Disclaimer: I own nothing but the computer which I spend more time procrastinating than actually writing and for that I apologise sincerely. JKR is my goddess and queen.

Note: It's been so long you might want to give the last chapter a read-through: I had to, that's how long it's been. My apologies


You cannot afford to wait for perfect conditions. Goal setting is often a matter of balancing timing against available resources. Opportunities are easily lost while waiting for perfect conditions.

Gary Ryan Blair


If Ginny had a galleon for every time an earth shattering explosion had woken her up, well, she wouldn't have gone to the Yule ball in second hand dress robes. She probably would have bought out Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes just to cease the endless experimentation denting The Burrow's walls and wrenching her into wakefulness each morning. Even before the emergence of the joke shop The Burrow had never been the most harmonious of locations, and it had been relief, as well as obvious excitement and joy, that had accompanied her relocation to Grimauld Place: Not only would she be with Harry, but the days of waking up with a curse on her tongue and the desire to strangle someone were far behind her.

Or so she thought.

Harry James Potter had a lot of explaining to do.

Traipsing downstairs with her wand aloft, Ginny crashed into the hall where the sight of a grim faced magical law enforcement officer, her somewhat dishevelled father and Harry, thankfully not in pyjamas like herself, momentarily quelled her ire.

"What on earth-"

The panicked looks of Harry and her father stopped her question abruptly- but thankfully not before the cheery ministry official sought to answer her.

"Mr Potter here has been mucking around with his Uncle's old motor bike. Got a bit of a fright when he fired it up. Apparently the thing can fly, it's gone straight through your window, miss." He chuckled here and looked over at harry in what could only be described as a star struck fashion.

"Who knew…" She said weakly, her shock at the situation lending credibility to her words.

"Well these things do happen." The wizard shrugged, still smiling benignly at the saviour of the Wizarding world, before looking down at his watch. "I'd better go check on Reynolds, he should be finished with that muggle woman by now."

Here her father clapped the weedy looking law enforcement wizard heartily on the shoulder. "I'll take down Mr Potter's account if you like, get everything wrapped up nice and quickly, yeah?"

On the few visit's Ginny had ever paid to her father at work, she'd never detected a great deal of respect paid to Arthur Weasley and his tiny ramshackle office, but evidently things had changed. The wizard looked measuredly from Harry and Ginny and back to her father again before nodding and setting off outside with nothing more than a brief 'Thanks Arthur'.

As soon as the front door had clicked shut, Ginny did an about turn, facing her father and boyfriend with her hands on hips and a raised eyebrow.

"Fancy that aye. Your uncle's bike magically enchanted all this time. Who'd have known?"

"Dear-"

"Ginny-"

"What on earth is going on?"

Just as Harry guiltily looked up and opened his mouth, there was a clatter in the kitchen. Ducking her head in through the door to her right she looked on bemusedly as Kingsley Shacklebolt emerged from her pantry.

There was a sigh behind her as Harry guided her into the kitchen, and her father shut the door behind them. Kingsly did his best to dust of his robes and then shook Arthurs hand before turning to look down at Ginny's fiery gaze.

"You'd better sit down."


The Sorting hat had been a surprise when Hermione arrived at Hogwarts. For some reason when reading the references among Hogwarts: a History, she'd imagined some sort of random selection, not dissimilar from the muggle idea of drawing names out of a hat. She'd imagined it was merely a traditional practice that had grown out of a far humbler time.

To say she was shocked to find herself arguing with a hat was an understatement; to find herself losing that argument- even more so.

It hadn't taken long when discovering the history of the four great houses to rule out all but Ravenclaw as her possible future homes. She was not driven enough to suit the emerald Slytherin, that had been immediately apparent. Gryffindor, while a noble house, didn't seem likely either; as a quiet child who'd retreated to the world of fiction and never made many friends, brave had never been an adjective that applied to her. She had admitted the possibility of Hufflepuff, she was not afraid to put in effort to her endeavours, and after all she might turn out to be rather mediocre when it came to magic. But those doubts aside, it had been Ravenclaw that seemed to sing to her. It was a perfectly rational, logical conclusion to come to.

A perfectly rational, logical conclusion the Sorting hat seemed to miss. At first she'd asked the Hat to repeat itself, then when sure she hadn't misheard, asked it to explain it's logic. When it replied with nothing more than a vague reference to how things would 'eventually come to be', Hermione found herself forgetting exactly where she stood.

All thoughts of standing out, of being a 'muggleborn' in a legendary castle filled with witches and wizards flew from her thoughts. She was no longer concerned with sitting on a dais before a crowd of quietly watching strangers, and had completely forgotten the row of older witches and wizards that would soon become her teachers.

She had told the hat blank face that it was wrong, paying no mind to the fact that as an 11-year-old girl on her first voyage to the magical world, she was obviously in no position to tell a hundred year old magical hat exactly where the fault in its logic lay.

The hat had only laughed.

"Awfully brave of you to point out my mistakes; a lot of nerve for an eleven-year-old, girl fresh out of the muggle world. But I'm afraid you'll find such daring unwelcome in the Ravenclaw house. No, wouldn't do to set a lion in amongst the crows. Better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione had later condoled herself with the knowledge the sorting hat was magically enchanted and hundreds of years old; but the memory still struck her with a grain of salt. How could a magic hat know her better than herself? In her initial year, while sharing a dormitory with the likes of Lavender and Parvati, while spending endless hours in the library to avoid the noisy, heaving common room, Hermione had still cast doubts on the Hat's decision. Surely as a Ravenclaw student she could have sat and studied in a quiet common room, made fast and sure friends with similar minded girls in her dormitory, and not lost points traipsing around the castle at night after her recklessly daft friends. The doubts had sprung up and continued all the way until the end of May.

No, she doubted a Ravenclaw would have abandoned her charms study (in fairness a full week before the exams) in order to aid Harry and Ron on the third floor. Plummeting down the trap door, blasting apart the Devil's snare, serving Ron as a human chess piece, inching her way past an unconscious mountain troll and finally risking both of her friends' life in a deadly logic puzzle. Oh there was no denying Hermione was smart. But she would rather be a fiercely clever Gryffindor than a recklessly, foolish Ravenclaw. Some would argue it was a matter of semantics but Hermione finally understood the Sorting Hat's Logic.

She was a Lion

Perhaps an odd one.

Not one particularly emblematic of the rest to be sure, but still a lion.

And at that present moment Hermione was a lion that needed those files. There was no way she could walk away and save herself, not when she was partly responsible for the research the files contained. No, she was fighting this law whatever the cost. Gripping her wand tightly, she cast a silent notice-me-not charm upon herself, and carefully wound through the atrium and up to the third floor.


The Ministry of Magic had a strict dual-obliviation rule. Two casts per muggle onlooker, only when strictly necessary. There was to be a twenty-minute interval between these casts, and they required a supervising officer present as an eyewitness.

Reynolds had never had to cast it more than once. He'd always been bloody good with charms even if he did say so himself. Once he'd been a tad overzealous and the muggle he'd been working with had been left with just her name and address. These things happened.

But he'd never had to cast it twice.

That said, he'd never had to restrain an eighty-odd-year-old muggle woman in a nightgown either.

"What's the bloody hold up Reynolds?" His senior officer Sterling belted out, trotting down the stairs and over to the landing of number 13 Grimauld place.

"The charm sir, it's not worked."

Both wizards looked down at the little old lady between them.

"What are you on about son? Are you sure you cast it proper like?"

"I've never had a problem with it once sir, not in five years."

Sterling didn't look convinced. Drawing his fake muggle police badge from his pocket, he knelt down and brought the muggle woman back into consciousness.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" Her eyes were fuzzy as she woke, before settling into a startling clarity.

"The bike. Where's the bike."

Sterling shot an irritated glance at Reynolds here, clearly unimpressed at having to take up the task himself.

"Ma'am, I'm officer Sterling, I'm afraid to say you've been involved in a minor road accident, and you may be a tad confused. Now I want you to calm down, and tell me what happened here."

The woman's eyes drew into a fierce squint, it's ferocity amplified as all her other wrinkles joined the cause.

"I know what I saw. I've been telling this lot for years, and my Charlie mind you, and anyone who'd listen for that matter. I'm not mad. I know what I bloody saw. A flying motorbike. Flying mind you. I'm not mad and what's more is, it came out of nowhere. Out of the gap between 11 and 13. Oh if my husband Charlie had been here, how I'd make him admit it. Next doors bloody hoover, what a load of crock. A flying bike. A flying bike right out of a solid brick wall. I'm not mad I tell you. I seen it with me own eyes, love."

Reynolds looked on as his senior officer nodded sympathetically down at the old woman, before glancing at his watch. Reynolds looked down at his own. It had only been fifteen minutes since his last attempts at obliviation, but just as he made to warn his superior this, a shot of blue light hit the muggle woman.

"It'd only been fifteen minutes sir."

Sterling didn't look up from the old woman.

"Even if it doesn't take, there's no one who'd take her seriously anyway." Tucking away the cheap plastic police badge, Sterling rose to stand on the pavement once more.

"Don't wake her up. Put her inside, back in bed, and leave her. If she wakes up and remembers she'll think it's been a dream. If she wakes up and doesn't, well, even better."

Something still rankled with Reynolds and he stayed put.

"Sir, what if her memories gone completely?"

Sterling only shrugged here.

"She's not far from that stage of life anyway. Now get a move on, I want a cuppa before we head back to the office."


"Why on earth didn't you wake me?"

Harry had never seen Ginny so beside herself.

Kingsly and Arthur looked just as surprised at his girlfriend's vitriol.

"Dammit, I know I was a part of your trio and I know I didn't come on the run with you but Hermione is one of my best friends, she's the sister I never properly had. I don't want to be having a lie in while she's in trouble! Now. What are you planning to do to get her out of there."

"Uhh" Harry knew he should have kept his mouth shut as soon as he'd opened it. "We had to get Arthur here. We had no idea whether or not that Emmanuel chap was truly after her, we didn't want to rush into things headlong."

"But he is."

Arthur nodded at his daughter, looking particularly grim. They'd already heard his account of Reg Cattermole's warning, and the overheard plans of the Ministry.

"So now, it seems, is exactly the time to rush headlong into things."

Kingsley seemed just a troubled as Arthur, and Harry knew what was about to come next, the older man was going to urge caution and restrain in-

"We'll run a distraction-extraction job."

Oh.

Harry stared dumbfounded at the grim faced Auror. He'd just suggested one of the Ministry's own security tactics. More so than ever, he was glad to have the man by his side.

"How do we distract a place like St Mungo's?" Arthur asked, obviously not bothering with warnings of subtlety or restraint either. "Our George flooded the place with 50 odd swelling-jinx victims yesterday, still haven't told Molly mind you, and it wasn't even in the papers. Just bog standard, business as usual for the Healers."

Harry frowned at the mention of George's antics; he'd have to get the full story later he supposed. Ginny didn't seem particularly surprised, though Harry knew this was the first she'd heard of it too.

"We don't want to distract the Healers though do we?" Ginny stated, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We want to send the ministry lot scampering."

Harry fidgeted as suddenly the red headed witch shot him an appraising look.

"Dad, what did you say was the ministry's prime concern?"

Arthur looked from his daughter, to the somewhat confused Harry, with a dawning look of comprehension on his face.

" They wanted Hermione on side. Today, if possible. They're moving it forward."

Kingsly let out a long breath of exclamation, as he understood the subtext Harry was still unaware off.

"Well they're not getting her." He announced stubbornly to the room.

"But they want her today. They want her before they move it forward, and they're moving it forward because they need to be the ones to announce the law." Ginny paused here as the three wizards nodded.

"So what they really wouldn't appreciate it, would they, if St Mungo's was suddenly flooded with reporters."

Harry could have kissed her.

"How are we going to do that? I mean we know Luna but we don't really…" Harry trailed off here as Ginny, Arthur and Kingsly all looked at him appraisingly.

"'Harry Potter: the Chosen One, The Boy who Lived and defeater of the Dark Lord suffers vicious attack'. I think that headline's worth a trip to St Mungo's for."

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss her, or hex her. Sighing, he rubbed his scar absent-mindedly.

"So who's extracting?"


Hermione's ascent to the third floor was heart stopping. Twice, she froze on the spot as ministry officials looked straight in her direction, before shaking their heads affectedly, and continuing on their way. She would have risked a Disillusionment Charm rather than a notice-me-not, but the warding in St Mungo's actively diminished any concealing charm. Misplacing patients in a magical hospital was slightly more of an issue than in the muggle world. Given more time, Hermione could have altered the wards, but they were some of the most complicated existing magical signatures she'd encountered since Hogwarts; it was entirely likely that an attempt at modifying them would get her caught far quicker than simply manoeuvring around them. A notice-me-not charm was sufficiently harmless enough to slip under the wards' radar, however it was not fool proof. Hermione's assent up the staircase was marked by her determination to remain a completely unremarkable part of the crowd. Something increasingly difficult to do when people had been ordered to hunt you down specifically.

Luckily, most ministry officials weren't noted for their perceptive, intelligent brilliance.

Slowly, but steadily making her way across the threshold of the third floor corridor, Hermione had to make sure her progress was neither too slow nor to rushed, both of which would draw attention and diminish the charm's protection. Luckily the corridor was awash, as it always was, with the busy movement of patients, nurses and healers. Turning left into the Experimental potions department, Hermione was left alone in the corridor for the first time. Were anyone to walk in now, she would be immediately noticeable.

Keeping her breathing calm and consistent, Hermione let the adrenaline take hold of her. There were three doorways on this level. The first, to her right, was the small tea and locker room, it's door held open. Next, on her left side, were the double doors leading to her workspace and the department's laboratory. On the far right, the door furthest from where Hermione now stood, was Sullivan's office.

Naturally.

Hermione considered her next move. The double doors of the potion's lab were embedded with two small windows. They weren't opposite either the small tearoom, or Sullivan's office, but they looked out at the expanse of the entire hallway. She could either ditch the notice-me-not charm completely, and transfigure her appearance, or continue as she was down the corridor. Hermione felt her heart rate quicken as her mind raced. There was no time. Anyone who walked in now would be able to see her either way.

She would continue as she was. Steeling her nerves, Hermione continued down the corridor, her eyes fixed firmly on the double doors of the lab. That's where Emmanuel would be, surely. Maybe if she inched along the left-hand wall, she wouldn't be seen.

Taking a step to the right, Hermione paused as the sound of running echoed behind her.

Hermione didn't think. She lunged into the lunchroom on her right and pressed herself behind the still open door, struggling to hold her breath. There was a crashing sound as two- it sounded like two- figures crashed into the corridor where she'd stood just moments ago. Hermione's hand shook, clutching her wand fiercely, as two shadows passed by the wide open door. The thumping of the pair's running stopped, and Hermione was forced to cover her own mouth. The sound of heavy breathing alone drifted in from the outside corridor, until two sharp knocks turned into a somewhat desperate hammering on wood.

"Emmanuel! Emmanuel! Sir, downstairs, there's… Sir you've got to come downstairs."

Hermione could faintly hear what must have been the heavy lab door being opened. She strained to catch the slimy Ministry wizard's reply, but the low murmuring eluded her.

"Sir, the atrium. It's filled with reporters, sir. It's chaos, and the welcome witch says she's no idea why they're all there."


There was something to be said for a particularly well cast Bat Bogey Hex. It wasn't the most lethal of curses, but it was certainly the most volatile. Malfoy had been the first to showcase the interesting and some may say catastrophic effects of merging the relatively simple hex with any other spells. Ginny had, in the summer after her fourth year, helped Fred and George experiment the phenomenon. Unfortunately the results were entirely unpredictable; the outcome unique even when the same spells were used with the same timing on the same recipient. The twins had discarded the information as largely useless to the aim of production, but Ginny had loved the spontaneity of it all. The Bat Bogey Hex had become her favourite.

It still was if she was honest.

Looking down at the moaning, greyish figure spread out on the dusty carpet, Ginny decided her talent with the spell had remained in tact. Judging from the oozing clusters still shifting slowly across Harry's skin, Kingsley had probably used some sort of pus-centred hex.

"What did you use?" She asked casually, as though she was not looking down at her now unconscious boyfriend.

"Entomorphis."

Huh. Rolling Harry over, she noticed the sprouting of tiny hairs that sat rigid from his skin and clung to her hand. He didn't look too much like an insect, but that said, the spell was unpredictable.

"How do we get him to St Mungo's?" her dad asked, somehow still rolling with the surreal instances surrounding him.

Ginny looked down at Harry's distorted face, for the first time filled with apprehension.

"We'd have to make sure the reporters know what's going on." Ginny knew that just wheeling him into St Mungo's wouldn't be enough. Kingsley it seems had come to the same conclusion.

"Are those law enforcement wizards still out the front?"

Ginny dashed to the window, peering out through the curtains to the street below, where the younger of the two officials had just emerged from number 13, to join his superior.

"Yeah."

Kingsley levitated Harry's body from the kitchen and into the hallway.

"Call them in. Tell them it's a delayed hex from the bike, Arthur you say you were in the other room. You're not to act as a witness. Ginny." Here Kingsly looked at his watch, bemused. "First, try to be a bit less casual when they come in, yes? Buy me around fifteen minutes between them alerting the ministry and then taking him into St Mungo's. That should be enough time for the press to arrive. God knows they're quick to get wind of every other bungled up Auror operation. I'm sure once the news leaks of an injured Harry Potter, they'll start popping up in droves. Send me a Patronus when Harry leaves here, and I'll do my best to extract Hermione."

Kingsly looked down at the still unconscious Harry.

"It's a shame. The boys at the Auror office will probably never let him live this down."

With that last comment and determined nod, Kingsley apparated with a faint pop, and her father smartly turned and marched upstairs in the other direction. Ginny spared a glance for the clock on the hallway wall, then let out a bloodcurdling scream the late Mrs. Black would've been proud of.


"What do you mean, reporters?"

There was no mistaking, that carefully concise voice, even muffled as it was through the thin corridor walls and open doorway. Hermione was torn between apprehension and relief. Thank god she hadn't walked past those laboratory doors. Please, please, don't let them look into the tearoom.

"Reporters sir. Prophet, Irish Times, there's a bloke who seems French, even that nutter from The Quibbler's downstairs."

"What are they doing, what are they here for?"

Hermione's brow drew at the wizard's deadly tone. Was that simple ire at the interruption, or something more?

"They're just standing there, sir. Waiting. A new one pops up every few minutes."

Hermione jumped at the frustrated growl that rang through the corridor. Gripping her wand harder, she held her breath once more and pushed herself further against the wall.

"Why am I forced to deal with you idiots? Stay here. When the girl comes, restrain her until I return. Do not signal me in any way; do not come downstairs. Restrain her, and wait until I return, do you understand?"

The sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor once more.

Please don't let him come in. Please don't let him come in. Please don't him come in.

Again, a shadow drifted across the threshold of the empty doorway, as the footsteps came to a halt.

"And I hope I don't need to remind you of what happens to people who let me down."

Hermione was lightheaded from holding her breath, but she stayed frozen until the shadow in front of her had stalked off, the corridor outside carrying away the sounds of his dramatic exit. She let out a shallow breath as she waited for the two remaining wizards to enter the laboratory once more.

And waited.

The corridor was silent.

"What a fucking arsehole."

"Who does the bastard think he is? God, she's a lab rat straight out of Hogwarts, I don't give a damn about no golden trio; it won't take two of us to restrain the little bitch."

"I doubt she'll even show up for a good hour. She doesn't start till bloody nine."

"Fuck this sideways. Coffee?"

Hermione had a split seconds warning before the two oafs sauntered into the room.

It was all she needed.

"Stupefy!"

The larger of the wizards went down with a sickening crunch. The other turn to face Hermione, drawing his wand as his did so.

"Pertrifi-"

"Expelliarmus! Stupefy!" Hermione's spells flew across the room; two jets of light merely a beat apart.

Looking down at the two wizards now comatose on the dirty tiled floor, Hermione glanced surreptitiously behind her down the empty corridor. She had to act quickly. There was no telling when Emmanuel could return. Magically binding the two wizards together, she levitated them to the corner of the room, behind a worn and faded leather lounge. Taking their wands from them and magically gagging them, Hermione swallowed down her panic. Attacking ministry wizards. Marriage Law or not, she was truly damned now. Taking a deep breath, Hermione determinedly walked to the doorway, checking around the corner to find the corridor just as empty and silent as it had been.

She gave no thought to the expanse of corridor behind her, no thought to the laboratory doors on her left. Hermione stalked quickly and quietly to the door of Sullivan's office. Unsurprisingly, Alohamora didn't work. Looking over her shoulder quickly; Hermione cast a quick silencing spell on the hallway.

"Bombarda". The whispered spell was more than enough to send the door skyrocketing away from it's hinges, wood splintering off and thoroughly coating everything in the small office, including Hermione.

Shit. Should've used a shield charm, idiot.

Wiping faint traces of blood from her forehead, and plucking out a small shard of wood from her wrist, Hermione continued into the office. The desk was kept in the anal, orderly fashion that denoted a complete lack of use. Hermione recognized a few of the folders as the work done prior to the ministries monopolization of St Mungo's, but she couldn't see the file from yesterday.

Perfect.


Ginny had never really used the whole waterworks routine. As a girl growing up it was made clear straight away that not only would her mum not fall for it, but her brothers would then take the mickey out of her for weeks. Being magically showered with tissues gets really old, really fast. By the time she got to Hogwarts, Ginny had other ways of getting what she wanted.

So she'd been a bit worried that the ministry wizards wouldn't fall for her hysterics. True, she'd been able to muster a few tears as the wizards magically alerted the Magical Law Enforcement squad. By the time they'd decided Harry wasn't going to come to, and it would be best to have him moved to St Mungo's, Ginny's face was a puffy, wet mass of blotchy red flesh.

"What? Moved to St Mungo's? You mean… is he going to be alright?"

God, Ginny hated herself in that moment. She collapsed into the shirt of the squad leader, Sterling she thought his name was, and concentrated on making her body shudder with the artificial sobs.

Either her performance was spot on, or the man wasn't used to comforting distraught women. His hands awkwardly came around to limply pat her on the back; all the while he muttered half-hearted assurances that everything would be all right. When Ginny merely took the opportunity to sob harder, the man let out disgruntled sigh.

"Reynolds why don't you take Miss Weasley into the kitchen and make her a nice cup of tea?"

Ginny wasn't going to make it that easy. She clung to the irate wizard and wailed even louder.

"It's okay Miss Weasley" The younger officer tried to assuage her. "Why don't you just sit down for a moment while we take Mr. Potter into-

Ginny's next howl put moaning myrtle to shame.

"But he hasn't got his things? You don't even know what's wrong!"

Ginny knew she had another ten minutes before she could let them leave for St Mungo's. God Hermione owed her for this. Abruptly detaching herself from the wizard's disgruntled arms, she clung to the seemingly lifeless form of Harry once more.

This was going to be the most painful ten minutes of her life.


Three more reporters had arrived in the waiting room, just as Emmanuel walked in. In the short walk from the stairs to the welcome witch, another pair had apparated into existence.

Curse the inept fools he was forced to work with, but they were right – they were just standing there, watching the floo stations and doorways as if waiting for something.

Emmanuel looked from the floo grates, to the reporters once more and frowned.

His entrance in the foyer had made absolutely no impact. In fact, the exit of his two buffoon assistants obviously hadn't moved them either.

Something didn't add up.

If, and it was a big if, the news of the ministries plans had leaked there would be uproar. Beyond uproar, there would be large-scale upheaval, and security would have arrived at St Mungo's immediately. No, whatever it was these reporters were here for, it had nothing to do with the marriage law, and nothing to do with him.

It was probably just a co-incidence.

Except Emmanuel didn't believe in co-incidences. Especially when the illusive Miss Granger had yet to turn up. Turning, Emmanuel retreated to the very back of the waiting room, leaning against the far wall.

Co-incidences were only co-incidences so long as there was missing data. Emmanuel was rather brilliant at collecting data.


Hermione didn't know why she still bothered with summoning charms. If the seemingly never-ending Horcrux hunt had taught her anything, it was that everything worth having was going to be guarded against a simple Accio. Wrenching open the top draw, Hermione determinedly set about ransacking the office. The drawers shared the same shallow, bureaucratic scarcity as the desktop. She had to wonder what the man had done to earn his position, since it obviously wasn't research. The two bottom drawers were just as empty.

Hermione spun to search the rest of the office, only to be faced with a liquor cabinet, leather sofa, and set of no-doubt magical filing cabinets. Making her way to the polished brass cabinet drawers, Hermione drew her wand. Tapping them sharply on the top-most drawer, she brought to mind the exact file she wanted.

The drawer sat stock-still, her gleaming reflection frowning back up at her. Letting out a frustrated breath, Hermione closed her eyes and felt her way towards the filing cabinet's wards. Hopefully, they weren't simply a standard set of magical filing cabinet. If she was very, very lucky, Sullivan had been cheap, and enchanted the things himself.

As Hermione's magic flowed through her wand and breached the first of the wards layers, she let out tight grin.

Thank the lord for that cheap bastard.

These wouldn't take more than a few minutes to breach. Assuming she had a few minutes of course. Hermione's grin disappeared as she put the full brunt of her concentration onto the task at hand.

After the third shriek, Arthur felt it was only prudent he make his way downstairs. After all, if he left it any longer, Sterling would send Reynolds up to fetch him. Not to mention that no one, no one, could have plausibly missed the racket his Ginervra was making.

"What's going on here?" Arthur's eyes zoomed to Harry's prone form on the floor, and then to Ginny, who pointedly looked from him to the clock on the hallway wall.

You're going to have to work to draw this out.

"Oh, Arthur, thank god. It's Potter. The girl says, that is, your daughter says he was just standing here when he was struck down like this. Must be an aftershock from the bike, some sort of latent curse or hex."

Ginny took this opportunity to whimper hideously over Harry's form. Arthur thanked his lucky stars his daughter wasn't actually so insipid.

"Well I'll have to look the bike over before you take him in. Else there'll be nothing for the Healer's to work off." There was a pause here before Arthur thought to add- "it wouldn't do to have the saviour of the Wizarding world stuck like this because of something we missed now, would it?"

Arthur watched Sterling pale with considerable satisfaction. Ginny again let out a snivelling groan. Reynolds looked between the prone form of harry, the seemingly distraught Ginny and his pale commander before quietly piping up.

"I'll take the girl into the kitchen while you two take a look."

The blood had yet to return to Sterling's face as he nodded and led the way upstairs.


Kingsley had been admitted to St Mungo's over forty six times. Even amongst the Auror office it was an astoundingly high injury rate. His superiors had laughed it off when Kingsley somehow ended up the only injured party during 'semi-intense' training simulations. A blind eye was turned each time Kingsley was used as the distraction in an operation: when time after time he was left on the front line to hold up while his support team came in at the last minute. Just co-incidences. Every group needs a fall guy. If he only barely limped away from each Auror exercise, well it was a point to build on. Not an alarming negligence on whoever had been forced to partner up with him that week. That wasn't even counting what happened unofficially at the hands of his co-workers and 'brothers in arms'. Kingsley knew what was happening, even if his superiors chose to ignore it. But he kept his head down. He worked hard and soon became the best damn Auror in his squad- black or white.

He also met a score of pretty nurses and healers.

Every cloud had its silver lining.

He'd been about 28 when he'd started seeing Rebecca. She was the matron of the Spell Damage ward. One day after stoutly rolling up her sleeves and manually removing the shattered remains of a wand that had somehow embedded itself in his shoulder, she'd asked him out for dinner. Direct like, not a blush or falter. She'd taken his yelp of pain as she yanked the wood out as assent.

A hell of a woman.

Soon enough his trips to St Mungo's took on a whole new light. Particularly sneaking out from his bed when her shift ended; with more than a few stops and starts, they'd make their way to the storage-level-slash-morgue and out the emergency back door to Bec's modest apartment that lay a mere stone throw away.

It felt odd to be sneaking in, rather than out so many years later.

Kingsley had considered entering through the atrium and waiting for his chance, but he really couldn't afford to be seen. It wasn't merely his position in the ministry at stake; if his name was compromised, if he was suspected to be aiding Granger's rebellion, he'd be no further use to the girl- and he'd just begun to believe she could pull this thing off.

Making his way through the morgue, Kingsley discretely transfigured his robes to the trademark lime green of a Mungo's healer, before casting a notice-me-not charm and proceeding through the labyrinth of a storage area. If he remembered correctly – he was far older than he'd been back then- the stairs were on the right hand side and lead directly to the hospital's main stairwell.

He should be able to make his way to the third floor before the Law Enforcement officers arrived with Harry. That gave him a short window of time to find Hermione, and get the both of them out as quickly as possible.

Kingsly climbed the stairs as quickly as the notice-me-not charm would allow, hoping beyond hope that Hermione was in fact on the third floor, and not already at the ministry.


Arthur felt a fool, making such a show of re-examining the completely harmless bike. He didn't want to look to closely in front of Sterling in any case; Most of the bikes later modifications would reveal his own magical signature. He was particularly fond of the synthesised dragon fire. Charlie had sent him letter after letter with helpful hints and titbits before Arthur had finally perfected the function.

After running his hands carefully along every seam and crevice of the bike, Arthur had proclaimed the hex must have been a recursive build-up. Given Sterling's blank look, the completely made up prognosis was enough to fool him.

"It won't go off again, but I can't analyse what the hex was." Arthur surreptitiously glanced at his watch. Kingsley would be in by now.

"Right. Well. We'd better get the lad to St Mungo's straight away." Sterling's voice was just hard enough to mask the tell tale waver of a man under immense pressure. Arthur merely nodded.

"I think you're right- as soon as possible."


There was barely standing room in the atrium. Pressed as he was so far down the back, Emanuel could no longer hear the Welcome Witch's cries of protest at the utter chaos. He could still spot her though, the only figure bothering to rush and flutter around amidst the crowd. None of the reporters so much as budged. Bewildered hospital patrons seemed content to sit and watch the on-goings. The room was still with mounting tension. Emmanuel wasn't sure what they were waiting for, but as the room filled beyond bursting, he was sure he was about to find out.

Indeed, as soon as he decided to shift to a better position, the uproar began. The room was filled with the pulsing of flashing cameras, and the din of competing cries and questions.

At first Emmanuel couldn't determine the source of the uproar, merely the chaos set off in a determinedly ripple-like effect. Climbing up on the seat next to him, Emmanuel spotted two harassed looking Law Enforcement officials, carrying a grey speckled thing between them, while a redheaded witch trailed behind them. It wasn't until the flash of a camera glinted off a pair of particularly recognisable round glasses that Emmanuel understood what he was looking at.

Potter, and the Weasley girl.

There were no such things as co-incidences. Emmanuel smiled at the spiralling media shit storm before simply turning in the other direction. If he was unlucky those oaf's had hold of Miss Granger. If was lucky, well, he'd have a chance to restrain her himself.


Hermione didn't know how to explain the faint clicking sensation that reverberated through her magic as the last layer of warding fell.

But she relished the feeling all the same.

She knew she was almost out of time. Surely someone would be arriving on the third floor by now. Bringing the thought of the files to the forefront of her mind, Hermione smoothly slid open the top-most drawer. Opening her eyes she looked down at the folder sitting innocently in the otherwise empty drawer.

She hoped it would be worth the risk. Grabbing it and slipping it into her bag, Hermione made her way to the doorway.

Just as she moved to edge out, the sound of footsteps rang out against the cold tiles. Her heart thumped in her chest, the blood in her veins made of a sludge now frozen and refusing to pump. Her stomach had somehow jumped to her throat as she tightly gripped her wand.

The footsteps came closer and Hermione bated her breath. The floor around doorway was still scattered with splintered wood, and drops of her own blood. There were two tied-up ministry officials, unconscious in the next room.

She was doomed.

Hermione considered her options. She had a five second window to utilise the element of surprise. After that, she'd have to duel her way out.

Lion or not, Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew duelling wasn't her strong suit. She needed another option.

The wards of St Mungo's, much like those of Hogwarts, prevented apparition.

The second's passed by, Hermione's window passing with them. She'd never make it to the end of the corridor.

But perhaps she didn't need to.

Suddenly, Hermione remembered Sullivan storming into the research lab, followed by a stream of enchanted memos.

The floo station.

Hermione lunged out of the doorway at the very last second.

"EXPELIARMUS"

"STUPEFY"

Hermione's vision went black and the last thing she remembered was the floor speeding up to cradle her head.


A/N: I thought to myself, I'll be kind. The poor, poor people who still read this story have suffered enough. I was very, very close to landing you on stable ground far away from the threat of any cliffs. But then I thought, WWSMD? And so here we are. I would apologise profusely, but then, Moffat doesn't, and I promise the next chapter will be worth it.