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Chapter 5: The failure

When Harry finally come to his senses the first thing that he notices is the soft bed he is lying on. Next is the ache in his abused body.

The pain is much less than he expected after what he's been trough. It's dull, more like a hum in his bones and skin and between, rather than the sharp and unyielding pain it had been at the moment he had blacked out. And the magic. It's all around him like a ghost breeze of wind outside any building is.

Carefully, slowly, Harry opens his green eyes to see the world around him.

"Harry!"

Hermione is there right next to him and immediately Harry is melting under her worried gaze. Those warm brown eyes and mess of a hair rouse a feeling of nostalgia Harry is completely unprepared to face. How long has it been since he has last seen the smartest part of the Golden Trio? Months, at least.

"Hello, 'Mione," Harry rasps out. His throat is awfully dry from not using it. "Water?"

The glass in placed on his hand and greedily he gulps down the whole thing in one go. His thirst satisfied, Harry smiles at the woman next his hospital bed. His warm, fuzzy, safe feeling is destroyed when his eyes focus on the terrifying look on his best friend's face.

"Harry James Potter," Hermione all but growls out. "You better explain yourself before I hex your sorry ass to the next century. And don't you dare to think I wouldn't do it!"

Awkwardly Harry laughs at her but sobers quickly. Instead he smiles at Hermione, his face all apologetic.

"You know how it goes Hermione, the trouble seems to find me wherever I go."

"Indeed," she bites sharply, "but I never even fathomed that they would follow you into Muggle World as well, of all places."

"I'm sorry I caused you worry," Harry says with complete honesty, grasping her hand into his own. The witch with bushy brown hair sighs deeply but grasps Harry's hand just as firmly.

"You really did. I mean really, Harry? You got shot!"

"Ah, yes," Harry's other hand ghosts over his shoulder. "It was really an accident, I assure you."

"Of course it was. It's not like you to go looking for trouble, is it?"

The sarcasm is clear but it still makes the wizard chuckle.

"Honestly, what are we going to with you?" Hermione sighs again, shaking her head. "You scared us half to death. Again. Can you imagine what it is like to get a phone call like that?"

"Where is Ron by the way?" Harry raises his head from the comfy pillow to look around in the white hospital room. There is no one else there so he probably got a private one. "Where is Mycroft?"

"Uh, your employer is being… contained. He's with Ron, so don't worry."

That makes Harry jump upright and he immediately regrets the action as pain shoots trough his left shoulder and his side. He manages to breath out the words with a hiss.

"But the oath I took… Mycroft is-.. He shouldn't know about-!"

"It's okay! Lie back down, Harry! The bullet seriously injured your shoulder so you shouldn't move for a while. And what comes of the oath, well..," she sniffs angrily and her hold on Harry's palm tightens. "I got Robards to lift it. That absolute moron shouldn't have made you swear it anyway."

The phrase makes Harry's eyebrows lift so high they almost shoot off his forehead.

"Did you just call the Head of the Auror Office a moron?"

"He was certainly acting like one!" Hermione argues heatedly and finally lets go of Harry's hand to stressfully comp her hand trough her hazard hair. "He acts like a pompous arse sometimes. I admit, I do understand his concern with you working with the so-called British Government, and I completely understand his concern regarding our world but he should have known better! It's you, Harry! He should have known that you are probably the only person on this planet who does not need to swear that oath. You know exactly what happens to the people who abuse magic. Robards could have just asked you to keep everything secret. Instead he went on and put you in danger like that and I-," Hermione gasps for breath, her pretty face twisted in anger and fear, "and I just cannot accept that. I just can't."

She sniffs again and fiddles with the edge of bed sheet.

"Maybe I am biased in thinking this way because you are my friend but he should have known better. He should have!"

"It's alright, 'Mione. Hey," Harry waves his hand to gain the witch's attention once more, "thanks for sticking up for me."

"Well of course I did, silly," Hermione's face splits into toothy grin, "but don't you dare to get shot again. Do that for me, okay?"

"I will do my absolute best to ensure that," the black haired man promises. They remain silent for a while, before Harry gains enough courage to ask the question that has been weighing him down during the whole conversation.

"So… What happens now?"

"It depends on what you want to do," the witch absently continues to tug the sheet with her fingers. "Would you like me to Obliviate Mr. Holmes?"

"No!"

The force in which the word leaves him startle the both of them. After the surprise, Hermione's smile softens.

"Well, that means that you can continue working with him. Robards said you can tell him what is absolutely necessary. Being what he is - a wonderfully clever man - Mr. Holmes will probably start putting pieces together in any case. However, Robards was very clear on keeping the information to bare minimum."

"I can work with that," Harry huffs out with relief. "Will you fill me up on what happened?"

"Of course. It was all very exciting and all, but you did scare us halfway to our graves. When I got the phone call, I immediately gathered together a medical team and we got to you as fast as we could. Harry, when you were lying on that floor…"

Hermione's brown eyes fill up with tears but she manages to blink to the ceiling and contain them. She swipes rest on her sleeve and seems to gather herself.

"I thought you were dead, Harry. That is a sight that I never want to re-live again but it will probably follow me into nightmares. There was so much blood… The bullet on your upper body had destroyed you shoulder point and it would have left you permanently crippled if it were not for the healers. Also, it had punctured the brachial artery which made you almost bleed out. Miraculously the bullet on your side did less damage, missing the vital organs. Some damage was done there too, so it would be for the best if you stayed in bed for a while."

"What about Mycroft?" Harry asks eagerly. "Is Mycroft alright? He wasn't hit, was he?"

"No, no, he was fine… Shocked, of course, but otherwise fine."

"I see," Harry relaxes back on the bed and stares thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"He is a bit strange, isn't he?" Hermione claims suddenly, fiddling now with the strand of hair.

"You mean Mycroft?" Harry chuckles. "Yeah, he is a wonder."

"And very… Intimidating. The way he reads people, it's like…"

"Like magic? I thought so myself but no, he is a muggle through and through. Not a flicker of magic in him."

"Fascinating," Hermione mumbles more to herself than Harry. "After being used to Magical World, I never thought I would find something from the Muggle World that could compete with it. Mr. Holmes is something else entirely."

Dark laugh escapes Harry's lungs.

"Hey, hey… Don't you steal him from me, 'Mione!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," she chuckles warmly back at him. Then she quiets down and the most regular of her looks fall upon her face once more: worry.

"You like him, don't you?"

Harry is about to deny it. He really is, mostly out of habit than anything else. Changing his mind, he merely sighs and rubs his face with his healthy hand.

"Yes, well… He is… He is exactly what I need, Hermione. With him I can refocus myself. I'm more in control, I'm fast, clever… And he needs me 'Mione and I like that. I like being needed."

"Being who you are - what you are - I'm not actually too surprised by the state of things," Hermione agrees slowly, mind clearly whirring with thoughts, "but I just want to remind you, that people with strong personalities are the most interesting of people. And I'm sure that was what made him notice you."

"You are afraid that he is somehow pushing down my personality?" Harry almost laughs at the witch. "Can you actually see me agreeing on that?"

"No. But I don't think you're even seeing it. I just want you to not make him the centre of your universe, Harry. Because he isn't."

"I know he isn't!"

"And I know you know. For now at least, and I'd like to keep things that way. You cannot deny that you have this way of… being sucked into things. I need you to remember to be your own person."

"You're not making much sense, 'Mione."

"I'm making perfect sense!" Hermione argues. "We both know what happened during the war. You… modified yourself to became what people needed of you because you were declared the Chosen One. But you don't have to do that anymore."

The way Hermione takes hold of his hand again is the only reason why Harry isn't bursting with arguments of his own.

"You don't have to, Harry. Please, give yourself a chance to enjoy this life. You have something good going on with Mr. Holmes, I get that vibe off the two of you. You don't have to become your job. And I'm sure Mr. Holmes doesn't just want an assistant." The woman's facial features soften and a small smile turns the corners of her mouth upwards. "He wants Harry as well."

"I've been skirting around the idea of… of having a relationship with him," Harry mutters, his eyes cast away from his friend, "but the job was more important. Because at least with the job I could be around him. If I were to push my… affections upon him, it could all go south from there."

"If you want to keep playing it safe, then you can," Hermione nods slowly in agreement, "but are you sure you're ready to sacrifice what could be?"

They both stay silent for a long while before a sarcastic snort escapes Harry. He has never been very good with long silences.

"My life just can't get less complicated, huh?"

That makes the brown haired woman laugh merrily.

"Oh, Harry. At least that's a normal problem."

"Me? Normal? Shed the idea at once, woman!"

"Oh, come on you!"

"If you two are quite done?"

The two magic wielders jump and turn to stare at Ron Weasley, who has just barged trough the doors. His gaze meets two pairs of wide eyes.

"I have a almost hysterical muggle - who can hide that damn well by the way - on my hands and you two are here, giggling?"

Ron's face is almost as red as his hair, his breath coming out in great puffs. He strides to Harry's hospital bed and takes a seat across from his wife.

"He is driving me crazy, Harry! All the damn questions! If he wasn't so important to you, I would be delighted to stun him just to shut him up!"

"You mean Mycroft?" Harry asks with furrowed eyebrows. "He is hysterical?"

"Well, I think he is." Ron is looking a bit bewildered himself and shrugs. "That's usually what happens to muggles who discover our world or see a glimpse of it. They panic, go trough hysteria, then defiance and finally acceptance. Of course, as you like being around weird people, he seems to be very good at hiding these things."

"You do realize you just badmouthed yourself?"

"Not my point and certainly wasn't my intention. Anyway, I need you to figure out what you're going to do with him. And fast."

Harry and Ron look at each other until Ron's breathing has calmed down. The ginger clears his throat. The stubble he has makes him looks years older than he is. Might have something to do with the bags under his eyes as well.

"And I'm bloody happy to see you in one piece, mate."

Harry chuckles at his friend.

"Yeah, great to see you too. How's work?"

"Yeah, been great. Been busy. Very busy, Hermione has had to rub my feet every evening to relief the stress."

Harry recoils in disgust.

"Ugh, wow… Do your feet still stink as bad as they used to?"

"Oh believe me," Hermione adds slowly, "they do."

"I guess for the sake of love…"

"That's not a sacrifice. That's suicide."

"Totally exaggerating."

"So not, I have years of experience for proof."

"Ditto here. Now I feel sorry for myself."

"I feel sorry for you too, 'Mione."

"Enough with the self-pity, you two!"

"Easy for you to say!"

"Hey, I have to live with my feet!"

"You do realize you just made fun of yourself. Again."

"Oh come off of it. My wife is clever so I don't have to be."

"Ron!"

"Just joking, honey. Totally joking."

Hermione glares at Ron for a while longer before turning to the matter at hand.

"I guess the question remains the same: what happens next?"

The black haired man slowly exhales and places the glasses on his nightstand back on his nose.

"Well, I can actually have a guess at that… I'm going to get sacked."

The word "contained" which Hermione had used to describe the situation Mycroft was in was quite fitting. Otherwise than being a bit pale and dapping his forehead casually with his white handkerchief once in a while, Mycroft Holmes did not show any signs of stress. Or, as a matter of fact, any signs that would tell that he had almost been killed.

While Harry had been unconscious, bleeding and barely breathing Mycroft was only left with the choice to wait in the room next to the operating room. The man with hideous stubble and flaming red hair had made sure of that.

The Unit, Ron had said, this was a matter of the Unit now and they would take care of Harry.

And for once in his life, Mycroft was left with only the choice to allow that to happen. The doors were locked without actual locks or doorhandles, his phone was dead and there were no windows. If Harry hadn't shown any faith in these people in the past, Mycroft would have acted. Instead, he had decided to have faith in Harry.

Of that, Harry himself was now glad. Dread filled him slowly from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. What made it worse was the fact that he wasn't even allowed to get up to meet his employer. He felt strangely vulnerable.

He could hear Mycroft's steps as they grew near to his bed and slowly Harry turned to meet his grey eyes.

"Hello, Harry," Mycroft said slowly, his weight leaning on the umbrella.

"Hello," Harry answered just as slowly but much more unsurely. He felt how the grey eyes scanned the small nicks on his face that were still angry red. They would leave no scars, he had been told.

"I know what you're going to say," Harry grunts and turns his eyes to face the wall.

"Do you now?"

"And I know what you want to ask. But I have no answers for you," the dark haired man explains carefully, his voice barely a whisper. "I imagine you are tired of not having answers."

"It is not pleasant sensation, no."

"Yeah… I bet not," there's a humorless laugh. "That is just how I know what you're going to do."

"Which in this case would be..?"

"You're going to fire me."

Harry has to swallow hard. He can feel his Adam's apple pop. The dread has completely engulfed him and he has to force the words out.

"Because how could you work with someone who can't tell you anything about themselves. About who he is. About what he has done. It would be too great of a risk to you."

Harry's fingers are twitching.

"But of course, that's not the only reason."

"Do tell."

"I'm your bodyguard," Harry states the obvious, "and the minute I had to resolve in using my own body as a shield meant failure. I'm a professional. I know that when things come to that you have already failed. Bodyguard's duty is not act as a live human-shield. It is to prevent things ever escalating to that. To take enough precautions. Preventative action."

He has to swallow again and close his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, Mycroft hasn't moved.

"You should go," the wizard says quietly. "Ask Hermione to take you home. Or back to your office"

"Yes," Mycroft agrees quietly, still eyeing Harry. "I should."

"Then why aren't you going?"

"Why did you take the bullet?"

Harry's lips are tightly pressed together for a moment before answering.

"Isn't the question; why wouldn't I have taken it?"

"To prove you professionalism, your loyalty, the first bullet would have been more than sufficient. Your job would have been fulfilled," there is a break and then the Man continues with curiosity in his voice, "but no, after the first one, you forced yourself to move, to save me. And took another shot. Without any hesitation. Why?"

Once again, without humor, Harry laughs.

"Well why do you think? What does it even matter?"

"It was very impressive. It was like you couldn't even feel the pain."

"It's not that I don't feel pain," tiredness has crawled into Harry's voice while Mycroft's is turning into steel. "It's just that I'm not afraid of getting hurt anymore. Remind me again, why are we having this conversation? Shouldn't you be heading back to London?"

"Why did you take the bullet?"

"'Why?'"

Harry is getting angry now. Why couldn't Mycroft just leave already and leave him in peace. He had things to do now. Mostly, wallowing in self-pity for the rest of his life.

"I took the bullet because taking it hurt less than the loneliness before it. Because not taking it would have meant losing you."

Behind his glasses Harry can see Mycroft's hand tightening on the handle of the umbrella. His own breath is strangely short. Erratic beating of his heart makes him briefly fear the possibility of an heart-attack.

Then the man in the three-piece suit moves closer and sits on the edge of the bed, facing away from Harry. They stay there, completely still for a second before Mycroft speaks.

"For the longest time," he starts and surprises Harry with how hesitant his voice is. "Real people have held no interest for me. For the longest time, I thought Sherlock was an idiot because as children we had nothing else to go on. That was, of course, before we met other people. Real people."

He looks at Harry from the corner of his eye.

"If I thought Sherlock was slow, how do you imagine the rest of the world seemed to me?"

The green eyed man stares at the other in wonder. Of course he is aware of Mycroft's intelligence. He has seen his brain at work and it is magnificent, breathtaking even. He is jolted out of his thoughts when the other man continues.

"Do you have any idea how interesting you were? I looked at you and I could read your emotions as clear as a day, written across your features. But everything else… it didn't… fit. I looked at you and you weren't playing by my rules. It was like you were not even part of this world."

"You're exaggerating," Harry murmurs, his green eyes slightly wide.

"I do not tend to."

Mycroft's fingertips are faintly tapping on the umbrella.

"I felt like I was awake for the first time in years."

Somewhere in the distance, Harry can hear rain banging on the hospital roof. Everything else but Mycroft and his voice and the rain have blurred out of focus.

"I felt like I had been working on automatic before you snapped me out of it. And my God, did it feel intoxicating."

Breath is now altogether stuck in his throat. Harry might faint. He doesn't want to, but he might.

"So, no, Harry, I am not going to fire you. I will even refrain from asking you any question for now, if you just… if you can in any way be coaxed to come back to London with me, I would be delighted."

Don't faint, Harry frantically begs himself. Deep breath fills his lungs and he rubs the dancing white and black spots out of his eyes. Mycroft is still talking.

"I am of course hoping that we'll be leaving this building together. We have some work to do after all, the man that shot you, for example… He needs to be removed from the equation."

Harry wants these stupid wounds to heal right now. In this instance. How he is going to explain the thought-reading to Mycroft in the future, he doesn't know. He doesn't even care. The Unbreakable Vow doesn't concern him anymore and he is free to do as he wishes. There'll be right time and place for that conversation but it isn't right now. But soon, very soon. When Mycroft is ready.

"Harry," the ginger haired man is tense, his knuckles white. "You are very quiet."

"Nobody plans a murder out loud," he instantly answers and tension leaves his employer. There's tiny smile that rises on those thin lips and a huge one on Harry's own. The wizard also makes notice of the plain relief on the man's shoulders.

"So, what is our first move?"

There is something weird, something different about how the light hits those steely grey eyes. A hand leaves the umbrella handle and pats Harry's tight like people do when they are relieved that someone close to them has survived in hospital.

"Well, my dear friend," Mycroft says softly. "I've been thinking of getting a goldfish."

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