AN: I notice Harry tends to do a lot of grinning in fanfic, sometimes it feels really out of place. It's a silly thing to mention, but random mannerisms is something I've been paying attention to when I write.

They were all assembled at the Burrow for the weekend's event: Harry's debate with Nicholas McMillan. He was a distant uncle of Ernie McMillan, who had attended school with them in Hufflepuff. And he had been quick to join the ranks of people espousing the need for muggle-friendly reform, after it was safe to do so of course. A bandwagoner, in Hermione's eyes a parasite. His pitiful attempts at discrediting Harry proved as much.

Molly and Arthur sat in the couch with the rest of them around the wireless – save for Ron who true to Harry's word was not hiding his brooding mood. Screw him. Tomorrow Harry would have his pensieve, and she could finally stop pretending. It was a long time coming, and her heart painfully clenched in anticipation. But the Weasley banter from George, Ginny and Bill helped take her mind off things.

"He'll blow it out of the pitch, won't he?" Bill said.

"That is if his temper doesn't take over," Ginny laughed.

Hermione fiddled with the end of the elastic band keeping her unruly hair together. "We've rehearsed plenty," she said. "And Harry always delivers when things get tough. I'm not worried."

"Giving me shivers here," George said. "Scary thing you two running together."

"Thank you, George, it's been an interesting experience so far."

She glanced towards the table where Ron was sitting. He looked towards the wireless, pretending he wasn't looking at her. God, she hated him recently. What is it that she saw in him before? Loyalty? That had disappeared like snow in the sun, as soon as he got it in his head they were changed. And even if they were, was that where his loyalty stopped? She'd seen it in Harry too, the facade of their friendship with Ron had crumbled like a statue made of sand.

There had been something, there had to be, otherwise why did she even marry him? The answer to that question seemed unfathomable, like a reflex she knew she had but was now absent. But it didn't matter. What was left standing was much stronger than whatever friendship had been between the three of them.

"Here it is," Bill said, turning up the volume.

As a special favour, it was Martin Sedwick doing the interview, the same editor from the Tribune that had been there at their press conference. He had always been very professional, if a bit dry. But he knew the political landscape and had an edge no other reporter could replicate, not even Skeeter who was still looking for her great comeback. He hadn't done an interview since last year, with Alpharius Greengrass concerning the new progressive alliance in the Wizengamot.

and looking to strengthen the pro-muggle block in earnest, Nicholas McMillan. Welcome to the both of you. To start things off with both our candidates vying for the Lord's seat, should I start calling you Lord Black soon, Mr. Potter?

Harry: (laughs) On the one hand I think my late godfather might despise the title, but on the other he might have gotten a laugh out of me taking it up. So I guess it's up to you, Mr. Sedwick.

Martin, please. But to make things clear for our listeners, it was your posthumously exonerated godfather, Sirius Black, who passed the title onto you, along with most of the Black fortune, is it not?

Harry: That's correct. My interviews in the Quibbler go into the story at length. He was the bravest man I know, and I'd like to make him proud. But to answer your question earlier, you can call me Harry – yes I'd prefer that.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ron frown at that. He really disliked to be upstaged, not that he would protest the bravery of a dead man.

Very well then, Harry. We will now go into a question format, each candidate will have the opportunity to respond. To move on to a central voting issue, Mr. Sedwick you have been a vocal proponent of furthering muggle-born and muggle rights. How important is this issue to you?

Nicholas: It's no secret that our system still struggles with inequality when it comes to blood status. The Ministry and Wizengamot still have a majority pureblood preference, as seen in the Administrative Department's survey of last May – one survey I imagine Mr. Po – Harry has overlooked, naturally as he was recovering from his great work with the ICW.

It is my strong belief that we cannot move forward unless we break down those inequalities. Anything less would be a mistake. We must expunge the stain on our society forcefully, something I look forward to doing working with Lord Greengrass.

Really, it is somewhat – I'm not sure I should be so alarmist, but troubling, that Mr. Potter has not once mentioned his pro-muggle intentions. Perhaps a lack of experience or foresight is the problem? I don't mean to be dismissive of course.

"Impotent bastard," Hermione muttered. She could only imagine the predatory look in Harry's eyes as he came upon the question they had rehearsed at length. Ginny giggled at her outburst.

Harry: Mr. McMillan brings up a lack of experience, so let me bring in my own term: tunnel vision. That's what I have observed over the past month and a half. When the war ended I think we can all agree that a pro-muggle stance was necessary, when Voldemort had spent two decades in spirit persecuting muggles and muggle-borns.

She smiled. He was keeping on track. They'd decided that mentioning her as a counterpoint to the accusation of Harry not being pro-muggle enough was unwise.

Nowadays I don't find that to be the case. My closest colleagues are mostly half and muggle-born. The Auror Department under Robards and Director Fuller has no more biases. Our candidates are hired on merit alone. I know this extends to many other departments in person.

When we are talking of inequality there is one name that has become a symbol for that: Barnton. Tunnel vision is what lead the current government there. Addressing issues of blood equality that are just an echo of days past. (Harry chuckles) Actually, it's strangely reminiscent of the previous administration under Voldemort. Does something like that happen without our own institutions being corrupt, or blind? That's my concern.

Martin: Any response, Mr. McMillan?

Nicholas: Again, Mr. Potter through ignorance of the matter ignores the numbers –

Harry: Those numbers are bunk, as my partner in this race, Hermione Granger will attest to. And her skills in arithmancy far outstrip mine, or anyone's in Mr. McMillan's group of advisors.

"Not shy about dragging you into this," Ron said, having moved over from the table.

A dozen scathing responses were floating around in her head. Responses she didn't feel the need to vocalize at this point. "Harry doesn't need to ask to use my expertise," she said calmly.

Ron's eyes flickered in return.

Martin: All right, all right, let's take a step back for now, regardless of the accuracy of those numbers. Our listeners can see for themselves, as those numbers were published in the Tribune's May edition.

But Harry's segue brings me to our next topic. As you said: Barnton. Prostitution has run rampant in our community. How do both of our candidates respond to that? Harry, if you please go first.

Harry: My pleasure, Martin. This goes back into what I was saying earlier. What brings us to the point where witches – and wizards, mind you – have to go so far as to sell their bodies to make ends meet? Should we not make sure that there are enough jobs for every well-meaning witch and wizard? To come back to the previous question, this affects all regardless of blood status.

In fact it's been my displeasure to find out that a large majority of witches were forced to do this because of the Ministry's continuing expropriation of property belonging to Voldemort affiliated families. Do the daughters and sons of wizardkind have to pay for their parents' faults? It's ironic that Lord Greengrass has taken Malfoy under his wing when so many have to roam the streets of Barnton.

Nicholas: I have to stop you now. You say these people were forced, but we don't have any proof that's the case. We can't prevent people willingly walking that path, can we? In fact there is no law against it.

Hermione doubled over in laughter; a mad unstoppable cackle escaping her lungs. "He dug his grave, McMillan did it. Just as expected. My God, what an absolute idiot!"

Harry: You accuse me of talking without knowledge of the fact, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I know they are forced to do so because I talk to them regularly. I've used the Black fortune I've inherited to put up shelters for those forced to work in those deplorable conditions. And I'd like to extend that offer to any witch feeling similarly. If you truly had done any effort at all to look into the issue, you would have seen the brothels of Barnton at much reduced capacity.

And that is what I want to impress on all people listening. People like Nicholas McMillan are dangerously out of touch. They barely leave their safe havens and don't care one bit what happens to the rest. Yes, Mr. McMillan, I am judging you. Just as I judge the Wizengamot which has stood by and done nothing for eight months while Hermione an I were gone. Well, Mr. McMillan, everyone. We are back, and we wont' be beaten away so easily.

The rest of the interview was a slaughter. McMillan never recovered from his blunder and failed answering simple questions on legislation and economics. Spirits were high in the Burrow. Hermione was in the best mood of all, because tomorrow, everything would change. Harry would finally be shown the evidence that they were meant to be together, indubitably so.

Harry walked into the Burrow like a king back from conquest. Ginny hugged him and brought him in, for the first time it didn't bother Hermione. His eyes found her and she knew – she just knew it was all going to work out. When he walked forward and hugged her too, she thought that just maybe flying wasn't a terrifying thing. She felt like she was a mile high in the sky.

They had dinner. Roasted lamb with mashed potatoes, peas and half a dozen other side dishes. And of course dessert was Harry's favourite, treacle tart. After dinner she helped with the dishes. In an opportune lull Ron found her and stood leaning against the sink. It was shameful to admit, but at some point in her life she might have felt intimidated by him, she remembered that feeling clearly.

"I see what you're doing," he said in a subdued voice.

She cast a cleaning charm on the brush and leaned with both hands on the counter. Barely a day left, then her life would start in earnest. She had to hold strong, and set the stage for her next move.

"You've been really angry haven't you?" she said, turning to him. "Sometimes I wonder where that anger will lead to. You've never been good at controlling your emotions."

"What the hell are you talking about?" he angrily whispered.

"I'm talking about your temper, Ron, and how it always ends up me being the victim of it. You must know Harry talked to me, right? That he told me you had some crazy theory that we were having an affair? I'm just scared of what you might do now."

"You're having a laugh?" he asked, somewhat in shock. But the self-doubt in his eyes was real.

"No Ron, I'm not. And what happens now? What happens if you think you're right? That's what I'm worried about. I don't know what I'm supposed to do any more, it's like I don't feel welcome in our apartment."

"You..."

The bewildered look on his face told her she had planted the seed. The look in his eyes smelled like victory, and she returned to the dishes, casting a few other charms. Her entire future rested on one thing: Harry had to believe her. And she would gladly put her faith in him once more.

As the evening wound down she was glad that her comment to Ron had made him avoidant, because inside she was an absolute mess. They went back to the apartment and she quickly went to her room, locking it and putting up a silencing charm.

The weather was getting hotter. Even on a normal night she would have trouble sleeping, but there was no chance of that tonight. She kept reapplying cooling charms on the sheets and shifting around, thinking about what she would say. Holding the wand up to her eyes she inspected its pleasant hum. Without knowing the full truth she wouldn't recognize who it belonged to, being so similarly familiar to her own.

In the end she didn't get a wink of sleep, waking up with her skin feeling sticky and raw. She went to the shower, turning the tap ice cold. Feeling much fresher and awake, she dried herself, looking in the mirror. She still had doubts about her looks, that anyone could really look at her and call her 'beautiful', but the way Harry had looked at her then made those worries disappear.

So she chose her dark blue shirt, the one he had complimented her on the most when they went shopping. She applied the pink lip gloss he had gifted her and which made him speechless when she woke him up from his nap when she went to find him after losing Selander. And she tied her hair into a bushy ponytail, showing off her neck and shoulders, which easily drew his eye.

Her eyes still looked heavy-lidded. She checked the time: Eight-thirty. Enough time to get breakfast before flooing over. She was glad it was a Saturday, that she had peace and quiet to gather her thoughts.

Flooing into Grimmauld, her heart raced. The pensieve would have been delivered in the morning, but she didn't know when. As she entered the hallway she heard the shower from upstairs. The doors to the library were open, and inside she saw the alabaster bowl in the middle. She went over to it and traced a finger on the gems and runes lining the lip, gazing down into the hazy, smoky fluid contained in it.

She felt for the vial in her pocket, one she had reinforced with the best toughness charm she knew.

The door opened upstairs and the stairs creaked. She smiled as he made his way to the library.

"Hey you," he said, walking in. "You're early."

"When did it get delivered?" she asked, motioning to the pensieve.

"Bloody seven thirty. Woke me up."

She nodded, smiling as she looked at him drying his damp black hair, his shirt clinging to his chest. "Well… I have something to show you."

"Really?" he asked, his eyes flitting over her bare legs.

She lifted an eyebrow, trying her best to seem judgemental, but her smirk betrayed her. But this was a serious issue, and despite how safe Harry made her feel, she had to tone things down.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Harry, there's something you need to know. And it will make sense, I promise, but you have to be patient. It might seem bad at first, but it all makes sense."

She gulped, seeing the hesitance in his eyes. "Do you trust me?" she asked.

"Of course," he said with a nod.

"So show me your wand," she said.

"Stop it!" she said as he raised an eyebrow. "I'm serious – this is serious. Please, Harry."

He took out his wand and presented it to her. Steadying his hand, she brought her own wand above it and whispered 'finite'.

The eleven inch holly shrunk slightly into a familiar vine wood form, matching the one that had just cast the spell.

"Ah – what the..." He looked at her and back at the wand in his hand, and back at hers. "This is yours."

She presented the wand she was holding. "Your turn."

Holding what he realized was now Hermione's wand, he whispered the incantation over hers, and it turned into a bright holly: his wand. "You switched… our wands?" he asked. "Why?"

"Because you gave it to me," she said, taking his arm and leading him to the pensieve. "You just don't remember it. You told me you trusted me."

"I do," he said firmly. "I'm just… confused."

She took out the vial from her pocket and held it up to show him. "It's your memory, the one you gave me." She emptied it in the pensieve and it floated like smoke above. "We'll go in together, if you want."

Together, they looked into the pensieve, the smoke rising into their awareness, and they were drawn into the memory.

Harry was moving through a park's treeline, Martin Selander just a few feet behind him. They sent out detection spells as they went.

"Really, Potter, good job," Martin complained, "you have to play the attention starved celebrity and I get stuck in the bloody muck."

Harry didn't respond, merely frowning in response.

"And your muggle-born friend," he said with disgust, "did you drag her into this or does she have a need for approval too?"

"Shut it!" Harry said, moving ahead.

"Oh what?" Martin laughed. "Found your weak spot didn't I? Did she convince you by sleeping with you?"

Harry turned back, his fluorescent eyes cutting into the twilight of the park. "Think you're smart, don't you? You shut your fat mouth!"

"Or what?" Martin said, stepping a few feet closer. "Nothing you can do, kid. I'll insult that mudblood slut of your as much as I –"

Harry's wand shot silently through the air in a zig-zag and a quick plume of grey shot forward to envelop Martin's hands. A splatter shot through the forest as the ends of his fingers split open. Martin cried in agony.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH! God damn fucking shithead! You son of a whore!"

His wand lay uselessly ahead of him as his hands shook, drenched in blood. Through the end of his fingers poked his finger-bones to open air and Martin, seeing that, started to hyperventilate.

"You're bloody finished! FINISHED YOU HEAR ME!"

Harry laughed and twirled his wand in his fingers. "It's hard to test certain curses without an unwilling subject, thanks Martin."

Martin's face paled as he realized Harry's intentions, he looked like he was about to faint.

"Shouldn't have slagged off my dear friend," Harry said with a sigh. "Now you're dead."

"T – They'll f – find out. Y – You w – w – won't get away with this."

"I don't care," Harry said. "Do you know how hard it is not killing people all day, as much as I'd like to? And you had to fuck it all up!"

"Don't do this," Martin plead. "Please… please – I have a wife."

"Well bully for her," Harry said.

His wand dextrously carved a jagged edge into the air. "Serrate Victus!"

Martin whimpered as the dark cloud moved towards him. Blood shot up from his shoulders as his head was violently separated from his body and thunked against a tree trunk, rolling a few yards away. A rain of blood came down on the scene and Harry. He looked completely at peace, a gentle smile on his lips.

As seconds passed, Harry shook his head and his eyes brightened. "Shit," he said, casting another spell that gave him a number. He conjured his patronus and sent the coordinates in a message. He sighed heavily, rubbing his neck. "Couldn't keep it together, could you?" he said idly.

Not much more than a minute later, Hermione apparated in, worriedly looking around. "Harry! Oh! You're covered in blood. What happened?"

"Don't worry, it's not mine… Sorry," Harry said, a sheepish grin on his face. "He – He was just saying the most awful stuff about you – and I know that's not an excuse, but I really, really hate him, Hermione. And then I disarmed him with that new curse I learned, and I figured 'In for a knut, in for a galleon'." He looked down in embarrassment. "And now there's this mess. I'm really sorry… I didn't know who else to call."

Not minding the blood covering him, Hermione enveloped him into a tight hug. "It's okay, Harry. You did good calling me. I'm – I'm glad you did. Oh, Harry!" She pulled back and smiled, wiping a few droplets off his cheek, which pulled into a thumbstroke of red. "We can fix this. We'll be fine."

Harry closed his eyes and let out a ragged breath, tightening his hold on her. "What did I do to deserve you?" he said with a shaky voice.

"Being you," she answered, looking up into his big green eyes. "That's why… that's why –"Her eyes were filled with doubt and emotion as she gathered the courage to finish her sentence. "That's why I love you, Harry."

His eyes fluttered open, holding in tears. It was clear the words had hit him like an erumpent, his eyes darting all over her trying to make sense of it. Finally with a measured breath, he lowered his head, brushed up against her nose and took her lips against his. They relaxed into each other, exhaling and fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. His hands rubbed her back and hers found the silky tangle of his hair, enjoying the feeling of it under her fingers as they deepened their kiss.

Her hand stained red from the droplets of Martin's blood in his hair, congealing while they pressed up against each other and explored. As the kiss ended, she lowered her hands onto his chest, panting heavily.

"I love you too, Hermione," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Gosh," Hermione said with a wet chuckle, "we really have the worst timing."

Harry's eyes flitted to Martin's headless corpse and laughed as well. "I won't complain."

For a moment longer, they calmly took in their partner's appearance, completely taken with each other. It was Hermione who then took his hands and huffed with a purposeful nod.

"Let's go through this, how do we proceed?"

"We have to get rid of the body, we could frame that fugitive for it," he said. "And they will check my wand, and my memory, with the new procedures. It's all a big mess."

She bit her lip. "Not necessarily. Give me your wand."

He did so without hesitation and she started to clean him of all traces of blood. Next she stepped away from him and started to do the same for the blood that had spurted all over the park grounds. It took a while to do so. The human body did contain a lot of blood.

"They'll still perform a priori incantatem, it will show back all the spells for the day."

"I know," she said. "So you won't be using your wand. I can transfigure yours into mine and mine into yours. At first inspection, nothing will be amiss."

"And for my memory… can you..."

"I can." Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Oh no!"

"What?" he asked worriedly.

"Well, Harry." She gulped and looked at him sadly. "You won't remember."

He too seemed crestfallen, until a spark of inspiration struck him. "Wait. I'm getting my pensieve soon. I can just give you my memory!"

"Okay?" she said confusedly.

"And you'll show it to me, remind me that… that you were there for me."

"I'm always there for you," she mumbled. With her hands on her hips she smiled up at him. "Yes. Well, okay Harry, I have to admit it's a good idea. A memory of our first kiss in a bottle, that's really romantic."

"Well I am trying. Even though I just keep working myself deeper into debt with you."

She gave him a playful slap on the cheek. "I don't want to hear it any more. Talk of you paying me back or anything else. I don't want us getting even." She sighed and cocked her head. "Am I even making any sense?"

"Yes."

"So I'll see you soon then. God, this is really not fair, me having to remember alone."

"I'll still be there," he said rubbing her shoulders. "And if it helps, I've been wanting to kiss you for a while now. So I'll be suffering too."

"It does."

She handed him her wand. Harry took a vial out of his pocket and directed it towards his temple. As the strand of memory dipped into the container, the memory faded.

Back out of the memory and in Grimmauld Place, Harry was firmly holding onto her hand, rubbing the top of it with his thumb. "I portkeyed the body away afterwards," she explained. "And then we switched wands, you cast a few detection spells with mine, then I rewrote your memory."

"You believe me?" she asked, balling up her free fist.

She felt his eyes on her and looked up, and was unable to make out what he was thinking or feeling. But it reminded her of that memory. Harry had never been good at putting his feelings into words, and being shuffled backwards against a bookcase she decided she didn't care much about that right now.

She moaned in surprise as Harry put both hands on her hips, feeling her belly through the fabric of her shirt. The feeling of his hands on her was so perfect and caring, it drove her tired mind into a haze of bliss. When she looked up, she saw the same calm on his face as when he had decapitated Selander. He looked frustratingly handsome.

"I want to remember what that felt like," he said.

She slowly and eagerly nodded, her mouth slightly parted. He was so much more impatient than the first time, his tongue prompting her own to coil around his. Knowing he had missed their first must have made him desperate to experience it. His hard body pressed against her. With her arms around his neck and hands tugging at his hair, she let herself be completely taken by the moment.

She saw stars. Merlin, if she felt like that from just a snog, how good would anything else feel? She gasped for air against his lips, drawing in his breath. His own panting made her blank out completely, only guided by instinct. When she came back to her senses her mouth felt warm, wet and numb.

"Still love you… by the way," he said, resting his forehead against hers.

"Oh… that's – that's really… really good, Harry."

"So, what do we do now?"

Reality slowly came back into focus for her, and with it the plan she had started to hatch. "Since you trust me completely," she slyly whispered, "we will do exactly as I say."