Hermione was so wrapped up in her thoughts as she walked back to the cave that she didn't notice the small group of reporters until they were standing directly in front of her, greeting her with a camera flash that had her blinking away her temporary blindness.
"Ms Granger! Are you part of the Ministry information suppression efforts? Why don't you believe that the public deserves to know about the threats it faces?"
A male reporter spoke quickly and loudly. Hermione winced.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I'd recommend you talk with the Ministry. Now if you excuse me, I have work to do."
"Where have you been for the last decade? Is it true you were in South Africa?" Another called out.
Her silence only served to encourage them. "What do you have to say about the current rumors of an affair between you and Mr Weasley? Is it true you cheated ten years ago and caused your split?"
"No it is absolutely not true. Ronald and I are nothing but friends. Now if you don't step aside in the next three seconds I will hex you into next week."
He wisely took her advice, but before he did, managed to snap another photograph of her, this timeless frazzled and more angered.
She chose to apparate the short distance to the entrance, not wanting to risk another ambush.
Hermione was still processing what the hell just happened when she sat down heavily in her seat. Fleur, who had watched her brisk approach while picking absentmindedly at an impressively average salad, gave her a few seconds to collect herself.
"Are you alright? Did Ron say something?"
"What? Oh no. Well yes, he did but that's not what I'm upset about. There were reporters outside."
Fleur tutted in understanding. "I've heard they've been 'arrassing some of the staff. Not 'aving to deal with them is one of the few perks to working late and starting early."
"I don't know what I was expecting. I should have known better than to assume they somehow had developed a moral code in the last decade."
"Which reporter was it?"
"I'm not sure. I really only know Rita Skeeter."
"Ah, I know Rita well." Her expression darkened. "I can't say I can think of a single positive thing about her. Some of the other reporters are better than others. I'm sorry you seemed to get one of the more aggressive ones."
"It is what it is. Can't say I'm surprised, really. I certainly have made it worse for myself by not showing face in Britain sooner."
"Don't blame their actions on yours. They are not the same, and it does no good to try and connect the two."
Hermione gave her a soft smile in thanks but changed the subject. "You haven't heard from the Head Unspeakable have you?"
"Non, why?"
"Ron mentioned she should be reaching out soon." She looked around at the other teams who were paying the two witches no mind. "There was an attack in Manchester. 4 dead, 3 injured. The Aurors have no leads yet besides that it was done with a muggle bomb."
"'ow 'orrible. When did it 'appen?"
"Last night. That's why Ron was here. They're abandoning this site. Ron says they were done with the cleanup anyway, but he thinks they're likely to take some of the Unspeakables off the case."
"But we 'ave nothing! Two wards, zat is it! It would take weeks with everyone 'ere, without zen it will take months." She grew frustrated, her accent thickening as she spoke.
"I know." Hermione's face turned to one of steeled determination. "I'll fight to keep as many of them on."
Fleur decided to borrow some of Hermione's determination for herself. "Let's come up with a plan then. Outline exactly how many we think we need, and how many can be spared."
Hermione lit up. "A plan I can do!"
They worked the rest of the afternoon analyzing the staff. Many were here mostly as manpower, and had little to no experience with runes or warding at all. They put those firmly into the "spare" pile. When they finished they felt confident with their recommendations: a team of 8 should remain, excluding the two of them, while the others could return to their previous projects or be reassigned to the bombing case.
They had just finished at around 4:30 when the Head Unspeakable herself walked into the cave.
The other Unspeakables went silent as she passed them on her way to the two witches.
"Ms Granger, a moment if you please."
Fleur gave her an encouraging smile and pushed the parchment with their plan into her hands.
"Of course, Head Unspeakable."
They went towards the back of the cave to a quieter section. The others in the cave stared at them, but Rowle quickly cast a silencing charm around Hermione and herself, along with a charm that obstructed the others vision of the conversation that was about to occur.
"I trust you've heard about the bombing?"
"Yes, Ronald Weasley told me about it this morning."
"Terrible business. Terrible timing too. I know you're just beginning your research here, but we need to put several of the Unspeakables back on their original projects."
"Fleur, I mean Ms Delacour, and I have a recommendation of which researchers we can spare here." Hermione moved to hand her the parchment but was dismissed with a hand wave.
"I think you misunderstand Ms Granger. The Unspeakables that aren't returning to their projects will be placed on the bombing case."
"Head Unspeakable, you can't be serious! We're already swamped as is, and that's with nearly 25 people! Eliminating the teams would be completely detrimental to our work!"
Hermione didn't have the time nor the focus to appreciate how level her voice sounded; a far cry from the shrillness that seemed to follow her in her youth when under distress.
"If it were up to me, Miss Granger, we would only be pulling a few. But alas, it is not. Two of the victims were very high ranking members of the community."
"You mean they were purebloods!"
"No, I mean they are high ranking members of the Board of Governors." She spoke with a sharp edge that made clear she did not appreciate the interruption. "The Wizengamot is up in arms about it. They were none too pleased I had placed as many Unspeakables on this case in the first place." With a slightly softer tone, she added, "If it's any consolation, most won't be going to Manchester."
"Hardly a consolation. So this case, which affected over 200 people is less important than what? A brain room?"
"You know as well as I that I cannot talk about their research. I appreciate your… enthusiasm on the subject but my hands are tied. The Department of Mysteries shouldn't even have been involved in this to the extent we were, but initially, we thought this to be an attack. An ageing ward hardly has precedence over an active bombing. Or our current projects for that matter. You still have Miss Delacour here. I'm confident in both your abilities to settle things here. Now, I cannot stay any longer. Good afternoon Miss Granger."
She cancelled the privacy charms without so much as a look in Hermione's direction. Hermione was left feeling as though she had just sustained severe whiplash. What had just happened? Not even a plan, a well thought out, carefully devised plan had been able to even slightly dissuade Head Unspeakable Rowle.
She couldn't remember the last time she had been so completely overruled. She couldn't say she liked the feeling.
Rowle flicked her wand and several paper airplanes appeared and flew to each researcher. Without stopping to talk with any one of them she left the way she came: with long strides and a dismissive attitude.
Hermione felt a wave of anger wash through her. The nerve of the Ministry to take everyone off this case! She was indignant at being abandoned before she could even begin to make any semblance of progress. As she stalked back to her desk, her anger radiating off her causing her hair to bulk outwards to levels not seen since her Hogwarts days, she thought about how she shouldn't have been surprised at the order. After all, the Ministry had never been particularly interested in anything involving Muggles, except when the Statute of Secrecy was at risk, so why did she expect them to care now? Naively, she had assumed they had made progress in her absence. Apparently not.
Hermione sulked back to her desk, sinking into a chair and burying her face in her hands. Her anger was gone as quickly as it came, and she was left with a feeling of helplessness she was worried she wouldn't be able to shake. Someone nudged her arm. She glanced up to find Fleur looking at her expectedly.
"Everyone." Hermione mumbled in response.
"Everyone?"
"Besides us, yes."
"Merde."
"That about sums it up."
The others around them began chatting excitedly as they opened their airplanes to find their new, or old, assignments, and immediately began packing up.
Hermione took a deep breath and cast a sonorus.
"Attention everyone." The Unspeakables stopped moving, turning their attention to Hermione. "Thank you for your work the last week. Please write one last report before you leave. That will be all."
Some nodded, some grimaced, but all returned immediately back to their packing. Unwilling to stay any longer, Hermione muttered quietus, said a quick goodbye to Fleur, and rushed out of the cave to the comfort of her apartment.
/
Hermione had been wallowing in her sorrow, bundled up securely in a blanket despite the warm June night. She had to cast a chilling charm on the room in order to avoid overheating, but it had given her the appropriate setting for a much needed cozy, woe-is-me, night in. Jack had once found her sequestered away in her tent surrounded by notes and texts on what was supposed to be their relaxing camping weekend away from all work and responsibilities. Upon discovery of her betrayal, he swept her up in his arms and carried her, yelling, kicking, and all, to the fire pit with everyone else. He dropped her unceremoniously onto a log, shoved a stick in her hand, and forced her to learn how to properly roast a marshmallow. When she lit several on fire, prompting the group to laugh at her ineptitude (inexperience! Hermione argued), her mind finally stopped focusing on the work that now laid crumpled on the tent floor. Jack had leaned over to whisper in her ear, "You can't work properly if you do it all the time. There's more to life than numbahs, and biology, and whatevah else you do." It hadn't meant to be a groundbreaking revelation he was imparting on her, but despite whatever the desired outcome was, that had been the result. She now made an effort to prevent her work following her home, although she was no stranger to working an hour or two from the luxury of her all-too-comfortable couch. She quickly found that the hours she spent at work were more focused and more productive than ever. It was for this reason that Hermione had left the binder of research untouched and unopened on the coffee table in favor of her well-worn copy of Emma.
There was a cup of peppermint tea that laid abandoned on the side table to her right: an unfortunate side effect of a compelling book that demanded its reader's undivided attention. When she heard the knock at the door she had half a mind to pretend as though she hadn't heard it at all, but then she remembered there were no muggle salespeople that could gain entrance to the building and the only person who both knew her apartment number and knew her well enough to knock past 8 was Fleur. She dog eared the page she was own, noting with amusement that she had stopped on the same page in some past reading, and arose from the couch.
She opened the door to find a still properly dressed Fleur. Hermione was too tired to be self-conscious of how Fleur's eyes gave Hermione, outfitted in joggers and an old tank top, a slow once over.
"Bonsoir. I was wondering if you fancied a drink?" She held up a bottle of wine that Hermione hadn't yet noticed.
It would be rude to turn down such an invitation, surely. Hermione eyed the wine that looked more and more appealing as memories of the day's events came back to her.
"I fancy several." She left the door open as she went to the kitchen to grab a pair of glasses.
"I thought it might be useful to drown our sorrows. Perhaps they will not survive it?"
"I have found them to be extraordinarily buoyant, but I've never been opposed to developing more evidence."
"A true scientist."
Hermione was surprised at the term. It was almost exclusively muggle: even some of the most self-proclaimed 'staunch muggle-rights activists' hardly had a clue what the profession was.
"Are you well acquainted with scientists?" She accepted the extended bottle and opened it quickly, pouring two generous glasses.
"You know Nicolas Flamel, yes?"
"Of course."
"He was our alchemy professor at Beauxbatons. In the early 1900s he was close with the Curies, they were muggle scientists who worked in Paris in the 1920s. The wife, Marie, was a pioneer for women scientists."
Hermione had to hide her smile in her wine glass. "I know who the Curies are. I practically worshipped Marie when I was a girl. Did you know her husband and her male colleague were offered the Noble Prize in Physics for her research? Her husband refused, rightfully so, until they agreed to name her as well. The muggle world, for all its modern ideals, was quite far behind its wizarding counterpart at the time." Her voice, which had ventured firmly into "Hermione gives a lecture" territory was suddenly turned to one of excitement as she exclaimed, "But Nicolas Flamel was your Professor! How lucky! I wanted to owl him after my first year, we had a bit of a run-in with the philosophers stone you see and pick his brain on some of his research. Of course, at 12 years old I could hardly comprehend a quarter of what he has written, but I was so sure that if I had asked I would one day be able to understand. I lost my nerve before I could act on it though."
"She was an inspiring woman for muggles and witches alike. He liked to do that, draw parallels to his work and the muggle one. He tried to teach us their ingenuity, with mixed results. I 'ave no doubt that he would 'ave responded should you 'ave acted. I'm sorry that you aren't able to anymore."
"A tragedy I have long since come to terms with. Do you want to sit?"
They sat on opposite ends of the couch facing each other. At first, they sat in silence. It was comfortable, despite all other indications it should be the opposite. Hermione supposed that nursing someone back to health after days of torture* was similar to defeating a troll in the camaraderie it created.
"About today…" Fleur began.
"I have a strict no work policy after 8, and as it's," she checked her watch, "8:14 I will have to overrule whatever you were about to say."
Fleur looked surprised at the comment. "'ermione Granger 'as a strict no work policy?"
"Is that so shocking?"
"Oui. Incredibly so."
"A wise man once told me I would work better with some separation. I have yet to find him incorrect."
"A wise woman you are, to listen to such counsel."
"A compliment? From Miss Delacour Herself?"
She huffed. "Is that so shocking?"
"Oui. Incredibly so."
They laughed until tears threatened to spill from the corner of Hermione's eyes. She blamed the exhaustion. It was nice to laugh in such an unrestrained manner. The warm feeling she often felt when surrounded by her muggle friends in Maine returned for the first time since coming back to the UK.
"Why is it so cold in 'ere?"
Fleur wrapped the arm not holding her wine underneath her chest. Hermione's eyes followed the movement where she found a clear indication of just how cold it was. She blushed before moving her eyes back to Fleur's face. She thanked Merlin, Morgana, God, and all the deities she never bothered to learn for Fleur's blank expression.
"I'm sorry! I cast a chilling charm. I, um, like the air to be cold when I, ah." She stumbled, not quite knowing how to articulate "wrapping herself in a blanket like a giant burrito while reading a romantic classic for the umpteenth time" in such a way to leave herself with a shred of dignity. She instead chose to motion to the blanket and book. And cancel the charm.
Fleur looked amused at Hermione's attempts of expression as she sat in silence and enjoyed Hermione's struggle.
After Fleur took pity on her and changed the subject, they talked for another hour until Hermione could no longer hold in the yawns that had been building since she first returned to the apartment. Fleur insisted they table their conversation on Nordic runes for another day. Hermione walked her to the door and leaned against the frame as Fleur stood in the hallway looking reluctant to leave.
"My apartment is 6H, in case you need me."
Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but was quickly forced into a yawn that caused tears to pool at the corner of her eye while she tried covered with her arm.
Without thinking, Fleur reached her hand to cup Hermione's face, using her thumb to wipe away the tears that had gathered. She kept her hand there afterwards, relishing in the feeling of holding Hermione, even in this small way.
Hermione was too tired to think much beyond appreciating how warm and comforting Fleur's hand was.
She gave Fleur a shy smile.
"I think it is time for you to go to bed, mon amie." Fleur said finally, as she dropped her hand.
"I think you may be right."
"I'll see you tomorrow morning. 7:45 don't be late."
"I'm never late."
"Not yet, but you should no better to not speak in absolutes." Before Hermione could offer a retort Fleur continued. "We'll get through this. The brightest witch of her age and the Beauxbatons champion? It will be easy."
Hermione wasn't quite sure she agreed with Fleur but appreciated the effort. It felt nice having someone offer assurances she couldn't give herself.
"I hope so. I'll see you tomorrow then?"
Fleur nodded. "Tomorrow."
She walked away, stopping after a few steps as though she wanted to turn around, but ultimately continued down the hall to the elevator.
Hermione closed the door.
/
Friday came unnaturally fast. If Hermione wasn't so confident in her occlumency she would have wondered if her mind had been meddled with. That morning Hermione flipped through the Daily Prophet halfheartedly. There wasn't anything unusual in it: complaints about Ministry ineptitude, a report on the Cannon's record-breaking loss margin (crushing the previous record, their own, by an impressive 500 points), and an exposé on Goblins "stealing" family heirlooms after the original purchaser died. She passed by the articles with disinterest, giving up without a second attempt in favor of pouring a cup of tea.
Soon, Fleur and she performed their usual ritual which found them seated at their desks at precisely 8:03.
Without the aid of the other Unspeakables, their progress was slow moving. On Tuesday, they had divided their work into sections of varying priorities. Hermione was pleased, if not surprised, that Fleur hardly argued with her on the prioritization, inserting the occasional recommendation, but otherwise staying in silent agreement.
They decided to first review all the work of the Unspeakables. It was a massive undertaking as the workers, under Hermione's own direction, had taken to transcribing detailed notes. The daily reports had been helpful while they were acting more as management, but now that they themselves were the investigators, they needed a level of detail that they previously had not had.
Hermione's brash side was itching to get back to searching for the wards. Her more methodical and logical side argued that knowing the full picture would be far more efficient than blindly trying to find magical traces.
She let her logical side win, as it often did, and sat somewhat unhappily at her desk. They were now reviewing the runes engraved on the two known pillars. Oh, excitement. The trouble was a distinct lack of knowledge on the designs of the runes. They certainly weren't any Hermione had seen before. She admitted several looked similar to the Native American runes she had examined years ago, but after reviewing her own research from that particular site, she could not say with any shred of confidence that they had a significant relation. So the two found themselves attempting to ascertain the meaning of runes whose designs they had never heard nor read of.
Hermione was looking through a tome on traditional Chilean rune patterns when Fleur spoke up.
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"I haven't decided. Molly wants me to visit the Burrow but I'm not sure I'm up for that."
Fleur's face looked slightly pained as she said, "She can be… a bit overbearing."
Hermione gave a hum of agreement. "What about you?"
Fleur shrugged. "Staying 'ere."
"Would you want to grab a drink or something? I noticed a few muggle pubs near us. It could be fun. I mean, you don't have to. Obviously. Just thought it might be fun?"
She grimaced at her unintentional ramble. Fleur, to her credit, barely showed the amusement she felt at the other witches struggle.
"I'd love to. Saturday night work?"
"Yes, yes I think so."
—-
Hermione had sent a brief, but sincere, apology letter to the Burrow yet again explaining away her absence. She felt she had a decent excuse this time. Surely getting your entire task force cut in one fell swoop was a worthy enough reason to miss out on a casual get together?
She had planned to spend Saturday morning and afternoon lazing around, perhaps working on the case at the café down the street, or reorganizing her apartment, or better yet, finishing her book. She was just taking her first sip of breakfast tea while contemplating her next step when the fireplace blazed green. She felt her heart jump at the sudden movement, it pounded against her chest as though straining to break through, her hand reached for her holstered wand… which was still in the bathroom where she had unthinkingly left it. Before she could even think the curse words necessary to describe her feeling of failure, a man stumbled through the flames.
Harry Potter stood in her living room attempting to regain his balance.
"Damn floo. Always a bother. Hermione!"
Hermione tried to will her heart down to a manageable tempo, with limited success. She managed a "Harry?", which she was very proud of, if she did say so herself.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. I called ahead, didn't you hear?"
"No, I was making tea." She lifted her newly poured cup in display.
"Ah, well sorry about that then." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, looking every bit the Harry that Hermione remembered from school. Her heart slowed a bit more.
"It's alright. Just wait for a response next time? What are you doing here anyway?"
"I wanted to check on you. Well not check on you so much as wanted to spend time with you. I missed you, you know?"
"I missed you too. I know I haven't been around since I got back, I just-"
"I get it. It's a lot for me too. Ginny and the kids help, but sometimes it just gets overwhelming being there."
She gave him a strained smile. "Tea?"
"All right. If you haven't lost your touch being a Yank and all."
"As if I would ever turn my back on proper tea conventions. Did you know they drink their tea iced in the States? Mental."
"Another point for the British then."
They sat on Hermione's lumpy couch and discussed absolutely nothing of importance until their mugs were empty and abandoned on the coffee table. Harry jumped at Hermione's offer to wander around the city in such a way that was almost painfully reminiscent of when he would agree to a walk around the Hogwarts grounds in lieu of studying all those years ago. They shortly found themselves weaving through muggle tourists in the middle of Grassmarket.
They walked up to a small green at the foot of the castle. There were several other groups settled on the grass, some with small radios, others with picnics, but all with a sense of calm and innocence that Hermione longed for. Harry motioned to an open spot. He turned his back to the crowd, muttered something into his hand, and turned back around clutching a small blanket that he quickly laid down on the ground.
"Harry James Potter. A true gentleman. Ginny must be spoiled."
Harry, for all his accolades and positive attributes, was never particularly adept at accepting compliments. It seemed time hadn't improved this shortfall, evidenced by the reddening of his ears and the awkward chuckle that escaped his lips.
"Flattery will get you no where. I want," He looked directly at her now, as if trying to determine what her response would be before asking, "I want to know about your life. In America. It doesn't have to be now, but I want to know you've been ok."
Hermione couldn't find fault in his desire. If the tables were turned and it were him that had run off with a hasty goodbye slung over his figurative shoulder, she would want to know that he had at least found some of whatever it was he was looking for.
"I was ok. Am ok, I mean. It was lovely, really. I know that might not be what you wanted to hear, me finding solace somewhere without everyone here, but it's the truth."
"I don't care where you found, or find it. As long as you're happy, so am I." He said earnestly, eagerly. "After what you went through… well I'm just glad I still get to have this conversation at all. I thought," He choked, his eyes filled with stubborn tears that refused to fall, "I thought you might have been gone. Forever."
Hermione's eyes widened at his admittance. "Oh, Harry I never meant for you to think that! I was ok, really. I was struggling harder than any time in my life, but I never would have left you all."
"Did you think it ever?"
Did she? Did she seriously consider it? There were times that she felt it would be easier for everyone if she just disappeared. The rest of the world would keep moving, of this she was sure. She wasn't so egotistical to think otherwise. Every time she was at a low, a place so deep-seeded in pain and self-hatred that she could feel the thought emerging, she would picture her family's faces: Harry, Ron, Ginny, the rest of the Weasleys, even Pavarti sometimes. Eventually, new faces appeared as well: Jack, Anne, Avery, and for a time, Skyler. Their faces would dance behind her eyes, reminding her of the pain she would cause them, and just like that the thoughts would disperse. Perhaps it wasn't the healthiest way of dealing with it, but it worked for her. Their faces, a mantra of sorts, acted as a shield from the darkest parts of herself, fending it off like a patronus does a dementor, stopping them from forming into full fledged plans.
"If it weren't for you all, I think I might have."
They sat in silence. Harry reached over slowly to grab her hand, giving her time to move away if she needed. She leaned her head on his shoulder as they both watched the muggles bustle from store to store.
It was some time later when their stomachs made their discomfort known. Harry stood up first, helping Hermione up with his still held hand.
"I love you, you know." Harry said softly, almost too quietly for her to hear.
Hermione gave him a sad smile and embraced him. Her head tucked into collarbone as his hands gripped her back.
"I love you too."
They pulled apart and made their way back into the marketplace. The blanket Harry had conjured was banished away along with the weight of their conversation.
Hermione reached for the door of the sandwich shop, turning her head as she did so to snark something back to Harry, when she noticed the shocked expression on his face as he stared directly in front of him. Her own turned to one of confusion, before she followed his gaze.
Who but Fleur Delacour stood in the stairway giving Harry a genuine, albeit somewhat awkward, smile.
"Fleur!"
"'Arry!" She responded, matching his tone exactly.
"What are you doing here?"
She titled her head. "I am working on the Edinburgh case, surely you know that?"
"Yes, right. I thought everyone had been taken off? Except 'mione."
"Non, everyone except 'mione and myself."
Hermione hadn't expected Fleur to use the nickname. She suspected its use had something to do with the unexpected warmth that blossomed beneath her chest.
"I can't say I'm surprised they thought you two could handle it. The two smartest witches I know." He had shed whatever awkwardness had been hanging between him and Fleur. Hermione wasn't sure why it existed in the first place, but ultimately chalked it up to a lingering boyhood crush.
"And you're still my favorite English wizard."
"I remember a time I was your favorite English person, full stop."
"Well you've been dethroned." Fleur's eyes darted to Hermione, who didn't notice as she was currently watching two men fail to lift a sofa next door. Harry, fortunately or unfortunately, was known for his observational skills in the Aurors, and most certainly did notice. It was a very good thing for Hermione that he had learned the art of subtlety since last she saw him, and so did not make further mention of Fleur's comment beyond a slight lift of his eyebrows.
"I'm wounded. We should catch up, grab a drink sometime?"
"That would be lovely." She said with a slight smile before trying to get Hermione's attention. "'Ermine?"
"Sorry, what?" She looked back at the pair. One of the men had dropped his side of the couch on his foot, and was now cursing with a fervor that would have made Mundungus Fletcher blush.
"I'll see you at 7?"
"Yes! I can pick you up this time, switch it up?"
"I'll be waiting at the door at 6:45." She winked. Honest to God, winked. Merlin, Hermione didn't know anyone actually did that. "'Arry it was nice to see you." She swooped in to plant a kiss on each of his cheeks.
"You too."
When they were safely inside the shop and Fleur was out of sight, Harry turned to Hermione.
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
He gestured vaguely with his hand. "That. All of that."
"The movers?"
"Fleur! Don't tell me there's nothing odd there." They approached the ordering counter. Harry tried to keep his voice down, but only accomplished turning it into a hiss.
"I can't say I know what you're talking about. Cheese toastie, Harry? I think I'll go for a tuna melt." She said with a nod to the worker.
"Yeah, cheese is fine." He spoke quickly without looking away from her.
"And two Irn-Bru's, if you please."
She paid as she ignored Harry's stare. Grabbing the plastic card with the number 23 on its face, she walked them to a table in the corner.
"You. Fleur. Something."
"Really Harry, I don't think you'd appreciate if little James spoke in incomplete sentences like that would you? How are the kids by the way?"
"Oh, they're great." His expression softened at the thought of his family. "Albus has been trying to follow James around even more than normal. Can't keep up though, what with the size of the head on his shoulders. Keeps losing his balance and pitching forward."
Hermione gave a relaxed laugh.
"That's brilliant. I'll have to visit soon. Get to know them."
"That'd be great. Wait, don't change the subject! Why are you meeting Fleur?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "We're friends, Harry. That's what friends do. They meet. Like we are, right now."
"I dunno Hermione I don't wink at you like that."
"She's French. It's a cultural thing."
"If you say so."
They were interrupted by a waitress dropping off their sandwiches and drinks.
"You know, I never got to try one of these when we were in school." She held up the soda and gave it an experimental sniff. "They're supposed to be a local favorite. Apparently Scotland is one of the only countries in the world whose number one soda isn't Coca Cola."
She took a sip. Her face immediately scrunched up in disgust.
"Oh Merlin, that's awful. Try it."
Harry took a tentative sip, but found that he enjoyed it. "I like it!"
"It tastes exactly like liquid bubble gum. How can you stomach it?" She said through a smile.
Harry shrugged. "Maybe because I didn't grow up with dentists?"
Her smile faltered a bit. She nudged her barely touched bottle towards him. "That must be it. You can have it then, maybe James or Albus will like it."
Harry gave the bottle a thoughtful look. "Or Ginny. She's been having awful cravings later. Maybe this will hit the spot."
They ate in appreciative silence of the sandwiches, not wanting to waste time talking when they could be eating. By the time they were done Hermione felt slightly ill, but extremely content.
"I better be getting back. Kids are with Molly and she'll try to take them for the night if we're not careful."
"Let's head back to my apartment then."
They walked back to her apartment with a bit more purpose than when they had left. Hermione opened the door, and Harry walked directly to the fireplace. He hovered in front of it.
"Be careful will you? I know Ron talked to you a bit, but there's been unrest around the country. Constant vigilance and all that."
"Sir yes sir, Professor Mooney, sir." She said as she bowed at the waist.
"I'm serious, Hermione. I hope it's nothing, but if it's not, just be careful."
"I promise. Besides, I have the other smartest witch you know to protect me."
"You're not off the hook on that one, by the way." He pointed an accusatory finger at her. A moment after, he added, "You should ask her about what happened between her and Bill. If you haven't already."
"They got divorced right?"
He nodded. "But it's not the whole story, and it's not my place to explain."
She scrunched her brow in confusion but promised to ask about it. "You be careful too Harry."
Harry scoffed. "Me? When have I ever not been careful? It's like you don't even know me."
He disappeared with an ill-contained smile and a flash of green flame.
/
Alexander Hendersen was having a very bad day. A very, very bad day. Everything that could go wrong, had. But dwelling on the events that led him to where he was now would do him no good, so instead he ran. Quickly. Through the streets of London he went without so much as a "sorry" as he harshly bumped into people, knocking several unfortunate souls down. Onlookers cried out to him, but made no move to stop him, more than a little disconcerted by his attire and his aggression. To the pedestrians, he looked straight out of a comic con, with long black robes whipping behind him as he ran clutching a stick and donning a pointed hat. If he heard the whispers of madman he certainly did not show it. Several cussed the failing rehabilitation centers and the drug industry, but Alexander Hendersen paid them no mind. No, he had far more important things to do than worry about what insignificant beings thought of him. He had a task to complete. A goal. A purpose.
And so, he ran. He ducked into a side alley before a pair of constables could corner him and slowed to a brisk walk as he attempted to control his breathing into a more manageable state. When he reached the end of the alley, he reached up with his wand and tapped a brick. He whispered something quietly to the wall, and it slowly melted away, revealing a stairwell that led down into the darkness.
He gave a quick look around and entered. Torches on either side of the stairwell lit up as he passed, each time giving him just enough light before they extinguished themselves to last until he reached the next set. He walked down for a few minutes. By the time he reached the bottom, his breath had mercifully returned. The bottom of the stairwell opened to a similarly dark walkway, the end of which he could not see. He walked for several more minutes before stopping abruptly and looking upwards.
The ceiling looked to be entirely insignificant. The section that Alexander looked at was no different than the rest of the ceiling: it looked like rough stone. Apparently to him, it was significant enough to stop walking and pull out a small bag from inside his robes.
Gingerly, he removed a device that had no business fitting inside the much smaller bag. It beeped as it was withdrawn. He looked down at it with no small amount of trepidation. He pointed his wand at it and cast a spell. Then, without removing his eyes from the device, he quietly cast a levitation charm on the object until it brushed the ceiling. He could feel a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face as he concentrated, but he didn't dare wipe it away. Taking a deep breath, he cancelled the spell, wand at the ready and still pointed at the device.
He allowed himself to release a breath in relief as the device stayed stuck to the ceiling. Now, he turned his focus onto the ground around him as began to cast. He stayed in the hallway for several minutes, occasionally sending worried glances to the device plastered overhead, before stopping, satisfied. He retreated several yards back the way he came. Then, with one more cursory look around, he pointed his wand one last time at the device and cast.