I'd want to start by thanking everyone who reviewed this far, but most specially to Aurora Nightstar, who holds the record. On top of that, one of the ideas she gave me in the previous chapter got my muse all excited so this'll be quite different to the original version (the one posted in the Spanish version) and I suspect much better. That's also the reason why you get this chapter so soon after the previous one. The concrete scene has been moved to the end of the previous chapter, though. I'm sure you spotted it.

I'd also want to thank Time Keeper, Alina Nyx, Reckless Dandelion, Dark Lord Tater Tot, steltek, Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon, and all those who put this in their favorites/follows (Do review so I'll know whom to thank next time.)

Patronus and other parts of myself

"Your patronus" the speaker wrote the spell on the board as she explained "is a very powerful insight into your core, a visible proof of what you hold dear. To cast it in the battlefield might be to reveal yourself to your enemy."

Most aurors seemed to be dead serious and hanging from every word. Of course, it was a non-mandatory seminar so all of them were here willingly; though for Harry it had taken some nagging from Hermione, just for the sake of traditions. As for the rest, here, among the top DADA students turned professionals, Harry wasn't the only one that had managed a corporeal patronus long before graduation, but there were still those who struggled with it, and that kept them all aware of the gravity of this part of magic, so mysterious and so powerfully drawn to light that it was the very symbol of their department.

"It is, no doubt, less dramatic than being Kissed" the speaker continued, walking among them as she tipped the wand against her hand as if she was about to take some kind of disciplinary action. "It is, however, advisable that you try to disguise it… Yes, Mrs Granger?"

"How can we do so?" It was useless to ask if it was possible, Hermione figured.

"That is a very good question. If few people can cast a corporal patronus, fewer still can modify it. May we see yours, Mrs Granger?"

Harry kept waiting for the silvery light, but seconds went by with none coming. The boy turned to look at his friend, half expecting her to be resisting, to say that she had no reason to reveal what she held dear to so many people even if they were supposed allies. But no, she was moving the wand and uttering the spell. But it wasn't working. For a second he still hoped she was just being overcautious, but she was scared enough, frustrated enough, that he knew it was for real. Yet it was so hard to believe that it was still a while until he accepted what his senses were telling him.

"Anyone else?" the professor asked, blushing, probably embarrassed that she had made a colleague reveal an unexpected weakness.

"You're having problem with it" he whispered to his partner urgently. "Since when?"

Her lips were tightened and pale. She wouldn't say.

"Is something up with Ron?" They had married months ago. They were still supposed to be on some kind of honeymoon. Her patronus should be, is something, stronger than ever.

"He's all right" she whispered back dismissively. "Pay attention, Harry."

A blond auror he barely recognized was trying to make his fish look like a bird, but so far it was just a flying fish.

"You've got to tell me, Hermione. You should have told me already."

She did her best to ignore him, writing down the spell and the wand movement that was to be added to the main part of the charm, as he harassed her.

The truth was, she didn't know what was wrong. She hadn't even noticed her patronus was gone until today, it wasn't as if they found dementors daily. In fact, the last time she had tried to cast her otter had been over a year ago. The memories she used back then had somewhat faded. Her life had changed so much since. This was the first time she had used her wedding to cast the patronus; it was the standard memory newlyweds used, and she hadn't thought there would be an issue.

But it hadn't worked.

Not even close.

It hurt to breathe. She was scared that she wasn't even that surprised, terrified of thinking of what it might mean.

"Miss" someone asked, "is it true that our partner might be able to touch it? And if it is, shouldn't that be disguised as well?"

"Cast your patronus" the speaker replied. "Who's your partner, is he or she here?"

Someone raised a hand, and the lion emerging from the first auror's wand jumped on the second with all the might of a playing cub. He went straight through him, of course. The speaker was half smiling, though both partners seemed rather down, they probably hoped to be some kind of soulmates.

"As you see, that's a legend" the speaker concluded. "Though in theory, the patronus could physically interact with the very source of it… can you imagine the amount of codependence necessary for all of your happiness to be that sole person? And for that person to be your partner?"

"But imagine the uses…"

"Nonsense, Mr. There's no use other spells can't replicate…"

Thankfully this lesson was just before lunch, because Hermione's distress was quickly escalating to become a true panic attack. What if she didn't have a patronus anymore. What if, as some kind of virginal magic, his otter had disappeared with her marriage. What if she couldn't vanish dementors anymore. If she couldn't protect Harry then…

She shot from the classroom so quickly that her notes remained. Everyone's eyes went from the door to her partner, who in turn stared at her empty place for seconds before magically gathering her things and trying to follow.

The witch had locked herself in an old broom closet. She did hear the rest of the aurors passing by, as she tried to control her breathing while she berated herself both for losing her patronus and for behaving like a schoolgirl. She had to find her otter again, she had to.

"Expecto patronum" she whispered, trying her wedding day once again; nothing. She didn't try her wedding night, it had been nothing if not awkward. "Expecto patronum" she whispered again, remembering the day they had stood together, each with their Order of Merlin, first class; nothing. "Expecto patronum!" Tears in her eyes, she cried the spell as she thought of her graduation; but it had been somewhat lonely, shared with people that had been in fourth grade the last time she had been in Hogwarts, people that mostly left her alone. Though Harry had been there as well, smiling at her from the grades.

This time she saw some kind of silvery smoke.

She tried again, focusing on the ending of the Final Battle, which was what had worked for her last year. Smoke got thicker, but not corporeal. She couldn't even see what it'd become.

She didn't try her parents. What she felt for them was conflictive. Her sister was still a little girl.

She tried her schooling, then: the three of them, sharing lessons and meals. While being in the throng of it, it had been mostly tiresome, nagging the boys so they'd be in class in time, berating Ron for his eating manners, trying to complete so much homework… But years from then, she was very fond of those memories. But fondness was all they brought, not the radiating happiness that would be needed for a patronus.

No more ideas came to her mind, but she tried her childhood memories anyway, even knowing they were too worn off to be of help. She was feeling weak, her magic dangerously close to shutting down after so many attempts at so advanced a magic. As she whispered the spell, her thoughts slipped to something so very asinine that she wouldn't have tried it, wasn't really trying it. Though a part of her was afraid it would work. It was merely the shadow of warmth on her skin, flesh against flesh and the smell of summer and spearmint.

The door opened as brightness erupted from her wand, brighter than ever. It's still an otter, thank God, she thought. That meant she was still herself, still loyal. But at its light, the animal jumped into his arms, descending sweetly until contact was made. And she saw Harry's eyes widen on the animal as his hand hesitantly was raised to touch it, and saw its hair be tamed by his hand, and their eyes met. It hadn't changed shape, no. It had changed most fundamentally. And now she knew, and he knew, and her otter seemed to shine brighter before being extinguished altogether.

She could see people beyond him, trying to see, and she was fairly sure at least some of them had seen enough for their auror minds to gather what had happened, though they had just heard it be called impossible.

"Please don't tell them" she pleaded softly. That 'them' was not their colleagues, but these would speak, and 'they' would know. So Harry turned, snapped at them, she couldn't hear what he was saying, just his forbidding tone. Her hands now covered her face, though she wasn't really thinking, this was too big for thought.

Not that she didn't know already, in a way.

She perceived the darkness, then his sigh as he sat beside her. Then, silvery light filtrated between her fingers. Warm breath touched her hand. She peeked through her fingers. His stag was there, impossibly close, somewhat less majestic than it had been before the Final Battle –it was no longer his father, she knew, he was maturing.

And she had felt it breath.

She could feel it.

Her own breath caught, uncertain if she wanted to know, to know for sure. But of course she had to.

"They'll eventually know" he stated as his partner reached for the creature's head, finding it soft, if cold.

At the moment she found she didn't care. Her chest felt as if she could produce a thousand patronus.

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Ron flies up front, with some diplomatic figure or other, and Hermione. This one acts as interpreter and mediator, without allowing the broom to intimidate her, or at least for it to be noticeable. Harry stays a few steps behind; he is not supposed to be aware of the conversations, though in the good old days he would have found out, just the same. He doesn't dare take his eyes from his oldest friends for long, he's in charge of Ron's security and he's not going to risk it despite, or partly because of, the presence of his partner, who is closer to the target. Their pathetic failure to find the leaders of the terrorist group, gives him the impression of being surrounded. And not only by dementors.

He still eyes his apprentice from time to time. She's flying behind him, and it's not a matter of skills: she's blue, lips trembling. The dementors have gotten closer to her than to the others.

"Those horrible things," the girl protests, shivering, in way of explanation. "It's like they left Azkaban to concentrate here. And breed."

"Think of the match" he suggests. "Quidditch is a popular bet for patronus… I've used it at times…"

"Really?" she asks, curious, before her eyes widen and she tightens her lips in a line; that's what he finds when he tears his gaze from Ron to eye her swiftly. It takes some moments for him to understand, and when he does the dementors' coldness reach him at last. He's not about to let it overpower him, though. His intentionally incorporeal patronus shines aggressively around him, warning the creatures off.

"Not for me" he answers hollowly, facing forth again, "not after Gin… but it's not… not as those first months… I can enjoy a match, as you have seen…"

"I'm sorry… Hermione does insist… yet I didn't think of it at first… when I spotted the game… It was just…"

"Don't be" he urges, smiling sadly. "My partner did get the full blown of my grief. She's… very careful not to trigger it again" he adds fondly. "But it has been two years. And brooms have been on my life for longer than that. In fact, the very first memory I used for a patronus was the moment I first rid a broom stick." He pats the one he's riding affectionately; it keeps flying proudly, its stability unchallenged. "It was actually your sister who gifted me with my very first Broom stick Ser vic ing Kit. Its handbook almost got me through Aunt Marge's visit that year –and I tell you, she was as close to a dementor as a muggle could ever be."

"'Almost'?"

"I've got to tell you that story at some point…"

She seems to be a bit better, but not much. Harry wonders if susceptibility to dementors is an issue for all orphans or just for the two of them as he feels his pocket for the chocolate he tries to always carry when he's to find the creatures.

"We'll be home tonight" he offers along with the sweet.

The girl looks from it to the mentor's outstretched hand, then to his eyes, questioningly. The auror turns around then -his eyes have to be on the target-, and just feels the bar being pulled out of his hand, the wrapping being discarded. Then he pulls back in surprise as a piece comes near his own lips, held by her fingers. She's now flying steadily, close enough to him for this. At his questioning and slightly alarmed gaze, she responds:

"There's enough for the both of us."

His fingers pick the piece as he glances at Hermione uncomfortably. Something tells him she has seen them. Harry doesn't remember ever having feared her discovering his secrets, let alone these many. When the auror turns to his apprentice, she's licking her own fingers gluttonously, seemingly unaware of any struggle of his.

"I'm not great with my patronus" she comments seriously. "In fact… I don't seem to have one."

"What do you mean you don't…?"

"That's why my boggart keeps being a dementor… even after all this time. I understand yours was as well…"

He glosses over the curious similarity to focus on the danger. An apprentice without a patronus is not exactly unheard of, but this is the star of his class, he has no doubt –no doubt at all- that she has the knowledge -she could write a book about the charm- and has enough magic to produce a squad of them. He knows she has been happy. So this is not an issue to be easily solved.

"Every Granger has a weak spot" Duham argues defensively. "Hers is the broom. Mine's the patronus. Makes sense?"

He tightens his lips firmly, wordlessly expanding his invisible shield to cover her.

"I have my old boggart lying around. Back in England, I pick it up."

That keeps her depressed for the rest of the trip.

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"Don't tell me you can't handle the weight," Duham jokes.

Harry nonchalantly picks up the other suitcase. His shoes sink another inch to the ground, but he doesn't make a gesture. The auror has developed his muscles quite a bit since that lanky and malnourished teenager. However, his apparent nonchalance has much more to do with discipline, and an irrational desire to look like a hero. Paradoxical, since he has spent his life escaping from that role. He has learned enough from his trainee's micro-expressions to know she's impressed. In this case, she hides it by laughing.

"Anything else to carry?" the auror smirks.

Duham puzzles him by turning around him. Had he not seen her, his reaction would probably have been much more dramatic when the girl climbed onto his back. As it is, the suitcases collide with his legs, which, added to the weight, puts him on the verge of falling. He wouldn't know how he manages to stand. And step forth. Yet so he does. He even turns and smiles at her.

Of course, after enough time has passed that he wouldn't seem desperate, he levitates the bundles before them, taking care to use non-verbal and wandless magic. It wouldn't do to lose face.

The girl's breath against his neck gives him goosebumps.

From Ron's office window, Hermione follows them with her eyes, seemingly undaunted, as the minister asks her about the usefulness of the desk chair. The redhead keeps spinning on it as he would on any attraction.

He doesn't notice her blood seeping from her palm, running up her nails, the backs of her folded fingers, or the single drop that falls on the carpet.

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"The damn spell won't work," Duham complains, still practicing the wand movement, pose carefree but eyes full of frustration.

Apprentices train all around them, giving them curious glances. Lack of sleep makes Harry oversensitive to it. Yet he has something more important to worry about: her trainee's –Hermione's sister's- inability to protect herself from soul-sucking aberrations. It's advanced magic, but she's far more advanced at manipulating magic. The trick is the memory, yet he managed this at age thirteen, and she has been happier, hasn't she?

"I've tried everything! Memories with Mia, mom, dad…"

"Friends?"

The girl purses her lips in a line. 'I don't want to talk about it' it seems to say.

"Could it be the wand movement?"

"I'm yet to see a case of it being the problem" her mentor answers before growling softly in frustration: for the last minute or so, a paper plane has been crashing against his temple regularly; it's hard to focus on the lesson. He knows what the message says: Luna requires his report, as useless as it may be. "I've got to go. You'll be fine?"

Duham stops moving to watch him, and Harry clears his throat, uncomfortably aware of the slip: they have spent so much time together in America (sharing shifts and therefore que quiet time as well, surrounded by strangers, feeling as the only shipwreck survivors) that it feels strange to leave her alone.

His concern wasn't that superfluous. Once the auror leaves, the giggles and comments around her become apparent. Duham tries her best to focus on the spell, but she eventually closes her eyes and sighs. The laughter seems to intensify. She would want them to ask now, so she'd be able to give them the answer they deserve.

"What exactly happened in America?"

She looks up, thanking Merlin before turning. Unfortunately, it wasn't the pink club that made the move, but one of the boys. She likes them better. Yet she can't be nice about their intrusion in her personal life.

"That's a problem for those who actually went to America."

"An affair with your mentor entails immediate expulsion" he warns.

Not strictly true: a mentor change involves a lot of paperwork, but it is possible. So it's true when she responds:

"I wouldn't think of putting my career at risk."

The girls' club, from which she has been thankfully excluded, keeps laughing and glancing at her. It makes her want to scream. As she walks past them, they ask her something, but she doesn't understand and doesn't bother to try to.

"We're not friends, Barbie," she answers curtly.

Maybe she's a bit too cross. Lack of sleep, probably.

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"I really didn't expect you to achieve a patronus in twelve hours," Harry replies, irritated. "I'll just take the boggart back there."

Actually his frustration has very little to do with her, and a lot to do with the sleepless night, his short and useless report, the brevity of the trip… and most of all, with how little he cares about it. Being back home has not given him a shred of the satisfaction he had so hoped for. Home isn't home without her.

"You've got to enjoy the trip."

"I wouldn't know what to do with the free time."

"Go see your parents…"

"They don't even know I'm here, and in less than a week I'll be here again."

"Duham, you are a beautiful, bright girl. It's hard to believe that you don't have someone to spend four free hours with."

"Have you seen the boys around? Not a chance."

The auror turned, and his green eyes, reflecting the candlelight, shone on her. The image took her breath away.

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"Can I ask something… personal?" he asks, sitting before her.

He's avoiding her gaze.

"Sure"

He seems to be looking for words, she realizes. That's all right by her. He's not watching her and that gives her time to stare at him at will. Oh, not lewdly, nothing like that; but she's curious about this man her sister has kept systematically from her even though he's practically her whole life. And he's a pleasure to watch, all lithe muscle and grace, his pullover tensing and revealing what's beneath as he leans forth thoughtfully, elbows on knees and hands joined before him. There's some white hair in his temples, underlining the raven black background. But it's not just the esthetical beauty, or the rough sexual pull. She can feel, if not see, the magnetism that has kept Wizarding England on its knees for so long.

"When I first encountered dementors," he started, seemingly having realized he had to give before asking, "what they brought to my mind… it was the worst memory any child could have, and yet… there was this… lure… because as bad as the memory was, it was pretty much the only memory I had from my parents…"

He was looking at her now, his eyes intense.

"I want to know who mine are, Harry" she answers truthfully, "but not nearly enough to risk a dementor's kiss… consciously or subconsciously…"

He looks deep into her eyes, and nods once.

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"The wand movement" he repeats resignedly.

Duham nods.

"Well, we've tried everything else" he shrugs, taking his hands to his hair with a discreet, sceptical snort.

She lets him stand behind her to guide her hand. This time, the trainer allows her intriguing perfume to fill his lungs, as the joined hands move slowly in a simple drawing. Duham turns her head, looking at the arm that doesn't quite touch her own. She likes this spearmint essence. She likes the heat on her back. Generally, while they train like this, there is a whole classroom watching. For once, they are truly alone, and she allows herself to enjoy that moment.

Suddenly, almost unintentionally, silver smoke comes out of her wand.

They remain absolutely still, unsure of what has happened. Has it been his magic through her wand?"

"Try it by yourself," he suggests, not daring to congratulate.

As he parts from her, there's no warmth that could be mistaken for Harry's against his back; but Duham has nothing if not a very good imagination. She closes her eyes and focuses on the fresh memory -spearmint, summer - as she carefully repeats the pattern and spell.

When she opens her eyes the stunned gaze of her mentor tells her it worked.

"Congratulations," the auror gravely says. "Try again."

Six or seven tries, and they all work, to their surprise. Silver light now takes an imprecise shape.

"I don't know if it's animal or a vegetable," the girl jokes.

The auror nods. It's always good to see your apprentices succeed.

"I'm freeing the boggart?" Duham shrugs, but his stomach has shrunk. "Whenever you're ready."

Watching her prepare is a bit like watching himself at age thirteen. The hand squeezing the wand until it shakes, the bending stance.

One two...

And the dementor slowly rises from the box, as the lights blink off, letting the cold take hold of them both. Harry's piercing eyes can barely follow Duham's silhouette. A faint silver light shines, on and off, and though he can't distinguish the shape it's actually pushing the dementor back. It's impressive, not out of line with the accomplishments of the rest of the newbies. It actually surprises him when she collapses, though he still manages to catch her and ease her to the floor before forcing the boggart back.

Almost immediately, the girl moves again.

He's sitting down on the mattress beside her, arms around his knees and chocolates in his hand. As soon as the apprentice opens her eyes, he silently offers her one. She takes it and they both eat without a word.

"It was impressive, honestly," he finally reassures her. "Don't push yourself. A while ago you didn't even get a patronus."

"My whole group has a solid corporeal one," she moans, without looking at him.

"None of them had such a bad reaction," he points out. "I haven't seen one like this since… well… myself."

It's a question with the option of not answering, and she accepts the detour, chewing silently. Harry wonders how much he'll step out of his mentoring privileges if he asks Hermione.

Don't think of her.

Duham, as if inadvertently, has approached him. The room is still cold.

"Hermione, can I ask you something?"

The girl nods, without correcting her name.

"How did you manage to improve this quickly? Excuse me, but it's enough to wonder if you had already done this by yourself, and wanted to show me with some extra drama."

"If I answer, it'll sound worse."

"What do you mean, worse?"

The sorceress smiles secretly.

"Let's say my happy memory was fresher."

Harry opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.

"I don't know why -I don't even know if I should point it out-, but I'm under the impression that you're flirting."

Still, he's surprised when she turns around and faces him. He holds her gaze firmly.

"Auror Potter, I've been flirting with you for weeks, and only now you notice?"

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My favorite reviews are those who analyse the story extensively and ask and wonder, but I'll settle for a happy face and I'd take constructive criticism as well, so don't be shy.