and heaven knows what they've gotten up to!"

The older witch moved to stand in front of Hermione. She pressed Hermione to her bosom in a near-smothering hug. "You feel better, darling. And listen to Healer Waltham and rest, okay?"

"Yes, Molly," Hermione said, gently extracting herself from the older woman's grasp.

Then their mutually shared mother-in-law turned to Harry. "Harry dear, thank you so much for finding Hermione. I know it couldn't have been easy. I'm so proud of you!"

Without another word she enveloped Harry in another bone-crushing hug. Harry tried to draw breath. "It's no problem, Mrs. Weasley. I'm just glad Hermione's safe."

Mrs. Weasley smiled at this and quickly planted a kiss on Harry's cheek. Over her shoulder, Harry could see Hermione staring at him strangely.

With that, Mrs. Weasley swiftly kissed Ron and Ginny goodbye and stepped out of the room to disapparate.

"Is there anything else you need from me, Chief Potter?" Healer Waltham asked, rocking on his heels by the doorway.

"No, not unless you can convince Hermione to stay in bed a whole day," Harry said grinning.

The Healer turned to glance at Hermione and laughed at the expression on her face when she heard Harry's request.

"There's only so much one Healer can do, Chief Potter. Unlike you, I don't have the strength to stand up to that withering look," he said, gesturing towards Hermione. He turned to face her. "You feel better Counselor Granger. Please don't hesitate to contact me if your condition worsens, and please do try to get as much rest as possible?"

"Thank you Healer Waltham. I'll try," she smiled sweetly.

Finally, only Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny remained. An awkward silence passed between them. Hermione obviously wanted to get off the bed, but the short, paper shift she was wearing did not exactly allow for that. Ginny moved forward and took a hold of Harry's hand again, pulling him away from the bed.

"Shouldn't we get going, darling—" she began. However, at that moment a small, silver beaver shot into the room. Its flat tail made a whooshing sound in the air as it skidded to a halt in front of Harry. It was Durkheim's patronus.

"Chief Potter," Durkheim's voice said from within the silvery form of the animal. "I personally searched through the evidence. No wand was found."

Upon delivering its message, the patronus faded into nothingness.

Hermione stared at the spot where the animal had vanished.

"Harry, my wand," she said again, looking increasingly alarmed. She was so alarmed that she actually slid off the bed. She quickly repositioned herself, however, so that her back was facing the wall. "Harry, what's happened to it?"

"I don't know?" Harry said, distracted now that Hermione's slender legs were on full display before him. "Um, maybe it was left at the hospital?"

"Left at the hospital?" she groaned in disbelief. She tugged at the hem of the gown, pulling it midway down her thigh. "How could you let that happen, Harry? Someone will have to go back and get it."

"Relax," Harry said smiling. A sudden thought had just occurred to him. "I'll go back to the hospital and get your wand. I know what your doctors and nurses looked like. I remember where your room was. So, I'll just walk to your room, summon your wand, and bring it back to you."

"Oh, thank you, Harry!" she said enthusiastically, letting go of her hem so that the paper material rose several inches up her thigh.

"You're welcome," Harry said grinning, directing his eyes upward to her face. "And I'll even do it on only one condition."

"Condition?" she said, suspicion returning to her voice.

"You'll take the full day off tomorrow."

"Harry, I already said—" she stopped. Her eyes narrowed. "Screw that. I'll go to the hospital myself and get it."

"Do you even know where you should summon it?" Harry asked nonchalantly.

Hermione made a scoffing sound. "All I have to do is get inside the hospital and summon it," she said confidently.

"Do you even know what hospital you were in?"

Hermione glared at him before she said, "I can just ask one of the Healers…"

"You really think they'll tell you if I tell them not to?"

Hermione was about to speak, but she stopped again. She turned to look out the narrow window into the hallway. Several Healers were still loitering outside, waiting to catch a glimpse of Harry. Hermione slowly came to the realization that none of them, not even the Head Healer, would tell her the name of the Muggle hospital if Harry was opposed to her receiving such information.

She spun slightly on her heel (a portion of her back became visible). "Ron, do you know where I was? Ginny?"

They both shook their heads. Ron was smiling, obviously approving of Harry's plan. Ginny, however, had a skeptical look on her face.

"I can find out," Hermione said forcefully, turning back to Harry.

"Even if you did," Harry said, watching her expression, "do you really want to Obliviate half the hospital when they see a piece of wood flying through the air of its own accord?"

Hermione's eyes shot daggers at him. Usually, Harry might have become instinctively afraid at such a look, but Harry was too busy reveling in the fact that he had actually outwitted Hermione at something.

"All right, fine Harry Potter. You've been very clever today," Hermione snapped. "Why don't you go get my wand and I might be amenable to staying in tomorrow?"

"I don't think that was my condition, Hermione," Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

She growled again, turning her head away.

Harry, expecting her to finally assent to his plan, was surprised when she next spoke.

"Okay, Harry," she said sweetly. "I agree to take the whole day off tomorrow if you go and get my wand. But, you have to invite the doctor who saved my life to dinner. With all four of us."

"What?" Ron and Ginny said in unison.

"Um, why is that necessary?" Harry said.

"Because, you said the Muggle doctors saved my life. Surely, you can invite one of them to dinner so I can thank him or her."

"But, Hermione—they were all Obliviated. They don't know who you are."

"Well, you'll just have to be creative, won't you?" Hermione said with a mischievous smile.

Harry was momentarily speechless. Even after recovering from a rather harrowing trauma, Hermione looked gorgeous. He was particularly struck by that smile. This, added to the fact that she was barely covered…well, Harry lost track of the conversation.

"Um, so wait—if I go and get your wand and invite a Muggle to dinner…you'll take a day off of work?" It sounded ridiculous when he said it.

"Yes."

Harry laughed. "Fine. What date should I tell him, madam?"

Hermione thought about this for a moment. "Tell him, my birthday—September 19th."

It was less than two weeks away.

"Fine," Harry said again.

"Hold on. Hold on," Ron interjected. "Why are we getting mixed up in all of this?" he demanded, gesturing to himself and Ginny. "Hermione, just say you'll take the full day off and Harry will get your wand. There's no need to have dinner with a bunch of Muggles," he finished, alarmed.

"I agree," Ginny said quietly from behind Harry.

"This isn't about my wand, Ron," Hermione said seriously. "I want to find the doctor who saved my life. I would invite him to dinner regardless. Harry is just saving me the trouble. So, what do you say Harry?"

Harry smirked. "All this to get you to take one day off of work? Sometimes you're truly unbelievable, Hermione."

Hermione smiled. "So you accept."

"I accept."

"Great! Well, that settles it," Ron said exasperated. "Hermione's taking a day off of work and we're having Muggles over for dinner. Wonderful."

"Yes, yes," Hermione said, turning towards Ron. "I'm taking a day off."

"Good," Harry said, thinking. "That'll give me a chance to get your security in place. I'll visit the hospital early tomorrow and then I'll come by your place with your security detail, sound good?"

"Fine," Hermione said, no longer protesting.

Harry smiled widely, watching as Hermione edged towards Ron while keeping her back to the wall.

"Let's go, darling," Ginny was saying, tugging on his arm more insistently.

Harry chanced one more glance at Ron and Hermione. He caught her eye just as he was disapparating.


Harry and Ginny landed in the foyer of their home. They were silent for a moment.

"Where's Lily?" Harry asked.

"I sent her to mum's when I left for St. Mungo's," Ginny replied, stonily.

"Did you tell her what happened?"

"No," Ginny said, moving towards the kitchen. "I didn't even know what was going on when I left."

"Right."

Harry realized there was a dull ache in his stomach. He had not eaten for nearly fourteen hours. He followed after Ginny into the kitchen. She moved towards the sink and began thoroughly washing her hands while Harry went into the pantry. He summoned some bread, mayonnaise, and ham from the icebox.

As Harry directed the ingredients to assemble themselves into a sandwich, Ginny sighed.

"It's been an eventful day, to say the least," she said from the sink.

Harry grunted.

The taps stopped and Ginny turned to face him.

"Are you all right?" she asked seriously.

Harry looked up from his completed sandwich. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Ginny continued to look at him.

"What do you want?" Harry said. "Hermione is safe. She'll be getting a security detail. Everything should be fine."

Ginny nodded slowly, almost skeptically. "You seemed very…detached from everything until she woke up…"

"Detached?" Harry said before taking a bite.

"Yes," Ginny said, picking up the hand towel tucked into the handle of the oven. She came forward to lean against the wooden counter facing Harry.

"You were strangely quiet until she woke up…"

"Well, I was thinking," Harry replied. That seemed obvious to him.

"About what?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know. I was thinking about the situation, what else? I was thinking about who had attacked her, what I would have to do…"
Ginny nodded again. Harry became more confused about where this conversation was heading.

"Why do you ask?" Harry questioned, as Ginny turned and walked towards the kitchen table. She picked up the Harry's copy of the Daily Prophet, which had been left there since early that morning.

"I don't know," she said nonchalantly, though there was an edge in her voice. "I just felt like…well, like you had tunnel vision to everything but Hermione today."

Harry considered this for a moment. He took another bite of his sandwich. "Why wouldn't I?" Harry said thickly. "She'd just been attacked."

Ginny didn't respond. She opened the Daily Prophet to the sports section and began rifling through it, looking for her own article.

As Ginny remained silent, Harry stared at the paper in her hands. The front-page story about the Callahan case glared back at him. He was not entirely sure what he meant to tell Ginny, but he could not remain silent either.

"Ginny, I was wondering…well, I've been meaning to ask you about the Prophet's reporting of the Callahan case."

Ginny lowered the paper, and indifferent look on her face. "What about it?"

"You can't ignore the fact that Hermione's attack may have had something to do with what was written in the Prophet today. All of her death threats referred to it. On top of that, what Howard Banbury wrote was complete rubbish. It borders on libel, to be honest…"

"Libel?" Ginny said, one eyebrow rising.

"Yeah," Harry said, his face becoming warmer as he recalled what the Prophet columnist had written about Hermione. "He used her Muggle-born activism as evidence that she wants the unification of the wizarding and Muggle worlds. You can't just make a jump like that. When has Hermione ever said anything even remotely indicative that she wants to unite both worlds?"

"Do you know for a fact that she doesn't?" Ginny asked coolly.

Harry stared at her for a moment, surprised she had even asked the question. "Of course. Hermione may be an idealist, but she knows her limits just like anyone else…"

"A lot of people don't think she knows her limits, Harry," Ginny said, returning her gaze to the paper.

"But you know that she does. It's a lie to say otherwise."

"If it's a lie, Hermione should correct it herself," Ginny said stonily.

Harry gaped at her. "Well, I'm sure correcting it would be a lot easier if the Prophet wasn't printing this bullshit about her. It's not even journalism now. It's just mean-spirited and dangerous for the Prophet to be spewing these lies about her."

Ginny sighed, looking up again. "What do you want me to do about it, Harry?"

He paused. "Well, maybe you could talk to Banbury…"

"I'm in the sports section, Harry. It's not my place to dictate how Howard should do his job."

"But you're an editor…"

"A co-editor. And it's still not my place. Howard is an opinion writer. The only person who can influence what he writes is the editorial section editor."

"I know how the hierarchy of the Prophet works, Ginny," Harry said, frustrated. "I'm not asking you to go through official channels. You could just communicate to Banbury, or whomever you need to, that the Prophet's tone when it reports on Hermione, and Magical Law Enforcement in general, is hostile. Tell them it needs to stop or they'll face consequences."

"And what would these consequences be?"

"Well, that you'll resign or –"

"That I'll resign?" Ginny interjected, her mouth falling open.

"Not really resign, just threaten to," Harry said quickly. "You have a lot of leverage at the Prophet, Ginny. You saved their sports section. They aren't going to want to let go of you…"

Ginny just stared at him. "So, let me get this straight. You want me to threaten to resign because you believe there is a connection between what the Prophet writes about Hermione and her personal safety?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"What if I don't believe there is a connection?"

Harry could hardly believe she could be that dense. "How can you not believe there is a connection?" he demanded. "Hermione has never received a death threat until today, a day in which her name just happened to be raked across the coals in the Prophet?"

"Harry, I can't stop the Prophet from reporting the facts about Hermione's involvement in the Callahan case. She is part of the story and we wouldn't be a fucking newspaper if we didn't report on her involvement—"

"But you could at least do it in a way that's fair to her!" Harry said, growing increasingly upset with her failure to acknowledge the seriousness of the situation. "This is Hermione we're talking about, Ginny! She's your sister-in-law. You two were pregnant together; you raised our kids together. If there was even the slightest connection between the Prophet and violence against Hermione, you should be pretty fucking upset! You should want to make sure the Prophet isn't instigating violence against her! You should naturally want to help her. I can't believe I even have to mention it to you!"

"Well, maybe that's because you're the only one who cares!" Ginny cried, her face red.

"Are you saying you don't care what happens to Hermione?" Harry said, stunned.

"No!" Ginny said quickly. "I do care. I'm just not going to go overboard in asking journalists to stop being journalists or opinion writers to stop giving their opinions for the sake of an unsubstantiated connection between the Prophet and an attack against Hermione!"

"Then what would you do to protect Hermione?" Harry shot back, fuming.

"I would do exactly what you're doing!" she said, exasperated. "I'd give her a security detail and leave it at that. That's exactly what should be done!"

Harry turned away from her and stared at his plate. He tried to think of some way to show Ginny that something more was needed. Despite his anger, however, he had to acknowledge that all he could legally do was give Hermione a security unit. Yet…a security detail didn't feel like enough. It could never be enough…not for Hermione.

A loud silence passed between them, Harry grinding his teeth as he considered Ginny's words. After a moment, he heard the sound of water hitting paper.

Horrified, Harry realized Ginny was crying. Two or three tears had fallen onto the Prophet beneath her. Harry stared at the tearstains for a moment, feeling like an utter asshole and wholly unsure as to what he should do. Slowly he got up and moved towards her.

"Ginny," he said cautiously. Ginny lifted her head. Her eyes were swollen, tears leaking out from the corners.

Harry could no longer be angry. He opened up his arms and Ginny willingly came to him.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, stroking her hair. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Ginny sniffled into his sweater. "This is exactly what I mean," she mumbled.

"What?"

"When Hermione's in danger, you become so irrational. You ask for the impossible. And…and you don't pay attention to me!" she said, devolving into tears again and burying her face in the crook of Harry's arm.

"What do you mean?" Harry said, confused. "I pay attention to you," he protested.

"You didn't once look at me while we were at St. Mungo's," she sniffed mournfully.

"What?"

"It's like you have blinders on…"

"Ginny, you're not making sense. She was just attacked. If you had been attacked, I would have been just as focused on you," Harry reasoned. "It'd be the same for the children. Ron too."

Ginny was silent again, taking several deep breaths. "You would still pay attention to Hermione even if I was unconscious on a hospital bed…" she whispered.

"That's not true," Harry said quickly. "Please, don't be ridiculous, Ginny," Harry pleaded, lifting her head up in his hands. "Hermione is my best friend. I should care if she's hurt, right?"

Ginny stared at him, her eyes still wet. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes," she said reluctantly. "It's not…it's not that I don't w-want you to care about what happens to her…I just want you to remember me in the process," she said, her lips quivering.

Harry leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I always remember you, Ginny, even if it doesn't look like it."

Ginny smiled slightly at this. "That's all I wanted to hear."

Harry hugged her again, glad that this particular conversation was over. He still wanted to press her on getting the Prophet to back down, but he could tell he was not going to get anywhere with that tonight.

Ginny seemed content to let herself be placated by Harry for several more minutes before he finally pulled away.

"I should probably finish eating," Harry said awkwardly, extricating himself. "I'm starving."

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. "All right, darling. I've got some work to do before bed. I should probably message Mum to bring Lily back."

"Okay."

Ginny glanced at him briefly before she picked up the Prophet and headed towards the stairs. Harry listened as her footsteps faded and the house became still.

Harry slowly picked up his half-finished sandwich, feeling his appetite abandon him once again. He set down his food and raised both hands to his face, letting his cool palms lessen the heat still radiating from his skin.

Harry removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose momentarily. Though he was happy that Ginny was now content, he couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't been completely honest with her, that he had, in fact, lied.

Harry truly wanted to believe he had thought of his wife throughout Hermione's ordeal. Yet, he honestly could not remember consciously thinking of Ginny once while Hermione lay on her bed in St. Mungo's.


It was with some trepidation that Harry stood in front of the Royal London Hospital the next day. It was eight in the morning and the Monday commute was in full swing. Harry was wearing Muggle clothing—slacks and a dark green button-down shirt with a light jacket. He had left his cloak, with its Auror insignia, at home. As Harry stood gazing at the blue glass structure, the task Hermione had charged him with seemed much more difficult than it had the previous day.

Before Harry had left for the hospital, he checked with Ron to make sure Hermione was still in bed, per their arrangement. Hermione was to take the full day off if Harry retrieved her wand from the hospital and invited the doctor who had saved her life to dinner for her birthday. Ron had informed Harry that, indeed, Hermione was in bed, though she was looking through some files, and that Ron would also take the day off work to make sure Hermione did not sneak into the office.

Satisfied, Harry had apparated to the center of London where he currently stood. It was strange to compare Harry's first nightmarish visit to the Royal London Hospital with his second visit. Had Hermione not lost her wand, Harry would have been very glad to never step through the hospital's doors again.

Harry sighed before he crossed the street with a group of Muggles, some clearly hospital employees. A moment later, he stood in the lobby unsure as to how to proceed.

A number of doubts began to plague Harry. How could he even be sure that Hermione had lost her wand in the hospital? It could have been at the crime scene. How did he know that Dr. Srinivasan was even working today? How was he to invite a doctor to dinner with a patient he never remembered treating?

Hermione, Harry growled in his head. He knew she had purposely made it difficult for him, but that did not lessen any of his annoyance with the task that lay ahead.

Hesitantly, Harry moved towards the same information desk he had approached the day before to enquire about Hermione in much different circumstances. The same elderly black woman was manning the computer.

"Uh, excuse me," Harry said awkwardly as he stood before her, hands in his pockets. "I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find Dr. Srinivasan?"

The woman barely glanced at him. "Dr. Amar Srinivasan?"

How many were there? "Uh, yes," Harry replied.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, peering over glasses.

"Yes," Harry lied as swiftly as possible. "I mean…he is treating one of my family members…"

"What's the patient's name?"

"Uh," Harry stumbled. He quickly tried to think of a last name that had to be a patient of the doctor's. "Um, Jones is the last name?"

Shit. That should have sounded more convincing.

The woman eyed at Harry for second, not amused.

"Sir, do you really have a family member in this hospital?" she demanded.

Under her gaze, Harry's reason left him. "Um…no, ma'am."

"Uh huh. Well, I'm sorry. If you aren't a relative of a patient or have an appointment with Dr. Srinivasan, I can't let you inside."

Harry nodded dumbly, defeated. He briefly thought of Obliviating her memory of the conversation, but he refrained.

That would be illegal. And I don't think that's what Hermione meant by "being creative."

Harry walked towards the exit, shamefaced. The woman watched him leave before she turned to the next visitor. Harry moved behind a pillar and glanced backwards. He waited until the woman's attention was fully devoted to the computer screen in front her.

Harry was then struck by an idea. He could simply apparate into Hermione's hospital room. The only potential problem was that there could be people inside upon apparating there. But, it was still early. Many patients were likely still asleep, and hopefully there would be no doctors going on rounds yet.

Coming to his decision, Harry checked his surroundings and determined no one was watching. He apparated.

Harry landed in the room that had haunted his thoughts for the last twenty hours. Blessedly, Hermione's hospital room was empty. He sighed in relief. The room was still dark with the blinds drawn. He looked quickly around the room for Hermione's wand. If it was anywhere in the hospital, it was likely here. Harry searched under the small, rolling table where Hermione's clothes and purse had been placed. He looked under the bed and in the bathroom. The wand was nowhere to be seen.

Harry fumbled with his own wand.

"Accio Hermione's wand!" he whispered so that the charm did not reach beyond the room he was in. Nothing happened.

"Shit," Harry muttered. He tried the spell several more times and waited. No wand came flying towards him. It was not in the room.

Agitated, Harry moved towards the door and spread apart the blinds with his fingers in order to look out into the hallway. Two doctors holding coffee in paper cups were speaking softly with one another as they strode past the door. Further down the corridor, there was a nurses' station where three nurses stood, gossiping amiably.

Harry gently opened the door and slipped into the hallway. He thrust his hands into his pockets and began calmly walking towards the station, as though he might be a friend of one of the patients who had simply decided to take a walk.

Harry was wondering how convincing his act was when a doctor in turquoise scrubs passed him. Harry briefly smiled at him, which the doctor returned. It took Harry a moment to realize it was Dr. Srinivasan.

"Doctor!" Harry called, spinning on his heel. "Dr. Srinivasan?"

The tall Indian man turned. He looked slightly bemused as Harry approached him.

"Hello. Can I help you?" he said kindly to Harry. It was obvious he did not recognize him.

"Um, yes," Harry said, thinking quickly. "My name is Harry…I'm the relative of one of your patients…She lost something very important at the hospital and sent me to find it."

The doctor's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, sir. That's a question for the hospital's lost-and-found. It's on the first floor." He turned to leave.

"Uh, but doctor," Harry said, desperate. "It was a rather important item. I wonder if you saw it?"

Srinivasan looked slightly annoyed as he turned to face Harry again. "All right," he said quickly. "What was it?"

Harry laughed inwardly. This was going to be difficult.

"Um, well…you see…." Harry began.

The doctor's face grew increasingly impatient, though he was obviously trying to be polite.

"It's sort of…it's like a little piece of wood?" Harry said pathetically. "It's small, maybe slightly over a foot. It has some rather intricate carvings on it."

Harry was pleasantly surprised to see recognition dawning on the doctor's features. He was now eyeing Harry strangely, as though seeing him for the first time.

"That is so interesting you say that!" he exclaimed. "What was your name again?"

"Um, Harry."

"Harry…?" Srinivasan paused, obviously awaiting Harry's surname.

"Oh, um," Harry began, hating how he was sounding more and more like a stuttering fool, "it's Harry Weasley," he lied.

"And the patient's name? Was it your wife?"

Again, Harry hesitated before responding. The doctor did not know Harry's relationship with Hermione. Would it make sense to say he was simply her friend or her brother-in-law? Or was this the sort of errand that only a husband would do? Conflicted, Harry went with instinct.

"Yes, my wife."

"What's her name?"

"Hermione."

"Hermione…" Srinivasan mused, rolling the name around his mouth as though he had never heard it before. A moment later, the doctor stepped forward and indicated that Harry should follow.

Delighted that they were finally getting somewhere, Harry was surprised to see the doctor stop before the nurses' station. Srinivasan moved to the other side of the counter.

"Sorry, could I use it for a second, Sheryl?" Srinivasan said to one of the nurses. A large woman quickly got up and moved out of the way so that the doctor could take her seat. She moved towards the far end of the counter and the other two nurses followed after her.

Harry watched with growing trepidation as the doctor muttered, "Hermione…. Weasley," while typing something into the strange contraption.

"Ah, yes!" Srinivasan said. "Hermione Weasley. Your wife was in room 466…she had a head trauma, which we were able to handle pretty well. Says she got thirty-four stitches, yikes! I don't know why I don't remember her case…" he said confused. "Hmmm, this is odd…"

"What?" Harry said, quickly. Harry was already cursing himself that he had overlooked the shiny machine that seemed to hold a record of Hermione's visit to the hospital. He supposed it was impossible to Obliviate a piece of Muggle technology…. still, this would make things more complicated.

"Well, her file was never closed," Srinivasan said seriously. "It says here that she was admitted yesterday…she can't have been released yet, not with thirty-four stitches in her head…yet, she's not here… I would have seen her on my round."

Harry felt this was the moment for a convenient lie. "No, no," Harry said rapidly. "That can't be right. Hermione actually wanted to invite you to dinner, as a thank you for treating her…but you see she's completely better now. She was admitted to the hospital several weeks ago."

"How many weeks ago?" Srinivasan asked, confused.

"Uh…" Harry quickly calculated how long it would likely take a Muggle to recover from Hermione's injuries. "A month ago?"

"Wow. Your wife is a remarkably fast healer."

Fuck. "Yes, I suppose she is…" Harry said, lamely. He watched the doctor's expression anxiously.

Thankfully, Srinivasan returned his attention to the computer screen. "Well, this must be a typo…it happens. I'll just change it now." He began typing faster. "Don't tell anyone about this or we'll likely be getting some lawsuits," Srinivasan said half jokingly.

Harry laughed a little too loudly.

Finally, Srinivasan finished with the frustrating device and stood up. "The reason I checked your wife's file, Mr. Weasley, was because I wanted to see if I had the right room." The doctor moved out from behind the counter and quickly motioned for Harry to follow him. As they passed Hermione's original room, Srinivasan spoke again.

"You see…something strange happened the other day. I somehow ended up in a room… I believe it was your wife's old room. I'm not really sure what I was doing in there, to be honest…but then I saw exactly what you described: some sort of intricately designed piece of wood. It was very pretty. No one was checked into the room so I knew it didn't belong to a current patient, so I simply pocketed it so I could show it to my son later. I left it in my locker here at the hospital."

The doctor laughed. "How strange that I should find your wife's…. item… a full month after she was admitted here!"

"We're just lucky, I guess," Harry said, smiling slightly. Harry was simply rejoicing in the fact that Dr. Srinivasan seemed content to take the incident in stride, without asking too many questions.

Srinivasan pushed through a set of double doors and escorted Harry down a narrower hallway. On his left and right, Harry saw locker rooms for doctors wearing different colored scrubs. Finally, Srinivasan stopped before one of the last doors in the hallway and stepped inside.

It was a mostly empty locker room, like all the others. Two other doctors were changing out of their regular clothing and into turquoise scrubs identical to Dr. Srinivasan's.

"Amar?" a redheaded woman said, tying the drawstring of her pants. "Who's this?"

"Don't worry, Rachel," Srinivasan said, smiling. "This is just the husband of one of my former patients. Special case."

The woman looked suspiciously at Harry before she nodded and turned away. Though Harry knew nothing of hospital etiquette, he guessed that his presence in a hospital locker room was unusual. In any case, Harry followed Srinivasan to the back of the room.

He watched as the doctor fiddled with a padlock and swung open a locker. He gently removed what Harry recognized as Hermione's wand. Harry held out his hand.

"Here you go, Mr. Weasley. I hope your wife will be happy to have it back," Srinivasan said smiling. He briefly looked down at the wand in his hand, a line forming between his eyebrows. "Actually, do you mind my asking what it is?"

Harry grimaced slightly. Fortunately, the doctor did not see Harry's expression as he was still rolling Hermione's wand between his fingers. "Well, it's sort of…"

"It's rather beautiful, isn't? I like these leaf carvings on the side. It's so intricate for such a small piece of wood." The doctor laughed. "It's sort of like a magic wand, you know? But without all the sparkles…"

Harry laughed too loudly again. He wracked his mind as to what in a Muggle household might resemble Hermione's wand. Absolutely nothing came to mind.

The doctor finally looked up, waiting for Harry's response.

Harry tried again. "Well, you know, it's sort of a like…it's like a family heirloom?" he supplied. "It's just really important to Hermione…been in the family for years."

The doctor looked strangely at Harry, but thankfully chose not to press him. Harry's eyes widened as Srinivasan playfully swished the wand in the air before he placed it in Harry's hand. Harry pocketed it.

"Well, I'm glad I could help you in recovering it, Mr. Weasley," the doctor said, closing his locker. "Now, I think you mentioned dinner?"

Harry inwardly sighed with relief. "Yes. How does September 19th work for you?"


By one that afternoon, Harry was standing in the Ministry Atrium with Hermione's security detail: Yvain More and Cassiopeia Burke. Inside Harry's cloak, Hermione's wand was tucked in next to his own. The three Aurors walked towards the first available fireplace and moments later, they were standing in Ron and Hermione's small parlor.

The parlor had a gleaming rosewood floor and the room was filled with flowers that perpetually replenished themselves. There was a dusted rose-colored couch in the center of the room and several other chairs scattered around the space. The afternoon sun came in through a large bay window to Harry's right.

Harry gingerly shook the soot off his robes, making sure the residue landed in the hearth, before he stepped out. "Ron? Hermione?" he called.

Ron came skidding into the parlor a moment later. He was holding a half-eaten bagel. "Hey, Harry!" he said cheerfully. He looked at the two wizards behind Harry and smiled. "Oh, so these are Hermione's new bodyguards, huh?"

"Yes," Harry said, motioning the two younger Aurors to step forward. "This is Cassiopeia Burke. She goes by 'Cassy.' And this is Yvain More. They are two of my most talented young Aurors."

Ron switched the bagel to his left hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you both," Ron said kindly, extending his arm.

Cassiopeia politely shook his hand, but Yvain looked slightly star-struck and held onto Ron's hand a bit longer than necessary.

"It's such an honor to meet you, Mr. Weasley," Yvain said ecstatically. "I never in my life thought I'd-I'd meet you personally, sir. It's a huge honor…"

Ron gave him an appreciative grin. "Ah, I can tell I'm going to like you," Ron said, laughing.

"How is Hermione doing?" Harry interjected, looking towards the staircase in the foyer.

Ron took a bite of his bagel before answering. "She's fine. Like I told you, she's been doing some work but she hasn't left the house…. Did you get the wand back?"

Harry laughed. "Yes, and it wasn't easy."

"And the Muggle?"

"Coming to dinner the 19th."

Ron pursed his lips slightly. "Hmph. Well, that should be interesting…"

"Yes…um, Ron?"

At that moment, however, the sound of footsteps reached Harry. Harry quickly strode into the foyer, the others following behind him.

As Harry expected, Hermione was descending the stairs. He was happy to see that she was still wearing pajamas—light flannel pants with her old Head Girl T-shirt—which he hoped meant that she had been resting in her bed. The shirt was slightly tighter on her now, stretched alluringly on her petite frame. She gave a hesitant smile as she looked at the small group assembled in the foyer.

She skipped down the last few steps as if to show how well she had recovered.

"Well, hello Harry," she said sarcastically, coming to stand before him. "Did you get my wand?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry replied, smiling. "And you'll get it in just a second. First, let me introduce you to your security team." Harry stepped to the side to reveal the two Aurors behind him.

"This is Yvain More," Harry said. He tried to ignore the appreciative look Hermione gave the tall, blond wizard. "And this is Cassiopeia Burke. She goes by 'Cassy,'" he repeated.

Hermione smiled at them both. "Pleasure," she said simply.

There was an awkward pause until Ron spoke.

"Um, so Harry…the Harpies game is on. Do you think you need me for this?"

"No, yeah. You can go. What's the score by the way?" Harry asked, his interest naturally piqued by his wife's former team.

"120-90 to the Harpies."

"Close," Harry sighed.

"Yeah," Ron said, already edging towards the back of the house where the entertainment room was located. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Okay, maybe I can come watch with you in a bit…" Harry said, turning back towards Hermione and the Aurors. Yvain looked like he seriously wanted to join Ron as well.

"All right, mate!" Ron called from down the hallway. He disappeared around the corner.

"So, Hermione," Harry said seriously. "I'm going to walk you through the ground rules of how this works. Yvain and Cassy will be on a twenty-four-security assignment for you starting now. That means they will be available to you at any time of the day if you need to leave either the Ministry or the house.

Most importantly, you are not to leave the Ministry or your house without them. On a routine basis, they will apparate with you to the Ministry every morning. In the evenings, they will escort you back to the house. Technically, they will be off duty from that point, but if you need to leave the house again, simply send them your patronus fifteen minutes in advance so they have some notice before they come meet you."

"And what if I go to your house or the Burrow?" Hermione questioned, folding her arms around herself.

"At the Burrow, they'll stand guard outside the house. If you come to my house, just inform Yvain and Cassy. I've already told them that there's no need to stand guard when you are with me."

Hermione might have rolled her eyes slightly.

"Also, I'm setting up a non-Apparation zone inside your house," Harry said. He saw Hermione's brow furrow, so he quickly offered an explanation. "That means no one can directly apparate into the house. If they think of apparating into the house, they'll simply end up on the front porch. That way, you'll have the power to determine who you let into the house or not…"

"I know what a non-Apparation zone is, Harry…it's only in the first chapter of Hogwarts, A History."

Harry smiled. It had been a long time since he'd heard that reference. "Okay, okay," Harry said, placating her. "But, I'll set it up in such a way that you and Ron can still disapparate from inside the house. That way, you two won't be inconvenienced."

Hermione nodded.

"Does this all make sense?" Harry asked. Yvain was gazing distractedly around the foyer. Cassy was simply watching Harry and Hermione's conversation.

"Yes, yes," Hermione sighed, slightly agitated. "Is that all?"

Harry momentarily hesitated. He cleared his throat. "There's one more thing. I'm going to put an Apparation-tracking spell on you…"

He stopped upon seeing Hermione's face.

"Excuse me?" she said, with a contemptuous expression.

"An Apparation-tracking spell," Harry repeated, grimacing. "It's to make sure you don't apparate without first informing Yvain and Cassy."

Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes narrow slits. "And I'm guessing you'll be the one receiving the notification of whether I've apparated without authorization?"

"Um, yes…is that a problem?"

Hermione didn't respond. Instead, she turned towards the two young Aurors.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't usually do this when I've met people so recently, but would you excuse Harry and I for a moment? I have to have a few words with him. You might as well disapparate. This may take a while."

The two Aurors exchanged a glance and then turned to look at Harry. He nodded curtly and Yvain and Cassy moved towards the front door. They disapparated.

Once they were alone, Hermione marched into the parlor. Harry followed her.

"What's the problem?" he asked, nervous.

Hermione took a deep breath before she spoke. "What exactly do you think you are doing, Harry?"

"What?"

"An Apparation-tracking spell?" she said caustically.

Harry took a few steps towards the fireplace and then turned to face her. "It's necessary, Hermione."

"Why? Because you don't trust me to follow the rules for my own security?" she accused.

Yes, Harry thought to himself.

"It's normal procedure, Hermione. When we have a high-profile Ministry official who needs protection…sometimes we impose an Apparation-tracking spell."

Hermione simply stared at him. She looked disappointed. "Wow, Harry. I never thought you'd openly lie about it."

"Hermione, I'm not lying—" Harry said, wishing he could meet her eyes.

Hermione interrupted him. "Harry, I'm a lawyer. I practice criminal law. Do you really think I don't know what the Auror Department is authorized to do with regards to personal security?"

Harry sighed, closing his eyes. He had been afraid of this. He had foolishly hoped that Hermione might have simply forgotten. Unlikely, Harry thought ruefully. She was probably brushing up on wizarding security law this morning in bed.

"Hermione…. yes, it isn't exactly standard procedure," Harry admitted, "but I would really appreciate it if you allowed me to place the spell on you."

Hermione considered him for a moment. "You should have asked me like that in the first place. But," she said, hesitating slightly, "the answer is still 'no.'"

Harry turned towards the mantelpiece. He began fiddling with the corner of a picture frame that held a Muggle photograph of Rose and Hugo with Hermione's parents. He sighed again.

"Hermione," Harry said, still refusing to look at her. "Would you please just do it for me?" he pleaded desperately. "It would grant me that extra peace of mind that you aren't endangering yourself. I know you follow the rules most of the time, Hermione. But, I know you. There will be times when you'll want to sneak away somewhere…maybe for something trivial…and you'll think you are in no danger and that's exactly the situation I am most of afraid of," Harry said, his voice wavering slightly despite himself. He took a deep breath.

"That's exactly what happened yesterday," Harry continued. "You thought you were just going for a pleasant walk and look what happened. I'm sorry…. It's not that I don't trust you. I just need to know you aren't going to cheat on this…not when the stakes are so high…not when your life is in danger."

"No, Harry," Hermione said forcefully. "It's simply not standard procedure! Why should I have my freedom of movement infringed just because you don't trust me to keep my security detail informed? You're going overboard, yet again."

"Yet again," Harry repeated, angry. "What do you mean, 'yet again?'"

Harry heard Hermione take a few steps towards him. She sat herself down on the couch, crossing her legs underneath her.

"Harry," she said calmly. "I know you too. You're trying to do everything you can to protect me, but in doing so you're crossing some legal boundaries. What kind of response do you expect me to have when you say you're going put an Apparation-tracking spell on me? Those are used on criminals. Look, I recognize the fact that you want to protect me, but you've got do it in your capacity as the head of the Auror Department. You cannot take it so personally…"

Harry didn't say anything for a long moment. He continued to stare, unseeing, at the photograph in front of him. He reached up and briefly rubbed his temple.

"So," Harry said, his voice dangerously low. "This is solely a business transaction to you, Hermione? I can only care about your safety as an Auror, not as your fucking best friend?" His hand slammed down on the mantel, shaking several of the pictures.

Hermione stared at him.

Harry rounded on Hermione. "Why do you make it so difficult for me to protect you!"

Hermione stood up. She looked unmoved by Harry's outburst. "Because you are acting like it's your personal duty to protect me!" she cried. "You are acting just like you did at Hogwarts when you said you wouldn't allow anyone else to endanger themselves because of you."

She took a steadying breath. " But this isn't about you anymore, Harry. I've managed to endanger myself all on my own this time. I've made myself a public menace under my own volition, thank you very much."

"That is not at all relevant," Harry fumed.

"Isn't it?" Hermione returned. "Whenever someone you care about is in danger, Harry, you somehow think it's your sole responsibility to protect them. I think I once called it your 'saving-people-thing.'" She sighed. Her voice grew softer. "But, Harry I won't stand to be the benefactor of your protection this time. What I am doing now…what I am fighting for with this Callahan case…this is all my own doing. This is my mission. I want you to help me, not hinder me in my efforts—just as I helped you all those years ago…"

She trailed off. Harry stared into her unfathomable eyes. Deep ochre. Determined. Concerned for him, even as she was pushing him away.

Harry had heard Hermione say something similar to him in the past, in their fifth year at Hogwarts. Then, she had been petrified to inform Harry that he all too often "played the hero." Now, she was no longer a fifteen-year-old girl. She was a woman, a fearless and stubborn woman at that.

Harry felt his resolve weaken slightly. "Hermione, I just want…I need you to be safe."

She smiled beautifully. "I know, darling. I consider myself very lucky that you care about me that much…"

Harry didn't let her finish. He took a few steps towards her, his face anguished. He seized her and pulled her into his arms.

"You don't understand the half of it, Hermione," he whispered, his face buried in her hair. "You don't know what I went through…what I had to do to find you yesterday. You were…you were so weak and broken…I thought for a moment that you were gone. Can you understand how frightened I was? Hermione, I never want to go through that again. Promise me. Promise me you'll never let that happen."

Hermione's calm façade finally collapsed. She leaned back and gazed at Harry, entranced. "Harry, darling…I'm-I'm so sorry you had to see that." She lifted her hand and gently pressed it to the side of his face. "I know I gave you hell yesterday. I know you're trying to keep me safe. I promise you, I will not give the slip to my Aurors, okay? I promise."

"Thank you," Harry said emphatically. He kissed her cheek and hugged her tightly again. She returned the kiss. They held each other for a few minutes, Hermione gently stroking his back. After a moment, Harry said, "You had better keep your promise, Hermione Granger."

Hermione laughed softly, still holding onto him tightly. "What can I say short of an Unbreakable Vow, Harry? I promise to follow all of your silly rules. I promise."

"An Unbreakable Vow would be nice," Harry said teasingly, his breath brushing her neck.

"Hahaha," Hermione sighed. She slowly extricated herself from Harry's grasp and moved towards the couch, bringing Harry with her. They both sat down their arms still intertwined.

"Now that we've got that all settled," Hermione said matter-of-factly, "where is my wand? I miss it."

Harry reached into his cloak and produced the wand. He glanced at it briefly, remembering that, for a time, it had been his own wand—that they had shared it between them.

He rubbed the wand briefly against his robes before handing it to her. She took it back gratefully, examining it from several angles.

"You would not believe the…awkwardness…I endured retrieving that," Harry informed her.

Hermione giggled. "Yeah? What happened?"

"Well, let's just say that we're very lucky that the doctor who saved your life didn't ask too many questions…"

"How do you mean?" Hermione asked, interested. She was lazily waving her wand in the air, a few bubbles emerging from its tip.

"I thought Durkheim and I had Obliviated everyone who knew about your time in the hospital, but there was that damned Muggle machine…it had a record of your stay."

"What machine?" Hermione questioned. "Was it a computer?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Hermione laughed. "That would present a problem, wouldn't it? My parents have one. It seems terribly useful."

"In this instance, though, it nearly blew my entire story."

"Which was?"

"Well, it's hard to invite a doctor to dinner with a patient he just treated yesterday. I had to tell him there must have been a mistake in your record and that you really had been treated a month ago."

"And he believed that?"

"Yeah."

Hermione laughed again. "Well, good. And he's coming for my birthday?"

"Yes. I told him we'd be having a nice dinner here on the 19th at seven o'clock. He's bringing his wife and his son. The boy is about Hugo's age."

"Oh, perfect," Hermione said, turning to face him. "So—" she stopped upon seeing Harry grimace. "What's wrong?"

"I, um…I forgot to mention one detail…" Harry said, suddenly extremely nervous.

"What's that?"

"Well, when you were in the hospital yesterday…I told the doctor that you were my…wife. You know, just so they would let me see you."

Hermione nodded, her eyes slightly wider than normal. "But you Obliviated them, Harry. He wouldn't remember that detail the second time you saw him."

"I know…. but, I sort of slipped up." Harry said, looking at his hands. "I wasn't sure if it made sense to say I was your friend or your brother-in-law. So, I accidently said I was your husband, again…"

Harry was afraid to look up. He was startled when he heard Hermione laugh.

"Are you serious?" she said, giggling. "That's hilarious! So, the doctor is coming to dinner and he thinks you and I are married?"

Harry shrugged, smiling with relief. "Yeah, basically."

"Oh, wow. This is going to complicate things, if things weren't complicated enough already," she said, shaking her head.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione."

"Oh, don't apologize," she said, briefly leaning against him. "We'll figure something out. The important thing is that you invited him and that I have my wand back. You performed wonderfully, Harry," she said pressing another kiss to his cheek.

Harry felt his face grow warm. He felt strangely delighted that Hermione was not upset about the confusion his mistake had caused.

"What are you two laughing about?" a voice said from the doorway.

It was Ron.

Harry and Hermione separated.

"Oh, Harry was just telling me about his visit to the hospital today," Hermione said.

"Oh yeah?" Ron replied. "Harry told me the Muggles will be coming to dinner."

"Yeah," Harry said, looking anywhere but Ron.

"Well, we've done it a few times before. Should be fine," Ron said, noncommittal.

"Yes," Hermione said awkwardly. She stood up to face Ron. "Um, darling…Harry sort of had to invent a reason as to why he was there to get my wand…"

"Yeah?" Ron said, smiling.

"Yeah," Hermione continued. "You see, um…this may cause some confusion for our dinner party. Harry said…well, he said that he was my husband."

Ron's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I'm sorry. What?"