Lovers and Liars

.o0o.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

He woke to a pounding headache, the taste of vomit and Firewhisky on his tongue, streamers in his hair, and three women in his bed.

A low groan escaped his lips as he rolled out of bed, clutching at his heaving stomach with one hand whilst he massaged his temple with the other. Last night was nothing but a haze of blurry images, sweet sensations, and flashing lights, but he had more pressing concerns at present.

For one, finding out who were those strange ladies that were hogging his covers. He could just make out Amber's brunette curls, but he was sure that he'd never seen the blondes before. Then again, that first one did bear a striking resemblance to Charise . . . the model he'd used as a rebound after Becca.

Harry leaned against the en-suite door, his belly heaving, and he spared one more glance at the bed before stumbling to the toilet. It was a good thing too . . . no sooner had he dropped to his knees and positioned his head was he commemorating the New Year by offering up a sacrifice to the porcelain gods.

Spluttering, bits and pieces of the previous night started to flit back to him, but they remained vague and disjointed. It was almost as though he were in a Pensieve, looking through a memory with more holes than Swiss cheese, because nothing made sense.

There had been a party. He'd had a drink or two . . . or perhaps it had been ten, he wryly noted as he felt a fresh wave of puke rise up his throat. There'd been pain, perhaps one of his headaches – and Amber had made it go away with a spliff on the balcony. She seemed oddly knowledgeable about them.

His head hurt as he showered and got ready that morning, his eyes feeling grainy and almost raw whenever he opened them. Blinking to maintain some semblance of vision, Harry stumbled down the stairs and managed to croak, "Kreacher!"

"Yes, Master Harry?" said Kreacher, his voice tinged with disapproval as the sizzling sounds of bacon filled the air. The elf clicked his spindly fingers, and caused a mug of hot coffee to levitate across the room, coming to rest at the kitchen island right in front of Harry.

"Master is out of his blue potion," continued Kreacher, tossing a small bowl of what looked like mushrooms into a pan. "Kreacher has taken the liberty of using a Sobering Solution instead, and a few drops of Headache Potion to deal with master's migraines."

"Thank you, Kreacher," said Harry, truly grateful for the genuine care that his elf provided. More memories were beginning to clear in his mind's eye, and he could dimly remember Ron being at the party as well.

Cringing, Harry remembered his best friend walking past him without exchanging a single word. The Weasleys were obviously still sore about his argument with Ginny, but he didn't really see how he had been at fault. Sure, he may have gone a little overboard when he'd lost his temper and brought up Fred, but he distinctly remembered Ron losing his temper during the Horcrux Hunt and throwing his parents in his face.

Ginny had promised that they'd give things another go when she was done with school and he was done with training, and she'd broken that promise, hadn't she? He was not in the wrong for trying to find some semblance of happiness with Becca, and he didn't regret his brief relationship with her in the slightest.

She'd told him that love was pointless, just a weakness that got you hurt in the end, and she'd showed him how easy it all was to simply live life without attachments. It had only been Christmas when he'd truly realised how right she had been.

Ginny had promised him. He'd needed her – he'd wanted to be normal, to move on from the war and have a girlfriend he loved, a house to call his own, a career . . . the things normal guys wanted to have in life. And she'd thrown it all away just because Rita Skeeter had said a few spiteful things about her in the Daily Prophet.

He forced himself to believe his own version of events, because the truth was just much too painful for him to contemplate.

"Breakfast is ready, Master Harry," announced Kreacher, breaking him from his thoughts as a plate was set before him. "Would you like anything more?"

Staring down at the plate of bacon, eggs, and fried mushrooms, Harry smiled before reaching out to pat the elderly elf on the shoulder. To think that just over a year ago, Kreacher would have been content to murder him in his sleep – and now here he was, making him breakfast, and standing by his side.

"Do we have any more headache potion?" he asked, nibbling at a piece of bacon whilst speaking.

"Master Harry has already gone through all the vials Kreacher has bought. Kreacher shall have to buy more." The disapproving note was back in his voice, and Harry almost felt as though he was being chastened by the elf.

Amber must have been helping herself to his potions store, Harry reasoned. Kreacher had just stocked up his supplies the other day. There was simply no way he'd gone through so many vials in three days.

It was impossible.

"Kreacher," he asked after a while, his mouth full of what was probably the most delicious scrambled eggs he'd ever eaten – not that he'd ever admit to Molly Weasley that his gnarled elf could probably outcook her. "Do you have any idea what I did last night?"

Kreacher looked thoroughly disgusted, a gagging sound escaping his snout before he said, "Master Harry went to a New Year's Eve party with his hussy. He came home with more hussies. Kreacher decided to spend the night at Hogwarts with Bupo and Tuffy."

"Hussy?" he asked, amused. He'd pay to see Amber's face if she ever heard Kreacher call her that.

"Kreacher has served the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black for decades before entering the service of Master Potter," began the elf with a tone of finality. "Kreacher has been around long enough, and served enough generations to identify a hussy when he sees one, Master Harry."

"I see," he said, pressing his lips into a thin line to keep from bursting into laughter. Kreacher came forward, shuffling slightly, wringing his hands together.

"If Kreacher may be so bold, Master Harry, so as to speak frankly?"

"Why ask permission?" Harry replied with a snort. "It's all you ever do."

"Master Harry . . . hasn't been himself as of late," said Kreacher, his voice tinged with both displeasure and something that sounded oddly like sympathy. "The potions . . . they is not good for you, Master Harry, nor is the leaves you has taken to smoking. Master does not sleep. He barely eats. Kre–"

"That is enough, Kreacher," he snapped, causing the elderly elf to flinch as though slapped.

"Kreacher apologises, Master Harry. Kreacher is simply . . . worried for Master's health."

"I said, that's enough." Harry got to his feet, snatching up his potion as he stomped out of the room, feeling his headache begin to take hold of him once more.

.o0o.

The shop was looking better than ever.

The paint was dry upon the walls and ceilings, the shelves and counters had been mounted, and the glass storefront had been restored. The signage had been installed, the floors had been covered in hardwood, and there was just the matter of restocking the store and finding staff left before he could finally reopen.

His Gringotts vault was significantly emptier than it had been at the beginning of the year as he'd spared no expense in the restoration of their flagship store. It wasn't a matter of money to George, because it represented much, much more than just a business venture.

It was more than just his passion, something which he loved doing.

It was about Fred, and he was certain that even if he placed every last ounce of gold upon a set of scales, there'd never be a chance of it balancing if Fred was on the other side. He was worth every coin spent and more.

He'd just finished installing the last wall of shelving in the storeroom a half-hour ago, and had chosen to simply take a breather. Sitting upon the floor with his back against the wall, he casually sipped at his flask of Firewhisky and ignored his brother's glare.

He was not an alcoholic, thank you very much, no matter what his parents and siblings may think. It was a coping mechanism – not a very good one, he knew, because it had very nearly destroyed him in those early months of grief, but it was the best he had at present.

"It's not even noon," said Percy, not sounding very impressed with him at all. His older brother was sitting on the floor watching him, arms folded, leaning against the end of a nearby shelf.

"If you want some, all you need to do is ask." George waggled his eyebrows, taking one last gulp before screwing the top back onto the flash and hooking it onto his belt. He grinned, reaching out to grab of slice of cold pizza from the box that lay between them. As an afterthought he asked, noticing that Percy hadn't eaten a single slice, "Aren't you hungry?"

"Remind me why you traipsed all the way to Muggle London for this when there's a cafe right across the street?" asked Percy, rolling his eyes as he grabbed a slice and tapped it with his wand. The pizza began to steam immediately, the congealed cheese melting anew as he bit into the end.

"Sad to say, but Muggle food is way more magical than the stuff our kind makes."

Percy's retort was cut off by the sound of the door being pushed open, and looking up, George grinned. It had been a few weeks since Angelina had last stopped by to see how he was getting on, and he'd begun to miss her, not that he'd admit it if anyone asked him.

Getting to his feet, he pulled her into a hug, ignoring her exclamation of surprise. He frowned at Percy looking up at them, appearing to be stifling laughter, before realising that Angelina was strangely still in his arms.

That's when he realised that the hug had gone on for a minute or two longer than it should, and so sooner did he realise that, did he remember he wasn't wearing a shirt. As he pulled away, his cheeks burning, the understanding that he probably stank after an entire morning of labour began to dawn.

No wonder Percy looked ready to start rolling across the floor laughing.

"Hello to you too, George," she said awkwardly, "Percy, nice to see you again. I didn't think you'd still be around." Recovering her composure, she hopped onto the counter, taking a seat and setting down the paper bag she'd brought with her.

"I'll be going back in from Monday, actually," said Percy, his amusement still evident in his voice. Then, as if he had just remembered something, he puffed up his chest, his voice taking on its usual pompousness as he spoke. "I'll be liaising with some pretty influential people this month. I'll be working with a delegation from Brazil in an attempt to rebuild our political ties after the war. It's a disaster, really, in terms of our political and economic standing with the rest of the world."

"Perce, we get it, the stick is about to be reinserted up your arse," pointed out George, in what he thought was a helpful voice. Angelina laughed, and Percy let out a snort of exasperation before falling silent.

"Audrey takes my job seriously," Percy muttered under his breath. George whipped back around, his eyes widening and he realised by the look in his brother's eyes that Percy had not meant to say that out loud. It was obvious that he was not supposed to hear that either.

Neither was Angelina, obviously, who responded by choking on the salad she'd been eating.

"Who's Audrey?" he asked, winking in a purposefully exaggerated manner. "Is she one who confuses you with food and bites you all the time?"

"Shut up."

"Why haven't we met this Audrey?" he pushed. "I think Mum would quite like having another daughter-in-law to complain about."

"I will hurt you." Percy glared, eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare tell Mum! You know how she gets." Angelina was silent, looking as though she was working something out in her mind, but George didn't pay her any mind.

It was so much more fun to taunt Percy again. To anyone looking at them, it may seem cruel and unkind, but it was the way they'd always been. It was the relationship they'd built between them over the years . . . and he knew, just as Percy knew, that despite the sniping, teasing, and mocking, they'd take a killing curse for the other.

Still, he'd really have to meet this Audrey . . . if only to see what kind of woman would willingly have sex with his brother. Who knew, maybe cauldron thickness turned her on?

.o0o.

Says who?

His mother's words echoed through his head, just as they had since she'd first spoken them on Christmas day, and he swallowed. It was just nerves, he reasoned, feeling the hair rise up along the back of his neck, but it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

Never before had he felt so on edge, and he'd lived through having his home invaded by Death Eaters and a Dark Lord. It was as though his stomach had been transfigured into a live snake that was coiling in upon itself, whilst all the while his heart drummed out the chorus to the latest Weird Sisters song in his chest.

Eventually, he managed to find his friend's compartment, and with a start he realised that it was directly opposite the one inhabited by Luna and her friends. The She-Weasel and her underage prey were there, so caught up in each other that they missed Luna's wave, and by extension, his smile in response.

He really didn't need Ginevra Weasley giving him an earful about how he needed to keep his distance from Luna, thank you very much. She'd made her views on their partnership clear from the start, and the bottom line was that she wasn't his biggest fan.

It would seem she still held a grudge over that diary mishap from his second year, for some strange reason. Sure, she'd almost died . . . but if he remembered correctly, Ginevra had very nearly killed him during the Battle of Hogwarts. Shouldn't that, at the very least, balance the scales?

"Really, Draco, could you be any more obvious?" asked Pansy when he finally slipped into the compartment. He frowned at her, instantly noticing how hypocritical she was being when he noticed that she was almost on Blaise's lap.

His friend seemed quite delighted by this turn of events, given that he had an arm slung around Pansy's shoulders and a hand on her thigh. Draco, for the life of him, did not want to know.

"Just keep it in her dorm," he sighed, taking a seat and leaning back against the window pane.

"Don't be so crass, Draco," Pansy replied, her sugary tone shifting into a gentler, much warmer voice when she added, "It's good to see you again. Enjoyed the holidays?"

"Was alright," he said with a shrug. Blaise grunted, opening his mouth to speak, when suddenly, Pansy smacked her palm across his mouth. He glared, grunting again before rolling his eyes and settling back into his seat.

"He has a throat infection," supplied Pansy. "And you don't talk," she snapped, turning to Blaise, "Draco can see you're glad to see him. There's no need to serenade us all with your bromance."

"You really are a people person, aren't you, Pansy?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

"So says the boy who's spending his time making goo-goo eyes at the blonde in the next compartment. You realise she's not blind, right?"

"I am not making goo-goo eyes at her. I was simply," he paused, thinking of a suitable excuse, when Blaise snorted, letting out a rough, hacking cough that sounded vaguely like laughter. "Shut up," he finally said, folding his arms and pouting out the window.

A cry of mirth split the air and he whirled, a broad smile crossing his cheeks as he caught sight of Luna laughing. Then, he turned back to his friends, both of them were smirking in victory.

"I hate you both."

Their smirks grew.

"You know what!" he snapped, getting to his feet. "I'm going to prove to you all that there will never be anything between Lovegood and I!" He slammed open the compartment door, and his cheeks still burning redder than a Weasley's hair, he rapped his knuckles against her compartment door.

The She-Weasel extricated herself from her jailbait's embrace, and her expression soured as she caught sight of him. He glared right back, gesturing to Luna that he wanted to speak to her. She got to her feet, and the sound of muffled arguing could be heard through the thick glass, before Luna eventually said something that shut the redhead up.

The compartment door slid open and she stepped out, and she raised one perfect, blonde eyebrow, and said, "You wanted to talk?"

"I did." His voice was gruff, the irritation still present, even as it gradually dimmed away. He wanted to remain cross, he did, but he just couldn't help the way his heart rate increased at her smile.

"About?"

"I . . . I can't be friends with you anymore," he blurted out, feeling almost horrified as the words left his mouth. His mouth seemed to take of a mind of its own, and his voice rose as he continued, "You're eccentric, and you're pretty, and you're freakishly intuitive, and you're sweet –"

"He realises he's complimenting her, right?" Draco froze in mid speech, hearing Pansy's words like a slap in the face.

"Is Malfoy having some sort of seizure?" asked She-Weasel from her compartment, and with a looming sense of horror he realised that almost everyone in their segment of the train was sticking their heads into the passage to eavesdrop. Mortified though he was, he was a Malfoy, and he turned back to face Luna, almost wincing as he took in how serene she looked.

"And if I'm all those things?" she asked, stepping closer and cupping his cheeks with her hands. "Why can't you be my friend?"

"Because I want to be more than that," he murmured. It was as though the weight of the world had been lifted of his shoulders, and he swallowed again, nibbling at his lower lip as he waited for her to react.

Her smile was growing . . . smiling was good, wasn't it?

"You're perfect," he said softly, "And I'm scared because I think I'm falling in love with you." Then he plucked up his courage and pressed his lips to hers. It was awkward at first, almost as though he needed to find their rhythm, but soon enough he felt as though he'd been hit with a Jelly-Legs jinx.

She tasted of Butterbeer and Pumpkin Pasties, and all too soon, they broke apart. Tenderly, he stroked his fingers across her cheek, clearing her hair from her face.

"You're not the only one who's scared," she whispered. "But I'm willing to take the risk if you are."

Of course, that was the exact moment when Ginevra decided to open her oversized mouth. Merlin, how he longed to strangle her and be done with it.

"Luna! What the hell was that?"

"We'll talk at Hogwarts, the usual place?" Luna said, and he nodded before turning back to his compartment, just as she was dragged back into hers.

Draco smirked as he walked back to his friends, the She-Weasel's frantic line of questioning a harmony to his ears. Pansy raised an eyebrow, her expression smug, and folded her arms. Blaise stared, mouth hanging agape, looking as if he was unable to process what he had just seen.

"So?" asked Pansy when he reached them, her own smirk deepening.

"She kissed back." He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant about it, and it didn't take a mirror for him to know that he was failing miserably. He broke into a wide grin, and the faintest of blushes tinged his cheeks.

Who could blame him, really?

She'd kissed him back.

.o0o.

"Really, all I want is for you all to observe the Aurors whilst they make an arrest today," said Robards, folding his arms and glaring at them. "You are to survey them and observe how they process a crime-scene."

"Sir," interjected Pierce with a frown, "There's a rumour that the suspect may be an operative of the Gemini Sisters, do you really want the trainees around in the case that it's true?"

Robards growled. It was obvious that he was not accustomed to being questioned in his orders, but before he could responds Auror Pierce had approached him and the two were speaking in hushed, heated voices.

"What I wouldn't give for an Extendable Ear right now," he groaned, running a hand through his hair as Neville chuckled appreciatively.

"I'm not really sure how well that would work, Ron," Terry answered, when suddenly; Padma smacked him upside the head.

"If you gits would shut up," she snapped, "Then maybe I'd be able to hear what they're saying." Ron stared at her for a moment, before suppressing laughter as he caught sight of the mobile Extendable Ear – or Bug, as George tended to call them – that she had attached to her ear, looking like a gross earring.

It must have been one of the last ones his brother had sold before the shop had been sacked.

The other part, a beetle shaped metallic sticker, was attached to Auror Pierce's butt. Ron winced at the sight, wondering how long Padma had kept the Bug around. His brother's store had been closed for almost a year, and the Bugs had only hit the shelves about a month before the store had been sacked.

Then again, he supposed that they had come in very handy for the D.A during the war.

Two hours later, it appeared as though Robards was getting his way, and it was with a looming sense of excitement that Ron donned his Auror gear for what was to be his first day out in the field. Sure, he'd just be observing, but it was better than spending his entire day training.

Ignoring Harry's complaints – he honestly didn't know what was going on with his friend these days, but after the last three times he'd tried to check on Harry, he'd decided to simply give it up and let his friend sort himself out – Ron turned to find Padma waiting at the door with a grim look on her face.

"Is nobody curious about who these Gemini Sisters are?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"Not really." Terry shrugged, and Ron nodded in agreement. Harry didn't seem to be listening, and Neville had already disappeared after receiving an urgent memo from Kingsley to meet him in his office.

"Men, I swear," Padma groaned, "It's not like they'd be interested in twin sisters who run the biggest prostitution and drug-smuggling rings in Britain, now would they?"

"Why didn't you just lead with that?" asked Terry. Ron frowned, curious, and gestured for Padma to go on whilst he laced up his boots.

"I didn't hear that much from Pierce and Robards," admitted Padma, "But I heard enough to know that these girls are bad news. They're Greys."

"What's a Grey?" asked Harry. Again, Ron noticed the distinct changes in his friend – sunken eyes, unhealthily pale skin, red tinged eyes, and a mane of tangled hair. It wouldn't be long before Robards hauled him into his office, he knew, and he hoped that Harry pulled himself together before his career was put on the line.

"Only the biggest criminal family in Europe," snorted Terry, "Didn't the lot of you pay attention in History of Magic?"

"I mostly napped," answered Ron with a shrug.

Once they were all kitted up and ready to go, he found himself Apparating to the roof of a Muggle building. With a start, he realised how high in the air he was, the Muggles below looking almost like ants.

"You lot are to wait here whilst Savage and I capture the suspect. When we're done, I'll send up a Patronus and you can come in to observe evidence collection, amongst other things," said Rhea Pierce, drawing her wand, and descending into the depths of the building. The quick look he was awarded of it before the door closed again was enough to tell him that it was deserted, the building having long since fallen into dilapidation.

Ron nodded, his throat going dry as the full reality of the situation began to sink in. This wasn't a game anymore, this was very real. As if to emphasise the point, a shriek of pain tore through the air. His eyes darted to his friends, his realization reflected in their expressions.

It sounded like Auror Pierce.

"We have to go help them!" exclaimed Harry, when Padma grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back.

"You heard Rhea," she said, though her voice wavered, "We're to stay here."

"We also just heard her scream," pointed out Ron.

"She's a fully trained Auror who knocked us all on our arses at the same time during training," said Terry, "If they're duelling down there, we'll just get in her way."

"We can't just stand here and do nothing," yelled Harry.

Just as Ron was about to retort about how every time Harry had leapt into action in the past someone had died, the door burst off its hinges, and Savage came hurtling through. A shield charm exploded between them as a trio of hexes were hurled their way, and Rhea backed out the door, duelling three men at once.

"Incisura!" she bellowed, swiping her wand through the air, a purple arc of light flashing from it. Ron froze, horrified, as he watched the curse slice of the leftmost man's arm, bone and all. That was dark magic . . . he was sure of it.

A jet of orange light flashed his way, but luckily for him Padma had already moved to deflect it, knocking it aside with a stinging hex. Terry moved alongside her, the two of them moving in unison to cast, blasting the burliest of their attackers back through the door and down the stairs.

Still frozen and unable to act, Ron watched as the final man seemed to realise that the odds were stacked against him.

"Avada Ked–"

"Confringo," said a voice, and the man never got the chance to cast the killing curse, a gaping hole exploding across his chest.

Turning, Ron stared, wide-eyed, at Harry, who simply shrugged and said, "You're welcome."

.o0o.

The drive to Melbourne had been a long one, and although she had been all for Apparating and reaching her parent's new home as quickly as possible, Shawn had insisted on a road trip. Realising that it made more sense since she'd be able to carry more things with her, she'd acquiesced. It was the safer option, she knew, especially since Apparating into a strange and unknown place could cause her to Splinch, or worse, Apparate into a brick wall.

Still, Melbourne was over a thousand miles away.

Thankfully, she'd gotten her driver's license the summer after she'd turned seventeen, and they'd been able to take turns.

It had been only when they'd neared the city that she'd noticed the way Shawn constantly rubbed at his scars, sometimes scratching at them as if they itched. Growing curious, she thought back to Christmas, and the way he'd changed the subject when she'd asked about his family.

Deciding that now was as good a time as any to press the subject she'd so easily let go earlier that month, she turned to look at him from the passenger seat.

"What's wrong?" she asked, frowning as his jaw tensed. She'd never really seen him look so . . . so stressed and on edge.

"It's a long story, Hermione," he replied, glaring at the road ahead as though it had dealt him a personal injury.

"I've got time," she said with a shrug, "And it's not as though I'm going anywhere." His fingers clenched around the steering wheel, and she wouldn't be surprised had she seen a vein throbbing in his temple.

"My mother's family is from Melbourne," he answered after a long pause.

"Did you have some sort of falling out with them?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. She'd grown too lax in Australia, she realised. It had been obvious, right from the start, that there was more to Shawn that met the eye . . . and she'd been so caught up in the normalcy of their relationship that she'd never bothered to investigate.

Well, better late than never.

"You could say that." Shawn laughed drily. "They tried to smother me in my crib."

She gasped, and she was thankful that he was the one driving, because she was sure that had she been the one behind the wheel they'd have swerved off the road. Hermione didn't know what was worse, that his own family had tried to kill him as a child . . . or the blasé, almost deadened way in which he said it.

It was almost as though the emotions had been leached out of him by the topic of his family, and he had become someone cold and distant, lacking his usual charm and cheeriness.

In that moment she hated them, his family, even though she'd never met them. Shawn was one of the best people she knew, and to think he came from a family so cruel was horrific – but, she realised, there must be more to the story.

"Why?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"My mother is a Pureblood, my father is a Muggle, and I was born on the wrong side of the blanket," he said, "When my Mother found out that I wasn't her husband's son . . ." he trailed off, drawing a thumb across his throat.

"My Aunt Lena smuggled me out of the house and gave me to my Dad. He used to surf, just like me, but well." Shawn fingered his scars, his expression cold as he finished, "My mother and grandmother always had an affinity for sharks. I survived . . . Dad didn't."

"Shawn . . . I," Hermione began, only to be silenced by his raised hand.

"I'd rather not dwell on the subject," he said, "And anyway, we're here."

With a start, Hermione realised the car had stopped. Her heart flew into her throat, and when she turned towards the house they'd parked next to, she felt tears prickle at her eyes.

Her parent's home.

She was nearly there, so close that she could almost smell her mother's perfume and taste her father's Sunday morning pancakes. Shawn's problems seemed to fade away to the back of her mind, but nevertheless she turned back to him, nodding gratefully when he simply said, "Go on."

"Come with me?" she asked softly, her fingers feeling too stiff to open her door.

"Sure," he agreed, and soon enough he was helping her up the path to the front door. Every step felt like a mile to Hermione, and even though it was another country, she picked up little things that defined her parents for who they were. The flowerpots in the windowsill, the pale blue of the wall, the swing upon the porch . . . they were the things her parents loved.

She was an entire ocean away from Britain, but as she wrung the doorbell, she finally felt home.

A smiling, dark-skinned woman opened the door, wearing a pair of khakis and a floral print blouse. Hermione couldn't help but frown at her, wondering who she was, but when she opened her mouth to ask she realised that her tongue had become tied. She couldn't form a single word thanks to her nerves.

"We're looking for Wendell and Monica Wilkins," said Shawn, grasping her hand, and she swallowed, bracing herself to finally meet her parents again for the first time in a year.

"I'm sorry," said the woman, "But Mister Wilkins passed away six months ago, and –"

No.

No!

NO!

She felt Shawn's hand tighten around hers, and her throat constricted as though she were being strangled. Her blood seemed to have been replaced by acid, a searing pain tearing her apart from the inside out, and she quavered, beginning to tremble.

Realising that the woman was still talking, she tried to tune back into the conversation, just as another woman appeared into her line of sight.

"Mum," whispered Hermione, but the woman stared blankly at her, before raising a single finger and pointing, and then letting out a piercing scream. She screamed and screamed, her wispy white hair fluttering around her gaunt cheeks, and the woman in the door made to close the door.

"Madam Wilkins is very ill, young lady," said the woman. "I cannot have you upsetting her like this."

"Who . . . who exactly are you?" asked Shawn, his voice strained, thankfully still able to speak because she herself had lost the ability.

"I'm Miss Meade, her caregiver," answered the lady sourly, again trying to close the door as Shawn held it open, whilst her mother screamed and screamed. "Now please leave before you upset my patient any more than you already have, or I'll be forced to call the police."

"Can you at least tell me what's wrong with her?" Hermione begged, "Just tell me, and I'll leave."

The woman hesitated, before nodding once. "The same thing that had her husband take a power drill to his head, young lady, she's Schizophrenic."

The door slammed in her face, and like a zombie she turned, walking away. Everything seemed to have collapsed upon her like a house of cards, because her sins had finally caught up with her, and the piper had been paid.

This was not the price she was willing to pay.

Her own soul, her own life, she'd give it up in a heartbeat . . . but not this, never this.

"Hermione!" Shawn yelled, grabbing her as she walked away. "It'll be OK. We can get a Healer. We'll fix her."

"No!" she screamed, strands of hair sticking to her tearstained cheeks. Her heart had already come undone, ripping itself apart as the weight of the world crashed upon her trembling shoulders. "None of this is OK! My father's dead, my mother's insane, and it's all my fault. My fault."

Had Shawn not grabbed her she would have fallen to the ground, and she shrieked in agony, tears falling freely as he held her up. Her entire body shook, trembling like a leaf caught in a strong gale. She'd killed her own father. She'd broken her mother's mind. Muggles weren't strong enough to survive their world . . . and she'd gambled their safety on a spell so powerful it had broken them.

She'd destroyed them.

And there was no way of undoing the spell. Magic could only do so much . . . it couldn't fix damage so severe, it couldn't bring back the dead.

The murder weapon may not be in her hands, but his blood still stained her palms all the same.

"I wanted to keep them safe!" She struggled, fighting to escape Shawn's hold. He hissed as her nails dug into his flesh, drawing blood, but didn't let her go. She fought, she screamed, she begged. Car alarms began to go off up and down the street, the wind picking up around them as she started to lose control of her magic. Streetlights sparked, the glass shattering as the bulbs burst, but he held her.

He refused to let her go. Shawn clung on, bearing her rage and her anguish, standing strong against everything she hurled against him and the world around them. At last, after what was probably five minutes but instead felt like hours, she felt herself go limp in his arms, her magical reserves drained.

"I wanted to keep them safe," she sobbed as he stroked her hair. "Not this . . . never this."

"I know," he murmured, lifting her into his arms and carrying her towards his car. She didn't want to be moved, she wanted to remain in the middle of the Muggle street until she turned to stone, but residents were already peeking through the curtains for the source of the disturbance.

They needed to leave.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked as he buckled her seatbelt for her. Hermione looked at him, a strange numbness coming over her.

She'd known the feeling of a broken heart before, but this was the first time she truly felt as though her heart would never again piece itself together.

"Just drive," she whispered.


A/N:

So, there's no sneak peak in this chapter, mostly because we'll be having a new POV from the next chapter, and saying goodbye to one of the established POV's for a while as her arc has come to an end.

Thank you to all my readers and reviewers, you guys are awesome. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I really hope I've done justice to Hermione's pain in that last bit.

As always, reviews and concrit are always appreciated.

Until Next Time

-Shane