A/N: Update Wednesdays are back!

As always, thanks to my fabulous beta vancabreuniter. She saved you guys from more than one plot hole and timeline problem, so you should be grateful, too :) Credit and effusive thanks go to J. K. Rowling for the characters, settings, magic, future career choices, and even a chunk of the timeline.

Speaking of which, this is set the fall—er, autumn—of 1999, just after Ginny and Hermione graduate from Hogwarts. Harry and Ron have been in Auror training for a year. Because of their war experience and the chaos of the Ministry post-Voldemort, they are being expedited through the Auror Academy and are scheduled to complete their training in about eighteen months instead of the usual three years. Also, Harry and Ginny refer to their time at Hogwarts from their own perspectives; if Harry says "third year," think PoA. If Ginny says "third year," think GoF.

Enjoy!

Monday, late afternoon

The lift doors opened. "Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services." Harry and Ron exchanged a "let's just get this over with" look.

"You haven't answered my question." Harry opened the door to Auror Headquarters. "How are we going to explain this to Robards?"

"I can't believe you're worried about our boss." Ron dodged the trailing hem of Harry's torn robes. "The real question is, how are we going to explain this to—"

"Where are they?" demanded a shrill, bossy voice.

Both men dove for the nearest cubicle. Everyone's attention was on the screeching witch in the corner office, which was unfortunate, as the sight of two grown men—war heroes, no less!—peeking nervously over the top of a 54" barrier was highly entertaining.

"St. Mungo's says they've already been discharged. I know they have to report in, so where are they?"

"Can you disarm her?" Ron whispered, bent nearly in half to shrink his extensive height into hiding. "You'll only get one chance."

"You should do it." Crouching on the desk, Harry raised one hand to ensure his untidy black hair wasn't revealing their position. "I can't be as—persuasive with her as you can."

Ron risked a glance around the divider's edge. "I can't see her from here, and I can hardly be persuasive at work. You look like hell—when she hugs you just wince and give her puppy eyes. She'll turn to mother hen in no time."

"I coached Ron through Stealth and Tracking, you can't hide them from me!"

"That was hot," Ron moaned, his head falling back against the payday schedule charmed to the wall.

"Pay attention," Harry hissed, trying not to imagine how their assignments in Stealth and Tracking could be turned into sex games. "And I don't do puppy eyes."

Ron opened his only to roll them at his best mate. "Pretend you're asking her to look over your Transfiguration homework. You know, one part desperation, two parts hopeful, a dash of Chosen One misery—"

There was a shattering crash. Harry vaulted the barrier and pointed his wand at his boss's open door.

"Expelliarmus!"

A red-faced, bushy-haired witch nearly beat her wand out of the room. "HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

Harry tried to follow Ron's advice, but Hermione was making no move to hug him and he would never have asked her to look over his homework when she was like this. "Hullo, Hermione."

"Give me my wand," she said, hand outstretched.

"Give me my wand."

Harry jerked his gaze past Hermione to meet the very disgruntled face of the Head of the Aurors. Belatedly, he realized his spell had disarmed both occupants of the room he directed it into. Something slipped into his hand; Ron was passing him Robards's wand.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, tossing it back. "It was—" He was going to say "an accident," but that was his planned explanation for the fiasco that got him in this predicament and Harry wasn't sure that excuse would work once, much less twice. "I was just trying—" He was trying to keep Hermione from destroying Robards's office, but saying so implied Robards was incapable.

"Scared of a witch with a wand, Harry? Too bad there's not a bucket of water nearby."

Most of his coworkers wouldn't catch the Muggle reference, but it was still insulting. He glared at her, tempted to cast a good Aguamenti, but then he'd just be facing a wet, angry witch. Harry wasn't convinced Hermione was calm enough to refrain from hexing him or Ron, but refusing to return her wand did make it look like he was afraid of her. Which he was, but the whole Auror Headquarters didn't need to know that. He smacked her wand into her open palm.

"You three can have interrogation four," Robards said. "Miss Granger, I expect to still have two functioning Auror trainees when you leave this office."

()()()()

Interrogation four—what a stupid name for a room!—was located just outside Robards's office and surrounded by glass on three sides. Hermione supposed this was to allow for subtle intimidation, for the accused to feel exposed and vulnerable, and hoped it worked on Ron and Harry. Two days!

"Two days," she spat, rounding on them as Ron closed the door. "You've been cleared for independent missions for two days and you nearly get yourselves killed!"

"It wasn't that ba—"

"You promised me. We stood right there—" she pointed to Harry's and Ron's cubicles across the bullpen—"and you promised you'd be careful, no unnecessary risks, no heroics. You promised—" She'd just noticed the dark stain splattering Ron's chest, and felt her own blood drain out of her face.

He's still standing, he's fine. Stay angry, Hermione. Think about how stupidly they acted, how irresp—

"I can't believe how incredibly irresponsible you were, both of you." She threw an extra glare at Harry. "Nine months hunting Horcruxes, both battles at Hogwarts, and you nearly buy it over a Devil's Snare in the Malfoy gardens!"

"It was more than—"

"First year!" Hermione stabbed her finger in Ron's chest, ignoring his wince. "I taught you how to recognize Devil's Snare in first year, but do you ever listen? You just took off, no orders, no back-up—"

"We had reliable intelligence that some Death Eaters were sighted. We think they thought it was safe since we'd already raided and seized the prop—"

"Codswallop. Robards arranged that raid behind your backs and you never got your revenge. You know the Malfoys' petition to reclaim their home was approved last week, and you risked your lives and my sanity just so you could smash up their place!"

"That wasn't—"

"I thought we were never going to get out the first time, how do you think I felt when I opened a memo that said 'we think Ron and Harry have gone to Malfoy Manor'?"

Ron scowled. "They told you in a memo?"

"I was meeting with the head of the department, I didn't even ask for permission, I just ran out. All I could think—" Hermione was shaking now, reliving the terror of that moment, the stark and utter fear at seeing those four words together: Ron, Harry, Malfoy Manor . . . . "All I could think was you lied to me. You promised to always come back, and two days later you—you—"

Both men crowded around her. Harry patted her back.

"We did come back, Hermione. In one piece and everything."

"We had to try, Hermione," Ron said, smoothing her hair away from her face. "You know we had to try. By the time I realized we were in trouble, Harry was already inside the gates. I couldn't leave him there."

Hermione sniffed. She had comforted herself with the reassurance that Ron and Harry would never leave the other in danger, but she had failed to see that meant they would follow each other into it, too. She knew they would pursue every single Death Eater lead, no matter how small, and this one hardly sounded tiny. Dodgy, perhaps, but . . . .

"That's not your blood?"

"What? Oh. Yeah, a shelf busted my nose. Don't worry. The mediwitch fixed me up, good as new and as long as ever."

Hermione smiled, tracing his face with her fingers. She felt Harry backing away from them and let him go, for now. "You're really okay?"

"My shoulder's sore where this prat knocked me down, but yeah. I'm all right."

"Your shoulder?" She unfastened his robes quickly. "Which one?"

"Hermione! Not here, love."

Hermione froze; Ron's robes were hanging off his shoulders and her hands were inside the neck of his shirt in view of the entire office. Stupid glass box! Jerking back and blushing hard, she turned to Harry for a distraction.

"What about you?" She took in his dirty face, torn robes, and scratched hands. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"That depends," Harry drawled. "Are you going to strip off my robes, too?"

Hermione Granger was no fool. She'd never fancied Harry Potter, but that didn't mean she hadn't noticed his good looks. He, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to his charm, which only made him more charming. It was infuriating, really. Except how could she be angry with someone wearing such a desperately hopeful expression?

"You wish," she said, focusing on his outturned pocket to appear unmoved by his teasing.

"Absolutely." His arms wrapped around her, squeezing until she squeaked. "I'm fine. Truly."

Hermione looked into his face. "You didn't get jinxed, or cursed, or anything?" She hated the weakness that made her ask, but—Malfoy Manor!

"I ducked. Seeker reflexes."

Hermione smacked his arm. "You owe me dessert. Something with chocolate and whipped cream."

"Lunch tomorrow, I promise."

She looked at Ron, lounging in the corner. "I'll tell Robards we're through, shall I?"

()()()()

Harry and Ron scowled at Hermione's retreating back. She sounded a little too happy about turning them over to Robards.

"You shouldn't have told her you were still hurting."

"You're kidding, right? If we ever get out of here, she'll spend the rest of the night fussing over me." Harry didn't return his leer. "Oh, come on. Haven't you ever heard 'let me kiss it and make it better'?"

Harry's face went blank, and Ron felt like a heel. Of course Harry hadn't heard that expression growing up. He didn't have a mum, and his aunt probably cheered when he got hurt, the hag.

"She worries," Harry said curtly. "She doesn't need to know everything that happens."

"No, she doesn't. You'll notice I didn't tell her why you knocked me to the ground. But she needs to know something. If I don't tell her when I'm hurt, she can't trust me when I say I'm okay."

()()()()

Harry stared. That actually made a lot of sense. They'd been given more responsibility and less supervision over the summer in anticipation of working as an independent team, and Harry knew he had been showing the strain. Ginny had been rather standoffish the last few times they'd gone out after work, and since she started Quidditch training several weeks ago she didn't even ask how his day went. "I'm sure everything's fine," she had said when they Floo-called Saturday night, so sarcastically that even Harry had noticed (not that she was forthcoming). Was this it? Did she think he was shutting her out, that she couldn't trust him to be honest?

Harry's insides squirmed. He had been shutting Ginny out, and if Ron had been as open with her as he was with Hermione, she knew Harry was glossing things over. No, Ron wouldn't have had to tell her, Hermione would have told her. He sighed. Actually, no one needed to say anything; Ginny wasn't an idiot.

He thought about Hermione's eagerness to see Ron, to touch him, when she found out he was hurting, and Ron's anticipation of her attentions once they were alone. He, however, always avoided Ginny after being injured, not wanting her to see the bruises and marks that would reveal his lie. But as far as Ginny knew, he didn't trust her. He was no good at lying, and he'd refused to tell her the truth.

"Potter, Weasley, my office, now!"

Harry and Ron exchanged a desperate glance. They'd never decided what to tell Robards.