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SIYE Time:7:09 on 19th March 2024
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Restless Heart Syndrome
By notadryeeye

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts
Characters:All
Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Mild Language, Sexual Situations
Rating: R
Reviews: 429
Summary: 17 Years have passed since the fall of Voldemort. Just as the world thinks it has finally started to heal and move on, some things thought long lost begin to awaken.
Hitcount: Story Total: 102990; Chapter Total: 5375





Author's Notes:
As promised, here is the other part of the monster chapter. I hope you enjoy. The wait is over...




ChapterPrinter
StoryPrinter


She couldn't understand why he wasn't home yet.

He'd sent a message earlier in the evening that said he might be tied up in a meeting and he'd probably be late. But this was getting quite ridiculous.

Hermione rolled over in bed, staring over the empty space in the bed next to her, her eyes settling on the alarm clock that glowed brightly in the dark bedroom.

It was 1:15 a.m. according to the bright blue digital numbers.

He'd been late before, stuck in meetings or chamber sessions of the Wizengamot. Yet, he'd always found time to send her a follow up, letting her know a possible time-frame for his arrival.

But there had been nothing since his initial note. She knew there was nothing scheduled as far as meetings with the higher ranking officials at the Ministry. She would have known or would have been called in herself, seeing as she was a senior supervisor in the Magical Law Department.

She knew there was nothing slated that would keep Ron this late.

She had thought about contacting Percy, or even Arthur to see if maybe they involved or knew when Ron might be home. But she knew if she alerted anyone and drummed up a search for him–and it turned out that he was indeed in a meeting–Ron would be rather irritated.

And although she wasn't worried about an argument with her husband, she certainly didn't need one at this time of the morning.

So she continued to lie in bed, listening for any sound of his arrival as her stomach continued to knot itself with anxiousness. Although the war had been over with for years, there had many nights like this where she'd lay awake, imagining all sorts of terrible things that could happen while he was gone.

It had been especially bad when he was still working as an Auror. The countless missions to round up remaining Death Eaters and the danger she knew he was putting himself in seemed to totally consume her at some points. There were still people out there that wanted to hurt him. Those fears had only gotten worse when they'd started having children and she worried not only what she'd do if she would ever lose him, but how it would effect the kids if he didn't come home.

She had come close to finding out four years ago when he'd nearly been killed on a mission in Germany. It had a been a living, waking nightmare as she'd waited for hours for news of his condition and then sat by his bed for 13 days as they waited to see if he'd ever wake up from severe head and neck injuries.

When he'd finally awoken and she was able to gaze into those deep blue eyes and hear his voice again, the horror had melted away somewhat. But that fear of what might have been–her having to raise five children on her own and live the rest of her life without her best friend and husband–still weighed too heavily on her mind for his recovery to settle her fully.

So she'd asked him to retire.

She knew and understood how selfish it was to ask that of him. He loved what he did and was good at it–but they were at the point where the danger was just too great handle. She'd met too many widowed women and men who had lost a spouse on duty and she'd seen what losing the love of your life did to someone in Ginny everyday.

She couldn't go through that. They'd fought and lost too much in the war for her fears to continue in the years after.

Surprisingly, Ron hadn't argued or put up much of a fight at all at her plea for him to retire. Perhaps he'd seen it in her eyes and heard it in her voice, or maybe he'd realized how close he really had come to leaving them all. Whatever the case may have been, he'd left the department and after he'd been back on his feet again, he'd taken an ambassador position with the Ministry. He was home more and for the most part, she knew he was safe.

'Except tonight,' Hermione thought to herself as she turned over onto her side again. She closed her eyes, hoping that she'd be able to pass the time more easily or perhaps she'd drift off to sleep for a while and wake up with Ron beside her.

The latter proved true and Hermione soon drifted off into an uneasy sleep–a sleep that was interrupted sometime later by the sound and movement of someone sitting at the foot of the bed.

Hermione slowly sat up, her eyes taking time to adjust to the darkness of the room and the faint moonlight being filtered through the window curtains.

As her vision began to clear, her mind registered the fact that Ron was sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed. His back was to her, but she could tell that he was cradling his head in hands.

“Where have you been?” Hermione found herself asking. Her voice was louder in the darkness, causing both herself and Ron to jump slightly at the sound of it.

But he did not respond and continued to instead stare out into the dark space before him.

“Ron?” Hermione repeated as she pulled herself from under the covers and moved to sit beside him.

“Why are you so late?” she asked again as his profile came into view. He looked tired and worn, and there was something about him that was very off.

“What's going on? Why are you–” she began to ask, but stopped when a familiar smell filled her nose.

“You've been drinking,” Hermione stated, her voice heavy with disappointment. “I can smell it on you.”

Ron nodded but didn't offer any explanation.

“What happened?” she asked, knowing that it took some sort of trigger to make him go off like this.

There had been times directly after the war where they'd dealt with a few episodes like this. Despite the freedom they'd earned in the end, it had been a trying and hard time for all of them. But Ron had taken things especially hard at times, turning to the bottle or the bottom of a glass to help himself deal with Harry's death, and as he'd explained it, 'numb the pain.'

They had been volatile times for their relationship and there had been many arguments over the way Ron was dealing with everything by drinking. But they'd managed to get through it since then and there had really only been two or three instances she could remember where he'd slipped up since–once after the ten year anniversary ceremony and memorial for the war victims and once after he'd been hurt.

So it was very troubling that she was finding him like this now.

“Ron?” She repeated his name, standing up from her spot next to him and moving to kneel before him. She took his hands in hers, hoping to force him to respond to her touch.

“Please talk to me,” she whispered desperately.

“It's all been a lie,” Ron said flatly, looking down at their hands together in his lap.

“What?” Hermione asked automatically, a thousand scenarios racing through her mind at once–each one more and more terrible.

“We've all been lied to this whole time,” Ron repeated just as lifeless and listless as the first time. “Everything–it's all been one big fucking lie,” he added as he swallowed angrily and blinked away tears.

“I don't know what you're talking about, sweetheart,” Hermione told him, shaking her head in confusion. “You have to tell me exactly what's happened. Who's lied to us?”

“Remus,” Ron spat bitterly. “He and Snape and McGonagall–they all know. They've been keeping him from us for all these years.”

Ron seemed to babbling to her, not making any real sense at all.

“Who?” Hermione asked “Who have they kept--” she began to question, but was cut off as Ron answered her prematurely.

“He's alive,” Ron said simply, his eyes coming to rest on hers for the first time since he'd awakened her.

Hermione shook her head in incomprehension.

“Jackson was right,” Ron told her. “He figured it out and nearly found him.”

Hermione's world reeled with Ron's words. In the back of her mind she thought she understood what he was saying.

But that couldn't be...

“Ron...that's impossible...” Hermione said automatically.

“It should be,” Ron admitted even as he shook his head. “But it all makes sense now...we just never questioned....”

Hermione continued to shake her head in disbelief. He was not making any sense. He'd been drinking and now he was spouting off and babbling about something she knew could not be true. The very thought defied everything her rationale was telling her.

Jackson's seemingly crazy assertion had been just that. Harry could not be alive

And yet...Ron never lied to her.

He may have, from time to time, fibbed about folding the laundry or remembering to pick something up on his way home. But when it came to the serious stuff, they were always straight with each other. That's what made their marriage work–they told each other everything.

So for him to be having her on was something she couldn't bring herself believe.

“I don't really understand,” she said, squeezing Ron's hands. “You have to explain to me exactly what you're talking about. Okay?” she told him.

Ron nodded almost imperceptibly.

And then after a few moments of careful, calculated silence, Ron swallowed heavily before opening his mouth to speak.

It only took a second or so before the words came tumbling out, spilling over one another as Hermione struggled to string them all together.

In what seemed like no time at all, Ron had woven her a story that seemed truly horrifying and hard to believe–one in which Harry had survived not only the final battle, but the separation of a Horcrux from his soul.

It was all too surreal and to unbelievable. Everything she knew and every logical fiber of her being was screaming at her that this was all too crazy–too coincidental and circumstantial to possibly to true.

But as she listened to him speak, letting everything he'd been holding in spill out, she couldn't bring herself to doubt him. Whatever Ron had been told, he wholeheartedly believed that it was true.

And that was enough for her.

She quietly let him finish, listening intently to him as he spoke of what he had said to Remus and the others in response to what they'd revealed. When he had stopped speaking, he hung his head as if physically exhausted and emotionally drained from speaking the previous words themselves.

Silence passed between them, thick and pressing in the dark room. It was Ron who spoke first and broke it.

“You don't believe me,” Ron stated flatly as he looked up at his wife. It wasn't a question or an accusation, but an assumption that Ron had already made about her reaction.

“It's okay,” he added when she did not speak. “It's crazy, I know. I didn't expect you to--”

But she cut him off before he could finish.

“I believe you,” she told him, squeezing his hands tightly in her own. “I really do,” she repeated as he looked at her in complete surprise.

“I just–I can't--” Hermione began again, but was unable to verbalize anything she was feeling into words that made sense.

“He's really alive?” Hermione asked in one last statement of disbelief.

Ron nodded.

“How could we not know?” she asked as a new wave of emotion washed over her–a wave of sadness that brought tears to her cheeks. Ron pulled her into him, holding her close in his lap.

“They kept it from us,” Ron replied. “We weren't ever supposed to find out. It's the way he wanted it.”

There was pain in the last statement. Perhaps the idea that Harry would rather have them believe him dead than have to have him in a worse state hurt Ron deeper than he'd originally thought.

“If wasn't for Jackson,” Ron began, “I don't think we'd have ever found out. For some reason he's started something...his search was some sort of catalyst to the spells in place crumbling...”

“Magic isn't infallible or perfect,” Hermione admitted. “There are always loopholes or some source that can mess with and introduce interference into the framework of the spell. So it's possible–but I'm not sure how...”

“Neither was Remus,” Ron interjected. “He couldn't explain why this was happening–why they all remembered again.”

Hermione said nothing in response, but instead sat silently in her husbands lap, letting her mind wrap around everything she'd just learned. There was something calming and reassuring about his arms around her.

But as she rested against him, the smell of alcohol once again filled her senses and another reason for her worry popped back into her mind.

“Why didn't you come home after?” she asked him, shocking them both out of silence. “We could have talked, figure things out...you didn't have to go out and dri--”

“I only had a pint,” Ron cut across her with a sigh. “And I managed to tip over and spill half of it on myself,” he added, as he pointed to himself. Hermione looked down and noticed that there was a large spot on his t-shirt that told the truth of the story.

“I probably would have come earlier,” Ron added. “But on my way out of the castle...I ran into Jackson.”

Hermione knew that the information he'd learned from Remus would have been enough to upset him, but she understood that seeing Jackson so soon afterward must have only added to the emotion of the situation.

“I just–when I looked at him–all I could see was Harry,” Ron began, his voice heavy with emotion. “I mean–I always see Harry in him–but it was different now. I could only think of everything that's been taken from him...how it could have–should have–been so much different.”

“I almost lost it in front of him,” Ron admitted.

“You didn't say anything?” Hermione asked in reassurance.

“No,” Ron replied. “What was I supposed to say? How was I suppose to explain anything?” he added with a shake of his head. Hermione didn't respond to his questions, but continued to allow him to hold her tight and for a long time they sat in the quiet of the dark room.

She wasn't sure if she had suggested it or if they had just migrated there naturally, but after a while they found themselves lying in bed. She was curled up against Ron's chest, his arms wrapped comfortably around her waist.

They'd fallen asleep like this so many times before in the nearly 15 years they'd been married, but neither of them had drifted off yet–they were wide awake. Hermione could feel Ron's thumb rubbing slow circles on the patch of skin between her pajama bottoms and t-shirt on her side. And she could tell, by the way he was breathing and the pattern of the rise and fall of his chest against her back, that he was awake and thinking–a million different things running through his mind as they were doing the same in hers.

“You're going to go see him,” Hermione stated into the darkness. She knew exactly what he had been thinking as he lay there beside her.

“I have to see for myself,” Ron whispered into her hair as he nuzzled near her neck.

Hermione rolled over in Ron's arms, turning to face her husband.

“I knew you'd say that,” she said with a slight smile as she reached up to trace the side of his face with her fingers.

“I have to,” Ron repeated. “To see if it's true and...now that I know–I can't just keep going on like nothing has changed.”

“We could go this weekend. Your Mum could watch Scarlett and Pax. She's been saying for months that we need a weekend getaway. That could be our excuse,” Hermione suggested, causing Ron to raise his eye brows.

“What? You didn't think you were going to go by yourself, did you?” Hermione asked knowingly.

Ron seemed to consider her for a moment before allowing the slightest ghost of a smile grace his lips.

“We'll need to think about how we're going to go about this–carefully,” Hermione continued. Her instinct to organize and plan was already going to work in the back of her mind. “We'll have to locate him–specifically--and even though you said he won't remember or know us, there are still certain situations we'll have to plan for.”

“Let's just take this thing one step at a time,” Ron whispered as he planted a kiss on her forehead. “We don't know exactly what we're going to run into or what he'll be like–so let's not get ahead of ourselves and start planning on bringing him home or anything...” he added, his voice trailing off.

Hermione nodded even as the wheels continued to spin inside her head.

“Is that even an option? To bring him home?” Hermione asked.

“I don't know...” Ron replied truthfully.

“He may have a family, Ron,” Hermione said quietly. “We have to be prepared to deal with the fact that he may be married...have children...”

“I think I'd feel better if he did,” Ron responded quietly. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

“I wish things could have been different–that Ginny and Harry had Jackson, got married and started a life together–like it should have been,” Ron clarified. “But it didn't happen that way...and all I can hope for now is that he's happy. He deserves to have the family and everything that was taken from him. He deserves that after everything...”

“He does...” Hermione whispered in agreement. “We all do.”

-------------------------------- -----------------

Ron for the life of him, couldn't understand or work out where they were going or what direction they were heading. To him, the map looked like a jumble of lines and rectangles that made no sense to him. And the streets they were passing were no clearer to him; they were a myriad of one-way alleys and drives that seemed to lead in circles or end in abrupt dead ends. But Hermione seemed to know exactly where they were going as she led the both of them through the teeming mass of students and pedestrians navigating the sidewalks with them.

“Are you sure we're going the right way?” Ron asked as he looked around, not seeing any sign of a building that looked even slightly academic or official in the surrounding neighborhood of narrow homes, businesses and pubs.

Hermione turned back to look at him, an annoyed expression on her face that showed that she did not appreciate being second-guessed by her husband.

“I can read a map, Ron,” she said shaking her head as she side-stepped a pair of people who had stopped to have a conversation in the middle of the sidewalk. “It's just a few more blocks and we'll be there. The campus buildings are spread out over this part of the city, so we'll have to do some walking,” she added as she continued to walk.

“We couldn't have just Apparated there?” Ron asked in a low voice as he walked beside his wife.

“And that would have worked out just beautifully if we ended up just appearing in the middle of a group of students,” Hermione said sarcastically as they stopped at an intersection and waited for the light to change. “That usually doesn't go hand in hand with trying to keep a low profile,” she added as she sighed and rolled her eyes at him.

Ron could only smile covertly and take her hand as the signal changed and they crossed. He was well practiced at getting this sort of reaction from Hermione over the years. He knew he had the propensity to be extremely thick, but sometimes it was fun just to try and do it on purpose to see how far he could push it with her.

Hand in hand they continued to walk, weaving between people who seemed to be moving in every which direction as they made their way to their various destinations in the bustling college community. He'd been in Muggle London many times before, so he was no stranger to loud city crowds and busy streets, but this was a new experience for him. All around there were kids (to him anyway) darting around, back packs and bags slung over their shoulders as they hurried around, walking, biking and riding skateboards.

Ron momentarily wondered as he glanced around, as he had a few times since they'd landed in the States, if he was dressed normal enough to blend in. He looked down at his attire of a loose gray sweatshirt, faded jeans and trainers and it seemed as though his outfit was normal enough. Hermione was dressed in a green v-neck shirt and jeans herself and she too seemed to blend into the crowd just fine. And Ron had to admit, he quite approved of her choice of outfit too.

“There it is,” Hermione said suddenly, jerking Ron out of his quiet observation. Ron looked up to where she was pointing at a tall 10-story building just ahead. It was quite modern looking, with large, high windows on all four sides.

“His office is there?” Ron asked in clarification as they approached. There was sign out front that announced it as the Mosse Humanities building.

“Third floor,” Hermione replied with a nervous nod as they neared the entrance. She stuffed the map she had been surveying into the bag she was carrying before reclaiming Ron's hand again, clutching it tightly.

Following the wave of people entering the building, Ron and Hermione soon found themselves in a brightly lit and high ceiling lobby. All around them were colorful displays of student art, paintings, drawings and photographs adorning the walls and odd sculptures hanging from the high ceiling on strings.

Ron allowed Hermione to guide them over to a staircase that led up to the upper floors of the building.

As they made their way up to the third floor, Ron's heart was pounding frantically in his chest and he had to reach up to wipe the beads of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead near his hairline as they walked. It was not the physical exertion that was causing these symptoms. He was nervous about what they were going to find, what they were going to do once they'd gotten there.

He and Hermione had gone over several scenarios and plans in the days leading up to their trip here. They'd decided that they'd first locate Harry and confirm that all of this was true and what Remus had told Ron was real. But after that, they were going to play it by ear and observe him possibly. They had no grand plans to grab him and bring him home...

But deep down Ron had a hope that they'd get near enough to find an excuse to engage him–talk to him maybe–even though he'd not know who they were. He wanted to hear Harry's voice again...to know that he was really alright...

It had seemed like forever, but they finally made it up the three flights of stairs, which opened into a long hallway, lined with doors on either side.

“His office is 328,” Hermione let him know quietly as they walked slowly down the hall, passing a pair of students leaning against the wall outside of a nearby office. The office to their left and right were in the low 300's, so they'd have to continue on down the hall.

All around them, doors were in different stages of being open or closed. Some were closed, adorned with photographs, artwork, and flyers. Some were cracked open a sliver, giving a small view into offices filled with shelves cramped with books and walls covered in posters. Others were thrown wide open, professors sitting at desks and computers typing away. In some offices, students stood or sat in chairs conversing with their professors.

Ron was brought back to the task at hand when Hermione's footfalls began to slow beside him. He looked up and noticed that they were nearing the office. The numbers were now in the twenties, alternating and bringing them closer with each step.

He held his breath as they stopped outside of the door with 328 fastened in the center. It was surrounded by multicolored flyers announcing different meetings and study abroad opportunities. There were also a few black and white photographs taped to the door amongst the flyers that Ron recognized as some of the same from the photography book they'd gotten their daughter that had started this whole thing off.

'Harry's book,' Ron thought with a slight smile.

Ron still couldn't picture his best mate as a professor or an author, for that matter. It just wasn't what he'd ever thought of Harry doing for a career. Harry was never an academic and was pants at essays while they were at school. They'd always just skated by most subjects because they managed to copy enough off of Hermione to pick some things up.

But then again, it had been over 17 years since he'd seen his best mate. Did he really have any clue as to what Harry would be like now in his mid-thirties?

But Ron would have to wait a little bit longer to answer that question.

The door was closed.

The dropping feeling in his stomach wasn't as sudden as he thought it might be. The closed door saved them from any awkward meeting that may have happened as a result of them standing outside his office door, like a pair of lost tourists looking for any sign as to where they were.

Plus, the name plate beside the door read, “Evan Smith, Associate Professor of Photography and Visual Art History.”

That meant this was it. This was really his office and he was here. It didn't matter that he wasn't there right now. He had to come back to his office at some point. They could come back later–possibly after they figured out their next step–and go from there.

But just when he was about to verbalize this to Hermione, she raised her hand without hesitation and knocked on the golden wood of the door.

“What are you doing?” Ron hissed even as he watched her raise her hand again to knock, her knuckles rapping sharply again. What if the door was just closed? What if he was inside? They hadn't planned on just barging in. What excuse were they going to come up with to explain their presence?

They both froze, listening for several seconds for any sound of a chair moving or footsteps nearing that would signal someone coming to answer and open the door.

But there was nothing. There was no response to Hermione's knocks and Ron let out the shaky breath he'd been holding in.

“And what could have possibly possessed you to do that?” Ron asked quietly as he looked over his shoulder as a few students passed them.

“To see if he was in there,” Hermione replied, sounding annoyed at Ron's question and as though it should be quite obvious as to what her intention had been.

“And what were you going to do if he answered the door?” Ron asked. “We can't exactly pass for students now, can we? We're a bit old and...over a month into term I'm sure he's aware of who his students are by now,” he said with a raised brow.

To his surprise, Hermione flushed and looked slightly uncomfortable at his words.

Had she really not thought that bit out? That had to be, if not a first, a rarity in all the years they'd known each other. Part of Ron wanted to tease and gloat, but now wasn't the time.

“We need to sort things out a bit more before we go inviting ourselves in with no way of explaining our way out,” Ron said with a smile. Hermione gave a quick nod of agreement and let out a shaky breath of her own as she shook her head in self-amazement that she had nearly screwed things up so royally.

“Right,” Hermione responded after finding her voice. “Maybe he has office hours later on and we can catch a glimpse of him then and--”

But her suggestion was cut off as the office directly to the right of 328 opened. Ron's back was facing that direction and he was standing partially in front of the frame, so he was forced to move aside as a woman with dark hair stepped from the office, turning around to lock the door that had closed behind her.

“Sorry,” Ron offered in apology as he moved.

“Oh, no problem,” the woman said with a smile as she slipped the key from the lock and placed it back into a large black bag she had slung over her shoulder.

“Can I help you guys with something?” she asked with another smile as she straightened up, balancing what looked like a bag full of heavy books on the other arm.

“We–we were just looking to meet up with Professor Smith,” Hermione replied, causing Ron to look at her in question. “We're old friends...and we just found out he was teaching here now and thought we'd stop by,” she added, telling the partial truth.

“Oh...well, you just missed him,” the woman replied. “He locked up and left about fifteen minutes ago. And I'm almost positive he has class upstairs right now,” she added as she set down the heavier of the bags and stepped towards them.

Ron watched as she reached between he and Hermione, her hand reaching for the papers on the door.

“I know he had a class schedule on his door,” the woman said quietly as she moved aside a few of the flyers that had been taped over one another.

“Yep, there it is,” she said suddenly as she unearthed another paper from underneath a pair of bright red announcements that had seemingly been taped over the top. “He's got his Intro class up in the big lab, 718,” she read off as she traced a finger along the appropriate time slot.

“You could wait around here...but class isn't done for another hour and a half. Or you could leave a note with where he could contact you and I could give it to him. I'll be back before him most likely,” the woman told them as she straightened up.

“We could go up and see if we can't find this lab. It'll give us a chance to look around and waste some time,” Hermione suggested instead.

“You'd be sure to catch him up there,” the woman agreed, picking up her bag again. “Well, I've got to be off. It was nice to meet you--” she said, extending her hand and tilting her head to the side as if to inquire their names.

“Craig,” Ron replied without thinking, reaching out his hand to take hers.

“Nora,” Hermione replied the same, shaking the woman's hand.

And with that the young woman waved a hand and turned down the hallway, leaving Ron and Hermione in silence again.

“Why did you make up a name?” Hermione asked Ron when the woman had moved far enough away.

“I dunno, it just popped out,” Ron responded with a shrug. “And you did the same,” he pointed out.

“I was following your lead,” Hermione said with a smile.

“Bout time,” Ron teased as he turned to look at the door that the woman had exited from. It was much like the others in the hall; full of colorful papers and pictures. Ron's eyes drifted however to the name tag beside her door.

Elizabeth Young-Smith, Associate Professor of Graphic Design/Photography

Ron cocked a brow at the name, drawing Hermione's attention to where he was looking.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Young-Smith,” he said, gesturing towards the name and emphasizing the second name.

“Don't tell me you're thinking what I think you are,” she said rolling her eyes.

“She was wearing a ring,” Ron pointed out, not knowing why he'd noticed that. “And she's–very pretty,” he added.

Hermione shook her head in irritation.

“So because she was wearing a ring and she was pretty,” Hermione began. “That automatically means she's married to Harry?” she asked, still shaking her head.

“And the last name,” Ron pointed out.

“Don't jump to conclusions,” Hermione warned, dismissing the notion. “If she was his wife, I'm sure she'd know whether he was in class or not,” she pointed out in countering.

“You don't know where I am all the time...” Ron pointed out, earning him a heavy sigh and another shake of the head.

“Let's go upstairs,” Hermione cut across, gesturing for him to follow.

“Can we take the elevator this time?” Ron asked as he followed her down the hallway. He really didn't fancy walking another four floors of stairs.

“Fine,” Hermione agreed as she turned down a separate hallway that led to a pair of elevators. There was already a group of people standing there waiting for the elevators to arrive. Ron and Hermione joined the small group, but were only waiting a few moments when both elevators arrived simultaneously. They boarded the lift with three other people, Hermione pressing the button for the 7th floor as they entered.

The lift stopped on the 5th, letting one person off before the light above the door indicated they'd arrived on the 7th. Along with the two remaining occupants, Ron and Hermione exited the elevator, stepping out into the hallway.

This floor too opened up into a long, wide hallway with doors on either side. But these were much more spaced out than the floor with all the offices. There was a sign across the way that indicated the numbering of the rooms and which direction–either left or right. Hermione grabbed his hand again and they walked to the left, moving down the hallway.

Like the walk to the office, this one seemed to be much longer than actuality as the numbers on the doors ticked off towards 718.

But in only a matter of moments they were standing in front of the classroom. This door was closed too, as the office had been. But unlike his office, a long window alongside the door gave them a view inside.

There were several rows of computers that sat in sectioned off areas of a long table that seemed to run most of the length of the room. At each computer sat a student, their faces and attention turned away from their screens and towards an area at the front of the room that was hidden from the range of view the window provided.

Ron could hear someone speaking from inside even as it appeared everyone else was quietly listening. The voice was lower–definitely a man. But there wasn't much else in it that Ron could pick out or recognize. The walls and the closed door between them muffled the voice and drown out what actual words were being spoken.

Ron could not see the source of the voice and tell if it was indeed Harry, but he continued to watch the faces of those students he could see. Several of them were nodding in response to whatever was being said; some were taking notes along with it. And then suddenly there was a loud ripple of laughter from inside the room.

Whatever had been said, the students had certainly found it entertaining as a general murmur of amusement continued for a few more moments before they settled back down to listen to the lecture.

Ron looked down to find Hermione watching and listening just as intently as he'd been.

“Maybe we should go sit?” Hermione suggested when she noticed his attention. She gestured towards a bench area across the hall that they'd passed. “We can wait there until class is through...” she added quietly.

Ron nodded his agreement and allowed her to lead him over to the cushioned bench where the two of them sat down.

They sat in silence for the most part, each of them allowing their thoughts to stray to what the next moments might be like.

Ron couldn't believe they were here and that his best friend--who they thought they'd forever lost–was quite possibly mere steps away, separated only by a single wall.

This whole situation was like something out of a dream...or maybe nightmare. Ron hadn't really decided which one it was yet. He wasn't sure what ending would or could come of this, but a part of him was glad they were at least getting the chance to see.

The time passed a bit more quickly than Ron had realized and the door to room 718 opened and students began to exit. There was the general noise and motion of people gathering things and milling about, mixed in with the murmur of conversation. Hermione too drew herself back to attention as students began to file out and disperse.

There had to be at least fifty students that had left the room in the minutes since the door had opened and they'd yet to catch any glimpse of the tell-tale mop of black hair they'd been waiting for.

Slowly the trickle of students began to peter out and soon there didn't appear to be anyone else left. Ron looked at Hermione in slight alarm. Had they missed him somehow on his way out? Or had they not gotten the right classroom after all?

But just as soon as Ron was about to voice those thoughts aloud, movement at the door caught his eye.

A female student was standing in the door frame, her back pack slung over her shoulder. She had stopped just inside the classroom and seemed to be talking to someone just out of view. Ron could just make out what she was saying, but the other voice was still beyond his range.

“I've been trying to get a few of these photos accepted for the next art show,” the young woman said as she handed over a black folder to a hand that had reached out at her offering, it's owner still out of view. “But they want faculty approval or endorsement before they can even be considered for the gallery coming up.”

He heard a voice respond.

It was the same male voice that had kept the group of students engrossed during the lecture. He still couldn't make out the words, but there was something about the tone that made the hair on the back of Ron's neck stand as something deep in his mind clicked into recognition.

“I don't have any other art or photo classes semester besides this and I thought it wouldn't hurt maybe to ask you,” the girl added uncertainly.

“These are good,” was the appreciative response that she got as the second voice was no longer muffled. The figure had taken a step forward, setting the folder that he'd been given on the nearby table as if to survey the contents fully.

Ron's heart seemed to skip a beat, or perhaps it stopped working all together.

“I'd be happy to give you any endorsement you need,” the man said. “These are really creative.”

“Really?” the girl replied in disbelief. “Thank you.”

The young woman's excited response was lost, however, on Ron.

The words were void of any familiar accent and sounded slightly odd to Ron's ears. But there was no mistaking the voice. It was definitely deeper than it had been--that was to be expected with age.

His hair was longer, the dark black locks were shaggier and nearly reached the collar of the black pull-over fleece he was wearing. With his attention turned away from them, they could only survey him from behind. He was certainly a bit broader in the shoulders, but he still had that lanky, thin build he'd always had.

“And I'll see if I can't put in a word for you too. Dr. Dyson is in charge of submissions, I believe,” he heard Harry say. “Do I need to sign something for you to turn in?” he asked the student in confirmation.

She nodded and quickly reached into her bag and produced a sheet of paper, setting it on the table for him to sign. Ron watched as he produced a pen from his pocket and quickly filled in his information.

When he was done, he picked up both the paper and the black folio and handed it back to the girl.

“Let me know how this goes,” he added as the girl took back the items. “And...the angles that you used in those top two photos...try shooting from that same low vantage point when you do the next week's assignment for this class. You'll get some pretty neat results that way,” he suggested.

“Okay,” the young woman replied with an enthusiastic nod. “Thank you so much, Professor Smith.”

“No problem,” Harry replied. “See you in class again on Monday, Lauren.”

With an enthusiastic goodbye, the girl turned and exited the room, leaving Harry alone in the classroom.

Hermione's hand was tight in his own as the two of them watched Harry pick up his own bag, swinging it over his shoulders. He also gathered up a stack of papers, and tucked them under his arm as he turned and switched off the lights. Backing out of the room, he pulled the door closed behind him and turned up the hallway towards where they were still seated on the bench.

Ron's eyes were glued to the face that was now visible to them.

There was no denying anything now. In profile the features and contours of his face were unmistakeable. They were perhaps more squared and mature than the Harry he'd seen last as he'd battled Voldemort in the Hogwarts courtyard all those years ago...

But this was that same Harry as he should have been...Harry as a man.

The glimpse that they had of him proved fleeting, however, as he continued down the hallway. He walked right by Ron and Hermione as they sat the bench, giving no indication whatsoever he'd even realized anyone else was in the hallway.

Almost on instinct as he watched the retreating form, Ron stood up, pulling Hermione with him.

“What are you doing?” Hermione hissed as she was forced to stand.

“Let's just follow him for a while,” Ron answered as he began walking slowly down the hallway. “See where he goes...what he does...” Ron added. Hermione didn't seem to object as she continued to allow Ron to guide the both of them. The walked at a slower pace, allowing an appropriate distance between themselves and Harry as they followed.

It was so surreal to realize exactly who it was that they were following. Ron couldn't help but try and analyze everything about him–from the way he walked, to the way he was dressed. Harry's attire wasn't much different from some of the students they continued to pass. He wore a fitted black fleece pull-over and a pair of dark tan khakis; the footfalls of his dark brown shoes echoing slightly off the tiled floor. He looked good and healthy and there was relief there–seeing as Remus had told him about the horrific injuries Harry had suffered as a result of the final confrontation between he and Voldemort.

“He's going back to his office,” Hermione said quietly as they continued their slow pursuit, following Harry down the stairwell towards the lower levels. “Are we going to follow him there?” she asked as they paused a level up from Harry and watched as he opened the door that lead to the third floor hallway where the offices were.

Ron could only nod as he began the trek down the stairs again. Once they had reached the heavy metal door marked with a large “3”, they paused momentarily as Ron looked through the small window centered in the door.

“Here,” Ron said suddenly as he reached behind him and pulled something from his back pocket. Hermione watched as a cascade of shimmering silver fabric expanded in Ron's hands.

“Where did you get that?” she whispered in amazement as the silvery folds rustled in Ron's grip.

“I borrowed it from Ginny's place when I stopped by the other day,” Ron explained. “She didn't let Jackson take it to school this semester as part of his punishment–didn't want him getting into more trouble, I suppose...” he added. “She doesn't know I have it...But I figured it might have a use if we need to get in close without being detected.”

Hermione shook her head as if she couldn't believe that Ron had really just produced Harry's invisibility cloak. She knew Ginny had given Jackson the cloak his first Christmas at Hogwarts, but she hadn't actually seen it for years.

“We can't very well watch him for very long without him noticing and calling the police on the pair of stalkers we're about to become. Let's just get under it and see how close we can get,” Ron suggested with a smile as he lifted the cloak over the top of both of them. Hermione instinctively moved close to her husband as he let the fabric fall over their heads, hiding them from view.

“This brings back memories,” Hermione said with a mixture of amusement and disbelief at their current position. The times that they had used this cloak as a trio of teenagers to move about the castle undetected from the prying eyes of professors and staff, were too numerous to count.

Ron could only smile as he wrapped an arm around his wife's waist, pulling her closer so that they were both completely covered and hidden. He reached for the door handle, looking through the window once again to make sure the hall was clear.

“Let's go,” he whispered as he turned the handle and pulled the door open just enough so they could fit through. Quietly they slipped into the hall, gently closing the door behind them. Hand in hand, they walked down the hall towards his office once more.

To Ron's relief, office 328 was exactly where Harry had disappeared to in the time they had taken to hide under the cloak. And even better–the door was wide open.

Standing just outside the frame and hidden from everyone, Ron and Hermione got their first view into Harry's office. A small square room, identical to the countless others around it, he too had several shelves that housed a good number of books of all sizes and thickness. His walls were covered with a few posters, pictures and two frames that contained what looked like his diplomas.

There was also a small table pushed underneath the lone window on the back wall. Scattered across the table were what looked like mechanical parts–springs, small gears and metal rings. There seemed to be three different cameras, in various stages of repair and rebuilding, that were taken apart and lay strewn on the table top. While two of them seemed modern, one looked quite old, it's box-like shape open as it's internal workings were lay exposed. Next to the cameras and parts were several different screwdrivers and pliers of different shapes and sizes.

Opposite the back table and pushed against the wall space directly next the door, was a large wooden desk. From his view just outside the door, Ron could just make out part of Harry's side profile as he sat behind his desk.

He was just about to ask Hermione if she wanted to chance entering just inside the office, when he received an urgent push in the back that caused him to literally stumble into the office. Thankfully the cloak remained over the both of them as Hermione continued to force him into the office.

Ron was just about to voice his confusion aloud when he turned towards the door to find the reason for Hermione's actions.

Elizabeth Young-Smith, the dark-haired professor from next door who had greeted them earlier, was standing in the doorway, having just knocked gently on the wooden door to announce her presence. Hermione had pushed both of them inside to prevent her from running into their invisible forms.

But now they found themselves in a very precarious situation. While they had wanted to observe Harry up close, they were now in the middle of his office, stuck standing there with no way of escape and under the very real danger of being found out if they made a wrong move.

“Hey there,” Elizabeth greeted aloud as she stepped into the office and looked around.

Harry looked up from the screen of a laptop computer on his desktop that Ron could now see that he had been focusing on.

“Hi,” he greeted as he looked up, looking down momentarily to click at something on the screen using the mouse pad.

“Didn't think I was going to catch you here,” Elizabeth said in slight surprise. “I just talked to Dr. Dyson and wanted to let you know the department meeting is moved to Monday instead of this afternoon.”

“Right,” Harry said with slightly raised brows. “Yeah...I just read the email the office sent,” he added with a nod towards his computer.

“Why wouldn't I be here?” he asked secondarily as he cocked his head to the side in interest.

“Oh,” Elizabeth said in surprise. “It's just–I figured you'd have taken off straight from class–met up with your friends.”

“My friends?” he slowly repeated in confusion. The look he was giving her was completely Harry of old–his lack of comprehension evident in his expression. As he surveyed his friend, it was the first time that realized another difference in Harry's appearance–there were no glasses of any style obscuring those bright green eyes.

“Yeah...” Elizabeth replied, her confusion now showing in her response. “Right after you left for class, there were two people outside your office looking for you. Craig and Nora is what they said their names were. I sent them upstairs and they were going to wait outside the lab,” she explained.

Harry now looked thoroughly confused and he brought a hand to massage his chin as he seemed to be searching his mind for the recognition of the names Elizabeth had given him.

Ron felt Hermione squeeze his hand tighter as they watched the scene unfold. He looked down to meet her own worried gaze.

“Did they leave a last name?” Harry asked, shaking his head slowly.

“No,” Elizabeth replied. “They just said they'd heard you were teaching here and they wanted to say hello. They said they were old friends,” she added.

“Huh,” Harry let out under his breath as he seemed to be totally befuddled by what she was telling him. “Names don't ring a bell,” he added truthfully as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck–a move that he'd seen Harry do probably a thousand times when they were young. It was an involuntary habit that came out when he was nervous or when he was contemplating something.

“It was a man and a woman–husband and wife, I think,” she added. “They were British, actually...”

At those last words, the hand on the back of his neck stopped moving and he turned his head away, seemingly staring off into the corner space where the walls met.

“Evan?” Elizabeth interrupted the silence.

He looked back at her a few seconds later, looking a bit uneasy along with his confusion now.

“I'm going to feel really stupid now if I run into them and don't remember their names,” Harry responded with a slight laugh, but it seemed a bit forced and there was still an uneasiness about him.

“I've done it before,” Elizabeth reassured him with a smile. “Last year I ran into a girl I went to high school with and I went a good five minutes into a conversation before I had to ask her name. I was embarrassed and I'm sure she was a bit offended that I hadn't recognized her.”

Harry gave her a smile that seemed to show his appreciation for sharing her own experience, but he still seemed to be preoccupied with the fact that he could not recall the names she'd given him.

“I'm sure if they really want to find me, they'll stop by,” Harry added with a shrug.

Elizabeth nodded and seemed content to drop the current conversation.

“So...up to anything this weekend?” she asked him with a smile.

Ron felt Hermione shift beside and looked down to find her watching this exchange with rapt interest. She had dismissed his quick assumption before that Young-Smith meant she was with Harry–well, Evan. But even though it didn't seem that they were married, Elizabeth did seem to be quite friendly with him, as though perhaps they were more than colleagues...

Harry shook his head.

“Stay in most likely,” he told her. “I've got papers to go over, photo projects to grade and critique and I've got to start putting together the mid-term for my Intro class,” he said tiredly, rubbing a hand across his face as though just the thought of the work he had to do was exhausting.

“Plus...Sophie's staying home this weekend,” Harry added with a smile of his own. “So I'm sure we'll be doing some more settling in. It's been months and we still haven't unpacked everything. She's still got things in boxes in the basement that she's been after me to get at. I'll have to try and find the time to get at that, I suppose...”

As he listened to Harry speak, there was a part of Ron that had deflated a bit.

He may not be married or involved with Elizabeth Smith-Young, but Harry was certainly living with this Sophie woman he'd spoken about. And when he had mentioned her name, a smile had returned to his face that made Ron believe that she was more than a roommate...

Ron had said that he wanted Harry happy, even if that meant he'd be married to some stranger with children of his own. But the selfish bit of him, the bit that still believed that everything would right itself and Harry'd be reunited with the family he'd lost, was trying to rear it's ugly head.

“How's Sophie doing?” Elizabeth asked with a smile of her own.

“Really good,” Harry replied with a nod. “She misses Buffalo, I know...but we're both settling in finally,” he admitted.

“That's good to hear,” Elizabeth replied. “You'll have to bring her by again sometime.”

“Yeah...I'll have to,” Harry agreed.

“Well...I'm going to get going,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “I'm going to take advantage of my afternoon off now that the meeting is moved and finally get my long run in for the week,” she added.

“Have fun,” Harry offered with a laugh.

“I'm scheduled to do 12 miles...you could tag along...” she teased.

“Surprisingly enough...that doesn't sound like a whole lot of fun,” he replied with a smile. “So I'll pass.”

“Running relieves stress...clears the mind,” Elizabeth offered.

“Running causes blisters and hinders the ability to move and get out of bed the next day,” Harry countered with a laugh.

“To each his own,” Elizabeth said with a wave and smile before she turned to leave.

“See you Monday, Liz,” he added in farewell as he shook his head.

“Do you want me to close this for you?” she added, gesturing towards the door.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Close it,” he added with a nod.

“Alright...bye, Evan,” she said in farewell as she pulled the door shut behind her, leaving Ron and Hermione frozen under the invisibility cloak, out of view, but trapped in the room.

Ron could scarcely breathe and he could feel Hermione trembling slightly beside him as she tried to remain as still as possible. It was extremely quiet in the small room and Ron was sure that the sound of his heart beating against his ribcage would surely give them away.

But Harry had turned back to his laptop and was typing away, seemingly oblivious to anything that might be off in his tiny office. After a few minutes of typing and clicking, he reached over towards a jumble of papers on the other side of his desk and pulled one out of the middle of the stack. He held it in front of himself for a moment, looking back and forth from the paper to the screen as if double checking something.

With a heavy sigh he finally set it down, leaning way back in his chair as he ran both hands along the side of his head, pulling his hair back with the motion. He interlocked and laced his fingers together behind his head, cradling it with his hands. He leaned even further back, causing his chair to creak as he lifted his feet up onto his desk.

He stayed like that for several minutes, eyes closed and face towards the ceiling. He appeared still, but his face relayed that he was still contemplating and thinking behind those closed lids.

When the silence was finally broken and he spoke again, Ron nearly jumped at the sound.

“That's fucking crazy,” he said, his voice louder in the quiet room as he shifted back to a sitting position. “That's just...” he began again, but trailed off shaking his head as he let out a long unsteady breath.

With a sudden movement, Harry pushed himself from his chair and stood up. Before either Ron or Hermione could react he had strode towards them, his hand reaching out towards Ron.

Ron just managed to move his shoulder before Harry's hand collided with it. Instead of grasping a fistful of the invisibility cloak, Harry's hand instead closed around the metal handle of a filing cabinet, which he pulled slightly open.

Ron didn't dare breathe now as Harry stood mere inches away, leaning over the top drawer, looking down into it as if debating whether to reach in or not was causing him physical pain.

“No,” Harry said quietly to himself as he shook his head. “No...you don't need one,” he reassured himself as he slammed the drawer shut and stepped away. He stood there for a moment, taking slow deep breaths. He closed his eyes, as if steeling himself.

When he opened them, he turned his head slightly so that he was looking directly at where Ron and Hermione stood invisible.

Although he knew they couldn't be seen, the gaze in their direction was unnerving. It was the first time he had gotten a clear look of Harry, full-on and close up.

He was older.

There was the start of crows feet around his eyes, which themselves still retained that unnaturally bright and clear green color that Ron had only ever seen on one other person. There was also a noticeable scar that started just underneath his left eyebrow, the white line crossing faintly over his eyelid towards the corner of his eye and across the top of his cheekbone where it faded.

The one mark, however, that Ron expected to be the dead giveaway was not there. There was no sign or even faint remnant of the famed lightening scar. The skin on his forehead and the rest of his face was unmarred, the only marks being the wear of time. Like himself, Harry was no longer the smooth-skinned, baby-faced 18 year old that Ron could still picture vividly.

Weather and time had had their effects in making him look older now, as did the shadow of a half-day's worth of dark stubble just visible on his jawline and around his mouth.

Ron couldn't deny that in the past few years, his own bright red hair had experienced a bit of thinning and graying and his hairline was just beginning to inch back. Harry, Ron saw with a slight twinge of jealousy, still had a full head of thick, extremely black hair. He had even seemed to have tamed the unruly mop, wearing it in a longer, more modern style than Ron could remember him having, as his dark locks fell casually and quite coolly around his face and across his forehead.

The angles of his face were sharper, his cheekbones high and squared, only adding to the maturity of his features. It was easy to see now just where Jackson had gotten his looks from–even more so than when compared to old pictures of Harry. The resemblance between father and son was even more striking–if that were even possible.

Harry looked well and healthy and--even Ron could admit it–he was a very good-looking man.

Just as soon as it seemed Harry's eyes had fell in their direction, he turned away, moving back towards his desk. He reached for the third drawer of his desk, hastily pulling it open and reaching inside. He produced a small square box from inside, quickly opening it and pulling out a square sheet of silver. His fingers shaking slightly, he pushed on the sheet, popping out a small white square of what looked like gum. He quickly shoved the gum into his mouth, his jaw immediately working as he began to chew.

Harry let out a sigh, which was a mixture of satisfaction and frustration as he continued to chew. He gave himself another self-chastising shake of the head before he sat down again heavily in his desk chair and turned his attention to his computer.

Not sure exactly what that last sequence was about, Ron looked down to gauge Hermione's reaction. But to his surprise, he found her instead fighting a silent battle with herself as she seemed to be struggling to keep a sneeze at bay.

But even with all her effort and attempts to hold it in, a slightly muffled sneeze escaped as she tried to stifle it with her hand.

Harry froze at his desk, his fingers stopping their ministrations in mid-type. He turned his head slightly in their direction, his attention definitely attuned to the sneeze he had just heard.

Hermione looked up, giving Ron a horrified look just before another sneeze racked her body–this one without the benefit of a hand to muffle the sound. It was loud and echoed within the small room. There was no way that this one could be passed off as sound coming from another office or the hallway.

And it seemed that Harry realized this too and didn't seem to be able to dismiss the noise.

He remained frozen as he faced his screen, but his hands were now on either side of the computer, resting on the desktop. They were not idle, however. He was slowly flexing them, as if readying to defend himself against whatever was in the room with him if need be.

But it was the sound of his voice in the quiet office that made both Ron and Hermione jump.

“I don't know what you came here for,” Harry said in a steady tone, still staring straight ahead, his body tense. “But I can't give you anything. I can't help you,” he continued as he swallowed heavily.

Hermione looked up at Ron, her expression mirroring the same confusion Ron was feeling. Harry shouldn't and couldn't remember anything–and yet he was speaking as though addressing an empty room was not a completely and utterly insane concept to him.

“Please...just leave me alone,” Harry said into the quietness.

His voice was uneasy and Ron could hear the slight tremor in his tone as he spoke.

Ron wanted to say something, to assure his best mate that they weren't there to demand anything of him–but once again, Hermione sprang into action first.

Before Ron could react, Hermione had pulled the cloak from from over the top of them. In one motion they were exposed, the protective barrier between them and the rest of the world removed.

The sound of the rustle of the fabric falling away caused Harry to look up.

There were a myriad of emotions that seem to pass over Harry's features as his eyes locked onto the two people that had suddenly appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the middle of his office. His jaw had initially dropped, his mouth open in apparent shock.

Ron half expected Harry to jump out of his chair and scramble away from them or try to escape. But once the succession of emotions of all levels surprise and shock ran their gamut over his face, he instead slowly turned his head and body back forwards towards his computer. Harry then raised both hands to his face, pressing heels of his palms over his eyes.

“Oh, God,” he breathed out in complete disbelief. “Oh...shit,” he added as he opened his hands so that they covered his entire face, muffling his quiet exclamation slightly.

Perhaps the shock and unbelievability in what had just transpired before his eyes was enough to render hm incapable of any extreme reaction...

“I know this seems completely unbelievable,” Hermione's calm voice of reason spoke softly. “People don't just materialize out of nowhere–but we'd like to try to explain.”

Still behind his hands, which had moved further down his face to cover his nose and mouth, Harry let out a huff of disbelief at Hermione's statement that they could explain any of this.

“We're not here to ask anything of you or take anything from you, Evan,” Hermione continued. At the sound of his name being spoken by apparent strangers, he dropped his hands from his face and focused his gaze downward.

“We're not here to hurt you,” Hermione reassured him, her voice gentle and soothing.

“I know that, Hermione.”

The sound of Hermione's name itself sounded odd spoken with the tones of an American accent. But the fact that it had been spoken aloud at all was mind-boggling. It was now Ron and Hermione's turn to be completely shocked.

“What?” was the only response that could be mustered and it was Hermione who made the exclamation.

“I know you guys won't hurt me,” Harry said quietly. “I–I just can't believe this is happening,” he murmured to himself.

You can't believe this is happening?” Ron blurted out. “You're not even supposed to know us. You're not supposed to remember...”

“If you'd have shown up here about three months ago, I wouldn't have had any clue who you were,” Harry responded. “And I'd have been convinced myself that I was absolutely crazy right about now,” he admitted.

“So...you remember everything?” Hermione asked. “You know who we are? Who you really are?”

Harry nodded.

“How is that possible?” Ron asked, shaking his head in bewilderment.

“I don't know...” Harry responded truthfully, looking up and meeting Ron and Hermione's eyes, looking as though he couldn't believe who was actually standing there.

“I really can't explain--” Harry started to say after he'd tried again to force away his disbelief with a shake of his head. But the sound of knocking at the door interrupted him in mid-sentence.

“Crap,” he breathed out as he looked up at the clock hanging on the wall above his desk. “I've got a meeting with a student. He's been missing class...falling behind...” he added in a flustered explanation.

“We can go,” Hermione told him. “We'll let you take care of things...this sounds important.”

There was part of Ron that wanted to argue and protest that they should stay, that this was more important. There so much that had just happened in the span of minutes really and now they were leaving.

Harry nodded his appreciation as another knock came at the door.

“If you two want to wait–maybe in the lobby downstairs,” Harry said carefully. “I can meet you down there and we can go somewhere to talk...figure things out,” he added.

“We'll be down there,” Hermione assured him. “Take your time.”

Harry nodded.

With that, Hermione reached for the door and opened it. Standing there was a dark-haired young man, his arm paused in mid-air as he was just about to knock again.

“Sorry,” he apologized as he lowered his arm.

“Come on in, Jake,” Harry told the young man, the emotion of the last few minutes pushed out of his voice as he attempted to compose himself for the meeting.

Ron and Hermione stepped past the young man, leaving the office and allowing him to enter. They watched as the wooden door swung shut behind them, once more separating Harry from them. But this time, the parting would only be temporary...
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