AN: This chapter is a little bit shorter than the previous one, but I thought a little bit more of the story was better than nothing, so here we are! And I'm not completely up to speed on all the details of the Fidelius Charm, but we're running with it anyway. In my mind (and therefore in this story), it makes sense that recasting the charm would remove someone's memory of the secret if they had learned it under an old charm. Let me know your thoughts!

Chapter 2

"Dobby!" Harry screamed as his feet hit the floor of his bedroom. The little elf popped into the room as Harry gently laid his dying best friend on his bed. "I need—"

"Blood-Replenishing Potion, Wound Cleaning Potion, Pain Potion, warm water, and towels! Dobby is on it!" he squeaked, disappearing again.

Harry turned back to the bleeding girl. He needed to start with the necessary healing spells, but he paused as he realized Hermione's jeans were in the way. He didn't want her to be uncomfortable when she woke up—and she would wake up, he just had to believe that—but he didn't have a lot of options.

He ripped off her Weasley-sweater-turned-tourniquet and took a deep breath. "Hermione would have a better way of doing this," he muttered to himself as he wandlessly vanished her jeans. Keeping his eyes laser focused on the task at hand, Harry carefully summoned the bullet out of her thigh.

Dobby popped back into the room, carrying a tray full of supplies.

"One—no, two—vials of Blood-Replenishing," Harry barked.

He snatched the Wound-Cleaning Potion and doused the area before throwing every healing charm he knew at the wound. He and Dobby spent the better part of an hour forcing potions down Hermione's throat and trying to stop the bleeding. Eventually there was nothing more they could do.

Harry stood over her, wringing his hands and willing her to wake up or even just move a bit.

Dobby tugged gently at his sleeve. "Master Harry has done all he can. Harry Potter must get some rest now, sir."

Shaking his head, Harry conjured a comfortable arm chair next to his bed and grabbed Hermione's hand. "Tea please, Dobby," he murmured.

Dobby opened his mouth as if to reply but popped away instead.

Harry pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand and whispered, "Come back to me, Hermione. Please, don't you leave me, too."

Somewhere in the night, Harry jerked awake. His neck twinged painfully as his head came up off the mattress, but the rest of his body was already tense, ready to defend himself from whatever pulled him from his fitful sleep. Just as he was about to call for Dobby, he felt a hand moving in his own.

"Hermione?" Harry whispered hopefully.

Almost imperceptibly, she squeezed his hand.

Harry gripped her tighter. "I'm here, Hermione. Please, just let me know you're all right."

Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, and she instantly zeroed in on Harry. "I should have known it was you," she croaked, smiling weakly.

Harry jumped up and leaned over to throw his arms around her neck. "Merlin, Hermione, you scared me. I thought I told you to stay safe!"

"Harry. Can't. Breathe. Crushing. Chest."

He stood, thankful the darkness hid his blush. "Sorry. I'm just so happy you're all right."

"I could say the same about you. I haven't heard from you in months," Hermione whispered.

Their eyes locked on each other, both grateful for the knowledge that their best friend was alive and there in front of them.

After a long moment, Hermione broke eye contact and began curiously studying her surroundings.

"I know this isn't your flat. So where am I, Harry?" she asked.

Harry quickly lit the lamp beside the bed so she could see better. "Well, you see, I, uh—"

"It must look different than the last time I was here, but I know this place. I just can't put my finger on it."

"Well, I'd say you've only been in this room a few times before," Harry laughed nervously. "That's probably part of it."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "And the other part?"

Harry gulped. "I kind of might have recast the Fidelius with a different Secret Keeper so that everyone would forget about this place."

"Number 12 Grimmauld Place," Hermione said slowly, feeling the words roll off her tongue like the lyrics to an old, forgotten song. Harry watched her face turn red as realization washed over her.

"That's the one," he said sheepishly.

She glared at him. "Do you know how long I have looked for this place? I have asked literally everyone what the name of Sirius's old house is. I knew you would come here, but no one could tell me how to bloody well get here!" she screeched.

"Hermione, please calm down," Harry soothed. "You've nearly died. I don't think it's good for you to get upset like this right now."

"Dammit, Harry Potter, I'm allowed to be upset! My best friend ran away from me to hide in a place that I knew but couldn't remember because he apparently didn't want me to. What about that did you think wouldn't upset me?" she raged.

Harry heaved a sigh. "Hermione, it's not that I didn't want you around. Merlin knows I have been a sad, lonely excuse for a man cooped up here in this house. But it's not safe for me in the wizarding world, and it's not safe for anyone from that world to be in contact with me. If I'd told you where I was, if you'd been let in on the secret, you would have been over here every day, checking on me and doing all of the wonderful things that you do to help me. And that's what would have gotten you caught. I know Croaker and the rest of the Ministry want me bad, even if Kingsley is trying to keep them at bay. They would have tracked you here, then taken you into custody and made you spill everything you know using Veritaserum. Or maybe they'd use something worse, knowing the things Croaker and the Unspeakables had hidden down in the Department of Mysteries. I was really just trying to protect you."

Hermione slumped against the bed. "I knew it was for some stupid, noble reason like that. I'm still mad about it, but I suppose you're probably right on all accounts. I'll probably get over it."

Harry snorted. "Never change, Hermione. Never change."

"So, who's the new Secret Keeper?" Hermione asked, clearly filled with questions now that her rage had subsided.

"I needed to someone the Ministry would never suspect. That's why neither you nor any of the Weasley's got tapped for the job. But I also needed to be able trust this person completely. So it came down to the person I knew with almost no connection to me but an immovable moral compass that would never betray my secret. Any ideas?" Harry asked.

Hermione thought carefully. "Neville?"

"He made the short list," Harry conceded. "But with all the press coverage of us together right after the war, which is when I recast the charm, I thought he might be a bit too obvious as well."

Brow furrowed, Hermione went back to her mental drawing board.

"It's—"

"Don't you dare tell me," Hermione warned. "I want to figure this out."

Her face contorted as she thought, and Harry studied her expressions curiously. He could actually see her sort through a list of candidates in her mind, consider the possibility, and then cross them off. It was an amusing way to pass the time, and he fondly remembered the times he'd seen her with the same grimace while studying for an exam. After several minutes, her face lit up.

"Luna!" she cried. "Of course, she's perfect for the job. Completely trustworthy, and yet no one would ever suspect her because you've never been very close, in the public eye anyway."

"I came to the same conclusion," Harry confirmed.

Hermione beamed at him, and Harry had to laugh at her pride. Sometimes it took so little to make her happy.

"Well, now that I know what you've been doing and where you've been doing it, why don't you tell me how you've been," Hermione suggested.

Harry tugged at his collar. "Hermione, it's the middle of the night, and you've just been shot. I think I've gotten you all patched up, but you should still get plenty of rest. We can talk about this in the morning."

"You can bet on that," Hermione threatened playfully. "I still haven't heard how you became such a dab hand at healing charms."

"I'll tell you everything," Harry promised. "Just get some sleep first."

"I know I'm in your room. Where will you sleep?" she asked.

"I'll be right here in this chair," Harry explained. "I don't feel comfortable leaving you so quickly after you nearly died in my arms. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said. "Just sleep here with me. We did it a million times in that tiny cot when we nearly froze to death in the tent. We can do it again in this enormous bed with no problem"

Harry shook his head, ready to argue with her. Hermione's expression promised that would be a very bad idea right now.

"All right, all right, let me scoot you over," he muttered.

"I can do it!" she replied. She propped herself up and tried to scoot her butt over but immediately collapsed, her face almost green with pain.

"That's what I thought," Harry said under his breath. He put an arm under her knees and behind her shoulders then gently tugged her closer to the edge.

He quickly changed into his pajamas and got ready for bed.

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered as he slid onto the other side of the mattress.

Harry smiled at her. "You'd have done the same for me."

"I mean it, Harry," she said seriously. "I couldn't ask for a better best friend."

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. "I'll always have your back, Hermione, just like I know you'll always have mine."

The pair quickly drifted back to sleep, neither realizing they were still holding hands.