One two three four five six seven...one two three four five six seven...

Harry chanted softly to himself as he walked up the pathway to Homes for Hope Institute. Up ahead, the path split in three directions: The right fork led to Magical Hope, the building for magical patients. The left fork led to St. Hope, the building for Muggle patients. And straight ahead lay the Homes for Hope Administration building. A section of the administration was devoted to making sure the Statue of Secrecy was upheld: St. Hope had no knowledge that it was a matched set. Perhaps this had been an odd choice, to house magical and muggle patients so close together, but the hospital now best known for its excellent long term care for those with mental needs was born out of the ashes of the War. Popular opinion had held that action should be taken to bridge the gap between the Wizarding World and those who had no knowledge of magic, if only to educate witches and wizards alike as to how similar the two groups were, magical abilities notwithstanding. Perhaps, people reasoned, if people were taught to understand muggles to begin with, the war may never have happened!

Harry snorted at the thought, somehow still able to keep the thread of his repeating number chant. The war happened because Tom Riddle became Voldemort. The whole 'purebloods only' plot would have been different, yes, but the overall theme would still have taken place, just with different words as a rallying cry. Humans were stupid that way. His work as an Auror had served to drive that outlook home.

Those depressing thoughts carried Harry all the way to the door of the Administration building and over to the front desk, where a smiling young man greeted him.

"How can I help you today, Sir?"

"I have an appointment. Auror Harry Potter to see Kevin Entwhistle."

"Ah yes, Auror Potter. Follow me please."

The young man led him through a door on his right and past several dozen clusters of cubicles until he stopped at a closed silver door with a plaque that read Kevin Entwhistle, Special Executive in fancy black lettering. "He's expecting you," his guide said. "Have a good visit."

Harry stared at the young man's retreating back as he returned the way they'd came. Have a good visit? Shaking his head, he knocked on the door in front of him. Scarcely a heartbeat passed before a male voice said please come in and he opened the door, just a little slower than usual, to give himself a moment to force his brain to pay full attention to his surroundings.

"Auror Potter, I presume?" The man behind the desk in the corner of the room stood and stretched out his arm. Harry shook the hand; it was smooth, which told him that this man probably pushed paper all day.

"Mr. Entwhistle," Harry said by way of greeting. He followed the man's motion to sit, and settled himself on a wide puffy chair that was a colour so reminiscent of Ron's Christmas sweaters every year that he almost laughed. Luckily, Entwhistle's voice was the opposite of funny, and he was brought back to the reason why he was here today.

"My assistant said you were rather vague when you made the appointment. Why is the Auror Office interested in Homes for Hope?"

Harry inwardly gave a snort of amusement. Aurors were trained to be vague. Less chance of people hiding evidence or making false stories that way. "Have any of your employees quit recently?"

Entwhistle frowned in puzzlement but answered promptly. "Three. A muggle from St. Hope - he was nearing retirement age anyway, but left a year shy of his twenty year mark when he got some rare form of cancer. A wizard from Magical Hope, he got the travel bug and after an extended vacation decided to move to China. And the third, a witch, worked at both Homes as a Floater." At seeing Harry's raised eyebrow, he continued: "A Floater fills in the gaps at our Homes. We have several of them - they are primarily janitors but often are assigned other tasks when a need arises. Miss Jones, for example, often filled in for our Book Keepers. She was also a low level Mediwitch. I believe she was hoping to become a Mind Healer one day."

Harry allowed himself to be impressed: This man was not your usual paper pusher. He obviously took note of who worked for the hospital and kept tabs on them. "Did any of these three employees leave quite suddenly, without the customary notice?"

At this, Entwhistle's eyes widened in surprise. "Why yes, Miss Jones did. It was quite a shock, because like I said, she was hoping to become a Healer."

"What happened?"

"Technically I am not able to say," Entwhistle began. "We don't give out that kind of information. But in this case I wouldn't be able to say even if I could. She gave no indication of why she wanted to leave. She simply walked in for her shift, informed her boss that she was quitting, and left."

"I'd like to talk to her boss, if I may."

"What is this about, exactly?"

Harry paused a moment to choose his words. "Jane Jones has gone missing," he said, and he watched the other man carefully as he spoke. "The witch who informed the Auror Office hasn't been able to reach her."

He could tell that this was news to Entwhistle, whose face registered blank shock for a moment, then confusion and finally, curious concern. "I wasn't aware of that," he said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I'd like to interview some of your employees, if I may." Harry's words asked permission, but his tone was firm. "Starting with her boss, and any of her co-workers that she may have been close to. I don't want them to know why."

"Of course, of course - anything you need. I just ask that you be respectful of their time. This is a busy hospital after all."

Harry acknowledged that, and added, "I'd also like to see Jane Jones' employee file."

"Of course, talk to Jo, she's the cubicle right across from my office. She will be able to assist you."

"Thank you," Harry said as he stood up. Entwhistle followed his lead, and moved to open the door for Harry.

Jo turned out to be an elder witch with white hair down to her shoulders. She was calm, motherly, and very organized; he held a copy of Jones' employee file in his hand not even five minutes after he'd asked. He scanned it briefly, noting that her monthly evaluations were exemplary and that she had been recommended for a pay raise next quarter. He was disappointed that there was no picture attached. The witch who had brought Jones' disappearance to the Aurors hadn't been able to provide a photo, and "long black hair and tan skin" could mean any one of a number of witches.

When he asked about a photo, Jo smiled sympathetically at him. "I'm sorry dear, there isn't one. Someone in HR broke the camera not long after we opened, so only the original employees have a photo attached. Management hasn't seen fit to replace it."

"I can recommend a good photographer," Harry said with a grin.

Jo laughed. "I know you're dating that photographer from Wizarding World Weekly. He's good. I'll keep that in mind."

Several interviews and two cups of tea later, Harry was feeling quite frustrated. Jones' immediate supervisor, a small wiry man in his fifties, had proved to have less information on his employee than Entwhistle. He'd learned that Jones was a bright young woman and a hard worker, but not much else. (The man had seemed nervous, Harry noticed. He didn't think the reason had to do with Jones, but he made a mental note to look into Anton Chandler.)

His next interview took him to meet Jackson, an older muggle man who worked as St. Hope's Book Keeper. Harry liked him at once; he had an easy smile and a twinkle in his eye reminiscent of the late Albus Dumbledore, and seemed to enjoy thumbing his nose at hospital dress code. He wore a yellow suit jacket and pants with a T-shirt advertising Jimmy Dean Sausages.

"Jane used to take over my job for me when I needed a break," Jackson told him. "Balancing the books and tracking the hospital expenses gets a bit harder the older I get, and Jane was eager to learn and help out however she could. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so cheerful about book keeping before, to be honest. But then that's Jane - she tackles life head on."

Harry could have cheered out loud - finally someone who seemed to know more about his missing woman! "Can you tell me anything about her personal life? Was she seeing anyone?"

"She did mention that she had a boyfriend," Jackson said. "I don't know his name. She rarely talked about her life outside of the hospital. She seemed older than her years, though. Most of those young whippersnappers these days are so focused on pop and celebrity culture that they forget to live their own lives. But Jane didn't even know who the Kardashians were - she was focused on excelling at everything, even though she did mostly janitorial work. I got the feeling that she wanted to become a doctor or nurse one day."

"Was she close with any of her co-workers?"

Jackson squinted his eyes in thought. "I can't recall her being super chummy with anyone. She got along well with everyone and was liked, but emotionally it seemed like she kept her distance. I did see her spend a lot of time with certain patients, but it's not like they could keep up a conversation. Perhaps that's why she spent time with them."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"The ward off that way is for our patients in catatonic states." Jackson waved his hand to a corridor on the right. "Jane often spent her lunches in one of their rooms. She had a particular fondness for Elaine, Lucy, and Bill."

Harry took note of that before asking, "You say she was liked among her co-workers. Could you think of anyone who didn't like her?"

"No," Jackson said at once. "She respected everyone and they in turn respected her."

Harry asked a few more questions before determining that the strangely dressed man had no more relevant information to give. Thanking Jackson for his time, he moved on to follow the corridor further on to the right.

"Can I help you find something, lad?"

Harry turned to see a man in a security guard uniform looking at him. The guard's brown hair was sprinkled with traces of gray, but it was almost vibrant, shiny, and accentuated his kind blue eyes, adding character to his otherwise plain looking face. Harry guessed that he was probably a better-looking man in his forties than he had been in his teens or early twenties. "I was looking for three patient rooms. An Elaine, Lucy, and a Bill."

The guard raised his eyebrow. "Are you a family member?"

Harry internally rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Harry Potter. I'm a member of the police," he said, showing the man his fake muggle badge. "I was told that Jane Jones liked to spend time with these patients in particular. I thought I'd see if I could figure out why."

"Jane's not in trouble is she?" The guard asked. "She likes to sit with Bill a few times a week. Same with Elaine and Lucy. She recites medical terms she's learning and talks about witchcraft. Think she's one of them Wiccans or something."

Harry's interest perked up at the mention of witchcraft. Jones knew this was a muggle hospital - catatonic states or not, she shouldn't have been talking to these patients about such topics. Thank god for the muggle versions of witchcraft. "Jane is missing," Harry told the guard. "I've been assigned to find out where she is."

"Sorry to hear that. I liked her. She was kind to my Bill. Talked to him like he could actually hear her."

"You know Bill then?" Harry asked.

The guard nodded to a room just in front of where they were standing. "He's my son. My boy's been unresponsive for a year now. I think Jane was trying to talk him out of it, but I've been at it a lot longer than she has."

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured.

The guard gave a heavy sigh and rubbed his hand across his forehead. "It is what it is lad," he grunted. "You can meet him if you'd like, but he's not going to answer any questions for you."

Harry felt a strange connection with this man. A father whose son had left him for whatever world existed in his own mind, a story so similar to many of the Wizarding families who had lived to see the aftermath of the war, and it left an aching in his own heart. "I would, if I may," Harry said quietly.

The guard led him into a small room with a large window. The first thing Harry noticed was the way the walls were decorated: The plain white paint could hardly be seen underneath the dozens and dozens of drawings - some childish in nature, others incredibly detailed - interspersed with several crosses, some of which were quite fancy. In the middle of the room the large hospital bed was the focal point, where a young man sat unmoving, his eyes focused on the wall in front of him. He seemed to be looking right at a drawing of a stick figure that faced what appeared to be a cave, with two large yellow eyes staring out from the depths.

"Son, I've got someone who'd like to meet you."

Harry approached slowly. "My name is Harry," he said to the man on the bed. It was as though he hadn't spoken at all: not even a twitch of an eyebrow occurred, and Harry found himself morbidly fascinated by the total stillness.

"His name is Bill," the guard said unnecessarily. "And I'm Lucas, but my friends call me Luke."

Harry looked over at Luke and then back at Bill. "I hope this doesn't sound insensitive of me," he said. "But - can you hear me?"

Bill didn't respond, or make any movement at all, but somehow Harry knew the answer. "You can, can't you."

"Yes," Luke answered for his son. "He listens and understands everything around him. He just - doesn't react."

"He doesn't communicate at all?" Harry's eyes stayed on Bill, and the total emptiness of the man's stare made him shiver. He looked away.

"He doesn't," Luke confirmed. "He doesn't move either. The doctors have to reposition him throughout the day to help the blood flow in his body."

Harry shivered again, thankful for the use of his own body. He thought he'd lose his mind if he couldn't get up and move to keep his negative emotions from consuming him. "You said Jane sat with him a few times a week?"

"She did. Few people take the time to sit with him, so I was glad to see that she did. The doctors do what they're required but Jane has been the only person I've seen who has truly cared beyond what's necessary, other than a couple of patients from other wards that visit every now and then."

Harry unconsciously moved to sit down in a chair by the bed, his mind whirling in thought. Jones sat with this man and had talked about her life with him. The secrets this man could tell if he would only wake...

"Jane was your friend, wasn't she Bill," Harry said quietly. "Did she ever mention that she was planning on leaving her job here?"

"No, she didn't mention that to me," Luke said. "Perhaps she did to Bill."

"You're going to miss her," Harry said, his words directed to Bill once more. "Friends are hard to come by, so I know how you feel. Several years ago I lost a lot of friends. I still miss them to this day."

Bill's large hazel eyes were unnerving to look into, and Harry started talking, needing to fill the air with something other than his discomfort. He felt he needed to share how fun and full of life Fred had been, and how Tonks had loved to change her hair often, and how Sirius had always known just how to comfort him. He remembered to "mugglefy" his language as he spoke, his words pouring out of him in a way that they never had before, and for a long time his voice went on, broken only by Luke's occasional vocal acknowledgement that let Harry know he was still was in the room.

He didn't know how long he talked, but when at long last he stopped, he discovered that Bill's eyes had shifted to stare at him instead of the wall. Harry reached behind to scratch at the back of his head. Chills ran down his spine at the sensation that Bill's empty stare gave him. "Luke?"

"Yes?" Luke turned from the window where he'd been standing, looking out over the hospital lawn as Harry had talked.

"Has Bill ever looked at anyone while they were talking before?"

Luke gave a gasp and rushed to kneel in front of his son. "Bill? Son? Can you move again for me?"

There was no movement and no reply.

After another moment Luke gave up his pleas, and stood with a frustrated sigh. "I don't know how to help. The doctors all say that he'll wake up in his own time, but I think that's just an empty thought. I don't think they know how to help, not really."

"You said he's been like this for a year?"

Luke ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Yes. I'm told that he became like this after the death of his Mother last year. I was contacted by the hospital he'd ended up in, in New York. I hadn't seen him in seventeen years."

Harry looked at Luke, his eyes asking the question. The security guard sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair again. "I am not proud of it," he said. "I ran out on his Mom when he was five. Didn't try to keep in touch for my own sanity. His Mother was a piece of work. We didn't mesh well, and I didn't have it in me for a custody battle...I waited until he turned of age and then I started looking for him. Took me some years, even with my resources as a cop at the time."

A surge of anger went through Harry, and Luke must have seen it on his face. "I know it was shitty of me to leave him. I haven't forgiven myself for it. His Mother used to fill his head with awful things, and tell him things that weren't true. I know I should have fought for him. I'm doing the only thing I can now - whatever it takes to help him wake up from this, whatever it takes to become the Father I know I should have been to him all of those years."

Harry forced himself to calm down. Parents abandoning children was a sore spot for him, but shouting at people in the hospital might get him kicked out, and he still had an investigation to complete. He settled on asking, "What was Bill doing in New York?"

"He'd trained to be an officer for the New York Police Department," Luke said, a note of pride in his voice. "I stayed there for awhile, but once I took care of his Mother's funeral I transferred him to St. Hope. I'd heard they have the best care in the world here."

Harry looked over at Bill again. He felt as though he were looking at a muggle version of himself: A policeman whose family member's death had left him in a shelled version of himself. "You and I have a lot in common," he murmured.

A knock startled him out of his thoughts and he looked to see a nurse at the door wheeling a cart into the room. "Time for your afternoon pills, Bill," she said kindly.

Harry watched as she prepped a needle and gave Bill a shot. He didn't react to it at all; Harry cringed. Needles weren't exactly a phobia for him but he didn't like them much.

"There dear, all done," the nurse said. "I'll be back with your dinner in a couple of hours." She left the room, wheeling her cart to the door across the hall.

"I should get going," Harry said. "I still have a couple of employees to interview and I need to be back at the office soon."

Luke smiled ruefully. "I should get back to patrolling the corridors. I'm technically still on duty."

"Thanks for introducing me to Bill," Harry said.

"Would you visit again?" Luke asked hopefully. "Bill seems to really like you. And perhaps seeing you might help him, especially since Jane isn't around anymore."

Harry looked from Luke's eager face, to Bill's motionless one, and knew he couldn't say no. Somehow, he felt some sort of draw to these muggles. And perhaps it was simply because of how similar their troubles seemed to be to those who had suffered because of his actions in the War, but he felt that he needed to explore this connection.

"Yes," he agreed. "I will."

For a second Harry thought he noticed a predatory look in Luke's smile, but then it was gone, and he told himself that he must have imagined it.