Hell Hath No Fury

This is the result of a plot bunny that hijacked my fanfic time and demanded to be written in one night. The title is adapted from William Congreve's Play “The Mourning Bride” from 1697. If you know the end of the axiom-it will give some insight to the end of this.

This is a one-shot fic and is in no way related to the Power Series, which I'm currently writing.

I will admit the ending is a bit of a mélange between some of the old 1980's cop shows I used to be addicted to. Mr. Plot Bunny adapted an episode of “Spenser: For Hire” and “Hunter” to bring you the ending you'll read here.

I am Vicarious Leigh, hence this is an H/H fic. It's considerably darker than anything I've written thus far. However - understanding the variety of experiences the readership has I need to warn you…

This fic deals with the issue of nonconsensual sex (i.e. rape). That's why it's rated “R.” I have it on good authority- not the least of which is my own…that people who have been touched by this crime-be it as victim or support for a victim - may have a difficult time reading it. If you are among them, I am not offended in the least if you hit the “back” button.

That being said - wouldn't we all like our own Knight in shining armor?

Without further ado…

Hell Hath No Fury

By: Vicarious Leigh

“Exactly how long have we been sitting here?” Harry said, mindlessly squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“I quit looking at the clock an hour ago,” Shawn Block replied. Harry looked past him to the darkened house they sat several hundred feet from for hours. Harry yawned broadly and looked back toward his new partner.

“I don't know how much more of this I can take.” He fought to form the words through a second broad yawn. When he'd decided to become an Auror, he had visions of a life full of mystery and intrigue. He'd thought of exotic locations and beautiful women. It was only after his years of training ended, he realized how “James Bond” his vision had been. More often than not his job was exactly like this - boring.

He and Shawn had been perched in this dim room for hours. Aside from their conversation, the only noise was that from the surveillance charms they had set around the subject's house. As it was, they weren't making much noise. Harry was quickly losing his grip on conscious thought and decided to strike up another conversation if only to keep himself awake.

“So tell me about Durmstrang,” Harry said disinterestedly.

Shawn looked toward him with a befuddled expression. “Well, it's full of a lot of people who think they're better than everyone else - and then there's the students.” Harry chuckled at the implication. He'd only been assigned a new partner a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, his record of keeping them was not the longest in the division. People either seemed to be intimidated to be paired with Harry Potter, or completely star struck. Either way it didn't make for successful operations. Shawn was the closest thing to normal he'd been assigned in years.

He looked over to the dusty mirror that hung on the wall, to see his aged reflection staring back. He wasn't “old” by any stretch of the imagination, but times like these - especially when he was exhausted, he felt far older than his 29 years would have one believe.

What I wouldn't give for a bowl of Hermione's Clam Chowder.

His stomach growled at the mere thought. Hermione Granger was his best friend of more years than he dared count, and his roommate as well. Among other things, she'd become addicted to foreign cookbooks and tried different recipes whenever she was battling stress.

He thought back over the stressors they'd encountered over the years. They had been to the gates of hell and back. Frankly, he couldn't remember a single memory of his life without her as a part of it. Though the other players changed throughout time, she was a constant. Shortly after completing their seventh year, the prophesied battle had come.

The three of them, Harry, Hermione, and Ron Weasley faced Voldemort together, yet only two survived. The years that followed were the darkest Harry could imagine. He and Hermione had grown inseparable by the end of their schooling at Hogwart's and - if it were possible - even closer after the death of their mutual best friend.

To this day, he and Hermione didn't discuss it much. They'd spent their tears, cried on each other's shoulders, and collapsed so frequently in the months immediately following he didn't feel like they had much left to give. Although twelve years had passed, it was a loss he'd never truly gotten over. He imagined it was the same for Hermione. The only positive thing he could draw from it was their strengthened friendship.

They talked about everything. He'd bared his soul to her and she to him. Even now, Hermione was the only person he ever allowed to see him cry. She didn't just see it - she'd consoled it. She'd rocked him, held him, and gathered him from the floor as often as he had done it for her. They'd shared their hopes, their dreams, and their fears. They'd participated in every milestone that had come along for each other in the past twelve years.

They joined the Auror ranks together, in an unspoken pledge to avenge Ron's death by dispatching with every dark wizard they could find. They'd become such an intrinsic part of each other, nearly everyone questioned why they didn't partner themselves together. They flat refused to do so, and never even had a conversation about it.

In Harry's mind, he didn't want to be Hermione's partner because they were too close. Certainly they could read each other's thoughts and respond quicker than words could induce. But, the risks were too great. He couldn't bear to be in a situation that might require one of them to give their life - even if it was for the other, he didn't her to make the choice.

In their line of work, Aurors were occasionally assigned to do things that were less than respectable. They had to lower themselves to the stature of those they would hunt. That was something he didn't want to see happen to Hermione, and more so - he didn't want her to see him do the same. Most importantly, if Harry Potter was easily the most famous wizard in England, Hermione was most famous witch. Harry felt a partnership with Hermione was tantamount to an engraved invitation for paparazzi to ruin every assignment they'd ever set about completing. Besides, it wasn't like they weren't working together in some respects.

What the wizarding world didn't know, was that both Harry and Hermione joined the Order of the Phoenix as well. Following in Tonks' footsteps, they worked both ends of the dark wizard industry and provided useful information for the Order from their “official” job. On those assignments, which were arguably more dangerous, Harry's entire perception of partnership changed.

He refused to let Hermione out of his sight.

The Order was small. Hence, they had no choice but to work together. He couldn't take another partner and divorce himself from the assignments any more than she could. Remus Lupin had come to understand if Harry was going to be worthwhile in any mission, he'd better embark on it with Hermione by his side. Otherwise, his thoughts were sidetracked with concern for her and he was utterly worthless to the cause. On these assignments, the ability to read each other's thoughts was priceless, and had saved their own asses more times than he remembered. However, of all these reasons, Harry understood the root of his problem with having Hermione as a partner.

He was in love with her.

He'd never told her - at least not in anything that couldn't be considered platonic. He never knew how to do so. Moreover, he never thought it was appropriate. Ron had been his best friend, and he had also been in love with her. Even though the years had passed, and the pain of Ron's death had softened, he always felt as though any romantic overtures toward his best friend's girlfriend were somehow traitorous to his memory. It was one of the only instances where his “martyr complex” as Hermione dubbed it, still reigned supreme.

Living with her was hard enough.

“I haven't figured out your faces yet,” Shawn said, looking at him appraisingly.

“What do you mean?” Harry replied.

“Like now. You're certainly not in this room. Are you thinking about Hermione?”

“Why would you say that?” Harry said, somewhat taken aback that a relatively new partner would've figured out his musings so quickly.

“Oh! Come on, Harry,” he replied laughingly. “Everyone knows you two are an item.”

“Then everyone is seriously misinformed,” Harry said flatly.

“You can't tell me, you've lived with her all these years - known her this long - and you haven't…you know,” Shawn said raising an eyebrow.

Harry looked at him sternly and replied. “No. She's my best friend. Trust me when I say it's nothing more than that.” Shawn looked at him incredulously. Shaking his head, his face broke the faintest of grins and he returned his attention to the house across the street.

“So, what's she doing tonight while you're participating in this riveting mission?” Shawn said sardonically.

“I have no idea. I haven't seen her since yesterday morning.”

“Really?”

“Well, I've been in between home and work, and she's been doing the same,” he looked to Shawn, a thought crossing his mind to prove his earlier point. “I think she had a date last night.”

“With who?”

“She didn't say. Probably another egotistical git from Encryption that wants to notch his bedpost with the Hermione Granger,” Harry said acidly. “I don't know why they continue their attempts - you'd think the last four black eyes in that department would give someone the hint.” Harry shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah, but you're not a thing at all,” Shawn replied sarcastically without looking away from the window.

***

Hermione drank the blue potion she'd prepared in one gulp. It was always better to drink Negrulean potion fast - if you did it slowly the horrible taste just seemed to multiply in your mouth. She dropped onto the edge of the large bathtub and drew her wand from under the towel on the counter. Slowly, she worked the wand over her upper arms, thighs, chest, and face. As she swirled the wand over her body, the spell reacted with the potion and the black and blue bruises that peppered her body faded slightly.

She looked at the clock worriedly. She wasn't sure how long Harry had been gone, and with their profession, she never knew when he'd be home. Frankly, this was one time she hoped his assignment would keep him from the house for days rather than hours. Being a witch or not, potions and spells took a while to work, and she had only made moderate progress with her appearance. Luckily, this treatment was enough to face the facial bruises from sight entirely.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She couldn't look long. Excepting the bruises, her Auror training had made her body rather attractive. She had small, but defined muscles, and a lean body overall. Her hair, although still bushy and generally unmanageable, had honey blond highlights running through the natural chestnut. She'd done it on a dare and found that she loved the flirty quality the highlights brought to her face.

That was the last thing she wanted to see now.

She turned from the mirror and pulled on one of Harry's t-shirts. It wasn't uncommon for her to sleep in his clothes, so he wouldn't think anything of it, but she was welcoming of a roomy shirt that wouldn't pull against her sore muscles. With a grimace, she slipped into a pair of loose cotton pants and pulled the drawstring into a bow. She turned off the light, closing the bathroom door behind her, and crawled into bed.

This was the part she hated.

She'd forced herself to be very clinical during the daylight hours. She could look at her injuries from the prospective of a medically trained witch. She could brew potions and chant spells to fix the outside. But as she lay here, in the dark, alone, she couldn't escape into her own logic. Last night was the first night she'd gone through this, but from all indications, tonight would be no different.

She wiped the first of the night's many tears from her cheek as she stared at the ceiling wishing for the one thing, the one refuge, she couldn't have….Harry. She'd never needed anyone in her life like she needed him now. The hardest part was going to be keeping him away. He couldn't know. He wouldn't know. That was how it had to be.

***

Harry put his cloak on the hook, not caring that it slipped off and piled into a heap on the floor. Hermione would have his head for it in the morning, but he was too tired to care. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning. He'd been on this assignment for over 36 hours and had little sleep to show for it. The only time he'd ever craved a bed like he did now was after every arrival feast Hogwarts ever hosted.

He dragged his feet up the stairs, already unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his trousers. If he was lucky he'd at least get to throw it off before collapsing into his bed for some undetermined length of time. He stopped, if only briefly, as he passed Hermione's room. He grasped the doorknob with the same intention he'd had every time he came home in the wee hours of the morning. He'd pause to watch her peaceful sleep, pull her favorite blanket (knitted by Molly Weasley) back over her, kiss her on the cheek and retire to his room. However, there was a problem. The door was locked.

The sheer absurdity of it shocked him enough to gather his senses. He pulled his wand from the holster on his hip and opened the door easily. Already confused by the door, he was thoroughly unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

Hermione was thrashing around in bed, muttering to herself. Her face was glistening and her hair was completely drenched from sweat. Her blankets, and one pillow had long since been thrown to the floor and she lie there, visibly trembling in her sleep. Without thinking, Harry rushed through the door and sat on the edge of the bed, turning on the dim light on her bedside table.

“Hermione?” he whispered, shaking her gently. She continued to toss her head from side to side. This was all eerily familiar to Harry. For months after the final battle, Hermione relieved the night in her sleep. If Harry managed a night without his own nightmares, she didn't. Almost religiously, one would rouse the other - only to spend the next few hours talking the demons out of their heads. He hadn't done this in years.

“Hermione?” he said more firmly.

Her muttering became more distinct and compulsively Harry listened to make out the words. “No. No. Please, no,” was all she said. And she said it repeatedly. It was too much for Harry to take. After hearing her pleading voice he resolved to stop her subconscious immediately.

“Hermione, wake up,” he said pointedly, shaking her until her eyes began to flutter. She awoke with a gasp and shot up in her bed. “Hey, it's okay,” he softened. “It was just a dream.” He pulled her to him, expecting the response he'd gotten so many times before. It didn't come. She remained stiff in his arms and pulled back almost as quickly as he'd pulled her in.

“Harry? When did you get back?”

“Just now. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I'm fine. It was just a dream.”

“Are you sure,” he asked hesitantly. “You've not had one of those in a long time.”

“I know.” It didn't pass Harry's notice that she wasn't looking at him. He gently raised her chin to ensure she could look at him properly.

“Hermione, talk to me.”

She pushed his hand down and smiled weakly as she looked away. “Harry, I'm fine. Stop worrying about me. You look exhausted.”

He paused for a moment, realizing her obvious effort to change the course of the conversation. He knew her well enough to know he wasn't going to get anything out of her tonight. If he pushed it, he knew what he'd get. And he had no energy to spar. He pulled her to him - as best he could for her conspicuous reluctance - and kissed her on the top of her head.

“Love you,” he whispered.

“Love you too,” she replied hoarsely. “Now get to bed before you fall over,” she smiled. He rose from her side, silently happy to have a warm bed in his immediate future.

***

Harry's eyes fluttered open to the blazing sunlight streaming into his room. With a groan he flopped over and buried his head under the pillow. He simply wasn't ready for it to be morning - or afternoon for that matter. He could hear a few sounds emanating from the kitchen below and it quickly reminded him that he had unfinished business with his best friend.

He pulled himself from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom, sparing only a brief glace to see the stubble across his face. After taking care of the more basic necessities, he tossed on a pair of jeans and headed for the kitchen.

“Good afternoon,” Hermione said brightly as he entered the kitchen with squinting eyes.

“Is that what it is?”

“For about the last four hours, yes,” she said laughingly. “How did it go?” She placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He smiled inwardly as it was prepared exactly as he liked it. It was not like Hermione to ever miss a detail.

“About like you'd expect.” He looked at her questioningly. “Hermione,” he began.

“Harry, I'm fine,” she interrupted before he had the chance to finish his sentence. “It was just a dream. It was harmless.” She turned around and retreated from the counter toward the sink. He watched her dunk a plate into the warm water absently scrubbing it with a dishrag. It didn't make him feel any better. He'd only ever seen her do chores the muggle way when something was bothering her. Usually, dishes were not her first priority. She was allergic to muggle dish soap.

“Achoo!” The convulsion from her abdomen nearly folded her in half. Just as Harry broke into a told-you-so grin, it evaporated from his face. She winced and grabbed her side with a painful expression.

“Hermione?”

She waved off his question before he could ask it. “I know, muggle soap…my own stubbornness will have me break a rib.” She giggled as she threw the dishrag into the water and walked out of the room.

Hermione never giggled.

Coffee in hand, he followed after her. She settled herself into an overstuffed couch by the window and pulled her favorite book off the table. Unlike him, she didn't have reports due today - or within the hour as it would appear. He looked at his watch, cursing the time under his breath.

“You'd better go. You know how division gets if you don't have your report in by five o'clock.”

“I know.” He turned back to the kitchen and put his mug on the counter. As he passed the couch, he bent over to give Hermione a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said warmly.

“Anytime.” She might've thought she'd gotten it past him, but as he rose from the couch, she pulled her chenille throw over her - attempting to cover the bruise on her leg he'd already seen. He knew, nearly, every inch of Hermione. That bruise was new.

***

Harry sat at his desk, the five o'clock deadline already passed, staring blankly out of the window. Shawn's quill was scratching away behind him. He'd already gotten his report to division and was onto another project. Harry couldn't motivate himself to do anything.

“Harry? They're already going to have your head for that report - don't you at least want to look like you're working on it if the inspector comes in here?” Harry turned to Shawn, not having heard a word he said.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Report? Five O' clock - you in the inspector's office,” Shawn said jokingly.

“Oh, yeah, the report. Sorry, my mind is not exactly engaged at the moment.” He looked at the parchment in front of him with unseeing eyes. He had every intention of getting it done on time. But he couldn't stop thinking about Hermione. Among all his training, the one thing he never forgot was Moody's advice to trust his gut. Something was wrong with her. He could feel it. But that, in itself, didn't bother him so much as the fact she wouldn't talk to him about it.

They talked about everything. There was no topic they hadn't explored, and nothing in the house was taboo. They'd even had discussions of their sexual fantasies…a conversation Harry had nearly memorized in the many months afterward. It was that ability to talk about anything was most unsettling. It was obvious to Harry that she was hiding something from him, and that kept his thoughts clearly on her and off the task at hand.

“Mr. Potter?” The deep voice of a woman interrupted his thoughts. He sensed Shawn snap to attention in his chair and drew his eyes up the cloaked figure before him. “I don't believe we have your report.”

Harry hung his head. “I know. I'm sorry. I'll get it to you within the hour.” He chanced a glance at the Inspector. “I've got a lot on my mind, I'm sorry if I haven't been doing my job as well as I should.”

Although her face remained grim, her eyes softened. “Well, within the hour then.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Harry replied, picking up his quill. She looked over toward his partner's desk.

“Mr. Block, I appreciate your timeliness,” she said.

“Thank you Inspector Tonks,” he replied. With that, she turned on her heel, tossing another glance Harry's way, and left the room. “Damn, what I wouldn't give to be Harry Potter,” Shawn said rolling his eyes and smiling.

“What?”

“Anyone else in her division would've gotten their ass handed to them, myself included. Not you.” He threw his hand to his forehead dramatically and his voice climbed several octaves. “Of course, Harry. Anything for you, Harry. Can I bear your children, Harry?” He broke into laughter as Harry launched a stapler in his direction.

“Shut it,” Harry said trying to hold back his own laughter.

Wiping a tear from his eye, Shawn sobered. “You weren't like this when you left last night. Did something happen at home?”

Harry looked back at his desk - thinking about the myriad of things that didn't fit about Hermione's behavior. “Something,” he muttered.

**

Report complete and on Tonks' desk within the hour, Harry headed for his flat. They'd set up several security wards - not only due to their profession but more to protect them from the public. Apparition wards were among the measures in place. However, Harry had created a ward that was sensitive to the witch or wizard attempting to break it. In this case, Harry or Hermione could apparate into the flat when no one else could. Although he'd had several requests, he'd always turned them down. Not even Remus Lupin, his surrogate godfather, could apparate straight into their home. In the back of his mind, he'd done it that way so he and Hermione could not be disturbed if he ever mustered the courage to tell her how he felt about her.

The foyer of the flat came spinning into view as he apparated home. He hung his cloak on the hook and walked into the den. Hermione was sitting quietly in the same couch where he'd left her. Her back was toward him and she flipped the page and ran one hand through her hair, coiling a few strands around her finger as she read. The sunlight was beginning to descend on the horizon and it glinted off the highlights in her hair. He could see the rhythm of her shoulders rising and falling as she sat peacefully in her favorite spot.

Not wanting to spoil the quiet moment, he crept over to where she was sitting. With a smile he moved behind her to wrap her in his arms. He never got that far. Just before he touched her shoulder, she sensed his presence. Harry had only his good reflexes to thank.

With a gasp she spun around on the couch, jabbing her wand in his direction and shouting a curse before he could so much as open his mouth. He grabbed her wrist as the tip of her wand exploded with the familiar red glare of a stunner. He quickly threw her wrist to the side as the red jet careened across the room, exploding against the breakfront in the dining room and littering the floor with its shattered glass. Harry's eyes were locked on the destruction momentarily, giving her the first opportunity.

“What in the hell are you doing!” she screamed, yanking her wrist out of his hand.

“Me?” he replied in astonishment.

“Yes, you! Are you trying to scare me to death?”

“Hermione?” he said incredulously. “We've lived together for how long? How many times have we done that to each other? Have you completely forgotten the only person who can get into this flat, besides you, is me?” His voice was rising. Harry took her silence as a victory in this argument. He could see the pulse throbbing rapidly in her neck. Her hands were sweaty and her face gaunt. “What is going on with you?”

“Nothing!”

“Don't lie to me, Hermione. I know you better than that.”

“If you know me so well, you should know when to leave me alone,” she replied darkly and rose from the couch. She snapped her book from the cushion and retreated to her room, slamming the door behind her.

And so it went. The next four days progressed similarly. When Harry was home, he walked on eggshells. His senses were even more alert at home than on the job. Frankly, that was exhausting. He studied her behavior, her body language, and her words. He scrutinized every conversation that occurred when they had them. In truth, she'd spent more time alone in her room then he'd ever experienced. Her showers, usually short and efficient, lasted long enough to drain the flat of hot water. When she was gone, he'd taken to snooping about her room for clues. He didn't like the answer he'd invariably come to every time.

He found the vial of Negrulean potion. He'd seen at least one bruise. He knew she wasn't sleeping, and felt fairly confident she'd used a silencing charm on the bedroom door on at least one occasion. She'd walked gingerly around the flat for a few days and seemed to favor her right side. At work, she was disorganized and unfocused - something she never was. He'd made clandestine inquiries with both Ginny and Luna. Neither of her best girlfriends had seen her in over a week. That was unusual in itself.

He thought back logically, her behavior changed the night of his stakeout. She'd had a date the night before. He left for his assignment before she had returned. He couldn't wrap his brain around the possibility that someone might've laid a hand on her in his absence. But, it was the only conclusion making sense.

And she wasn't helping.

If anything, his attempts to get her talking only sealed her lips tighter. He was less likely to get the truth out of her now than ever. The entire situation became the splinter under his skin. He had to know the truth, and if she wasn't going to tell him, he was going to find out.

He sat back in the overstuffed chair and looked to the brass container sitting on the hearth. He hopped up and withdrew a pinch of floo powder, throwing it into the fireplace. The flames erupted with an angry green light and, shouting “Grimmauld Place,” shoved his head into the fire.

“Remus?” he asked.

“Harry!” Remus said, coming around the kitchen table and peering down toward him. He sat down in front of the fireplace expectantly. “How are you doing? Tonks told me you're a bit out of whack these days.”

“Well, a little, yes.”

“She said you missed a deadline and she had to go `Inspector' on you,” he said smiling. “You know she loves to do that.”

Harry stifled a chuckle. “Yeah, I know. Listen, Remus I need some advice. I think I'm about to do something that could get me killed.”

Remus sobered immediately, missing the sarcasm in Harry's voice. “What's the matter?”

“It's Hermione. Something is wrong with her and she absolutely will not tell me anything.” Remus nodded silently.

“Tonks said she has really fallen off the track at work. She's been late to meetings, hasn't been prepared for her assignments, and had something tantamount to a panic attack in the cafeteria.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows inquisitively. “I didn't hear about that.”

“She just freaked out. She dropped her tray and ran from the room. No one knew where she got off to, and she wasn't seen again until the next morning.” He looked at Harry worriedly. “I was hoping you could tell me what was going on.”

“I can't. She won't talk to me, Remus.” Harry hadn't taken the opportunity to express his concern to anyone. Now that he had begun to articulate his worries, the emotion began to well in his chest.

“What do you know?”

Harry shifted on his knees and relayed the story to Remus as he understood it. Their conversation took long enough that eventually Tonks sauntered into the room and they caught her up as well. Finally, Harry came to the point of his call.

“I have a plan to get the truth out of her,” he said softly.

“You mentioned something about it killing you,” Remus reminded him.

“Well, she's likely to kill me. But, I'm desperate Remus. I have to know what's going on.”

“What do you intend to do?” Tonks asked quietly, her arms wrapped around Remus' shoulders.

He held up a vial of potion. Both Remus and Tonks knew its purpose instantly. “You're a brave man, Harry. But, if it will help Hermione, you've got my blessing,” Remus said, absently shaking his head from side to side.

***

Harry was ready when Hermione came home. She walked through the front door and dropped a bag full of books by the table. She hung her cloak on the hook and walked into the kitchen, rubbing her neck.

Harry was already making dinner. In a sad effort to absolve himself of transgressions not yet made, he was preparing her favorite dish. He hoped it would serve as a peace offering.

“How was your day?” he asked banally.

“Long.”

“I can make it better,” he said with a smirk.

“How's that?” she replied, resting her head on her crossed arms.

“I made your favorite,” he said quietly as he slid a glass across the counter toward her. Her head snapped up and a smile washed her features. “Strawberry daiquiri with extra whipped cream.”

She smiled the first genuine smile he'd seen in days and it nearly broke his heart. She pulled the drink to her and - as was her ritual - began stirring the whipped cream into the drink. Harry watched her discretely from the corner of his eye, not taking a breath until she started to drink.

“Um,” she moaned. “That is exactly what I needed.” She sipped from the straw again.

Harry knew enough about veritaserum to understand its effects. He needed to make sure she'd gotten the full dose before he started questioning her or she'd get wise, stop drinking, and hex him into the next millennia. After a little mundane work conversation he decided to try out a few test questions.

“So what do you really think about Ginny and Draco?” Harry asked, his heart pounding.

“I think he's a git. I don't think he'll ever change, and Ginny is just asking for a broken heart,” she replied without hesitation. Her eyebrows ruffled a bit as she appeared to consider her own response.

“What about that shirt I bought last week, the one you said was `nice,'” he probed.

“Oh, Harry it's the most wretched garment you own. Please don't appear on the cover of Witch Weekly in that thing, it's dreadful.” Now her face contorted with confusion and her eyes glazed slightly as she swayed on the stool.

The test was over. It was working.

Knowing she couldn't resist if she tried, he walked around behind her, scooped her off the stool, and settled her down on the couch. He knelt down in front of her, handing her the nearly threadbare chenille throw she always cuddled with. “Harry,” her voice was distant but he could hear the alarm laced through it. “What did you do to me?”

“God, I only hope you won't hate me,” he muttered. “Hermione I have to know what's the matter with you.”

Her eyes widened with the apparent realization of what he'd done. “Harry!” He grabbed her hands in his and steeled himself for the conversation she refused to have.

“When I left for my stakeout the other night, did you go on a date?” She closed her eyes and scrunched up her face. “Don't fight it, Hermione. Talk to me.” He squeezed her hands supportively as her head involuntarily nodded her answer.

“Did he hurt you?” Even with her eyes squeezed shut, he could tell the tears were welling in them. Her mouth opened and closed in the valiant battle of stubborn will over powerful magic. “Hermione, please,” Harry begged. His heart plummeted to his feet as he saw her head nodding quietly again. The anger was already beginning to boil the very blood in his veins.

“Oh, God,” he whispered. “He hit you didn't he?” He asked the question without really wanting to know the answer. When she nodded again, he nearly felt his blood pressure shatter the light fixture over his head. He dropped his head, angry tears springing to his eyes now. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I couldn't” she squeaked. She squeezed his hands, causing him to look up at her. “Harry, please. I'm begging you. Don't ask me any more questions.” Her voice had begun to waver and the tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Wh-“ he began.

“Please!” she nearly shouted, interrupting him before he could ask anything more. If his heart was in his feet before it was lodged three floors below him now. She was nearly hysterical - at least as hysterical as he'd ever seen her - there was more to this story. She started muttering incessantly. She was rocking back and forth on the couch repeating “Oh, God, please God,” over and over. He moved beside her on the couch and wrapped his arms around her protectively.

“Hermione,” she started sobbing, seeming to understand he would not stop with his interrogation. He held her tight in an attempt to make her understood she was safe in this room. “I know he hit you. Did he do anything else to hurt you?” She burst into tears and threw her arms around him. He squeezed her to his chest and fought the welling emotions that were erupting in his gut. He didn't have to hear the answer to understand, but the potion would not keep her silent.

“He,” she began through wracking sobs, “he ra..raped me.”

Harry couldn't have held her tighter if he tried. They were both rocking on the couch now and he failed to keep the tears from spilling down his own cheeks. This was the closest thing to a nightmare he'd ever experienced, and he had no idea what to do. The only instinct driving him was the compulsion to leap from the couch and kill whoever even thought to put a hand on his Hermione.

“Who?” His tone was murderous. He was barely able to keep the shaking from his voice. He could feel her fighting to maintain control. Her fingers grasped at the back of his shirt, and her respiration increased ten fold as she fought to keep that information to herself. Harry's patience was waning…he wanted to kill someone, and he wanted to do it now. “Who?” he repeated.

Her answer was so quiet he could've sworn he'd misunderstood her. He pulled back and looked at her properly. “Who?” he asked again, not believing the first answer she'd given him.

“Shawn.”

***

“Remus!” Harry yelled as he stepped out of the fire with Hermione clutched in his arms. The potion had begun to wear off and her efforts in fighting the inevitable had taken a toll on her. She was barely conscious from exhaustion.

“Harry?” Remus said as he appeared from around the corner wearing only a pair of long cotton pajama pants. Tonks was directly behind him in her dressing robe. Remus took one look at the scene before him and ran over to them both. “Harry? What's wrong? What happened?”

“Is Poppy here?” Harry asked.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Remus replied. “She decided to stay over before heading back to Hogwarts.”

“I'll get her,” Tonks said as she quickly turned and trailed out of sight. Harry walked purposefully into the drawing room, knowing there was a deep, and comfortable, couch where he could sit with Hermione. Remus followed him silently. Harry settled her down onto the pillows and pulled a blanket over her as she turned away from him. Remus laid a hand on his shoulder as Tonks and Poppy Pomfrey came running into the room.

“What happened?” Poppy said, settling down beside Harry and coaxing Hermione onto her back.

It seemed like an eternity before Harry could speak the words. To do so gave the act so much finality and truth. As he spoke, the air seemed to evaporate from the room, leaving the four of them to gasp for breath while Hermione lie silently weeping on the couch. “She was raped.”

“Everyone out,” Poppy said, regaining her voice first. Before Harry could retort she reiterated. “Everyone.” Harry felt Remus' hand grab his arm and he pulled him from the room bodily. They made their way to the kitchen and Remus clamored in the cupboard while Harry collapsed onto the bench at the long table. Before he knew it, he had a glass of firewhiskey in front of him.

“Who did it?” Remus asked darkly, settling down at the table with his own glass.

“Shawn Block.”

Remus nearly sprayed his drink over Harry. “What?” he said disbelievingly. “When?”

“He met her at a restaurant the night before I went on that stakeout. He took her for a walk in the gardens around the conservatory,” again he couldn't find the words. “And then left her.”

“Oh, my God.”

“She finally made it back to the flat about an hour after I met him.” Harry's pulse was rising. He gripped the glass so tightly he was sure it would shatter - he didn't care.

“Harry?” Remus began.

“Remus,” Harry interrupted. “I'm losing it. Not even when I faced Voldemort, not even after Ron, never have I wanted to kill someone as much as I do right now.” He looked up at his surrogate godfather and saw the blood drain from his face.

“Harry, we need to think logically about this for a minute,” Remus said quietly.

“Logically!” Somehow he'd leapt to his feet and didn't even notice. Remus was frantically trying to calm him down but Harry didn't want to be calm. He wanted someone to bring his “partner” to him so he could beat him to a bloody pulp and cause as much pain to him as he'd done to Hermione. If no one would bring him, he'd find him alone.

“Did you ask her why she didn't tell you?”

Harry looked at him incredulously. “Why should I need the details? My partner raped her - she's obviously going to want to keep it secret!” he shouted.

“My God, that's' why she freaked out in the cafeteria,” Tonks said quietly. Harry hadn't even noticed she'd come into the room. He snapped his eyes to hers and she continued without further prompting. “He was standing next to her in line. I thought they were just talking until she dropped her tray and made for the door.” Tonks' head fell into her hand.

“That's not the only reason why she didn't tell you,” Poppy said, coming in to the room quietly. Everyone stopped and stared at her expectantly. “She was growing hysterical just now. She said he warned her to keep it quiet or he'd kill…”

“He'd kill her?” Harry interrupted acidly.

“No. He'd kill you,” she replied.

For the first time since he'd started his tirade, Harry was speechless. Regardless of what Poppy said, he had to see her, and he had to see her now. He flew past her, back to the drawing room couch, to find Hermione sleeping peacefully under a blanket. He dropped to her side and brushed the hair away from her face.

“How bad is it?' he said softly, looking to Poppy for the answer.

“Physically, she'll be fine. She's actually taken quite good care of herself in the aftermath. There are only a few bruises remaining and…well,”

“and what?” Harry prompted.

“She has some abrasions on her wrists. It would appear that she put up one hell of a fight.” Harry's head dropped onto her arm and his hand slid down to her hand, pausing briefly over the abrasions Poppy mentioned.

“Where did these come from?”

“Harry,” Poppy hesitated.

“Where!” he was not in the mood to be handled with kid gloves today. He wanted answers.

“It would appear, from those marks, that he conjured some sort of restraint for her hands in order to…to accomplish his goal.” Poppy whispered.

Harry's head was spinning. He didn't know how to react. He didn't have words to describe what he was feeling.

“I need a minute with her please,” he said quietly, fighting the tears welling in his eyes again.

They quietly filed from the room as he rested his head on her chest, clutching the blanket over her, and stopped fighting the onslaught of emotion that was overtaking him. As his chest hitched, he felt her stir. He looked up to see her eyes fighting to open. He pulled his head from her chest and wiped the tears quickly away. “Hermione,” he croaked.

“I'm so sorry, Harry,” she whispered.

“No. I don't ever want to hear you say that. You did nothing wrong,” he argued.

She fought through heavy eyes to speak. “He said he'd kill you.”

“You can't get rid of me that easy,” he replied. He dropped his head to her chest and muttered, “I love you so much.” Her chest started hitching and he picked up his head to look at her.

“You didn't want me before, now…now you'll never want me,” the tears rolled down her cheeks as she fell apart again.

Harry was stunned. The veritaserum had apparently not worn off. He wasn't sure what shocked him more, the fact she appeared to want more from their relationship, or the thought that she saw herself as damaged goods. He grasped her around the shoulders and looked at her directly.

“Hermione, I've told you I loved you more times than I could count. You've never seemed to take it as more than friendship. But it is. It always has been. I don't just love you, I'm in love with you. Nothing and no one will ever change that. This won't change that. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me.”

The tears continued to roll along her cheeks as her eyes fluttered and finally closed. Harry recognized what Poppy had done. The small bottle of potion on the coffee table indicated the same. She'd given her a potion for dreamless sleep, and Hermione had fought its effects as long as she could. He covered her with the blanket, kissing her gently on the lips, as he rose from the couch and returned to the kitchen.

***

“Remus, I can't do this,” Harry said flatly.

“You have to,” he replied.

“You expect me to sit in my office with him and act like nothing happened?”

“Harry, the word from your co-workers is that he's getting wise. You've been out a few days, so has Hermione and everyone is talking about something big. He's got to know she told you,” Tonks said.

“So why don't I just go in there and kick his ass?” Harry replied, growing ever more agitated with the entire conversation.

“Harry,” Remus replied. “You know we're having issues with information leaks. This guy could very well be that hole.”

“Then let me plug him.”

“Not until we can check him out thoroughly. We need him to drop his guard so when we check his residence it won't be cleaned out.” Tonks said. “If I have to pull rank I will. I need you to do this, Harry.”

“Well, somebody better give me a fucking academy award when I'm done,” Harry said acidly, as he turned from her office and stormed down the hallway.

He was fuming. He had no idea how he would stand in Shawn's presence and not tear him limb from limb. They'd stopped mounting heads on the London bridge centuries ago, but he felt it was time to revive the tradition. Feeling the need to compose himself for the “assignment” he stopped off at the loo on the way to his office. After a few splashes of cold water to his face, he was ready.

“Hey, Harry!” Shawn said as he opened the door to the office. Harry's blood was boiling in his veins, but he managed a smile.

“Hi,” he replied.

“Taking a vacation these days?”

“No. Hermione's been sick. I was home with her.” At the mention of her name, Shawn looked over to Harry inquisitively.

“What's the matter with her?” his eyes were not nearly as concerned as the rest of him appeared.

“Just a bad cold I think,” he leveled his eyes at Shawn, trying desperately to maintain his composure. “Nothing a little chicken soup won't fix.”

That seemed to appease Shawn and he returned his attention to the matters on his desk. “That's too bad. I hear it's going around.”

“Yeah,” Harry said simply. “So what's our next assignment? I've been out too long. I hate getting behind.”

At that, Shawn pulled three large files from his desk and walked over to Harry's. It took every bit of resolve he had to sit quietly and act as though everything was status quo. He got through it only by imagining the multitude of ways he could kill him when this operation was over.

***

Harry walked into the den to find Hermione in her favorite chair by the window. Rather than reading, she was looking out onto the street with a glazed expression. Harry drew a breath and walked to where she sat. He was ready for the repercussions of his deceit. He deserved it, but he'd do it again.

He sat on the ottoman in front of her, blocking her view of the street. Her eyes dropped to the floor. “No, don't do that. Look at me,” he said, pulling her chin up with his finger.

“I don't want to look at you. I'm furious with you,” Hermione said flatly, closing her eyes.

“I know. You have a right to be furious with me. I'm sorry for what I did. You have to know I did it because I care about you,” he argued.

She shook her head silently. After a deafening silence she spoke. “If he kills you it will be my fault,” she squeaked. He reached out for her as she fell into his arms, “I've already lost one of my best friends and I promise I won't survive if you die too.” She broke into sobs as he held her tightly to his chest. He ruffled one hand through her hair as the other wrapped around her tightly.

“Did you hear what I said?” Harry hoped he didn't need to explain more than that.

“Every word.”

“Then understand me now. I will never leave you.” He pulled back from her and looked into her eyes. “Never,” he reiterated.

She nodded her head in understanding as her eyes locked with his. They sat there, silently gazing at each other for what seemed an eternity. Harry's eyes drifted to her lips. He desperately wanted to kiss her properly. He wanted to feel her soft lips on his and taste her. But, given the circumstances, he was frozen to the spot. Such an overture will likely not be well-received and he wanted their first kiss to be memorable for all the right reasons.

“Harry,” she said softly drawing him from his thoughts. “You say you love me?” she asked.

“More than life itself.”

“Then kiss me.”

No longer able to restrain the compulsion, he leaned in carefully. He still wasn't sure if this was a good idea, but he couldn't stop himself. Their lips met tentatively, brushing against each other as the heated air from their breath mingled lazily. Her lips were as soft as silk against his and he fought to maintain his gentility. He wanted to devour her, to consume her; he'd waited so long for this day he wasn't sure he'd get through it without having a more profound reaction to her proximity. Slowly he played his tongue across her lips, tasting her for the first time. He gasped as her mouth opened to greet him and her arms reached across the distance toward his. It was too much for him.

He pulled back, softly giving her lips a final chaste kiss. He knew he couldn't resist his own determination for long and this was neither the time nor the place. He searched for the right words to make her understand that she was not tainted. He wasn't stopping because he didn't want her - he was stopping because he wasn't capable of controlling just how much he did want her.

Her eyes were already welling with tears. “Hermione,” he began as he softly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I'm sorry.” Her eyes dropped to the floor and he immediately raised her head back to his. “No,” he said painfully. “If I don't stop now, I won't be able to. I won't hurt you like that.” She nodded. “We'll get through this together.” He whispered. He pulled her forehead to his and sighed as they intertwined their fingers.

They sat there silently, heads together for several minutes. It was all Harry could do to will the pain to go away and wish time would stop. He'd only stopped by to check on her. They were expecting him at Headquarters. Hermione must've sensed it. “It's okay, Harry. I'll be fine.”

“I don't want to leave you.”

She pulled her head back to look at him properly. “Just be sure you come back. I promise not to stun you.” She mustered the best smile she could give and Harry reciprocated. With a short kiss to her lips, he rose from the ottoman and apparated to headquarters.

Less than an hour later, he was standing with Remus at Shawn's front door. Interestingly, he'd picked the lock with the same kind of knife Sirius had given him during his fifth year at Hogwarts. Tonks assigned Shawn to an interminably boring surveillance that was bound to keep him occupied for much longer than they needed.

With a click of the handle, Remus smirked up toward Harry and turned the handle. They'd already swept the exterior for security wards. Amazingly, they hadn't found any. Either Shawn wanted to be caught, or he was less intelligent that Harry gave him credit for. There weren't many Aurors who had unprotected residences.

Harry and Remus began a sweep of the interior. After looking for wards, and enchantments, none of which they found, they began looking through his residence for signs of dark magic. Remus started in the living room while Harry moved to the kitchen. Neither of them were having much luck. Excepting for the fact Shawn's diet appeared entirely too high in saturated fat and processed sugars Harry couldn't find much circumspect about the kitchen.

“Harry?” Remus said uneasily. “I think you'd better come look at this.” Harry put down the half empty bottle of milk and followed Remus' voice down the stairs to the basement level. Just as he reached the bottom step, Remus turned on the light. Harry froze in place, completely shocked by the scene he was presented with.

Everywhere he looked, he saw himself. There were images from the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, The Quibbler and a dozen other publications that had featured Harry at one time or another. It appeared as though every article was meticulously extracted and placed in a book. The pictures were mounted in neat rows on the wall, nearly giving the impression it was wallpapered with Harry's face. Remus had begun looking through the room as Harry stood in amazement. He opened a large armoire to find artifacts collected from Harry's life. As he looked past Remus into the armoire he was greeted with the most disturbing sight of all; Ron's photograph and a patch of grass that appeared to be from his grave. There was a Gryffindor scarf, a pair of glasses much like he'd worn in school, and an old divination text he'd sold back to Flourish and Blotts after leaving Hogwarts.

“This guy isn't a dark wizard, Harry,” Remus said quietly as he stared at the room in disbelief. “He's obsessed with you.”

“This is not normal,” Harry added.

Remus picked up a photograph with Shawn wearing Gryffinfor robes and the black rimmed glasses from the armoire. “It's like he wants to be you. He's trying to live your life.”

Harry collapsed into a large squashy chair which reminded him entirely of the common room furniture from Hogwarts. “Its my fault Remus,” he said softly.

“What?” he replied.

“Hermione. It's my fault,” Harry remarked, burying his head in his hands.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don't you get it? He wants to be me. He thinks I'm with her. He even mentioned it at that stakeout. He wouldn't believe she and I had never been together. He couldn't put her in there himself,” he said waving his arms toward the open armoire. “So he did the next best thing.”

A thought occurred to Harry as he said the words and he rose from the chair toward the armoire. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for. He pulled a familiar white blouse from under a recent picture of Hermione. It was torn at the shoulder and had a spot of blood along the inner right sleeve. He looked at it blankly and handed it to Remus.

“It's my fault.”

***

A sound at the door roused Hermione from her musings. She'd stared at the same page for the last twenty minutes, not seeing a single word as she relived the kiss she's shared with Harry before he left. She knew where he was. She knew about the operation. They didn't think she did, but they were wrong. In point of fact, she was glad to have Harry out of the flat.

After he'd confessed his feelings for her, she'd done a bit of soul searching. She determined that this experience, no matter how horrible, was not going to ruin her life or her chance at a relationship with the man she'd loved for years. But, it wasn't so easy to just forget about and move on.

She needed closure, and she intended to get it.

She sat in her chair, back to the door, staring out of the window as she always did. He knew she always did so, she'd seen him looking up at her from the street. For being partnered with Harry Potter he certainly didn't pick up on the finer points of being an Auror. He stood out like a sore thumb and she was just as skilled as her roommate; skilled enough to know that he'd just entered the room behind her.

Her heart was pounding. She'd intentionally left the door open and disarmed the wards perching herself in the window where he would know she was alone. In order to seal the deal, she wore a similar white shirt as she'd done only a few nights before, unbuttoned to the navel as added incentive.

He may've lured her once, but she would lure him last.

Her heart was pounding as she heard the rustle of fabric behind her. He was approaching quietly, still under the impression she didn't know he was there. She gripped her wand, hidden under her book and silently tried to calm her heart so the pounding blood in her ears would subside and allow her to hear. She felt his presence, more than heard it as he stopped behind the chair she was seated in. From her peripheral vision she saw his arms reach out from the sides of the chair.

That was her cue.

She stood up and spun around in one swift motion, connecting the oversized book with his right temple as she uncovered the wand beneath. He stumbled and fell to the ground, but not before he could grab a handful of her hair and drag her down with him.

She landed on top of him, his arms swiftly locking around her as she rolled to the side and pulled up her knee. He yelped in pain and released her as her knee connected with the parts of him he prized so completely. Something about that gave her added satisfaction. She scrambled away and reached for the wand she'd dropped as they tumbled to the floor. Just before she could get it he yelled “expeliarmus” and it flew to the other side of the room. She lunged for it as he grabbed her ankle, sending her crashing to the floor again.

She landed on her painfully sore right side and gasped in pain as she heard another rib crack under the force of her collapse. Before she could move, the weight of his body was on top of her.

“You want more? Tell me you want more, `Mione,” he said with hot breath in her ear.

“My name is not `Mione,'” she barked.

Grimacing in pain she fought to roll on her left side and sent her right elbow careening into his jaw. He grabbed his face and released her just enough for her to scramble away. He grappled for her legs as she crawled across the floor toward her wand. Fighting through the blinding pain in her side she stretched out as far as she could and grabbed a hold of the table leg, pulling herself inches closer to her destination.

With a glance over her shoulder she saw him rise and lunge for her. She yanked the cord of the table lamp, pulling it from the desk above and threw it at him. It missed him entirely as it smashed into her favorite window; shattering glass along the street below. The distraction was enough to grant her the final seconds needed to claim her wand.

He turned around just in time to see her level her wand at him.

“You won't do it, Hermione.”

“How the hell do you know what I will and won't do?”

“Because I know you,” he dropped his arms in mocked surrender. “I know everything about you. You've seen too much death. Ron died in your arms didn't he?”

“Shut up!”

“You can't kill anyone. You don't have it in you.”

“I said shut up!”

“Put it down, Hermione. We can work this out.”

She stared at him defiantly. She wanted nothing more than to unleash the killing curse. She didn't even care if it would grant her a one-way ticket to Azkaban. She wanted him dead for what he did to her. She couldn't fight him the first time; she didn't want anyone fighting for her now. She wanted this, and she wanted it alone.

But, here she was, and for as much as it infuriated her…he was right. She had her chance, and she couldn't go through with it. She wasn't a cold-blooded killer. She wanted to be, but she couldn't.

And he knew it.

Before he could make another move she conjured biding cords - the same he'd used on her - and tied him up securely on the floor. Completely disappointed in herself, she walked past him to the fireplace and dropped to her knees. She reached for a pinch of floo powder and threw it in the fire. As the green flames erupted, she called the division office.

“Send a team immediately. I have a situation,” she said dejectedly.

She pulled her head from the fire and started preparing any number of explanations for what Harry would find when he returned. Oddly, she'd felt no more closure after this ordeal than she thought she would. She picked at the rug she was crouched upon, totally lost in her own train of thought, and oblivious to the noise approaching behind her.

She looked up, just in time to see shadow play across the floor in front of her. She whipped her head around just as Shawn lunged for her. She was defenseless. Her wand was out of reach, she'd let her guard down after she'd tied him up and had no idea he'd worked to free himself. The look in his eyes was murderous. He knew he'd been set up and he was going to make her pay for it. In an instant, she closed her eyes, watching images of her life flashing before her. The last image was that of Harry, leaning in for their first kiss. She would've smiled at the memory if she didn't think it was her last.

What will he think when he finds me here. This was my fault.

“Stupefy!” Harry's voice resounded from the doorway as an imposing stream of red light rocketed across the room and slammed into Shawn. He flew sideways off of Hermione. Time seemed to stand still. He slowly floated through the air, toward the broken window. The muffled sounds of the street were distorted through some strange time-warp. She realized what was happening but was frozen to react.

Shawn crashed into the splintered window, hanging on for just a moment, before slowly rolling backwards through the opening and disappearing from sight. In a flash, time snapped back in alignment and the screaming from the street below became frenzied. Harry rushed to the window, shock etched on his face and turned away from the sight below as quickly as he'd come to look upon it.

She didn't need him to tell her the outcome. It was written all over his face. He threw his wand down and rushed to where Hermione was still lying frozen on the floor. He pulled her up and pulled her into a crushing hug.

“Why Hermione?” He said, his voice muffled along her neck.

She couldn't hold back the tears. “I had to.”

“I could've lost you,” he mumbled quietly, squeezing her tighter.

“I was lost,” she replied, openly sobbing now. With a confused look on his face he pulled away from her and stared at her interrogatively. “You found me.” He pulled her to him again. She could feel his tears wetting her shoulder. She looked past him to the shattered window as she listened to the familiar sound of apparating wizards. For as upside down as her world had become, something finally felt right.

She was in the arms of the man she loved. The same man who confessed his unconditional love to her. And the man who had hurt her so completely, was dead.

She felt a weight lift off her shoulders as that of a rising dove. It was time to move on…with Harry.