Questions and Answers

'When was the last time you shaved?' Harry demanded.

James glanced up, startled. 'Uh... Last week, I think. Friday before this past one?' he said, self-consciously rubbing a hand over his scruffy jaw line.

Harry shifted his left arm, bound in a sling to keep him from moving the shoulder too much. 'You look like your uncle Ron the one time he tried to grow a moustache after the war.' Harry chuckled. 'Grew out in sparse, tufty, patches. Got tired of George taking the mickey out of him every day, so he finally shaved. Thankfully.'

The apprentice assigned to Harry bustled in with five vials lined up neatly on a tray. 'Afternoon, sir,' he said.

Harry winked at James. He held up his right hand, with his index, middle, and ring fingers extended. 'How many?' he asked.

The apprentice set the tray on the table. 'Three,' he sighed. 'I really am sorry about that, sir. I panicked...'

Harry waved off the apprentice's concerns. 'No worries, Jonathon. Next time, just read the chart a bit more carefully next time.' He wrinkled his nose, nudging the glasses up a bit higher. 'I really can't see much without the glasses. Just lots of people-shaped blurs, if people are in the room.' Harry eyed the vials suspiciously. 'I suppose you want me to drink those vile concoctions?'

'Sadly, yes.' Jonathon handed one to Harry. 'You have my sympathies, sir. Brewing this one made my eyes water.'

Harry mockingly saluted James with the vial and tried to toss the potion to the back of his throat, so he could swallow it without gagging. 'Bloody hell,' he gasped. What's in that?'

Jonathon picked up the next one, swirling it gently. 'I'd rather not tell you. It's a lot like asking how sausages are made.'

'Good point,' conceded Harry, accepting the second vial. Grimacing as the thick, viscous liquid slid down his throat, he choked, 'When can I go home?'

'When Healer Leighton says you can.' Jonathon traded the empty vial for a full one. 'But I suppose in a few days, once he's convinced your shoulder's healing.'

Harry squeezed his eyes shut at the caustic bite of the potion. 'Brilliant.' He ran his tongue experimentally over his teeth. 'Ugh. Makes me feel like I've grown hair on my tongue, that one.'

'Can't you make them taste better?' James asked curiously.

'Nope,' Jonathon replied. 'We tried in my class, but all something like a sweetener does, is make it less effective. And some flavorings counteract the actual ingredients.'

'You'd think with all we can do...' James mused. 'And we can't make a bloody potion not taste like someone's manky old boot.' He made a face when Harry swallowed the contents of the fourth vial.

'Where do you think Muggles got the idea of giving sweets after a visit to their Healers?' Jonathon smirked.

Harry grinned a little. He remembered getting those small lollipops at the doctor's office after a visit to have his vaccinations updated for primary school. He would wait until he'd gone to bed, and lie in the cramped cupboard and let the fruit-flavored sweet melt slowly on his tongue. 'Last one,' he murmured, taking the final vial. 'How much longer for these?' he asked, tipping the vial into his mouth.

'Depends. Maybe a couple of months until you finish up with all of them.' Jonathon gathered the empty vials and started to leave. 'I'll be back with the next round in a few hours,' he said.

'I'll be waiting,' Harry retorted dryly. He looked at James, lounging in a chair. 'So why didn't you shave?' he asked, abruptly returning to their previous conversation.

'Just didn't,' James muttered, shrugging. 'Why do you do it?'

'Do what?'

'Put yourself in danger like that,' James blurted. 'You could have died. It would have really upset Mum, Al, and Lily,' he said accusingly.

'James...' Harry began softly. 'It's my job, son.'

'But it's dangerous,' James insisted stubbornly, his jaw hardening remarkably like Ginny's.

Grunting a little as the movement jarred his shoulder, Harry reached over to lightly lay his right hand on James' knee. 'It's not like it used to be.' He sat up against the stacked pillows behind him a bit more. 'When I was your age, it was horribly dangerous. Most Aurors didn't bother to marry, let alone have a family. It was too risky.'

James picked at a loose thread in the knee of his jeans. 'But somebody attacked you...'

Harry sighed. 'Maybe we should have been more open with you and your brother and sister about what it was like for us.'

'I've read about it,' James mumbled.

'Then you ought to have an idea what it was like then,' Harry chided gently. 'This...' He indicated his heavily bandaged shoulder. 'This is nothing. This could have happened to anybody out there.' Harry rolled the edge of the sheet between his thumb and forefinger. 'If you want, I can...' Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. 'I'll tell you about some of the things you've read about. Fill in some details...'

'Because I'm finally old enough?' James snorted.

'No,' Harry said, shaking his head. 'Because if your mum and I had been a little more forthcoming about how things were when we were growing up, this wouldn't seem so bad.' Harry glanced at James from the corner of his eye. James was rubbing his thumb over his first two fingers. 'Besides,' Harry added. 'I've already died once before. I don't plan on doing it again for a long, long time.'

XxXxXxX

Ron glanced at his watch, waiting for Hugo to decide on a move in their chess game. His blunt fingers tapped an impatient tattoo on the table and he blew out a gusty sigh. Hugo looked up at his father his brows knit in a frown. 'It hasn't been that long,' he huffed, pointing to the timer next to the board.

Ron blinked. 'Huh?' He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it. 'Oh, no that's not it.'

Hugo chewed his lower lip, and moved a bishop, and hit the button on the timer. 'You're acting like Grandmum last week.'

Ron's eyes narrowed slightly at his son, but Hugo just grinned at him. 'And how is that, exactly?'

Hugo shrugged, his eyes moving over the board, calculating the possible moves he could make, based on what Ron might do. 'You get distracted.'

'You're mad,' Ron commented, carelessly moving one of his pieces.

'Am I?' Hugo swiftly moved his queen. 'Checkmate.' He speared Ron with a look. 'If you weren't distracted, you'd never have done that.'

Ron's finger tipped his king over. 'Touché,' he muttered. 'Your mum should have been home by now.' Ron absently began to put the pieces back on the board. He glanced between Hugo and Rose, who was curled on the sofa with a book. 'Are either of you hungry?' They both shook their heads. Ron methodically cracked his knuckles, watching the seconds tick by on the clock. 'Right.' He stood up and walked to the door, patting his back pocket, checking to make sure his wand was there. 'I'm going to go try and find your mum,' he said. 'I'll be back in a bit.' He started to open the door, but turned abruptly and darted into his bedroom.

Ron opened a bureau drawer, digging through a welter of mismatched socks, until his fingers met a small, hard, silvery object. His hand closed around it and Ron slid it into his jeans pocket. He wasn't certain where Hermione could be, but he had a few ideas, and if those didn't pan out, he'd need a little extra help. It had, after all, worked once before. He went to the door, and walked out to the landing, Disapparating to the stone wall that marked the border of the paddock behind the Burrow.

He easily vaulted over the wall, and loped to the towering oak tree, climbing up the slats nailed to the trunk up to the tree house hidden by the leafy branches. 'Hermione?' he called as his head popped through the trapdoor in the floor. She wasn't there. 'One more place...' he murmured, going back over the wall to Apparate to Oxford. The rose garden was in even worse shape than it had been earlier that month when he'd come to talk to Hermione after his chat with the children. Ron let his hand cup a fading rose, his mouth turning down sadly when the slight movement shook the washed-out petals to the ground. Inhaling slowly, he faced the house, and trudged to the back door, tentatively knocking on it. 'Hermione?'

There was no answer.

Ron experimentally twisted the doorknob, his eyebrows lifting in surprise as it turned under his hand. 'Mione?' He peered into the dusky shadows of the sitting room, his nose wrinkling at the musty, closed-in odor that permeated the room. He pointed his wand at the windows and flicked it upwards, making the windows fly open, bringing the late summer breeze into the room.

A snuffling sound caught his attention, and Ron turned in its direction. It came from the kitchen. Curiously, he followed a following sniffle into the kitchen and found Hermione staring into the depths of a cup of tea. Ron could see the scum of milk that had formed around the edges of the cooled tea. Saying nothing, he slid into the chair next to hers and laced his fingers through hers. Her raw, pink cheeks told him she'd been crying for some time already. 'I feel horrible,' she whispered. 'Like I abandoned her.'

'But you didn't,' Ron insisted.

'She thought I was going to school my first year when I left.' Hermione scrubbed a tea towel roughly over her cheeks. 'She was even singing...' She buried her face in Ron's shoulder. 'She was singing like she used to do when I packed my things,' she choked. 'And then Mum was the one comforting me when I left, because she thought I was eleven years old and terrified that I wouldn't make any friends at school...'

Ron didn't know quite what to say. The problem was, there wasn't anything he could say at that moment that wouldn't make the situation worse. Hermione was already feeling an enormous amount of guilt for not being able to care for Jane. Trying to tell her it was for the best would be the worst thing he could possibly do. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and just let her cry until the fabric of his shirt was soaked through.

Eventually the ragged sounds of Hermione's weeping drifted into long, shuddering breaths. 'Do you want to go home?' Ron murmured.

'Not yet...' Hermione sat up wiping her cheeks with one hand. 'I need...' She trailed off, uncertainly. 'I need to...' She made a vague gesture encompassing the house.

'Do you want me to stay?' Ron asked.

Hermione nodded, folding her arms on the table and resting her head on them. 'Please...'

Ron gently stroked the tangled curls away from her face. 'All right. We don't have to go back to the flat straightaway, hen. I reckon Rosie and Hugo can take care of things for a few hours, eh?' He waited for Hermione to answer, then realized she had fallen asleep. 'Ought to let them know we'll be a while,' he murmured, quietly pushing his chair back. He went into the back garden, unable to stay in the house any longer.

He stood in the middle of the unkempt garden, his wand held loosely in his hand, trying to block out the image of the garden and all it represented. He didn't often cast a Patronus charm anymore, but he figured he could send a message to Rose and Hugo, considering he hadn't left his mobile with them. He could feel it in his right pocket. 'Right... Think of something happy...' he muttered to himself, closing his eyes. The breeze shifted, and an image of Hermione on their wedding day came into his head, borne on the mingled scents of roses that encircled him. 'Expecto Patronum,' he said, softly, yet firmly. Ron's eyes opened slowly and the bright silver terrier sat at his feet, one paw raised in supplication. He almost laughed, since it had a tendency to scamper about when he was younger. Guess we all get older at some point, he thought. 'Go to tell Rose and Hugo we'll be home late,' he told it. The terrier loped toward the fence and disappeared. Ron glanced at the house over his shoulder and decided Hermione would be asleep for a good hour or so, headed for the shed to gather a few tools together.

Kneeling at one end of the old beds that ringed the garden in the gathering dusk, Ron felt some of the tension that had knotted between his shoulders unravel as he began to prune the old rosehips that studded the canes. He was tired. Between worrying about Hermione and spending the past week worried about Harry, he hadn't slept much the past two months.

Ron tossed a handful of rosehips into a small pile and moved to the next rose bush. He wondered what they would do with the house. He couldn't imagine selling it, not with Richard's prized roses here.Funny, he's been gone fourteen years, and I still think of them as his... It was something they'd have to discuss. Later. Much later.

When Ginny had come out into the waiting area yesterday afternoon, shaking and pale, Ron had feared the worst, not only for himself, that he'd lost his best friend, but he couldn't imagine going to tell Hermione that she'd lost another member of her family. He had been relieved to be able to call Hermione and tell her Harry was going to be all right. Still... It had reminded Ron unpleasantly of their first year, after finding the Sorcerer's Stone, seeing Harry lie in that stark white bed in the hospital wing, various cuts and scrapes standing out in livid streaks on his pale face. He'd been unconscious for days, then, too.

His breath caught, and Ron let the small pruning shears drop to the grass, sitting back on his heels. He slowly rubbed a hand over his face, leaving dirty streaks over his cheeks. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to steady the tremors in his hands. Too many times he'd had to be the one who didn't panic, shoving all his fears and worries aside in favor of dealing with someone else's, when all he wanted to do was panic. His fingers closed around the handle of the pruning shears and he flung them across the yard wincing as they bounced off the fence with a metallic thump.

He sat huddled on the grass, feeling like the sulky adolescent he'd once been.

XxXxXxX

Ginny dug into the laundry basket that stood in a corner of her bedroom until she found the shirt Harry had worn to work last Monday. She lifted it to her face, breathing in the faint scent of Harry that still lingered in the fabric. She shed her own clothing and slid her arms through the sleeves, buttoning it as she padded to the bed. Ginny lifted the edge of the quilt and slid under it, snagging Harry's pillow in her fingertips, pulling it toward her, and wrapping her arms around it. He was coming home in a couple of days. The gash in his shoulder was finally showing signs of healing - she couldn't quite see the bones as clearly as she had a week ago when they changed the bandages.

The mobile on Harry's side of the bed chirped once, signaling a message, and went silent. Frowning, Ginny reached for it, and gazed at the screen. 'Oh...' In all the confusion, she had quite forgotten to contact one other person. Nervously, Ginny pressed the button that would return Dudley's telephone call.

XxXxXxX

Dudley laid Sarah in her cot and draped the small blanket over her. The mobile in the pocket of his shorts began to ring, startling Sarah. She woke up and began squalling. 'Bloody...' Dudley attempted to juggle the mobile and Sarah, but he only succeeded in dropping the mobile on the floor, and twisting Sarah's sleeper around her body. Anchoring Sarah to his hip with one arm, Dudley managed to pick up the mobile. 'Hello?'

'Hi... It's Ginny...' A small line appeared between Ginny's brows. 'Is this a bad time?'

Dudley strode down the corridor to the sitting room, where Aaron was surrounded by books and papers. 'No, it's fine. Sarah's something of a light sleeper.' He handed his now-whimpering daughter to Aaron and mouthed, 'Help!' to the other man.

'You'd think you'd learn to put the damn thing on vibrate,' Aaron grumbled, as he snuggled Sarah against his chest.

'Can't hear it when I'm running,' Dudley sighed. 'Sorry,' he said to Ginny.

'Don't worry about it.' Ginny pulled the cuff of Harry's shirt over her free hand, and toyed with the button.

Dudley wandered into the kitchen, and pulled a chair out from the table, and dropped into it. 'Is everything all right? I rang a few times last week to try and pin down an evening for dinner, but I guess Harry didn't get the messages.'

'No. I just got them,' Ginny said. 'Actually, I'm calling about Harry.'

'He's not going to cancel, is he?' Dudley asked warily.

'Oh, no. It's just he's been in the hospital for the past week.'

'Is he all right?'

'He'll be fine.' Ginny started babbling. 'I'm really sorry. I just didn't think to call you and he was unconscious...'

'I want to see him,' Dudley said, interrupting Ginny's stream of babble.

'What?'

'I want to see him. If I'm allowed,' he added, remembering Harry's world was a closely-guarded secret.

'Oh.' Ginny blinked a few times. 'Of course you can. But I'll have to take you through. Otherwise you won't be able to see the entrance,' she replied matter-of-factly.

'Oh, right. Because it's hidden, naturally.'

'Well, yes. It is.' Ginny smiled a little. 'They all are.'

'So where...?'

'It's in London. By the Holborn station.'

Dudley snorted. 'Well that's convenient.'

'Is ten tomorrow morning too early?'

'Nah. It's fine.' Dudley paused, drawing patterns on the table top with his fingertip. 'How bad is it...?' he asked tentatively.

Ginny blew out a slow breath. 'It was pretty bad. He's getting better, but it'll take a while. They're letting him come home in a few days.'

'That's good,' Dudley sighed in relief.

'So, ten tomorrow outside of Holborn?'

'Yeah. Good night, Ginny. And... Thanks for calling.'

'You're welcome.' Ginny fell back against the pillows and turned off the mobile. She wondered briefly, as she fell asleep, if Dudley would remember George and the Ton-Tongue Toffee. She hoped not. Otherwise, it could get quite ugly.

XxXxXxX

Aaron watched Dudley disappear through a set of doors, trailing behind Ginny, leaving him in the waiting area with Sarah. Various members of Ginny's family sat in clusters, cheerfully ignoring the sign on the wall that begged visitors to please be quiet. He glanced at the crowed of redheads, interspersed with a few blondes and a black or dark brown head here and there. He turned his attention to Sarah. 'So, you think we can take them?' he asked. Sarah yawned and gnawed her fist. She was teething, and a line of drool slid down her arm. 'Yeah, I didn't think so...' Aaron gazed around the room, trying to see if he could identify any of them by their descriptions. The taciturn man sitting across from him with a pencil and a small notebook in his hands looked vaguely familiar. Almost like Ginny, if Ginny had been male. The eyes though... Aaron was sure he'd seen them before. In fact, he was certain he had seen them that very morning. 'Charlie!' he exclaimed.

The man blinked bemusedly. 'Do I know you?'

'You're Charlie. Ginny's brother. Well, one of them...' Aaron finished lamely.

'And you are...?'

'Aaron Bernstein. I'm Dudley's partner.'

'How do you know me?' Charlie asked in confusion.

'Oh, well, it's just that Harry speaks about all of you, and he said that James had his grandfather's eyes. Like Ron and Charlie. But Ron's tall...' Aaron realized he was babbling and bit his lip.

'May I?' A short plump woman held out her arms. 'All my babies have quite grown up.' When Aaron looked doubtfully at her, she continued, 'I'm Molly. Ginny's mother.'

Aaron glanced down at Sarah, who gurgled appealingly at Molly and held out a wet, pudgy fist. 'If you're sure...'

Another man snorted in disbelief. 'Mum always needs a baby around the house. She's already started on trying to match up the older grandchildren so they can add to the chaos.' He glared pointedly at Molly. 'Like we need more of that.'

Aaron's eyes narrowed at the man who had just spoken. His hair was cut in a curious style that was somehow short, but still shaggy enough to cover his ears somewhat. Except where he could see the tip of one ear peep from the mass of hair on the left side, the right was oddly flat. 'George!' Aaron blurted.

'Yeah...' George leaned back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest. 'So... You're with Dudley...' He had never believed Ginny's shaggy-dog story that Dudley had changed.

'Ten years,' Aaron confirmed shyly. 'We just adopted Sarah in March.'

'What do you do, dear?' Molly asked interestedly.

'I'm a lawyer. Human rights issues, mostly.'

'Like Hermione,' someone clarified, when Molly's face clouded.

'Oh, right then.' She carried Sarah to a knot of women, leaving Aaron uncomfortably alone with Charlie and George.

George studied Aaron as if he were some sort of unusual magical fungus to be used in a Snackbox concoction. 'What kind of human rights?' he asked abruptly.

Aaron tilted his head to the side as he considered George. 'I make sure people aren't discriminated against for their sexuality,' he said dryly. 'I help make it possible for poufs like me to do things like marry and have families. And have jobs so they can eat and keep a roof over their head.' He ran a hand through his dark hair. 'Look, I know Dudley was something of a berk when he was younger. But do you honestly think someone who does what I do would be with a sadist?' he growled softly.

Before George could answer, Dudley came through the door, looking slightly shaken. His eyes widened when he saw George sitting across from Aaron. 'You!' he exclaimed. 'You dropped that toffee!'

'Yeah,' George admitted, a hint of defiance in his voice.

'My tongue was four feet long!' Dudley glared at George. 'And you had to have known I was on a bloody diet!'

George looked uncomfortable. 'Yeah.' The single tip of an ear blazed. 'You were a bully to a friend.'

Dudley paled under his light tan. 'I've apologized to Harry,' he said tightly. 'He's accepted it and moved on. And I refuse to be judged by my past for the rest of my life.' He found Sarah and retrieved her from Molly's arms with a soft apology for the ruckus with George.

Ginny nudged Teddy, who had been in Harry's room. 'Could you take Dudley and Aaron back downstairs? I need to discuss something with George,' she said in an ominously quiet voice.

'Sure.' Teddy hastily beckoned to Dudley and Aaron and they descended the stairs to the ground floor.

Ginny stalked to George and poked him in the ribs. Hard. 'What was that about?' she hissed.

'He started it,' George protested.

'What are you? Two?' Ginny said in exasperation. She held up a hand to forestall any further protests George might have had. 'First of all, it's taken Harry and Dudley years to get to this point, and I'll be damned if I let you or him ruin it. Second, if Harry's able to let it go, so should you. Third, if this has any effect at all on Harry's relationship with his cousin, so help me, I will let you explain to him why.' Her eyes narrowed, making George wilt slightly under the scorching heat of her gaze. 'Do I make myself clear?' she spat softly. George nodded, and Ginny turned on her heel and left him standing in the middle of the waiting area.

XxXxXxX

Harry adjusted the sling irritably. It dug into his neck, and no matter what he did, it crept back to the worst possible spot. He wandered into James' room, kicking aside a pile of dirty socks. 'Ready?' he asked. James nodded and slid off the messy, unmade bed. 'I thought we'd go down to the tool shed. Work on the motor bike a bit for something to do while we talk.'

'Okay.' James slouched down the stairs ahead of Harry and opened the tool shed door, yanking on the chain that dangled from a single, bare light bulb. He picked up a small wrench and turned it over in his hands.

Harry shut the door behind them and leaned against the workbench. He had been home for a few days, but still tired easily. He reached back with his good hand and unearthed a box of Chocolate Frogs, and tossed one to James. 'So where do you want to start?' he asked casually.

XxXxXxX

A/N: See? I told you he'd wake up soon... And as to why he was unconscious longer than he medically should have been... It's a mystery. No, really. It is. I'm not just taking the easy way out as a writer. Well, it's somewhat of a mystery, medically speaking. It's kind of like when it takes someone a bit longer to come out of anesthesia. Or why some kids go nuts when you give them Benadryl and others pass out. *shrug* Who knows?