Unlike a Sister

by MADharmony

Nineteen years ago, Harry told Ron he saw Hermione as his sister. Now Hermione is in danger and Harry's feelings for her begin to change dramatically, jeopardizing everything he once knew. An Epilogue compliant fic. Rated M for sex and language.

14. Promise Kept

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling

A/N: Oh my goodness! How long you have been waiting! I'm so sorry for the delay. Here we have a new chapter that is doing some of the heavy-lifting for the more dramatic chapters to come…I'll leave it at that. All that's left to say is: My reviewers are fantastic. My readers are fantastic. I love you all!

Also, please remember this story takes place in 2017. I'm also going to write an extended author's note in my profile about my thinking behind this chapter, so look out for that if you like.

---

Sometimes in our confusion, we see not the world as it is, but the world though eyes blurred by the mind.

Chapter 13: Promise Kept

A bright beam of light hit his eyes.

Jolting slightly, Harry peered through heavy eyelids.

The curtains were swaying. He had left the windows open last night and a breeze was pushing the drapes apart, sending bright shocks of light through Harry's bedroom. It must have been early morning.

Groaning, Harry tried to turn over to retrieve his glasses, but he could not. There was a weight on his arm.

He turned to find Ginny's head peaceably cradled in the crook of his shoulder. She was still fast asleep, her mouth slightly parted.

Though his vision was blurry, Harry stared at her.

He knew exactly what had happened. How many times in his life had he awoken in such a way? With Ginny asleep in his arms after a heated night together?

Turning onto his side slowly, so as not to wake her, Ginny came into sharper focus. Hesitating, Harry lifted his free hand and lightly ran a finger along her bare shoulder, wending it down her spine before stopping at her waist.

He gazed at his pale hand upon her pale flesh.

Carefully and very slowly, he pressed his fingers into her skin. Removing his hand, he saw the flashing, red imprint of his fingers appear and then slowly fade away. Her skin became porcelain once more.

Ginny stirred and Harry looked back at her face. Her mouth twitched, but she continued to sleep.

Harry settled back onto his pillow, watching her. The events of last night flashed through his mind—a confusing mess of heat and motion.

Yet, at least one good thing had come out of it. Harry finally realized he needed to reestablish order in his life. What's more is that he had come to the decision that Ginny would be the new foundation of that order.

From what Harry had seen in the foyer last night, it appeared Hermione and Ron were still very much in love. Perhaps they had been going through a rough patch over the last year, but now they seemed to have reconciled.

Why should he, Harry, disturb that? Especially when it was something both of his best friends wanted? Hadn't Hermione said to him that her first priority was to fix her marriage with Ron? Hadn't Ron said that he wished Hermione remembered him when she was stressed or in trouble? He obviously wanted to reconnect with his wife as well.

Second, how could Harry justify his strange desire for Hermione when he knew it was not reciprocated? While Harry viewed his time with Hermione as transcendent, she only seemed to consider it a nuisance, a distraction from reestablishing a healthy relationship with Ron.

No. There was far too much pain in unreciprocated feelings. Harry had no time and no stomach for that.

Hermione had chosen to focus on Ron. And thus, Harry would do the same…with Ginny.

It was an easy conclusion to come to, and as Harry gazed at Ginny, he began to truly consider her for the first time in what felt like years.

Ginny Potter. His wife.

At thirty-six, she was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Her rich crimson hair had not faded with age, though a few charming blond streaks added dimension. The gentle lines of her face were only slightly distorted by the scythe of time. Her eyes, though currently closed, were a piercing grey and her fine brows were beautifully expressive—conveying everything from anger to lust to joy in a single glance. A pert nose and full lips completed her face. Light freckles still dusted her cheeks, the result of many years spent playing on or reporting from the Quidditch pitch.

And her body…about this, what could Harry say? He was a lucky man—he was entirely sure legions of men were incredibly envious that such a stunningly beautiful woman had become Harry's wife. Even after three children, she was perfectly proportioned. Full breasts, a slender waist, and long, luxurious legs. Add to this her creamy and flawless skin, and Ginny was undeniably breathtaking.

Yet, as Harry completed the inventory of her beauty, he tried to summon up that feeling of lust he usually experienced when he considered Ginny's physical attributes.

But…he felt nothing.

If anything, he felt only a faint memory of feelings past…

How strange…

There had been a time in his life when Harry had been wholly obsessed with the woman currently lying naked in his arms. In his sixth year, when Harry first began to recognize that Ginny as more than Ron's sister, his attraction for her had been very much like a roaring monster in his chest.

After Voldemort's death, he began dating Ginny in earnest. Harry remembered this as a very happy time. Little talking and a lot of sex. He was still very much a boy then, and the rages of lust and hormones that Harry had suppressed for so long finally seemed to overtake him. At times, it seemed he could never have enough of Ginny Weasley.

Sighing now, Harry returned his hand to Ginny's waist, letting his fingers graze the delicate skin there. He pressed his fingers into her flesh once more.

Again, the same red, finger-shaped welts. Again, the fading into nothing.

Why was it that just when Harry had decided to recommit to Ginny that his attachment to her felt no more permanent than those imprints on her skin?

I'm confused right now, Harry thought quickly. There's no need to worry. I've spent so many weeks being distracted by Her…by her, that this'll take some time. Recommitting to Ginny won't happen just like that…I have to try. I have to work at it. Then, the real emotions will come back.

He watched as Ginny's eyelashes trembled slightly.

I…I still love her, don't I?

No obvious answer came, sending a wave of panic through him.

I still love her. I do. I wouldn't have married her if I didn't, right? She's beautiful, wonderful. She's a wonderful mother…she's given me the children. Of course I love her.

This last thought, more than anything, set Harry's mind at ease. How could he not feel a rush of love and gratitude for Ginny when she had given him the gift of being a father? He couldn't imagine a life without James, Albus, and Lily. The children alone were enough of a reason for Harry to love his wife with the utmost devotion. It was as simple as that.

Harry smiled slightly as he thought this. Gently, he leaned down and placed a kiss on Ginny's forehead. And then another.

She stirred.

Harry moved to her neck.

Finally, Ginny awoke, and realizing what was happening, moaned appreciatively.

Harry brought his lips to hers. She returned the kiss slowly, leisurely. A morning's kiss.

"Well, hello," Ginny mumbled as Harry pulled away to return to her neck. "When did you become so cheerful in the mornings?"

Harry tried to say something he might have said years ago…

"Since I woke up with you in my arms…"

Ginny giggled, pleased.

They were silent as they kissed.

Finally, Ginny pulled away. She glanced at the light peeping through the curtains.

"It must be getting late," she said regretfully. "I've got to get to the pitch."

"Do you?" Harry breathed lightly against her skin.

Ginny laughed again. "Yes," she said insistently. "There's a very important match today, as if you didn't know, Harry Potter."

He groaned in assent, flipping onto his back.

Ginny sat up slightly, watching him. The sheets slipped down, leaving her torso bare.

"Hey," she said, excitedly, "why don't you come? Watch the match with me. I can get you a seat in the top box and it's Saturday. Surely you don't have that much work."

Harry nodded, barely glancing at her nudity.

This was true. There was no pressing need to go to the AD and he actually wanted to see the Cannons play the Falcons. It was the first time in over two decades that the Cannons had made the playoffs…

"That'd be nice," Harry said slowly. "What time does the match start?"

"Twelve," she answered. "I've got to get down there much earlier to do some pre-game coverage and interviews. You see…"

But Harry had stopped listening.

Twelve? Wasn't something else happening at twelve?

Harry felt the strangest sensation—his stomach was dropping while his heart was soaring?

"Oh…er, Ginny?" he interrupted.

She looked at him.

"I forgot that…" he swallowed. "Well, I promised Hermione that I'd visit the Camerons with her today…at noon."

Ginny stared at him, not understanding. "The Camerons?"

"Yes. You know…the Muggle family Hermione will be defending?"

"I know who they are," Ginny nearly snapped. Her brows rose. "Why is it you have to visit them today?"

"Well, Hermione said there was an update on their condition. Plus…you liked Duncan, didn't you? He really could use some company."

Ginny's face softened only slightly.

"Gin," Harry said steadily, picking up her hand. "At most, it'll be one hour. I'll apparate to the field right after and still catch most of the game. You know the Falcons and Cannons both have notoriously bad Seekers."

Ginny nodded, not looking at him.

"All right," she said, somewhat coolly. She slipped her hand out from his and moved to the edge of the bed. Without bothering to cover herself, she got up and walked rather alluringly towards the bathroom. Her brilliant hair fell beautifully down her back.

"Wake Lily up, won't you?" she called over her shoulder. "She wanted to come with me. We'll need to leave in forty-five minutes or so."

"Okay," Harry replied.

Without another word, Ginny shut the bathroom door.

Harry stared at the door for a moment until he heard the sound of running water.

Turning away, he groaned softly and lay back in bed.

He could tell Ginny was upset with him. And to be honest, Harry was upset as well. Watching the game with Ginny would have been a lovely way for Harry to begin his reconnection with her.

But…he had made a promise to Hermione. He couldn't just back out of that, could he?

It's not about her anyway, Harry thought purposefully. It's about the Camerons, about Duncan. That's all.

---

Ginny and Lily left at nine that morning. After making breakfast, Harry apparated into the Ministry in order to finish some work before meeting Hermione.

When he arrived, the Auror pool was nearly empty. Only essential staff was on duty for the weekend. Indeed, Harry knew many of his Aurors would be at the National Quidditch Pitch to watch the match itself. Hopefully, in a several hours' time, Harry would be joining them.

Waving to the few Aurors he could see, Harry moved towards his office.

He had just settled behind his desk and spread open several files when there was a knock on the door.

Durkheim poked his head inside.

"Chief? Hope this isn't a bad time?"

"No, not at all," Harry said, waving him inside. "I'm surprised to see you here, George. I thought you had the weekend off?"

"You said I could work this weekend and take Thursday and Friday off for my sister Emilie's wedding?"
"Oh, right. Of course," Harry replied, not really remembering. "So what's the matter?"

Durkheim, looking rather sheepish, produced a large package from behind his back. It was a rectangular box that appeared to have been hastily rewrapped in its original parcel paper. The box had been blasted by several spells, leaving several large pockmarks along the side. Harry thought he could make out Muggle stamps along the top.

"What's that?" he asked, curious.

"Well, you know how you had Counselor Granger's personal mail redirected to the AD?" Durkheim said, awkwardly holding the package under one arm.

"Yes."

Harry had done this in order to intercept any future death threats directed towards Hermione.

"This package arrived for the Counselor early this morning," Durkheim continued, "and I'm afraid one of the Aurors thought it was suspicious—likely never seen Muggle post before—and well, he opened it and realized it was just a package from the Counselor's mother…"

"Hermione's mother?" Harry repeated.

"Yes, I think so. At least, there was no dark enchantment or threat inside the package. We were able to ascertain that much at least …"

Harry wanted to laugh looking at the mangled parcel. Instead, he merely smiled.

Durkheim cleared his throat. "So, should I deliver this to Counselor Granger?"

"No," Harry replied quickly. "I'll give it to her. I'm seeing her in a few hours. Just put it on the couch."

Durkheim did as he was instructed and quickly exited the office.

Harry chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. He settled behind his desk once more, ready to spend the next hour pouring over his files.

A minute later, however, he found himself staring at the box.

A package from Hermione's mum.

Harry supposed Hermione's birthday wasn't so long ago—it could be a belated birthday present. Yet, somehow he didn't think so. He knew Hermione's mum quite well and Elaine Granger was simply not the type to send a belated gift to anyone, let alone her only child.

Harry stared at the parcel a moment longer before he decided.

It wouldn't hurt to have a look. It's not like she'll notice I've touched it. Not when it's already so beaten up.

He pushed back his chair. Harry walked to the couch, and sitting down, pried open the lid.

A jumper, loosely wrapped in blue tissue paper, fell into Harry's hands. It was a rich cream color with a cable-knit pattern. By its size, Harry could tell it was for Hermione.

Disinterested now, he began to replace the jumper when he heard the crinkle of paper on paper. Lifting the sweater again, he saw an equally blue envelope lying at the bottom of the box. Hermione's name was on the front.

Hesitantly, Harry picked it up and flipped it over in his hand.

It had already been opened, he noticed, likely by one of the Aurors.

He lifted the fold of the envelope, strangely captivated by the white Muggle stationery peeking through. Glancing involuntarily around the room, he freed the letter.

It was long, Harry immediately noticed. Three sheets of paper front and back. Mrs. Granger had similar handwriting to the fine, looping script of her daughter…

Skimming through it briefly, unsure what he was looking for, Harry found that Mrs. Granger mostly wrote about the news relating to the Granger household—the sweater had been a birthday gift from a distant aunt, Hermione's father's retirement party was scheduled for next June, Mrs. Granger needed Hermione to bring her a few more Knuts so she could continue to receive the Daily Prophet…

But, near the end of the letter, Harry caught sight of his own name…

I'm glad to hear you're managing so well with your security detail, Hermione. I know for someone as independent as you, it's difficult to hand over your security to complete strangers. But, you must realize your own limitations. Harry wouldn't have given you those Aurors if he didn't absolutely think you needed them, would he? This is his area of expertise after all. Wasn't he the only one who ever made better marks than you in Defense Against the Dark Arts? (I hope you're still not holding a grudge about that!) But, he cares for you terribly, dear, so please don't make him worry.

Harry smirked, a rush of appreciation for Mrs. Granger flooding through him. He would love to see Hermione's face when she read those last few lines…

Perhaps her brows would knit together. She would roll her eyes and shake her head, her soft curls sweeping across her face…

Harry blinked.

He carefully slipped the paper back into the envelope and, removing his wand, perfectly resealed the letter. He cast a strong Anti-Detection Spell along the outside so Hermione would never know it had been tampered with, unless she knew an incredibly obscure counter-charm. He replaced the letter below the jumper and sealed the box.

After finishing this, Harry slowly walked back towards his desk, lost in thought.

He laid his fingertips on the desk and stared at the grain of the wood for what felt like a very long time.

What had he just been thinking? Why had he been thinking about Hermione like that? Hadn't he just promised to make a conscious effort to stop obsessing over her? And here he was imagining her reaction to a letter…

Had he been doing that his whole life? You know, thinking of her constantly like that? Sure…he thought about Hermione a lot, even before the whole mess with the snogging started. But why wouldn't he? Hermione was his best friend. He was constantly evaluating his thoughts and actions through the lens of her eyes.

Harry sighed and moved to sit behind his desk.

I've known her for twenty-six years, he thought resolutely. For at least twenty-five of those years, I've considered her only a friend, right? It shouldn't be hard to start thinking of her like that again. It'll just take a bit of practice. Things will return to normal soon enough. And when they do, I'll be much… happier…

Yet, Harry did not feel particularly happy.

Even his most mundane thoughts and actions invariably seemed to lead to Hermione. Considering this, how was he to create some distance between himself and her, the distance he needed to make his life comprehensible again? The distance he needed reignite his feelings for Ginny?

I will be detached, not rude, he decided. I'll avoid situations where I get too close to her. I'll listen to her, but I'll keep her separate from my own emotions. It's the only way this is going to work. If-If I do it right, she won't notice anything's different at all.

In Harry's mind, his friendship with Hermione only needed to be reset.

Those more intimate thoughts that had plagued his mind for the last month would have to be forgotten.

Lines that had been physically and mentally crossed would be redrawn.

Everything would go back to how it once was. Starting this afternoon.

---

At exactly noon, Harry arrived outside Hermione's office door.

The Head Office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement appeared to be completely empty—all the barristers gone for the weekend, save Hermione.

He took a steadying breath. Haltingly, he knocked.

Distance. Detachment.

Inside, he found Hermione ready to leave. She was closing her attaché.

"Hey," she called out, beaming as she caught site of him.

Without his consent, Harry's eyes swept over her.

She was casually dressed, a blouse made of some light blue floaty material and dark jeans. The blouse's neckline had a slight V-shape, beautifully offsetting Hermione's pale skin. It was there Harry saw his diamond necklace resting in the graceful hollow of her collarbones, above a subtle rise of her breasts.

He swallowed.

"Hi," he said somewhat tersely.

She gestured to the box in Harry's arms. "What's that?"

"Oh, your mum…package," Harry mumbled.

"What?"

"Your mum sent you a package," Harry repeated more audibly. "Was picked up by the Aurors by mistake. I'm sorry they opened it, but…there you are…"

Hermione looked at him strangely. Then, she laughed.

"All right, just put it on my desk."

Harry picked his way over to her, sidestepping several large stacks of documents, rolls of parchment, and intimidatingly large law books.

He slid the badly bruised parcel towards her on her desk.

Hermione suppressed a grin.

"My poor mum," she said teasingly. "If she knew what had happened to this…"

Harry smiled automatically, and then caught himself.

He stepped away from the desk.

"Well, yeah…like I said, sorry about that. They thought it looked like a threat. But everything is fine inside."

Hermione nodded, her attention on the box.

She revealed her wand. Instantly, the box's lid flew open and she removed the jumper.

"Well, that's nice," she said absently, briefly running her hand over the fabric.

Her eyes spotted the letter and she smiled.

Yet, a second later, Harry saw her grin falter.

She flipped the letter over in her hand, as though weighing it. Then, her eyes flashing to him, she smiled dangerously.

"You open this?" she asked, waving the letter slightly in his face. It sounded like an accusation more than a question.

Harry only stared at her.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and picking up her wand again, she mumbled under her breath. The letter vibrated in her hand. Harry cringed. She had cast just the right spell to tell whether the letter had been opened.

Of course she would.

She looked at him again. "Harry," she said more dangerously. "You read this, didn't you?"

Harry grinned somewhat sheepishly, forgetting himself. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, but to be fair…I didn't open it," he said defensively. "It was opened by mistake and I just…happened to read it before I closed it up again."

Hermione smirked, tearing open the letter. "Uh huh. And what did you think?"

Harry laughed. "Well…I like your mum."

She looked at him curiously as she removed the sheaves of paper. She grinned widely at its length and quickly swept her eyes over the pages.

When she came to the portion about him, she reacted exactly as Harry had predicted—her fine eyebrows crinkled slightly, she rolled her eyes and shook her head, her curls dancing…

Harry blinked.

"I see what you mean," she said tartly, shoving the letter back into the envelope. "You've always been her favorite, so I guess it's no surprise she'd take your side…"

"Hermione…" Harry said warningly.

"I'll read the rest later," she said innocently. "Are you ready to leave?"

He hesitated, but nodded in assent.

She moved to the side of the desk.

Harry noticed she wasn't wearing shoes. A pair of ankle boots had been kicked off where Harry now stood.

Without warning, Hermione came to stand beside him and bent down to slip on one of the shoes. Her other hand reached for his arm to steady herself.

Distance! Detachment! Harry's brain bellowed at him.

But another part of Harry's mind…well, that part liked the look of her creamy hand on his black jacket. The warm pressure of her palm. And if he tilted his head just so…he could see down her blouse and catch the briefest glimpse of her full and lovely breasts…

Harry's snatched his arm away and Hermione tilted sideways, catching herself.

"Eh!" she cried, looking up at him alarmed. "What's the matter?"

Harry coughed and took several steps back.

"Er…sorry, just an itch," he mumbled, reaching to rub the spot where Hermione's hand had rested moments before.

Hermione looked at him wearing only one shoe.

For one terrifying moment, Harry thought she knew everything – what he was trying to do, his plan to distance himself, his complete inability to treat her normally…

But, that moment passed.

Hermione looked down and slipped on her other shoe, this time using the desk for support.

When she finished, she gave him a cheerful look. Yet, it didn't seem to reach her eyes.

"Ready?" she asked.

Harry nodded again.

He opened the door for her and they walked back towards the lifts.

They remained silent the entire way.

---

Very much unlike the Ministry, St. Mungo's was humming with activity.

Families were taking advantage of the weekend to visit loved ones in the magical hospital, and thus the whole lobby was filled with the sound of children's laughter and the gentle buzz of gossiping adults. In the their lime green robes, Healers were striding importantly down the corridors.

In the mass of people, no one saw Harry and Hermione arrive.

Silently, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand. She glanced at him sharply and pulled him forward. Somehow, without her saying a word, Harry understood that she would not tolerate him pulling his hand from hers again.

So, he let himself be dragged towards the Inquiries Desk, lost in the warring emotions of indignation and grim satisfaction.

"Hello," said Hermione brightly to the witch behind the desk. "Hermione Granger and Harry Potter for Healer Waltham. He's expecting us."

The woman did a double take at the mention of their names.

"Yes, Counselor," she said hastily. "I'll inform him that you've arrived. If you and Chief Potter would just wait in the lobby…"

Hermione shook her head. "If it's all right, I think we'll just head up to the Thickey Ward. Would you please tell Healer Waltham to meet us there?"

Before the woman could respond, Hermione had dragged Harry away again, pulling him towards the lifts. Harry glanced back at the receptionist, who's expression was somewhere between confusion and perturbation.

"What was that for?" Harry asked, as Hermione finally released his hand as the lift doors closed. "Why not go to Healer Waltham's office?"

"Honestly," said Hermione curtly as she punched the button for the fourth floor, "are we here to see the Camerons or not?"

"Well, I guess. But, I don't see the problem in going to his office first…"

"Harry," Hermione said, looking at her feet. "I saw the Camerons a few days ago. They haven't been told anything about their condition in weeks…and they've asked. The Healers…well, they don't seem to think it's necessary to keep the Camerons informed, as if they wouldn't understand because they're non-magical." She sighed as the lift came to a halt. "No. Healer Waltham is going to tell me about their conditions in their presence. It's the only way they'll get an honest answer about what's happening to them."

The lift came to a halt.

Hermione, her face set, stepped into the hallway. Harry followed silently after.

The Thickey ward was filled with soft grey light from an overcast sky. As always, three lone patients occupied one far end of the hall. The Camerons lived behind a partition.

It was towards this barrier Hermione strode. She separated the curtains with her hand, Harry beside her.

"Miss Hermione!" someone cried out in a voice so full of rapture Harry was momentarily shocked. "You're back!"

A second later, Duncan Cameron had flown into Hermione's outstretched arms. She laughed.

"Oh, Duncan!" she exclaimed. "It's good to see you too!"

The twelve-year-old, peering out under Hermione's arm, spotted Harry.

"And Mr. Potter?" Duncan said, smiling ecstatically. "You're here too?"

Harry nodded, leaning down to briefly embrace the boy as he detached himself from Hermione. "Of course, mate. It's good to see you again."

The boy pulled back from Harry, beaming.

Harry saw Hermione moving quickly towards the other two beds, where Mr. and Mrs. Cameron were sitting.

Someone tugged on his sleeve.

"Er…Mr. Potter?" Duncan said quietly, unable to meet Harry's eyes. "Is…Is Lily here?"

"Lily?" repeated Harry, momentarily confused. As Duncan's cheeks turned a deep crimson, Harry recalled the blooming feelings between Duncan and his only daughter. Harry did his best to restrain his annoyance.

"No, sorry. She's not here."

Duncan released his hold on Harry's arm.

Harry almost wanted to take it back, to summon Lily to St. Mungo's at once. Duncan looked rather too much like a kicked dog.

Harry cleared his throat, looking for Hermione again.

She was now sitting on Mrs. Cameron's bed, holding the older woman's hand. They were actually having a pleasant conversation it seemed—something Harry had yet to experience with Theresa Cameron…

Their reunion was short lived, however.

Healer Waltham, ginger and stocky in stature, appeared at that moment from behind the partition.

"Counselor Granger," he called, briefly nodding to Harry.

Hermione got up from the bed and came towards them both.

"Healer Waltham. It's nice to see you again, sir."

Harry could tell she didn't think so.

"Might I ask we take our meeting in my office," the Healer began tersely. "It'll be much quieter there and I can offer you and Chief Potter some tea and…"

"That won't be necessary," Hermione said flatly. "It's not very loud here. I'd like the Camerons to hear the latest on their conditions as well."

Healer Waltham looked uncomfortable. His eyes fell on Duncan, who was still standing by Harry's side.

The Healer lowered his voice, glancing at Hermione. "Counselor…I did not call you here for a medical update on the Camerons' conditions…that remains quite unchanged. I called you here to discuss arrangements pertaining to their… future care."

Hermione stared at the Healer for a long moment. "I don't see why such matters cannot be discussed in front of them. Have they no say in what is to happen to them?"

"Please, Ms. Granger," the Healer said, almost begging. "It's not something I can so readily discuss…in front of…Muggles. Please, would you just come to my office? I will explain everything there."

Hermione, faltering, shared a glance with Harry.

He raised his eyebrows, giving his grudging consent.

She sighed.

"That's fine, Healer Waltham. But, I must insist that after our meeting you personally give an update to the Camerons regarding their medical care. They've been horribly deprived by your staff…"

"I understand," he said, cutting her off. "If you'll just follow me."

As the Healer turned his back, Hermione looked worriedly at Harry. He felt that strong, almost primal urge to comfort her. His hand ached to touch her.

Yet, he quickly quashed it.

Harry and Hermione followed Healer Waltham out of the ward and down a long hallway. They reached a particular corridor lined with offices, and stopping before one of the doors, the Healer escorted them inside.

It was almost too clean, Harry instantly thought. White-tiled walls and a grey, concrete floor. The desk was brushed, black metal. A single vase of white lilies sat beneath the only window in the room.

The Healer summoned two chairs and moved to sit behind his desk. Hermione glanced at Harry again before they both sat down.

"So," Hermione began slowly, "you said you called me to talk about the Camerons' future care? Does this mean there has been absolutely no improvement to their memories?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm sorry, Counselor," the Healer said, though he did not look particularly remorseful, "we have tried everything possible, and we remain hopeful that we may yet find a solution, but at the moment there has been no improvement. At least we can take solace in the fact that their condition has not worsened…"

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione's jaw tighten.

"Worsened?" she repeated coolly. "Theresa Cameron still cannot remember her son, nor Walter Cameron his occupation. Nicole Cameron has only woken up twice in the six weeks she has been here. And you say at least their condition has not worsened?"

The Healer pursed his lips.

"Well, that is why I have called you in, Counselor. Mind you, I was not required to do so, but I thought you might want to be informed before it happened."

"Before what happened?" Hermione asked tightly.

The Healer looked surprised she did not know.

"Oh, simply that Duncan Cameron will be Obliviated today."

Harry's eyes widened. Hermione reacted first.

"What?" she breathed, her fingers tightening around the edge of the chair.

"He is to be Obliviated," Waltham repeated quite simply. "His memories pertaining to his time in St. Mungo's are to be erased. Unfortunately, this means we must also erase the reason he came here and some additional information will be added to his memories in order to ease his transition into the Muggle world…Considering that Duncan's memories may be of some relevance to your case against Theo Callahan, I thought it best you be informed before the procedure," the Healer finished.

A ringing silence met his words.

"Am I to understand, Healer Waltham," said Hermione, her voice dangerously soft, "that Duncan came to this hospital to have his memory restored…and now you are telling me that it is to be destroyed completely?"

Waltham shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Duncan's case is most unusual, Counselor," the Healer said. "Under normal circumstances no Muggle child without a familial connection to the magical world would be allowed to have knowledge of wizardry for over six weeks. Regarding your case, he has already divulged everything he knows. And among his family members, his memory remains the most functional and intact. There is simply no reason why he needs to stay here…"

"Of course there's a reason!" Hermione cried vehemently, her face red. "His parents are here, aren't they? That's your fucking reason! Is it now St. Mungo's policy to separate children from their parents—particularly when those parents are still receiving medical care? No, he absolutely cannot be taken away. Not while they're alive. Not while they still remember him. Where would he go otherwise?"

Harry briefly closed his eyes. He hadn't seen Hermione this worked up in quite some time.

The Healer cleared his throat. Harry didn't blame him for looking down at his desk and beginning to fiddle with the papers there. Anyone in direct view of Hermione's expression would have done the same.

"A place has been found for him, Ms. Granger…I was just about to say," he grumbled. "Theresa Cameron has an older brother who could take the boy. The man lives here in London…I have a write-up on his situation."

Waltham removed a sheaf of parchment from a drawer in his desk.

Hermione seized it.

Harry watched as Hermione's face became even redder. There seemed to be a distinct crackle of energy in the air…

"Is this a joke?" she spat, lowering the parchment slowly. "You wouldn't give a dog to a man like this."

She thrust the parchment into Harry's hands. He was about to skim over it himself when Hermione began outlining the more important details.

"Family relation or not, this man lives in the East End," said Hermione accusingly. "Perhaps you're not aware that this is the most dangerous area of London? He's a bachelor, with two marriages lasting no longer than two years each? And what's this?" she asked angrily, snatching the parchment out of Harry's hands again and shoving it under Waltham's nose. "He served a four-year prison term for selling drugs? Oh yes, sounds likes the perfect place for a twelve-year-old boy."

Healer Waltham leaned back, raising his palms.

"This is the only relative the Office of Wizard-Muggle Exchange could identify. Once the boy's uncle is informed Duncan needs a new home, he will surely take Duncan in and care for him accordingly."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yes, because that worked so well in Harry's case," Hermione said, waving a hand in Harry's direction.

Harry blinked, surprised he had been brought into this conversation.

Waltham cringed slightly, failing to meet Harry's eyes. Ever since the first full-length, unauthorized biography about Harry was published in 1998, the abuse and neglect Harry had suffered with the Dursley's had become popular knowledge.

"That's…hardly relevant," the Healer mumbled.

Harry had to agree. He was happy to keep his childhood out of this, but he also had to admit Duncan's uncle sounded dangerous…the boy could not stay with him.

"And I suppose," Hermione continued, her face entering a new shade of crimson, "you'll make Duncan an orphan when you Obliviate him, will you? You'll tell him his parents and sister died in a car wreck or something? Have you any idea of the emotional strain that puts on someone?"

"Memory charms can always be removed, Counselor," said the Healer weakly. "Should the family's condition improve, Duncan will be reunited with them immediately."

"And when will that be?" Hermione shot back, livid. "In two weeks? A month? A year? Ten years? You'd put him through the additional trauma of finding out his parents are alive and that he had been separated from them against his will?"

Harry felt a strange pull in his stomach as he watched Hermione's face. There was a near-invisible sheen over her eyes, as though she were on the verge of tears.

He suddenly realized this subject was very personal for Hermione. After the death of Voldemort, Hermione had removed the eleven-month Memory Charm she had placed on her parents for their own protection. When Hermione's mother found out what her daughter had done, she did not speak to Hermione for several weeks. Harry knew it was one of the most difficult times in Hermione's life.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Healer Waltham," he said as calmly as possible. Hermione turned to stare at him, blinking quickly. "I think what Counselor Granger is trying to say is that given Duncan's parents are still alive and well—despite the fact that his mother occasionally forgets him—it would be cruel to separate Duncan from them. Surely there's no better place for a child than with his parents?"

"I understand your concern," Waltham said, looking anywhere but Hermione, "but this is out of my hands. Duncan simply cannot stay. Besides the drain on hospital resources…surely you have realized that Duncan is not thriving here? St. Mungo's is no place for a Muggle child. He needs to attend a school, to be around others like himself. And since the Ministry cannot risk releasing Duncan to the Muggle world un-Obliviated, we have to do something…"

Hermione became still at his words, her expression becoming troubled rather than angry.

Healer Waltham was right. Duncan may be with his family now, but he was not thriving. The boy was encaged within the walls of a hospital that detested his presence. As such, Duncan was unable to make friends, unable to play—every moment of his life defined by his inferiority…well, Harry knew what that was like.

Watching Hermione, he wasn't exactly sure what impelled him to speak—perhaps it was the way her small fist slowly unclenched itself, or the defeated look in her eyes. Either way, speaking felt right.

"I'll pay for Duncan's upkeep," Harry said.

They both turned to stare at him.

"Er, that's certainly…generous, Chief Potter," the Healer said after a moment. "But, I don't think you know what you'd be…"

"No," Hermione interrupted, turning to face Waltham. "No. I will pay for Duncan's expenses."

"Hermione," Harry protested.

Hermione gave him a small smile as she reached across the space between them and placed her hand on his knee.

"No, I will. No arguments."

Harry fell silent, wondering if he should insist. He stared at her creamy hand, feeling as though he was supposed to remember to do something…

Waltham watched the exchange with a furrowed brow. This was not going the way he had anticipated.

"Look—Chief Potter, Counselor Granger," the Healer said, exasperated. "I understand that you both want to help the boy, but he needs more than financial support right now. He needs to go to school. He cannot attend a Muggle school as he is now. There would be too much temptation for him to tell his Muggle friends about what he has seen here, violating the Statute of Secrecy…"

Harry highly doubted Duncan would tell anyone about the wizarding world. Yet, the law was sacrosanct. Even as head of the Auror Department, Harry could see no way that Duncan could attend a Muggle school with his current memories intact.

"What about home-schooling?" Hermione suggested eagerly. "His mother can't teach him because of her…memory block…regarding Duncan, but what about his father?"

Healer Waltham was shaking his head.

"Mr. Cameron's intellectual faculties were the most severely damaged of the four. His failure to remember his occupation stems from a larger inability to use his higher-level thinking. He would hardly make for an appropriate teacher."

She turned to Harry.

"Is there anyone we know?" she asked him urgently. "Someone who could tutor Duncan? Molly is too old to manage teaching a twelve-year-old…My parents are far too busy, and aren't properly trained. Is there anyone else?"

Harry wracked his mind, trying to think of any acquaintance who had the time and ability to teach Duncan. No obvious answer came.

He shook his head slowly. Hermione looked down at her hands, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.

After a moment, she finally spoke.

"I'll—I'll do it," she said. "I'll teach him myself. I can make some time after work…or maybe early in the mornings…"

This time, Harry reached out his hand. He covered hers.

"Hermione, love," he said smiling, "you don't have the time. You're running ragged as it is preparing for the case. You can't take on the commitment it would take to teach Duncan properly…"

"I could do it," said Hermione softly, desperately. "It's not…I could. He's right. Duncan has to go to school…"

"It's not up to you to do everything," Harry replied just as softly. "There'll be another solution."

Hermione held tightly to his hand, looking back at him with large eyes. He inherently understood she wanted to know what that other solution was.

Healer Waltham cleared his throat.

"You see," he said, somewhat smugly, "there truly is no other option than Obliviation at this point. I'm sorry, but releasing him to the Muggle world and a Muggle school with his memories intact is simply out of the question…"

"So what if we don't send him to a Muggle school…" Harry interrupted.

"What?" Hermione and Healer Waltham asked simultaneously.

"You're saying he cannot be released to the Muggle world for school…so what if we keep him in this world? What if we send him to the Agrippa School?"

Two sets of wide eyes stared back at him—Hermione with a look of sheer adoration, Healer Waltham with a look of sheer disbelief.

"I'm sorry…what?" the Healer asked, stunned and staring at Harry as though he had gone mad. "The wizard preparatory school? You want to send Duncan there?"

"Yes," said Harry simply.

The Cornelius Agrippa School for Elementary Wizardry in London was the same school Lily and Hugo currently attended. All of Harry and Hermione's children had attended the prestigious academy before they left for Hogwarts. These days, most magical families chose to send their children to preparatory schools rather than having them home-schooled, and Agrippa was one of the most difficult schools to get into.

"A Muggle in a wizarding school? Why don't you just send him to Hogwarts then?" the Healer cried, throwing up his hands. "I've never heard of such a thing! It's ridiculous, preposterous—"

"It's perfect," Hermione said, clutching Harry's hand so tightly he was beginning to lose feeling in his fingers. "The deputy headmistress is a friend of mine. Surely, she could pull some strings so that Duncan could enroll. Most of the classes are basic math, reading, history…he could be exempted from the more magically focused classes. There's one problem though," she said, thinking fast, "Duncan is twelve years old. Agrippa only teaches up to age eleven…"

"Yes, so you see…quite impossible," the Healer blurted.

"Well, it shouldn't really matter, should it?" Harry said evenly, glaring at the man. "Duncan lived in a rural area before the attack, right? He might have been receiving a good education or he might not. Either way, isn't the most important thing that he remain in school, have a regular schedule again…?"

"Yes," said Hermione, agreeing. "Agrippa is very advanced. If we placed Duncan in the highest class he would likely be at his level, wouldn't he? I can discuss this with Elda Stalk, the deputy headmistress. I'm sure it will be no problem…"
"Counselor," Waltham protested, "I already have the order for Duncan's Obliviation. It's signed and scheduled to happen this evening at four. I don't think…"

"Who signed it?" Hermione demanded, using her most disarmingly commanding voice.

"Well, I did…" said Waltham weakly, "and the case officer at the Office of Wizard-Muggle Exchange."

"Who is?"

Waltham glanced at the parchment. "Xavier Dodderidge."

Hermione pursed her lips slightly.

Dodderidge was a high official in the Office of Wizard-Muggle Exchange, but Harry had never understood how the man got into the field of Muggle relations. Though Harry did not know him well, he could tell the man had no inherent interest in Muggles and perhaps viewed his office as a mere stepping stone to a more prestigious Ministry position.

A moment later, Hermione smiled sweetly at Waltham.

"Well," she said silkily, "you certainly agree that we should postpone his Obliviation, don't you? You'll reconsider the order, of course."

"Counselor…I,"

"What's the problem, Fredrick?" asked Hermione with false innocence. "Duncan will receive an education, his expenses will be paid for, and most importantly he will be with his family. Surely this is the better option than convincing him that he's an orphan and sending him to a drug dealer?"

"Well, of course…" the Healer mumbled. "But…but Duncan's place at Agrippa is not assured. And there's Mr. Dodderidge…"

"If I can ensure he has a place at the school and Mr. Dodderidge agrees, you will rescind the order?"

"That seems…"

"Surely you can have no objection then," said Hermione authoritatively while crossing her arms, "unless you have some personal reason for wanting to remove Duncan?"

Waltham's brow furrowed. "No, not at all…the boy is a nuisance, but…"

"Then it will be a good thing to have him away from the hospital eight hours a day, wouldn't it?" Hermione reasoned brightly.

The Healer shrugged. "But the deadline, Counselor. It's a mere three hours away…"

Hermione bit her lip slightly, Harry watching her closely. She glanced at him before she spoke. "I will be back before four."

With that, Hermione stood up, Harry immediately following suit.

"But, but…Counselor," Waltham called as Harry and Hermione walked towards the door.

"Before four!" Hermione replied cheerily to the obviously disgruntled Healer. She took Harry's hand, swung open the door, and strode into the hallway.

As soon as they were out of the office, and Harry had shut the door behind him, Hermione's face fell. She took a few steps down the corridor and turned to face him.

Harry came up beside her, worried by her expression.

"Harry," she whispered urgently. "I need you to stay with Duncan."

"What?"

"Shh," Hermione hissed, glancing down the hallway. "You heard him. Waltham has the order. There's nothing to stop him from Obliviating Duncan right now except us…and I have to go."

"Go where?"

She shushed him again. "Weren't you listening?" she said in her most Hermione-like tone. "I've got to convince Xavier Dodderidge to rescind the order, and that means I need to meet with Elda Stalk to make sure Duncan can be admitted to Agrippa. So I need you to stay. Please?"

Hermione's eyes were filled with such intensity and desperation that Harry's immediate impulse was to agree to whatever she wanted, but something held him back—perhaps that niggling promise he had made to keep Hermione separate from his emotions…

"What am I supposed to do then, Hermione?" Harry whispered back sharply. "Am I supposed to stop the Healers from Obliviating him? What do you want me to do? Fight them off?"

"Precisely," said Hermione, failing to detect his sarcasm. "It hopefully won't come to that…but stall, delay them. Just spend the day with Duncan. If you're with him, they won't dare touch him."

Harry wanted to roll his eyes, but resisted.

"How long is this supposed to take then?" Harry asked.

"I'll leave for Elda's house right now—explain the situation," Hermione said, twisting her fingers around themselves. "I don't think she'll take too much convincing. All I need right now is a verbal promise that Duncan will be admitted. Then, I'll head to the Ministry."

"Will Dodderidge be there?"

"I don't know," Hermione replied, considering this for the first time. Sometimes she failed to realize that most people did not work through the weekends like she did. "Someone at the Office will know where he is. Perhaps at the Quidditch Pitch…that match is today, right?"

Harry cringed, his stomach sinking.

The match.

How could he stay here in the hospital with Duncan? He had promised Ginny he'd come to the match. He had to go.

He opened his mouth to interrupt Hermione.

"Hermione, I…" he began, looking at her desperately, hating he would have to cause her more worry.

"So all in all…maybe two hours? Plenty of time, don't you think?" Hermione was saying, looking up at him.

Harry felt his resolve leave him like water slipping through his hands.

He looked away from her.

"Two hours? You promise?" If he was lucky, he could catch the tail end of the match.

"Yes."

Then, gazing at him strangely, she picked up his hand without warning.

"Harry," she breathed, squeezing his fingers and looking at him with adoration yet again. "You are wonderful. Thank you for thinking of Agrippa. I don't know if…in my state I would have thought of it…and Duncan…well, he just can't leave here…his parents…his sister."

Hermione's free hand fell to her side and she lowered her head.

Without a thought, as though it were the most natural thing, Harry reached down and captured her other hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

"Hey," he said gently, "everything's going to be fine. Go and talk to Elda and Dodderidge. Then come back. I'll look after Duncan. There's no need for you to worry."

Hermione did not look up. Instead, she leaned into him and let her head fall against his chest. Instinctually, Harry released her hands and wrapped his arms around her. As he encircled her in his arms, he realized what was happening and that he would have to stop it…

…but…but… it felt so nice…

She was so warm, her skin so soft under his hands. And she was nuzzling his chest adorably, her hair smelling like lilies and new books—she smelt like Hermione. And wasn't that nice? What was wrong with that?

Before Harry could come to a decision about what to do, Hermione leaned back and disentangled herself. She trailed a hand down his arm and gripped his hand.

"I better go," she said softly. "Two hours."

"Two hours."

After giving it one final squeeze, she released his hand. She turned on the spot, and was gone.

---

He stared at the spot where Hermione had vanished before Harry turned in the direction of the Thickey Ward.

If Hermione was going to be running around London to save Duncan from expulsion from the wizarding world, he supposed the least he could do was perform his baby-sitting function well.

Harry tried not to think about the match…

Ginny was probably wondering where he was…or maybe she wasn't. If the match was interesting, she might be too caught up in following the commentary and pouring through statistical data to notice his absence.

As Harry thought this, he pushed his way through the swinging double doors of the ward. That strange, rare sound met his ears.

Duncan was laughing.

Slightly bemused, Harry moved towards the partition, and separating the curtains, peered inside.

Duncan was sitting on his bed with an older man Harry didn't know.

Duncan's sister, Nicole, was still unconscious on the bed next to her brother—her skin paler and slightly blotchy, as though she had not been turned over in quite some time. Harry swept his eyes towards the other end of the room. Mrs. Cameron was doing needlework in her bed. Mr. Cameron was sitting by the television holding a book. It appeared to be another crime novel, Harry noticed, but Mr. Cameron's eyes were not moving. He was wearing a vacant expression.

Harry stepped into the room and Duncan immediately noticed his arrival.

"Mr. Potter," Duncan called out cheerily, sliding off the bed. The other man remained seated.

As the boy ran towards Harry, he looked back towards the curtains.

"Where's Miss Hermione?" he asked, not bothering to cover up his disappointment at finding Harry alone.

Harry smiled slightly. How could he even begin to explain what Hermione was doing for Duncan right now?

"She's running an errand," Harry said easily. "She'll be back in a few hours. What are you up to, then? Did I tell you I brought you a new book?"

Duncan immediately brightened.

"Really! Oh, thanks so much Mr. Potter. I'd finished Miss Hermione's books last week and…" The boy looked guiltily towards his bedside table. Harry spied two or three large medical tomes stacked under the lamp.

Harry laughed, reaching into his cloak. "I'm sorry I've only brought one then. But at least it's about something you've never read about…"

Harry pulled out a shrunken version of Quidditch Through the Ages and quickly removed his wand.

"Engorgio!" Harry said and the book grew to its appropriately mammoth size.

Duncan tried not to stare as Harry replaced his wand. He took the book happily.

"Quid-ditch?" he said curiously, reading the title. "I think Lily said something about it…about the brooms and stuff."

"Yes. It's basically our version of football or rugby. A very popular magical sport," Harry said, smiling. He strangely liked explaining such perfunctory things to Duncan—it was like explaining a cultural quirk to a foreigner.

At that moment, the man sitting on Duncan's bed stood up, the bed springs squeaking. He walked towards Harry and Duncan.

The man glanced at Harry before he knelt down to address the boy.

"I had better go, Duncan," he said kindly. "Healer Belby is leading a seminar in the Brain Ward."

"Oh," Duncan said quietly. "Okay."

The man ruffled Duncan's hair and glanced at Harry again. But, he stopped—and why wouldn't he? —Harry was staring at him as though he had sprouted an extra head.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly. "But, are you…are you a doctor?"

"Yes?" the man replied, a little alarmed by Harry's disquiet.

"A real doctor? Like a Muggle doctor?"

Again, Harry knew very little about Muggle health care, but the man before him was dressed very similarly to Dr. Srinivasan. The same crisp, white coat with an embroidered nametag. The same air of cleanliness and kindness.

Yet, it created such cognitive dissonance in Harry's mind to see a Muggle doctor in a wizarding hospital. Amid the lime green robes of the Healers, this man must look very strange indeed.

The doctor laughed. "Yes, yes. I'm Dr. Peck. You can call me Alex."
He held out his hand.

"Alex?…Alexander?" Harry asked, vaguely shaking his hand. "I read your name in the Prophet…you're one of those new Muggle doctors on that consultative fellowship?"

"Yes, I've been here just over two weeks," the doctor replied, smiling. "Met Duncan my second day…it's hard to find others likes us around here, so we stick together."

The doctor was a handsome man, slightly taller and younger than Harry. He had dark brown hair and hazel eyes set into a light olive complexion. His face was slightly distorted, however, by a hair-like scar running from under his left nostril to his lip…he must have had a cleft palate once, Harry realized. Instead of scrubs under his coat, he wore a white button down shirt tucked into grey slacks.

"This is Mr. Potter, Alex," Duncan finally piped up, perhaps having a mature premonition that an introduction was required.

"You can call me Harry."

"Harry, okay…wait…your name," Alex said, his brow furrowing. "Harry…Harry Potter? I read your name somewhere too, didn't I? Maybe in my orientation material, but that was some time ago…" His eyes widened. "My God, are you…are you the Prime Minister of Magic?"

Harry burst out laughing, which only intensified the bemused expression on the doctor's face. How nice it was that someone did not know who he was for a change!

"No, not at all!" Harry said, wiping at his eyes. "That post has been held by the same man for some twenty years. I'm an Auror, Chief of the Auror Department, actually. We're sort of like police in this world…"

"An Aur-or?" Alex repeated, not recognizing the word. "Well, all right then. But you're very famous, aren't you? There was an entire section about something relating to you, I'm sure of it…There was a war some time back, right?"

"There was a war."

The doctor's eyes widened slightly, almost like a child waiting to hear a ghost story. When Harry failed to elaborate, Alex seemed to remember himself.

He cleared his throat.

"Well, it's a pleasure," he said, holding out his hand again, which Harry took. There was a moment of awkward silence. The doctor glanced at Duncan, who seemed to have become bored with the adults' conversation and was flipping through Quidditch Through the Ages. "I'm guessing you know Duncan too?"

"Um, yes. My best friend…she's well…she's the lead counselor for Duncan's family's case," Harry said, running an agitated hand through his hair. "I'm guessing you heard what happened?"

"Bits and pieces."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Well, I certainly don't mean to keep you, if you need to go. I'm in charge of watching Duncan for the next few hours."

"You're in charge?" the doctor asked, confused again. "Duncan needs the wizard police to watch over him?"

Harry laughed a little awkwardly. "It's a favor…for my friend."

"Who's this friend?"

"Her name is Hermione Granger…I'm sorry, Weasley…or Granger. Both are…both are used…"

"Hermione Weasley?" said Alex, this time recognition coloring his face. "I met her actually at the welcome banquet they had for us earlier this month. She's a nice woman. From what I gathered, she's one of the founders of this exchange program. So, she's pretty important too, then?"

"She's very important."

"She seemed very smart too."

"She's brilliant."

Fuck. Stop it.

"So, she has you babysit her clients, is that it? You're a good friend," said Alex with a teasing smile.

Harry laughed awkwardly yet again. "No, it's not like that. I…you see." Harry looked at Duncan again. "It's a complicated story."

The doctor slowly followed Harry's eyes to the boy.

"I understand…" He paused. "You know, I don't need to go to this seminar thing. I won't be needed, to say the least. Would you and Duncan care for a walk in the courtyard? It's a nice day, isn't it? — A little nippy, but not bad."

"Um, sure," Harry replied. "That's fine with me. Duncan?"

The boy did not look up.

"Duncan, Mr. Potter is talking to you."

No response. He was blazing through a page on the history of the Bludger.

"Duncan," Harry repeated more loudly.

No response.

Grinning slightly, Harry removed his wand.

Snap!

The book shut in Duncan's hands and zoomed towards the bedside table, landing neatly on top of a purloined pulmonary periodical.

"Oi!" Duncan cried out, looking as though he had been slapped. His eyes flashed to Harry, who was putting away his wand. "What was that for?" he demanded, his voice cracking in the higher octave.

"You're getting fresh air. Now move," Harry ordered in a tone he usually reserved for James Potter.

"But…" Duncan said, turning towards the bedside table.

"Doctor's orders," Alex added, pushing Duncan between the shoulder blades. He waved to Duncan's parents as they moved towards the curtains.

Both men, and the reluctant boy, passed through the barrier.

---

A chilly wind whipped through the enclosed courtyard. It was a rather large space full of stone benches and imposing busts of even more imposing medi-wizards. Highly manicured bushes lined each side of the walkway where Harry and Dr. Peck were strolling. Duncan had already climbed over the bushes and was squatting near the central fountain, examining the guppies darting around the bottom.

Harry, tucking his hands into his cloak, glanced at the doctor. His eyes were on Duncan.

"So how is it you came to know about this exchange program?" Harry asked.

"My friend, Jessica Reyes, told me about it. She was the fellow at St. Mungo's two years ago," the doctor explained. "I've been told that the first Muggle doctors in this program were all relatives of witches and wizards. I don't have any magical people in my family, so it's sort of odd I'm here…I suppose."

"Your friend was allowed to tell you about the program?" Harry asked swiftly. It sounded like a violation of the Statute of Secrecy.

"Apparently there's some clause that former fellows can nominate new recruits. So, she nominated me," Alex replied, smiling. "And then one day, there was a knock on my door and two men in cloaks asked if they could come inside. Naturally, I thought this was some sort of joke but as they kept talking…well, you can imagine…"

"What was your reaction?"

Alex laughed, remembering. "Disbelief, at first. I called them crazy. I said they should see a good doctor—someone that wasn't me—because they needed help. And then…they said they could prove it, you know? That magic was real. And of course…being the curious idiot I am, I asked for a demonstration…"

"What did they do?" Harry asked, grinning. There were only five legal demonstrations of magic for the purposes of proving the existence of wizards to Muggles. Usually, the demonstration reflected a wizard's best guess of what would most readily amaze that particular Muggle.

"Well, one of them sprouted fire in his hand…and then he froze it in place."

Two demonstrations. He must be hard to impress.

"So, what did you think?"

Alex laughed again. "Well, to be honest…after that, I just sort of stared into space for a long time. They told me they would come back later. They said if I wanted to know more, if I was interested in learning about magical medicine…then I should put an 'M' on my front door with chalk and they would come back. If I didn't, someone would come by and erase my memory of it ever happening."

"So, what did you do?"

"I did what anyone would have done! I made myself a cup of strong tea and then I ran to my neighbor's house and asked if I could borrow her son's chalk set. The cloaked men came back the next day and explained the rules…which came down to 'don't tell anyone about magic.' I agreed and here I am."

Harry nodded. Over his career, Harry had been forced to tell several Muggles about magic—usually when Muggles were the only witnesses to a magical crime—but they were always Obliviated immediately afterwards…

A door swung open at the far end of the courtyard. A Healer emerged and Harry glanced at Duncan. Harry watched the Healer pass through another exit and disappear.

"So, are you enjoying the program?" Harry asked casually.

"No. Not at all."

Harry did a double take, startled. "You're not? Why?"

Alex did not answer for a long moment. Then, he sighed. "It's somewhat hard to enjoy a program when your presence is resented at every moment."

"Resented?"

The doctor smiled wanly. "The Healers know there is absolutely no reason for me to be here. I can't perform magic. What use is it to me that I learn about a magical Brain Levitation and Rotation Procedure? I'll never be able to perform it and they'd never be allowed to perform it on a Muggle. So, what's the point?"

"Well…" Harry sputtered, feeling as though he should somehow speak in the program's defense. "Isn't it enough that you're increasing understanding? That you know this exists and all that…?"

"Yeah, but usually in an exchange program there's some sort of exchange," Alex responded bluntly, pursing his lips. "All that seems to be coming out of this relationship is more resentment. Besides, do you see any Healers lining up to intern in Muggle hospitals?"

Harry was silent.

"No, you don't. Why would you? The Healers have made it very clear to me that they think Muggle medicine is beneath them. At best, our medicine is unnecessary. At worst, it's barbaric. No, I'm sorry, Harry. This is not an exchange program, or at least not an equal exchange."

Harry cast his eyes around the courtyard, looking anywhere but the doctor.

"If you feel that strongly about it, why haven't you told anyone? The administrators would surely let you leave the program, if you wanted…" Harry replied coolly.

"But I don't want to leave the program."

Now, Harry was confused.

"You can't seem to find any good in it…"

"There's some good," the doctor said quietly, "and it all has to do with that boy standing in the middle of the courtyard."

Harry stopped in the path, turning to stare at Duncan.

"Duncan?" Harry asked, startled. "What's he got to do with it?"

Alex stopped as well. "Well, he's why I want to stay."

"I don't understand," said Harry, staring plainly at the doctor.

"He and his family have lost their memories, correct?" Alex asked, crossing his arms and nodding towards Duncan. "From what I've gathered, something horrible was done to them, something that left them deeply scarred. They are suffering from the ramifications of a trauma they cannot remember. I'd like to change that."

Harry gazed intently at the doctor. It was the first time he'd heard someone, other than Hermione, take a proactive stance towards the Camerons' treatment.

"But their memories seem permanently damaged," Harry said slowly. "Everything they've tried hasn't worked…"

"And why hasn't it worked?"

"Well, I suppose because they're Muggles. Magic doesn't affect them the same way it does us."

"Right," Alex said, nodding. "And why is that?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "I'm not a Healer. How should I know?"

Alex grinned widely. "But that's just it—not even the Healers know."

"What?"

The doctor turned and looked down the path. He slowly began walking again, Harry following suit.

"Harry…do you happen to know anything about the origins of magic?" asked Alex quietly.

"The origins? How do you mean?" Harry replied, confused. "Like the historical origins, because yeah…"

"No. I mean the more biological origins, the physiological origins."

"Like where magic comes from in the body?" Harry guessed. "Well, I would suppose it comes from our blood…"

"Do you know for sure?"

"Well, I've never thought about it," Harry replied honestly. "We're categorized into purebloods, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns, so I reckon it has something to do with blood…"

"But all of you can perform magic equally, right?" the doctor asked quickly. He seemed exceptionally thrilled that someone was actually answering his questions. "What I mean to say is that more magical blood does not necessarily mean you perform more or better magic, right?"

"Yes," Harry said with certainty.

Hermione's proof enough of that.

"So magic has nothing to do with the amount of magical blood you have, then?" Alex asked.

"Well, I suppose not…but you must have some, right?" Harry continued. "It's always said that Muggles are Muggles because they don't have a drop of magical blood in them…"

"Yes, that's the definition I was given too…" the doctor said lightly.

"The definition you were given?" Harry repeated. "Do you mean to say that's not the real definition?"

Harry had never heard anyone challenge the definition of a Muggle.

The doctor simply shrugged, kicking a stone with his foot. He stopped again, staring back towards the center of the courtyard.

"You know," Alex said, "I will admit that one of the best things about this fellowship is that I'm allowed access to the medical library here. I'm told this is the best library in Europe for magical medicine. And would you believe there has hardly been any work done on the biological origins of magic!"

"And by that you mean…?" Harry asked, feeling out of his depth.

"I mean, where does magic come from?" he asked, his eyes bright. "Does it come from your mind, from your blood, from both? What makes you a wizard, what makes you a Squib, and what makes you a Muggle? I have yet to stumble upon a clear explanation…"

Harry remained quiet, unwilling to interrupt Alex, who seemed lost in his own train of thought.

"The fact that magical parents tend to have magical children suggests that magic is passed on genetically. In other words, magic is hereditary," he said slowly. "But then you have some cases where two Muggle parents produce one or more magical children—what you would call Muggle-borns?"

Hermione flashed through Harry's mind.

"So that seems to suggest," Alex continued, "that one or both of the Muggle parents was carrying a recessive gene for magic that finally manifested itself in one their children."

"Well, yeah," Harry supplied. "That's pretty intuitive."

"Yes, it is," Alex smiled slyly. "But…that would also mean the definition that Muggles are people 'without a drop of magical blood' is wrong. They do have magical blood. They have the genes. How else could they produce magical children? What they don't have is the manifestation of that gene, what we would call the ability to perform magic."

Harry processed this as best as he could. "So, you're saying that some Muggles do have magical blood because they can create magical children?"

"Yes."

"What does that all have to do with Duncan? He's not a wizard, even if he does have some magical blood in him," Harry said, perplexed. He watched as Duncan picked up a stone and hurled it into the fountain. The splash echoed off the walls.

"Everything," Alex sighed.

The confused expression did not leave Harry's face.

Alex laughed, glancing at Harry. "I guess I should have mentioned in the beginning that I'm a brain specialist in Muggle medicine. You know, I deal with head injuries and brain disorders…that sort of thing."

Harry nodded.

"So basically, if all that's keeping the Camerons from being healed is their lack of magical blood…well, from the perspective of Muggle medicine, this isn't a very big problem at all!"

"What?" Harry said, shocked yet again.

The doctor suppressed a laugh. He looked towards the fountain. "See? That's the sort of thing Healers could learn from us. That science is our magic, Muggle magic. It's changed the way we live, how long we live, how well we live. It's truly miraculous…and I think it could be miraculous in the Camerons' case."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked tiredly, hoping Alex was getting to the point.

"Well," Alex said, looking troubled, "this is actually the point where I don't know how to proceed. You see, if the problem is that the Camerons simply don't have enough magical blood to be affected by spells, then…there are a number of options."

"Like what?"

"Well, like a simple blood transfusion."

"A what?"

"A blood transfusion," Alex repeated. "We would simply replace some portion of the Camerons' blood with blood from a magical donor. And basically while the blood is still fresh within them, a Healer could try the memory restorative spells again and look for any response. This could be done several times if necessary, as long as the blood types match. The magical blood would eventually be flushed out and they would go back to their normal state."

"What's the other option?"

The doctor glanced at Harry, almost as though he were judging whether Harry could be trusted. "Well, the other option is considerably more complicated. Tell me…have you ever heard of stem cell research?"

Harry paused. The phrase seemed to trigger a faint memory within him. "I think I've heard of it."

"Well, this is a relatively new field of Muggle medicine, but things are changing very rapidly these days. Basically, stem cells are special cells that can be designed to change conditions in the body. For example, stem cells can replace damaged heart cells in someone suffering from heart disease. The same goes for diabetes and some forms of cancer…"

Cancer, diabetes. Harry vaguely remembered these words as well. Yet, these diseases had long been eradicated from the magical world.

"For the Camerons," Alex continued slowly, "should their inability to respond to magic come from the fact that they cannot produce magical blood, then the solution is simply to allow their bodies to do so."

"And how would you do that?" Harry asked, staring fixedly at Alex.

"Well, you'd implant stems cells from the bone marrow or spleen of an adult witch or wizard into each of the Camerons. I say the bone marrow and spleen because this is where blood is created. So, it would almost be like resetting a computer chip with a new program. In this case, the new cells would only produce magical blood and then…perhaps, the Camerons could be properly treated by the Healers' spells."

The doctor's explanation was complex—bone marrow and computer chips—but through it all, Harry felt he understood what the doctor was getting at…and it shocked Harry in a way he hadn't been shocked in years, perhaps decades.

He wanted to be very clear.

"Are you saying that through this…procedure…" Harry asked slowly, allowing each word to sink into his mind, "the Camerons could start producing magical blood on their own? And then, in a sense…they would become magical?"

Alex stared at Harry for a long moment. Neither man realized they had stopped walking down the path. Duncan was still throwing rocks into the fountain.

Finally, Alex smiled. He was pleased. "You know…I've explained this procedure to maybe six Healers now and you're the first person who's caught on to what it might actually mean."

Harry was far from pleased.

"Do you realize what you're talking about?" he hissed, unconsciously lowering his voice. "You're talking about turning Muggles into wizards. Do you have any idea what that means? What that would mean to our world? Why you have no idea…"

"I have some idea," Alex countered gravely. "Two weeks of coming here is a lifetime's education. You don't need to tell me what it would mean…"

Harry gaped at the doctor's face. His mind was torn in two directions. The first, more primitive side of Harry's brain was spinning into haywire. What Alex was describing sounded like a blood supremacist's worst nightmare.

Muggles trying to turn themselves into wizards! See! They truly are trying to take over our world!

Yet, another part of Harry's brain only saw a doctor who was trying to help his patients. Unless a solution was found soon, it was all too likely that the Camerons would remain wards of Ministry forever…or worse, they would be expelled from the wizarding world unable to regain their livelihoods. As a family, they would be finished.

But the possibilities this opened up…if Muggles could become wizards, why it was like saying there was no difference between the two populations at all! To be fair, the line had always been blurry—Some Muggles had magical children, and some wizards had Squibs, who essentially became Muggles. But…but if Muggles could simply elect to become wizards, why…Harry couldn't even contemplate how that would change magical society.

Magic would no longer be a birthright…it would just be a right. That is, if Muggles didn't reject the idea of magic entirely. But…if they did accept it, or at least some Muggles accepted the idea of becoming magical…why it could mean the eventual integration of both worlds…

"This is insanity," Harry whispered, feeling like he needed to sit down.

There was a bench a few paces away and Harry quickly collapsed onto it. Alex walked more slowly towards him.

Sighing deeply, he sat down too.

"You don't need to be so worried, Harry," the doctor said calmly. "This is all theoretical…and as advanced as stem cell technology is these days, we'd essentially be starting from scratch in the Camerons' case…"

"How do you mean?" Harry asked dispiritedly, placing his head in his hands.

"I mean that the first step of implanting magical cells into a human would be identifying which genes are magical. That requires DNA mapping, and as far as I know, no witch or wizard has undergone genetic analysis. We'd possibly have to test hundreds of wizards to get an accurate read…and could we find that many people who would consent to have their blood taken by a Muggle doctor?

"Second, even if we did identify which genes were magical, there's no telling that when we implant the cells into the Camerons that the new cells would be accepted. If the cells were rejected, well, it could worsen their condition rather than improve it…

"And finally, how am I supposed to get clearance for any of this?" asked Alex exasperatedly. "It's not like I can exactly wheel in the equipment necessary to make it happen. I'm not even a geneticist. No…just because it may be theoretically possible to improve the Camerons' situation does not mean it's practically or politically possible…"

Alex and Harry were silent for several minutes, both staring out into the center of the courtyard. Duncan was teetering along the edge of the fountain as though he were on a balance beam.

As Harry gazed at the boy…a boy who reminded him far too much of his own green-eyed son…he felt his apprehension leave him.

He began to feel some measure of the strange animus that defined Hermione's character—that force that made her fearless when it came to defending Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was the same impulse that brightened her eyes as a fourth-year when she created S.P.E.W., the same crackle of energy he had felt when Hermione addressed Theo Callahan.

And now, Harry felt it too.

"But…if it were possible, it would help the boy? It would help them?" Harry asked quietly, watching Duncan.

"I believe it would," Alex replied seriously. "But…if anyone ever found out…"

"They won't."

"What do you mean?"

Harry leaned back and gave the doctor a half-smile.

"You were right about one thing…I am a very important person in this world."

---

At two, Harry, Alex, and Duncan took lunch in the hospital's Tea Room. Healers on their lunch break stared curiously at the wizarding celebrity eating with two Muggles, but Harry ignored them.

At a quarter past three, they had returned to the Thickey Ward.

Harry and Alex were talking in low voices by Nicole's bed and Duncan was sitting in his father's lap reading Quidditch Through the Ages to the older man.

It was then that a loud bang echoed off the walls—the doors to the ward had been flung open.

Harry immediately stood up, reaching for his wand.

A second later, Hermione had darted through the curtains and flung her arms around Harry.

Harry immediately gripped her shoulders, trying to steady her.

"What's wrong!" he asked, alarmed. "Are you all right?"

Hermione pulled back and Harry immediately registered that the bright sheen was back in her eyes. Yet, this time she was happy.

"Oh, Harry!" she said in an enraptured whisper by his ear. "Duncan has a place at Agrippa. He can start the week after next!"

"That's wonderful!" said Harry, sharing in her delight.

"Yes," Hermione said, disentangling herself from Harry and touching her hair. Her cheeks were red, as though she had been running. "I spoke with Elda and she agreed to place him in the highest level and excuse him from the magical preparatory classes. Hopefully, that way, he can feel like he's going to a school he's more familiar with."

"Wonderful," was all Harry could say, still gripping her hand.

Someone cleared his throat from behind the couple.

Harry turned. Alex was watching them with a strange expression.

"Oh," Harry said quickly, "this is Hermione Granger, Alex, the friend I was telling you about."

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Weasley," Alex said smiling, holding out his hand.

Hermione took it. "Thank you. It's a pleasure to see you as well. Duncan told me you had been visiting him…I'm so glad. I can't get away too often to see him…"

"I understand," Alex said, smiling kindly.

A moment of awkward silence passed. Harry and Alex shared a quick glance.

"Well," Alex said, digging his hands into his pockets, "I really should be heading back. I told my girlfriend I'd be making dinner tonight."

"Of course," Hermione replied, stepping to the side to let Alex pass.

"See you, Harry," Alex said easily, and he turned to say goodbye to Duncan. He disappeared through the partition a minute later.

Harry and Hermione were left alone.

"So, it all went well?" Harry asked, leading Hermione to the bed.

"Yes," she replied quickly, the light in her eyes dancing. "I spoke with Elda for about an hour. She was very understanding. She's a Muggle-born herself, of course. Though, she seems to think it best to keep it quiet that Duncan is joining the school. She's afraid of the reaction by some of the pureblood families…And then, I had some trouble tracking down Xavier Dodderidge…"

"Was he at the match?"

"The match?" Hermione repeated, surprised. "Well, no…that's where I thought he was too. But the pitch was empty when I got there…"

"What do you mean it was empty?" Harry asked, feeling his stomach rise in his throat.

"Oh, the match was over by the time I got there. Apparently, the Falcons' Seeker caught the Snitch an hour in. It was a big surprise."

"So…the Falcons won?" Harry asked numbly, a strange feeling of dread rising within him.

"I dunno…maybe? I think so…"

Harry overlooked Hermione's disinterest in who exactly wins national semi-finals. He stared off towards the entrance to the ward.

Ginny. She's going to kill me.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, concern coloring her face.

"Yes, yes…" Harry replied. He turned and smiled at her, hoping it reached his eyes. "Are you ready to go home?"

"I suppose we should," said Hermione reluctantly.

She stood up and moved to say goodbye to the Camerons. Duncan seemed particularly upset she could not stay longer.

Despite his trepidation about returning home, Harry had to smile as Hermione leaned down and embraced the skinny boy. She placed a kiss on his cheek and patted his hair.

Harry said his goodbyes as well and together Harry and Hermione walked slowly out of the ward. They had walked several feet down the deserted corridor when Hermione reached out and gripped Harry's hand, bringing him to a stop.

He looked at her curiously.

She was wearing a soft smile. The immeasurable depth in her eyes.

"Thanks for coming with me," was all she said.

With that, she brought herself into Harry's arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

Over Hermione's head, Harry looked back towards the ward feeling strangely at peace. He was tired of warring with himself.

He embraced her as well, looping his own arms around her waist and laying his head on her shoulder.

He embraced her because he had always done so.

Since he was eleven, he had given himself up should Hermione choose to hug him. She usually initiated it, being the girl and all, and he had never—would never—stop her.

Because, when it came down to it…Harry felt the same relief, the same joy, the same desperation as Hermione whenever they embraced. It had always been like that.

---

Ten minutes later, Harry eased open the enormous front door of his home.

It was quite dark inside, the late afternoon light streaming weakly through the windows.

"Lily! Ginny!" he called out somewhat hesitantly. "You home?"

No answer came and Harry released a breath.

He was just about to step into the cloakroom when he heard a voice.

"Lily is at Mum's."

He spun on his heel. Ginny was standing near the entrance of the study.

"Oh, hey…"

Ginny stared stonily back at him, her arms crossed.

Fuck.

"Gin…I'm so sorry I missed the match," he said quickly. "I tried to leave early, but something came up. I had to stay with Duncan while Hermione ran some…errands. By the time she came back, well…I guess the match was over."

Still, Ginny did not say anything. She turned and walked back into the study.

Running an agitated hand through his hair, Harry followed after her.

"I really am sorry," he said, stepping into the dimly lit room. "So the Falcons won, then?"

Ginny came to a halt by the desk, her back still turned.

"Yes. Forty-three minutes in Jacob Turlington caught the Snitch. 200-30."

"Oh," Harry said lamely. "I see…"

"Something came for you in the post," Ginny said, turning to face him.

"Oh?"

She nodded, walking towards him. "The Muggle post."

Harry looked at her, confused. But then, she slipped a crisp, white envelope into his hands. The words Royal London Opera were written in beautiful calligraphy along the front. The letter had already been opened.

"Can you explain this for me Harry?" Ginny asked with an air of false tranquility. "Instead of going to a Quidditch match today—and a national semi-final no less—you decided to visit some Muggles with Hermione. And now, you've decided we're going to a Muggle opera?"

Harry looked down briefly. "I'm sorry…I should have told you."

"And I suppose," Ginny went on, her voice dripping with derision, "that you're doing this for Hermione's benefit again? Is that right?"

Harry couldn't say anything.

Ginny stared at him for a beat. "I just…I don't understand you, Harry. You used to like Quidditch games. You used to like going to Diagon Alley for shows and all that. But, now you're visiting Muggles in the hospital and going to these ridiculous Muggle plays?" She gaped at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong," Harry mumbled. "There's nothing wrong with going to look."

She paused. "You're doing more than looking."

"What does that mean?"

Ginny's iron gaze faltered slightly. "It means you can sleep down here tonight."

With that, Ginny strode out of the room, her heels hitting hard upon the floor.