Author's Chapter Notes:

Wrong time and wrong place...the primary ingredients of bad luck.

**

Later that night, Harry contemplated the mobile in his hands, staring at it as if it would give him an answer to some great question.

I stood before Voldemort; hell, I looked him in the eye when we fought, so why can't I push some numbers on a piece of plastic to hear the voice of someone...

He gulped and pressed the first number.

...I love.

There was no answer on either her mobile or flat phone.

I finally get a grip on my balls to ring her there's no answer. Great.


Due to the headphones blasting music into her ears while she ran on the treadmill, Hermione didn't hear the phone ring. Over the years, she found exercise as an ideal way to clear her mind and tire her enough to relax for a good night's sleep. She ran this evening because of the pleasantly alarming thoughts of Harry. Could thoughts be pleasant and alarming at the same time? Pleasantly alarming? You're over-analyzing again, swot. She pressed a button to make the treadmill go a tick faster.

I adore his shy, sweet smile.
He was so good with the baby.
He makes me feel special.
Mum is crazy about him and Dad likes him too.
He puts the perfect amount of jam on my scone.

She almost tripped at how suggestive that sounded, but regained her balance and ran until sweat was trickling down her back. After a long, vigorous run, sleep came easily that night. The next morning, she readied herself for work and glanced around the lounge for her mobile.

Oh that's right, it went for a swim in the toilet.

With her satchel and handbag in hand, she walked down the street to the local shopping centre and hailed a taxi to take to Charing Cross Road. Ordinarily, she would walk the ten minute distance, but she was running a tad late and it looked as if would rain. Upon arrival, she walked the short distance to The Leaky Cauldron, waved "hi" to Tom and took the pub's floo to one of the Ministry's public floo.

In the atrium, she stopped at The Daily Prophet vendor. When she opened her handbag to pay for the paper and she heard angry shouts behind her. Before she could turn her head to see what the commotion was about, she was knocked off her feet and thrown into the newspaper display. Her head hit the glass door of an office behind the vendor. She fell to the floor, heard a snapping sound, and felt a terrible pain from her arm.

Harry had just finished the Minister's morning briefing when he heard shouts from the atrium. He looked out the door and saw flashes of spell light, then saw someone falling over and demolishing The Daily Prophet news stand. He ran toward the fracas with two Aurors at his heels. The duel was ending, but Harry ordered the offenders apprehended and went to see to the unlucky bystander that inadvertently destroyed the newspaper stand. His heart fell to his stomach when he saw that it was Hermione. She had a broken arm, a nasty cut above her right ear and was losing consciousness.

"Summon a Healer now!" he bellowed so loudly the entire atrium fell into silence.

On his mobile, Harry paced the corridor outside one of the Urgent Care wards of St. Mungo's, reassuring the Grangers that Hermione was going to be fine. He also knew that she was going to be pissed off that yet again she was in hospital.

In the seven years Hermione had been with the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she had made numerous trips to St. Mungo's. A side-effect of working with wild and magical creatures, one would think; except that in Hermione's case, it seemed to happen to her more than anyone else in her department. The last time Hermione had been in hospital was another Taboo Conversation Subject; a subject that led Hermione to seek a transfer to another department. No one, not even on their best day, cares to admit that they spent time in hospital due to "injuries caused by rabbits" as her medical file stated. To this day, Harry had to stifle a laugh when he remembered the conversation with her parents.

"Yes mum, they were rabbits, but two dozen rabid, large, magically-altered rabbits!" she had vehemently declared.

Just when he finished with the Grangers, Hermione's Healer emerged from the ward.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Potter," he said. "My most frequent and interesting patient is going to be fine, but because of the head injury, I would feel better if she stayed overnight for us to keep an eye on her. Head injuries can be tricky."

"I've contacted her parents, and they'll go along with whatever you think is best," Harry said.


Her eyelids fluttered open. She yawned and stretched before she realized that she could only stretch one arm; the other was painful and in a cast. She was then aware of the general smell in the air that was not her bedroom. She grunted and slapped the thin mattress in frustration.

The door opened and her healer walked in. He stopped beside the bed, glanced at the clock and made a note on the parchment laden clipboard. He shined a light from the medical wand in her eyes and wiggled a finger for her to look.

"We're going to name a room after you," he quipped.

"Aren't you in the law now? I thought your were-rabbit wrangling days were over."

She rolled her eyes. Would she ever live that down?

"I just stopped to get a paper, in the Ministry atrium, just feet from the Minister's office. Honestly, how much trouble was that going to be?" she asked.

"How does your head feel?"

"A headache, but a tolerable one, but I can't say the same for this," she said, tapping the cast on her arm.

"It's a clean break, we set it while you were unconscious. Now that you're awake, you can have the Skele-Grow," he said.

"That stuff tastes vile," she said.

"It's that or the Muggle way. Drink the stuff and leave in hours fully mended, or six weeks with a cast, your choice."

The nurse left the room, lips twitching in amusement as Hermione mumbled curses at the bottle of Skele-Grow. She watched Hermione gag her way through the first cup, noting it in the treatment record. A famous, pregnant, red-headed witch was walking toward the room.

"Are you here for Miss Granger?" the nurse asked.

Ginny nodded and held up a small overnight bag.

"Good, she'll appreciate the company," the nurse said.

Ginny knocked on the door. A cough and "come in" was heard. She poked her head in.

"Ginny! It's great to see you!"

She came in, laid the bag next to Hermione and pulled up a chair next to the bed. "They're going to name a room after you if you keep this up."

"My Healer said the same thing." Hermione said, rummaging through the bag and triumphantly held up a toothbrush and hairbrush. "Bless you, dear friend," she said, "help me up?"

Ginny rose and made sure Hermione was steady on her feet before she went to the small bathroom.

"Harry's at the Ministry, taking statements about what happened," Ginny said.

Hermione stepped from the bathroom, looking at her in question while brushing her teeth.

"He was there, he saw the entire incident as he was rushing from Kingsley's office," Ginny said. "He saw someone flying over the newspaper stand, but he didn't know it was you until the duel was over. He got you here, made sure you were being taken care of, then got right back to the Ministry. Seeing you hurt as you were... frightened him. The last time you were that hurt was--"

"Fifth year," Hermione said, sitting back on the bed and brushing her hair. "Where's that husband of yours?"

Ginny poured another glass of the Skele-Grow and held it out. "On shift, he has the Magical Bugs rotation this month. Now take it."

"It's revolting," Hermione said.

"I know, I've taken enough of it. Quidditch players have this in their lockers by the litre," Ginny said.

Harry stopped outside the door, flowers and raspberry scones in hand when he heard Hermione fussing, "You'd think by now that someone would figure out a way to make it chocolate flavored or something like that!"

He knocked on the door, pleased that she up and awake, well enough to be fussing.

"Come in!"

He poked his head in.

"Harry!" Hermione said, shooting him a pained smile. "It's great to see you too!"

Ginny patted her hand and stood. "Take your medicine, young lady. I'll go see that husband of mine before I go home. I'm glad you're all right."

"Thanks, Gin," he said.

"Anytime," she said and left the room.

"Are those scones I smell? I'm starved," she said and winced when another healing pain surged through her arm. "Not only does it taste horrid, but it hurts to heal," she said and took a large bite of the tasty scone.

"It's better than an inconvenient, itchy cast," he said. "So, are you really all right?"

She nodded. "They took care of my noggin straight away, the headache is almost gone. What happened?"

He sighed and settled in the chair. "Some bloke thought that another bloke from his office was seeing his wife on the sly. Hence the impromptu duel."

"Well, was he?" she asked.

"Was he what?" he asked.

"Seeing his wife on the sly?"

He shrugged and nodded. "Yeah he was, but dueling it out in an atrium full of people wasn't the best thing to do about it."

She winced and sighed heavily. He didn't like to see her in pain.

"Why don't you ask for a sleeping draught since you can't have a pain reliever?" he asked.

"Which reminds of something else that needs to be invented. A palatable Skele-Grow and a pain reliever that can be taken with it," she said.

"Gee, you don't ask for much, do you?" he asked.

"Well, this doesn't feel much like healing is what I'm saying," she said.

"I agree, but why don't you just ask for a sleeping draught anyway? That way, you'll just sleep through it," he said.

She thought for a moment and sent for a nurse. After she drank the draught, nodding in approval at the minty taste, Harry read to her from one of the books in the bag Ginny brought.

"Reason persuades me that I ought no less carefully to withhold my assent from matters which are not entirely certain and indubitable than from those which appear to me manifestly to be false..."*

What the hell is this? He stopped and flipped the cover to see the book's title.

"Who's this bloke anyway? Dess-carts?" he asked.

She shook her head and mumbled sleepily, "It's pronounced deh-cart, and he was a brilliant scholar and philosopher."

"Oh."

She mumbled something unintelligible and her head rolled to the side. Her soft snores and the way her nose twitched in sleep was adorable.

Yep, I've got it bad. I'm reading philosophy.


Chapter End Notes:

*from Descarte's Meditations On First Philosophy