CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Summary: Hermione suffers a terrible attack and who should find her but one of Wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelors. The relationship that builds between them is one no one saw coming, but no one predicted the danger that would surely follow. Post-War. Rated M for a reason.

Disclaimer: I do not own canon events or characters, they belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making a profit from this fanfic, everything is purely for entertainment purposes.

Page count: 11

The Burrow – Sunday 7th December 1998

"I can't do this, I'm going home," she said, spinning on her heel and heading back towards the fireplace.

Oliver reached out and caught her hand in his, giving her a tug so she was forced to turn around and face him.

"We've talked aboot this," he spoke. "What's yer name?"

She sighed. "Hermione Granger," she muttered, looking down at the ground.

"What are ye?"

"A witch."

"A strong witch," he reminded her. "An' what does Hermione Granger not do?"

"Give in," she mumbled.

"Tha's what a thought, there's a house full af people waiting tae see ye. Ye get this over with an' ye can go back tae the manor an' hide yerself away in yer books. But this needs tae be done, ye will never be able tae move forward if ye don'."

"You may be my knight in shining armour, but you're still a pain in the arse," she grumbled.

"Glad tae be af service," he replied, before giving her hand a tug and pulling her out of the small shed they were currently stood in.

When they exited, Oliver became aware of the house up head, and he knew the only reason the house hadn't toppled over was with the aid of magic. Nothing else could be responsible.

"They had it rebuilt," Hermione explained, seeing Oliver's slightly tilted head as he took in the strangely shaped house. It looked more like a tower than a house, if he were being honest. "It was burnt down during the war, it's not an exact replica but it's the closest they could get."

"A wouldn't expect anythin' less from The Weasleys," he chuckled and she shrugged.

"As the family grew in size, they just keep adding floors to the building to create more space, and the result was this," she gestured to the house.

"Why did the floo take us tae a shed an' not the house?"

"After the war they had the floo network removed from the house for security, and they moved it to the shed," she answered.

She came to a stop and Oliver stopped beside her, wondering why she was rooted to the spot, and it became clear when a figure came into a view, and they were making their way towards them.

As much as she needed the comfort he provided, Hermione removed her hand from Oliver's before Harry was close enough to see, not wanting to give him the wrong idea.

She took a deep breath and steeled her nerves, before stepping forward and into the hug she knew Harry would give her. She had thought she would flinch the way she had with Lee, but she didn't. In fact, she was comforted by his presence, by his smell of broom polish and citrus. Something she had grown accustomed to over the years.

She pulled back from him and she felt a genuine smile pull at her face; she hadn't seen Harry in weeks. Growing up they had promised they would always be close, but now they were adults. They had their own jobs and lives which kept them busy so it was hard for them to meet up as often as they would like to. That was the purpose of the monthly dinners at The Burrow.

"How you doing?" they asked the other, before they chuckled and hugged again.

"I'm good, you?" Harry said.

"I'm a lot better than I was last week," she replied, and it wasn't a lie. Physically she was fine, emotionally and mentally was another matter entirely. "Had the muggle flu."

"How bad was it?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Remember Christmas, fifth year?"

He winced sympathetically. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse," she nodded.

"I'm glad to see you're better, you haven't been responding to our owls."

"Well, I could barely get out of bed to send a reply, and I've been busy this week, my patients have been making me earn my wage as of late. As it is, I'm half convinced I'm going to be pulled away from dinner to tend to one of them."

"That busy?"

"Afraid so," she sighed.

He turned his eyes to look over Hermione's shoulder and finally noticed that Oliver was stood behind her.

"Wood?" he questioned in surprise, his eyes darting between him and Hermione.

"Alright, Potter?" he nodded, stepping closer and shaking Harry's hand. "It's been a while."

"What are you doing here? And with... Hermione?"

"I finally had chance to visit Lee today, I ran into Oliver when in Diagon Alley. We got to talking and when I realised the time, I invited him to dinner, I doubt Molly would mind," Hermione explained.

Harry snorted. "She wouldn't, it's another person for her to feed and coddle. Well, we better get inside, it's supposed to rain again."

"Lovely rainy England," Hermione sighed, before they made their way towards The Burrow.

"Where's Merlin?" Harry asked, noticing that the large dog wasn't currently bounding about the property.

"I decided to leave him at home today," Hermione answered. "I haven't got the energy to be chasing after him, I've had a long and tiring day," she lied.

In reality, she had left him at the manor not only to keep Bobby company, but she didn't want to risk him attacking Ron; it wouldn't be the first time. Merlin really didn't like him and no one could figure out why.

As they reached the entrance, Hermione removed her coat and Oliver followed her actions, hanging them up beside the door and his eyes swept over the mismatched and worn furniture, the walls covered in photo frames and the magical clock sat on the wall, before he found himself in the kitchen.

A chorus of greetings rang out when the occupants of the table noticed her arrival, and Molly Weasley, ever the overbearing Mother, stood to grip Hermione in a tight hug.

"Hermione, Dear, thank goodness you've finally pulled yourself away from your books, we've missed you around here," she said, pulling back from the hug and eyeing Hermione carefully. "You're too skinny, you need to eat more, come, come, let's get you fed."

Harry snorted and Oliver's mouth twitched.

"Oi, Wood, what are you doing here, Mate?" George called, noticing his presence as he was stood in the doorway.

All eyes turned to him, looking surprised to see him there.

"We ran into each other in Diagon Alley today, we got to talking and I invited him to dinner, I thought you might like to catch up with your past captain," Hermione explained.

"You kidding me! Captain, get your arse over here!"

"George!" Molly Weasley scolded.

"That's Fred," Hermione corrected.

"Fred!" she scolded as the others around the table chuckled. "And of course we'd be happy to have you for dinner, Dear," she turned to Oliver and gave him a smile, before squishing him in a hug, much to Hermione's amusement. "How's your Mother?"

"She's a lot better, thank ye, the treatments are keeping her stable," he replied, seeing the way Hermione's eyes had snapped to him and a frown appeared on her face.

He supposed he should've told her, and he felt bad in not doing so sooner. That would be a long conversation.

"I'm glad to hear that," she said, smiling at him kindly. "Now, take your seats, we're just about to serve dinner."

Harry had already moved to sit at the table and there were only two chairs left, one beside Ron and the one next to it. Hermione flinched but Oliver gave her a gentle nudge, urging her forward and she reluctantly took the seat beside him, with Oliver sitting next to her. She didn't have a choice; it would've been suspicious if she hadn't taken the seat next to him. Harry was sat opposite her and the twins sat on his right, putting them across from Oliver.

Hermione sat ram-rod straight as the dishes sat on the table were uncovered and everyone tucked into their food, Oliver not being the least bit surprised regarding their food intake given that he had gone to school with them and he had seen how much they could eat. The portions of food he selected for himself were considerably smaller, as were Hermione's, but he suspected that was more due to the fact of who she was sat next to. The one person she wanted to avoid.

Fred and George immediately started up conversation with him, congratulating him on his new Captain status, asking questions about the team and the coming up matches, before the subject changed to their joke shop and the products they had in production. But Oliver kept an ear and an eye open for any sign of distress from Hermione.

"Hermione," Ron spoke from beside her.

"Ronald," she replied stiffly, her fork picking up some mash potatoes before letting it fall back onto the plate, to pick it up again and repeating the process.

"What's the matter with you?" He asked gruffly, stuffing some chicken into his mouth and making Hermione grimace. You would think she would be used to the sight after years of being around him, but no, it was still nauseating.

"Why would something be the matter?" she replied emotionlessly, her body tense and her hand gripping her fork tightly.

"You're not still mad that I didn't turn up to the bar, are you?"

Hermione's breath caught, her heartbeat picked up and she slammed her eyes shut tightly. The feeling of a warm hand slipping around hers under the table was the only thing that allowed her to pull herself together enough that she didn't flee from The Burrow and back to the comfort and safety of the manor. She opened her eyes and turned her head slightly, seeing that Oliver was in a conversation with Fred and George and apparently not paying any attention to anyone or thing but them, but the squeeze of his hand on hers told her differently.

"No, Ronald, why would I be mad? I mean, it's not as though I was sitting around by myself for over two hours, waiting for your sorry arse to turn up, now is it? It's not as though I had people coming up to me, trying to feel me up, despite the fact that I wore my cloak and I told them to leave me alone. It's not as though I was forced to walk home by myself, on a Saturday night, with drunks and perverts wandering the streets, now is it?" She hissed, feeling all of her hatred for her best friend beginning to well up inside of her.

He blinked dumbly, before a smirk pulled at his mouth.

"I knew it, you're jealous," he said smugly.

"Jealous! What do I have to be jealous over? I broke up with you because I couldn't see our relationship going anywhere past the friendship stage. Who you choose to sleep with is none of my concern, I don't care. What I do care about is you choosing some bloody tart over me, your best friend, and you didn't even have the decency to tell me. You left me at the bar alone!"

"She wasn't a tart," he denied.

"What self-respecting witch would sleep with someone they just bumped into on the bloody street?"

"Calm down, would you?"

"Calm down, calm down!" She hissed in disbelief. "Do you have any idea of how much danger you put me in? No, of course you don't because you only care about yourself and your next shag! Do you know what, Ronald, I'm done with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked testily, sitting up straight in his chair and narrowing his eyes on her.

"It means that I can't be done with your selfishness and pettiness any longer. I've had enough. You were once my best friend, but not anymore." She leaned in closer to him, their eyes locked and their noses almost touching and she felt a tug on her hand, but she ignored it.

The words that she didn't want to admit to herself out loud were on the tip of her tongue. If she said them to him, things would never be the same.

"What the bloody hell are you going on about?" he demanded.

"I hate you," she whispered the words quietly, but she meant them.

He reeled back from her as if she'd slapped him. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. She briefly looked around the table, glad to see that no one but Oliver was aware of her argument with Ron, being too busy eating their dinner and conversing with those next to them. Even Harry who was sat opposite them was too busy joining in with Oliver's conversation with the twins to notice.

"I hate you, Ronald, I blame you and I can never forget it," she said quietly, before turning her eyes back to her untouched food.

She felt a tug on her hand and she turned her head to see Oliver staring at her questioningly, she didn't respond, just looked back down at her plate and he frowned, his eyes darting between her and Ron, who was also staring at her.

The loud squawk of bird caught Hermione's attention and she looked up to see the large eagle flying into the kitchen through the open window. She didn't need to look at the letter to know who it was from or what he wanted. She quickly removed the letter from the eagle's leg before the little monster could attack her and he flew off without a second glance. She had never been more grateful to Draco-pain-in-the-arse-Malfoy.

"Mail, Dear?" Molly asked her.

"Yes, one of my patients needs my services, I'm afraid I have to cut my time here short. Thank you for dinner, it was lovely as always, Molly, and it was nice to finally see everyone again. Hopefully, next time my visit won't be cut short," she said, before standing up, saying her goodbyes and exiting out of the kitchen.

She grabbed her coat and slipped it on and made her way towards the shed, when she felt a presence behind her. She knew who it was without having to look.

"Why'd you leave? You could've stayed longer," she spoke.

Oliver shrugged as he stepped up beside her. "There was naw point in mae staying, a only went fer ye. Besides, a knew the line af questioning would change once ye left, an' a thought it best a get oot whilst a still could."

"What excuse did you use?"

"Tha' a had trainin' in the mornin' an' a needed tae get home so a could rest." She snorted. "What was yer excuse?"

"It wasn't an excuse," she huffed. "I really have been contacted by a patient, and no matter how stupid the injury is likely to be, I'm glad for their timing."

"Ye want tae tell mae what happened with ye an' Ron?"

"Maybe later," she replied.

Wood Manor

Hermione stepped out of the floo and into the comfort of the manor, sighing in exhaustion before trudging over to the corner suite and slumping down onto it. She groaned when Merlin came running down the hall, barking loudly, before he jumped up onto cushions and climbed over her, licking at her face and putting his weight on her. It took her a few minutes to calm him down and get him to sit beside her, rather than on her.

"Was it ridiculous?" Oliver asked, walking into the living room and sitting on the corner suite opposite her.

"Yes," she sighed, rubbing her hands over her tired eyes. It had been an exhausting day. "The bloody prat wanted me remove a thorn he had gotten stuck in his leg, when helping his Mother in the gardens." Oliver snorted. "I have honestly never met someone so whiney in all my life."

He chuckled as he stood and made his way over to the bar, pouring himself a tumbler of fire whiskey, and one for Hermione when she told him her preferred drink. He handed it to her and watched in surprise as she downed the entire amount without so much as a cough. She put the tumbler on the table and sank back into the cushions.

"Ye wanna tell mae what happened with Ron?"

She groaned and pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to ward off the headache. "We broke up."

"A'm sorry?" He said confused.

"I broke up with my best friend," she shrugged. "I'm done with him, the night of the attack isn't the first time he's let me down and I can't take it anymore. I can't forget what he's done in the past, his actions, his words, and I can't stop myself for blaming him for what happened. When he saw that I was mad at him for leaving me at the bar, he accused me of being jealous. As if I would be jealous, I have more self respect for myself, than a woman who would willingly sleep with a man they had literally just met on the street. I'm not a prude, but I could never do that. I've had it with him and I told him. We're no longer friends."

He stared at her in surprise; he was not expecting that to be her answer.

"If I want to move forward, then I need to distance myself from the things that remind me of what happened. I need to surround myself with people I trust, and Ron is not one of them."

She leaned her head against the back rest and closed her eyes.

"Damsel, aboot me Ma..."

"It's alright, Oliver, you don't have to tell me. I would never dream of intruding on your privacy, anymore than I have at least," she interrupted.

"Ye havnae intruded on me privacy, anythin' ye know is what a wanted ye tae know or see," he argued. "An' a should've told ye aboot me Ma." She opened her eyes and sat up, giving him her full attention. "She's not been well since a turned seventeen. One day she was fine, an' then suddenly she wasnae. She was always tired, she stopped eating, she was running a fever. The healers said it was stress, they gave her treatment an' she started getting better. A couple months later, she started having chest pains an' she struggled with her breathing an' she couldn't stop coughing."

Hermione frowned, her mind running a mile a minute in trying to connect the symptoms to a possible cause.

"The healer's dinnae know what tae do tae help her. They gave her all the treatment they possibly could but nothin' seemed tae be working. They couldn't diagnose her condition, so they couldn't give her the treatment she needed."

Hermione looked to him, seeing him staring at the ground and swirling the orange liquid in the tumbler that was held in his hand. She stood up and moved so that she sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of him, their knees almost touching.

He lifted his gaze from the ground and to her, seeing her eyes filled with softness and kindness, and he felt himself slipping his free hand into hers and she gave it a light squeeze.

"Whilst we waited her health would switch between good an' bad. Some days ye couldn't stop her, an' others she couldn't even get oot af bed withoot help. It wasnae until a turned twenty tha' me Ma's illness was finally diagnosed."

"It's a muggle illness, isn't it?" she said softly. The only reason for it taking three years to get a diagnosis was if the healers didn't know what they were looking at, and in that case, it was nearly always a muggle condition.

"Aye," he sighed. "There was a Half-blood healer tha' had been raised in The Muggle World, he was doin' a rotation at St. Mungo's when he came across me Ma during one af her monthly visitations. He had her diagnosed within a week."

"And?"

"Her condition has worsened, an' now, as aff a few months ago, she has stage three Lung Cancer." Hermione felt her breath hitch and she accidently squeezed his hand tightly. "The healers don' know what tae do fer her. They're jus' giving her treatment tae help with the individual symptoms, but nothin' fer the cancer itself. Thomas is doin' his best fer her, he checks on her regularly, but he's a Half-blood born to The Wizarding World, there's not much he can do fer her either."

She wanted to apologise, but she felt it wasn't enough, she didn't feel it would do any good for him or his Mother.

"It's a waiting game now," Oliver shrugged, looking back down to the ground and downing the rest of his fire whiskey to fill the silence in the room.

She gripped his hand tighter and he pulled his eyes up to her.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"It's alright, Damsel, there's nothin' ye can do," he said with a sad smile.

"What if there is?" she asked quietly.

He frowned. "What do ye mean?"

"What if there was something I could do that might help?"

"A don' understand."

"Oliver, I'm a Muggleborn, born to The Muggle World. I know of cancer more than any wizarding born healer. Would your Mother consider muggle treatment? There are two forms of treatment, radio and chemotherapy, and these treatments are used to try and treat cancer patients. Sometimes they are successful, sometimes they aren't. There are some side affects to it, but they have been to known to 'cure' some cancer patients."

"A would have tae speak tae her aboot it, but she's not eligible fer muggle treatments."

She smiled at him. "Leave that with me, I have someone that owes me a favour that can help with that. If your Mother agrees to it, I can have an appointment arranged between her and a muggle doctor, he will ensure that the diagnosis is correct and then he will go over the list of possible treatments, and he will be able to explain them in a lot more detail than I. It may work, it may not, but your Mother has to decide if she wants to take that risk."

"Ye would do tha' fer me?"

"Of course I would, you're important to me, and if you need my help then you have it."

She found herself being pulled into a hug. "Thank ye," he muttered quietly.

"You don't need to thank me," she replied.

When she pulled back from him, he was staring at her so intensely she felt herself blush. She cleared her throat, and then her wand started buzzing, drawing her attention. She pulled it out of her pocket and sighed.

"I better go; it seems I'm needed again."

She removed her hand from his, stood from the table and made her way over to the door.

"It's Malloy, int it? That's where yer've been disappearing tae ev'ry night."

She stopped and turned to face him. "You know I can neither confirm nor deny that."

He nodded. "Yer taking good care af him," he stated. "We've all noticed a difference in him in the last few days. It's subtle, but it's there."

"Don't worry about him, I'll have him sorted out sooner or later, despite how stubborn he's being, he'll given in to me eventually. I'll see you later."

Wood Manor - Monday 8th December 1998

Hermione trudged into the living room of Wood Manor during the early hours of the morning. Malloy had gone off schedule and had started drinking earlier that he had been. She arrived at his apartment not long after nine, and after taking the fire whiskey from him and dumping it down the sink, she spent the next few hours, sat on the arm chair with her staring at him in silence and with him refusing to look at her.

He still refused to answer her questions, but this time he hadn't stormed away from her until she had sent him to bed not long after one in the morning. She'd found more alcohol hidden about the place and secured it in the cupboard, before leaving him to his sleep.

She slumped onto the corner suite, falling onto her side and pulling her feet up on the cushions. If she fell asleep there, she didn't care. She was exhausted and could sleep anywhere.

"How'd it go?"

Hermione jumped and sat up, her eyes searching the room in the dark, before landing on Oliver's figure sat opposite her. She waved her wand and a few floating candles appeared, before she slumped back down onto the cushions with a groan.

"A see," he said, and Hermione noted that he sounded tired.

"Why are you not asleep, you have training?"

He shrugged, "Couldn't sleep. A went tae see me Ma."

Hermione opened her eyes and pulled a cushion underneath her head to lift it slightly.

"And?"

"She's agreed tae try it. She's always been the kind af person tae try somethin' once," he said, a fond smile pulling at his mouth. "A went tae Thomas first, me Ma wanted tae know hoo a came aboot this treatment an' not wanting tae tell her aboot ye incase it got oot, a said a had a source, an' Thomas backed mae up, which sealed the deal."

"That's good to hear, I'll contact my guy once I've had some sleep. There's no need for you to hide anything from him."

"Why not?" He frowned.

"He's a Squib and he grew up in The Muggle World when his Pure-blooded family disowned him. He was adopted by a muggle couple when he was still young," she shrugged. "He knows about magic, so you don't have to worry about anything."

"An' this treatment will work?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Oliver, this treatment isn't going to offer a one hundred percent chance of success. For some it is successful, for others it unfortunately isn't, but the doctor will go over all of that with you. But I will tell you this, when I was a child, before I even knew about my magic, my Grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was eight years old and I still remember the toll it took on her, on her health and her happiness. She had given up and resigned herself to dying, but my family was able to convince her to give chemotherapy a try. A year later, after chemotherapy and a mastectomy, she was healthy and back to her old self, and cancer free. She died in a car crash when I was sixteen, but I had still gotten another eight years with her. She always used to say that despite all of the side effects she had to deal with, it was worth it."

"I can't promise that it's going to work, but I can promise that it's going to give your Mother the best chance possible. They may be able to cure it, they may not. But with both muggle and wizarding healing in play, she's got a good shot at this. And I'll be with you every step of the way, just as you have been with me."