A Matter of Time

Hundreds of conversations wash around me and mingle with the sound of clanking glass. The fog of the smoke and the blackness make it easy to only be half there.

I'm telling Neville about what's happened, and half of me wants to just Floo back to the Burrow and start with a blank slate. Ginny was right. They are my family. But I can't be around the Weasley's without constant reminders of how much I've fucked up. If I'd shook hands with Draco Malfoy when we were eleven, I can't help but wonder whether or not Ron would still be alive. Or Mr. Weasley.

Besides, I'm not going to fall on my knees and beg for forgiveness. I did want my space. You don't break up a family without wanting space from them.

But still, the last conversation I had with Ginny keeps ringing in my ears. Neville shakes his head and downs the last of his second Butterbeer.

"You--you're sure you meant that, Harry?"

I nod, plunking down enough money at the bar for a Firewhiskey for myself and another Butterbeer for him. I've been a prick and I know it. But it's for their own good and my own sanity. "That's the point, Neville. I need my space and they won't give it to me."

Neville's shoulders slumped. "I suppose it's getting late anyway. I should probably..."

"That's not what I meant," Ginny's words subconsciously sneak their way into my mouth and I'm reminded yet again of my own stupidity.

"Then just Floo back to The Burrow and say you're sorry," Neville said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And it was. He's right, of course. I should just swallow my pride.

"It's not that easy," I say, shaking my head.

"Why not?" Neville asks.

"I just can't, that's all."

Neville sighed. "I know. Just...Ron wouldn't have liked it, all right?"

I can't say anything to that. Neville must've picked up a few guilt-trip methods from his grandmother.

"Harry, I'm sorry," he says, sighing in defeat. "It really is getting late and I've got work in the morning."

"It's Saturday," I remind him.

"Yeah, but Brighton was out today. Trust me, Harry. You do NOT want Dementor's Kisses to dry out."

I gave him a quizzical look and he said "Delphinium Dementius. When it's dried up, it's like a Dementor's around."

"How can a plant behave like a Dementor?"

"Legend has it that a Dementor crapped over the Muggle version of the plant," Neville says, keeping a remarkably straight face. "And changed its properties."

Even I have to laugh at that one.

"I'll see you when you get back, all right, Harry?"

I nodded.

"Just don't do anything stupid so you can say you're sorry, okay?"

I just shake my head and plunk enough Galleons down on the bar for another drink. The Galleons miss the bar, and it takes longer than usual to bend down and pick it up. This is largely due to the fact that the floor is looking like an ideal place to take a nap

"Had enough there, Mr. Potter, eh?" Tom suggests.

"Prob'ly," I slur.

"HEY EVERYONE! HARRY POTTER'S A LIGHT-WEIGHT!" Tom roars. The Leaky Cauldron erupted in laughter. Meanwhile, I feel my ears and face grow hot and I'm banging my head against the bar, wishing I had my Invisibility Cloak handy. Then he leaned over. "I'll Floo for Miss Granger to come fetch ye, aye?" Then louder, he yelled, "Marty, keep the kettle on, will ye? I'll be back in a flash!

* * *

"Harry," Hermione was saying sternly.

My head is already throbbing and I'm in no mood for my third lecture for the day.

"What do you think getting smashing drunk is going to accomplish?" she snaps. I notice that her hair wilder than usual and she's bleary-eyed. I look down at the ground, feeling like a two-year old and notice she's wearing baby-pink bunny slippers.

"Hermione, I'm..." I start to say, but I can't get in a word edge-wise.

"Sorry is not going to do your superiors any good. You've got a mission tomorrow. Do you think your superior is going to want you in anything but top shape?"

"Let's just..."

"Honestly, Harry! Try not to drink your problems away next time there's a funeral, will you?"

I give her the angriest glare I can manage. It must've done the trick, because she's flinching.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she says softly. "That was out of line."

"Let's just go, all right?" And then she can leave me alone, I add. Silently, I hope.

"What has gotten into you?!" She explodes. "First Ginny, now me!"

Oh. Crap. It wasn't silent.

"She told you?"

"Of course she told me! Harry, this has to stop. It's been a pattern for you ever since Sirius..."

"And now you're playing grief-councelor? Fan-bloody-tastic."

"I'm not trying to be your grief-counselor, Harry," she says coldly. "I'm trying to be your friend. You know, those people you seem to be yelling at and acting like a general arse around lately?"

It's my turn to flinch now. Hermione rarely includes foul language in her vocabulary. When she does, you know you'd better get your affairs in order, because your immediate future is likely to involve her hexing you into the next century.

"I don't...?"

"...want to talk about it?" Hermione finished the sentence for me.

I sighed and nodded, making a study again of the ground.

"Harry, you can't..." she squinted, and then her eyes widened in surprise. "Is that Virgin Suicides?"

I look over to where her eyes have fallen and I have to admit that I am a bit surprised as well, but not because of the choice of books, but because of the reader. "It's Flint."

But she's already approached his table.

Who reads in a bar? I wonder.

I haven't seen him since the war. The Ministry had questioned him about alleged involvement with the Death Eaters, but nothing was proven. Last I had heard, he was working as a Researcher for the Ministry of Magic. It's not that we hate each other, but we aren't exactly sending each other Christmas cards, either.

"It is Virgin Suicides!" Right now, she looks like my Aunt Petunia used to look whenever she found a good bargain. Her face is flushed. Her pupils have dilated. It is almost feral. "I adore Euginedes!" she squeals. "The man is a god."

Flint just nodded, which unsettled Hermione a little.

"When you finish your book-gasm, let me know, will you?" I say bitterly.

She gives me an apologetic look. "Come on, Harry," she says, getting a handful of Floo powder. "I'll fix you a pot of coffee."

She says it in such a way that I know she believes that after coffee everything will be okay again.

And the odd thing is, I'm half-convinced.

* * *

"So," she says, turning the coffee pot on once we got to my flat. "Can I play grief-councelor yet?"

"Do I get to say no?"

She shakes her head, and gives me a look that clearly says that she's not leaving until she knocks some sense into me. I try to convince myself I will love her for that when it's all said and done. For now, though, I'm just annoyed.

I sigh, and pick up the coffee cup that Hermione had placed on my kitchen table for me as though it were a shield. "I wish...I wish it could be different."

"So do I," she answers. "But wishing that things would be different means that things can't change...that we can't change. We can't stand at the Mirror of Erised forever, Harry."

"I want to," I reply lamely.

"Harry," she says, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. "Let them go. Ron..." she lets out a shaky breath, and her own voice is trembling now. "Ron would kill me if he knew I let you stay like this." She sighs heavily now. "So would Mr. Weasley." I hear her sniffle.

"If I met Malfoy first instead of Ron," I finally admit aloud. "They might both be alive."

"And you wouldn't be," Hermione adds.

That thought hasn't occurred to me before.

"I didn't..." but she interrupts me.

"He died for you, and all you can do is wallow in self-pity? This isn't why Sirius and Ron died for you. Or your parents. Or Dumbledore. I would've easily added myself to that list as well. Do you believe for one minute that they sacrificed themselves so that you could be a shell of yourself, walking around only half-alive? Wake up, Harry!"

"Like you're one to talk, Hermione," I snap back. "You don't sleep. And you can't concentrate on a book for more than ten minutes at a time. I've watched you look up and stare off into space for a good five minutes!" Her mouth opens to say something in protest, but I stop her. "You've lost weight. You don't eat."

"That's a lie!" she fires back. "I had a bagel with light cream cheese on it this morning."

She shows me an opened container of cream cheese and a package of bagels that are half-full.

I walk her refrigerator and open it. Then make a grand gesture towards its empty shelves.

She makes a face.

"So we're both pretty lousy at finding healthy coping mechanisms," she admits, pulling me into a bear hug.

"I just need my distance from the Weasleys right now," I say, returning the gesture.

She gives me a defeated sigh. "Yeah, well," she says. "At least I'm trying."

"I'm starting to forget him," I admit softly.

"Try to remember," she said.

Images flood my mind's eye and will not let go. Images of Ron on the Wizard's chessboard first year; braving spiders second year; limping with his leg which had been bitten by Sirius third year; the second task our fourth year; Ron getting hit with a curse in the Department of Mysteries fifth year; fighting again with me sixth year. And then seventh year...

Seventh year, Hagrid found his body by the lake. Lucius Malfoy was intent on provoking both Mr. Weasley and me. If I was furious when Sirius was killed, I was too angry to see straight when Ron was killed.

But if that's what it took for me to properly kill the monster that killed my parents and tens of thousands of other people, well then, that's what it took.

But I still wish that it could've been different.

"I've got to go," I say finally. "I have to report for duty in two hours."

She nods, and gives me a sigh that tells me I'm a lost cause.

"Hermione," I say, as an afterthought. "I'm...I'm glad you're not on the list."

* * *

I somehow manage to Floo back to my flat, and there's a proud looking grey owl that I've never seen before. It is carrying a letter with a seal that I don't recognize. I shrug and since Hedwig hadn't returned from her night out, I let it into her cage for an early breakfast before it headed back from whence it came.

"Potter--

If you've gotten over your hangover, I'd like a word. It's urgent.

--Flint."

I went to the drawer for a quill and ink-blotter.

Flint--

If this is a ruse to get Hermione's address, forget it. Otherwise, I'm leaving from my office in two hours on a highly classified mission.

--Potter.

I tie the letter around the bird's leg, and it leaves.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, Hedwig is nudging me awake.

I glance at the clock.

"Bugger, I'm late!"

I grab my suitcase and try to Floo to the Auror Headquarters.

But I'm out of Floo Powder.

"Thanks a lot, Ginny," I mumble as I make a dash to the curb to catch the Knight Bus.

* * *

"Captain Potter!" Said the guard at the front gate. "Don't you usually Floo to the office?"

"Yeah, well, what's wrong with a little excersize?" I say a lot more defensively than I want to.

I am more than a little surprised to find Flint waiting in front of my office door.

"How did you get access Flint? Only authorized personnel are permitted beyond the security desk! Now if you'd rather not leave via security escort," I threaten, making sure my wand was in my grasp, "I suggest you turn around and go. Now."

"I cashed in a few favors," Flint answers, grinning smugly.

"Excuse me?"

"You asked me how I got in..." he replies with a look that clearly says the answer should have been obvious.

"Can't this wait until a later time?" I mumble, trying to shove past him, but Flint blocks me. "I am in a bit of a rush, so if you'll..." but Flint cut me off.

"You're going to investigate Hans Dietrich in a couple of hours, am I correct?"

I just glare, giving him no indication of either an affirmative or negative answer. How does he know? I wonder silently. I have to admit that I am taking the bait, but I cannot, at any cost, let him know that my curiosity is piqued.

"Then I don't need to tell you that Hans Dietrich was a potions professor of Krum's at Durmstrang. The story goes that Krum confided in you that he had suspected his old professor of using Dark Magic. Dominic Albreicht, someone known to the Order as being in league with a faction who wished to take advantage of a weakened Ministry, had kept steady contact with Dietrich. Krum paid a visit to his old Potions Master to see if he could find anything out, and now you haven't heard from Krum and now you're off at the arse crack of dawn to find him."

"That is classified information," I say evenly.

"Then I am correct."

"How did you know that?"

"How that information came to me is irrelevant."

"Like hell it is. You've breeched security, Flint. People have gone to Azkaban for that."

"Look, Potter, I'm not here to cause trouble."

"A Slytherin? Not here to cause trouble? No way."

"I'm here to strike a deal," he replies, ignoring my comment.

"Tell me, Flint," I say, pointing my wand at him, "why I shouldn't call the guards right this second and have you escorted out?"

He turned out his pockets and showed me that he was unarmed.

"Like I said," he answers. "I have a proposition for you. One that might greatly effect your upcoming mission."

"What are the terms?"

"I get immunity."

"No good, Flint."

"I work for Dominic Albreicht, Potter. I have been since the Second War. He's been planning an insurgence for years. He trusts me. He knows me. I can deliver you to him."

His admission floors me a bit. I have known that he was an employee of Albreicht's since the Ministry's initial investigation. That was the only reason he wasn't accused of Death Eater activities. A Slytherin might not be honest, but they're not stupid, either. Flint's risking a lot just by being here, and he knows it.

"Why the turnaround, Flint?"

He sighed.

"Albreicht killed my father. I initially I joined him because I was angry and I wanted my father to pay. Two years later, he killed my brother. No reason...just killed him. I've been looking for a way to stop the man ever since. And then I talked to a few people, found you in the Leaky Cauldron last night, and I had the answer."

"Look, I'm sorry about your family, Flint," I say. And I am. "But my mission is to find Krum. Albreicht, as far as the Ministry and the Order is concerned, is a footnote."

"Find Albreicht, and you'll find Krum," he says. "Look, it's up to you."

"Flint, I told you I..."

"But I promise you this--if you do not stop this man, the next time we meet will be on the battlefield during the third war, and we will not be on the same side. And your luck's got to run out some time."

"How do I know this isn't a trap?"

"Any number of Albreicht's people could've seen me here. They are already starting to get suspicious, and I'm going to tell them that you're looking for Krum and that I wanted to get all the details when I return to The Black Forrest. I'm a Slytherin. Of course I lie. But not about this. I want your help. You can't help me if Albreicht kills you."

"Where can I find Albreicht?"

He handed me a piece of paper which had an obvious directions written on it.

"It's Charmed so all you'll see is a deserted hunter's shack in the middle of the woods."

"How do I find you if I need to reach you?"

"You don't."

With that, Flint leaves, and I rack my brain for an excuse as to why I was late for the briefing. I'm considering telling them the truth.

But that might be too risky.