Chapter 19: The Hardest Thing is Often the Right Thing

Author's Note: We're nearing the end, ladies and gents. A huge thank you to my beta, Arnel! I don't know what I would do without your eagle eye and wealth of canon knowledge. As well, thank you to everyone for the kind reviews and ratings! I love hearing your thoughts, so keep them coming! The title for this chapter was inspired from a lyric from All At Once by The Fray.

Now that Harry had the memory of Charlotte threatening Harry in New York, Theomane had substantial evidence to push the investigation of Charlotte forward significantly. The reporter, Hayden Thayer, was the top name on the interview list, as well as Andrea Lawkins (Charlotte's closest friend from school). Charlotte's mother was originally queued for interrogation until St. Mungo's barred their patient from the investigation due to her mental and emotional state. Instead, the Aurors were given access to her Healers and their notes on any comments she'd made about her family that could pertain to the case. The last name on the interrogation list was, of course, Samantha Reeve.

Theomane had expressly forbidden Harry (and Ron) from participating in any of the interviews to avoid any complications in court. As much as Harry understood the necessity of this rule, he still hated having to watch all interviews behind the enchanted viewing window. Ron was a bit more colourful about his being barred from the interrogation room, but he stood dutifully beside Harry throughout each one.

Hayden Thayer was the first person to be brought in for questioning. He was a middle-aged man with thinning sandy brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He came in with an impressive-looking lawyer and though he kept up an air of confidence and nonchalance, Harry noted nervous ticks like his frequently wiping his palms on his pants and tapping his fingers on the desk.

Though he desperately wanted to remember or feel some sort of connection about the reporter, Harry was disappointed that Hayden was a stranger. He did, however, feel an intense dislike for the man. Though Harry couldn't be sure if this was simply because Hayden released the article that convinced the world—and his friends and family—that he hadn't wanted any part of his life in England, it was certainly Ron's reason.

"We're here to question you about one of your well-read articles," Theomane began, pulling the newspaper clipping from a folder and sliding it across to desk for Hayden to review.

Hayden frowned and pulled the article toward himself and his lawyer. His lips twitched amusedly when he recognized the piece as the exclusive he wrote about Harry. He looked up and passed the article back.

"Yes, I'm familiar with it," Hayden said lightly.

"Cocky git," Ron muttered to Harry from behind the viewing window.

"How did the story come by you?" Theomane asked.

"I received a letter from Mr. Potter the night the paper went to press. He asked to meet at the Leaky Cauldron a little after midnight. He was there when I arrived and he got straight to the point: he said he wanted to avoid mass speculation about the fact that he was leaving his family and starting fresh. He offered me a reward to get it into the morning edition—half then and half when it was in print—so long as I printed what I wanted. I agreed, I got my gold, and he left."

"You didn't think it was odd that Mr. Potter wanted you to print this? It's a well-known fact that he has always valued his privacy and dislikes the press. Surely a seasoned reporter such as yourself might have questioned his motives?"

Hayden shrugged. "Of course I thought it was odd—but when Harry Potter himself comes to you with very specific demands and a very large bag of gold, you go along with it."

"What was Mr. Potter's behaviour like that night?"

"He looked like he'd just left his life behind. Not exactly the glamour shots Witch Weekly used to get to accompany their Harry Potter puff pieces."

"Don't exaggerate, Mr. Thayer. Answer the question," his lawyer advised at Theomane's dark expression.

Hayden looked irritated at the reprimand, but answered. "It was late, he looked tired… distracted… excuse my language, but the man looked like shit."

"Was Mr. Potter alone?"

"Yes."

Theomane pulled out Charlotte's photo next. "Do you recognize this person?"

Hayden took one look at the photo and passed it back. "Should I?"

"Her name is Charlotte Darrow—she's our prime suspect for being behind Mr. Potter's curse and kidnapping. Do you remember seeing her that night at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"No."

"Was there anyone at the tables near you?"

"The Leaky Cauldron is never empty," the lawyer pointed out.

"Answer the question, please."

Hayden rolled his eyes. "Yes, there were."

"And did anyone seem interested in your conversation? Did you notice anyone watching? Was there anyone sitting close to your table? Perhaps a woman who might fit Ms. Darrow's general description?"

"You're reaching, Mr. Theomane," said the lawyer.

The reporter held up his hands in a placating manner. "Like you said, it's no secret that Harry Potter hated the press. Yes, a few people looked our way, no doubt curious to know what Potter was doing in the Leaky Cauldron, meeting with the Daily Prophet."

"Can you describe any of these onlookers?"

"My client cannot be expected to remember detailed descriptions of other customers at the Leaky Cauldron four years ago," the lawyer interjected impatiently.

"I came for my story and I got it in less than fifteen minutes. I knew that story was going to get me printed above the fold, front page. I sure as hell wasn't paying any attention to anyone or anything else."

Hayden, unfortunately, had nothing more substantial to offer. He claimed he did not keep the letter sent to him by owl, so there was no handwriting to trace. Theomane promised to track any withdrawals of gold made to confirm that Charlotte made the payment. It seemed possible that Charlotte was at the Leaky Cauldron, but it was a much harder task to find a witness in a room full of unknowns that could attest to her presence. He also decided he would check for any known connections between Charlotte and Hayden.

Charlotte's closest school friend, Andrea, however, was more willing to help than the greedy reporter. She at least came with confirmation that Charlotte had motive. Harry thought he vaguely recognized Andrea from school, but he couldn't be sure. Andrea had spent the last few years in Africa for work, which was why she'd been so difficult to track down in the first place.

"Charlotte fancied Harry—although most girls did. He was all anyone could really talk about that year. He was the Chosen One! You're probably aware that Charlotte's father had dealings with known Death Eaters. For Charlotte, Harry was the one who could set her father free."

"Do you believe that Charlotte may have cursed Harry and sent him to America out of revenge?"

Andrea looked miserable at this question. "I know Charlotte isn't a killer. If she really is guilty of what you say, then destroying Harry's fairy tale happy ending was a much better alternative than killing him."

"We've had testimonies that after her father died at Hogwarts, Charlotte was having a hard time. Can you tell me about her behaviour?"

"She'd just lost her father. He was the only parent she had left. She cried constantly, didn't talk much… she felt guilty that she couldn't save him in time. It practically destroyed her."

"Did she ever express any negative comments about Harry that would lead you to believe she was planning on seeking revenge?"

Andrea hesitated. "You have to understand… Charlotte had lost everything. Harry was her one chance to free her father from his ties to the Death Eaters. She had unrealistic expectations about what the end of the war would mean. And when Harry was not the hero she needed him to be… when she failed herself to save him…" Andrea trailed off for a moment, lost in some memory. "She was hurting. Yes, she was angry with Harry. She blamed him for the destruction, death, and the chaos. She blamed him for bringing the fight to the castle. A lot of people did, though. Please remember that she was not the only one who blamed him!"

"But she spoke of revenge? Did she ever share any plans with you or other friends?"

"Not to me. Just that she was angry, hurt, and devastated with grief. And I'm sad to say we drifted apart when we left school."

And so Sam was the final witness, though she was scheduled to be interviewed privately the following day in New York. This was one interview Harry didn't ask permission to watch. Harry was pretty sure Sam would prefer he keep his distance. If she wanted to see him, she would make sure someone told him. And besides, interviewing a Muggle required a memory wipe afterward, regardless of the fact that the interrogating Auror wouldn't be talking about magic or anything of the sort. The laws were strict as Memory Charms weren't always a guarantee, as Harry knew first-hand. He didn't see any point to making her uncomfortable when she would forget the whole thing within the hour.

And so, after the tiring morning of interviews, Harry was almost grateful to be called out on a raid for a group of wizards breeding Dementors in Kent. Owing to the nature of Dementors, Harry was part of a rather large task force. The Dementors would be rounded up and contained with others of its kind on a sealed-off island in Scotland. Kingsley Shacklebolt had sent all the Dementors there after the Battle of Hogwarts after declaring they would never be used in Azkaban or in other government matters. The island was impenetrable by any human and powerful barrier spells prevented them from escaping. With no humans to feed off of, the Dementors wouldn't be able to breed, and in time, would fade back into the shadows from which they were born.

The Aurors managed to arrest two of the three guilty parties fairly quickly, though the third made a run for it, only to be slowed down by one of their own grisly creations. It took the rest of the day for fifteen Patronuses to herd the Dementors to the island. This task was made more difficult as the Aurors had to stand a great distance away in a boat and keep their Patronuses strong enough to shepherd the Dementors across the one-way barrier.

By the end of the raid, everyone was exhausted. Luckily, only one Auror had been injured. He had been hit with a Stunner that caused him to hit his head on some rocks. Harry's commander assigned him to take the poor bloke to St. Mungo's upon their return to the office.

After his colleague was admitted to the fourth floor to treat his concussion and effects of the Stunning Spell, Harry retreated to the waiting room while he was examined. He was expected to take the news of his diagnosis back to his Commander and explain the situation to any immediate family members who came. He had happened to be sitting alone in a chair near the doorway when he overheard a passing Healer speaking to a patient.

"That went well, don't you think, Mrs. Darrow?"

"Yes, quite," a woman replied in a dreamy sort of voice.

Harry practically leapt from his chair and hurried into the hall in time to see a Healer leading an older, frail-looking woman into a room a few doors down. Harry followed, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew he wasn't allowed to ask about Charlotte outright, or anything specific about the case. But there was no harm in meeting the woman, perhaps gaining a little background insight. After all, he wasn't technically involved in the investigation…

"Mr. Potter!" exclaimed a surprised Healer when Harry nearly bumped into him.

He had come to what looked like a large sitting room or activity room, filled with bookshelves, comfy couches, tables, and chairs. The room was nearly full of patients and Healers, some sitting at card tables, others chatting by the large enchanted windows.

"I'm sorry. I just overheard the name Darrow…" he admitted, feeling rather stupid.

The Healer frowned at him. "Selena Darrow? I'm sorry, sir, the Aurors won't be questioning her."

"Oh, no, I'm not here to ask questions about the case. I just wondered if I might meet her?"

The Healer hesitated, glancing toward the woman Harry had glimpsed in the hall. She was one of the few patients sitting on her own. She looked rather sad sitting in the armchair, staring off into space.

"I promise I won't ask any questions about Charlotte," he added hopefully.

"Well, alright, but just a short visit," the Healer said reluctantly. "Poor thing hasn't had any visitors in ages. It might be good for her."

Up close, Selena Darrow looked to be in her early fifties. She had wispy, long silvery hair and striking blue eyes, though they looked rather dim and distant. She was thin under her hospital gown and Harry noticed a slight tremor in her hands. Harry could see the similarities from Charlotte's picture to the woman in front of him. Though it was hard to imagine that this woman was the same talented and brilliant former Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries.

"Mrs. Darrow? This nice man is Harry Potter—he wanted to come by and see you."

Selena glanced up at her name and stared at Harry unashamedly from her chair.

"Harry Potter?" she said, her blue eyes immediately jumping to his forehead.

While Harry had become used to this sort of reaction to his name, there was something unsettling about her gaze. Harry was reminded slightly of Luna Lovegood—brilliance behind a nerve-wracking, unreadable gaze.

"Yes, isn't that nice?" The Healer gestured that Harry should sit. "I'll be close by," she told him. Harry understood this was meant to ensure Harry kept his promise, rather than a reassurance of her presence if he needed anything.

Harry smiled nervously, wishing she wouldn't stare so much. "How are you, Mrs. Darrow?"

"Fine, just quite busy," Mrs. Darrow replied vaguely. "I'm afraid I wasn't expecting visitors today."

"I was waiting for my friend down the hall, but I hoped you might keep me company for a few minutes."

Selena tilted her head curiously. "I can't imagine what a little old lady has done to earn this visit. Have we met before?"

"No, but I went to school with your daughter," Harry answered.

Selena's blank eyes grew a little brighter and the ghost of a smile flashed across her face. "My Charlotte? Hogwarts, eh? Good school. Very nice. You were friends? I didn't know Harry Potter was a Ravenclaw."

"No, we were classmates," Harry lied, he was eager to steer the conversation away from Charlotte in case the Healer mistook his intentions.

Harry suddenly realized he could get some useful information out of this meeting without asking about Charlotte. He muttered a quick spell, making the newspaper article from Mr. Darrow's arrest materialize in his pocket.

"I was actually hoping you could tell me about this photograph. Who is the child in the doorway?"

Instantly, he knew this might be a bad idea. Selena took the newspaper in shaking hands and her eyes welled with tears. "What a terrible day," she whispered. "Awful."

"That's Charlotte, right?" he asked, pointing at the little girl in the front. "She looks lovely in that dress."

"Her father bought her that dress," Selena said after a long moment, her shaky fingers brushing Charlotte's picture.

"And who is the little one behind you? You can make out a face in the shadows for a moment."

Selena's fingers tightened on the edges of the paper and suddenly, it began to smoke. The edges lit bright orange as they began to burn, curling inwards and turning black. It took her a few seconds to realize what was happening, but she quickly handed the photo back, clenching her hands into fists and stretching them repeatedly.

"What a terrible day. Horrid. Poor Charlotte was very upset. It was her birthday party, you know…"

"So the little one behind you was a friend of hers?"

Selena stared out the window, brushing the unshed tears from her eyes hastily. "Her father was taken away on her birthday. Everyone saw. They took that photo… printed our family shame for the world to see."

"I know how awful that is. They print things about me, too," he told her. "Please, can you tell me the name of the child?" Harry pressed hopefully.

"No," Selena said in a hard voice. She moved her quivering hands to her knees, which she gripped so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Not wanting to push her ability to control her magic any further, Harry smiled a friendly, reassuring smile, and slowly stood. He knew better than to press someone with unstable magic. "I'm sorry to have upset you. I just wanted to know about the child in the photo."

Selena's eyes shot to the photo in his hand, but she shook her head quickly and then returned to looking out the window. "That doesn't matter," she bit out, her breathing ragged. She swallowed hard as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a well-worn photograph. She handed it to Harry with a sad smile, pressing her shaking hand to her heart.

"We used to be happy, you know. My loves…"

The photo showed Selena, young Charlotte, and Wendell on a bench in front of some trees; a Darrow family photo with genuine, happy smiles.

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I know you're looking for my Charlotte. But this is proof that she was good and we were altogether and happy once. This is a happier picture than the one you have. You will tell them, won't you?"

Them, meaning the Aurors, Harry thought. Though he was startled, he promised, "I will tell them. You should keep this, though."

But Selena shook her head, her hands shaking terribly in balled fists on her lap. She closed her eyes for a long moment, before she opened them and spoke in a measured voice. "No, you should keep it. It'll mean something coming from you. Show them me and my loves were together once and happy." She stared out the window. "Maybe one day we'll be together and happy again."

Did she know her husband was dead? Harry had assumed Selena's relationship with her husband was not a happy one. But maybe she loved him in spite of his vices. Or maybe in her current state, she could remember the happier days, like the one in the photograph. Harry forced his expression into a grateful one and carefully tucked the photo into his pocket just as the Healer returned.

"Thank you," Harry said gratefully. "It was very nice meeting you."

"In light of the current circumstances, I wish I could say the same," Selena replied lightly, turning her piercing eyes on him again.

Harry kept his face smooth at the confirmation that Selena was aware of Charlotte's case. "Although you seem perfectly nice," Selena amended.

Have you spoken to your daughter? Has Charlotte told you something? Where is she? The questions whirled in his head, but Harry kept his mouth shut. He could not bend the rules, no matter what opportunity he had. It had to be an impartial Auror asking the questions—and it had to be done legally if he wanted a solid case against Charlotte, particularly since this suspicious statement came from a woman in long-term psychiatric care. He was already walking a fine line with this conversation.

"Someone is waiting to speak to you about your colleague," the Healer told him meaningfully.

"Thank you. Have a good evening, Mrs. Darrow."

"Goodbye, Harry Potter."

"Daddy, I hate beans," James complained, pushing his green beans around his plate.

"I thought you liked green beans better than other green stuff."

James put his head on his propped elbow and shook his head. "I don't like green beans or Brussels sprout or broccoli, Daddy."

Harry repressed a sigh as he took another bite of his Shepherd's pie. James had been in a foul mood since he picked him up from nursery school after work. Ginny had a game this afternoon and since he didn't feel like cooking, he decided to take James out for a nice father-son dinner. Unfortunately, James wasn't in the mood for much father-son bonding, let alone dinner in a restaurant where people tended to stare and whisper. Harry was ignoring the unwanted attention as best he could, telling himself that the more the world saw of him doing regular father-son things, the less interesting it would seem.

"Did something happen at school today?" Harry asked gently for the third time.

"No," James lied, keeping his eyes on his plate.

"You just seem a little upset," Harry tried again, watching him stab at his potato, scrape all but a tiny part off, and then chew it.

James might look like him, but he definitely had the Weasley fire, Harry thought. They ate their dinner in silence for a few more minutes before James put down his fork, his expression tortured.

"My friend Matthew said you did a bad thing," James said accusingly.

"What bad thing?"

"Matthew said you left me and Mummy when I was a baby because you didn't love us anymore. He said the whole world knows you did a mean thing."

Harry nearly choked on his pie. Worse than the lack of oxygen was the look on his son's face. He was trying to look brave and angry, but it was impossible to miss the hurt and confusion in his eyes. "Where did you hear that?" he asked calmly.

"Matthew heard it from his mummy," James answered matter-of-factly.

Clearly Matthew's mother read the bloody tabloids—and had no issues talking about trashy gossip in front of her four-year-old.

"This isn't really a conversation to have in public," he said gently. "But you remember how Mummy told you that something was wrong with my memory?"

James nodded and he continued. "A bad wizard changed my memories to trick me into leaving. But I never wanted to leave you or Mummy. I love you both more than anything! That's why I came back and that's why I stayed."

He quickly spotted the waiter and signalled for the cheque. He would prefer to finish this conversation in private. "You're a little young to understand, but sometimes the newspapers and magazines like to spread stories about Daddy. It's not very nice."

James looked uncertain, but Harry could see he was desperate to believe him. "Why do they do that?"

"People like stories," he said lightly. "And sometimes people tell stories before they make sure they're one hundred percent true."

"Well, perhaps you could verify this one for us," a deep male voice said.

Hayden Thayer approached their table, followed closely by a cameraman. A cloud of purple smoke made him cough when the flash went off. Harry was pretty sure James' face wasn't in the shot, which was lucky for the cameraman, who was one photo away from having his camera blown to bits.

Hayden pulled out a notepad and a quill. "I'm so sorry to interrupt your dinner, but I was hoping I might be able to snag a quick comment on the recent attack in New York?"

Harry's stomach dropped into his feet. The cheque arrived and he hurriedly dropped gold on the table. He picked up James and turned to go. "No comment," he snapped, pushing past the reporter.

Unfortunately, Hayden was not easily discouraged. "My sources tell me an Auror was attacked en route to an interrogation in New York. He has been hospitalized and is in life-threatening condition. It's an easy guess as to what the Auror was doing there."

Another photo was taken as Harry hurried toward the door. Damn the Anti-Disapparition spells on London establishments.

"Harry, come on, for old times' sake!" Hayden called after him. "Those close to the Chosen One have always been at risk—but with mounting attacks in a post-You-Know-Who era, what do you believe could be done to ensure the safety of your friends and family? Or is a connection to Harry Potter doomed to be a one-way ticket to St. Mungo's?"

Harry froze, fury racing through his veins. Thankfully, he was holding James, effectively keeping him from ploughing a fist into Hayden's smug face. Tucking James' face away from the bright flashes and purple smoke from the camera, he struggled to keep from reaching for his wand.

"You might have the whole damn Prophet to protect you and your 'sources,' and a reputation to give you protection from legal ramifications. I've never willingly used my name to get what I want, but should you print one more poisonous, slanderous thing about me or my family, I will ruin you."

He reached the sidewalk and immediately Apparated to the Auror office. James lifted his head and Harry set him down. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he worked hard to look calm for James' benefit.

"I'm sorry about that. Are you okay?"

"Was that man one of the newspaper people who likes to write lies about you?"

"Yes," Harry admitted grumpily.

James looked thoughtful for a moment. "You said a bad word, Daddy."

He stood, fighting a guilty smile. If that was all he took from that conversation, Harry was fine with that. You're right, I'm sorry. I was really angry, but I know better."

"Maybe we should have a swear jar," James suggested.

Harry gaped at his son. "James Sirius Potter, where did you get that idea?"

"Uncle Ron has a swear jar!"

"Uncle Ron clearly isn't being very honest about using it, then," Harry grumbled, making a mental note to tell Ron not to hide whatever 'swear jar' James was referring to whenever he came over, as well as making him pay up.

He led James directly to his boss' office. Luckily Theomane was still there and only just packing up to leave when Harry knocked and let himself in.

"Potter, this is a surprise! And you've brought your little boy. Hello!"

James smiled shyly at Theomane, looking around the office curiously. "I ran into Thayer at dinner—he came to get an exclusive about my thoughts on the Auror attack in New York."

Theomane looked apologetic. "You heard, huh? I'm sorry you found out that way, Harry. I thought I would give you a night off from all the drama."

"What happened in New York?"

Theomane glanced at James, but he was absorbed in looking at something on the bookshelf. "The Auror en route to meet Samantha Reeve was followed and attacked. Luckily, they didn't go alone. We got both Aurors—and our witness—safely back to London via Portkey. Everyone is fine."

Harry gaped. "And the witness?"

"The attack happened on the street outside the apartment. When the spells started flying, one Auror went in to collect Ms. Reeve and then came back to collect his unconscious partner. He took a couple Stunners to the chest, but I heard from St. Mungo's he's going to be fine."

"Where is Sam now?"

"She's in one of our safe houses in C-wing—converted for Muggle living quarters, of course. We've re-scheduled the interview for tomorrow, and I'm in talks with the Muggle Liaison office to keep her here until Charlotte can be arrested," Theomane said heavily. "But now, of course, the American Auror office is up in arms since it happened under their jurisdiction. They can't decide if they want to take ownership of the case with Charlotte on the loose in England."

"How did the Prophet find out?"

"Beats me," Theomane sighed. "But now that I've rattled a few cages by interviewing one of their top reporters, I would bet they'll do anything to sell a few papers off this case."

Theomane put an arm around his shoulder and led him to the door. "Listen, everyone came back fine. Take your boy home and go spend time with your wife. First thing tomorrow, we'll interview Ms. Reeve."

Harry nodded, feeling rather daze from the turn of events. "Thank you, sir. Have a good night. Come on, James."

As he and James started back toward the Disapparition point, Harry began to hesitate about leaving. How could he just go home after finding out that Sam had been attacked and brought to the Ministry? How could he go back to his cosy home with his family and forget that Sam was only a few minutes away from where he stood at that moment, confused, alone, and likely frightened?

As much as he had wanted to avoid an awkward confrontation, leaving her here without saying a word didn't feel right at all. There was a good chance she wouldn't want to see him, but didn't he owe her enough after four years of dating, close friendship, and then breaking her heart?

So he changed directions with James in tow, heading back toward the C-wing where the Aurors had their temporary, secure housing units. He checked in with the security wizard at the entrance and was directed to one of the lower-level suites. Normally, these units were used for important out-of-town guests or important witnesses testifying in court. There were ten rooms in all, only accessible through the Auror offices, guaranteeing safety and privacy.

Harry paused outside Sam's door to kneel next to James. Ideally, James wouldn't be going in with him, but under the circumstances, he didn't like the idea of leaving him unsupervised—even if it was in the Auror offices. Then again, he felt very nervous about this visit. It might be good to have James with him to keep things civil—and brief.

"I just want to check on a friend of mine before we go home, but first you should know that she's a Muggle. Just remember she's not allowed to know about anything magical, okay?"

"Okay," James agreed easily.

Harry smiled, unsure if James really understood this kind of a promise, as he didn't have much experience talking to Muggles yet. Taking a deep breath and praying this would go well, Harry knocked on the door. Almost immediately, Sam pulled open the door and started in surprise.

Sam looked the same as he remembered her, though he hadn't seen her in about a month. Her comically large blue eyes stared at him with unconcealed shock. Her long reddish-brown hair was tied in a messy ponytail and she wore jeans and a loose white shirt.

"Hi Sam. I'm sorry for barging in, but I just heard… I had to make sure you were okay."

Sam took a minute to shake herself from her state of shock.

"I'm fine, thank you," she stammered nervously. Her eyes moved to James and then back to Harry in surprise. "Is this…?"

Harry put a hand on James' shoulder and nodded. "This is my son, James. Sorry, we were coming from dinner when I heard."

Sam's eyes widened as she took in James, probably startled by his likeness to Harry. She smiled at James, who looked back up curiously. "Hi, James. It's nice to meet you. My name is Sam." She looked back up at Harry and opened the door a little wider. "Would you like to come in?"

Harry glanced at his watch and then nodded. "Sure, we have a few minutes. Thank you."

The sitting room was entirely white, except for the black leather furniture set, television on the wall, and empty wooden bookshelves. Wide windows looked out onto the city (though these were charmed, on account of the fact that they were deep underground).

Sam gestured that they should sit on the sofa. "As scary as all this is, I can't complain about the suite. It's a nice one-bedroom, one-bath unit. I have everything I need—Internet, television, a full fridge… they're collecting some my things and shipping them over, too."

"I'm glad you're comfortable, at least. Sam, I'm so sorry you're caught up in all of this."

Sam's smile faded and she shrugged. "It'll be okay. Really, you're the one who deserves the sympathy. Four years of amnesia after being kidnapped by some lunatic… Harry, honestly, if I'd had any idea…" She hesitated. "Well, let's just say I would have been more supportive," she finished with a sad smile.

"No, you were. I'm just glad you're safe."

"Me, too. They said they're going to interview me tomorrow about anything I might know about your case." She hesitated, glancing at James. "Actually, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?" She picked up the remote control, flipped through a few channels until she landed on a children's station. "We'll go in the next room so we don't bore your charming son."

James took the remote and Harry was grateful he'd brought his own DVD player from New York so the device didn't confuse James. Instead he grinned excitedly at the prospect of telly time, just as a Muggle child might.

Harry followed Sam into what turned out to be her bedroom. It was also mostly empty and very white, though the bed was made up with a fluffy purple down comforter and black pillows. Sam closed the door and turned to him with an apologetic expression.

"Sorry, I know this is awkward, but I'm kind of freaking out here. Some police officer shows up at my door, flies me to London, England, partly because they want to ask me questions about a kidnapping case involving my ex-boyfriend, but partly because his partner was gunned down on my street. Now, here I am in a very nice apartment in the heart of London, but I'm essentially a prisoner until they tell me I can go."

Sam said all this very fast, her cheeks pink and her eyes wide. She took a breath, pushing her hair out of her face in frustration. "Harry, what the hell is going on here?"

Harry took a breath. Just as long as he kept to the Muggle version of the story and acted as confused as she was, everything should be fine.

"I remembered something from four years ago. I was in the hospital, the suspect—her name is Charlotte Darrow—came into the room and threatened me. Then you came in and she left. I think originally they wanted to know if you remembered her at all, but now they'll be asking questions to figure out why Charlotte attacked an officer to keep the police from talking to you."

The colour faded out of Sam's cheeks. "They think I know something?" she demanded. "Harry, do they think I'm involved?"

"No, I don't think so," he said quickly, though he knew his word wouldn't matter until Theomane spoke with her. He wasn't allowed to review the case notes at this point. At the expression of horror on her face, Harry amended his statement to say, "I don't think you're involved."

"You don't?" she asked, dropping to sit on the edge of the bed.

Harry rolled his eyes at her. "No, I don't. We dated for four years… I might not have known who I was, but I know you."

"Thank you," she said softly, letting out a relieved breath. "I might sound crazy, but there's something else going on… something they're not telling me."

It was all he could do not to react. "Why do you say that?"

Sam shrugged. "It's just a feeling… I mean, our old apartment faces the street… I had the windows open and I was in the living room. I never heard a gunshot!" She hesitated, lowering her voice even further. "Harry, how is it that someone kidnapped you from London, gave you retrograde amnesia, and a whole new identity in a new country? That's some CIA-level shit!"

"It's crazy… they haven't figured out all the hows and whys yet, but they know who did it, at least."

Sam stopped her pacing, her eyes narrowing at him. "Why am I here? How did I even get here? I don't remember being on a plane! I mean, I know I took a plane, but I have zero memory of flying here, of customs, or anything! The story they're telling me feels like I'm missing something."

Just act confused, he repeated to himself over and over. "You don't remember flying here?"

Sam levelled him with a look. "Harry, if you know what they're hiding, you have to tell me! This can't be legal! How can I provide the whole truth—if I know anything at all—if they're keeping secrets?"

"I don't know what they're hiding," he told her as sincerely as he could.

Unfortunately, Sam knew him better than that. She scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. "You know, it's easier to believe the bullshit they tell me when it's coming from these weird police officers. But I know you, and I can see that you do know something."

"Sam, I don't know anything you don't," he tried again.

"You do," she bit out in disbelief. "You're lying to me and it's crazy because after everything we've been through, and after everything I've gone through since…you should have been the one I could have trusted." She opened the bedroom door and walked out.

Great, Harry thought bitterly. What Auror had debriefed her? Clearly, they hadn't done a very thorough job. She should have had false memories of sleeping through the flight, of a quick line through customs! Sam shouldn't have a reason to doubt!

"You should probably get going," Sam said to him, though her voice bordered on friendly this time—for James' sake.

"Yeah, we should be going," Harry agreed, turning off the television for James.

"Thank you for stopping by," Sam said, opening the front door for him. James went first and Harry hesitated in the doorway, wishing he could say more or do something that would make this better.

"Sam, I—"

Sam swallowed hard and for a moment, there was no anger in her eyes, just fear.

"Goodnight, Harry. Thank you for everything," she said shortly. And then she closed the door in his face.

James was already halfway down the hallway, unaware of what had just happened. Harry sighed, mentally kicking himself for thinking that checking in on her could have been a good idea. Hadn't he decided earlier today that keeping his distance from Sam was best? Instead, he hurt her by lying.

"Daddy, hurry up," James complained from the end of the hall. "If we get home quick enough, can you put that Muggle show on your TV?"

Addicted to television in ten minutes flat, he thought wearily. At least James had never experienced Muggle video games…

When they returned home, James was delighted to curl up on the sofa and continue watching his program. After Harry had set him up, he went upstairs to find Ginny. The shower water just turned off when he came into the master bedroom.

"Hello," he called loudly through the bathroom door.

"You're home!" she answered happily. "Give me a second."

Harry stripped out of his Auror clothes and pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms just as Ginny came out of the bedroom wrapped up in a towel. He was still holding his shirt when she came over to greet him with a hug and a kiss.

"How was the game?" Harry asked, keeping one arm around her waist.

"We lost," she said glumly. "How was work?"

"Work was alright… it was everything that happened since I left work that wasn't so great." And then Harry told her everything, from Hayden's interview to how angry Sam was at him.

"You've had quite the afternoon," Ginny sighed. She stepped away so she could get dressed as she talked. "First of all, I can't believe you threatened that reporter. You know he's just going to print more trash, right? Probably how you have anger management issues and he suspects more discord in the Potter home."

Harry chuckled darkly and shrugged. "Whatever they print, it will be worth it to tell him off."

Ginny laughed, but then her expression sobered. "As for the whole Sam issue… I think you were right to check on her."

"You do?"

Ginny nodded, looking thoughtful. "You were in each other's lives for four years! It would have been much worse if you didn't go."

"Even if she won't remember any of it anyway?"

"You had to go for yourself, as much as for her. Besides, if I was her, I'd still want you to come." Ginny gave him a hug and returned to the bathroom to go about her routine.

Harry sat on the bed and watched her brush her hair. There was something calming about watching her do such a simple thing. She was so beautiful, even in her mismatched pyjamas and no makeup. She came back and stood between his knees, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"I know you hate it when someone you care about it is mad at you," she murmured.

Harry felt a moment of guilt at those words, which she noticed because she smiled and shook her head. "And I know better to just mean a platonically," she teased, easing Harry's worries that she knew better than to be jealous. "Maybe one day you'll be better at recognizing when something is your fault," she continued gently. "You did the right thing today, don't beat yourself up."

Harry wrapped his arms around her, pressing his head against her middle. She was right, of course. It felt nice to hear the confirmation that the hard thing was the right thing. Thank Merlin he had her in his life.

She smelled like her shampoo and something distinctly Ginny. Her fingers slid into his hair, playing with the strands on the nape of his neck.

"I'm tired of people getting hurt because of me," Harry admitted quietly.

Ginny continued to hold him, her fingers sending little waves of pleasure where her nails gently scraped his skin. "People in this world will get hurt regardless, Harry. It's not your job to protect everyone."

"As an Auror?" he joked lamely, earning a chuckle from Ginny.

"You know what I mean, dummy."

Harry released his hold on her so he could tug her to sit next to him. He covered her lips with his own, wrapping her in his arms again. Ginny melted into the kiss, wrapping a hand around the back of his head. He felt the kiss down to his toes and he inched her closer, wanting to feel more of her, wanting to push aside all the darkness and shadows and fill it with light and warmth. Perhaps one day he would be better at not carrying this guilt around all the time. It was a lot easier to remember he did have regular happy things in his life to match all the bad parts of his past.

Ginny ended the kiss before he was ready and he mustn't have hid it very well because she giggled his expression. "I should go down and check on James." She kissed him again, her hand sliding teasingly up his leg as she spoke.

She stood up and moved out of his reach. "You enjoy torturing me, don't you?"

"We'll finish this chat later," she told him with a sly smile.

"It will be a very long conversation," he warned her playfully.

"I'm counting on it," she laughed.