Chapter 10
"And if rain brings winds of change, let it rain on us forever."
VNV Nation – Solitary

Harry didn't know what to think. So many things had changed during this wet winter that he couldn't even figure out if he was the same person. The Auror Division had been his deepest desire coming out of Hogwarts, his destiny moulding him to be the perfect dark wizard catcher. He could do so much good by joining… but it wasn't what he had expected and he turned his back on that part of his life, terribly unsure of where this other avenue truly led. Ron remained an Auror and still seemed happy. Harry didn't hold that against him in the least. His other friend had gone the path of University and made something of herself, like they all knew she would. The Ministry embraced Hermione's intellect with open arms and a huge pay rate and she happily created new spell after new spell. It was a dream come true for her. But now, she lay broken, only a portion of herself and he had to do something. He had to save her. Perhaps he did have a 'saving people' thing. And Remus. Remus had fallen so far, a shadow of his former self, lost in anguish and self-medicating to cure that pain. Why hadn't Harry done something about it? Harry knew why… Remus was a grown man and he could make his own decisions. But as Harry watched Remus degenerate into the hollow person he had become, he should have known… he couldn't make his own decisions anymore. Addicts willingly relinquished that power. But after that day spent deciphering Hermione's documents, Remus had changed. That spark, that determination and love for life, it was back. His control. Harry knew something happened and would do his best to make sure Remus didn't slip back on old habits. Needless to say, he now stayed at Hermione's home with Harry. The companionship alone would do wonders and Harry wanted to be there for him if he was ever needed. But the real trophy of this line-up of personal metamorphoses was Draco. He was civil. No, actually he was friendly and smart and Harry realised he actually enjoyed his rival's company. Rival still? Harry didn't think so. Draco wasn't perfect, he still had that superiority complex and spent far too much time on his hair, but Harry had learned if he gave him some concessions, Draco wasn't all that bad.

The world had an astounding way of surprising Harry when he least expected it.

As the chill wind sent goose bumps over his flesh, Harry realised he needed to get home, to sift through that small library of words. And then he laughed. Wasn't he home already? The only reason he ever returned to his building anymore was to sit on the roof. He glanced over the skyline; tall buildings stood against a backdrop of mixed gray. This was the wettest winter he could ever remember. It seemed to rain every day.

With the blink of an eye, he disappeared and reappeared in Hermione's flat. Home.

Ron had been completely consumed with his case in Mexico, so he hadn't visited Hermione as much as he would have liked. In fact, the last week had kept him away entirely. This did not make the redheaded man happy, as was made evident by the grumble and scowl he offered Harry as he threw himself into a chair next to Hermione's hospital bed. He reached out and more roughly than intended, grabbed his love's hand.

"Tough case?" Harry asked. He had known Ron long enough to know his friend usually recovered from his anger faster if he had the opportunity to vent.

"You wouldn't believe," he said with an exasperated sigh. "This should have been an easy case… Bad guy sells cursed and dark artefacts, we set up sting and catch bad guy, the end. A couple weeks, tops… but over three months? He must have a seer on his side to know who's an undercover agent and who's the real dirtbag… or complete idiot. Last Wednesday we had to remove three hexes from some French fellow who thought he was getting an original tsansa. Needless to say that shrunken head spewed three curses out at him before he incinerated it. We found out about it and questioned him. Complete dead end. Luckily we knew how to cure him of that infestation curse… That was disgusting."

Harry shuddered, having insects inhabiting his body didn't sound like a good way to go about his day, either.

"Maybe he's got someone from the team on his payroll," Harry suggested. Neither of them liked to think that an Auror might be working against their unit, but it had to be considered—especially after all the road blocks they'd hit in this case.

"I know," Ron cried, throwing his hands up in frustration. Then, more softly, "I know. I don't want to think about it. Those guys have watched my back, your back too, for years. Sure, we don't get paid a ton, but shite… this guy's not just someone who wants to throw us the two fingered salute… people have died because of him. I can't see anyone from the team helping a murderer."

Crookshanks sprinted from the bathroom and jumped up on the bed, his small feet quickly kneading Hermione's left arm. The hospital room had been modified to meet the cat's needs, including litter tray. Harry decided he needed to send Mediwitch Periwinkle a gift basket.

"At least she has her cat." Ron sounded miserable and Harry wished he could do something to help. "Not like I'm here for her…" Ron mumbled so quietly, Harry pretended he didn't hear.

"Look, Ron. Maybe I can help… unofficially." Ron looked up at his friend, a tiny glimmer of hope touching his saddened face. "We finally deciphered Hermione's notes and while most of them are totally unrelated to her research, there are some leads. We never checked out Arbormore at Cairo, so I need to go do that soon. Malfoy knew about Hexine and offered to talk to her about how this type of a curse could be related to deep, unformed magic." Ron's look of shock almost stopped Harry's dialogue, but he forged on. "There are some other things we found out. Millicent Bulstrode actually came to talk to Hermione about this curse. Apparently, she was cursed too and that was the whole reason Hermione even got involved. Remus is looking for her. Also, Hermione seemed to think—in some of her later notes—that it was caused by an ancient relic of some sort; that this kind of curse couldn't be done by mere spellwork and she was actually talking to some scholar down in Costa Rica about South American relics. So, since I need to go down that way anyway, maybe I could help with catching your bad guy. Off the record of course. I'm sure after the case is solved Kingsley will let you stay up here with Hermione."

Ron grinned, showing a nice row of white teeth. "That would be great, Harry. I would appreciate you getting off your lazy arse and helping. All unofficial of course…" he winked.

Harry nodded eagerly.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter. Might I have a word?" Mediwitch Periwinkle interrupted them.

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Harry stood, smiled at Ron, and left the room. That woman must tiptoe everywhere, Harry thought to himself. Very few people could catch him off guard.

"Please, follow me, sir," she said and led Harry through the corridors, down a set of service stairs, and finally into a small, apparently unused room. During their trek Harry wondered if fruits, chocolates or an assortment of wine would be a better gift choice.

"I am sorry to have disturbed you during your time with Miss Granger; however, I wasn't sure who else to talk to." She spoke in rushed whispers, catching Harry's total attention; thoughts of daisies and carnations burning away like fog.

"What is it? What's going on?"

The healer pulled a Muggle manila envelope from her lime green robes. "Please, take this. I have documented everything." The previously collected woman squirmed with nervous energy and kept staring at the door as if certain someone would walk in at any moment. "The curse is spreading. It isn't as strong as it was, in fact it seems to be getting weaker in everyone… but it is spreading to more and more people. Miss Granger's curse is the same as theirs, but something else is interfering with it, so it's affected her in a significantly different manner. But, it's the same basic curse. The Director of the Hospital will not listen to me and I have been ordered to drop it. So I was hoping… considering who you are… could you follow up on this? I can't find a cure and nobody else is looking. Do you understand?" She seemed frantic. "Nobody else is looking, they are sweeping this entire situation under the rug and ignoring that it's even happening."

Harry felt increasingly uncomfortable during the mediwitch's outburst. It read like a bad sequel following the Ministry's actions upon the return of Voldemort.

"Please, can you tell me anything else?" Harry begged.

"I can't talk long, I'm under surveillance. You have everything I know in here." She paused for a breath, pushing the envelope against Harry's chest. Her eyes crawled all over Harry's face, running over his scars, a badge of honor in some minds, a stigma to him. "I have one more thing to ask you."

Harry nodded.

"Please, Obliviate me. They will check my thoughts, I can't change those… but if they find out I gave you this information…" she shook her head. "Please, make me forget."

"What!" he sputtered. "I can't take your memories from you!" Harry hated the memory affecting spells. He hated the thought of them being used on him and even more, he hated using them on others. Nothing seemed a worse violation than raping the mind.

"Please," she pleaded. "If they find out… I don't know what they'll do, but someone is covering this up. I know I can do no more. They are watching me. Help me to just be safe."

"Who is? Who's watching you?"

"I don't know… that's what frightens me. My fellow healers? The Ministry? Aurors? Dark wizards? I don't know, but I know someone is. I can feel them…"

"Fine… But when this is over, I promise I will do what I can to replace those memories."

Through watery eyes, she smiled weakly at him. She had a lovely smile and the trust and relief expressed within it gave Harry the strength to cast his spell. He lifted his wand and as she mouthed thank you he spoke the word. "Obliviate." Then he turned and quickly walked away from the dazed woman before she came to.

Professor Arbormore of the Cairo Museum offered Harry little help.

The difficulty for Harry was to determine what could be said to the man and what couldn't be. Was he trustworthy? Not to mention Harry just didn't have the technical knowledge or lingo to really communicate properly with the intellectual. He sat in the Professor's spacious office for twenty minutes, watching the man's oversized brow wrinkle while trying to comprehend Harry's subtle words, before Harry finally just asked.

"Do you know anything about an artefact that curses people, the effect being drainage of their magical energy? Perhaps something South American?"

The brow's wrinkles tripled in size. "I'm sorry, I can't help you." Professor Arbormore stood and went to exit the room.

"Please, I need your help. My friend, Hermione Granger, has been cursed and going through her notes she mentioned you and that you might help and…"

"Mr. Potter. I am sorry, I cannot help you. Miss Granger has already contacted me and I informed her I could offer her no help, either."

"Who got to you?" Harry asked, his voice a quiet wonder.

The man looked shocked. "Wha… Nobody got to me. I don't know anything. Now, if you will excuse me…" and he left the room, leaving Harry alone to wonder just how big this entire thing had grown while he let time slip through his fingers.

Harry felt like flotsam without a beach to land on. In the last few days a menagerie of information had found its way into his hands and he had no idea how to piece it all together. If only Hermione could help him. He needed her so badly a knot had developed in the base of his stomach. He couldn't do this without her knowledge, her sharp mind. He was the action man, she was the brain. Ron couldn't help much either, being perhaps less of a brain man than even Harry. Ron was the people person. Perhaps Harry should have sent him to talk to Arbormore, though Harry had little hope his friend would have gotten any further with the shifty man.

His next step was to visit his contact in Costa Rica, perhaps find some common thread that made it all as clear as Hogwarts Lake. And helping out Ron of course. Getting out there, getting some action, that might make him less frustrated with this entire research situation.

He wanted to talk to Kingsley Shaklebolt first, though. See if he could give Harry any insights into Ron's current stakeout… all off the record. He didn't think his old friend would mind if Harry helped out on this maddening case. And to see if any clues were found about Hermione's attack, though after all these months Harry had practically given up on the Aurors discovering anything.

And so he entered the Ministry and walked through those familiar halls towards the stairs to Level Two, waving to people, smiling at old friends, ignoring more than a few scowls, and became slowly aware of something. The energy of the place was off. He paused a moment and sent out his feelers and noticed a buzz to the air. A kind of invariable drone of energy, toneless.

That was new.

And he didn't like it.

He picked up his pace, taking the stairs two at a time, and walked through the Auror Division, ignoring the few calls for him until he came to Kingsley's office. He stopped before the door and knocked.

"Come in."

Harry entered.

He sat across the desk from Kingsley, staring at his fingers as he smoothed out the crease in his robe. Slowly, methodically he ran his calloused finger up and down the persistent wrinkle, worrying it until it encompassed his entire world, blocking out the nagging feeling screaming at him. Something. Is. Wrong.

"Nothing new, Harry. I still have my best men on the case."

"Ron's still in Mexico," Harry said, his words pale and dull.

"Well, that case's important, too."

"I was thinking of going down there." He watched Kingsley closely. "See if I can help him out."

Kingsley's broad grin faltered, faded slightly, but quickly rebounded back. "Oh, I'm not sure that's a good idea. Hermione needs you here," the Auror said. Harry watched Kingsley's eyes intently. There was nothing there. He quickly drew his gaze back down to his fingers. "And Ron is doing just fine without you. Better let him have a crack at a case without you there to oversee his every decision." Harry flinched.

"Mulberry and Ritcholdt are questioning a few more suspected Death Eater holdovers to see of they have anything to say about Hermione's curse."

"Did you hear if anyone else has been cursed?" Harry asked.

"No. No other curse of this type's been reported. Luckily the perpetrators didn't appear to go on any mad cursing rampage. Though unfortunately it happened to Hermione. Don't you worry Harry; we'll figure out who did this and have them lift the spell. Then they'll be punished appropriately."

Looking up from his busy fingers, Harry offered a small, completely hollow smile that Kingsley seemed to buy with full acceptance. But he couldn't keep his eyes on his friend, and they wandered over his shoulder, examining the mug shots of screaming wizards and witches covering the far wall, proclaiming their innocence or laughing insanely about their crime or perhaps their plans for imminent escape. He looked into the black and white eyes of those criminals, begging them to tell him what to say next.

They offered no such prompting, just a sick tingle wriggling up his spine.

"I… I better go." Harry stood to leave, still avoiding those eyes.

"I have business to get to anyway. Thanks for coming in, it's always good to see you." The Chief Auror's tone rose in pitch, like someone trying to hold in a laugh, or maybe a sob. Harry finally looked back at the man.

Kingsley bent over his desk, hunched over his desk, and pulled out a tattered quill. His odd movement, forced and pained, caused Harry to halt his exit. With a trembling hand Kingsley quickly scrawled out a word on a folded paper, exerting so much force on the quill it bent the tip. Harry looked hard at him as he stood, those eyes… there was something there, something that Harry didn't quite recognized.

Kingsley leaned across the desk without any grace and roughly stuffed the paper in Harry's hand. Go he mouthed. He pushed Harry hard, the force causing Kingsley to stumble back against his chair. Harry almost fell to the ground and when he turned and looked back at Kingsley, that smile was back and the eyes… dead again.

Then Harry knew what it was in those eyes that brief moment earlier, when his friend had written on the scrap of paper. It was desperate sanity.

Harry fled.

He'd been pacing for the last twenty minutes, from kitchen to Floo, Floo to kitchen, thinking, running his mind over everything he knew, all the evidence and information he had. His mind couldn't contain it all.

Harry sat down to write it all out, but he couldn't put it to paper, either. He was too agitated, too full of raw energy. The air crackled around him. He needed to fly. He missed the Hogwarts grounds; there was nowhere to fly around London.

Kingsley… What was happening? Harry looked down at the scrunched piece of paper in his hand, coated with sweat from his palm. It read Mexico.

What did that mean? Did Kingsley really want him to go to Mexico? Was he under surveillance too so couldn't talk to Harry? He was acting so odd, so peculiar, and then it hit him. Was Kingsley under the Imperius Curse? Holy hell.

He needed help. He was a big enough man to admit that, but who? Remus currently sat behind the counter at Blumgeower Books, hopefully drinking tea not laced with liquor. Harry couldn't pull him away from there, Remus needed that job. Ron was staked out in Mexico, probably ready to explode with frustration. Harry needed to get down there, but not yet. He had to lay all the pieces into place.

Damn… If only he or Ron had been cursed instead of Hermione, she would have solved this all long ago. Did he know anyone else who could help him? Nobody of Hermione's calibre came to mind. She had developed an unbreakable crypto system for God's sake.

But she didn't.

It was broken. By one person.

He Disapparated away.

The neon blue sign was becoming a familiar sight for Harry and he wasn't sure if he liked that. He hoped to God that Aiden wouldn't be here, he didn't need to deal with that man right now, that very sexy man. Harry shook his head to flee those thoughts.

He walked into the club, sparsely populated at the early hour, and searched for a familiar face. Draco stood behind the bar with the barmaid, laughing and apparently having a good time. He looked good when he wasn't acting condescending. Harry practically ran up to them.

"Malfoy," he interrupted. "I need your help."

Draco's gaze slowly swung towards the other wizard. Harry thought he looked annoyed. "Potter."

"Hey. Look, I'm sorry for interrupting, but I was really hoping you could help out again."

"Haven't I helped you enough?" Draco asked in his cultured accent. The barmaid caught Harry's eye then quickly looked back to Draco. She appeared to be hiding a smile, but not very well.

"Yes. And thanks." Harry swallowed. Maybe this was a bad idea. "But I've stumbled on some other information and I want another opinion on what it might mean." There, that didn't sound like he was completely incompetent.

"I could possibly help you. What are you offering, Potter?" Harry's heart sunk. He already owed him a vow.

Harry swore he heard an exasperated sigh from the woman standing next to Draco. "You haven't eaten yet, sir," she said. "Perhaps an offer of dinner might cover any debt."

Draco swiftly turned a deadly glare on the girl. Harry, quite shocked by the reaction, knew he'd just missed something.

"Patricia, certainly you must know my aid is worth far more than one dinner. And certainly worth more than what this man could offer." Draco's voice hitched, just a hint of a hitch, but it was there nonetheless. Was Draco nervous? Harry knew he must have heard wrong.

The barmaid shrugged. Her amused eyes seemed to glow. Mischievous. She must have been a Slytherin, Harry thought.

"Well, make that only part of the payment," she said. "Oh, got some customers, better go mix some drinks." She left the two men standing at the end of the bar, her long hair touching the hem of her half cloak. She glanced back briefly and winked before helping the customer.

Harry looked back over to Draco. "I could take you to dinner if you want…" Draco still looked annoyed. "Okay, listen. I've pulled from Hermione's decrypted notes the stuff that looks to be pertinent to her research on Bulstrode's curse. I also got a pile of research from someone else, all medical stuff. I don't know how to read it. And now…" he wasn't sure what he should reveal to Draco, but he figured he might as well go for broke and tell him everything. "Now, I think Kingsley is under some sort of Imperius, but he gave me a hint. Mexico. Normally I would just go to Hermione… but… You're the next smartest person I know." He hated admitting that.

"Next?" Draco asked. He sounded insulted. "Remember who it was who never got himself cursed in the first place."

"Whatever, Malfoy. Will you help me or not?"

"Fine, Potter. I will. However, as my lovely barmaid has so thoughtfully stated, I haven't eaten yet. So I will meet you…"

Harry interrupted him. "Well, where'd you want to go?"

"Excuse me?" Draco looked a little ill.

"I haven't eaten either; we might as well grab something together."

The normally collected blond seemed ruffled.

"This way," Harry quickly continued, feeling like he should explain himself further, "I can go over some of what I know so far."

Draco stood tall and nodded. "Fine, but this is not payment for my helping you. I am sure I will come up with something more fitting later."

"Sure, whatever. Ready?" Harry should have known it wasn't going to be as easy as just asking for help.

"Yes, I'm ready." Draco walked around the bar and right past Harry towards the doors. Harry cursed under his breath, questioning the sanity of going to dinner with Draco, but picked up his speed to catch up to the Slytherin anyway.

Neither of them noticed the gleeful look from Patricia.

Draco knew he should fire her. He usually liked having observant staff; they informed him if any troubles might occur before they even happened. Having them watch him, on the other hand, and make assumptions based on very erroneous data, now that was pushing it too far.

But the data wasn't erroneous. And here he was at dinner with Harry. Draco wasn't quite sure how to act. Draco always knew how to act! He sat across from Harry in silence. Didn't they just spend a week together deciphering codes and actually getting along? What happened?

He was at dinner with the Boy Who Lived. No the Man Who Lived, the rather attractive Man Who Lived who looked even better when he wasn't scowling at Draco with hatred.

The restaurant, a posh Italian place in Diagon Alley called Café Angelo's, was Draco's pick and the bill, Draco promised, was Harry's. Harry just sighed in resignation. Draco ordered an expensive dinner, complete with lobster and truffles, and an expensive wine, something French, and enjoyed every moment of it. Harry ordered something plebian with too many noodles and aubergine. However, he did seem to enjoy the wine. Perhaps he wasn't a total loss.

"Well, Potter. Care to tell me what you can?" He let his eyes graze over the surrounding patrons of the restaurant.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said after he swallowed. "Honestly, I'm not sure where to start. I've got so much going through my head… But how about some privacy first." Draco watched as the other wizard laid down his fork and knife, sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Potter, I don't think this is an appropriate place for a nap," Draco said with a sneer.

One emerald green eye popped open and Harry said, "Give me a moment." It closed again.

That tickle of energy Draco had become familiar with whenever Harry worked his subtle magic danced across his skin. He shivered.

As a curtain of silence built up around them--and other magic that Draco couldn't analyze without overtly using his wand--did its work, Harry mused, "Let me see, where to start."

"Well, how about the beginning."

Those eyes popped open. "Really? That could take a while."

"Well isn't it better if we're both on the same playing field?" Draco asked.

Harry smiled and it almost, almost, caused Draco to smile back. "Okay," he said, and began to speak.