The Human Condition

Chapter Four: Florence Nightingale

He felt himself falling. He fell for a long time. Having a broomstick would be nice; it would stop him from falling. And so it was. He was on his Firebolt. He flew up toward what he supposed was the sky. Suddenly, the green grass appeared. He was looking at Hogwarts. He vaulted off his broom and ran to it, ran inside the castle, and ran to Gryffindor tower where his friends were.

"You can't come in here without the password," the Fat Lady told him.

"But I am Harry Potter," he explained. "I have saved the world."

"Oh," the Fat Lady replied. "Oh, well, in that case..." she swung on her hinges and let him walk inside. The common room looked like it always had except now he was alone. None of his other Gryffindor classmates had died. He, Harry, must be dead, for that is why he is alone. He wanted to sleep; he was tired. He ran up to his dorm room and opened the door.

Only there were no beds in the room- why, this wasn't Gryffindor tower at all. It was a house, or something like a house. The walls were made of redwood planks and there were portraits of faceless people mounted on the walls. When he looked down the hallway, he noticed that several doors were here. Some of them had light underneath, like there were people inside. He walked a little ways when he heard something running behind him. He turned around.

It was a thestral... no, it was a lion. A skeletal lion with a human heart beating inside of it. His heart. The lion was charging him. Harry turned to speed down the hall. A door was open just ahead. If he could get there before the lion got him, he might make into heaven. Surely this was a race. He could hear the lion's claws hit the floor, tapping the floor. The noise was right behind him, but the door was within his reach.

He pushed the door open, slid inside, and slammed it behind him. He couldn't hear the lion anymore. But Harry wasn't alone in this place; someone in here was breathing and it wasn't him. He whirled around.

A tall man with shiny black hair stood before him. His hair fell casually into his face in a way Harry's would never have done. He had warm brown eyes, like a sweet honey, which were crinkled into a grin. His face showed pride and happiness. His eyes were moist, but he was happy, Harry was sure of that.

"Hello, Harry," the man gently said with a nod of his head.

"Sirius?" Harry asked breathlessly. He could hear his voice cracking and could feel tears in his eyes. "Sirius?"

Sirius laughed and swept his hair out of his eyes. He looked better than Harry had ever seen him. Harry imagined this is how he would look if he had never gone to Azkaban or never died. "Fancy seeing you here, Harry," he said. He walked from behind a desk and approached him. "Don't tell me you can't give your dear old godfather a hug?" he said as he stretched out his arms.

Harry's eyes were now full of tears, but he shook his head. He walked toward Sirius and hugged him, resting his forehead on Sirius's shoulders. Sirius patted his back and ruffled his hair.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius," Harry cried. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey," he replied with a jovial laugh, "what's to be sorry about? You've done nothing wrong." He pulled Harry back and held his shoulders. "You've done nothing wrong."

"But you're-" Harry began.

"I'm here to see you. I've missed you so much, Harry. But we've been watching you all along. We are so proud of you. You have done such great things with your life."

Harry wiped the tears from his eyes. "Sirius, am I dead? Am I dead like you?"

Sirius smiled but shook his head. "No. You're not dead at all. You came very close, dangerously close, but you're going to be fine. They are taking care of you out there."

"Who?" Harry asked. "What are you talking about?"

"The Healers and your friends. They have made you better. They have taken it out and given you a new one."

Harry shook his head at Sirius. "Taken out what and given me what? Sirius, I don't understand what you mean."

Sirius put his hand over Harry's heart. "They took it out and gave you a new one."

Harry looked down at his chest where Sirius had his hand. "My heart? They took it out of me?"

"And given you a new one," Sirius said. "They're saying you will be fine. You're going to survive. Hermione, Ron, his brothers and sister, and Dumbledore are all relieved. They've been waiting all night and Christmas day to hear about your health. They've been worried so much. The Healers put them in a waiting room. You're in a special room all by yourself now. I expect they will come and wait by your bedside until you wake up."

"Why did he stab me, Sirius?" Harry asked. "Why did he take my heart away from me?"

Sirius frowned a little but not in a cruel way; he was thinking. "Because that is where you get your power."

"What do you mean? Doesn't everyone get their power from their heart? Why did he take mine?"

"Everyone gets blood from their heart, if that's what you mean. No one can survive without it. But your heart, metaphorically speaking, is the source of your great power. Your magic. It's what saved you over time. They took it from you to be truculent. There's no other reason. Your new heart will be just as good, but it is not the one you were born with. They just wanted to be cruel to you, to get your attention and respect."

Harry stared at Sirius and grinned. "I've missed you so much," he said.

Sirius returned the beaming grin. "I know. That is why you picked me to talk to. I'm honored that you did. But we can't stay and chat forever. You know that, don't you? You'll have to go back to them, to your world, and save them again. Something evil is lurking about. You are the only one who can save them and keep them safe. You have to go back as soon as you can." Sirius watched Harry closely as if preparing the answer to Harry's next question.

"But who, Sirius? Who is trying to do this to me?"

"I can't tell you that. I can only give you hints, Harry; I have to keep to the rules."

"So what are they? What's your hint?"

Sirius sat down on the desktop and folded his arms. "Never stop loving people," he said. "I know it sounds corny and mushy, but don't. I know what you try to do out there, we all know. You pretend like you don't care about them. You shrug them off and treat them badly. But we know that you really love them and would do anything for them. But make sure they know it, Harry. They can't tell sometimes."

"How is that a hint?" Harry asked.

Sirius barked a great laugh. Harry smiled. He liked Sirius's laugh, it made him happy again. "You get two more hints. You're smart, so you have probably guessed that already."

"Why aren't they here to see me?" Harry asked.

"Because you chose me," Sirius responded. "They understand. They want me to tell you how proud they are. She says you're even better looking that James is. She thinks it's her eyes."

Harry felt himself crying again.

"He says, 'Watch your back.' He can't be more specific, but it's good advice." He smiled again. "There is no need to weep, Harry. We are always with you. Can't you feel us?"

Harry sniffed and shook his head.

"We're the wind in your face. You always liked that. You still like it."

Harry wiped his face again. "What does Mum have to say?" he asked, his voice quavering.

Sirius nodded and kept on grinning. "I agree with her on this. She says that she likes Hermione."

Harry frowned. "How is that advice?" he asked.

"We have to be vague, it's a rule. You have to figure it out for yourself. I'm confident that you will." Sirius looked up at the ceiling. "She is with you."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Hermione. She is reading to you. I think you should wake up now; it would make her very happy. It has been a few days now and you have rested. You should wake."

"But I don't want to say goodbye," Harry said, shaking his head. "Why did you have to leave me, Sirius? Why did you go?"

"Oh, Harry," Sirius said as he stood from the desk. "Everyone has a time to go. I had to. It prepared you for your task. It gave you insight into who you were. You learned that you had the power to rid him from the world. And it was simply my time. I promise you will see all of us again, but not today. Today you're going to wake up and go back. Are you ready?"

Harry shook his head, but Sirius didn't seem to care. He hugged Harry again. "Remember that I'm proud of you. You can do this. It will be hard, very hard, but we know you will do the right thing again. You have a good heart, Harry. No matter how much you mask over it, I know and you know that you care about them, all of them. You were meant to care for them. You were put on earth to counter the evil with your heart. Remember that. They can hurt you in more ways than one, but you will always care for them. Now," he said, patting Harry's shoulder, "it's time for you to wake up. Go on," he said with a smile, "wake up."

Harry wasn't sure how to do what Sirius commanded. He closed his eyes to think it over. When he opened them, though, Sirius was gone.

Harry was looking at a ceiling now, a white one. There were strange colored dots on it. Then he realized that what he saw was very blurry. His glasses had been removed.

His head seemed really heavy, like a cannon ball or something. There was a strange bitter taste in his mouth. A voice was swimming toward him. She sounded lovely, like an angel. He called out to her, but not even he recognized the sound that came out.

She grabbed his hand and squeezed. It was cool, pleasantly cool, not cold. He suddenly realized that he was rather hot. Her cool hand felt refreshing. He turned his head toward her, but he only saw a blurry image. She put on his glasses.

It was Hermione, just as Sirius had said. And she had a book lying on his bed; she had been reading to him. He looked into her kind face. Her eyes were tired and puffy; the corners were pink with sadness and worry. Her hair looked unkempt, her nails chewed, and the ends of her hair were split.

"Hermione," he said weakly, smiling.

She beamed at him. "Harry," she replied. It seemed like it was taking all of her strength not to jump on the bed and hug him.

"Hello, Hermione," he said in the same drowsy voice.

She giggled with relief. "Hello, Harry. How do you feel?"

"Tired," he said truthfully. "How do you feel?" His head felt really light now, and his tongue seemed heavy as he spoke to her.

"I feel better now that you're awake," she said. She kissed his hand.

"Ah," he said with a grin. "You kissed me."

She laughed and got closer to him. She put his hand on her face and kissed it again. He moved his finger so it caught her hair. "I think you have a crush on me," he said. He thought he sounded funny; like he was drunk. "All this kissing."

"Do you know where you are?" she asked, caressing his face.

"In bed. With you." Harry laughed a silly laugh. "I'm in bed with you." He laughed some more and shut his eyes. He felt he could do with some more sleep. He could felt Hermione kiss his cheek. "More kissing," he whispered with his eyes closed. He opened them again and tried lifting his head, but he couldn't.

"No, no," Hermione warned, laying a hand across his forehead. "Not yet. You're not ready for that just now. You have to relax. I'm going to tell the Healer and the others that you're awake. Okay?"

"Okee dokee," Harry replied. "Bye-bye." Hermione squeezed his hand then walked out. He thought they must have put a cheering charm on him, for he felt very friendly and joyful. Or it was because they had doped him up with enough pain potions to fill Snape's dungeon. Harry didn't really care what the reason was.

Hermione came back in with a whole group of people Harry knew and one he didn't know. "Wow," he said with his dopey grin.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" a wizard in lime green robes asked. He was writing on a clipboard as he examined him.

"I'm not really sure," he replied, looking around at all the people. A red haired woman sat on his left side and took his hand. He turned to look at her. "Ginny!" he said happily. "How was your Christmas?"

She gave him a funny look but smiled. "We spent it with you. Don't you remember the accident?" She looked around at the others then back at Harry.

"Accident?" Harry whispered to himself. "I remember Malfoy stabbing me in the heart with that pretty knife. I don't remember any accident, though. What happened?"

"No," he heard Ron say, "that was the accident, mate. We rushed you to the hospital as soon as we could. You've been out of it for three days."

"Ron!" Harry replied with a grin. "It's really great to see you. How was your Christmas?"

Now they all began to laugh. The Healer walked over to his side and examined his chart. "I think we can lower the dosage a bit."

"Why?" said Fred. "He hasn't been this pleasant in years." People laughed again, including Harry, though he didn't really know why.

"Yeah," said George, "maybe you can lace his veins with this stuff. Keep him like this full time. How are you feeling, Harry?" he asked.

"I dunno. Did I sleep through Christmas?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, who was wearing a kind smile.

"Dumbly-dore," Harry laughed. "Get it? Dumbly-dore," he said to Hermione on his right. "That's what Madam Maxime called him." He started laughing at his own joke.

"You're falling a little behind, Harry," Lupin said. "Does he need to sleep some of this off?" he asked the Healer.

The Healer bent down and raised Harry's eyelids and took a good look. "What do you see?" Harry whispered.

"No," the Healer said. "It'll wear off in a while. You can stay with him if you wish. I'll tell him about the procedure when he's more alert and aware." He turned back to Harry. "Do you know where you are?"

Harry swallowed. "I'm here," he said feebly.

"Yes," the Healer replied with a chortle. "Do you know where here is?"

"In bed," he replied. Hermione bent forward to look in his eyes.

"You're in St. Mungo's. The Wizard hospital, remember?"

Harry's eyes opened in surprise. "Oh," he said. "Yeah. Am I in the same room as Mr. Weasley was that one Christmas? Wouldn't that be funny?" he asked.

The Healer clapped Harry's shoulder then pushed his way through the crowd and left. Dumbledore pulled out his wand and conjured chairs for the people who were standing. Lupin came and sat closer to Harry.

"Lupin, Lupin, Lupin," Harry said. "Guess who I just saw?" he said drunkenly. "You'll never guess."

Lupin smiled. He looked tired and worn, but happy. "Who did you see?"

Harry beamed. "Sirius," he said, nodding his head. "He looks great now. He said I chose to talk to him. He didn't have a message for you, though," he said, frowning slightly. "He could have at least said hello to you. He told me to never stop loving people. Isn't that nice? Never stop loving people." He laughed again.

Lupin blushed and smiled at everyone else. "You sure you don't want to sleep a little more?" Ginny asked. "You're acting a little strange."

"Sleep?" he said. "Yeah, maybe. I'm very tired. I slept for three days straight, you know," he told them.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, squeezing Harry's shoulder, "we know. You were very brave. We saw what you did and it was very brave."

Harry tried thinking of what Dumbledore could possibly mean. Instead he thought of what Sirius had told him; the messages from his parents.

"How's my back? Is there someone back there?" he asked. They looked very confused by his question. "I'm supposed to watch my back. That's what he wanted to say to me. Probably because he didn't put that in his letter."

"I think we should let you relax a little more," Lupin said. "You're not making a whole lot of sense." He started to get up and the others seemed to think it was a good idea. Ginny and Hermione were still holding his hands. He didn't let them go.

"Stay with me," he said to Hermione. He turned his head to the left to face Ginny. "Stay with me," he repeated. "I don't want to be alone."

"We'll stay," Hermione said. She exchanged a big grin with Ginny. Harry smiled again and pulled both of the hands to his lips, kissing one then the other. Ginny giggled.

"You had a big crush on me once," he said to her.

"I know I did," she said. "It was very silly of me. I was young and obsessive. You were pretty cute, though."

Harry laughed. He turned over to look at Hermione. "Do you think I'm cute?" he asked. He heard Ginny laughing again and Hermione smiled. Her cheeks turned pink.

"Sure I do. But maybe you should try sleeping a little more. I think you're very tired. So why don't you shut your eyes and go to sleep," she whispered. "We'll be here with you."

"I don't know what you're thinking," he said, shaking her hand.

"I think you're tired." She started to rub his arm. "Try going to sleep."

He swallowed and shut his eyes. "Okay," he sighed. "See you in the morning time."

"Goodnight," Ginny said.

He was drifting off, he could feel it. Then Hermione laid her head by his. "I love you, Harry," she whispered.

He smiled but didn't open his eyes. "I love you back, Hermione." And he fell asleep.

He awoke hours later, or he felt like he had slept for hours. When he opened his eyes this time his head felt close to normal. His body was a little sore, especially around the chest, but over all he wasn't too bad. He went to rub the sleep out of his eyes, but a head was resting on each arm. He pulled out his right hand from underneath Hermione's sleeping face and rubbed his eyes and face.

"How do I raise the top of this thing?" he said to himself, looking around the bed. "I don't want to lay flat anymore," he continued. He sat up, pulling the other arm from under Ginny, and continued to look for some kind of button that would raise the head of his bed. "Bingo," he said. He pushed it and the bed rose.

Ginny began to stir. She yawned and stretched her entire body. "Oh," she said, looking at Harry with her eyes half open, "you're awake again."

"Yeah," he said.

"But the potion has worn off," she sighed. Harry thought she sounded a little disappointed. He nodded to her then took a copy of the Daily Prophet from Hermione. He opened it and read the headline. Hogwarts Infiltrated: Harry Potter nearly Murdered.

"Subtle," Harry said.

"It tells a pretty accurate description of what happened. At least that's what Fred told me."

But Harry disagreed. He read the article twice, three times, four times... how could they have mistaken so much? Harry frowned at the article then flipped the pages of the paper.

"There weren't any attacks while you were sleeping," she told him.

"Ginny," he said, reading the article again, "this is wrong. It says eight men came in through the doors and round everyone into a large group. But that's not what happened. Then it says a masked man took hostages and threatened their lives. Part of that's true. But none of them were masked. They took their masks off. It was Malfoy, Guy Burgess and Kim Philby who lead this attack. They said they were playing a game." He looked up at Ginny, but she looked ashen.

"That's not what Fred told me."

"They didn't come in through the doors," Harry said. "They... sliced their way in, through the air. That's how they got into Azkaban. Malfoy told me that."

"Harry, that's not what happened," she insisted. "They took hostages and made some demands. They were threatening to kill a little boy and you stopped them. They got angry with you and went after you. You did some really cool maneuvers, according to Fred, and then cornered them off. You threatened the lead guy. Then he said something about you, then he..." she cut herself short. "The paper is right."

Harry shook his head. That wasn't what happened, not at all. Surely Dumbledore would remember, and Lupin. Lupin would get the facts straight.

"Where is everyone?" he asked. "Where have they all gone?"

Ginny stood up, gave him a peculiar look, then left to go get the others. Hermione woke up just after Ginny's departure. Harry berated her with questions about what she saw. He asked her about the article and about what happened, but she repeated Ginny's story. She insisted she saw something completely different than he had.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right? You shouldn't get yourself worked up like this," she said. "The Healer will tell you to calm down when he comes in. You need to relax."

"But-" he said.

"No," she told him, yanking the paper from his hand. "You had a heart transplant. You need to relax or you'll hurt yourself."

The Healer came in with Ginny and Dumbledore. "You're looking good," he told Harry. "Let's check and see if the scars have healed. Just relax and lay back," he said. He put the head of Harry's bed down.

"I can't relax," Harry said. "They're out there."

"You can deal with them when I say you can go. The sooner you cooperate the sooner you can leave." Harry sighed and did as he was told. The Healer unbuttoned Harry's gown to examine his chest. There was a large, white, square bandage over the area in question. Harry looked down at it. "We didn't know that we would be able to save you," the Healer mumbled as he lifted the bandage. "It's a miracle that you survived the journey here." He placed the used bandage on a tray and started touching Harry's skin. There was nothing there but skin.

"We did a good job," he said. "No scars. You're all healed up and good to go."

"What did you do?" Harry asked.

"It was a lot of work. When they brought you in, you looked dead. We slowed down all of your bodily functions, opened you up, and took out the knife and your heart. The nurses kept you on life support manually, until we could fasten you a new one."

"How does that work?" he asked.

"We simply make a copy, with magic, of your old one and make a new one. Technically the one you have now is yours. It's an exact replica down to the last mitochondria, except you weren't born with this one."

Harry touched his chest; he could feel the heart beating like normal. "So you cloned it?"

"Pardon me?" the Healer said.

"Nothing. Why couldn't you just repair it? I mean, why a whole new one? How big was the blade?"

"It was a magical knife. It nearly liquefied your heart. It was slowly deteriorating from the gash in. The blade was a normal size, but it was twisted. Whoever stabbed you twisted the blade while it was inside. Like I said, it's a miracle you survived."

A quick version of the experience flashed before his mind. He shut his eyes tight and shook his head; he didn't want to relive it. He buttoned up his gown and sat up. "Now what?"

Everyone looked at him, then at Hermione. The Healer spoke first. "You'll need to take it easy for about a week. I'll have you in after that for a check-up. I've already spoken with the Minister of Magic about your sick leave. I don't want you working, riding your motorcycle, or smoking for a week. End of story."

"But if this is my heart, what's the big deal?"

"It's yours, but your body has suffered severe trauma. Both of your legs were broken, as were your ankles, and we've fastened you with a new and most important organ. Magic can't solve everything. Your body needs time to catch up and relax."

"But I have work to do. I have to catch these wizards," he explained.

"It can wait. You'll find that if you over exert yourself you'll tire very quickly. You'll be no match for them. I've given your caretaker all the potions you'll need and the instructions that go with them."

"I'm not sure how good Dobby is with potions," Harry said. "I'm sure I'll be fine taking them on my own."

"I didn't give them to the house elf," the Healer said.

Harry scratched his head. "Who then?"

"Me," said Hermione. "He gave them to me."

"What?" said Harry, laughing now. "You can't be serious. I'll be fine. I don't need anyone looking after me."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "We knew you would say that. You will live in Hermione's home for a week. We have moved some of your belongings there already. She agreed to do this because you require it."

"She volunteered," said Ron who came into view suddenly.

Hermione nodded and crossed her arms. "That's right," she said.

"But I'll be fine on my own. You're busy with work and Spew. I'll be a burden to you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

"That's what I said," Harry grinned, "spew."

Ron laughed and Hermione smiled. "You're still living with me," she told him.

"I'll be fine by myself," Harry insisted.

"We don't have that much trust for you," Dumbledore said with a kind grin. "We are afraid that you will go out on some wild crusade searching for the men who did this to you. Hermione will be able to keep you under control until you are ready. You need to live with her for one week so she can take care of you."

"But-"

"You either stay with her," Dumbledore said, "or you stay here for the week. The choice is yours and yours alone."

Harry made an indignant choking sound and crossed his arms. "I'm being treated like a child," he mumbled. "I can take care of myself better than anyone here."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, patting Harry on the back, "so you've said time and again. Here or with Hermione?"

"Gee that's a tough one," he said, tapping his chin. "Hmmm... horrible hospital, or with my best friend...?"

Hermione beamed and looked superiorly at the others. "Good," she said to him. "Now get ready to go," she said bossily. "Oh wait. You are ready..."

"Is there anything else we can do before you leave? Any questions?" the Healer asked.

"Yes," Harry said raising his finger. "Can I have the knife?" Everyone looked at him with wary faces. "I know it sounds morbid, but I would like to have it back. I can stab whoever did this back with it. Stop staring!" he said. "Could you just bring it to me?"

"Sure," the Healer said. He left the room. Harry flopped his stiff legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He grasped onto the bed rail for support, though Hermione and Ron were waiting to catch him should he fall.

"I'm good," he said to them. "Uh, does anyone have my clothes? I'm not going anywhere in these things."

"Yeah," said Hermione, pulling a paper bag from the floor. "Here you go. And Dobby was really worried about you, so he made you a pair of socks."

Harry reached inside the bag and pulled out two different socks. One was light yellow with tiny dots of navy blue, while the other was dark blue with tiny dots of yellow. Harry knew Dobby was trying to replicate the colors of Harry's Auror ring.

"He's so fond of you," Hermione said. "Anyways, you had better get dressed so we can go. Everyone out," she said, ushering the others toward the door. Dumbledore was firm on staying behind. "All right, everyone but Professor Dumbledore should leave." The door shut, Hermione was still pushing people away.

"Listen to Hermione," Dumbledore whispered. "I have told her that she is to inform me if you are out of line."

"Like I'm a stupid kid, huh?" Harry asked angrily. "Maybe I have said it too many times, but I can handle myself just fine. I certainly don't need a private nurse slash friend taking care of me when I am capable of doing that alone. I'm fine, okay?"

"You're not fine. You've sustained-"

"I know what I've sustained! I was there! And thanks to you for all the help you gave me when Malfoy and the rest of the Black Order nearly killed me. Didn't you see that I couldn't move?"

"We tried to get to you, Harry," Dumbledore explained calmly. "We tried everything we could, but nothing worked. As soon as those men ran out, the binding spell was broken and we could get to you. I made a portkey and brought you here as fast as I could. You really have no idea how worried everyone was. Hermione stayed with you whenever she was allowed, as did Ron. It would be wise of you to do as Hermione asks. She cares a great deal for you. She offered to take care of you when the Healer said you would need it. Now, get dressed and let her take you home." Dumbledore squeezed Harry's shoulder and sauntered out of the room.

Harry mumbled to himself as he ripped off his hospital clothes and dressed in his own. When he was ready, he strolled out of his room to find Ron and Hermione in waiting. Ron was clutching a copy of The Daily Prophet and Hermione was holding-

"A wheelchair? You have got to be kidding me. I can walk just fine, thanks."

"Sit down," she said kindly.

"No way. I'm walking out of here," he protested.

"Sit down before I knock you down," she said dangerously, shaking the wheelchair.

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. "You're going to knock me down, huh? Okay, Hermione," he said lightly, "I'll sit in the chair for you. You sure scared me. Phew, I'm so glad you didn't knock me down." He sat down and made a face at her.

"He's going to be a handful," Ron said with a smirk. "I'd love to drop kick you when you're feeling better, Harry."

"You couldn't drop kick me now," Harry laughed. "Who do you think you're kidding?" He looked up at Hermione and gave her a very toothy fake smile. "Take me away!"

Hermione pushed him along the corridor and out of the hospital.

Because Harry wasn't allowed to Apparate for a week, the three of them took the Knight Bus to Hermione's small house. After the usual bumpy ride, Hermione and Ron assisted Harry out of the bus; he complained in a loud whisper.

"You've been here before, right?" she asked as she wheeled him into her home. Harry stepped out of the wheel chair and walked around. Hermione's house was rather small, much smaller than Harry's apartment. She didn't have much of an entryway; the main door swung into the living room. The kitchen was to the immediate left. There was no dining room. "You're in the other bedroom. Actually it's the den and I put a bed in there, but you're only staying a week."

"That's fine, Hermione," he assured her. She showed him to it. The den was, like the rest of the house, small. A twin bed sat in the center, but Harry could tell that Hermione had put a great deal of effort into it. The comforter was a blue patchwork quilt and the sheets were a lighter shade. The bedside table, equipped with a reading lamp, had a book about Quidditch upon it. He smiled and turned to see her. "Thanks," he said.

Hedwig flew in through the open window with a small parcel and dropped it on the bed. Then she sailed to Harry's shoulder.

"Hey, you," Harry said to her. She nipped at his ear and hooted at him. "I missed you too. What did you bring?"

Harry reached down and flipped the package over to read the return address. From the Law Enforcement office; Evidence; Case number 2226; item 1. Harry left it on the bed and stared at it.

"Is that it?" asked Ron.

"Yes," Harry said.

"Aren't you going to open it?" he questioned.

"Not right now."

"Why not---ouch, Hermione!" he shrieked, rubbing his side where Hermione had elbowed him. "You don't have to do that!"

"You don't have to be so insensitive," she snapped back.

"I'm not being insensitive! I was simply asking if he was going to open it. How's that insensitive?"

"How can you be so thick? It was a traumatic event for him. Why would he want to see that thing just days after it happened?"

"I don't know, he only asked for it, remember?"

"Harry didn't want to look at it right away. He just wanted to have it when he was ready," she explained.

"How do you know?"

Hermione whirled around to face Harry, who lay on his bed with Hedwig perched on his knee. The box was still unopened at his feet. "Harry," she said in her bossy voice, "tell Ron I'm right."

"He's not going to tell you that!" Ron said.

"Why don't you let him speak for himself!" Hermione responded. "Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath. "When are you two getting married?" he asked.

"What?" they both said at once. Harry laughed.

"Listen to you two go on and on. You've been fighting like a married couple since we were kids. Get over it already."

"We do not fight like a married couple," Ron said.

"No?" Harry asked with one eyebrow up. "How would you describe it, then?"

"How we fight is not the point," Hermione said, tossing her hair back. "The point is whether I'm right about this."

"What does it matter, Hermione? I'll open it when I want to open it. There's really nothing more to it."

Probably trying to avoid Ron's show-offish remarks, Hermione made a huffing sound and stormed out of the room. Ron turned to Harry.

"Do we fight like a married couple?" he asked silently. Harry smirked and nodded. "You think she has a secret thing for me?" Harry shook his head. "Then why do we fight like that?" Harry shrugged. "Well," he said with a sigh, sitting on Harry's bed, "can I get you anything?"

"No. I really think this whole nursing thing is way overboard. I can take care of myself just fine. I can walk, talk, jump around... this is a waste of my time. I could be out trying to catch those wizards in the Black Order."

Ron nodded thoughtfully. "Your Healer knows what's best for you. You looked dead when you got to St. Mungo's. It was really scary." Ron looked down at his hands. Harry got the impression that Ron wanted to tell Harry what happened. "I mean the way you were looking at us... it was like you were saying goodbye. And then your eyes started to haze over. Then your mouth... well, blood was coming out of it. Hermione was yelling at you to stay awake and I've never seen Dumbledore look so scared. He turned someone's shoe into a portkey then picked you up and took hold of it. We thought you were already dead, though. Your eyes were only half open and not moving..." He sighed again. "You're so lucky you made it through. Someone upstairs must really like you." He tried laughing.

Harry stroked Hedwig. "I'm sorry for how I acted that night," he said. "I was being a total idiot and I'm really sorry. I shouldn't treat you or Hermione like I did."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "You don't have to apologize," he said.

"Yeah I do. I've been treating everyone like dirt for a while. I'm sorry. I mean, I almost died... again, and I don't want to leave this world knowing that I've treated you guys like I've been treating you."

They stared at one another for a while. Harry made his lips go thin and he continued to pet Hedwig.

"So where did Hermione run off to?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged. Ron got up and went searching for her. Harry leaned back on the bed and glanced at the box--- Malfoy's angry yet satisfied eyes flashed across his mind.

Certainly Malfoy was not the head of that outfit. If he was that powerful he could have beaten Voldemort; he would have been in charge. But that wasn't the case at all.

He looked over at the box again. He reached down and picked it up. It was slightly longer than his hand, but heavy. He shook it. The knife inside only wiggled a little. Law Enforcement had packed it in nice and tight. Harry swallowed and set the box on his bedside table. Maybe he'd open it tomorrow...

But he didn't. When the sun rose the next morning to snow covered houses on a cold December day, Harry did not open the box. He stared at it, glasses off, for half an hour before Hermione came in.

"How did you sleep?" she asked with a yawn.

"Fine," he lied. "You?"

"All right, I guess." She sat down on a small unused section of the mattress and scratched his back. "It will always be there," she said to him. "You don't have to keep focusing on it."

"Easy for you to say," he whispered. He pulled eyes away from it and looked back at her. "Have I said thank you?"

"Yes," she said, and then smiled. "You don't have to say it again. I know you would do the same for me."

"I would not," he said with a grin. "I'd leave you alone."

Hermione laughed. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes," he said. "Are you a good cook?"

"I'm fair," she said. "I don't have supreme culinary abilities, but I can get by. But first you have to take your potions. I'll get them ready and bring them in here."

"No," Harry said, grabbing his glasses. "I can get up and walk into the kitchen. It's not a very long way away, you know."

"All right," she said. "I'll have everything out for you." She got up and left. Harry threw off his covers, swung out of bed, grabbed some of his clothes, and walked into the bathroom. He set his clothes on the sink and stared into the mirror.

He thought he looked weak. He had always had a mean physique but never weak. There were dark bags under his eyes, which were tinted red in the corners. His skin was sickly and pasty, with his dirty hair falling across his face.

"I look like a dying Beatle," he mumbled, pulling at his skin on his cheeks. "Paul looks better right now." He tore his eyes from his reflection and pulled his T-shirt over his head, casting it on the ground. He put his cold hand to his chest; it was still there, still beating. But when he looked down at it, the knife flashed into his mind. "I came for the heart of a lion!" and then it was a part of him. A cold, golden weapon lodged in his heart. He would never forget how it felt. A steely cold in his chest, like a dementor could make him feel, only more piercing, more agony, more physical...

Hermione knocked on the bathroom door. "Harry?" Her voice sounded muffled.

"What?" he asked, bringing himself back to reality.

"How long are you going to take?"

"A couple of days," he responded sarcastically. He heard her tapping her foot outside; he smirked. "Five minutes or so," he said.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"A Crape Suzette," he said with a smile. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'll stop. Seriously, whatever you want is fine with me."

"All right," she stepped away. Harry walked over to the shower and turned on the hot water spout. Of course, the end of December usually meant the water was freezing cold. Harry put his hand to the wall where the main pipe was. He thought about fire, the color orange and warm water, and instantly the water poured out hot. He finished undressing and stepped inside.

Hermione had made toast with soft boiled eggs topped with salt and pepper. Harry's arrangement of potions sat on one side of a small table in the kitchen. Hermione was fussing with coffee and sugar. Harry sat down.

"You're supposed to take the pink one first, then the yellow. After that the order doesn't really matter," she informed him. She brought their coffee and sat down across from him. "Go ahead and drink them," she insisted.

Harry raised the pink vial to his nose. "It smells like old socks," he said with a wrinkled nose. She didn't respond. Harry sighed, put the vial to his lips and drank it in one gulp. "Yech!" he said with a face to match. Hermione bit her lip. "You'd think with all this magical power we have, that they could at least make this stuff taste better."

"Finish the potions, Harry," she told him before taking a bite of her toast.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. He picked up the yellow one. "Do you know what this looks like?" he said, raising the vial to the light. "I'll give you a hint, its defrosted yellow snow."

"Drink it, Harry," she said, sipping her coffee.

He uncorked it and downed it. "Bitter," he said, setting the empty vial on the table. "Very bitter. It kinda has that aftertaste to it, like coffee. The others don't have any order to them? I'm not going to keel over if I drink the purple before the puke green?"

"No," she continued in her business like tone.

He drank another and set the vial down with a clink. "You could lighten up just a smidgen," he said, leaning on the table to look at her. "It might make this week go by quicker if you were in good humor."

She breathed in through her slightly stuffed nose, making a bit of a whistling sound, and then snapped her head up. "I am in good humor," she said looking at his hair.

Harry nodded and took another potion. "Are you?" he asked.

She shifted in her chair then took a sip of her coffee. "I'm fine," she replied.

"There was a course," Harry said, tracing his finger around the top of his coffee cup, "I had to take during training. So far it has been one of the most useful classes I have ever had. Care to venture a guess about what it taught?" He smiled at her but she didn't see. "It taught me how to recognize uncomfortable behavior. People who are uncomfortable when questioned are usually withholding something. You look uncomfortable."

"Harry," she said with a kind smile, "finish your potions and eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

Harry uncorked the remaining bottles and drank them quickly. He then completed his breakfast in four bites, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and then stared at her. "Hermione," he said cautiously, "I'm fine. I know it was hard on all of you, but I'm fine now. Really I am."

"Sure you are," she said. She stood up and cleared the table. Harry helped.

"I am," he said firmly.

"And I believe you," she said with straight lips.

"What's wrong, then?" he asked.

Her eyebrows hovered a moment and she shook her head. "Nothing," she replied, turning on the water. "I'll be fine."

"Are you going to make me drag it out of you?" asked Harry, pulling Hermione around to face him.

"There's nothing to drag."

"Liar," he said.

"Even if I did ask you," she started in a tone she had come to perfect, "you wouldn't give me a straight answer."

"A straight answer to what?" he asked.

"There's really no point in getting into it right now. You would evade my question by asking another one. Or you would pull some trick you learned along the way."

"Hermione," Harry said in a forced gentleness, "you know I only speak the truth to you."

"That's why you won't answer. So why even ask? But if I don't ask, then I wonder if I should ask, but asking won't get me anywhere with you because you won't answer. Don't ask me why."

He reached down for his wand, which wasn't there, and then rested his hand on the tiled counter. "Fine," he said causally. "Don't ask. In the mean time, I will be catching up on my owl post. You know where to find me. Thanks for breakfast, Hermione." He gave her a small salute and walked into his temporary room.

Hedwig hooted happily at him when he came in. He fell on the bed and stared at the ceiling, one of his legs swayed from side to side. What he wouldn't give for a cigarette right about now. He was sure Hermione and the Healer had trashed the ones he carried in his trench coat. If he wrote a letter to Dobby ordering him to send some, Hermione would sever both of their heads. He broke his gaze from the ceiling and looked at the box...

It was still there, where he had left it. Just pick it up, he told himself. It's an object from a crime scene. You're making too big a deal of this. Open it... Harry grabbed it and sat up. It was wrapped in thick brown paper, heavily taped on the edges. Harry noticed that his fingernails had been trimmed down to near nothingness at the hospital. He had never really opened tape with magic before; learning would have been a complete waste of time. He looked around the room for something sharp.

"You wouldn't mind slicing this tape with your talons, would you girl?" he asked his owl. She bobbed her head up and down, her yellow eyes wide and bright. "No, you would." He went at the tape with his teeth first, then pulled it off once a little bit of it came up. He ripped off the brown paper and crumpled it into a ball.

The box which sat before him was a yellowish pink. Harry thought it was a very strange color, but that wasn't his department. It had two strings wrapped around it. One on the long horizontal section, the other was short and covered the vertical aspects of the box. Harry picked it up and shook it again. It somehow felt heavier now that he was closer to opening it.

What if they didn't clean the blood off, he found himself thinking. He dropped the box on the bed--- Malfoy's eyes flashed across his mind once more. He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to rid the image from his brain.

Luckily he was distracted by muffled voices coming from Hermione's living room. Curious, Harry went to investigate. When he opened the door, he saw Hermione's boyfriend lounging on the couch. Hermione sat beside him, one hand on his thigh. Harry stepped out of his room, one eyebrow cocked.

Luke Broadmoor sat up suddenly when Harry walked into the room. He was wearing his dark grey and white Quidditch robes; the profile of a falcon head was sewn on the chest. He was looking handsome like normally he did. Harry noticed that even Luke's boots were clean and shiny. Harry suddenly realized that he was wearing an old white shirt, Adidas work-out pants, and grey socks.

"Hello, Harry," Luke said politely. He stood up to shake Harry's hand.

"Hey," Harry replied tiredly.

"Hermione was just telling me what happened to you," he explained. All of his teeth were perfectly straight and bright white. "Quite the ordeal, wasn't it?"

"Yep," Harry said. "So how's Quidditch training going?"

"Well," he replied. "I actually have a game today in a few hours. I came to ask Hermione if she wanted to come along. You are also invited," he said formally.

Harry crossed his arms. "Isn't that swell? And so romantic too. Actually I'm not allowed to leave this house for six days with my heart condition, you know," he said, hitting his chest with his fist. "They think any over exertion and I just might keel over and croak."

"Are you being serious?" Luke asked, his brow furrowed. Harry glanced at Hermione, who looked embarrassed, then back at Luke.

"Sarcasm, Luke. I'm never going to die. I think I might be an immortal. But you two can go run along and snog in the Quidditch stadium before game time. I hope the Falcons win. Have a good time!" he said then walked backwards towards his room.

"Sure you don't want to come?" Luke asked once more.

"Yeah. I have tons of stuff to do," Harry said.

"Like what?" Hermione asked sternly.

"Like catching up on my owl post."

"If I leave," she said, walking up to Harry, "will you promise to stay here and be good?"

"If I say yes will you bring me back a lollipop and a balloon?"

"You know what I mean, Harry," she said. "You won't leave this house, ride that confounded motorcycle, go looking for those men, exercise in any strenuous manner, or be yourself and get into trouble?"

Harry bit his bottom lip. "No?"

"No," she reinforced. "Now I am going to go to Luke's match and you will stay here."

"Right," Harry said with a curt nod. "I'll read a good book. I daresay you have a wide selection around here. I'll try keeping my nose out of trouble."

"And smoke. No smoking, Harry. If I come back and I smell any trace of tobacco in the air, in that room, or on your breath I will personally burn you alive. You got me?" she said, shaking her index finger at him.

He tried to keep from smiling. "Yes."

"All right, then. I'm only being like this to keep you safe," she added hastily under her breath. "I'll be back by this afternoon."

"Fine," he replied. He kept backing up toward his room. "You kids run along and have fun, now. Bye-bye."

"Nice seeing you, Harry!" Luke said. He took Hermione by the hand and led her out. As she shut the door, Harry saw her mouth "be good." The door shut.

"What a boring sack of dung he is. Charlie was right." Harry paced around the living room, trying to decide what to do. He didn't want to break his word with Hermione, so driving to the Ministry wasn't an option. She didn't say you couldn't Disapparate, though, did she? Harry smirked. He walked back into his room to get his coat and change pants. But when he was ready to go, he couldn't go. He couldn't Disapparate.

"Damn, Hermione!" he said, kicking his bed. He decided he would Disapparate from outside. He strode to the front door, went for the handle, and assumed it would open, and then hit his face on the closed door. "Damn it!" he yelled, kicking the door.

Hermione came back around seven that night, looking flustered but tired. Harry glared at her from behind a book as he lay on the couch. She didn't seem to notice.

"Looks like you kept to the rules," she said.

Harry mimicked her soundlessly from behind his book, which hadn't had a page turn for fifteen minutes.

"Did you have a good time without me?" she asked. She put her coat, scarf, and mittens in the closet.

"A blast," he sighed.

"You would've enjoyed the game," she said. "The Falcons beat the Cannons 430 to 60. Ron won't be happy," she yawned. "So what did you do?"

"Oh you know," he said, "the usual. I had a bowl of sugar, bounced off the walls with a pogo stick, and set your kitchen ablaze for the hell of it." He set the book down on the coffee table and sat up. "I did nothing. You know I did nothing because you won't allow me to even snap my fingers or light a candle."

Hermione looked quite flattered. "I knew you would pull something."

"Those Healers don't know what their talking about. I'm fine to do anything and I don't need you looking after me like a child or something. I'm not five, Hermione."

"Perhaps you don't understand the severity of your injury," she said coolly.

"Oh, I know. Funny thing about that, I was there."

"Your body was there but you weren't," she snapped, her eyes moistening. "You have no idea what it was like after you were stabbed. I mean, for goodness sake, Harry! You were there, you saw what happened. That man plunged a sharp dagger into your heart and nearly killed you. That group of men held you down and let it happen then they dropped you on the ground and left you there to die," she cried. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, now. "It was stuck there, like it went in so easily. There was blood all over you and oozing out of your mouth. Have you any idea how terrifying it is to see that? Can you imagine standing over me with a dagger handle in my chest, blood pooling around me? Can you?"

Harry frowned, scanned her eyes, and then shook his head.

"They told us you probably wouldn't last the night. Everyone was there waiting to hear about you. The Healer came out looking helpless and told us it was really bad." She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. Harry looked down and kept quiet. "Dumbledore asked if there was anything they could do for you, anything we could do. That's when they came up with the transplant. But they said the chances of survival were slim. Dumbledore signed off for you. We sat there in that room waiting and praying for so long. Even strangers stayed with us." Her voice was trembling now. Harry didn't know what to do.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Oh, Harry," she said, throwing her arms around him. He was temporarily blinded by her bushy hair in his eyes. He could feel her warm tears dripping down his neck. He didn't like the feeling, but he wouldn't push her away. "We were so worried about you," she sobbed. "You have no idea ho much we care for you."

He patted her on the back and sighed. "I do know," he told her.

After Hermione's breakdown, Harry didn't try breaking any of her rules. He had Ron bring several books from Harry's personal library, but when he wasn't studying, he assisted Hermione in S.P.E.W. business.

On the last evening of Harry's stay, while he was wetting envelopes for Hermione's monthly newsletter, there was a knock at her door. She frowned but went to answer it.

"There you are, Darling!" a bushy haired woman said, followed by, "How are you, Sweetie?" from a tall man with a small forehead and plenty of grey hair. The two allowed themselves into the house and put their neat scarves and clean coats on the rack by the door like it was a routine.

"Mum, Dad," she said surprised, "what are you doing here?"

Harry, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with stacks of papers surrounding him, tried to remove himself. Tongue between his teeth, he crawled backwards for the door to his room.

"Dinner, remember?" Mrs. Granger said. "You invited us weeks ago. Don't tell me you've forgotten."

"Uh," she said, looking into her somewhat dirty kitchen, "actually..."

"Hermione, pumpkin," Mr. Granger said, "you forgot us?"

"I've been really busy lately," she explained.

Harry was almost to the door when he knocked into a table and the lamp came crashing down on top of him. Rubbing the top of his head, Harry looked at Hermione.

"Who are you?" Mr. Granger asked, his kindly disposition gone.

Hermione walked over to Harry and roughly pulled him off the floor. "You remember Harry, don't you? I think the last time you saw him was at graduation." She dragged Harry over to them.

"Oh, that's right!" Mrs. Granger said, clapping her hands together. "I knew you looked familiar! Why I didn't recognize you right away, I don't know. You have such a distinct face. So," she said, walking closer to him, "how are you?"

"Fine," he replied. Hermione looked nothing like her mother. Mrs. Granger had a scrunched sort of look, as if all of her features had closed in on the center of her face. Her finger nails were newly manicured, her sweater smelled like fresh flowers, and her teeth, not surprisingly, were sparkling white.

Mr. Granger appeared to have contributed his facial genes to his daughter. Hermione had his eyes, his nose, and his smile. And while most men of his age have receding hairlines, his seemed to be doing just the reverse. He had too much hair, in Harry's opinion. But then he remembered his own...

"Weren't you the boy who killed that guy," Mr. Granger said, pointing his finger at Harry. "What was his name again, Hermione?"

"Voldemort," she replied, blushing slightly. Harry glanced sideways at her and tried to smile.

"That's the chap. You did that, right?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "I did that." Harry had always thought the Grangers were similar to the Dursleys, but not severe or rude. The Grangers valued nice cars, good business, educated people, and the latest gizmos technology had to offer. It also appeared as though Hermione told them as little as possible of the dangers in the wizarding world. But looking back, it made sense. Hermione had spent an unusual amount of time with Harry and Ron in their school years. If they had any idea of the real danger, Hermione might not have gone to Hogwarts at all.

"Spectacular," Mrs. Granger said. "Are you here for dinner as well?"

Harry was about to answer when Hermione stepped in. Harry remained by Hermione's side and endured the Grangers shocked expressions as Hermione told them every little detail about the Hogwarts Christmas party. Even though Harry had been in circumstances like this, being discussed while in the room, he had never really found a comfortable way to act. He took to staring at the ground.

"Oh you poor thing," Mrs. Granger said. "And no one else to take care of you but Hermione," she said.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione grabbed his hand and yanked a little. He shut his mouth.

"So I don't have dinner prepared," Hermione said. "I got sidetracked. I'm sorry. Maybe you could come back another time."

The Grangers didn't appear to like this option. Mrs. Granger walked into the living room and sat on the couch. "Well," she said, tapping her knees, "we planned on tonight."

"Well, Hermione wasn't planning on a lot of things," Harry snapped back. "Certainly you understand what it's like to be busy and forget something."

Hermione scowled at him and pursed her lips. Mrs. Granger had a similar look on her face as she stared at Harry. "I don't believe I was asking you for your opinion, Harry. I think I was talking to my daughter."

"I know you didn't. But I didn't like the way you spoke to her," he replied. Mr. Granger advanced on Harry, but Hermione reacted first.

"Excuse us," she said, pushing Harry into his room. She gave him a good shove and shut the door behind her. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Defending you," he replied. "They're treating you like dirt."

"They're treating me like a daughter. I can handle my parents without your help, Harry. Trust me, I've lived with them."

"Well, you were busy today and have been all week. It's not fair that they expect you to jump through hoops because of their plans."

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh and sat down on Harry's bed. "Harry, that's how they are. They expect a lot from me and that will never change. We had dinner planned for weeks and they have busy schedules as well. I can understand their frustration and disappointment."

"That doesn't give them the right to talk to you like that. You're not a child anymore."

"No, you're right, but I am still their child. Besides, what right do you have to talk to them the way you did?"

"I'm your friend, Hermione. I was defending you."

"Thanks, but I don't need defending when it comes to them. I can handle them alone. Now, I'm going to go back out there and apologize for your behavior, and then I'll have to come up with an alternative plan." She pushed herself off the bed and went for the door.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked.

"You can come out and apologize or you can stay in here and open that knife you asked for. It's been almost a week since you left the hospital, surely you can face it now."

"What do you mean, 'face it'? You think I'm afraid of it?" he asked angrily.

"Yes, and you have good reason to be. But right now I don't have time to debate about your feelings. You can come out whenever you like, all right?"

Harry sat down on the bed and nodded. Hermione left. Harry reached under his pillow and pulled out an expandable file he sent away for. He unsnapped it and reached inside. Three files fell out onto the bed: Malfoy, Lucius. Burgess, Guy. Philby, Kim Russell. He opened one of them and began reading it for the third time. What he couldn't understand was why no one else was pursuing these men; why they were allowed to roam free. And why was Harry the only one who knew the real sequence of events?

Harry heard someone coming to his door. He slid the files under his bed. Hermione knocked then entered.

"Would you like to join us for dinner?" she asked.

Harry looked up at her. "They don't mind dining with a delinquent like me?" he asked.

"You're not a delinquent. They understand your mood. So would you like to come or not?"

Harry's stomach grumbled. He was very hungry and if he had to wait until after the Grangers left, he might go insane.

"Sure," he replied.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger didn't talk to Harry much. Instead they busied themselves with Hermione's life. The three of them talked about her publishing job, new books that they had read, Spew, and Hermione's cousin who was getting married. Harry sat at the end of the small table feeling as if it was a large dining hall and he was at the far end of it. He supposed he was intruding upon them, as he wasn't any part of the family. He didn't know if he would be rude by excusing himself, or even if they would notice. Hermione seemed to be the only one who looked at him as she spoke. Still, he had the distinct impression that her parents didn't like him. It didn't bother him too much, but it did annoy him.

They suddenly stopped talking. Hermione smiled at Harry, and then Mr. Granger turned around to see him.

"So, Harry, what do you do for a living?"

Caught unexpectedly, he stuttered. "Um, I'm an Auror," he said.

"Ah, that's like a police officer, isn't it?"

"Kind of, but not really," Harry said. Hermione gave him an encouraging smile. "It's a bit more extensive than a police officer, but it's the same general purpose."

"General purpose?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Getting the bad guys," Harry responded.

"Oh," she said. "Sounds fascinating."

"It's really dangerous," Hermione told her parents. "Harry's really good at it, though. Of course it seems like he was born for it, right Harry?"

He stared at her and meant to smile but there was an uncomfortable wriggling in his stomach. "Sure," he said quietly. He looked at his watch.

"Did you get that ring from the Academy?" Mr. Granger asked, pointing to the ring on Harry's right ring finger. Harry looked down at it. It was a large platinum ring with a square navy blue stone set in the center. A sun was engraved on one side and '01' on the other.

"When I graduated, yeah," he said. He looked at his watch again. "Um, I'm going to bed. I'm really exhausted." He stood up and pushed his chair into the table. "It was nice seeing you," he added clumsily. He cleared his plate then marched to his room where he took a huge breath. He sat down on his bed facing away from the door and opened one of his Dark Arts books, trying to find spells the Black Order used against him. He had scanned half the volume, coming up with nothing, when he heard voices bidding their farewells. Then there was whispering. Harry crawled off the bed to open his door a crack so he could see Hermione and Mrs. Granger through a sliver.

"It's all right that you didn't tell me," Mrs. Granger said.

"Tell you what?" Hermione asked.

"That your living with that man. Hasn't he been your friend for years now?" she asked.

Hermione's posture went from comfortable to defensive. "I'm not living with Harry!" she whispered loudly. "I'm taking care of him because he was hurt. I told you that."

"Oh sweetie," she replied, "you didn't expect me to believe that story, did you? How could anyone survive a stab in the heart? It's okay that you're living with him. I know it's the new millennium and girls your age do things differently than in my generation."

"Mother," she said impatiently, "I have a boyfriend and it's not Harry. The story I told you was true. Harry leaves tomorrow morning. I know he's counting down the seconds. Besides, I will never live with a man before marriage; I don't care what other women do."

"All right, Hermione," she said, kissing her daughter on the cheek. "If you're playing Florence Nightingale, that's fine too. I'm open minded." She put on her coat and scarf. "I love you, Hermione," she said, hugging her.

"I love you, too, Mum. Drive carefully. And I am not dating Harry!" she added as her mother walked out of the door. Hermione turned the knob and bolted the lock, then whirled around. Harry saw that she was wearing a funny sort of smile and shook her head. "Open minded," she mumbled.

Harry closed the door and jumped back on the bed as Hermione made her way towards him.

"They're gone," she said. "You can come out now."

Harry twisted his head around to see her. "I should get to sleep, you know. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'll be getting right to work."

"No, you're supposed to go to St. Mungo's first for you weekly check-up. Then you can go to work on that confounded motorcycle of yours. Why did you get that thing, anyways? It's so loud and really dangerous. People get killed on those things."

Harry laughed. He closed his book and tossed it on the floor, then moved over so Hermione could sit down next to him.

"People get killed all the time, not just on motorcycles. Besides I have more fun than should be allowed when I'm on it. I'll have to take you for a ride one day."

"I will never get on that thing," she said.

"Sometimes you need to live on the edge to live properly. Take a few risks every once in a while. Anyway, I'm a very safe driver," he said with a smirk. "I'm like a granny on the road. Snails pass me."

"I'm so sure. Ginny told me that you play chicken with on coming traffic and you speed away from motorcycle police units for fun."

"I only out strip those guys when I'm late for something important," he said with his finger raised. "Like grocery shopping."

Hermione laughed softly. "Harry, I'm sorry my parents were a little rude to you. They're just... kind of intrusive at times. They don't mean to be, that's just their nature."

"You don't have to apologize for them," he said. He leaned over the side of the bed and picked up a stack of playing cards. "Not Exploding Snap, though. Just the regular deck. Do you know how to play War?" He began shuffling the deck.

"I hate that game. I always lose."

"There's no strategy involved. It's all luck of the draw." He dealt the cards quickly then put down the first card. A two of spades.

"Well, I always get the unlucky cards. And the game lasts for hours at a time." She cast down a five of hearts and smiled, taking away Harry's two. "Since you said you'll only answer me honestly, do you mind if I probe your mind?" She put down a ten of clubs.

"Nope. But I get to ask you and you have to answer honestly as well." Ace of hearts. Harry took away her ten and laid down a Jack.

"That's fair." She looked down. "Do you think Ron will ever become an Auror?" she asked, throwing down a Queen. "Yes! Ha!" she took the cards. "So do you?"

Harry sighed and shook his head. "No. He's not smart enough. I'm not saying he's stupid, because he's far from it, but his reasoning is a little off. There's really nothing he can do about that; it's inborn. Are you going to put a card down?"

"Oh," she said. Six of diamonds. Harry touched his chest out of habit, looking for a pack of cigarettes, but he sighed as there was nothing there but his old shirt. He flicked his card down. Six of hearts. "I hate this part," Hermione whined. Harry grinned as he lay three of his cards face down while Hermione did the same. He flipped over the fourth one to reveal the king of spades. Hermione flipped over her last one, holding her breath, to reveal a three. "No!"

Harry laughed as he scooped up her cards and examined them. "I've got two of your aces!" he teased. Hermione scowled. "My turn for a question," he mumbled as he tapped his cards. "Do you love Luke?" He put down a seven of clubs.

Hermione took in a breath; Harry looked up at her. "That's personal."

"You didn't set rules to what kind of questions could be asked. Are personal ones not allowed?" he asked. He looked around the room for his cigarette pack, but assumed Hermione had hidden them or torched them.

"Well," she started, "I guess you could ask. But I get to ask you personal stuff, too!" she rushed.

"That's fine," he said. "It's your turn to put a card down and you still need to answer my question."

Hermione laid down a nine. She took away his seven.

"So?" he persisted, "do you?"

She made a fuss of straightening her cards. "I'm not sure. Those kinds of things take time. I mean, he's a very nice man, he's smart, he's talented, he's independent... and good-looking. Our kids would be beautiful." She smiled. "Why do you ask?"

He shook his head. "He just doesn't seem to fit you well. I can't see you marrying a Quidditch player. It would be really weird."

"Who can you see me marrying?" she asked. Harry laughed.

"Not your turn to be asking the question. You need to put a card down. It's your turn for that."

Hermione flipped over a queen of hearts then looked at Harry, who took his time to put down an ace of diamonds. "So ask your question," she commanded.

"I'm still thinking of one," he said. He put down another ace.

"Think faster," she replied with the Jack she took from Harry. "That's so not fair! You have all the high cards!"

"Do you like your job?" Four of clubs.

"Yes, I do. I know you think it's a waste of my talents, but it gives me time to work with S.P.E.W. Now, who do you see me married to?"

"I'm not sure, but not Luke. I can actually see you married to Ron, if you believe that. Put down a card, Hermione."

Three of spades. Harry took it away. "Ron? You see me married to Ron? The Ron we know? Ron Weasley? Auror assistant Ron?"

"How many Rons do you know? Yes, Ron Weasley. Haven't you noticed that he's jealous of all the men you date?"

"Yes, but I'm not going to marry Ron. He's only jealous because he can't find a good match. I'm the only woman he has for a friend. It's lack of options. I feel kind of sorry for him, you know? His job is a joke, his personal life leaves a lot to be desired, and he keeps putting himself in your shadow. It almost seems like he wants to be second best."

Harry yawned and put down another card. Eight of clubs. Hermione laid down an eight of diamonds. Harry grinned as he put down three more face down, then he laid down a two. Hermione held her breath as she put down her three cards and also laid a two down. Harry laughed and repeated the process ending with a Jack. Hermione bit her lip as she set down her last card. Ace. "YES!"

She swept across to pick up Harry's cards, then examined them. Her face fell. "What a sorry selection. You're not rearranging them, are you?"

"Hermione," he said with a smirk, "are you accusing me of cheating?"

"Yes."

"I'm not cheating. I promise. My turn for a question, but after this I'm done for the night. Okay, I have to make this a good one..." Hermione put down a card. Harry put down his. She took them. She put down another, Harry the same, they played war. Hermione won. She put down a card, he put down a card, he won.

"Do you think," he asked silently, "it was my fault? I mean, did you see it as my fault, because I know others did, that Mrs. Weasley died?"

Hermione stopped her hand from placing a card. She stared into his face; her mouth and eyes were wide with shock. "Of course not," she said. "You didn't mean for that to happen, no one did. They weren't even after her."

"No, I know that. But she was protecting me, remember?"

Hermione set down her cards and got closer to him. "That still bothers you, doesn't it?" She tried to take Harry's hands but he moved them away. He made to shuffle his own deck. "Harry, everyone protected you. We had to."

"Because I was the one," he said in a deeper voice with a slight note of resentment.

"Yes, partly, but mostly because we wanted you alive."

"No. It was mostly because I was the only one who could murder Voldemort. People get over death because it's part of life. Everyone protected me not because I would be greatly missed, but because I was the one who got to save the world. I heard you talking to Ron about Mrs. Weasley, back at school. You were both wondering why she died to protect me, because as Ron put it, I wasn't hers to protect."

"He saw his mother murdered right before his eyes. It was traumatic. He was asking normal questions for the circumstances. He wondered why she did it, because you hadn't told her about the prophecy. You can't blame yourself for her murder or your destiny. It wasn't your fault. You didn't ask Mrs. Weasley to jump out and fight for you. You didn't ask for anything that happened. Harry, look at me," she said grabbing his cheeks between her two hands. "It is not your fault. Stop beating yourself up. You said it yourself; death is a part of life. It's the only thing that is certain." She swept the hair out of his face and smiled to him. "Arthur's behavior upsets you?"

"Why shouldn't it? He's so different now; he's like a whole other person. He's not happy, he only pretends. He works all the time and avoids me at all costs."

Hermione sighed. "Men don't cope very well with the death of their wives. It's very strange but it's true. If the husband dies first, the woman will be okay. But if it's the wife who dies and leaves the husband alone, for some reason he suffers more. Women nurture and love. A lot of women don't like to hear it, but it's true. We are the caretakers of the world. Molly took care of Arthur and her children. Now that she's gone... I know he shouldn't act the way he does toward you, but he's only human."

Harry nodded in a final sort of way.

"Are we going to finish the game?"

"No, I'm tired. We'll say you won. Thanks, Hermione." He took her cards and put them back in the box. "I'll see you in the morning?" He got off the bed and helped her up.

"You're going to speed out of here, aren't you?" she asked with a smile.

"Speeding is a little extreme, but I have a lot to do now that I'm healthy and all. But I do appreciate your aid, Florence," he said. He opened the door for her.

"You listened to my mother," she said. "Eavesdropper."

"Guilty. See you in the morning."

"Yeah," she replied, but she didn't walk out. She had a strange but determined look on her face; one he hadn't seen on her. Harry was about to ask what the problem was, but Hermione had made up her mind. In a smooth and quick motion, she put her hands on the back of his neck and brought her head up to his. He knew her destination and purpose by her approach. Keeping his upper body stiff and his eyes open, he turned his head slightly so she kissed his cheek.

Hermione pulled back with a slight frown, but he avoided her eyes. He kept his eyes down towards the floor, but looked out the door, hoping she would get the hint. She tried catching his eye, but Harry wouldn't look at her.

"Goodnight," he told her. Hermione glared at him, then marched out and slammed the door.

Harry walked to the bed and lay down, his mind heavy with too many thoughts, Hermione just one of the multitude of headache-causing material. It felt as though a heavy black pillow was suffocating him, blinding him, deafening his ears. He couldn't sleep with all of it.

Harry sat up and turned on the lamp, pulled the box from the stand, and set it in front of him. With trembling hands, he ripped the string from the box and lifted the top. Some sort of cloth covered the inevitable. Harry gently lifted if it out of its box and dropped it on the floor.

He breathed heavily as he stared at it.

Even in his dark room, the dagger gleamed and sparkled. The handle was made of what must be the finest gold in the world. A giant sapphire was embedded in the upper most portion of the handle, which was carved so beautifully, Harry almost forgot it was a weapon. His eyes moved down it. A lion's mouth opened up and shimmering blade curved out of it.

Harry reached down and pulled it out of its box. It was heavy. Harry furrowed his brow. Somehow the dagger seemed heavier without its packaging. He laid the blade in the palm of his left hand, the handle in the right. The silver blade was different at the tip and edges. Harry could see through it somehow, but the image of his hand was distorted. He looked up at the handle. There was small raised writing just below the sapphire. Harry had to squint to read it: aah emoc hsiw. Harry shook his head.

He flipped the knife over to the other side. And, like it's opposite, there was a sapphire with writing below it: wish come haa.

"What?" Harry whispered to himself, feeling more confused than before opening the box.