Having spent the last few years working almost exclusively night shifts at Wainwright's Emergency Department, Harry was quite used to the strange pace of life that came with being a Healer. Stress came in two forms – sudden spikes and slow, grinding pressure. He'd always been better with the former. The latter had been a problem since he was still at Hogwarts. The first couple of days in Peru had been just the sort of thing he was best suited to: All doing and hardly any sitting around, and some foolish part of him had thought that maybe, just maybe, he might get away with avoiding this sort of all consuming boredom.

But that was not to be.

Three in the afternoon, sun shining, eighteen degrees on the dot, and he was stuck cleaning up garbage on the ninth floor of an abandoned block of flats with Kife Usman. If he was going to waste his time, he should at least have better company or the chance to enjoy the weather.

Not that Usman was a bad bloke, or anything. He seemed fine. Kind of quiet, maybe, but not rude or unfriendly. If anything, he was just…boring. He did what he was told, did it well, and moved on with his life. Which was fine. Good even. Competence was not something to be assumed, Harry knew that from firsthand experience, and Kife Usman was competent. He was quick and efficient with his spellwork, knew his way around both detection and repairing charms, and felt content to let Harry figure things out for himself. Working with him was nothing to complain about, and yet…

Harry suspected the man didn't like him much. Again, not because of anything he'd done or said, exactly, but because of some unidentifiable something in his mannerisms. A hesitation here, or a quirk of the lip there, or a hint of sternness in an answer to a basic question as though the man thought he really should have already known such things. Maybe he was just a bit of an introvert.

Harry righted an overturned bookshelf with a swish of his wand, finished checking the wall behind it for structural damage. Another flick and the small collection of paperbacks that had fallen flapped their way back to their places with the quiet sound of rustling pages. A small pop echoed from across the room as air rushed into the newly vacated space that had held a half dozen conjured bags full of rubbish a moment before. Boring or not, Usman's vanishing spells certainly had some kick to them.

The place looked reasonably fixed up. Not much damage to be found in the first place, and they weren't housekeepers.

"Next?" he asked, satisfied with their work.

Usman grunted his agreement and led the way back out into the hall.

They'd been doing this for hours now since he'd left Gabrielle back at their tent, tear stained and exhausted but in what seemed like decent spirits. He hadn't really thought about what she'd revealed to him – couldn't, if he didn't want to break down – but he did worry about how she must be doing. Going through something like that and coming out the other side… he couldn't imagine how hard it must be to even think about it, much less actually talk someone else through it like she had.

He'd respected her before, of course, for her choice to work with Caduceus, for her willingness to drop everything and come to England when Fleur needed support, and for her ability to hold her own with the Weasleys. There had already been so many amazing things about her, but now?

Gabrielle was the strongest woman he'd ever met. That title had belonged to Hermione before, or maybe Ginny. The former had faced down an entire system hellbent on denying her, looked blood supremacy in the eye and told it to fuck right off. Proved that she as a Muggleborn could be better than any Pureblood and put her life on the line every time she had walked into the Ministry because she truly knew that it was the right thing to do. And Ginny, after everything that Tom Riddle did to her when she was still a child, after all the abuse levied upon her at Hogwarts at the hands of the Carrows, Ginny went back to that school and earned her place in professional quidditch. Both of them had suffered so much and had to face that suffering every day for years on end. Fleur wasn't that far behind, coming back to England after the Tournament, joining the Order of the Phoenix, and pushing through after Bill's death.

But even compared to Hermione, Ginny, and Fleur, Gabrielle stood out. Harry knew that hurt was hurt, and that comparing suffering between people was wrong, but the fact that she could endure such horrors for years, much less find a way out of them whilst buried beneath so many layers of trauma, was beyond incredible. That she could do all that and then find room in her heart to want to help others was...he didn't have the words for what it was. Amazing? Inspiring?

The click of the lock disengaging was loud in the darkened corridor, the hinges squealing in protest as Usman shoved open the door with his shoulder even louder. The thin man cast a spell to check for survivors the moment he was in the flat; the dim red light at the tip of his wand did not flicker – no one was alive inside. No survivors meant that it was time to get back to digging through the flat in search of the alternative. One would think that the smell would give such things away. But between the maritime conditions, debris coverage, and general bad luck it hadn't done so as much as he would have suspected. They'd only found two deceased so far this afternoon. Well, two human deceased, at least.

For the next twenty minutes or so, Harry and Usman sifted through the flat, vanishing anything that could be a danger to the occupants when they returned and generally trying to keep an eye out for problems. Even amongst a day of dull work this particular home was desperately uninteresting, and other than a small leak in the pipes beneath the washroom sink there was very little for them to do. Harry distracted himself by thinking about Gabrielle, and then wondering what, if anything, the rest of his family was doing after his sudden disappearance with her.

Fleur would explain, he was sure, and once she did the others wouldn't worry much. Except for Hermione – she tended to worry about him anyway – and Molly…and Angelina…and Ron… At least George wouldn't worry. Much.

Not paying particular attention, Harry was surprised when Usman spoke.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that," he replied.

"I said that it is good to see Gabby so 'appy," Usman repeated. "She 'as always been too serious, and it does my 'eart well to see her smile."

For a moment, Harry was stumped. Usman had been nothing but distantly professional in their interactions up to this point, and he wasn't sure exactly what the man's game was. He did notice that the thin man hadn't mentioned him at all in the statement, which led to a simple question: why not? Harry knew that it was clear he and Gabrielle were not just friends, (or at least he suspected she didn't go around snogging people in public she wasn't romantically attached to, because that didn't really seem like her sort of thing to do). For Usman to talk of Gabrielle's happiness with him certainly implied that he had something to do with the man's observations, right?

Or maybe he was just insane. Usman was probably uncomfortable, or bad at communicating, or…

Smirking.

Clearly a trap, then. Harry tried not to scowl. He knew Healers that wanted to move up into Administration often played this sort of game – tossing sweet words laced with hidden poison back and forth in the hopes of causing embarrassment or humiliation. He'd never seen the point. Of course, he'd been happy working with patients as well, and had never desired a supervisory role. Still, not wanting to do something didn't mean he couldn't.

"I'm always happy if Gabrielle is happy, Usman," he replied. "And you are a good friend to care so much about her happiness."

Usman took a moment to vanish a small section of carpet that smelled strongly of mildew. Harry scanned the ceiling for evidence of a leaking pipe but didn't see any sagging or discoloration.

"We 'ave spent considerable time together over the last several years. I care about her a great deal, but that should come as no surprise to you. I admit that I am surprised she is so open about 'er joy to 'ave you here though – Gabby is usually so 'esitant to share much about her life outside ze Foundation. We all thought it a sign of impending calamity when she mentioned you in passing during the Nairobi conference! But I suppose zat it is safer to tell others now that things between the pair of you are so serious. How long 'ave you been together, out of curiosity?"

This last part was asked as though it was of no consequence as Usman pushed open the door to the next flat. Harry cast the appropriate detection charm and saw that they were alone. Again.

None of your business, he thought of answering, or What's it to you? The part of him that was really starting to dislike the thin, dark-skinned man he'd been assigned to work with wanted nothing more than to be petty and defensive. Denying it that small pleasure was difficult, but in the end he managed to convince it that the truth was a better answer.

"Not long, but long enough."

If Usman had asked him long enough for what, he wasn't sure what his answer would have been. To know that she was special? To know that he could love her? That part of him already did? Long enough that she had carved out a place for herself that would never and could never belong to anyone else, even though thinking that way so quickly was stupid and likely to end up in heartbreak?

Fortunately, Usman didn't ask.

He levitated a shattered television back onto the large armoire it had been mounted in instead, andHarry took the opportunity to repair a shattered window overlooking the building's central courtyard.

"I would 'ave never guessed," Usman rejoined. "Between 'er worrying about you and assigning you to her tent… It is good to see that she is so willing to trust again. It 'as not always been so easy for 'er in the past."

Harry knew a warning when he heard one, and despite the lack of explicit evidence he had a more than passing sense that with this man warnings and threats might be used interchangeably. He'd never reacted well to threats.

Still, he could be reading things wrong – it wouldn't be the first time, and Usman was Gabrielle's friend, even if he was a prick. It took a great deal of restraint to say, "I know just how fortunate I am that Gabrielle has decided to be with me. She's amazing – smart, funny, sweet, kind…"

"And beautiful," Usman finished. "Exceptionally so."

There was an odd tone to the man's voice. It held none of the desperate hunger Harry would have expected from him if he were just trying to get in her pants, nor the churning envious hate that would have meant he was trapped in the dreaded no-man's-land of unrequited yearning. It wasn't the overprotective grumble of a wary brother either, or the resigned sigh of a friend facing the most recent in a line of dejected suitors. If anything, his words were matter of fact, as though there was no world in which Gabrielle Delacour wasn't beautiful and even mentioning it was rather like saying the grass was green or water was wet.

…which was true, wasn't it? Harry paused half-way through the twist-swish of a vanishing charm. Usman was an ass, there was no question, but it almost seemed like…

"Are you asking if I know about the Allure?"

The fallen light fixture Usman had been re-hanging wavered gently. The man's surprise was enough of an answer for Harry.

"I am very much aware of it, but thank you for your concern."

"It does not affect you?"

"Of course she does," Harry replied, already feeling the momentary hint of goodwill he'd almost let form subside. "Personally, if she didn't then I'd be far more concerned."

The fixture was rather modern, sort of like a vase hung upside down with a bare bulb inside, and it swung back and forth over what had probably been a small dining room table. Harry swept his wand across the room one last time and moved to the next. He sighed when he saw the large pool of standing water. Whoever lived here had decided to make some improvements to the loo, and while he was sure the new toilet had looked lovely they really should have taken the time to secure it properly.

"Working with the Foundation can be intense," Usman called out. "You are very brave to take that on while things are still so new."

Harry knew that very brave meant very stupid, of course, but chose to ignore the slight. "I suppose," he replied instead, "but if I'm honest I think that intensity is a good thing. It burns off the bullshit that comes with new relationships and forces us to be ourselves. There's no extra time or energy for posturing or holding back, no tiptoeing around the issues that are really important to us. Gabrielle is passionate about her work. She cares about Caduceus and genuinely believes in its mission. This is where she wantsto be, so why would I want to be anywhere else?"

Only after the words had left his mouth did he realize just how insane he probably sounded. He thought about hedging his statement, making some sort of weak joke or changing the subject, but for some reason he just…didn't. He straightened a horribly bent pipe instead, and did what he could to repair the shattered porcelain that littered the floor.

"Then it was a good choice to come here with her, I would say."

Usman didn't bother to hide the note of suspicion this time, and Harry couldn't blame the man, really. He knew that it sounded a bit mad, and if he'd heard that some strange bloke had suddenly turned up with, say…Susan or Luna, he'd have been wary as well. Usman is Gabrielle's friend, he reminded himself yet again.

"It's working out well for us, and I'd like to think for Caduceus and my patients, but if I'm honest I wouldn't say it was much of a choice. That would imply I actually thought about it before I made a decision."

He'd done as much as he could repair-wise, so he started back for the door. There were still two more floors of flats to be cleared on their docket for the day, and the sooner he finished the sooner he could go back to their tent. Gabrielle might be there, and Usman wouldn't be.

"You didn't?"

"Not for more than a moment."

Usman had stowed his wand and was standing in the middle of the sitting room. For the first time, he actually met Harry's eyes. The challenge in them was clear.

"Impulsive."

A statement, not a question. An accusation, more than that.

Fuck you, prick, roared a voice that sounded like Ron, I find your presumption rather insulting, whispered a not-Hermione, and from a moment on the cliffs overlooking the sea at a small cottage in the west of Cornwall, a remembered Bill. It doesn't have to make sense, Harry. It rarely does.

Harry looked Usman in the eye. Shrugged. The answer was as simple now as it had been when he'd left the Burrow with her. It didn't have to make sense.

"She asked."

Usman nodded and led the way back out into the hall. The conversation was apparently over, because they did not speak for nearly an hour after that. The work was just as mind numbing, unfortunately, and the combination of boredom and suspense led Harry quickly back to anxiety.

Usman had seemed a little too interested in his relationship with Gabrielle, hadn't he? And he'd been working with her for years…was there something there? Gabrielle seemed comfortable around the man, so if there was it had either ended smoothly or long enough ago that she was over it. But was he? Harry couldn't imagine how difficult getting over her would be…

Even if they hadn't been together romantically, Usman had to know her better than he did after years of friendship, right? Maybe he was right – maybe coming down to Peru with her had been impulsive. He'd forced himself into her life, kissed her, probably pressured her into sharing a tent with him…he'd ruined everything, hadn't he? She was probably just too nice to…

Harry caught himself and pulled out of the spiral. He'd always been good at overthinking things, so being able to recognize the signs and derail his thoughts was something he had plenty of practice with. The fact of the matter was that Gabrielle was an adult. Being in a relationship with her meant being a partner. If she had a problem with something, he had to trust that she would communicate that to him. Until then, he'd just be grateful that she wanted him around and do his very best to make her happy.

Even if it meant playing nice with Kife bloodly Usman.

"You have a family back home?" he asked as he inspected beneath yet another sink by wandlight. He was pretty sure the other man did, and people liked to talk about their kids.

"I do. Wife, three children."

Harry waited for more, but it was quickly evident that Usman wouldn't give him anything to work with. Still, he tried.

"It must be hard to leave them, especially on such short notice."

"Yes. I miss them terribly. But they know that the work I do with Caduceus is important."

He did not elaborate further. Harry's frustration with the man boiled in his gut. For fuck's sake, he was trying to be friendly!

"So, how did you come to work with the Foundation?"

"A beautiful woman asked me to."

Harry gave up. If the prick wanted to be an arsehole, then that was his choice. He'd just finish this stupid shift and go back to Gabrielle, and Kife Usman could go do whatever the hell Kife Usman did with his life when he wasn't being a bloody wanker. They worked their way through another floor's worth of flats without speaking to one another, searching for survivors or remains, repairing damage, and vanishing what couldn't or didn't need to be saved. Room after room, flat after flat. They worked in silence, though at least now there was no tension as it was clear neither had anything to say to the other.

By the time they finished with the eleventh floor Harry's watch read half past six, and he was more than ready to call it a day. His head was pounding and his back ached, and every time he cast a spell the drain on his magic left him just a little lightheaded. He certainly wasn't going to give Usman the satisfaction of asking for a break, though, and they only had one floor left to clear before their assignment for the shift was complete, so he pushed on.

It was entirely in keeping with his mood that they discovered the door to the stairway was stuck. Not even locked – Usman's alohamora would have fixed that easily – but truly, genuinely stuck. Four floors and two conversations earlier, and Harry would have done the right thing. But in this moment…

A quick flick of his wand and the door disintegrated into a cloud of dust and splinters. He tromped through the sizeable puddle that had gathered at the foot of the stairs when some pipe or other had burst and trudged his way tiredly up yet another flight of stairs. The setting sun hued the sky in rich ochres and blazing vermillion, casting ever deepening shadows down narrow alleyways and across abandoned squares while in the distance fires still burned up in the hills; Harry wondered if anyone would notice if he shoved Usman out the shattered window.

In the third flat on their last floor, Usman asked Harry if he missed his family back in England. It was an odd question, seeing as the fact that he was an orphan was one of the few things that pretty much every story of his life tended to get right, and, quite frankly, he was too tired and irritated to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

"They've been dead my whole life," he replied dryly instead.

"Not your parents, the rest of them. Gabrielle says that you are quite close to 'er sister? I was very sad to hear of Bill Weasley's passing."

It was as though he had stepped off a ledge he hadn't known was there. Harry's heart clenched for a beat, two, then raced ahead, pounding in his suddenly ringing ears. His gut churned and his hand twitched. The refrigerator he'd been levitating back onto its feet fell to the floor with a crash, and he spun to face the other man.

"You knew him?" Harry snarled.

"Not personally," Usman answered easily. "But from what I 'ear he was a good man. As are 'is brothers. You are close with zem as well? Ronald and George especially? And Ginevra of course, though I know that I don't need to tell you that she is not a man."

Harry scuffed the floor with the toe of his transfigured boot and took in the thin man's stance. His wand slid comfortably into the slight groove in the calluses between thumb and forefinger.

Usman laughed.

"None of that, Harry," he said, quite clearly unconcerned. "You are wondering where it is I get my information?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"I'm sure. Let me tell you – before I came to work with Caduceus, I was employed by the International Confederation of Wizards. I was good at what I did there, very good in fact, and part of that position involved the gathering of information. So, when Gabrielle mentioned reconnecting with you at the conference in Nairobi, I asked around. She does not discuss her life outside the Foundation with us, almost as a rule, so I thought, out of an abundance of caution perhaps, that I should make sure that nothing seemed unusual about you. Just out of care for her, you understand?"

"And?"

"Your file was a very interesting read, Harry," Usman replied. He was smiling now, though there was no kindness in the gesture. "Very interesting."

"I'm glad you found it entertaining," Harry countered. The other man still held his wand loosely at his side, but he could see the slight shift in his weight that indicated he was more than ready to change that in an instant. The first spell was likely to come from the lower quadrant and cross towards his opposite shoulder…

"Yes, I found the parts about your year on the run particularly interesting. All those weeks in the wilderness, those long nights alone with Hermione…excuse me, Mrs. Granger-Weasley now isn't it? You 'ave stayed close with her and her husband, despite…well, there are rumors of course, but it usually best not to dwell on that which lacks evidence."

"Certainly in this case," Harry growled. At some point they'd both begun circling.

"But there is a great deal of rumor around you. Not just during that year, but after you defeated Riddle as well. That business with the Academy…I'm glad that young Mr. Stevens was able to recover so successfully. Why, it only took him, what, eighteen months to relearn how to walk?"

"Fifteen," Harry corrected. "Miles is the toughest bastard I know."

"Except for yourself, of course. You've been knocked down more times than I can count, and you always find your way back to your feet, don't you? Well, other than that one time…right after you resigned from auror training, when Mr. Stevens was in the hospital. Do you remember that evening? The reports are really rather scarce, which is somewhat unusual, I'll admit, but what is there is…well it is a bit suspicious, isn't it?"

Harry's hand tensed. The tip of his wand dipped down and towards his centerline, a deep blue mote of light forming just where the wood ended. Usman's smile disappeared in an instant, replaced by a hard look of utmost focus. For a long moment, they did not move, hanging on the precipice of violence until finally, Harry sighed.

"What do you want," he asked.

"Nothing," Usman answered. "Just for you to remember this: Gabby is my friend. She is a good woman, and she has endured enough cruelty in her life. She sees potential in you and is willing to trust you enough to see if that potential could be worth something. Do not take that for granted. Give her the same respect and care that she has given you, and if you do not…remember that your actions have consequences."

And with that, he turned on his heel and stepped back out into the hall.

Who the fuck does he think he is? Harry fumed. He'd received some variant of the 'if you hurt her I will make you regret it' speech several times over the years. From Ron, in their sixth year when he'd first dated Ginny, and from Mr Weasley when they got back together once Voldemort was no longer in the picture. From Victoria's father as well, and both of her brothers, who he'd never really got on with. As far as he was concerned it was part of the process of seeing someone new. But Usman…fucking Kife Usman…

Prick.

Harry made for the hallway, wishing yet again that this horrible day would just end. The tosser had just cracked open the next door, and neither of them needed a spell to detect that no one was alive inside. The smell that drifted out was beyond description. Usman coughed and Harry had to bite his tongue to avoid vomiting. Eyes watering, he pushed inside. Other than the stench, the place looked normal. There was little damage to be seen, and even the mirror by the front door was intact. The sink was dripping a bit, and the oven door had a crack in the glass, but compared to the last few flats they'd cleaned up it was relatively immaculate. Usman ran a few diagnostic charms just to be sure, and Harry pushed open the door to the bedroom.

The corpse was on the bed. Her arms were spread wide, each hand anchored to a sturdy wooden post with a pair of shining metal cuffs. Dried blood coated her wrists and forearms, and her hair was a matted red-brown mess. But none of that was what caught Harry's eye. No, that was the crow perched on her chest, talons gripping the torn shreds of what had probably been a very nice white silk blouse, its beak quite clearly picking at something inside of her mouth. The bird jerked back with a raucous caw at his sudden appearance, flapping its wings in protest then, having recovered surprisingly quickly, decided discretion to be the better part of valor.

But not before it took a moment to tear the woman's tongue out.

"There's another in here," Usman called from the washroom. "Man, mid-forties I would guess. Wedding ring."

Harry swore. His day had just gotten a hell of a lot longer. Hours, at least. Probably more. He seriously considered just leaving - they were dead, so there was no rush really. They'd certainly still be here in the morning, and unless there was magic involved they weren't even his responsibility beyond…

Hold on. Was that?

"Get the cuffs off," he said, stepping closer. There was a soft clink followed by a thump as her arms fell back to the woman's sides.

There, on her flank, just above the waistband of her knee-length skirt…was that? It couldn't be, could it? There was simply no way…

"Help me turn her over, no magic," he ordered, voice hardly louder than a whisper.

The delicate fabric was already torn from the woman's struggles, stained with red, and it tore easily in his hands. There, stretching from just above her left hip across to mid right shoulder, was a patch of pale, shining skin, completely unblemished and entirely different from the tanned flesh around it.

The first time was chance.

The second might be coincidence.

Harry Potter wasn't an idiot. He'd gone to Hogwarts, trained to be an Auror, become a damn good Healer. He knew that nothing was ever a coincidence.

"What is it that I am looking at?" Usman asked. "Scarring? Burn?"

"Not sure, but I don't like it." Harry replied. "Grab him too, we're taking them both back with us."

"I agree. After I 'ave 'ad time to secure ze room and properly document everything."

Harry scowled. He knew what Usman was getting at, and what made it worse was that it made sense to treat this like a crime scene. Had they not spent the last who-knows-how-long sniping at one another he might have even suggested it himself. But they had, and there was simply no way he was about to let Kife Usman win.

"I suspect that this woman's death may have been caused by something magical. She and anyone else in the vicinity are my responsibility as the ranking Medical Officer on site," he said.

"Of course, but as the ranking Investigative Officer on site, I 'ave priority in all situations where evidence points towards foul play," Usman countered. "You can take 'er back to camp and play with 'er however you like after I clear the remains for release. Ze scene of the crime, if that is what we 'ave found 'ere, is ze most likely source of information. I cannot risk losing potential evidence just because you are impulsive."

Usman was right, and Harry could not deny it, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Twenty minutes."

"I will be done when I am done. Why don't you go find somewhere else to be?"

"Sure," Harry snarled, "I'll be next door, making no noise and pretending not to exist."

"Ze best idea you 'ave had all day."

Harry's reply leaned heavily on nonverbal communication.