Two Aurors & A Bookworm

Chapter One: The Peak Quarrel

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

"The Tiger" - William Blake

The year is nineteen ninety-seven. It is just past dark in the common room when two sixth year Gryffindor prefects make their entrance known, causing quite the commotion, followed by their famed, quiet best friend. They are Ronald Bilius Weasley, Hermione Jane Granger, and Harry James Potter, and every single present person in the common room glances at them as they enter, then roll their eyes and return to whatever activity they were engaged in before their sudden arrival. It is rather customary for the students to be disturbed during a quiet activity such as reading a third year textbook, writing a ten-foot NEWT-level Potions or Transfiguration essay, playing wizard's chess or whatever else there was to do on a late Sunday evening. In fact it was frequent occurrence and was usually looked upon as one would a dull school schedule.

Tonight was no different.

"That first year boy! That first year boy! Poor little tyke, he must be terrified! Come now, Hermione, couldn't you see he was having you on from the start? And in front of half his clique, thank you very much," Ron nagged joyously, making himself look rather important as he looked down upon Hermione from his six foot two frame.

Hermione, instead of showing defeat, narrowed her eyes into very small brown slits. "It is sickening how much joy you get out of this. What day is it today, Ron? 'Let's make Hermione feel like a little shite' day?" She shook her head derisively as she watched Ron's ear tips redden violently, then pushed her hair behind her ears. "At least I'm not the one who tripped all over himself trying to separate the kids. With those gangly legs of yours, you had better be careful, Weasley. You might end up wobbling all over the place."

Ron threw his hands up in the air, not in defeat, but in exasperation. "Is that what you fear? Because, thanks for the vote of confidence, but no thanks at all." He shook his head. "Get over yourself, seriously."

Hermione had been about to storm off, but instead she whirled back around and was none-too-happy as she yelled in rage, face red from fury, "Get over myself? Ronald Weasley, you had better be eternally grateful that wand is resting securely deep into my pocket, because... because you would have made a very loathsome ferret very jealous right now."

Ron snorted. "You may be dead scary with a wand sometimes, but witty comebacks were never your thing, Hermione. Stick to your Potions and History of Magic books and save your breath."

Hermione's eyes watered, but she held her ground and ground out with a trembling voice, "You disgust me, Ron. You have no human feelings whatsoever, you self-centred prat. Frankly, the only reason I ever stuck around with you was Harry..." She glanced quickly, fearfully, at Harry, frowned at herself, and continued. "Harry's the only one who cares what sort of lengths I ever go through for both of you. At least I know someone appreciates what I do for its just valour when I save both your arses from a very bad outcome!"

Harry, who had been silent until just then, dared to speak up. "Hey, whoa, why was I brought into this conversation in the first place?"

Ron laughed in Hermione's face, not breaking eye contact for anything in the world. "Can't you see her witty plan? 'Let's bring Harry into the spat, maybe he will be a nice biased mediator and side with me so that Ron gets to look like a bloody arse, and everyone will then take pity on me.' How clever a plan, isn't it?"

Hermione felt the moist trail down her cheek and moved toward the girls' staircase - how could she have let this happen to her? She felt so ashamed of herself - but was stopped mid-track by a wounding pressure on her right wrist.

She met Ron's thunderous eyes and wished she could break down and melt into the stone floor. She would not have to suffer this. But it wasn't so.

Averting her eyes, she heard, very distinctly though it was very low, "I'm not finished with you just yet." The angry groan echoed in her ears and, for the first time since she met the clumsy redhead, she was actually deathly scared. "You always make my life miserable," he ground out, not letting go of her wrist. His hot tempered breath made the hairs along her arm prickle even though he was not even close enough... she could actually feel his breath in this moment, right now.

Hermione's eyes flared as she heard him speak. "I make your life miserable? How could you even say that, when I'm not even doing anything right now to make you miserable? You're a horrible person, Ron." Here she whimpered; without knowing it, Ron had tightened his grip on her wrist. Hermione thought that surely her bones might snap any second. "Ron, you're hurting me," she whimpered again.

And this time he actually listened to her plea. He unhanded her and looked at his own hand as he might have something that had stung him. His breath was coming very short as he realised he had just been about to harm his best friend, a girl, a young woman. Slowly he looked around at all of their spectators who listened in only half interestedly as they did usually. His former anger resurfaced, but this time he kept it in check with his hands fisted at his sides before making a low guttural irritated sound in his throat and storming off without another word.

Hermione watched on sadly, rubbing her sore wrist, and then caught Harry's eye. He gave her a small apologetic smile, and together they wordlessly retreated to their separate dormitories.

***

Alone, I stand, beside myself -
Simple in my complexity.
Understanding, I stay confused;
A living, breathing non-entity

Fishing for a cat in hell's chance,
To give in and take control.
Nomadically, I'll sit at home,
Lovingly, I'll hate some more.

Listening with my eyes,
And watching with my ears,
Take it all, but leave some there,
Let others see through blinding tears.

I'll remember to forget this time,
And tick it with a cross,
Then begin again at the end
And find myself at a loss.

"All of Nothing" - K Wakeman

It all seemed so silly after so many years of it sleeping locked behind a closed door of her deepest memories.

This was what Hermione thought as she scrambled some eggs in a pan while rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. If there was one thing she liked to do in the morning to wake up properly, it was to cook. She wasn't skilled, by any means. It had to be something relatively easy, of course. Hermione had tried dozens of times to charm the stove so that the eggs would be perfect, but even then they turned out burnt or a most unsavoury shade of purple or green. In any case, she was definitely not destined for a big break in a posh wizarding restaurant in downtown London. So she stuck to Muggle cooking most of the time.

Hermione shook her head with a little smirk before being suddenly enveloped briskly into a pair of strong arms. A faint musk and the remnants of cheap muggle cologne filled her nostrils besides the strong scent of eggs that filled the kitchen.

"Fixing breakfast, yeah?" asked the deep, hoarse voice of Hermione's flatmate - it was obvious he had just woken up: hair in a disorderly state, sleep clearly still floating behind his eyes... He detached himself from her at her quick nod and went to straddle a chair backwards at the small round table. He smiled slightly while rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but Hermione was too busy avoiding his stare, and he did not notice. "I didn't hear you come in last night..." he said with a false accusatory tone meant to make her smile as it would have any other day, but today Hermione was unusually preoccupied.

"I didn't want to wake you." She set his plate in front of him. "I'm sorry, should I have?" She sat down in front of him.

Ted Wentworth's fork froze in its trail to his mouth. "Hermione, I was teasing you. Hell, that's not even called teasing. I was being completely conversational."

Hermione finally lifted her eyes to his, mid-bite, and froze as well. Ted saw the tired lines, the evasion... "I'm sorry, I guess I'm just a bit tired," she replied unconvingly.

Ted sighed, setting his fork down, untouched. "What's wrong?"

Hermione was not sure she knew the answer to even such a harmless and simple question as this one. She looked down and frowned at her eggs. "It's confusing... this is confusing," she said, evading the general question.

"What is?" he asked levelly.

Hermione, out of nervous habit, ran her hand through her short boyish curls. A short cut she had adopted to let go. But of what? Hermione was not so sure she knew the answer. "I'm not sure," she replied after a beat, mirroring what her mind was telling her.

Ted snorted, apparently amused by her perplexed expression. "Honey, you're going to have to explain what's wrong because I cannot read minds yet."

Hermione shook her head much as one would a spider's web. "Never you mind. I think I'm coming down with something."

Ted looked concerned all of a sudden. "Everything all right? Want me to get you something at the drugstore?"

Hermione shook her head one last time. "No. I'm fine."

And then she stood up, leaving her plate untouched, heading toward the door, grabbing her robes, Accio'ing some parchments into her hand, and Disapparating out of sight, leaving a very disconcerted flatmate behind.

Hermione knew she was not being very rational. She and Ted had been flatmates for a good two months now. They had opted for hers finally because it was a little bit bigger and cleaner - his had been cracked at the walls and the ceiling often leaked... a man's flat, in other words - and now they both paid for the monthly electricity and water bills.

They had met at a charity party held in Westminster and had hit it off at their own rhythm. It had been very slow at first - he had just come out of a long-going relationship; she had solemnly sworn to herself that she would not engage in any long-term relationships for a long time - and even now it still was.

Ted came from a long line of muggles. He had retraced his magical lineage just recently for fun and had come up nearly empty-handed. His nearest relative of magical blood was a blacksmith's wife in the 1700's. The woman had been burned at the stake before bearing her second child. Her little girl had inherited the magical gene, but it had not been active, and thus until Ted's generation. Both his brother and him had attended a regular primary muggle school before attending Hogwarts, nine years prior to her, Harry, Ron and their friends.

He now worked for the Ministry's Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, in the Bureau of Protection for Shapeshifting Creatures, which englobed werewolves and other wereanimals, keeping track of records, sending mail to invite its members to conventions, meetings and, a week prior to full moon, to secret and safe Ministry-protected locations where they could acquire Wolfsbane and shape-shift without a worry. Basically, the new Minister had installed this new Bureau to make certain that wild wereanimals would be contained and therefore produce less wereanimals, and that they would be safe and protected during their monthly Craving.

But the Ministry itself could not cease the racism. Wereanimals were still very much the subject of controversy in the magical world, even in these much-advanced ages. That was why Hermione knew nothing about where exactly Ted worked - rumours ran that the Bureau of Protection for Shapeshifting Creatures was the only one in its league to be located elsewhere than within the Ministry itself, and was as such to avoid discrimination. Other rumours were that the Bureau had been placed upon a Diversion Spell, ensuring that only those who owned a special key were allowed in.

Ted was home much more often than Hermione, she had to give him that, despite his being extremely secretive about his job. Usually she spent entire days at the library or at Auldenberk, working tirelessly and reading herself sick to the point where she squinted and her sight was blurred.

And yet here she was, sitting down at Rosenbaurf, engulfed once again in a brick.

There has got to be something else about the Evanidus...

Yes, Hermione's days were long and rather tedious, but overall they generally were an enjoyable burden.

***

My windows open to the Autumn night,
In vain I watched for sleep to visit me:
How should sleep dull mine ears, and dim my sight,
Who saw the stars and listened to the sea?

"Cadgwith" - Lionel Johnson

Guilt tugging at his heart, Ron raked a hand through his stringy hair as it captured the faint light spill in from the thin fabric hanging from the window. He wanted to sit at the windowsill, but thought otherwise; sleep often did not find him even though he sought it relentlessly.

He glanced at his wife and slowly undressed, the cool air hitting him on impact - how did he look now, so devoid of emotion? Frightening? Insane? Soulless?

She was sleeping, a pink flannel night-gown already twisted between herself and the sheets - she must have tossed and turned in her sleep after he left, he thought. It was late, he conceded, or early... When he slipped beneath the blankets he still felt cold.

And yet she murmured something incoherent and twisted around to find warmth. She found Ron.

Ron lay perfectly still, eyes wide open. I don't deserve this... So many months of waiting in bed, waiting for him to come out of his office... He wondered how she could have handled it for so long. And even now.

How could she have locked it away and never used his carelessness against him to hurt him in the end? Instead she'd helped him all the way.

Ronald Weasley turned away from his wife and sought the bright rays with half-closed eyes.

***

"Whatever's wrong, love?"

He jumped, causing his teacup to almost topple down to the linoleum floor in a most spectacular crash.

She met his eyes and recoiled. More than once she had learned to not query him further when he sent her a cool stare. She had never thought to overrule her fear and stand up to him... He was far too impressing. Sometimes she even wondered why he'd pined for her at all.

Silence. Consistency. Tension. Fear. Power.

These five ruled her short life and marriage with Ronald Weasley.

But however could she live without him?

"Not now, Vi."

Née O'Sullivan, Vivian was a petite witch with rather basic magical power. A Hufflepuff at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry starting in 1996, she had made it to her NEWTs very barely alive, almost failing everything save for Herbology and Care for Magical Creatures. She wasn't gifted in the magical way, and it had caused her much pain since the very beginning: her parents, both wizard and witch from long magical bloodlines, had looked at her with pity, and her older brother and sister, both extremely gifted, had laughed at and teased her every chance they had got in their youth.

It was with some surprise, then, that they all learned that the famed Ron Weasley, hero and survivor of the Second Great War against the Dark Lord, and prodigious Auror-to-be to boot, had asked to marry her, of all people.

At first she had refused, clearly suffering from a serious panic attack. Far from being very pretty; extremely clumsy; the worst witch of her time, or so it seemed... How could he love her?

And then he'd told her this with faraway, dreamy eyes: "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," and she'd thought she might cry for the beauty of his words.

Vivian sighed. He wasn't fooling anyone with his mask anymore, least of all her. How could she have been fooled?

"Are you leaving today?" she queried plainly.

The answer was simple: she loved him with every inch of her soul.

"Depends what Harry's owl says."

Vivian shook her head to herself very slightly. Of course that meant yes. Sometimes she was surprised that she understood him so well, considering...

"When?" she asked casually, though the pity she was so accustomed to from other people seemed to resurface again and taunt her full-force.

"Should be any minute now. You know Harry."

Of course she did. An entire chapter had been dedicated to essays and biographies, as well as newspaper clippings, in her Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks after the Dark Lord's defeat. Despite being a horrendous witch, Vivian had studied her textbooks by heart and remembered the entirety of them even after five years out of Hogwarts.

She hadn't known Harry in person at all back then, of course. Only glimpses of him in the hallways as he hung out with Ron and Hermione Granger during the two years she had seen them all at Hogwarts together. She remembered Ron's tired, almost lifeless eyes, and Hermione's strained and often-stiff posture, as if they had both spent the night awake working on devising a secret plan. Harry, in her memories, was a crestfallen figure, leaning between both anger and confusion. The famous trio was split, spoilt. And then some time later they were back, pulled by mysterious strings. She remembered the surprised whispers in the hallways.

She had only met Harry Potter properly at Ron and Harry's flat during a mutual friend's birthday party. The Golden Trio was once again no more. Both men had started training at Auror Academy in Norfolk a few months prior and lived close to campus in a tiny flat that could welcome at the most twenty party guests - they stretched it to forty-six. Harry had been more than welcoming, Ron had been melancholic but charming nonetheless. She'd learned all about Harry's past, humbling words aside, and had learned to appreciate his presence more than his scar.

But Harry Potter had always been a mysterious figure more so than Ron anyway, and it had always bothered her slightly. What more dark secrets could Harry Potter possibly be hiding? A self-proclaimed bachelor who thrived for action... Or did action thrive for the Boy-Who-Lived?

"When are you coming back?"

Ron shrugged, sipping from his cup. "Dunno."

Dunno... It seemed to be his answer for everything lately. She wanted to scream, just to see how far she could push... Would he care then?

But of course she was much too proper. "Do you want more tea?" She disappeared in the kitchen without waiting for an answer, leaving bitterness hanging in the air in her wake.

She was choking.

She heard the deafening silence before a hoot reached her ears. The rustling of paper. Silence. She thought she could make out his silhouette drinking calmly from the cup of tea through the wall. Silence. Vivian leaned her back to the wall separating them and closed her eyes, hearing his answer in her mind before he had even uttered a word.

"I've to go." And gone he was.

Vivian slid down the wall and slowly hugged her knees to her chest before falling even deeper.

***

They didn't know... they never knew... maybe they did, but they were too blind to grasp the truth.

Picture were what he treasured most, still or moving as they were. Maybe they were a wink to his past. His father, from a long lineage of wizards and witches that went unbroken for centuries, and his mother, a most gifted muggle-born witch.

His first photo album ever had been handed to him with one single moving photograph: his dead parents holding him as a mere baby. No doubt they'd have made wonderful parents, he thought. He sometimes secretly wished he could remember one single moment with them.

His second picture had been that of his best friends and him at Hogwarts. Now he owned more pictures than his album could ever hope to hold; more than three hundred pictures, all of them scattered here and there in his flat, decorating his walls, and perched on his work desk, were a testament of his often strange life.

As he waited for his redheaded duty partner, Harry Potter let his thoughts drift and studied picture after picture of special events, parties, Kodak moments (Ginny's impersonation of an angry Mrs. Weasley with a mortified Ron as Mrs. Weasley stood behind her daughter with a rather unamused expression? Priceless)...

Harry remembered sixth year, when his life had taken a wrong turn once again, when he had made a wrong assumption that his friends were turning their backs on him. But, moreover, he remembered sixth year before all of that had ever begun to happen...

He felt a grin creep onto his face. Watching them go at it had been exasperating all right, he wasn't about to fool himself. It was such an old act that everyone around them had grown accustomed to their bickering antics in Gryffindor. Everyone, that is, except him. Yet he should have been used to it by then.

Now he could laugh all he wanted about it. Oh, he had laughed even then, especially at night when Ron muttered about a certain someone in his sleep ("Annoying... going to twist her neck... bloody buggering books... Know-It-All...").

When Ron finally Flooed in, he found Harry staring up at a frame on his wall with a large knowing smile on his face. Ron took one look at it and rolled his eyes.

"Oi there, what did you summon me here for?"

Harry tore his eyes from Colin's sneaky wizard's photograph of Hermione and Ron at it during a row, including Harry's exasperated face. He grasped a folder marked with the usual runic symbol which designated the Auror Department, followed by a long serial number that Ron quickly recognised as the one for the Evanidus files.

"I marked all the dates. Just wanted you to double-check before I get these to Hermione."

Ron lifted his eyes from the files that Harry had already handed over. "She contact you since yesterday?"

"No, she said she'd be going over her own stuff at the library."

Ron rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Can't remember the last time I set foot in a library."

Harry looked at him very seriously. "Last week ring a bell?"

Ron waved him away dismissively. "Yeah, as part of an assignment, prat." He walked out of Harry's office, and Harry heard his best friend's muttering from the next office. Convenient, he thought amusedly.

Another picture.

Leaves falling. Scarves flying. Happiness just before the storm. Maybe, just maybe they could have been, then. But the fates had chosen otherwise, and things had fallen fast afterward. Goodbyes, promises somehow broken... And that was that.

At least their arguing had put a little piquante in his life when it had been at its worse. At least he hadn't felt the impending doom when he'd heard their near-constant squabbling. It sure filled whole nights spent walking across Britain.

Harry leaned backward on his chair and poised his feet on his desk, willing his eyes to close contentedly.

Perhaps Ron would open his eyes one of these days and see what he had missed since... hell, since the very beginning!

Ron burst in brusquely just as Harry saw a shock of brown hair dash behind a wall.

And then he felt the itch.

Perfect timing.

Ron, seeing his scrunched up expression, became concerned immediately. "Everything all right, mate?"

"Perfect, just... fucking... perfect," Harry ground out between gritted teeth as he violently shot his arm down. The room was soon filled with a pallid, yet strong and blinding blue light.

Ron merely flipped a page on Harry's desk. "Perfect timing indeed," he said dryly. "Too bad the crooks never met you at times like these. They'd be dust." Then, when the light subdued and Harry slouched down in his seat, exhausted, he waved the parchments in the air in front of Harry's eyes. "Looked this over. Seems fine to me. Added a couple of comments here and there, if you don't mind."

Harry never got past opening his mouth. "I don't."

Ron sharply whirled around and was immediately face to face with Hermione.

Hermione's cheeks flushed very slightly, tinting them a very lovely light pink. "Is this a bad time? I was falling asleep at the library." She was looking exclusively at Harry now. "Are you all right? I - er - I didn't know they were so strong now."

Harry smiled very wanly and sat back up straight. "I'm fine, beautiful." Then he shrugged.

Ron was gaping like a fish.

"Ron!" Harry called, laughing. "Let her in, prat."

Ron turned pink and shot him a glare before letting Hermione in.

"This is a nice office, Harry," she said upon entering. Harry graced her with something of a smile. She then sat down and proceeded to pull out some notes from a folder. "Anyway, I came here because I've been looking into some information at Rosenbaurf. I found next to nothing, and it's pretty suspicious because..." She trailed off, cutting herself off. "You know that book, Curative Theories: When The Inner Gramarye Is Threatened? Well, it so happens that not one other book talked about it. Then I went to Hogwarts, in the Restricted Section, and... surprise of surprises, there was myriad of books about it. So I did my thing, and came up with a date." Hermione pulled in a breath. "The Evanidus was originally created by Lord MacNoff in 1535. He brewed it to erase one of his servants who was threatening to turn him in to the magical authorities about a secret deed his lord had done for the goblins."

Ron turned a blank face to her.

Hermione sighed. "Honestly, Ron, did you ever listen in History of Magic at all?" At his telltale silence, she groaned out loud and rolled her eyes. "Goblin Rebellions, year 1533." She waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, he created a poisonous bacterium that slowly 'erased' its carrier and victim."

Harry nodded, then frowned. "Okay, but how did this servant get the disease? Was it in the air, or what?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, nothing quite so far-fetched." She shuffled a few parchments, then pulled one out. "Lord MacNoff just poured the bacteria in his servant's drink. What he didn't know, though, was that it wouldn't act up until a few weeks later. Ergo, Lord MacNoff was denounced the same day, and his servant, er, used the services of a Polyjuice brothel, and so on and so forth."

Ron grimaced. "Disturbing image, thanks."

"But how is it we've never heard of the Evanidus Disease if it's been around since the sixteenth century?" Ron asked quizzically. "This makes no sense."

Hermione shrugged. "Perhaps the authorities took care of it and made sure the incident didn't make it to the books... It's not exactly taught at Hogwarts. Some muggles must have been aware of it too, but since this disease only affected wizards they weren't quite as alarmed. But perhaps they helped, as well, making sure it wasn't written in muggle history books either..." She bit her lip, a thoughtful expression passing on her face.

Ron frowned. "Why now, though? Do you think it's related to the French Chart of Rights?"

Hermione was at a loss just then. She turned to meet Ron's stormy eyes. "I haven't the foggiest. I'll need to study your notes if you want me to help further."

All Auror Secrecy Statement be damned. Within mere seconds the Aurors' folder was in Hermione's hands.

"By all means, Hermione... help."