Lost Time

All The King's Men

-

Harry spent the rest of his first day doing little but reading through books he had collected from his years of education. A long line of textbooks and tomes sat on a shelf in the examination room for reference, each with their pages bent and creased, his name scrawled on the inner cover. He pored through every note he had written in the margins, amazed at the dedication and insight his older self had shown in the studies. It didn't really help him much, but he felt as if he was getting to know him better.

This Harry wasn't unsure or confused. He didn't dawdle or waste time. Dr. Harry Potter could produce the name of a murderer from a half-mutilated body using only his bare hands and a faithful wand. What surprised him most was the last book - a fresh and sealed one with his own name on the front. Evidently he had contributed heavily to his own field, innovating and breathing life back into a branch of magic long thought useless.

But there was more to just forensic technique that his older self had excelled in. His name was listed in the reference sections of countless articles and journals that he apparently subscribed to. The Mind of the Dark Wizard, Corrupted Thoughts, The Journal of Magical Psychiatry, and other texts he had either contributed in or wrote himself. A paper plane memo he'd discovered had asked him to give his thoughts on the type of dark wizard that enjoyed cutting his victims in precise right angles, leaving his mark with brands in the form of lyrics from popular wizarding singer Celestina Warbeck.

He looked up from his text and moved out of his office, hovering over the body of Alan Stranger. The subject remained untouched, staring up into the harsh white light of the room as his murderer walked free. Harry felt as if he was letting everyone down, failing not only the dead but all the people who treated him as if he was someone who could help them. It was a familiar sentiment, one that he'd struggled with all throughout his years in Hogwarts.

His lack of confidence extended beyond his current self. Though he slightly idolized the older Harry, his doubts over his older counterpart had only grown with Neville's furious diatribe. The man was a adulterer and evidently a murderer. The last fact hit him particularly hard. Of course he had killed. He'd been killing people since the tender of age of eleven, when his hands tore away the life of a grown man, leaving nothing but a pile of dust. But never had he thought he would attack in anything other than self-defense, or even decapitate and mutilate anyone. Even an enemy.

Nevertheless, there was something to be said about a wizard as accomplished as Dr. Potter. There had to be more to his character than Neville had said. He was sure he hadn't slept with Daphne. They were obviously on familiar, perhaps even close terms, but it didn't at all seem they had some sort of history. And the proposal Tonks and Paul - he had somehow come to a first name basis with the man - had spoke of piqued his curiosity. It was clear that Paul liked him quite a bit and had offered him some sort of opportunity. Perhaps it was a job offer of some sort? He resolved to talk to talk about it with either Tonks or Daphne, gather information on their reactions to it.

His gaze fell back to the body before him. He had put the moment off for as long as possible, but it became apparent that Neville wanted results. He didn't want to risk the man's wrath, not until he had some solid understanding of the world around him. His dislike for his old friend was festering, and he desperately wanted to strike back at the vindictive, prejudiced detective.

Lifting his wand, he muttered a small spell that turned the wandtip bright yellow. With a last glance to the textbook by his side, he cut from behind each ear to under the chin, where he proceeded to just above the pelvis. Dropping his wand, he clenched his fingers once before pulling the skin back, revealing the muscles and bones under it. He stared with morbid fascination, knowing with certainty that he should have been reeling with nausea at the sight. The steely nerve of his older self seemed to have rubbed off on him. Swallowing, he looked back at the textbook before casting the charm again.

Another cut, assisted by a large, spelled-sharp surgical knife, opened the entire body and revealed the internal organs. Nothing seemed out of place, and the organs all looked like they did in the various diagrams he had consulted. That ruled out any sort of magic that pierced organs or damaged them, including the heart crushing curse. He jotted down the information, modeling it after past reports he had found copies of. It wasn't terribly difficult, consisting of a sheet that he had likely created for himself and writing in results of every test he performed.

He quickly realized that any further exploration would require actual magic, most of which he wasn't aware of. Once again he went through the file cabinets and stacks of paper that were kept in the examination room, uncovering a large amount of reports he had done in the past. The older reports included the names of the tests. Gathering parchment, he quickly devised a master list of techniques that were common to his line of work.

Harry closed the body and threw a sheet over it, retreating to his office. He began to look up every single test and technique he had copied from the reports, familiarizing himself with the basic terminology and goals. Several were interesting, ranging from magic that allowed him to find blockage in blood vessels to charms that left a faint glow where magic touched the body. Others seemed to have more sinister uses.

One curse closed veins and arteries in order to stem blood flow when performing autopsies. This was particularly important when taking apart individual organs. His own cutting had apparently not required this because gravity sunk all the blood to the rear of the body, leaving the top chest mostly dry. Organs, however, acted as sponges that sucked in blood. Harry's mind saw the potential in living beings. Specifically his specimen.

He made to leave his office when he saw Daphne peeking under the white sheet and examining the body beneath. She looked up as he approached, dropping the sheet back down.

"Nothing physically wrong?" She asked, throwing him a sympathetic look.

"Not sure yet," he said, "All I know so far that it's some sort of magic and that the organs themselves look alright. I'm still looking for smaller scale magic that may have been used to kill, like a destroyed nerve to the heart or blocked vessel." He was making most of it up on the spot, but he was technical enough that she didn't bother inquiring further. Her job was to manipulate and push her employees, not to understand what they actually did.

"Well, I'll leave that to you. What I came here for is to apologize for my father. He's really concerned about the PNRP controlling the Ministry in the coming year. With Neville as ambitious as ever and aiming for the Minister's office, he's desperately seeking for someone to better represent the party. Everyone agrees with what we say, but we just can't get over this ridiculous, false stigma of being Death Eaters." She touched Harry's arm, eyes glittering.

Harry smiled, showing his teeth. "I know, Daphne. Things change. Neville wasn't always like this." He stopped, hating to defend the brute that had grown from his housemate. Knowing the anger might show, he changed the subject. "And that proposal. I'm hearing a lot about it again."

Daphne moved closer, and Harry could smell the faint smell of something pleasant. She was tall and lithe, her fair and smooth skin contrasting sharply against the shiny black hair that fell behind her. Alluring, vibrant violet eyes held him to her. Her lips curled into a playful smile. "He's still lost in the fantasy of you being his son-in-law. Can you blame him? He still doesn't believe you're married."

Harry didn't respond outwardly, mind reeling within.

She continued, moving even closer than he thought possible. "But I don't think you'd have done it even if you hadn't gone off and tied the knot with ...Abbot." Here she gave a laugh. "I can't imagine you and Draco ever agreeing to be related, even by marriage. You'd probably be fine, but poor Astoria would never hear the end of it."

So Astoria, Daphne's sister who had been two years below him, had married Draco Malfoy. It hadn't been unexpected. The Malfoys and Greengrasses had always been close, and they were a logical choice after the Parkinsons had all been decimated. Narcissa had abandoned Voldemort in order to save their son, and Harry didn't think it unlikely that Lucius would do the same, but Harry would never get over his doubts regarding them. The Greengrasses had only been remotely affiliated, and it was entirely possible Paul had been threatened to take Lucius' place in the Ministry through threats of torture as Amos Diggory had. Harry had personally hunted down the Death Eater that had forced Diggory to hinder the Aurors in the Wizengamot.

"But you'd have admit, Harry," she said, looking playful, "Our black hair would look great together, inseparable even in bed." Harry's mind conjured an image of her draped across his body, limbs entwined, her hair falling over his chest...

Heat flushed his face, Daphne's grip sending something shooting through his skin. "It would," he said, somewhat beside himself, before taking her arm off, "I'm off now, though. It's almost five." Daphne looked somewhat crestfallen, but she stepped back, easily sliding back into her routine of calm control.

"Well I'll see you tomorrow then." She said said brightly, before bidding him goodbye and disappearing back up the stairs. Harry watched her go before dropping his gaze to his wedding ring. It shone dully back at him, reflecting the cold, harsh light of the room.

--

"Harry!"

Harry turned toward the source of the melodious voice, seeing Tonks run up to him, falling back to a stroll as she reached his side. "The guys and girls are going to Earlberry's for a drink. You're coming with us," She said, grinning, "We're going to get smashed. You haven't been out and around since this new wanker has been murdering left and right. You need a break!"

The thought of going into such an unpredictable environment made him feel uncomfortable, but he supposed anything was preferable to going home. He still hadn't any idea how to approach Hannah, or what one even did as a married man at home. He looked forward to seeing some of his friends, however. The Ministry had held only a few people he knew, making it somewhat of a relief to be back with people who weren't likely plotting against him.

Harry accepted the invitation and plastered a smile on his face, following his Auror friend to the Atrium and to the nearest fireplace. They bumped into a man and cut him to the front. Tonks shoehorned herself inside with him, grabbing on to him tight - "I'll probably kill myself somehow if go alone." - before shouting their destination. Harry saw the man leer at him before the Atrium disappeared into a flash of swirling green.

They tumbled out together, managing to stay on their feet. Tonks quickly bounded off to the far corner, leaving Harry to look around him with curiosity. The pub was a large one, old and filled with numerous types of wizards and witches, most of them young workers freshly free from their shifts. It reminded him faintly of The Hog's Head Inn, but more modern and, apparently, more successful. The bartender was a hulking, bald old man who seemed to resent each and every single customer that entered his establishment, apparently annoyed at the fact his pub drew so many rowdy young wizards and witches. Nobody seemed to pay him any mind, though.

Suffering a withering glare from the bartender for his staring, Harry quickly moved away from him and toward the direction Tonks had gone, where his name was shouted from a few moments later. A lively gathering of people waved him forward, all looking eager to see him for what Harry suspected was an unusually long time.

"Harry! How ya' been?" A large, dark-skinned young man asked, clapping his back. Harry thought he looked familiar, but was dragged over to a witch, who gave him a quick hug. He was passed around awkwardly, greeting everyone before they all settled down, chattering about how he looked far better than he did when they last saw him. Dr. Potter didn't get much sleep, it seemed.

"It's been awhile," the first man said, "We haven't seen you in weeks, more than a month even. How are you holding up without us?" His voice was a deep, imposing baritone, but Harry took an instant liking to him. He was clearly friendly.

"Fine, I guess. It's been boring without you guys." Harry admitted, seeking to stoke their egos. The others had begun talking to Tonks. She was whispering something, pointing at them. Harry saw the same wizard they had cut from before in the corner of his eye, chatting with a companion. They were watching him closely.

"Like it should," his unknown friend laughed, "How could anyone live without seeing me for weeks?"

"There's Blaise at it again," another woman groused, "And Harry had to go and feed his big head." She was small, with reddish-brown hair. Harry thought she looked faintly like Susan Bones.

"He's just happy he got promoted. After years of slaving away Mr. Zabini here got promoted to Senior Brown-noser Extraordinaire. Now he gets to go shoulder deep in his Department Head's ass." Tonks smirked, slamming down her newly empty cup. Harry laughed absentmindedly, focused more on the new guests than the rapid exchange.

"Right." Blaise said, looking equally vicious. His eyes were slightly glassy from the drink. "Like you didn't follow old Shacklebolt around 'till you made Senior Auror. Why are you here, anyway? Don't you have some of your thirty-and-older friends to be around? This is a twenty's crowd."

"Oh, I'm only four or five years older than you lot. I can hang around with anyone I want." She morphed to a teenage girl. "One day I'll be making fun of you guys for being old codgers." She smiled, sticking out her tongue.

The rest of them laughed. Harry kept his presence well, but abstained from downing too many drinks. He didn't want to be drunk, especially at a time where he could say the wrong thing and draw undue attention. It was an opportunity for him to gather some more information from his loose-tongued friends without looking strange. He waited until they had all had several rounds. Blaise was busy babbling away about his boss to an uninterested Susan, Tonks was sharing stories of arrests with three others, and Katie Bell, another he recognized, was ranting on to someone beside her. The two men had also disappeared, allowing Harry to relax somewhat and think.

He wondered where his original two friends had ended up. He had been on bad terms with Hermione before he had gone to duel Voldemort. They had been a couple before, becoming more than friends when they had gone Horucrux hunting in his Seventh Year. She had come to him when Ron had stormed off from their tent, talking at first, then brief brushes, before ending up together in a tangle of limbs, sweaty and regretful under threadbare blankets.

It had been the end of an era, and Hermione had ceased to be his friend, trading the long-held position for lover. In a way, he reflected, it was inevitable. She had been his only true female friend, not blinded by his name and seeing him as a person. The times had been dark, and in the cold tent, alone as fugitives, they had thrown caution to the air and proved Rita Skeeter, long dead by then for slandering the wrong person, right.

But desperate lust was never the basis of a healthy relationship, and Hermione had run back to Ron's arms less than a few months after he had returned ashamed and apologetic. Harry didn't much begrudge Ron, but he hadn't been very welcoming to Hermione after that. She had lashed out at his angry accusations, and it had never been the same. But he and Ron had never really severed their friendships. Perhaps his new acquaintances knew something of him...

"Ron." He said somewhat dully, hoping somebody would hear. Susan looked up at him, face contorting somewhat. She was just as liquored up as the rest, cradling a drink in her hands, cheeks slightly flushed.

"Oh, Harry. It is sad, isn't it? And they were going to marry too..." She said somewhat slurred, tears glimmering in her eyes. "It's terrible." Katie let out a few sniffles as well, muttering something about the dense, but likable brat she remembered from Gryffindor.

Blaise broke in, somewhat cheerier than the rest. Susan and Katie glared at his unsympathetic demeanor, but the former Slytherin didn't notice. "Oh that lad? Yes, it was sad. I didn't like the bloke, he was a classic Longbottom in the making, but I feel your pain, Harry. You guys were inseparable at Hogwarts. Wonder if her fiance's over it..."

"Blaise!" A smallish, mousy young man he didn't recognize called out angrily, "You're such an insensitive prick. Poor Harry here is thinking of his dead friend and here you are talking about getting with his fiance?"

Tonks sidled over to Harry, finishing yet another firewhiskey. Harry was amazed at how much she could put down. He attributed it to her skills as a Metamorphmagus - even the legendary Weasley twins would have been comatose.

"Don't worry guys, that's just Blaise being a Zabini. His mother wasn't any different..." She said, and suddenly Harry found himself next to a beautiful, dark skinned woman in a sweeping dress. She clutched his arm, turning him around to face her and climbing into his lap. Tucking her head into his neck, she kissed below his ear and whispered loudly. "Oh, Mr. Potter...you're such a handsome, rich, young man. My last husband just died, so I need some special comfort..." Her other hand squeezed his thigh.

The others roared in laughter as Blaise sank back, face impossibly red for his dark complexion. "This again. I swear, Tonks, you only do that for Harry. It's not even funny anymore."

Tonks morphed back, planting a kiss on Harry's cheek and jumping off. "Oh, Harry knows it's all just in good fun, right Harry?" She said, eyes sparkling with something entirely different.

Harry just smiled slightly in return, feeling shame and arousal race through him.

--

"Well, you don't think...you know, that it's time to uh, go home, do ya?" Blaise managed to slur out, arm draped around Harry. The shorter man had been singing loudly in his ear for some time, conducting a giggly, off-key chorus out of the rest of Harry's companions.

Harry winced, his ears ringing, subtly pushing him back to his own seat. "I'd say so." he remarked dryly, surveying his mostly unresponsive bachelor friends. Tonks muttered something about poor married men and their slave-like existences.

They sat around for several more minutes, doing little but sip and stare before finally gathering the will to leave. The bar was steadily emptying, and they were quickly becoming the last to leave. Susan, Katie, and the mousy man from before stumbled out with a quick farewell, leaving Blaise, Tonks, and Harry alone. While the latter two engaged each other in senseless chatter, Harry took the opportunity to look around the pub, watching the antics of the other occupants who were also overstaying their welcome.

Most of the people were much like them, dazed and slightly off, still idly drinking. The bartender had began scowling outright, and he was clearly irritated at the unending calls for more whiskey. He poured them agonizingly slow, breathing heavily as he stared straight at the customers. It was as if he were making sure to cram each and every drop of liquor with hatred.

Harry looked around more, wondering what had happened to the suspicious two wizards that had followed them from before. He spotted them before long, sitting not far behind him. They stood out between all the goofy grins, and despondent, glazed eyes, sitting up straight and utterly alert. They caught his eyes and flashed him cold grins, standing up and moving towards him.

Harry stomach seemed to drop as they brought out their wands. He had no proper magic to defend himself. He steeled himself against the inevitable fear and carefully assessed the situation - something he had learned from the endless battles he had endured in the past year of his own time.

His more than capable Auror friend seemed completely passed out, as was Zabini. He recognized the robes the two men wore, knowing they belonged to Magical Law Enforcers. They were the equivalent of muggle constables, a local policing force that dealt with lesser crimes and offenses against Wizarding society. That meant nobody else would dare step in. He remembered Paul mentioning the enforcement arms of the Ministry had become more aggressive in their behavior. He gripped the cold wood of his wand more from habit that necessity, steeling himself for what he could already feel was going to be a difficult confrontation.

"Mr. Potter." The first man all but spat.

"Mr. Harry Potter." The second echoed, but with a refined air of ridicule. This man was obviously in control. He flashed him an empty smile. "Enjoying your visit to the Wizarding world?"

Harry scowled. So they knew as well. He was beginning to wonder how much the news had spread. He had a feeling his older self had kept this information under control, and it was only his coming that had broken the smooth working of things.

"I am," he replied icily, "I think I'll stay permanently. Unless that's a problem with you, gentlemen?" He knew he shouldn't have challenged them with so little to back himself, but he was in no mood to be walked on again, especially by crooked Enforcers who doubtless worked for someone who hated him.

"Oh, but I think you need to have magic to stay here - right, Lichter?" The first man, a Crabbe-lookalike, snarled back, clearly enjoying what seemed to be his first worthwhile insult in quite some time. Lichter watched indulgently, letting out a noise of agreement.

"But we won't question Mr. Potter any further. After all, he already made his deals to stay. He makes do with what he has in the only real job he can do without magic." And here he let out a snide laugh that somewhat reminded him of a Hyena. His partner followed suit some seconds later with his own piggish snorts. "We're not here to remind the man of all the things he's missing," he continued, flicking his wand at Harry and sending him crashing back into the table behind him, "We're just here to give him a message."

The magic drove all the air out of his lungs, and he was left gasping as he slid to the floor. The man waved his wand as he coughed, slamming him back to the floor as he struggled to get up. His arms and legs seemed stuck the floor, his body pinned down above the metal utensils and broken glass all around him. He fought savagely against the invisible binds to no avail.

He turned his head, hoping Tonks had at least woken at the noise. Both the Auror and Blaise both sleeping gently. Further glances confirmed what he feared - the entire bar was asleep aside from them, looking as if they had simply fallen over.

The thinner, bespectacled man - Lichter, he remembered, took the lead, the bulk of his larger partner casting a sinister shadow over his face. "Don't look for help, Potter. We've got a free reign here, and that includes anything we want to do to take your friends out of the game." He ignored Harry's crass retort. "Now listen, or we'll just enjoy ourselves more," he said coldly, twirling his wand, "Your old buddy Neville - our good friend as well - wants you to do some sniffing on your new master Paul Greengrass. Some of our higher ups in the party aren't replying to our firecalls or owls. We think the PPB is doing something dirty. We don't care how unimportant you think the information is. He does anything but breathe and we want to know. Got that?"

He should have guessed Neville was behind this. His power behind the PNRP allowed him the sympathy of the law enforcement branches, and doubtless widespread influence. He had probably told his followers the former boy-who-lived was now all but magicless, seeking to enable them to more confidently approach the wizard that had supposedly defeated Lord Voldemort. There were few that could muster such bravado against him in his own time - doubtless it would have been even less had he kept his magic in this one.

The realization struck Harry harshly, and he couldn't respond, too angry to even think. He struggled helplessly against the magic. Lichter watched with pleasure, kneeling down. "I'll repeat that for you. Do you understand, Mr. Potter?"

He brought out his wand and raising its tip up and down. "Yes, I do, Mr. Lichter. I'm going to go back and do your bidding. I will do anything you ask me to!" He mimicked, breaking into laughter as Harry's head was forced to nod as well. Harry's arms quivered against the unyielding force, but he managed to stretch his hand out just enough to grasp one of the forks that had fell to the ground with him.

"Alright, Ernest. Put the lad back on his feet," Lichter said, stepping back and allowing the larger man room, "I think he understands the significance of what we're asking. He knows he can't fuck this up." Harry heard the unspoken threat, but was far too lost in his fury to care. His fingers tightened around the cool metal in his hand.

Just as Lichter broke the binding charm and Ernest stepped forward, Harry brought the fork down into the massive shoe closest to him. It made a curious sound, tearing through leather, skin, and bone before coming to a rest. Ernest stopped and gaped stupidly, too overwhelmed by pain. Harry leapt to his feet just as Lichter realized what happened.

The man shot off a confining curse Harry knew Magical Law Enforcers routinely used to immobilize suspects. He grabbed the bulk of Lichter's partner and threw the man toward him. The curse bound the Ministry employee and dropped him to the floor, his body squirming pathetically in pain and surprise.

Harry's older self was far more capable physically, undoubtedly making more use of his body in the absence of magic. He charged toward Lichter and tore the wand away, throwing it to the side. He wasn't sure what he wanted to accomplish by fighting, but he recognized the fulfillment of it all. All the frustration, his confusion, the almost surreal concept of losing his magic fueled his rage. He savagely swung at the thin man's face, completely shattering his glasses and breaking his nose.

He crashed his elbow into his opponent's ribs and threw him down, raining blows on the smaller man for several more seconds before Harry found himself thrown back, pinned to the bar by a massive, meaty arm. Ernest had risen once more, face purple in both anger and pain. His hand was wrapped around Harry's throat, squeezing mercilessly.

"No! Leave him!" Lichter coughed out from behind, rising to his feet. Crimson streams and ugly blue splotches colored his face, but he still looked commanding. "You can't kill him!"

Ernest's breathed heavily, his fingers squeezing once more before stepping back, staying threateningly close.

"You're lucky, Potter, that Neville has a use for you. You're a no good squib, a dark sympathizer on top of it all. You don't deserve anything you have, not even that mute wife of yours," he snarled, wiping at the torrent of blood running from his nose, "Step out of line again and we might not be so accommodating. After we'll finish you perhaps me and Ernest here will show your dearest what real wizards are like. Whether the bitch likes it or not."

Harry grabbed a half-full pitcher of firewhiskey from behind the bar and swung it across the large wizard's face. He immediately fell to the floor in a shower of glass and burning liquor, clearly unconscious. Harry stepped over the body and rammed the unarmed and surprised wizard into wall behind him.

The skeletal, weaker man wheezed at the impact, barely keeping himself standing. Harry took his collar and pinned him, scowling further as his opponent managed to laugh, croaking out a goading remark. "What are you going to do, Potter, kill me? You know you can't win. You're going to do exactly as I say, because in the end, there are more of us. What can you hope to accomplish with your bare hands against us?"

Harry knew the Enforcer was not lying; Neville could easily make his life miserable. But he needed to send a message. He didn't want to be trifled with. Harry took a sharp shard of glass from the broken pitcher and raised it to the man's neck, who simply blinked in disbelief, beginning to stammer: "What? You can't do this! I'm an officer of the law!"

Harry sneered, itching to simply end the scum's life. He dragged it lightly against the taut skin, resulting in a few whimpers.

"Yeah? I'll be sure to find out who murdered you at your autopsy tomorrow." Savoring the fearful gasp, he dropped the shard and slammed his head into the wizard's face, letting him fall to the ground limp.

The spell keeping the few people left in the bar asleep broke, and they all stirred, blinking owlishly and staring at the destruction around them. Harry quickly took a seat, attempting to avoid seeming out of place. He couldn't help feeling somewhat satisfied with himself for the first time since his arrival into the future.

Tonks raised her head slowly and looked around, looking slightly less inebriated than before. Her eyes took in the two unconscious bodies and Harry's injuries before cursing.

"Ah, damn, I knew it was a sleeping charm. And I'm supposed to know how to resist those... Jesus Harry, you're bleeding all over!"

--

Blaise and Tonks pushed Harry to the fireplace, ignoring his insistence that he wasn't hurt. He didn't want to make an affair out of the entire episode, much less go to St. Mungos to have himself examined. There was so much to do, so much to think and reflect on. He didn't know how Neville would respond, but he didn't think it would be pleasant. There would be consequences, but he was fairly sure he wouldn't get any more physical intimidation.

Tonks volunteered to escort him there once she found the two Enforcers gone, having attempted to secure orders from a superior to detain them. Even if she had detained them in her capacity as an Auror, Tonks had confided to Harry, Neville would have just cleared the charges. As they arrived at the Wizarding hospital, she talked of the many cases in which the Senior Detective had used his influence as Party Leader to clear charges ranging from Excessive Force, extortion, illegal detention, even corruption.

"The head of the DMLE," she said, pronouncing it 'Dim-Lee', " - isn't sympathetic to any particular party, but he's under a lot of pressure to just accept what the PNRP dictates. With the party holding the majority of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards, they can hold a Vote of No-Confidence and oust him, citing him incapable."

Harry wiped some blood off of his brow as they stood in line to check-in. The portrait of Dilys Derwent, celebrated healer and former Hogwart's Headmistress, clucked her tongue as they passed her by, straining her neck to examine his injuries. She was a motherly figure, somehow looking enormously wise as well as worried, closely watching every patient that entered.

"Are you with any party?" He asked. Harry felt an obligation to distance himself from her if she was indeed with Neville, fearing repercussions against her if she continued supporting him. If all her colleagues were members, it wasn't unbelievable to think she had also joined simply to avoid distancing herself.

She shook her head. "I don't like either of them, especially the two big ones that we have on hand. I'm a bit sympathetic to criminalizing dark magic, being an Auror and knowing what it can do, but I can't reconcile all that with how the PNRP operates. I know you don't get involved much in the politics, being stuck down there and all, but they're practically a mafia, Harry. Neville's running for Minister next month, and he's using all his influence to start a smear campaign against the PPB. They're not a pretty bunch either, but they haven't done anything wrong. We're told to examine them and hunt for ties to former Death Eaters. Besides Paul himself, who never really was convicted on anything, they're completely clean. They're ahead in the polls to boot."

The idea of this new Neville somehow becoming Minister of Magic was frightening. He imagined him enforcing draconian laws against any sort of magic he deemed evil, arming his Aurors, Hit-Wizards, and Enforcers with the ability to detain and imprison without the slightest evidence of wrong-doing. He didn't know what Paul was proposing, but he didn't think it was as drastic as fully legalizing dark magic. There was something innately wrong about it, but casting such spells on occasion did not merit imprisonment. Harry himself had slipped more than a few times in his duels against Death Eaters, perhaps more than he wanted to admit to himself.

A bored looking attendant appeared and notified them quietly that a room had become available. She pressed the protesting Harry into a wheelchair and spelled it to take him to the empty room. Much to Tonks' amusement, Harry found that it went much too fast for him to attempt leaving it. He clutched at the handles as it raced between ailing wizards and witches, darting through the hallways and speeding up a circular ramp that took him up several floors. After a few near-collisions and several sudden turns, it came to an abrupt halt, throwing him to his feet. Harry stumbled back into the bed, watching as the wheelchair rattled tauntingly at him before zooming away. Tonks apparated into the room several moments later, laughing at his expense.

They didn't have to wait long for a healer. The door opened within a couple minutes, admitting a witch in pale blue healer robes. Harry froze as he recognized the young woman.

His wife looked up and smiled at him, clearly having missed his name on the documents set in her clipboard. The warm, inviting blue eyes melted away as soon as she saw his bloodied face, and she rushed over to him, holding his face in her hands and examining all his cuts and bruises. She was rambling away silently under her breath, completely voiceless. Harry was overwhelmed by the attention, surprised at her behavior.

"Hannah, Hannah - I'm okay!" He managed, grabbing her hands in his own. She struggled for a bit before settling down, biting her lip and looking as if she wanted nothing better than to examine him fully. The worry and fear in her face was palpable. After staring into his eyes for several long seconds, she turned her head, looking at the only other occupant in the room.

"Hi Hannah," Blaise Zabini said brightly, "Harry got into a brawl with some shady guys at the pub. Bastards put us to sleep, else I woulda helped him out." Harry stared at the man before realizing what had happened. Hannah looked back at him and waited expectantly.

"Yeah, that's what happened." He said slowly. Feeling an odd desire to impress her, he added with a smile, "I got them both, though." Hannah shook her head, her panicked look giving way to a disheartening disbelief as took back her hands, bringing out her wand and pressing it against his wounds. 'Blaise' winked at him before excusing himself, apparating away.

The cuts began to heal themselves as she ran the wandtip over them, a warm glow flowing out of it. Hannah's face had a look of utter concentration, and it seemed she was lost in the spell. He took the opportunity to look at the woman he was now married to, her face close to his as she took her time closing the small gash next to his neck.

The scent of strawberries filled his nose as he breathed in, and he couldn't help but lean in slightly. The fair skin of her cheeks were slightly pink, blond hair falling just above her shoulders. She was quite pretty, the kind of appealing, sweet face that looked good in the morning without powders and brushes. There was such a purity, an overwhelming aura of innocence about her that Harry felt a wave of revulsion for the man he felt he would be eager to someday become. How could he ever betray her?

He basked in her presence as the minutes flew past, simply enjoying her dedication, the care and concern of the appealing figure tending to his health. An odd feeling of nostalgia passed through him - one that he couldn't fathom the reason for. His thoughts were interrupted as Hannah finally straightened.

Harry met her eyes and waited, wondering what to say. As he watched her he realized she hadn't ever spoken. The words of Lichter, ignored in the midst of battle, returned to him - "…not even that mute wife of yours." She could not speak.

Hannah bit her lip and raised her wand, moving it through the air as if she were writing. Soft orange light poured through the tip and formed letters, much in the same way Tom Riddle had far too many years ago.

I am finished here. Please come home for once, Harry. With me.

Harry felt a wave of guilt and found it difficult to look at her face. He quickly accepted, both nodding his head vigorously and saying it out loud. Hannah's careful, measured behavior from before was quickly replaced by a slight hopefulness that Harry could easily picture his older self taking advantage of time and time again. She was a left-behind, desperate girl who loved until the very end.

Hannah brought up her index finger, gesturing for him to wait. She dashed out the door and returned a mere minute later, her hair down and a cloak on her body, looking for all the world the same shy, lovely girl he remembered from Hogwarts. Grabbing his hand, she pulled Harry up to his feet and conjured a matching cloak for him, pausing to straighten it before taking him outside the room.

Understanding that she was going to apparate, Harry grabbed Hannah's arm and stood close to her, readying himself for the unpleasant experience. He looked to his side to see his wife smiling at him, seconds before they dissapeared.

He didn't think Dr. Potter deserved her at all.