Harry! I bet you've missed him! I know I have, and I'm the writer :P And geez, but it feels like this chapter just never bloody ends, so you've got that to enjoy :P

A few things to say; there are probably parts of this which aren't perfect. I'm aware of this, and I'm saying oh well tough, right now. I hope you can forgive me, but the car I was driving was hit by a semi-trailer on Thursday (no one died, but some sheer bloody miracle, and the worst we got was a few scraps and bruises, which sounds almost as unbelievable as getting hit by a semi in the first place), and I haven't really been in a hard-core editing mood.

Now, go on and do your thing- read and review. Lots of love to those who left reviews before!

Part One: Great Expectations

Chapter Thirteen: Broken and Bent

He doesn't hurt much anymore.

That's the first thing he notices.

The second is the apparent cessation of that irritating beeping noise from last time.

The third is the cacophony of breathing that's replaced it; soft and loud and out of synch. Which is debatably all the more annoying. He wonders, briefly, how many people are here with him; the Weasley's maybe? But no- they could never have gone on this long without talking.

Nor, on that account, could many people he knew.

Maybe he's in a zoo? Though that seems a little far-fetched actually- why would he even be in a zoo? What would be the point of that?

"I know you're awake, Harry. For Merlin's sake open your eyes." That voice is familiar; he couldn't miss that imperious voice anywhere- it'd been a part of his existence for over half his life. His body complies before he even realises it (the reaction's been burnt into his system for years now).

Hermione's face is only a foot away; brown eyes glimmering with a mix of exasperation and fondness.

"Hey 'Mione," he rasps- voice thankfully not cracking halfway through. She smiles, drawing back slightly. A pair of glasses slide onto his nose and the world draws into focus.

"Hey Harry. Feeling better now?" he wriggles his fingers experimentally; there's no responding pain- only a dull ache, like over stretched muscles.

"Much, yeah." He can see the clutter of potion bottles on the table next to his bed- there are more than a few of the dreaded skel-e-grow, "Your handiwork?"

Her smile grows smug, "Muggle medicine can only go so far; there are just some things that need to be done with magic. And you were pretty banged up."

"I felt like shit." He points out.

"Well you looked like shit too." He raises an eyebrow at her sardonic tone, feeling pleased that the action doesn't hurt anymore.

"You always knew how to charm 'em Hermione."

"And you always knew how to find yourself in trouble." At that he frowns.

"Yeah- speaking of trouble… what did I get into this time? And where are we?" There are some vague memories there of something bad happening (blood and pain and anger), but they're disfigured and corrupted, like blurry pictures. Hermione draws back even further and now there's some indescribable expression on her face that sets him immediately on edge.

"You don't remember?" she whispers, and in those words he hears terror and grief and bitterness, well hidden but discernable; he's known her for long enough.

"Not too much," he says slowly, trying to calm his friend, "There's something there, but the specifics are gone. We got caught, right?" She frowns thoughtfully as he tries to sit up, but there's a hand on his shoulder, light but strong, and he suddenly remembers the chorus of breathing that he'd heard before.

"I still wouldn't do that," a male voice- unfamiliar- murmurs, and he turns to its source. A man- middle aged, brown-hair greying at the temples- looks back. His eyes remind him of Remus. He ignores him and sits up anyway.

"I feel fine," he says slowly to the stranger, who's mostly just staring at him. He moves to cover his scar self-consciously (it's a habit he'd never quite managed to shake free of) and is pleased to find his arms no longer restrained. Nor are they covered in casts. His eyes travel onwards.

Steve is there (he remembers Steve), looking curious and a little unnerved, beside a shortish man with dark hair and a goatee. There's an arrogant, self-assured look attached to the way he leans against the wall that makes him think of Malfoy (unmitigated prat). A tall man with dark skin stands at the door, his left eye covered with a patch. His face and clothes are deathly serious.

"Er-hello." He says, ever the eloquent one. Hermione snorts behind him.

"You always had such elegant people skills, Harry dear." She snickers; the man with the goatee smirks in amusement. Steve gives him a little wave.

"Are you the ones who saved me?" he asks, tentative and unsure. The men (bar Leatherman) all shake their heads.

"Saving would be a loose use of the term," remarks Mister Arrogant, "more like retrieved."

"Tony," chastises Sad Eyes; though Harry's not entirely clear why- it's not like he'd been offensive anyway. Mister Arroga-Tony- seems to share the same mentality, only giving Sad Eyes an unfathomable look.

"Queenie." It takes a moment for him to realise Tony's address is directed at Hermione, "Aren't you going to introduce us?" His voice is falsely sweet and Hermione sighs in exasperation. She comes around the bed to stand with the men.

"Well, I had rather hoped you would have managed it yourselves."

Tony rolls his eyes and straightens up; stepping forward to shake his hand and Harry returns it. His grasp is firm (confident) but not crushing. Harry likes the man a bit more now: whenever he'd shaken hands with Malfoy, the git had always seemed to want to turn his fingers to pulp.

"Tony Stark," he says, and Harry kind of likes it. It suits him, "It's nice to see you awake at last." Now that he's closer, Harry can see the curious glint in his face, bright eyes constantly searching for answers.

"Harry Potter." He replies, "How long have I been asleep?" Sad Eyes behind Tony moves forward.

"About ten days," Harry feels like he should be surprised, but he's not. Sad Eyes shakes his hand too, 'I'm Bruce." Harry smiles at him; he'd always preferred people to introduce themselves by first names only; all that last name crap had always been so impersonal (well, for people he liked at least).

"And Steve doesn't need to be introduced, I gather," Hermione says, nodding to the blonde man with the easy face. Harry just smiles and Hermione shifts sightly, moving to the side to allow the dark-skinned man to step forward, "Harry, this is Director Fury. He's head of command of SHIELD; the organisation that found you and has been taking care of you."

Director Fury nods at him, saying nothing. He doesn't offer him his hand; Harry pays it no mind. His expression is curious though- it's not angry, per se, and neither is it hostile, but there's a strange mix of both; a cautiousness to the trust in his gaze combined with something very close to protectiveness. It makes Harry think a bit of Mad Eye.

"Mister… Potter," he rumbles, apparently trying out his name, "Miss Granger has informed me that you are a light wizard?"

Harry stiffens, sending an incredulous look to Hermione, who shrugs.

"Director Fury is aware of our abilities…and our predicament." He looks at her in confusion.

"Predicament? What predicament? What's wrong- why isn't anybody else here?" Hermione looks uncomfortable and shares a nervous look with Bruce.

"I…" she trails off, shifting nervously, and he suddenly realises her left arm is in a sling (and why the hell didn't he notice that earlier? It's so obvious). Her face looks thin- thinner than he'd last remembered seeing- and there are the yellowing remains of bruising spread across her cheeks. Bandages peek out from under the collar of her dress… which is unusually short and very Muggle looking.

"'Mione. What happened to you? What happened to me?" he searches his memories for an explanation, but nothing but some blurry, jumbled images and sounds are forthcoming. He can't make heads or tails of it.

He quells the panic ruthlessly.

"Why can't I remember it properly Hermione?" he rasps, fingers clenching and unclenching sporadically at the cheap cotton sheets. The other men (bar Director Fury, who just seems unimpressed by the whole thing) look concerned and awkward. Hermione looks like she wants to cry.

"Perhaps we should leave you two alone," Bruce says quietly, tugging gently on Tony's sleeve- they remove themselves with little fuss. Steve sends Hermione a comforting smile before exiting too. Director Fury glares at the two of them, but says nothing. Hermione bows shallowly as he closes the door behind him.

Harry breathes shakily into the heavy silence they're left in and Hermione moves closer to the bed.

"Scooch over fattie," she teases, but he doesn't miss the forced quality to it. He complies; Hermione always explains what needs to be known. She climbs up awkwardly, tucking her legs up over his lap. His arm extends automatically to hold her and she rests her head against the crook of his shoulder with a heavy sigh. Her hair smells like lavender- not her usual scent. Her good arm comes up to rest on his chest, fingers splayed out wide over his heart.

"We're in another universe, Harry." Her voice is small, quiet and so, so far away. His breathing hitches; that wasn't what he had expected. Out of a million possible explanations, that was probably one million and one.

"How?" he breathes, mind reeling, "A-are you sure?" she nods into his neck.

"I haven't fully checked to see what the differences are between theirs and ours- I only arrived a few days ago- but I'm very sure."

"How?" Hermione sighs and pulls back slightly to look him in the eye.

"We came through the Veil." His breathing stutters again as he remember Sirius. Tortured, wonderful, glorious Sirius; gone without even a body for them to bury or a name for them to grieve over. He pushes away the old grief and anger before he takes it out on Hermione, "You remember-" she carries on, "-I worked on it when I was still an Unspeakable. We'd had suspicions for a while that it was a gateway to an alternate dimension. We'd only just scratched the surface on the runic carvings when the ministry canned the project. Not enough resources, they said."

He nods. He does remember; he remembers Hermione storming into his home, furious and ready to burn his place down, screeching about the incompetence of the Ministry and their overwhelming blindness. It had been a fun night- there had been lots of alcohol involved. The morning after… not so fun.

"What happened? Why are you so hurt?" he brushes his hand over her shoulder; he can feel the bumpy texture of gauze bandages under her dress. Her head drops back down.

"We-" her voice cracks and she swallows, starting again, "-we were captured. The Death Eaters- they- they got through the fidelius."

Harry goes very, very still. Bone white masks fill his mind unbidden.

No one can break through a fidelius charm; no one. For someone to find it could only mean one thing.

"Ron?" he whispers. He feels Hermione break beneath his hands. Her fingers tremble- threatening to tear his shirt in their pain. She curls into him even more and a sob tears through her body. He knows what she'll say before the words are even uttered.

"Dead." She sobs. His neck feels hot and sticky with her tears and he allows himself the grief that follows. Together they cry, broken and bent, shattered and torn apart and pieced together all wrong. A brother lost, another loved one dead in his defence- in their belief of him.

Minutes, hours, days pass, time spread out innumerable and unaccountable. Their cries cease, their eyes dry.

"How?"

"An ambush. They planted the information for a raid; they stole him a-and they broke him. When they got what they wanted, they came for you." Her voice sounds so shockingly empty, factual and dead and so very broken. He holds her tighter, presses his lips to her hair; they'd been lovers once, before Ron had left her. Her career had been too much, too consuming and Ron had needed her after the horrors of the War. He'd left before they could start hating each other.

"They took me as l-leverage and hid us in the bowels of the Ministry."

He hisses in outrage; leverage indeed. He hopes they burn in the depths of hell for bringing her into his mess. He can suddenly hear her screams; high, unending, almost inhuman. There's laughter in there too and the remembered sounds fill him anger, hot and bitter on his tongue.

"What did they do to you?" his voice is tight, the rage simmering in the background like a poorly contained inferno. He wishes for something heavy and made of glass to smash against the wall. His hand unconsciously presses flat against her shoulder.

"Not much. They tried torture on you first; in the hopes you would break before they brought out the big guns I suppose." Her index finger stabs into his collarbone, "They knew you too well," she says disapprovingly.

"What did they do to you."

Hermione falls quiet and in the silence he entwines his fingers with those of her free hand. Their hands rest against his chest as she finds her words.

'Their- their crucio seemed to last an age," she murmurs, eyes staring vacantly off into space, "I don't think they'd expected me to break that easily, though. When they got bored they brought out this… neckpiece. It felt-" her voice cracks through the middle again and he waits patiently, inordinately proud of himself for not showing his fury and guilt.

"It- oh God Harry- it burnt like fire," she chokes out, "I thought I was going to die. A-and every time I tried to hold back a cry, it only seemed to get worse." He can't erase the image that's summoned from his brain; strong, fierce Hermione screaming in agony on their dirty cell floor. He feels helpless, half tempted to cry with her again, but refrains. She needed his strength.

"Your shoulder?" he prompts when she calms down enough. She lets out a hollow laugh.

"A knife. When neither of us gave in with the neckpiece they took out this knife- long and thin with a jagged blade, an ornate hilt.

"Evaristus Rosier carved the Dark Mark into your arm with it a few days before," his fingers squeeze tighter involuntarily as the monstrosity pops up in his brain and Hermione wriggles her trapped fingers in protest. He lets go of them apologetically. He notices that his right forearm is still wrapped in bandages.

"They were going to the same to me, but then-" she halts, swallows and draws back again, eyes locking on his, "But then Malfoy came in-" her hand flies up to cover his snarl of outrage. "Shush," she chastises, "I'm trying to tell a story here."

He glares at her mutinously and she frowns back disapprovingly.

"Malfoy came in. Well, you know how we'd been unsure on his alignment for years- but he stunned Rosier. Which was nice, and kind of confirmed his new alliance, only, the bastard fell forward," her eyes roll with derision, "The knife landed in my shoulder. Malfoy didn't know enough about healing charms he said, and you were pretty out of it by then with fever, so I had to make do with nothing in the rescue." He sits silently, listening to the exasperation and anger in her story, the anger growing with every word.

"The prat took us the wrong way though. We ended up in the Department of Mysteries, and he led us into the Death Chamber. The door was locked, but the Death Eaters weren't far from getting it open."

Suddenly she laughs, short, sharp and bitter, "So I ask him what the hell we were doing there, which he didn't answer, by the way." Harry can just imagine what Hermione's idea of asking would be in that situation- he suspects there would have been a great deal of yelling involved, "And then- oh Harry you'll just love this- he picked you up, tucked your bag over your neck- and don't even ask me where he managed to find them- he had mine too- shoved a wand down your shirt and then he- then he-" she lets out a noise of frustration. She looks crazy mad and ready to kill.

"Then the fucking git threw you into the Veil!"

Harry lets out an astonished bark of laughter. Hermione ignores him.

"Well, I would have launched myself at him, torn him limb from limb, but the shithead cast the body bind on me! And then he was picking me up- said 'have fun Granger,' as calm as you please– and threw me in after you!"

He can't help it; he gaffaws, loudly, almost not believing his ears. It's almost too good a story to be true.

Hermione hits him, "It's not funny Harry! No one knew what the Veil really did! He could have killed us! Not that I think he would have minded. In fact, I think he probably would have killed us, if you'd been anybody else."

He tries to be serious- he really does- but he can't help the occasional snicker the escapes, "I'm sorry- shit – but- oh God – it's just too beautiful! It's so ridiculous!" he laughs again, and this time, Hermione joins in.

"It-it is pretty stupid."

"God Malfoy. What a prat." She giggles and suddenly they're laughing full bellied laughs, their shoulders shaking with borderline hysterical mirth; the strangeness of their situation temporarily outweighing the tragedy for a moment.

It subsides soon enough, the remembrance of Ron returning all too quickly.

"Why can't I remember any of it?" he asks, the question all but bursting through his brain.

"I don't know," she sounds so small in that statement, terrible and vulnerable and lost. He doesn't feel much different, "You were pretty bad by the end of it though; fever might have screwed with your memories…" she trails off; Harry takes it as answer enough for now.

"So what do we do now?" the reality of the situation is slowly dawning on him. Hermione breathes out heavily, hand moving to rest on her knee.

"Now we search for a magical community." There's a high level of doubt in her voice; he says as much. Her hand clenches- a nervous gesture.

"Because I am." She pauses, shifts her legs so that she now sits next to him as opposed to on top of him, "There doesn't seem to be that much difference between ours and theirs; culturally, we seem to be on the same level- they have Monty Python at least." She whispers in a conspiratory tone- he sighs in mock relief, "And they seem to get many of my other references- of history and entertainment. Technologically, they're probably about five years more advanced." There's something in her words that promises a surprise, he thinks.

"But?"

"But, I just get the feeling Wizards aren't needed to maintain the balance between the ordinary and the extraordinary in this world." He raises an eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A slightly awed expression creeps across her face, "Harry," she breathes, turning to him with bright eyes, "They have superheroes here."

"Er- like comic book heroes?" she nods fervently and suddenly she's the eleven year old bookworm he'd met in Hogwarts, full of awe and bursting with the need to learn.

"Superheroes, Gods who're actually aliens, mutants with a spectrum of abilities you could never even dream of! Serums that turn men permanently into supermen and machines that give you the strength of a hundred men! It's all so cool!"

"That's… er, that's very impressive," he remembers the comics Sirius had (and the ones he'd stolen from Dudley as a child), hidden away in his childhood bedroom, full of tales of supermen and broken detectives. They'd been interesting enough, but he'd always known they weren't true- could never be true in the Muggle realm without magic, "But that doesn't explain why Wizards wouldn't exist."

Her face falls, going dark and old and he regrets bringing it up.

"Because superheroes exist here. In ours, there was only ever Muggles and Wizards. We were the touch of the extraordinary, the outlet magic made for itself. Here, I get the feeling that magic has manifested itself in other ways- with mutants and superheroes."

He nods slowly, chewing on the information.

"Furthermore, if mutants openly exist here- however marginalised- why would magic-folk feel the need to continue hiding from Muggles? And okay, sure, Wizards are infinitely more powerful than your average mutant, so there'd still be the risk of a witch hunt- but this universe seems much more accepting of genetic differences. Not to mention, the Muggles seem much more cluey here. You know, they found me in under an hour by analysing the energy readings that they'd recorded during your appearance and calibrating their worldwide sensors to send out an alert and coordinates in order to pinpoint the next portal opening?"

"Uhh." He comments helpfully. Hermione just rolls her eyes.

"Shush you. What I'm saying is. I don't feel there's much point to the existence of Witches and Wizards when they've already got their fair share of the extraordinary and the unexplainable. It would upset the balance if there was, I think."

"What makes you so sure mutants never existed in our world?" Hermione looks at him, unimpressed.

"For Merlin's sake Harry! Did I install the internet in your home for nothing? The presence of mutants would not have gone unnoticed. Seven billion people in the world- they're bound to see something. God, even Wizards didn't go undetected; did you know there were literally thousands of legitimate websites dedicated solely to the theoretical existence of magic users and their world-wide conspiracy of silence?"

"Hermione." He warns, reminding her of the original topic. Her cheeks redden and she coughs behind her hand.

"Right. Well… the internet had no trace of them back home- I would have noticed, and the mutants lack the societal coherence to fall into secrecy here, so I doubt it would have been much difference in our universe- though it is fascinating- there's a school here in America that caters solely to-"

"-And Wizards?" often she needs a nudge or two, to prevent her from running off on a tangent.

"Wizards… oh, well I looked for them too. Nothing, besides the occasional conspiracy theory, but most of them I fear are just the ramblings of the mad."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, don't keep your hopes up," she turns sad, resigned to the fact, "We may well be the only magic folk on the planet. And I-" her voice hitches. She swallows, "I fear, there will be no Veil for us to return home with."

She says nothing more, skinny fingers toying absently at the hem of her dress.

Harry thinks of the Weasley's and the broken but healing family that remained after the War. He thinks of Teddy- fifteen now and halfway through his growth spurt. Of Luna and Rolf; madly eccentric but dear friends all the same. Neville and Hannah, bursting with joy at the birth of their third child. His family and his friends; everybody that meant anything to him, were all literally a world away now. But they couldn't be gone, surely. If they were gone, then it would mean he and Hermione would be alone. Utterly and completely.

"Does anyone exist here?" Hermione sighs, crossing her legs. Her ankles look so thin, and he wonders just how little food they must have given her.

"I looked- Tony helped- he's a genius with technology, you know," he nods as if he does (he doesn't), "Some of them do. But they're different- and they're definitely not Wizards. Some have died- freak accidents, fires, illness. Some were never born. Some are mutants instead; Seamus is a pyrotechnic," Harry snorts in amusement- even as a Wizard he'd had a noticeable proclivity for fire and explosives, "Neville's a plant empath, Luna's a seer… but she was committed to an asylum a decade ago." His heart aches at the thought of Luna locked up.

"But without magic, most of them don't know each other- have never had the chance to meet each other. Neville's married to a planter in his nursery… Luna, funnily enough, did meet Rolf before she was committed- I suspect it may have been caused by her seer ability."

"The Weasley's?" Hermione scratches her head, hiding her face partially.

"Molly and Arthur… met slightly later in life," she say hesitantly, "They only had four children- Bill, Charlie and the twins. R-Ron and Ginny were never born- they hit hard times and couldn't afford any more children."

"The Granger's?"

"All dead," she states flatly, "A fire from an electric blanket in my-her room when she was eight… I remember that fire- my wild magic put it out before it had a chance to spread. I couldn't sleep properly for weeks." Dread seems to edge into her voice, as if anticipating his next words.

"The Potters?" his question comes out hoarse, quiet. He almost doesn't want to know the answer.

"Alive," she whispers, "James is a policeman; Lily a psychologist. They met on a case- married two years later. They have three children." His head reels, mind going over the news because oh God but they're alive, they're actually alive and it's terrible and wonderful all at the same time. Hermione carries on, "Harry Potter is a professional football player. He married ten years ago; a model he met at a charity gala. They're expecting their second child in November."

He sighs shakily, reaching over to hold her hand. She squeezes back firmly. He wont deny the envy he feels at his doppelganger's normal life.

Five minutes later, when he's come to terms with the fact that the people who would have been his parents are still alive, another question pops into his head.

"Were all my injuries contracted from the Death Eaters?"

Hermione laughs, which Harry finds a bit strange. He'd rather thought it quite a serious question.

"Oh Harry," she giggles, and he's not sure if he should feel offended or not, "when the Veil spat you out, it did so in the worst possible location."

His eyebrows rise, "Worse, how?" she laughs again, and it's a touch on the hysterical side.

"Thirty-thousand feet up in the air, worse."

He stares, incredulous.

"Umm what?" a wicked smile tugs at her lips and he half-suspects she's lying to him.

"You came out, nine-thousand one hundred and forty-four metres up in the air," she repeats, as if the altered scale were helpful. She looks as though she were about to burst into laughter again.

"No I didn't," because surely she's lying. It's just too stupid.

"Yes, you did. You came out nine-thousand metres above sea level, three kilometres off the coast of Canada. SHIELD has video documentation of your freefall and … er- landing. They tried to catch you, actually, but you were falling too fast- they were forced to abort. They fished you from the ocean, thinking you were dead." She sends him a dark look; "You should have been dead."

"Why wasn't I dead?" he's unnerved by her sudden mood-swing.

Hermione fishes into her dress and pulls out a familiar pendant. Her eyes say everything as she pools the chain in his hand.

"Oh."

He feels all torn up again. The Deathly Hallows have plagued his life for far too long.

"They've changed you so much Harry," she says lowly, sounding as fearful as he feels, "And I'm scared that it won't be for the better. What will they ask in return?" he stares dumbly at the pendant. He can feel its power; heavy and oppressive. His fingers curl around it, hiding the cursed thing from view.

"It's already taken what it wanted," he hisses, the edges of the pendant digging into his palm, "My life."

He'd never be rid of the things- he'd owned the Hallows for long enough to know that their loss or destruction meant little in the scheme of things. New items were just returned to his person, unbidden and unwelcomed. The pendant refused to be consumed by fiendfire, refused to be separate from him even when discarded.

"What does this mean?" he whispers. Hermione takes hold of his clenched hand and presses it to her lips in comfort.

"I don't know if you can die, Harry." Her whisper sounds so despairing, voicing his inner fears like that. He lets out a shaky breath; he'd suspected as much from the moment they'd linked his inability to age with the Hallows.

"I think you really are the Master now," she carries on, "And I don't know how that can be taken from you. I don't know how it can end."

He stares at the ceiling, unable to find the energy to say anything more on the subject. It feels like a death sentence, and the irony doesn't escape him.

His eyes catch on a small protrusion in the corner. It looks like a smaller version of a security camera. He frowns.

"Are they watching us?" he asks slowly, eyes glued to the small piece of technology. Hermione looks up to watch the camera too. She hums, nonchalant.

"Probably." His frown gets deeper; it's not like Hermione to be so trusting of new people; not anymore. It brings him to another problem he'd had.

"Why did you tell them what we are?"

"Legilimency," she replies quietly, confirming his suspicions. Harry suspecter her subjects (victims) were unaware of the intrusion. He smiles wryly.

"How sneaky of you." She shrugs.

"It's a new universe; we needed allies and people we could trust. I had to be sure."

He snorts; she'd made sure of that alright.

"And besides," she remarks pragmatically, "They already had you, and I needed you. It was easier to just leave you here than wiping their memories and stealing you away. Obliviate is always open to mistakes anyway- you miss someone here or there and you're buggered.

"And just think of it," her voice turns wistful, "If we're the only magic users on the planet, then there's no statute of secrecy. We have no reason to hide who we are; not when superheroes and mutants are active members of society."

He can imagine it; his grin goes wicked- it could be glorious.

"You're taking this all remarkably well." Hermione smiles at him, but there's a strained element to it if he looks hard enough.

"Yes, well apart from the obvious, I suppose it's not that terrible. And… and it's a fresh start… for both of us." She says haltingly. Her hand strays to her neck, where Ron's ring had once hung. Even after ten years she couldn't forget. He hides the pity before she can see it.

"Yeah, apart from the obvious," he echoes. They fall quiet.

A knock at the door some minutes later interrupts their musing.

"Come in," Hermione calls, legs swinging off the bed. Tony's head peeks in; he smirks at them.

"If you love birds are done," Harry scowls at that. Hermione raises an unimpressed eyebrow, "Steve was wondering if you wanted the grand tour- free of charge today. But of course, since the Captain Boy Scout gets lost every time he goes anywhere-" they hear an indignant hey! from outside, "-he commandeered Bruce and I to take you with us."

Hermione stands and turns to him, "You think you're up to it?" she asks, and if that doesn't sound like a challenge to Harry, he doesn't know what does (and sure, she probably didn't mean to make it a challenge, but now his manly pride is on the line. He can't back down).

He swings his legs over the bed and stands up with shaky legs.

Yay! And we're back to Harry! The long-awaited return. And boy isn't it a doozy. 5300 words, and all I can say is bloody hell.

Can I just say a few things before I get inundated with questions;

1- The way Hermione and Harry act with each other- especially their close contact- IS NOT INDICATIVE OF A SEXUAL RELATIONSHIP. Harry and Hermione are not lovers, nor will they be. They are just very, very close friends. And to those of you who say it's unbelievable- believe me when I say that it's not. I have two relationships with guys where physical contact like this is completely common, and our relationships have always been completely platonic.

2- Evaristus Rosier- naturally, he's not a character in the canon. There is a Rosier, of course, but Evan Rosier was killed in the first wizarding war. He was however in his thirties at the time, so it's fairly likely that he managed to procreate. I'm going to say that Evaristus is Evan's son, who is now in his forties.

3- Sirius is not forgotten. And that is all I will say in the matter.

Now that that's been sorted out, you can go on your merry way! Have fun waiting until next week!