Harry ended up having to carry Hermione wedding style to the spare bedroom. Her knees had gone from under her the moment he apparated into his living room and had nodded off somewhere between the washroom and the bathroom.

He took her heels off, undid her ponytail, the smell of lavender washing over him again, and pulled a few covers over her. Sleeping, she looked almost sober. Chuckling to himself, he walked across the hall cattycorner, kicked off his own shoes and collapsed on his king-sized. No more four-posters for him.

He closed his eyes.

Ron's face popped into his mind. His face had gotten paler and paler as dinner progressed. At one point, Harry asked with a joking attitude what Luna would say if Ron proposed. Ron had blanched even more and mumbled something into his water glass. Luna however had just smiled and said, "Well somebody has to keep the Snarclops away, so I suppose yes. Yes would be my answer." And just a few minutes before he proposed, he looked seriously ill enough that Luna had leaned across and asked, "Are you feeling alright Ron? Is it the Snarclops again?" Ron shook his head, and got up facing her. After he'd gone on and on about how lucky he was to have Luna, and a few other sappy thoughts, he sank to one knee, and popped the question. His face was now almost white and there was a hopeful look. Luna thought for a minute. Literally a minute had gone by in which Ron stayed on the floor with the ring out stretched and people forgo their meals to stare openly. The hopeful look turned into one of utter distraught.

Then Luna, "What are you still doing on the floor Ron? I'd already said yes ages ago."

Ron's face lit up like a Christmas tree. Harry had never seen his best friend so happy before, not even when he had made Keeper to his idol quidditch team. There were stars in his eyes and a happy glow had replaced his paleness.

I wonder what that feels like…

Harry rolled onto his back and undid his tie. He threw it on the floor and closed his eyes again, drifting off into dreams of happy glows and lavender…

Harry's senses were the ones to wake him up the following morning. Rich black coffee, citric spices…and burnt toast.

He roused himself from sleep- what was he dreaming about again?- and dragged himself into the hall way.

"Bloody hell…Reparo!"

He leaned against the kitchen doorway and crossed his arms, an amusing smile making its way onto his face. Hermione was bent over his toaster, poking it with her wand, and there was what looked like his entire stock of bread piled on the counter, all extremely burnt.

"I wouldn't fuss with that thing," he said. Hermione looked up, somewhat startled.

"Oh! Harry, I didn't hear you wake up…I was just…" she motioned to the pile of burnt toast, "Ill pick more bread up at the market later." She wore a sheepish expression. Harry laughed.

"Don't worry about it." He chuckled as he walked over to the fridge and pulled out the remaining four slices of bread. Waving his wand, the bread turned a crisp golden brown, and floated over to an empty plate that was undoubtedly meant for the toast.

"I haven't used that toaster in months, ever since it gave out on me. " He motioned her over to the chair across from him. Hermione took it, placing a steaming cup of coffee in front of him and gave him a quizzical look.

"Then why on earth haven't you replaced it?"

He shrugged, "Hadn't gotten around to it I guess." He took a sip, "Mmm, this is good."

"I poured a bit of the hazelnut syrup I found when I was looking for eggs. When's the last time you went grocery shopping Harry, you fridge is bare."

He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't remember. She laughed.

"I haven't had time!" he objected, trying not to laugh as well, "I've been cornered up at my desk for the last two months working on the Blackburn case. Bastard's fourth victim was found a week ago. She was walking out of an ally way going on about Billywigs and barn owls."

Mantis Blackburn was currently top of the list of Britain's most wanted wizards. He was a rogue follower of Voldemort. He had never been branded with the Dark Mark, but his was one of the few remaining pureblood families who still believed in the ideas of Tom Riddle. They hated muggles, and despised even more Muggleborns. Blackburn, head of his family had, two months ago abducted a young muggleborn witch. She was found two weeks later, also speaking gibberish…and without magic. Even now, after a full month and a half of being treated in St. Mungo's, she didn't recognize any of her friends who were wizards or witches, and was unable to utter the simplest spell. Her magic was just…gone, and all her memories related to it as well.

"There haven't been any clues as to where he might be hiding? Where's the girl?"

"No," he said, buttering up a toast, "None of his family have seen him, so they say, and we cant question them further because they're testimonies have been under Veriteserum. The girl, Victoria Brown, was admitted to St. Mungo's."

"Brown?" Said Hermione, looking up from pouring hazelnut into her coffee, "She's not related to-"

"Lavender? Yeah, she is. A cousin."

"But they're Pureblood. It would fit Blackburn's pattern."

"And it wouldn't, but then we found out that Victoria married a Muggle, two days prior to her abduction."

Hermione shook her head, "This is madness. Kingsly needs to put me on the case, I don't understand why he doesn't. Or at least let me interrogate his family. I have methods stronger than Veriteserum. "

"That's exactly why he doesn't Hermione. He doesn't trust- well he does, but the rest of the Wizingamott doesn't trust your methods. At least not the ones that came with your accident. They cant trace the methods you use, not like they can spells and potions. They don't understand them, and they don't want the press on their backs anymore with anything involving your powers."

Hermione knew this. There had been a huge to-do when she took the test to become an Auror three years ago. She passed, with flying colors, using only her wand and the magic she had before her accident. It was known by now that her powers were different, but she and her friends had been discrete and the full extent of what she was really capable of stayed unknown, even to this day, and she was welcomed into the Ministry with open arms. It was only after she had closed a few of her first cases that the Ministry began looking more closely into the methods she used.

There was one case, that of an escaped Death Eater that brought the press swarming over her and the Ministry. It was taking her team ages to find him, time they didn't have. Muggles were dying by the hour, and the one lead they had, a close friend of the Death Eater's wasn't talking. Even through large quantities of the truth potion, they were unable to pry the location of Voldemort's follower from him. Hermione had finally snapped after fourteen hours of interrogation, and threw her mind straight at his.

Methods of occlumency were tried before, by some of the best Occluments the Ministry had, but none of them were able to find anything of value. But when Hermione used it, she didn't even have to think. The suspect's body went ridged, and he was unable to do anything at all, move or speak or protest, nothing as she sifted mercilessly through his thoughts and memories. She found that the Death Eater had been retreating back to his childhood home, and that he was most likely there that very moment.

Hermione found him that night, not five minutes after she pulled herself from the man's mind. She walked into the house, she saw the Death Eater with his wand pointed at a young boy, about to throw the torture curse at him. In her fury, Hermione tore the house apart, not even bothering with her wand.

When the ministry arrived a few minutes later, the Death Eater was tied up and unconscious, his wand and his wand hand shattered. The boy was asleep in Hermione's arms. The Ministry tried every spell they knew of, and some they didn't to try and figure out what she'd done to the Death Eater. He wouldn't wake up for three days, and when he did, he was yelling out apologies and pleas to make the pain go away, but the healers had no idea of what pain he was speaking of, his vitals were normal.

Hermione later explained to Harry and the Minister, Kingsly Shacklebolt that she'd placed him under a curse of her own, to relive the pain he caused the people he killed, one by one, and that it wouldn't stop until all his victim's deaths were relived. He killed forty seven people. He was currently at Azkaban, unresponsive to any and all.

It was only Hermione's past and reputation that kept her from joining him there as well. After that incident, people passed her with caution. The press assaulted her and the Ministry for well over a year, but the hubble eventually died down. Now however, Kingsly refused to put her on any kind of top priority case, and only recently began assigning her cold cases.

"Its ridiculous," she vented, "you know I could help!"

"I know it Hermione, but we cant take any chances with this maniac. The Ministry has to keep its hands clean, or he might get off, even if we do catch him."

"Promise me you'll talk to me if you need it Harry," he took a long look at her.

"Only if you promise me that you wont do anything rash. That you wont do anything you haven't run by me first." She nodded.

"Right then," said Harry, "can we please talk about something different? Something that isn't so depressing and doesn't give me such a headach?" Hermione smiled.

"Sorry Harry. Ok, its Saturday, lets do something that has absolutely nothing to do with the Ministry then. Starting with going to the market." She crammed the last bit of toast into her mouth, then set about dumping all the burnt toast in the bin, along with the toaster.