Cold, dark water had closed over Harry's head and the Horcrux around his neck dragged him down further. The gillyweed had worn off, his gills disappearing at the end of an hour, to be replaced by lungs that were useless at the bottom of the lake.

He couldn't remember who he was looking for, but he had the idea that they were already safe, so it didn't matter, after all. If his chest would stop its' stupid demands for oxygen, he'd be fine.

Was he in the lake? Or was it a forest pool?

"Harry?" someone was talking to him. Ron, maybe? "If you can hear me, you'll probably feel some discomfort."

Fuck, yes. He heard himself coughing and the coughing caused blue sparks to explode into pain behind his eyes. Thick fluid, tasting of blood, was in his mouth, but then it went away. More coughing.

"Damn it, keep his airway clear." No, that wasn't Ron's voice, but Harry's head hurt too much to for him to consider opening his eyes "What a mess." someone was saying.

"He's got a collapsed lung. Can we decompress it?"

"No, because someone vanished bloody great chunks of it. Shit, we're going to have to regrow it. Fortunately, the other one's intact." Harry was reassured by that voice, he sounded competent. Or perhaps Harry only chose to be reassured.

"What should I tell the wife? She's out there, doing her nut." Hopefully, Ginny wasn't alone as she waited.

The competent voice replied, "It's a nasty repair job, but he's not in too much danger. I'll talk to her when I'm done with this."

Wonderful. He'd been doing something stupid again. Harry hoped Ginny wasn't going to be too angry with him.

"Let's get some..." the voices faded away as the dark water closed over Harry's head again.

Some time later, Harry felt someone take something flexible out of his mouth.

"Harry, if you can hear me, I need you to take a deep breath."

Doing as he was told, Harry was strangely surprised that it was so effortless. It felt so good, he took another one.

"That's great, Harry. I'm going to put you back to sleep now, but the worst is over. Right?"

Harry thought he grunted acknowledgment, but he couldn't be sure.

Uneasy dreams half woke him, later. He tried to turn over to go back to sleep, discovered he couldn't move. He started to panic, thrashing as much as he was able against the spell holding him still.

"Calm down. It's okay." A warm hand on his arm, "The healers don't want you moving about."

That was Ron's voice for sure this time. Harry dragged his eyes open, but the room was dim and fuzzy, "Ron?" no sound was forthcoming.

"You can't talk for a bit." the fuzzy figure raised his wand, "Finite."

With gratitude Harry clenched his fists, released them. "Thanks." he mouthed.

"Just don't fall out of bed and get me in trouble." Ron grumbled.

Nodding, Harry closed his eyes.

Voices were talking near his head.

"...not happy with you."

"Yeah, well, I didn't reckon a panic attack would be much good for his breathing, either."

Someone chuckled, "No, certainly not."

The door opened and shut. Harry slowly opened his eyes. Brought up one hand to rub them, grateful that he could still move.

"You want these?" Ron asked, handing him his glasses.

"Thanks." this time the sound was audible. Now with his glasses on he could see that he was in one of St. Mungo's private rooms. Ron had his chair pulled up next to the bed and apparetnly been there for some time, going by the stack of magazines sitting beside him.

"Is Tim all right?" Harry asked, the phrase coming out as a croak. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, mate, he's fine. Ginny's got him. Healer's let him go home last night." Ron smiled at him.

That was all right, then. Everything else was a mere item, "So, are you to stop me getting out, or them getting in?" asked Harry, hoarsely.

Ron looked at him gravely, "What do you mean?"

Harry looked over to the bedside table, relaxing when he saw his wand, "Not under arrest, then?"

Ron shook his head, "There's an enquirey, but you slept through most of it. Roz'll be in in a bit. The healer's just gone to tell her you're waking up." Ron shook his head, "You were lucky, again. I expect Smith bought that shit about you being immune to the killing curse. Course, if he'd hit you directly, you'd be just as dead."

"What'd he hit me with?" asked Harry, frowning.

"Vanished half of one of your lungs. The rest of it collapsed. They've been regrowing it for the past three days. If you hadn't've dodged when you did..." Ron shuddered.

"Oh." Harry sort of remembered Ron dosing him with some painkillers, after Ginny had taken Tim away. And then some medi-wizards apparating in. A lot of things were pretty fuzzy from the moment Smith hit him with a curse. It had gotten hard to breathe about then. Losing half a lung would explain why.

Hitting Smith with the killing curse was absolutely crystal clear, though. In Harry's memory, it happened so slowly and Tim was so fast. Tim was as far from Smith as the room allowed and Harry had pointed his wand; it took forever. Harry had fallen to the ground with the incantation, laying on the floor trying to recover his breath.

Tim's little voice had been hysterical with fear and grief, "Ohnononono! Dad! Don'tbedeaddon'tbedeadpleasenoplease!" the words had run together, as all of Tim's speech had, when he'd first come to the Potter's.

Harry had pulled himself up, to look into the child's eyes and beg his forgiveness. In that moment, Harry had wondered if he could talk the Ministry into finding some Dementors just to guard Harry's cell. He had killed the only father the child had known, never mind that the man had tried to kill Harry. A moment of pain, of panic, of anger, and Tim's father lay dead on the floor.

"Tim..." Harry remembered pulling himself up, "I'm sorry."

Tim had thrown himself into Harry's arms, completely surprising him, with a long string of invective that the boy must have learned god-knows-where, ending rather amazingly with, "Oh fuck, Dad, I thought you were dead."

"So, I'm not under arrest?" asked Harry again, stupidly, coming back to the present.

Ron chuckled, grimly "I knew you'd be like that. No, Tim's testimony was pretty coherent. Roz questioned him herself. Ginny insisted. I have to say, that potion did him good. I haven't seen him so talkative before."

"What'd he say?" asked Harry. "I'm fuzzy on everything after I lost a lung."

"He said that, after Smith finished you, he took a bite out of him and ran when Smith let go of him. Clever move." Ron said approvingly. He went on, "Tim said he got as far as the wall and turned around to see Smith raising his wand, starting an incantation. Then you hit Smith. End of story."

Had Smith raised his wand to the boy? Harry couldn't quite remember. He supposed hypoxia would do that to a person, "They don't want pensieved memories or anything?" A pensieve would enhance memories to show the finer details, missed by simple recollection.

"No," Ron shook his head dismissively, "It's pretty obvious from your state that Smith was out to kill. And Tim said that he believed from things Smith said, before you got there, that he was in mortal peril. So, it's being ruled a lawful killing."

"Oh." Harry sat with that, for a moment. It sat uneasily.

"Phoebe's handled the debriefing of everyone else there." Ron continued, more softly, "Roz wants you to talk to her as soon as you feel able." Ron shifted uncomfortably, "Roz. She's...ah...she's extended your leave indefinitely."

Erica Roslyn was the current head of the Auror's Department, commonly referred to by her nickname, Roz. She was about ten years older than Ron and Harry. She'd been a bright young Auror before the War and had been on the run during, being a muggle-born.

During the War and for about three years afterwards, she'd worked as an Auror in a country that had much closer ties between muggle and wizard. When she'd returned to the UK, she'd risen rapidly through the decimated ranks and brought a host of new ideas to the department. One of those ideas was that they should look after their people mentally. One of the reasons Harry had started seeing Phoebe, in the first place.

Harry nodded, "That's fine." it was, really. Harry hadn't felt so wrung out in years.

"Hey, Harry." the door opened, Roz came in, "How're you feeling?" she asked. She was a tall woman, who often accentuated her height with high heeled boots since she was promoted from field duty. She liked to wear dramatic, long cloaks over trousers. Today she was in a grey cloak, with matching boots. Her hair was grey streaked brown, cut short and stylishly. With her strong jaw, when she had been younger, she was a woman one would have called handsome, rather than pretty. She sometimes reminded Harry of a young Minerva McGonagol (not that he'd tell either of them that).

"Hi, Roz." Harry said tiredly, "I feel like I just regrew half a lung."

Ron got up and offered his chair to Roz, "I'll go find Ginny, shall I?"

"Yes, that's fine. I won't take long." replied Roz, sounding a bit grim. She declined to take the seat, making Harry wonder how bad it could be. She turned to Harry as Ron left, "Well, Harry, I have to say, this could have gone better." she looked at him sternly, increasing her resembelance to Minerva, "I'm not thrilled you decided to freelance."

Harry sighed, "I wasn't freelancing. Kreacher had to bring the information to me directly. I notified the head of the investigation and I went to stake the place out. I only intervened when it started to..." he swallowed, "Get ugly."

"So you did not go to the scene with the intention of taking care of things yourself?" she asked, archly. Harry wished she'd take the seat Ron had vacated, he didn't appreciate her looming over him like that, while he was flat on his back.

"I acted according to procedure." replied Harry, stiffly.

"And in your professional opinion, you intervened appropriately?"

"God, Roz. I don't know...Tim's safe, and that's all that matters. I just...Smith's dead..." Harry coughed, looked away from Roz's sharp eyes, "I wish I could change that...But I thought...I thought he was going to kill the child."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'." said Roz dryly, "Fortunately for you, Tim was able to give evidence that he was in danger before you even arrived. Also, given that Smith matches the description of Mary Dawson's murderer, it's fair to say that he was correct."

"Smith didn't hurt him, did he?" asked Harry anxiously.

Roz shook her head, "He's fine." she said. "Now, we can do a disciplinary hearing before the Wizengamot if you like, or you can waive it and I can take care of this tonight. If you do a hearing, the press will get involved, though."

Harry closed his eyes, "What are the complaints?"

"Well, since you were hurt first, and the witness has testified that the other wizard raised his wand again, the use of the killing curse was ruled lawful. But you are on administrative leave until Phoebe clears you for field duty. And you're going to need some retraining, but that's procedure. The actual complaint is going to a crime scene where you have a clear conflict of interest."

"There wasn't time." replied Harry opening his eyes, "What was I supposed to do, send my house elf?" he said scornfully, "I sent Ron a Patronus, as soon as I knew."

Roz's mouth might have twitched at the house elf comment, "So, you're waiving your right to hearing?"

"Yeah, go on." Harry said irritably. Chances were he was going to regret it but he was too tired and stressed to care.

"Hold out your wand hand." Said Roz, solemnly.

Confused, Harry did so. Roz tapped the back of his hand with her wand.

Absolutely nothing happened.

"What the hell, Roz?" asked Harry, mystified.

"That, my friend, is what they call in the business, 'a slap on the wrist'." She looked less stern, now. "I just needed to have your testimony to corroborate reasonable use of force." She leaned forward to squeeze his shoulder. Harry remembered that she had killed someone in the course of her duties, years ago.

Finally, she took the empty chair "I also have a suggestion for you. I got an owl a couple of days ago, there's some call for an Auror consultant at my old office."

"South America?" the topic change was a little fast

"The Caribbean. How's your French?"

"Not too bad. Why?"

"Well you remember that dark wizard, Duvalier? The Haitians finally put the bastard away for good, but their magical law enforcement is where we were after the War. How about I lend you to them for a bit?"

"Instead of administrative leave?"

Roz nodded, "Think about it. It'll take you out of the line of fire for a while. That'll make Ginny happy. No rush, you can finish out your original leave, if you like."

"What if I just want to retire altogether, and write my memoirs?"

"Then I want an autographed copy.

Another knock at the door, "You done with him, Roz?" asked Ginny, opening the door.

"I am." she smiled, "And there's my sweet lad," she said fondly to the little boy who was clinging to Ginny's hand.

Tim smiled shyly at Roz, "Hello, Miss Roz." he said.

Roz crouched on the floor to give him a hug, "Told you he'd be fine, didn't I?" Harry heard her whisper.

"You bring him round the office," Roz said to Harry, when she stood up, "He said he wanted to see where you work."

"Still have a job then?" asked Harry.

"When you're ready to have it back." nodded Roz. She hugged Ginny, then Harry and left, closing the door behind her.

"Harry? How're you feeling?" Ginny said, softly. Her eyes were misty and the hand that reached out to him was cold, "I was worried."

"I'm all right. But more importantly, How're you lot?" Harry asked, his eyes settling on Tim.

There was no doubt in Harry's mind that something had changed with the child. He was standing differently, and his blue eyes were somehow more present. He wouldn't meet Harry's eyes though. When he saw that Harry was looking at him, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and hid behind Ginny's hip.

Ginny put her hand on the boy's head, "It's been a difficult couple of days." she admitted, tears starting to fall.

"Aw, Ginny." Harry drew her to him and hugged her hard. He felt her shaking, as she got his shoulder all wet. Typical Ginny, she kept everything together until the crisis was over. When it was safe she let it out.

"Where's Lily?" asked Harry, after a minute when Ginny's tremors stilled.

"Eleanor's" said Tim. Even his voice was stronger, more certain.

Harry had no idea how Tim might be reacting. Harry wasn't sure what was normal or anything.

Ginny gave another sniff, pulling herself together, "Sorry. I've just been worried. Lily will be back after dinner. She wants to see you as soon as she can. And the boys are coming down tomorrow."

Harry looked at her blankly, "It's Saturday, tomorrow." said Ginny, "I didn't think it made any sense for them to come down when you were out of it."

Ginny sat down on the bed, "Move over."

Harry did, happy that she was here at last.

Ginny patted the bed next to her. Tim tentatively climbed up. Still not looking at Harry.

Looking significantly at Harry, Ginny said, "I need to ask the healers when you can come home. Tim, can you stay here for a moment?"

Tim really didn't want to. Everything about him tensed, reminding Harry sharply of when Hermione had brought the child to the house. But he nodded, "All right, Auntie Ginny."

It was an awkward moment, "How are you doing?" asked Harry softly, as soon as Ginny was gone.

Tim shrugged, "Better, I think."

Harry took a deep breath, into his new lung, "Tim, I'm so sorry."

"For what?" asked Tim, looking at him, at last. His eyes were alarmed.

"I'm sorry that...that you had to go through all that." Harry winced, at his own words. Coward. Try again, "I'm sorry I didn't protect you well enough. That he was able..."

Tim shrugged, again, as he always did to cover what he was feeling, "He's gone now, isn't he?" Tim's eyes settled on his hands again, "You killed him."

There was no accusation in the boy's voice. No horror, or grief, just a flat acceptance.

Harry's eyes began to prickle, "I'm sorry."

The boy's eyes were bright as they came back to look into Harry's, "Did you mean it?" he asked, suddenly aggressive.

"Mean...what?"

"Did-did you mean that I was y-your son?" Tim demanded, "When you got there...y-you said..." his voice was shaking.

An ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his injury stopped Harry's voice for a second. He coughed, "Listen to me," he said, thickly, when he could speak around the lump in his throat, "There are a lot of things in this world I'd die for." Harry would tell him about that, maybe, one day, "But you, your sister and your brothers are the only thing I'd kill for."

Tim stared at Harry, looking a little frightened, perhaps because of the ferocity in Harry's tone. After a moment in which he seemed to take in the words, he leaned his head into Harry's shoulder and cried.

It wasn't too long before Ginny came back, smiling as she found Harry and Tim, both asleep.