Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. Huge thank you to my beta krazyredhead0317.

Partners

Love me love me love me

Say you do

Let me fly away with you

So my love is like the wind

And wild is the wind

(Wild Is The Wind/Nina Simone)

February 18, 2005

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to San Francisco International Airport. The temperature outside is 18C, and it is 6:30 PM local time. It was a pleasure to have you aboard our aircraft. Thank you for choosing British Airways. Have a nice evening." The weary voice of their captain rang through the cabin, somehow reminding Hermione of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Their head of Aurors also always sounded tired and yet surprisingly reassuring. She drew a relieved sigh and finally let go of Harry's hand, which she had been frantically clasping almost continuously for the last thirteen hours. Although their flight had been smooth enough, it had done nothing for her panicky state of mind. She absolutely loathed flying. Still. Even being an Auror hadn't helped her drop that stupid phobia.

"Thank goodness, it's over," she muttered, and turned to Harry, who just opened his eyes and groggily stared at her through his glasses, which sat slightly askew. Nowadays, he sported sleek, modern frames that made him look quite sharp most of the time. "Remind me to never, ever fly again," she said, and straightened the glasses on his nose.

Harry's face immediately assumed a guilty expression, and he shifted nervously. "You know we couldn't request a Portkey. Kings will kill us as it is, even without adding an unauthorized use of International Portkey to it."

"I know, partner, I know." She smiled and patted his knee. "Don't worry about it. We're back on the ground, and that's what counts."

"Chicken." He snorted and covered her hand with his. "Robert promised to organize the Portkey for our way back. He said that he has connections. With any luck, he'll be able to do it for all three of us," he said and his green eyes lit up with hope. For a moment, she saw a glimpse of the Harry she had met more than a decade ago – open and optimistic. Alas, before she even managed to blink, his jaw tightened, his gaze turned hollow, and he added in a dull voice, "If there will be three of us."

Hermione stifled a sigh, and squeezed his knee. "We'll know soon enough."

"Yep." Harry nodded and averted his gaze suddenly very interested in his surroundings.

Meanwhile, the plane had reached its gate and stopped moving. Impatient to leave, people around them began to bustle about, hastily pulling their suitcases from the compartments and rushing down the aisle. Hermione and Harry waited until the plane was almost empty before taking their bags and moving toward the exit. No one was waiting for them, and they weren't in a hurry to get to their hotel, knowing quite well that falling asleep wouldn't be a simple task.

About an hour later, seated in a yellow taxicab and listening to cheerful Hindi music, they moved rapidly towards San Francisco, which was blanketed in a thick fog. Harry was silent, keeping his eyes on the window, though Hermione was certain that he wasn't watching the scenery. Just out of habit, she tried to engage him in conversation, knowing beforehand that it was completely useless – she didn't get anything more than a noncommittal 'hmm' from him. The landscape wasn't at all interesting, and eventually, lacking other options, she focused her attention on their driver, who gleefully sang along to the song that was streaming from his radio, swaying his head in its snow-white turban along with the beat.

Soon, their cab stopped near an old hotel, and a handsome attendant in a flashy red uniform gallantly opened the door for her. Harry, seemingly unaware that they had arrived, kept staring at the window, and Hermione had to tug on his elbow in order to get his attention. He gave her a vacant smile, muttered, "Sorry," and hastily climbed out of the car.

The pompousness of the burgundy-coloured and gilt-covered foyer gave Hermione an instant headache, and she was grateful when they made it to the lift, which, fortunately, was decorated in much milder colours. Their two adjacent rooms looked pleasant, and Hermione went looking for Harry after throwing her bag on the bed. She found him investigating the contents of a mini-fridge. "Aha!" he exclaimed, and withdrew two tiny bottles of Jack Daniels.

"I think we need to eat first," said Hermione, muttering the cleaning charm on the glasses that Harry had already plunked on a coffee table.

"Don't be a killjoy," he said, and emptied the bottles into the glasses. "Cheers."

Hermione sighed, echoed his 'cheers', and took a swig, watching him finish his drink in one go.

"All right, what do you want to eat?" he said, grabbing a ridiculously thick menu and skimming through its pages.

"I don't know," she said, and shuffled back to her room. "Order whatever, you know what I like. I need to take a quick shower," she called from her bathroom before closing the door.

After the shower, an unknown number of tiny bottles of whiskey, and dinner, which was filled with a heavy silence despite all Hermione's efforts, they finally admitted that it was time for bed, though both of them knew that they wouldn't be able to fall asleep easily – there was too much on their minds. After about an hour of restless turning and tossing, Hermione gave up and just lay in her bed, staring at the flickers of light on the wall and listening to the sounds of the city. A soft knock on the door confirmed her suspicion that Harry couldn't sleep, either.

"It's open, Harry," she sighed, and a moment later she could discern his vague silhouette on the threshold.

"I can't sleep," she heard him whispering.

"Yeah, me too," she said, and moved to the side, opening the covers for him. "Come." The sound of his bare feet on the floor drew closer, the bed bowed, and, in the next second, his arms were wrapped around her midriff with his warm lips sliding over her bare shoulder.

"I'm sorry, but I need it … need you right now," he muttered against her skin, his uneasiness almost palpable in the darkness of the room

She smiled and kissed his messy hair. "Don't be silly. That's what friends are for, and besides, I need you too." Shifting, she let his lips find hers and returned his hesitant kiss with reassuring decisiveness. Encouraged, he took it from there, deftly driving them to the brink. They had known each other for so long and so thoroughly, it felt natural, perfect, really. Moving in unison, they reached the release they sought simultaneously, though there weren't any accompanying declarations of affection. It wasn't about love.

Later, after Harry's laboured breathing had turned into a light snoring, and his sweaty forehead rested against her side, Hermione once again lay wide awake, listening to the sleepy sounds of San Francisco and thinking about what had just happened. If Kings had known what was going on between them, they would both have been sacked in the blink of an eye. There was a strict policy about fraternising. Thank goodness they didn't do this often, just once in a while when the stress level was too high to handle. Their first time had happened spontaneously a few weeks after Ron's funeral. His death had hit them hard. Unbearably hard. Not only had they both lost their friend, but Harry had also lost his partner. Yet it had been Hermione who had come to him, crying and pleading for him to make her feel alive. He had, and, the morning after, she had decided to join the Aurors. It had seemed logical to her, to take Ron's place – that was what friends were for.

For some reason, Kings hadn't been too pleased with her decision and had denied her request to be taken on without proper training. Hence, Malfoy had become Harry's new partner, while she had taken the required courses. The first couple of months were rough for both wizards, and Harry had spent a lot of time with her, endlessly ranting about Malfoy's shortcomings. Eventually, though, they had got along well. Surprisingly well. So well that it had set Hermione thinking, to be honest. She had caught Harry staring at Draco more than once, and every time his green eyes had lit up with something she couldn't quite place. She even had asked him, "Is there anything going on between you two?"

Alas, Harry, being Harry, had just shrugged his shoulders, and said, "We're partners, nothing more." And indeed, they were the perfect partners for almost three years. They would have definitely made Aurors of the year if Draco hadn't suddenly disappeared without any trace. It had happened nine months ago, and Harry hadn't stopped looking for him ever since. And that was when Hermione had returned the favour, trying to keep Harry from climbing the walls from uncertainty. Maybe, it'd been wrong, but it'd worked. Besides, sex was much healthier than a Calming Draught or Firewhisky.

Hermione turned to Harry and gently stroked his face, lingering on the long horizontal crease that was now permanently etched into his forehead. So much had changed since the summer of 1998: it was hard to wrap her mind around it. So much hadn't gone as planned. She remembered all three of them, the Golden Trio, sitting in the Leaky and talking about their future. It had seemed so bright, so necessarily peaceful and wonderful. If someone had told her then that it would come to this, she would never have believed it. And yet, here she was, Hermione Granger – an Auror and Harry's partner, in San Francisco, looking for Draco Malfoy, who was presumed to be dead months ago. No one could have imagined that, not even Professor Trelawney. Apparently, the future didn't need Voldemort to go astray.

The first glints of dawn found Hermione still wide-awake. She sighed. It was going to be a tough day.

And, here we go, my darlings - a new story. Let me know what you think, please.