Author's Note: Okay folks, I dropped the ball a bit here. I had every intention of updating this story the first week of every month, but last month was just a bit of a wash. I finished grad school, graduated, and did some job hunting, so most of my "fun" work took a back seat. But I hope that my personal busy season has (mostly) come to a close and that I'll be back to my semi-regular updating schedule.

This chapter took forever to write because interpersonal conflict is difficult for me, so hopefully this is the last big chunk of it. I promise we'll get back to at least a little action in the next chapter. Thanks for sticking with me, and, as always, I love hearing what you guys think!

The mid-morning sun finally worked its way through the crack in the curtains to shine directly in Harry's eyes. He grimaced and fumbled one arm behind him for his glasses as a barrage of questions broke through his morning fog.

Why was he so abnormally warm? What was sitting on his chest? Why did it feel like he was about to fall off the bed? And why did he get a nose full of fuzzy stuff with every breath?

The weight on his chest shifted slightly, and Harry's eyes popped open. Hermione.

As the night before came flooding back to him, a wave of nausea hit him. The knowledge that he'd nearly lost his best friend was almost too much to bear. He pushed that thought away, choosing to focus on the knowledge that she was all right, that she was here and safe with him. Wrapped in his arm. Snoring softly. Cuddling into his chest. Which, now that he thought about it, was starting fill with warmth and relief and happiness and protective instinct and—

The sight of her sleeping so comfortably with him unearthed a gamut of emotions that Harry wasn't ready to confront at—he glanced at his clock—9:38 in the morning.

He slid out of bed, careful not to wake Hermione, and left a note instructing her to have Dobby fetch him from the training room when she woke. He gathered his workout gear on autopilot. As he snuck out the door, Harry couldn't resist one last time peek at a safe, peaceful Hermione.

Exquisite was too dull a word to describe her. The sunlight streaming onto the bed highlighted the slope of her fine cheekbones, the slight upturn of her nose. Cherubic lips, sleep-flushed skin, and the ever-unruly hair haloing her head painted the perfect picture of utter serenity, even as she reached out for the empty space where his body had been. She was nothing short of a Renaissance angel brought to life.

Harry shook himself and immediately decided that he needed to work out last night's lingering tension—because that had to be the reason his emotional responses were such a mess—and then take a nice cold shower.

Harry dashed downstairs to the kitchen, still toweling his hair. Maybe he could ask Dobby to make Hermione's favorite Turkish eggs for breakfast as a surprise. He pushed through the swinging kitchen door to find Hermione sitting at the table, sipping a mug of tea, and chatting with a very animated Dobby. She had on one of his old Gryffindor Quidditch shirts and a pair of his athletic shorts.

"Harry!" she cried. "I was hoping you'd finish up soon. Dobby made Turkish eggs, and I'm starved. Probably just a side effect of the adrenaline crash last night, but you know exactly how that is. He also gave me some of your clothes to borrow—I hope you don't mind."

Harry made a mental note to thank the little elf for somehow knowing exactly what to do. "Yeah, nearly dying will work up a bit of an appetite. Speaking of, you were supposed to have Dobby call me when you woke up. You didn't walk down by yourself, did you? I have no idea how well magic can heal a gunshot wound, but you shouldn't be overexerting yourself in any case."

Hermione glared at him. "Of course not, Harry. I saw your note, but I didn't want to disturb you while you were training. I asked Dobby to help me down here so I could keep him company while he made breakfast."

Of course Hermione wouldn't jeopardize her recovery, Harry berated himself. Remember who you're talking to.

"But I did take a look at the wound." Hermione broke through his thoughts as she pushed up the hem of the shorts. "It looks pretty much completely healed. I don't have any soreness, and it's only a little tender."

Harry walked over and inspected her leg. It was a shiny pink and slightly puckered where the bullet had entered her thigh, but the tanned skin under his fingers didn't feel feverish, which was a good sign. The wound seemed to shrink slightly even as he watched. No matter how many years he'd been doing magic, it still found ways to amaze him.

"It looks like you're healing perfectly. There are a couple of other potions and a liniment that I can whip up to help prevent any scarring, but I'd say that you've got an otherwise clean bill of health," he told her. "I wish I didn't have to know that magic was good for healing gunshots, but I guess I'm glad that I do."

"Well, at least we're prepared for the future," Hermione chirped.

Harry shook his head. "I'm prepared for the future. You're going to be nice and safe back in the magical world, where there are no guns."

"Oh please, I'm not leaving you here, alone," Hermione argued. "It's just not healthy."

"I'm not alone. I've got Dobby," he countered.

She snorted. "Right, because that's a rational solution, living in your dead godfather's house with only a house elf for company. You said it yourself that you were lonely."

"Right, thanks for bringing Sirius into this," he snarked. "Dobby and I have been making it through just fine. And I'm not going to put you in danger just to make myself more comfortable."

"But shouldn't that be my decision?" she shouted.

Harry's hands, now clenched into fists, were beginning to shake. Why couldn't she just appreciate that he was trying to keep her safe and not imprisoned, whether at Grimmauld Place or the Ministry? He bit his tongue, determined not to let slip something they'd both regret. He could see that Hermione was fighting as hard as he was to hold back her anger. Despite his state of agitation, it gave him a bit of hope that their friendship would make through this blow up relatively unscathed.

With what appeared to be a great effort, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I think Dobby was almost finished with breakfast. Why don't we discuss this after we've eaten? Perhaps we can both be a bit more reasonable with some food on our stomachs."

Plates loaded with eggs, crumpets, and sausages appeared on the table courtesy of Dobby, effectively pausing their debate. Brunch was a silent affair as they both prepared for the impending war of words. Plates were cleaned. Mugs were refilled. They sat at the table long after they'd finished eating and studied each other, as if trying to stare the other into submission. Finally, the tension simmering between them reached a boiling point.

Harry put his cup down and looked hard his best friend. "As much as I would love it, you can't stay here."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Where do you get off telling me—"

Harry held his hands up in supplication. "I know what you're going to say, but hear me out first."

With a fierce look, she settled back into her chair and gestured for him to continue.

"Right, well, it comes down to this. You know I can't ever really leave here and go back to the magical world, a world I gave everything to protect, just like you did. I don't want that for you. You deserve to live in the world you fought to belong in, and I can't give you that. If you stay with me, you'll never be able to safely return. The Ministry will dog your every step. If they have to, they'll take you in and force you to tell them where I am." Harry sat back and held his breath.

Rather than respond immediately, she studied him for a moment. "So your biggest concern is that if I stay here with you, I won't ever be able to move about safely and normally in the magical world?"

Harry nodded slowly. "I don't want you to miss out on the life you should have because you're essentially locking yourself in Grimmauld Place with me."

"And what is your plan for getting me back to the magical world safely now that I've been here? I have some very nosy neighbors that keep up with everything I do—what time I come home, who visits me, when I break routine. You know I'm not a convincing liar, Harry. How can you ensure that someone at the Ministry won't hear about this, put two and two together, drag me down into the Department of Mysteries, and find a way to make me tell them where you are?"

"I'll put false memories in your head when I Obliviate you."

A beat of silence passed before Hermione erupted.

"Like hell you are!"

"I really think that's the best solution."

"How many people have you Obliviated, Harry? Do you trust yourself to take only, and I mean only, the memories I have of being shot and staying with you? You know how disastrous Obliviation can be if you take too many memories or do it incorrectly."

Harry opened his mouth to shout back at her but quickly clamped it shut when he saw her jaw quiver.

Her parents.

Merlin, how could he have been so callous? Just before he'd disappeared, Hermione had heard back from the magical Australian officials trying to help return the Grangers to her. Her memory charm taken too many memories. They'd have to remain the Dr. and Dr. Wilkins for the rest of their lives or risk severe, permanent damage, which wasn't a chance Hermione was willing to take. Harry had held her as she sobbed about it, yet here he was trying to use the same "solution" on her. It wouldn't matter to her that he was only going to take a small chunk of memories or that he was confident in his ability to so it safely. It's difficult for rationality to overcome fear.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think…"

She waved him off. "I know, I know, I just—I've worked so hard to become who I am. I just don't want to risk losing her."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. "Well, so if I'm not going to…do that, we can just find a decent alibi for you that your neighbors will believe. You went to see an old Muggle friend? Drank too much and stayed a Muggle hotel? What if—"

"Can I talk now, Harry?"

He nodded and propped his elbows on the table, still wracking his mind for another solution.

Hermione looked him square in the eye. "What you don't know is that the Ministry still keeps close tabs on all of your friends."

"What?! Why didn't you tell me this to begin with?"

"Well, after you cut me off when I started getting the least little bit upset last night, it just never came up." She shrugged. "It's not like there's anything you or the rest of us could do about it. And it's not as bad as it was the first few months you were gone. They would literally follow me into shops, for Merlin's sake. Anyway, I think my new neighbors, who moved in right after you left are probably spying for the Ministry. I doubt they'd believe whatever lie I told them about my short disappearance, and I'd just be back to having a Ministry shadow. I wouldn't be able to do anything, go anywhere, see anyone without them constantly asking me questions. That's no life either, Harry."

He pushed a hand through his already messy hair. "It's better than never really being able to leave this house."

"But I could leave!" she protested. "Just because I wouldn't be able to live in the magical world doesn't mean I'd be trapped here. The people trailing me never followed me into the Muggle world, despite the fact that we both grew up as Muggles and would be perfectly comfortable meeting each other there." She shot him a dirty look for not thinking of that earlier. "I keep telling people that wizards are entirely too resistant to reason. They're also convinced that no one would ever want to reintegrate themselves into the Muggle world after learning magic."

"But what if they did find out you were living mostly in the Muggle world, Hermione? All it would take is one Squib mentioning to the wrong person that they saw you at Tesco, and the Ministry would be all over you. I wouldn't be able keep you safe, no matter which world you were in."

"That's true whether I'm staying with you or not. You can't protect me from everything—yesterday was just sheer, dumb luck and you know it. But what if I could fix that? I know I can figure out a system that will allow me to detect a threat and escape from it. I just need a little time."

He stared her hard for a moment. Hermione was right, of course. If the Ministry didn't believe whatever story she fed them, they'd never leave her alone again. And when it came to solving a problem, she'd never failed him before, so he was sure she'd figure out a workable solution for her safety. And it would be nice to have someone else around the house… just not at the cost of her well-being.

"You win," he sighed in defeat. Then he glanced at the clock on the wall. "Just hurry, okay? If this doesn't work, you know we're going to have to find a way to get you safely back to the magical world, and our window for plausible deniability is closing fast."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I keep telling you, I'm not going back. But seeing as I already have an idea this shouldn't take too long. I'm going to the library to finish working on it. You're not getting rid of me so easily this time, Harry."

With that, she flounced out of the kitchen.