This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter universe, which are trademarked by J.K. Rowling. I do not claim ownership of these characters nor the locations such as Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, etc. that are Rowling's creations.
I thank Rowling for the universe she has created that allows me to do something like this for my own entertainment and, hopefully, the entertainment of the readers.
Quietly Harry slipped out of the door to the flat, making sure he had a key on him before gently pulling the door shut behind him with a soft click. Dressed in only an old, loose-fitting shirt and a pair of worn out trackies, with his shoes being worn barefoot, Harry moved swiftly and silently down the stairs to the mail room. Slipping the key out from his pocket, Harry opened Ginny's mail slot and pulled the contents out, noting there were a couple of letters to go with the usual morning's edition of the Daily Prophet.
Harry made his way back up the stairs again, head down as he scanned over the envelopes he'd picked up, checking that they were all in fact addressed to Ginny. Reaching the second floor, he bumped into a familiar face.
"Good morning, Mrs Peterson," he said with a smile as they met on the landing.
"Good morning to you too, Harry," Mrs Peterson responded, smiling warmly up at him. Mrs Peterson was quite an old woman, but was nevertheless always full of energy. Despite the early hour she was already fully dressed with her brownish grey hair pulled back into a neat little bun.
"I'm surprised to see you here at this time of day," she continued, peering up at him questioningly through her delicate glasses. "I'd have thought you'd have been at work."
"I've taken the morning off," Harry told her politely. "It was mine and Ginny's two year anniversary yesterday, so I thought I'd spend the day with her and make up for work some other time."
"Ah, so sweet," Mrs Peterson practically purred. "I must say, hearing what you two kids get up to reminds me of the good old days with Mr Peterson. He looked quite a bit like you, come to think of it."
"Really?" Harry said interestedly, folding the letters under his arm as he focused on the woman before him. "I didn't know that. In what way did we look alike?"
"Hang on, let me just show you a picture," Mrs Peterson offered, fiddling with the clasp of her handbag as she searched around. "Ah, here we go. This was a picture of us taken by a professional photographer only a few days before he proposed."
Harry took the picture carefully, knowing how valuable it must be for the elderly woman before him. In the picture Mrs Peterson was an awful lot younger than she was now, smiling brilliantly as she was held in the arms of a fair headed young man, who, Harry noticed, couldn't take his eyes off the woman in his arms, a rapturous expression on his face.
"He had it all arranged for our two year anniversary," Mrs Peterson said, smiling fondly at the picture. "He wouldn't tell me where he was taking me to dinner and I got so annoyed at him when he apparated me outside his favourite restaurant. It wasn't the fanciest place, Jack wasn't a particularly fancy man. But then he led me a couple of doors down to this photography studio."
Mrs Peterson sighed happily. "When we got there he apologised for keeping me waiting for dinner, he said he just wanted to remember the moment for the rest of his life." Mrs Peterson brushed a tear from her eye. "He was a good man."
"It looks like the two of you were really happy," Harry said, passing her back the photo. "It must be hard now he's no longer with us."
Mrs Peterson nodded. "Yes, yes, it is," she said, sniffing slightly. "But when you lose someone you love you can't worry about them not being with you anymore, you've just got to remember them as they were and live your life as they would have wanted you to."
Harry nodded solemnly, understanding far more than Mrs Peterson could have possibly known he could.
"Well, anyway, no use crying about it now," Mrs Peterson said, dabbing at her eyes with a frilly handkerchief. "No point getting all upset when there is another beautiful day to enjoy. Ah, good morning Ginny dear."
Ginny had silently slipped through the doorway, dressed in Harry's old jumper, her pyjama bottoms and a pair of thick woollen socks her mum had knitted her for Christmas one year. "Hello, Mrs Peterson," she said warmly, wrapping her arms around her body to try and keep in the warmth on the cold November morning.
"Harry here was just telling me it was your anniversary yesterday," Mrs Peterson said happily, loving the time she got to spend with the younger adults. "I still remember the first time he came here. It was Christmas Eve and I was just coming home from my last minute Christmas shopping to find this young man at the door, standing there all nervous with a nice little parcel in his hands."
"And of course I was at my parents' for Christmas," Ginny said with a smile, glancing warmly at Harry as Mrs Peterson continued her story.
"Yes, well that's what I told him," Mrs Peterson said, not noticing that she'd lost the attention of her listeners. "He looked so uncertain, it was simply adorable…"
"Harry?" Ginny said concernedly as Harry's expression grew more and more serious as he read the front page of the Daily Prophet. "Harry, what's the matter?"
Harry didn't answer her immediately, still reading through the last lines of the article in question. Eventually he finished and looked up at Ginny, his face a stony mask as he handed the newspaper over.
Ginny took it warily as Harry watched her for her reaction. As soon as she read the headline her mouth opened in a silent gasp, a hand rising to cover it as she read through the first few lines of the article. "Oh my," she whispered, her gaze going to meet Harry's. "Is this true?"
"I don't know," Harry said seriously. "But if it is then it's really big, especially for him now that it's all been dug up again."
Ginny looked down at the ground sadly. "You're going to have to go in, aren't you?" she asked quietly.
"I'm sorry," Harry replied, his voice sincere as he took a step closer to her and held her in his arms. "I wish I didn't have to, I'd love more than anything to be able to just turn a blind eye and stay with you. But I can't. I have to go."
"I understand," Ginny said sadly, her fingers brushing delicately across his chest through the thin material of his shirt. "I know this is what you have to do."
Harry kissed her softly, trying to convey how much he wanted to stay with just his touch as he held her close. "I'll make up for this," he promised as he pulled back. "I'll take some more time off and I'll make you forget this ever happened."
"Big words there Harry," Ginny said, a smile working its way back onto her face. "Go. You need to get to work."
"Are you sure?" Harry asked again, knowing the answer but just wishing to delay the moment he had to leave.
"Yes, I'm sure," Ginny nodded. "You go help him. I know you'll be able to work this all out." She pulled him close, her lips grazing across his as she whispered, "I'll be waiting." She gave him a quick peck on the nose before pulling back, encouraging him to do the same.
"I'll see you soon," Harry promised as he walked inside, leaving Ginny outside with Mrs Peterson, the sadness Ginny felt starting to show on her face as she watched him disappear from view.
"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs Peterson asked worriedly, not entirely sure what had happened to cause such a change in the tone of the conversation.
"Yeah, yeah," Ginny nodded, doing her best to smile at the older woman but not able to fully hide her emotions. "Harry just has to go back into work right now, there's been a bit of an emergency."
"Oh dear," Mrs Peterson said, a frown crossing her brow. "I hope it isn't anything too serious. What happened?"
Slowly Ginny handed over the issue of the Daily Prophet in her hand, feeling slightly sick to look at it as she passed it over. Mrs Peterson quickly fished out her glasses from her handbag and put them on again, squinting down at the article before her. On the front page, emblazoned across the top in big black letters read the headline, 'Diggory Drink Dilemma - Senior Ministry Official Relapses'.
Mrs Peterson didn't know much about politics, and in particular didn't know who Diggory was, but she did recognise the sadness in the young girl before her.
"There, there," she said comfortingly. "Things will be alright."
As she finished saying that Harry appeared back at the door, now dressed in a suit as he threw his cloak over his shoulders. Quickly giving Ginny a kiss goodbye, Harry hurried down the stairs, disappearing from sight as he exited the building.
"He'll be back, Ginny," Mrs Peterson told the young girl. "He loves you, he won't break his promise."
"I know," Ginny said sadly, still looking after where Harry had left. "I just wish we didn't have to reschedule. I've been looking forward to today for so long and after last night…" Ginny sighed. "It was going so… perfect."
Mrs Peterson smiled consolingly at her, knowing how hard it must be to be left behind like this. "I'm sure it was perfect," she agreed. "The two of you are meant to be, dear. Every time I see the two of you together I think that's perfect."
Ginny smiled a genuine smile at the older lady, having really been cheered up by her words. "If you'd like," Ginny offered, gesturing back into her flat. "I'd just finished making breakfast. Would you like to come in for some tea or something?"
Mrs Peterson smiled. "I'd love that, dear," she said, following Ginny inside the flat as she prepared to talk to the younger woman. She knew how difficult separation could be, having been separated from her husband for over twenty years, and she was perfectly willing to help her young friend with her emotional struggle.
"Can I get you some tea?" Ginny asked as Mrs Peterson took a seat on her sofa.
"Yes, thank you, dear," she said, looking around at the well kept flat. "Two sugars if you don't mind."
Ginny bustled around in the kitchen, Mrs Peterson watching her from the open plan living area as she placed tea bags into a couple of porcelain mugs and waited for the kettle to boil. "I've made pancakes if you feel…" Ginny fell silent as her gaze wandered to the seat next to Mrs Peterson.
Following her gaze, Mrs Peterson was surprised to find a piece of black fabric poking out from beneath the cushions of the seat next to her. Turning back, Mrs Peterson found Ginny standing stock still, a mortified expression on her face.
"No need to be prudish," Mrs Peterson said with a chuckle. "I was young once too, you know."
Ginny didn't seem too comforted by the thought as she hurried round and pulled the lacy bra from out of the cushions, trying her best to hide it from her guest all the while. As Ginny hurried over to the bedroom to dispose of the offending item Mrs Peterson stood up and made her why to the kitchen, noting the kettle had reached the boil. Pouring the water into each mug she opened one of the kitchen drawers, knowing it was where the cutlery was kept from her previous visits, fishing out two tea spoons and stirring gently as she waited for Ginny to return.
"There you go, dear," she said, offering Ginny her tea as she arrived back in the kitchen, her intense blush having slightly lessened since she'd last been there.
"Thank you," Ginny said softly, taking a sip before deciding she could remove the tea bag, dropping it into the bin as she made her way to the sofa. With a sigh she sat down, warming her hands on her mug as she stared ahead of her.
"Is there anything you wish to talk about?" Mrs Peterson asked kindly, resuming her seat next to her. "I know talking about things that trouble you can do a lot of good."
"I'm just worried about Amos," Ginny said evasively, looking down at the floor. "He's one of my dad's best friends, I don't want this to happen to him."
"But that's not what's really got you upset this morning," Mrs Peterson suggested, watching Ginny carefully. "Perhaps we should really be talking about Harry."
Ginny turned to look at her. "I'm not mad at him," she told her. "I'm not. I know he wanted to stay just as much as I wanted him to stay."
"But you are mad," Mrs Peterson responded. "You're mad at something Ginny, and if it's not him you need to figure out what it is."
Ginny sighed sadly, putting her mug on the table. "I love him," she said tiredly. "I just hate the fact I can't be with him. His job takes up so much of his time. It's great that Harry has such an important role in our world but sometimes it means I don't get to see him as much as I like. He never gets a day off, never. Even when he does get some time off for us to be together something like this happens."
"Last night was wonderful," she said softly. "It was beautiful, it was magical. It was everything I'd ever hoped a relationship would be since I was just a little girl. I was so looking forward to just spending this morning with him, to just relax and be in his company. I just…"
Ginny stopped herself, briefly wondering if she should continue. "I just wish this story broke tomorrow," she said with a defeated sigh. "Does that make me a bad person?"
"No, dear," Mrs Peterson said comfortingly, putting a soothing hand on her bare knee. "It makes you human, and in love. It's natural to feel this way." Mrs Peterson put her mug down on the table too, before turning in her seat to fully face Ginny.
"I remember when Jack proposed to me I didn't want him to be gone for even a minute," she told the younger girl. "But then, three days later, his brother was involved in a quidditch accident. Jack was distraught that his brother may not survive after the fall and our days of bliss were shattered. Jack was so emotionally distressed I didn't know what to do."
Mrs Peterson took a sip of tea before continuing. "Things changed for me when I went to visit my mother," she told Ginny. "She knew something was wrong and she coaxed it out of me. Eventually I remember saying 'why did this have to happen to me?'."
She shook her head, a wry smile on her face. "My mother put me in my place," she chortled. "She told me, in no uncertain terms, to forget about how I feel and think about how Jack must feel. It's only when I thought of it like that that everything came into perspective."
"So what should I do?" Ginny asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked at the elder woman for guidance, her face a mask of hopelessness.
"Talk to Harry," Mrs Peterson told her firmly. "There's nothing I can say that will make you feel better about this. Talk to him, and you may find that he feels much the same way."
Ginny thought over her words carefully, wondering how she could possibly bring up the subject with him when he had so much he had to deal with right now.
"In the meantime," Mrs Peterson said brightly. "I wouldn't say no to a nice hot cross bun."
Smiling at the older woman's enthusiasm Ginny got to her feet and headed to the kitchen, all the while wondering in the back of her mind just what she was going to do about Harry.
"Hey Harry," Ron said, his voice chipper as he fell into step beside him in the Ministry atrium. "Listen, I need to tell you about this girl I met last night. She was a yoga instructor or something like that. I don't know, judo, whatever. Anyway, the things she could do with her body-"
Ron was cut off as Harry silently shoved the Daily Prophet into his hands, keeping his expression blank as he strode purposefully through the atrium.
"Bloody hell!" Ron shouted, startling a poor old woman who'd been standing just in front of him. "What is this?"
Harry said nothing, letting Ron continue through the article as people scampered to get out of their way as they headed to the lifts. Reaching an empty one it took nothing more than a sharp look from Harry to ensure they were left alone.
"How the hell did this happen?" Ron swore, having finally reached the end of the article. "Has this already been distributed?"
"This is Ginny's copy," Harry told him. "This morning thousands of people woke up to the sight of that front page."
"Shit," Ron muttered, rubbing his face as the elevator opened at the top level, allowing the two of them to step out.
"Harry, Ron, have you seen this?" Dennis called out as he fell into step beside them. "This has been all over the Ministry, people have been phoning in to ask questions all morning?"
"We've seen it," Ron assured him as they walked towards their offices, marching forward with purpose.
"Harry, the front page of the Daily Prophet-" Cho started as she saw him approach but Harry waved her off.
"I've got it," he said, throwing his bag into his office as he approached Cho's desk. "Dennis said there have been calls all morning. What are they like? What are we saying?"
"It's mixed," Cho responded, shifting through some files as her phone started ringing again, joining that of several other phones that were going off in the room. "Most of the simple anger phone calls are being screened by security but we're still getting calls from Warlocks of the Wizengamot demanding to know the truth."
Cho gestured for Lizzie to come over and answer her phone while she continued talking to Harry. "I've been keeping track of all those of note who have called," Cho told him. "That's 58, probably 59 Warlocks now," she said, gesturing to where Lizzie was talking on the phone. "On top of that Councillors Lucius Malfoy, Delores Umbridge, Theodore Nott, Susan Bones and Kevin Entwhistle have all called in. Everyone wants to know if there is any truth behind this story."
"Do we know that?" Harry asked as Ron reappeared at his shoulder, Neville too arriving as he spoke.
"If we do it hasn't reached me yet," Cho told them. "I've just been telling them that we're not at liberty to release any information right now and that when we are it shall be through a press conference." Behind her Lizzie put the phone down, only for it to ring again as she answered her own ringing phone. Cho gave Harry an exasperated look as she moved to answer the phone, doing her best to maintain her polite tone.
"I'm going to see the Minister," Harry told her as he walked off, dodging Colin as he hurried back to his phone, his tie only half done up as he'd obviously been rushed in that morning.
"Has anyone seen this?" Hermione asked as she joined them, holding out her own copy of the Daily Prophet.
"I think by this point everyone's seen it," Harry grumbled as Ron showed her Ginny's copy. "Do you know if any of this is true?"
"Michael wrote it," Hermione said with a frustrated sigh. "We've known him for years, he doesn't lie."
"But the article doesn't actually say that Amos is back on the alcohol," Ron butted in. "All that's being said is that a source close to Amos has claimed that he has. Who could possibly be close enough to say that, huh? None of us had any idea and we work with the guy every single day."
"That may be valid but if this is legit then that brings into question who exactly could and would rat him out," Neville pointed out. "And for that matter how none of us noticed before they did." The foursome reached the Minister's outer office and were quickly directed through by Daphne, a phone held up against her ear and a pained look on her face.
"Please tell me this isn't true," Ron said as he marched into the office, holding the paper up in front of him. Reaching the desk he slammed it down, bringing sighs from the Minister and Remus as they paused mid discussion.
"It's not," the Minister assured him.
"Are you sure?" Ron asked, leaning against the desk. "Cause if we send Hermione out there and tell the press it's all a lie and then someone snaps Amos with a drink in his hand it's game over."
"Ron, we're sure," Remus assured him. "None of us have seen Amos even in the same room as a drink, let alone having enough to have relapsed. It's a false source."
"How can we be sure?" Neville asked. "If I were a recovering alcoholic I wouldn't tell people that I've started drinking again. What if he genuinely slipped and someone witnessed it happen?"
"If that were the case this story would have been in the news days ago, when Amos was still able to walk around and was physically able to actually have a drink," the Minister pointed out. "For the last three days Amos has been bed bound with the flu. Clearly someone has just decided to cause up a stir."
"Sir, if that were the case it would have to have been someone close to Amos to say so," Hermione pointed out. "This is Michael's story, he wouldn't just take the word of some random guy and claim it as a 'source close to Mr Diggory'."
"Hermione's right, we have to trust Michael's professional integrity on this," Harry agreed. "Either someone close to him has turned their back on him big time or he has actually relapsed."
There was silence as Harry finished speaking, each of the people in the room knowing which option to hope for, yet completely hating both alternatives.
"Are we sure it's the flu?" Hermione asked quietly. "Certain alcohol related problems could give someone the impression it's just the flu, especially if Amos denies he had anything to drink."
"It's the flu," the Minister maintained forcefully.
"I know that's what you want to believe, I want to believe it too," Hermione pushed frustratedly. "But we can't completely rule out the possibility-"
"It's the flu," the Minister repeated. "Hermione, we've got one of the best healers in Britain attending to him right now. If it weren't the flu, he wouldn't tell us it was."
"What if it's both," Harry suggested. "What if that's the reason he's still been unable to return to work. What if he came in with the flu and now he's simple detoxing."
"That would imply that he's been back on the drinks for quite a long time," Remus pointed out. "Do you really think he could have hidden it from us for that long?"
"I don't know," Harry replied. "But if he could hide it from us for a few days whose to say he wouldn't be able to manage for longer than that. It's Amos."
"How did we find out the last time?" Neville asked. "He was drinking heavily for months after Cedric's death, or so I've heard, how did we find out?"
All eyes turned to the Minister as they waited for an answer, none of them having known Amos well back then. The Minister sighed as he saw everyone watching, sitting back into his seat as he started to speak.
"There was a fire at their house," the Minister told them quietly. "It was just Amos inside and he accidentally set fire to a rug, which he tried to put out with some fire-whiskey." There were a couple of winces as everyone imagined the catastrophic results.
"It was the muggle fire rescue service that were first to the scene," the Minister continued. "Amos didn't know who to contact so he gave them our address. They woke me up in the middle of the night and told me of the fire, and warned me that it was possible that Amos had a drinking problem. After a lot of hard work and willpower Amos was able to turn his back on the alcohol."
There was silence in the room as he finished recounting the story, the various members of staff feeling sombre to hear such a private story about their colleague.
"Amos hasn't had a drop of anything even slightly alcoholic since then," the Minister affirmed. "After he was allowed to reenter his home he found a decanter of fire-whiskey that had escaped the blaze and put it in his study to always remind him of the perils of the road he travelled down."
"That bottle of fire-whiskey," Harry asked quietly. "That's not the bottle sitting in his office, is it?"
"Yes," the Minister confirmed. "It is, and it has remained, full for the entirety of the time he has held the office."
"Well that's perfect," Ron said. "A perfect indicator one way or the other. If Amos has started to drink again that's bound to be the first place he'd have gone and if it's still full we can be almost certain he's not relapsed."
"Ron, we're not going to go disturbing his office while he's ill," the Minister told him.
"Come on," Ron argued. "He's too sick for us to just ask him. It's not like I'm going to go rummaging through his drawers, I'll just be checking how much fire-whiskey he's got left."
"I said no," the Minister repeated loudly, silencing Ron's argument as he gave his son a firm stare. "We are not going to invade his privacy. When he is well enough we will ask him directly."
"Until then?" Ron questioned, slightly chastened by the Minister's firm words.
"Until then we talk to Michael and find out who his source is," the Minister ordered. "We'll be able to get a better idea of the truth once we've had a look at his source. Other than that it'll be business as usual."
"What do I tell the press until then?" Hermione asked.
"Tell them we're looking into it," the Minister told her. "Don't take any questions until we are able to release our official line. In the meantime we should throw something else in for you to talk about, something reasonably big so we can try and distract attention from the story."
"More on the goblin council?" Neville suggested. "You could just have me answer more of their questions, I'm sure they have more still to ask."
"They've already got enough," Ron said with a frown. "You'll just end up getting questions about Amos's role in negotiations."
"Then what else can we go with?" Neville asked. "Nothing that big has really happened around here. We don't have a big story we've been holding back, have we?"
"The New Year's Ball," Remus said suddenly. "You could announce that we're inviting goblins and centaurs this year, it's bound to generate interest."
"Yeah," Hermione said softly, tapping her finger against her arm thoughtfully. "A big announcement, a grand show of unification between the races that has never before been achieved, or even attempted. It's bound to generate some questions at least."
"Alright, go with that," the Minster said with a nod. "Is there anything else?"
"Actually, there is one thing," Hermione said timidly, bringing the attention of everyone in the room. "I don't mean to make life difficult or anything but I'm just not sure I can talk to Michael about this."
"You having a fight?" the Minister asked.
"No, things are going well," Hermione replied quickly, biting her lip. "The thing is, I'm not sure I can be tough on him like I used to be. I just don't think I'll be able to get anything." She glanced miserably at her colleagues. "I'm sorry."
"No, it's okay," the Minister said, reaching over to pat her arm in understanding. "We'll get someone else to talk to Michael."
"I'll do it," Harry offered. "I haven't got any meetings planned for this morning so I'm going to be free."
"You'll do this for me?" Hermione asked gratefully, painfully aware of the fact he'd been dragged in from his anniversary preparations for this.
"Of course I will," Harry assured her. "Just get Michael to come by your office in twenty minutes and I'll have a little talk with him."
"Great, so that's everything organised," the Minister said, clapping his hands together in a clear dismissal, leading to his staff leaving the room. "Harry, could you stay back a moment?" Harry paused at the doorway, stepping aside to let his colleagues pass as he waited patiently for the Minister to speak again.
"Thank you," the Minister said. "I know it must have been incredibly difficult to come in after hearing the news, it's really appreciated. If there is anything we can do to make up for the inconvenience we will do it."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said, once again amazed by the Minister's capacity for compassion even in his situation. "I'm happy to come in when I need to, though. You know I'll always do my best for the Ministry."
"I know," the Minister replied seriously. "And again, I thank you."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said, bowing out of the room as he continued back to his office.
"Good morning, could I have your attention please," Hermione asked as she reached the platform at the front of the press room, everyone sitting before her immediately rising to their feet to ask her questions.
"Everyone, please, settle down," Hermione said loudly as the reporters continued to rabble in front of her. "I've got an announcement that I'd like to make which will be followed by an opportunity to ask me about the announcement if you so wish."
The crowd of reporters started to settle down, each of them eventually taking their seats again as they prepared to listen to her announcement. Mentally preparing herself for the unfavourable reaction she knew she was going to receive, well aware of what the reporters were expecting her to say, Hermione spoke again.
"I would like to formally announce that the guest list for the Ministry New Year's Ball has been finalised," Hermione announced, reporters immediately trying to interrupt her as she took them away from the issue they wanted. "It has been decided that, due to our most recent work with their representatives, there will be both goblins and centaurs invited to the event."
While the level of volume in the room didn't diminish the tone of the questions certainly changed. "Donald," Hermione called out, prompting the man to ask his question.
"Hermione, when you say there will be goblins and centaurs attending who exactly will that be?" Donald queried.
"Well, for a start I am only announcing the fact that we are inviting them," Hermione pointed out. "Whether they choose to accept or reject our invitation is entirely up to them. I don't have names for you, I'm afraid, but I do believe that the goblins involved in the negotiations for our new finance council we signed off on yesterday will be invited, as will the Head of the Goblin Council, Ragnock, and the Chief of the Centaur herd living on the grounds of Hogwarts, Magorian."
"Is there any reason to believe that they will not wish to attend?" Sophie asked from the crowd.
"Not that we know of, talks with both races have been productive in bringing together our societies," Hermione told them. "However, just like everyone else invited they have the right to decline if they so choose to and we would not resent them for doing so if they felt they would rather not join the celebration."
"Hermione, what news have you heard about Amos Diggory's alleged drinking problem?" Annabelle asked from the crowd, quickly silencing the other reporters who were waiting eagerly for a response.
"We are aware of the article in question and we are looking into the accusations," Hermione assured them. "At this time the Ministry would like to say no more on the matter until we ourselves are fully informed of what is going on."
"That will be all for now, I'll see you all at our next briefing," Hermione said, picking up her files and leaving the podium despite the multitude of last minute questions coming from the crowd. Giving a discrete nod to Demelza, Hermione exited the press room quietly as the reporters started to pack up their things.
"Michael, could you join us in Hermione's office?" Demelza asked quietly as she reached his seat. Michael nodded, having expected the call from the moment he'd decided to publish the story. Gathering his stuff together he left the press room promptly, leaving behind his fellow reporters as he made his way to Hermione's office.
"Hey, I know you're going to be mad but…," he said as he strode in, only noticing too late that the person behind the desk was not his girlfriend. "You're not Hermione," he said obviously, pointing a questioning finger at the man's chest.
"No, I'm not," Harry agreed from his place behind Hermione's desk. "Close the door and take a seat." Michael did so, slightly concerned by the change in personnel he'd been tricked into.
"Why are you here?" Michael asked as he sat down across from Harry, the weirdness of the situation continuing to gnaw at him.
"Hermione believes that her relationship with you would prevent her from properly doing her job," Harry told him simply. "I disagree but nevertheless I'll be talking to you on her behalf. I assume you know why you were summoned."
"My article," Michael confirmed. "I knew it would ruffle some feathers and you know that I wouldn't have gone through with it had I not believed it were true."
"It does not matter whether you believe it to be true or not," Harry said. "What matters is whether it is true, and if we find it isn't we'll be asking for a formal apology."
"If I found it weren't true I'd be more than happy to give you one," Michael responded honestly. "But as I said, I don't believe I'll need to."
Harry scrutinised him for a second before changing tack. "That quote you got from Hermione?" Harry asked, the article sitting in front of him. "You got it from the press conference yesterday afternoon. Did you already know by that point you were going to be running this story?"
"Yes, I did," Michael admitted.
"So you deliberately set Hermione up to be featured in your article to gain credibility," Harry shot back.
"I accurately quoted Hermione," Michael argued back. "I didn't make her seem as though she was saying anything other than what she did."
"You made it seem like she was trying to cover for Amos's absence," Harry argued back. "You set her up so that the Ministry wouldn't be able to later deny that Amos has been under our close eye this whole time."
"Yes, I did," Michael argued back. "And you know what, that's good journalism. I got my hands on a story, I got information, good, solid information on what was going on and I published it without casting any aspersions beyond what I'd been told by my source. And you know that. You aren't annoyed that I asked Hermione about Amos before running the story. You just want to know my source."
Harry made a small gesture to Michael, signalling for him to continue as they got to the heart of the matter.
"I'm not going to tell you who it is," Michael denied. "They came to me in the confidence that I would keep their name off the paper and I'm not about to violate that trust."
"Michael," Harry said, leaning forward earnestly. "Michael, I know you're a good guy, and that you're a good journalist. We really appreciate all the help you've given us over the past few years."
"Thank you Harry," Michael replied. "But just because I'm a good guy and good at my job doesn't mean I should tell you who my source is. In fact, it tells me the opposite."
"Come on, Michael, help us out a bit," Harry pleaded. "We only want to get to the bottom of this and we need to talk to your source. I know you wouldn't publish this if you weren't confident in the validity of your source so please, tell me who it was."
Michael sighed. "You've just said it," he replied quietly. "You've just said all you need to know. I wouldn't trust just anybody. My source needed no hard evidence to convince me, no photos, no memories, nothing." Michael gave Harry a meaningful look. "This was someone that, when they tell you Amos has problems, you believe it. Work it out, you don't need me to give you their name."
Harry nodded softly, thinking over his words. "Thanks Michael," he said softly, his attention unfocused as he continued to whir through names in his head.
"I'm sorry I had to be the one to do this," Michael said sadly, standing up from his seat. "I like Amos, but this is my job. And if it turns out that I'm wrong I'll come by his office and apologise in person. But if I'm right, and I am, Amos needs help."
Harry watched as Michael exited the office, his mind still spinning with all the clues Michael had left behind as he wondered just who could have been his source.
"Have you got them?" Hermione asked as she entered the office, Demelza having alerted her that Michael had left.
Harry shook his head slowly. "Michael left me some clues," he said absently, before rising to his feet. "I need to talk to the Minister." He strode swiftly out of the room, not pausing for even a second to allow Hermione to reply as he made his way towards the Minister's office.
"Is he in?" Harry asked as he approached Daphne's desk.
"Yes, I'll go see if he's available," Daphne replied, getting up from her seat and walking into the office. She was gone for about a minute before she returned. "You can go in now."
Harry nodded his thanks as he walked past her, entering the office to find the Minister and Remus standing by the desk. "I've just finished speaking with Michael, sir," Harry announced as he walked towards them.
"And?" the Minister asked, taking note of his demeanour. "I'm guessing he wasn't willing to give you a name?"
"No, sir," Harry replied, his tone disappointed. "But he did give me a few hints. He said that the person he spoke to was someone really close to Amos, personally, I'm guessing."
The Minister nodded thoughtfully, a small grimace crossing his features as he realised his suspicions had grown ever more likely. "Thank you, Harry," the Minister said, moving to sit down behind his desk.
"Do you have any idea who the source is?" Harry asked earnestly.
"I do," the Minister assured him. "And I will meet her myself when she gets into the Ministry." He did not elaborate any further. "Your schedule for this morning, Harry," he started up again. "It's free, right?"
"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.
"Would you mind helping Neville out a bit?" the Minister asked. "He's been having to cover for Amos while he's been ill and Remus just brought it to my attention that it's really starting to wear him down."
"Of course, sir," Harry replied. "Anything else?"
"Not for now," the Minister said, his voice heavy. "But after I meet with Michael's source I'm going to call everyone together again to decide what we're going to say to the public. Hopefully we'll be able to arrange this before Hermione has to be in the press room again. But for now, business as usual."
"Yes sir," Harry said, turning and walking out of the room at the dismissal, leaving the two older men alone.
"You think it's her?" Remus asked quietly, turning to look at the Minister.
"Yeah," the Minister replied sadly.
"If it is it will kill him," Remus pointed out. "I know it would kill me."
"And me," the Minister agreed. "But Amos is tough, he has a better chance than most to get through this." The two men stayed in silence as they finished speaking, neither of them needing to put into words what they were thinking.
"There's been a provisional education application submitted to Amos' office," Remus informed the Minister. "I'll get Neville to pass it on to me." He paused as he made to leave the room. "Good luck, Minister."
The woman waiting in the Barnet Room was tall and thin, her grey hair showing little glimpses of the dark shade it used to be. She held herself upright with a delicate poise, just another gift she'd received from her pureblood father before his unfortunate passing.
Caroline was a woman who was accustomed to some of the finer things in life, having never wanted for money. Her father came from a very wealthy family, money which she was quick to inherit after his death. On top of that she'd married a pureblood herself, not one with a great family fortune behind him but one with fantastic career prospects at the time and one who had only gained prestige as the years wore on.
Yet for all the pleasures she'd lived her life with Caroline was not unaware, nor uncaring, of those who did not have her advantages in life. She didn't work herself, and therefore had taken to spending much of her time volunteering at orphanages and children's hospitals, taking a great amount of pleasure in helping others in a way she'd only ever been able to get close to experiencing through NEWT Care of Magical Creatures class at Hogwarts.
One of the many solid oak doors leading into the room opened, prompting Caroline to turn to see who had entered. "Minister," she said politely, her usual response to the man before her dulled by the occasion.
"Caroline," the Minister replied shortly, closing the door behind him, blocking off the sounds of the Ministry at work. "I'm glad you were able to make the time to come in."
Caroline gave a weak smile. "When the Minister of Magic calls for you you don't keep him waiting," she replied, her voice light.
"No, you don't," the Minister agreed, his voice hard as he looked at the woman before him. "I'm pretty confident you know why you are here."
"I believe I do," Caroline answered, her own voice losing any of its warmth as the last hopes for an amicable conversation went out the window.
"It took me longer than it should have done," the Minister admitted, pulling a copy of the Daily Prophet from within his robes and scanning the front page. "I would recognise your writing style anywhere, although calling him Mr Diggory did throw me off."
"I assure you, it was not because I wanted to hide from you the fact that I gave this quote," Caroline said fervently. "I just thought if the public were to suspect the same thing it would be far more damaging for both him and the Ministry."
"Then why give the quote at all," the Minister said angrily, throwing the newspaper down on the table. "If you were so concerned about this being damaging for him then why sell it to the press. For Merlin's sake Caroline, he's your husband, why did you do this?"
Caroline stayed silent for a while, simply watching the Minister's chest rise and fall angrily as he waited for her response. "I did not sell this to the press," she said, her voice tight with a mixture of sadness and anger. "I did this for his own good."
"For his own good," the Minister repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "How is this for his own good? You know there will be people calling for his head once we confirm the story is true. People were already worried about him being a former alcoholic and now you tell them that they were right, that we shouldn't have trusted him."
"I am not saying that," Caroline said adamantly. "Everything I've said is quoted in that article. And it is for his own good. Were you even aware that he'd gone back to the booze? I don't think you were. I only suspected until a few days ago, when I visited his office and saw his fire-whiskey."
"How is this good for him?" the Minister asked, his voice slightly calmer as he acknowledged the truth behind her point. "You think now that people know he's drinking that he'll get better?"
"No, I don't think that," Caroline said softly. "I think now that people know he's drinking people might realise that he needs help. I think now people will be watching for it, so that if he ever slips up again we can stop him before it's too late."
The Minister sighed tiredly as he took a seat, wondering just how things had gone so wrong. "Why didn't you just tell me?" he asked. "I could have helped him."
"Would Amos have accepted that?" Caroline countered. "We both know how stubborn he is. He wouldn't have accepted help until it was too late. This is the only way I could think of making sure he gets the help he needs."
The Minister looked up at her sadly. "He's not going to trust you," he told her. "Not after this."
Caroline nodded, doing her best to fight back the emotions that rose within her at the Minister's simple words. "I don't trust him," she admitted quietly. "I could have dealt with him relapsing, but it was more than that. He hid it from me for weeks."
"He hid it from everyone," the Minister argued.
"I'm his wife," Caroline argued back. "We promised to be honest and faithful to one another for as long as we both shall live. If Amos had just admitted from the start that this was happening I could take that. But when I confronted him, he denied it."
"You've confronted him?" the Minister asked warily.
"A week ago," she said with a delicate sniff. "I waited until he got home that night, he turned up at two in the morning, claiming he was working late. You could smell the alcohol. I told him to talk to me but he just brushed me off. So I told him that if he wasn't going to be honest with me then what we had was no more than a sham."
"You didn't," the Minister breathed, wide eyed.
"I did," Caroline confirmed. "The next morning I had my lawyer file the divorce papers."
"Oh my god," the Minister whispered, staring at his hands in disbelief. "How did I not know about this? We work next door to each other, we talk all the time."
"That's just Amos," Caroline said sadly. "He's stubborn. He's never been able to show people when he's hurt, not when he was hit by a rogue bludger at the Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw game, or when he fractured his leg in the middle of a duel, or when he lost his son. Our son."
"He never really recovered from that, did he?" the Minister asked softly.
"I thought he had," Caroline admitted. "But I was blind. I was so focused on how I was going to get by after Cedric was gone that I never noticed how we didn't seem to talk as much as we used to." Caroline shook her head sadly before making her way to the door, the Minister making no attempt to stop her.
"He needs you, Arthur," she said as she stopped by the door. "He needs his friend. For all the problems we've had over the past thirteen and a half years I've never seen him happier than when he was with you on the campaign trail."
Arthur didn't say anything, he just watched Caroline stand there until she eventually made her exit, leaving him sitting alone in the room, nothing but silence to distract him from his thoughts.
The Minister walked quietly towards the hospital wing of the Ministry, the halls quite empty now that it was nearing the end of the day. Earlier various reporters had to be escorted away by security as they had camped themselves out around the entrance to the ward, hoping for the chance to snap a picture of Amos while they knew where to catch him.
Upon seeing his approach a security officer opened the door for him, allowing him to step through, before standing sentinel over the entrance. Inside the Minister came across a small reception area, empty but for a receptionist and Healer Chadwick Ramsey, who quickly turned away from his conversation with the girl behind the desk to face the Minister.
"Minister, good to see you," he said politely, shaking his hand as the Minister approached him. "We've been expecting you. Come with me, I'll take you to Mr Diggory's room."
"How is he doing?" the Minister asked as Healer Ramsey led him through the main corridor.
"He's starting to get better," the Healer assured him. "He was able to get out of bed and do some physical exercise earlier so I wouldn't have thought it would be much longer until we can declare him fit to return to work, or not, as the case may be."
"Does he know yet?" the Minister asked.
"His room has a television and we supply copies of the Daily Prophet to our patients once they have reached a certain stage of recovery," Healer Ramsey replied. "He didn't seem to take it too bad, I'd say he was almost expecting it to happen, given his reaction." The Healer stopped outside a door, a small number 19 placed upon the plain surface.
"This is his room," Healer Ramsey said simply. "I'll leave you to it."
The Minister nodded his thanks as Healer Ramsey walked back down the corridor, stopping in on one of the other rooms on his way back. With a deep breath to prepare himself, the Minister pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Amos was looking much better than he had the last time the Minister had visited him yesterday evening. There was more colour to his cheeks as he was propped up into a sitting position, his eyes having been monitoring the TV before the Minister interrupted.
Walking over to the TV, letting the door close behind him, the Minister switched it off, wanting Amos's full attention for what he was about to say. From the looks of it Amos had been planning on doing that anyway, but he simply placed the remote back down on the side table, saying nothing as the Minister approached him and sat by his bed.
"You watched the press conference?" the Minister asked, breaking the silence between them. Amos simply nodded. "You know this is something you have to do."
"I know," Amos said quietly, his voice slightly cracked from lack of use. "It's what the public need you to do. You can't be seen as doing nothing when your Chief of Staff is an alcoholic."
"It's not just for the public," the Minister said. "It's for you. Last time I thought we'd done enough, but now I see we just papered over the cracks. You need help."
Amos said nothing, although it was obvious he didn't agree. "Who's going to take over my job while I'm in therapy?" he asked, knowing Neville could not handle covering for him for such a long time.
"Remus will be Acting Chief of Staff," the Minister replied. "Parvati will cover his duties for the time being." Amos nodded in agreement, confident in Remus's ability to do his job. "I talked to Caroline."
Amos started slightly, turning back to look at the Minister, not comfortable with the knowing look in his eye. "And what did she say?" Amos asked quietly, preparing himself for the worst.
"She told me how she confronted you, and how she filed for divorce," the Minister said quietly. "She also told me that she was the one to talk to Michael."
Amos nodded slowly, this time in reluctant acceptance. "I thought she would do something like this," he said quietly. "I just wished I'd handled it better when she'd confronted me. I could have stopped this whole thing from happening."
"Maybe it's better that it did get out in the open," the Minister suggested.
"It's harmful for the Ministry that this got out," Amos argued. "Opinion polls are going to tank, we'll have even more difficulty trying to push through our agenda on inter-species cooperation and our proposed muggle and wizarding studies classes for Hogwarts."
The Minister sighed. "Oh Amos," he said, shaking his head. "Always thinking about work, never about yourself. I don't care if the public rise up against me, I just care that you get the help you need. My job security as Minister is much less important to me than your health and happiness."
"It shouldn't be," Amos breathed back. "You are the Minister for Magic. This country comes first and the only way you can help it is by keeping your job."
"If I remember correctly I wouldn't have this job had you not convinced me to run for it," the Minister pointed out. "All those years ago, when you first suggested I run for the Wizengamot, you set me on my path and stood by me the entire way. Let me stand by you now."
The Minister stood up, slowly making his way to the door. "I've called in a psychiatrist to help you," the Minister told Amos, his voice carrying more authority. "Raymond Frank is supposedly a miracle worker, I think that's just what you need right now. See you tomorrow, Amos."
The Minister left at that, closing the door behind him before Amos had the chance to reply. Lying in his bed, Amos wondered just what was going to happen when he got out. Was he going to go through years of therapy to get over this? Was he ever going to be able to return to his job? The one thing he did know, though, was that nothing was certain. Anything could happen.
"Hey Hermione," Michael said with a smile, walking fully into her office to check that it was in fact her sitting behind the desk. "I saw you seemed a little flushed at the last press conference, so I thought I'd come see if I could help."
"That's sweet," Hermione said with a strained smile, a slight twitch in her forehead as she struggled to concentrate on the paper before her. "And thank you for weighing in with the questions about the New Year Ball, I really needed the break."
Michael shrugged. "It wasn't like any of the other questions were finding out anything new," he replied. "You'd already told us everything you knew, you deserved a break."
"Well, either way, thank you for doing it," Hermione continued. "Today has been a bit hectic and I'm still not entirely sure what's going on at the moment."
Michael nodded in understanding, taking the seat across from her as Hermione turned back to her work. "Funny thing," Michael said suddenly, catching Hermione's attention. "Last time I was sitting here it was Harry sitting across from me. I thought it odd at the time and I'm just remembering it now."
Hermione sighed. "I had Harry talk to you because I didn't think I'd be able to do my job given my relationship with you," she explained.
"Harry disagrees with that," Michael told her.
"Well Harry is wrong," Hermione said sharply, before sighing in defeat, slumping in her chair as she started to wonder why it was so difficult. "I can't work with you," she told him. "I've tried and no matter how much I try to maintain my professional persona it just doesn't work."
"Hermione, what are you saying?" Michael asked, his voice nervous as he sensed where the conversation was going.
"Michael," Hermione spoke, her eyes starting to tear up slightly as she though about what she was about to say. "It's not working. I'm sorry, but I can't go out with you, not while you're a reporter and I'm the Press Secretary. I'm sorry."
Michael looked a bit lost at her words, all thoughts of a reply evaporating into thin air as he desperately clutched at any argument that might convince her otherwise. In the end he found none. "If," he started, his voice catching in his throat. "If that's the way you feel," he tried again, forcing himself to speak the words he knew he must say. "Then okay, that's… that's your choice."
Michael sat there for a minute, feeling as though there was more to say but not knowing what that was. Eventually he looked up at Hermione, catching her gaze as he looked into her watery brown eyes.
"I've got to go," he said, standing up suddenly and keeping his gaze focused away from Hermione. "I've got to get back to work," he continued, rubbing at his face in a subtle attempt to clear the tears from his eyes.
"Bye, Hermione," he said, starting to move towards the door. "I don't… I don't think I'll be able to come to your next press conference. I'm sorry."
Hermione nodded, biting her lip painfully hard to stop herself from calling him back. He eventually left, finally being able to pull himself away as he walked resolutely out the door. Seconds after Michael had left, Demelza appeared in the doorway, looking worried.
"Hermione, is everything alright?" she asked, clearly concerned for her wellbeing.
Hermione nodded, even though everything in her body told her the opposite, before speaking. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you, Demelza," she said, her voice oddly high pitched as she spoke. "If you wouldn't mind stepping outside for a sec, and close the door behind you, please."
"Of course," Demelza said quietly, backing out of the room and pulling the door shut as she went. It was only then that Hermione let the tears flow from her eyes, the sorrow gushing out as she sat alone in her office, where no one could witness her pain.
"Hey Ginny, what are you doing here?" Harry asked, moving forward to embrace her as he reentered his office.
"I just wanted to see you," Ginny said softly, nuzzling into his neck as he held her. "How are things going with Amos?"
Harry sighed. "Not good, I'm afraid," he said softly. "We were able to find out who the source was."
"And?" Ginny asked expectantly.
"His wife," Harry replied, bringing a gasp from Ginny. "His soon to be ex-wife I expect. She claims that she remembers how bad it was when Cedric died all those years ago and she didn't want to see Amos go through it all again. So she made sure everyone knew."
"That's awful," Ginny whispered. "How is he taking this?"
"Don't know," Harry responded. "He still hasn't got over the flu yet so no one has had a chance to speak with him." Harry studied her face for a moment. "Are you okay, you look down?"
"So do you," Ginny pointed out.
"So does everyone around here," Harry countered, now sure there was something more to it. "What's wrong? You're not your usual self."
Ginny sighed sadly, resting her head against his chest. "It's difficult," she said eventually, talking into his shirt. "I know what I want to say but I don't want it to sound like I'm blaming you, because I'm not."
"I'll take that into consideration," Harry said, leading Ginny gently to the sofa and sitting them down on it. "Just tell me, I promise I'll hear you out without taking offence."
Ginny nodded, encouraged by his words but nevertheless still nervous. "I'm just… I just wish you hadn't had to leave this morning," she said sadly. "I was really looking forward to today and now it's just been awful."
"And I know it's not your fault," she said quickly as Harry made to speak. "I know you had to come in. But sometimes… I don't know, I feel like I miss you, even when I know you are just at work. So often I'm sitting alone in my flat and it takes all my energy not to come in and see you. And I know you wouldn't leave me unless you really had to and I know that when you work late it's because you have work to do but sometimes… sometimes it's hard to remember that when all I want to do is be with you."
"Ginny," Harry said softly, cupping her face with his hand to make her look at him. "I understand how you feel," he told her. "Completely. I know because when I'm stuck at work late all I can think about is how I'm not able to spend the time with you instead. Every time I have to cancel on you or rearrange a date I just feel so sick, so disgusted that I have to treat you like this."
"It's not your fault," Ginny told him. "I only told you this because I needed to get it off my chest. I don't want you getting worried over this because of me."
"But I'm already worried over this," Harry replied. "I'm worried that I can't even stay away from work for our anniversary. And it is my fault, partially at least. I can do better."
"Harry, I don't want you overworking yourself just for me," Ginny said. "I know how difficult dealing with all this is."
"I can do better," Harry promised. "I don't have to work late as often, I've got a deputy for a reason. Actually, I've got an idea." Harry turned to face the door. "Cho!"
"Yes, Harry," Cho responded, quickly arriving in his office door.
"Right, can you get Dennis in here as soon as he's available?" Harry asked.
"Can I tell him why?" Cho asked in response.
"Yes," Harry said. "I want to get him up to date on everything so he can take my meetings tomorrow."
Cho raised an eyebrow. "All of your meetings?" she asked in disbelief.
"Yes," Harry replied. "All of them." He turned to face Ginny, seeing the surprised look upon her face. "I'm taking tomorrow off."
Cho blinked in surprise as she looked at her boss, noticing his attention had long left her. Without another word Cho left the office, going off to find Dennis and leaving the couple alone in the office.
"You're taking the day off?" Ginny asked breathlessly.
Harry nodded. "I was hoping perhaps we could spend the day together," he suggested. "That is if you don't have any other plans." A smile broke out upon Ginny's face as he spoke, wiping out her shock as she threw herself into his arms, kissing him for all she was worth.
"So I take that as a yes," Harry said breathlessly as Ginny finished her assault on his lips. "I'll come round to your's later tonight?"
"I won't be back until midnight," she told him. "Luke has a date so I'm covering his potion," Ginny added to the questioning look on his face.
"Alright then," Harry said with a smile. "I'll see you there."
Ginny returned his smile as she bounced out of her seat, turning in the doorway to blow him a kiss as she skipped off down the corridor, Harry smiling along after her. For several minutes Harry just sat there, basking in the glow of happiness that surrounded him as he eagerly anticipated the next day. He was brought back to the present by a sharp knock on his door.
"Harry, you wanted to see me?" Dennis asked as he stood there, his hair messed up from a day of constantly running his hands through it.
"Yes, Dennis, have a seat," Harry said, taking his place behind his desk and facing Dennis with a smile. "What I have to tell you now will make you hate me," he promised. "But, I'm your boss, so deal with it."
Ron sighed as he dropped the piece of parchment back onto his desk, rubbing at his eyes to try and clear away the black dots that were threatening to obscure his vision. Picking up the parchment again and reading from where he left off, Ron gave it up as a bad job, his eyes not being able to focus on the dark letters scrolled across the page.
Glancing at the clock on his desk, Ron decided it was time to call it a day. Pushing around some files on his desk into something that vaguely resembled a set of separate piles, Ron got to his feet, swishing his cloak over his shoulders as he stuffed a few papers in his bag, knowing he'd inevitably have to read over them before coming in the next day.
"Hey, Ron, is that you heading off?" Ron looked up to see Hermione at the door, standing as she always did with a few papers gathered in her arms.
"Yeah," Ron replied tiredly. "I don't think I can concentrate for another second on anything to do with work."
"You heading to a club again?" Hermione asked tentatively.
Ron shook his head. "Not tonight," he said. "I literally don't have the energy. I think I'll just go home and fall asleep in front of the telly. What were your plans?"
"Well," Hermione said, mulling over her words carefully. "I was just wondering-" She was cut off by a knock on the door. Hermione turned to see who it was, completely missing the shocked expression on Ron's face as he saw who was at the door.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Josephine Fairchild said softly, glancing nervously between Ron and Hermione as she stood in the doorway. "I was just wondering if you're still up for having that drink?"
Hermione turned back around in shock, completely taken aback by the sudden turn of events.
"Josephine," Ron said softly, making his way round his desk. "Of course, I'd love that. Are you free just now? I was just leaving."
Josephine nodded, a genuine smile spreading across her face as Hermione started to put the dots together in her head.
"Alright, let's go," Ron said, grabbing his bag and hoisting it over his shoulder. "Oh, Hermione, of course, you had something you wanted to talk to me about?"
Hermione snapped out of her stupor at his question, instead donning a polite smile as she answered him. "Oh, no, it's just work stuff," she lied smoothly. "It'll keep until tomorrow. Have fun you two."
Ron smiled at her, wishing her a goodnight as he left, Josephine giving her a polite nod as she walked with him out of the office. Suddenly on her own, Hermione's warm facade disappeared as she sat down tiredly in the seat by Ron's desk, holding her head wearily in her hands.
"Hermione, are you alright?" Harry asked as he spotted her, just passing by Ron's office door on his own way out of the Ministry.
"Yeah, yes, I'm fine," Hermione answered, her tone indicating the exact opposite. "It's just been a bit of a rough day."
"I'll say," Harry agreed. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, walking into Ron's office and taking a seat next to her, dropping his bag at his feet. "I'm set just to go home to an empty flat so if you want to speak with someone I'm here for you."
Hermione looked up at him desperately, seeing the sincerity in his gaze as he watched her with worry. "Okay," she whispered thickly. "But not here, can we go somewhere else?"
"Where do you want to go?" Harry asked. "My flat is empty."
Hermione shook her head. "No, not there," she told him. "Do you remember that club we used to go to all the time after we graduated Hogwarts?" Harry nodded. "Is it still open?" Harry nodded again.
"Alright, we'll go there," Harry promised her. "We'll get a couple of drinks and you'll tell me what the matter is. Now, why don't you get your stuff and meet me back here."
Hermione nodded wordlessly to his suggestion, getting to her feet and walking lifelessly out of the office. Harry looked after her worriedly, knowing that it was far more than simply a bad day in the press room that could bring that reaction out of his old friend.
"Hermione, Hermione wake up." Hermione's eyes fluttered open groggily, an unwilling groan issuing from her mouth as her newfound headache made itself known to her. "Hermione, I know you're in a bad situation right now but you've got to get up. Now."
At the almost commanding tone in the speaker's voice Hermione pulled herself laboriously into a more upright position, noticing both that she had been lying on a sofa of some kind and, as the covers that were placed over her started to slip down, that she was completely naked.
"Hermione," Ginny's face swum in her field of vision, slowly getting clearer as Hermione's eyes started to regain their focus. "Good morning, I brought you some breakfast."
Hermione finally was able to sit up straight as the smell of bacon and eggs reached her nostrils, starting to wake her up more completely than any potion had ever managed. "I also whipped up a batch of hangover cure," Ginny added, placing the vial of green liquid on the food tray she had set on Hermione's lap. "Harry said you'd be needing it."
Hermione blinked again before she started to eat the food before her, downing the hangover cure between mouthfuls as she did her best to go through the meal with one hand, the other being required to hold the covers up.
"I've just got one question." Hermione said quietly, her head still slightly tender as the hangover cure continued to work its magic. "Why am I naked? I didn't do this myself, did I?"
Ginny chuckled. "No, that was me," she told her. "Harry isn't quite aware of how uncomfortable it is in the morning for a woman to wake up having slept in her day clothes."
"Oh, you saw me drunk?" Hermione whispered, mortified as she covered her face with her available hand.
"Well, to be honest you were pretty much out of it by the time I came home," Ginny informed her, an amused glint in her eye.
"Still, I wish you hadn't had to see me like this," Hermione muttered. "Only Harry and Ron have ever had to deal with me the morning after a night out and I was hoping it would stay like that. I never could hold my drink."
"Hey, don't worry about that," Ginny said encouragingly. "I completely understand. Harry told me everything."
Hermione nodded slowly before Ginny's words caught up with her. "What did Harry tell you?" Hermione asked warily.
"Everything," Ginny repeated.
"And what exactly is everything?" Hermione continued. "I don't remember much of what happened last night, what did I tell him?"
Ginny took a deep breath as she prepared to go through everything Harry told her. "Well, you told him how you and Michael broke up," Ginny said. "So sorry to hear about that, by the way." Hermione nodded for her to keep going, not caring that she'd revealed that piece of information.
"Then you told him how you wished you could have a relationship like the one he has with me," Ginny continued, flashing Hermione a warm smile. "And then you told him all about your feelings for my brother."
Hermione's mouth fell open, her worst fears realised as she stared in consternation at a rather calm and composed looking Ginny. "I told him how I feel about Ron?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
"Ron?" Ginny said in surprise. "I thought you were talking about Percy." At Hermione's wide eyed expression Ginny couldn't help but burst out laughing. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "I know I shouldn't be joking about this but I just couldn't help it. Yes, I know you like Ron."
"Oh god," Hermione whispered to herself, the rest of her breakfast completely forgotten, prompting Ginny to remove it from her lap. "Oh god, oh god, oh god. How am I ever going to be able to face Ron ever again. I can't believe I said that."
"Hermione, relax," Ginny said calmingly, making small shushing gestures. "Hermione, Ron doesn't need to find out if you don't want him to."
"Of course Ron will find out," Hermione said frustratedly. "Harry will tell him. He won't be able to keep this a secret from him."
"Yes, he will," Ginny assured her. "Harry won't tell Ron."
"He told you," Hermione countered.
"Yes, but I tell Ginny everything," Harry said, appearing from the bedroom in the same shirt and trackies he'd worn the previous morning. "Hermione, we've been friends for over seventeen years. I'm not going to betray your confidence."
"And neither will I," Ginny said, placing a comforting hand on her free wrist. "We care about you Hermione, and if you don't want people to know then we'll take your secret to the grave."
Hermione looked desperately from Ginny's eyes to Harry's, desperate to see the sincerity in them. And she did. "Thank you," Hermione said softly. "You're really good friends."
Ginny smiled at her words, patting her wrist as she moved to her feet. "I'm just going to pop into the shower," she announced, kissing Harry as she passed him. "I'll see you later." Harry smiled after her as she wandered over to the bedroom, slipping inside with a saucy wink before closing the door behind her.
With Ginny gone, Harry approached Hermione, sitting on the table facing her. "How are you feeling?" he asked, taking in her pale complexion.
"Desperate," Hermione answered truthfully, causing Harry to laugh. "Why can I never hold my drink? I must have drunk just the same as you and you were perfectly fine."
Harry shrugged. "It's just biology," Harry admitted. "I often wonder how Ron can drink so much without even batting an eye. That guy could drink for England." It was Hermione's turn to chuckle at that. "Do you want to talk about it?" Harry asked carefully, wary of pushing her too far.
"Didn't I do that last night?" Hermione said, her headache starting to pulse up again as she tried to remember the night before.
"Yes, but I think it would be better for you to be able to remember talking about it too," Harry replied, the corner of his lips twitching.
Hermione sighed. "Maybe," she said uncertainly, not really sure what she wanted. "Maybe, I don't know. I think I just need to think this over myself before I say anything more. What time is it?" She asked, checking her wrist before remembering that she was completely naked.
Harry picked her watch up from a pile of folded clothes sitting next to him, clothes Hermione recognised as her own. Taking the watch and twisting her hand so she could properly read off it Hermione swore, causing Harry to look up in surprise.
"I'm going to be late," she panicked, throwing her watch down on the sofa next to her and diving forward to grab her clothes, only just able to keep her blanket from revealing everything as it started to fall down.
"Hermione, Hermione," Harry said, placing a hand on her shoulder as she seemed about to try to dress one handed while simultaneously holding up the covers. "Hermione, calm down for a second so I can get out of the room," Harry told her. "And just… remember to talk to me about this," he made her promise. "Not now, or maybe not tomorrow or the day after, but just, sometime, okay."
Hermione nodded, understanding his desire to help. Slowly she was able to relax her muscles, placing her clothes down next to her as she took a deep breath to calm herself. "I know this is perhaps not the most important thing for me to be concerned about," Hermione said, her voice starting to return back to normal. "But I'm suddenly very conscious of the fact that I'm naked."
Harry laughed as he let go of her arm, standing up as he made his way towards the bedroom door. "I'll get out of here," he promised as he reached the door. "See you tomorrow."
"Wait, tomorrow?" Hermione questioned before Harry could leave. "Where are you going to be today?"
Harry grinned. "I'm taking the day off," he told her, opening the door. "See you tomorrow." Harry left her behind, closing the door securely behind him as he walked into the bedroom. Left with nothing to keep him occupied, Harry moved over to Ginny's chest of drawers, finding on top of the wooden surface the few files he'd brought with him.
Leaning against the chest of drawers, Harry started to read through the files, knowing he would need to be up to date on everything for his work the next day. His attention was only broken as he heard the sound of the front door open and close. Checking the clock resting on the wooden surface, Harry chuckled at just how late Hermione was going to be as he turned back to the files.
"Hey," Ginny said, slipping in and wrapping her arms around him, her slightly damp body pressing gently into his back.
"Hey," Harry replied as he turned in her arms to face her, smiling down at her as he wrapped his own arms around her gorgeous naked body. "Hermione's gone."
Ginny nodded, smiling up at him. "I heard," she said, pressing herself up closer against him. "Happy Anniversary, Harry," she said, moving her face closer to his.
"Happy Anniversary, Ginny," he replied as he made up the distance, catching her lips as his hands started to caress Ginny's soft skin. Dragging him back, Ginny pulled him down onto the bed with her, giggling as she started to divest him of his clothes, all the while sharing affectionate kisses as they basked in the glory of their beautiful day together.