A/N: Since I was late loading chapters last time due to technical difficulties and I have a timetable to keep, here are is the next installment. Thanks for the reviews . . . I do love receiving them so don't get the impression I don't care. It's just that I've already spent the time to write the story so I plan on sharing it whether I get 1 review or 100 :)

Chapter Five: The Past

"I have no trouble with my enemies. I can take care of my enemies all right. But my damn friends . . . They're the ones that keep me walking the floor nights!"

--Warren G. Harding

"What in the world . . ."

She could not get a break. After having worked eighteen hours a day for the past week, stopping only when threatened by Mr. Weasley, she had gotten home late tonight with plans to actually sleep. Taking a mild potion, designed to give the user a dreamless night, she had crashed into bed and promptly passed out.

Growling at the shrill ring that had ripped her away from the first night's rest she had gotten in too long, she realized that as much as she would like to ignore her phone only someone in dire need of help would be calling at three in the morning.

Or at least the caller had better hope they were in dire need.

Images of her parents getting in an accident or her cousin being dumped once again by her lousy on-and-off boyfriend, she pushed back the covers as the ring echoed through her bedroom.

Fumbling around for the receiver, she groggily answered, "Hello?"

"Hermione?"

Resisting the urge to ask Ron who else would be answering her phone at this time of morning (because the answer was too depressing really), she settled for the safe response. "Yes."

"Harry and I are in a moggle vision."

"I'm sorry Ron, that last part was a bit muffled. Did you say you and Harry are in a 'moggle vision?'"

"No, we're in a moggle vision."

"A what?"

"A MUGGLE PRISON!"

Well now she was awake. "A prison? What in the world did you get yourselves into this time? I can't get one night. Not one night!"

"If you're finished lecturing, would you shut up and listen for a minute," his exasperated voice sounded from the other end of the line. If he was trying to get on her good side, calling her in the wee small hours of the morning and telling her to shut up was not the best way to start. But then again, why would he care if he was on her good side when he had Sleek Cindy waiting for him at home.

Hey, wait a minute . . . "I'd be glad to if you can explain why I'm getting this call and not your future wife! It would be better for everyone involved if she knew about your criminal tendencies now instead of later."

"Please, Hermione, it's been a long night. It was going fine and then next thing I know Fred and George had disappeared, things got really fuzzy, and then the please-men came . . ."

He really did sound like a broken man. No doubt the twins had decided a Stag Night prank was in order and, as usual, it had gone too far. Climbing out of bed, she started gathering her clothes. "Okay, tell me where you are and I'll be right there."

"You're an angel. I owe you big time," he gushed, bringing a smile to her face. However, his next words wiped it right off. "We're in New York, how long do you think it'll take you to get here?"

Three hours and seemingly hundreds of forms later, she helped a still tipsy Harry into his flat. Neither young man could explain how they had ended up an ocean away or why exactly they had been arrested. Hermione planned to keep that little detail to herself until she could spring it on them for maximum effect. Imagine, two grown men trying to break into a flower shop in the middle of the night. The officers had mentioned something about daisies . . . if only she could have gotten pictures.

Enlisting the help of numerous old schoolmates, she had managed to get two portkeys and authorization for the three of them to return home. The bail had been reasonable and the damage to the shop minimal. The hush money was the only real expense. Who knew Neville Longbottom could be so devious?

"You're a great lady, Hermione Granger," Harry slurred, flopping down on his bed. She watched as he allowed his head to drift back and rest against his pillows. It would be a matter of minutes before he was out like a light.

Feeling maternal, she walked over and began to tuck the covers around him. "At least someone notices."

"Oh, I'm not that only one," Harry whispered and then—Merlin help her—he giggled. "Ron does too."

"Funny way of showing it don't you think?" Harry really was the oddest drunk. Unpredictable in his actions and behavior. She walked to the bathroom to get him a glass of water, listening carefully for the first hint that he might be getting sick.

"Broke Viktor Krum's arm off . . ." To the best of her knowledge, Viktor still had full use of both limbs.

"Keeps your picture next to his bed . . ." Funny how the alcohol had erased the fact that it was actually a picture of the three of them.

"Only fights with you to get your attention . . ." Of course it had nothing to do with the reality that they really didn't agree on anything. Besides they hadn't fought in ages, he must have decided he didn't want her attention anymore.

"Went ballistic when Mrs. Weasley told him Charlie fancied you . . ." Been there, had that discussion.

"He told me . . . told me everything. Things aren't what they seem . . . in danger."

That was certainly different from your run-of-the-mill drunken confession. She turned off the water, focusing on the sound of the remaining liquid pushing through the pipes as she pondered what he could possibly mean by it. "Harry, who is in danger?"

Not hearing his response, she made her way back to his side slightly annoyed to see that he had fallen asleep. Figuring that she had less than forty-eight hours to mentally prepare herself for one of the worse days of her life, she decided against waking him and questioning him further. Sleep would probably be much more beneficial than the ramblings of an inebriated gossip.

Muttering a Sobering Charm, although he didn't really deserve it, she kissed his forehead right on his scar and quietly ordered, "Sleep it off, handsome. We're going to have a big day tomorrow."