Note From Fae Princess: Thank you all kindly to the regular reviewers, and to the new ones: welcome! **beckons you into my humble abode** Make yourselves comfortable and help yourselves to some pumpkin juice and chocolate frogs. But don't touch the dead rats. Those are for Buckbeak. **begins to sob** Sirius asked me to take care of Buckbeak before he ... before he ...**is too distraught to finish the sentence so you might as well go ahead and read the chapter**
As Harry and Hermione walked back to the safe house, Harry cast a glance over his shoulder at Tonks and Geoffrey. Seeing this, Hermione said, "It was nice of Tonks and Geoffrey to offer to fill out the paperwork for us, wasn't it?"
Harry grunted, his eyes still looking back.
"I get the impression that you don't like Geoffrey," Hermione said with a touch of whimsy that was not lost on Harry.
"Why does he keep calling you Janie?" Harry asked. "I always thought you didn't like nicknames."
"Well, he's my superior, so there's not much I can say, is there?"
Harry felt that there were more than a few holes in this reasoning, but he was not in the mood to debate.
They rounded a corner, cutting off Harry's view of Tonks and Geoffrey. Turning back to Hermione, Harry said, "Shall I escort you back to Ron's? You probably have a lot of catching up do do with Ginny."
"You're not staying?"
Harry thought he heard genuine disappointment in Hermione's voice. Or was that simply what he wanted to hear?
"After this, I really don't feel up to an evening of Ron's prattle," Harry shrugged.
"Come to that," Hermione said with a touch of weariness, "neither do I. Anyway, I'll have plenty of time to catch up with Ginny after tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Ginny told me there's a vacancy opening up at the Burrow," Hermione said, "so I'll be moving out of my room over the Leaky Cauldron."
Harry nodded. It was not a great surprise. When Molly Weasley announced that she was turning the Burrow into a boarding house following Ginny's graduation, Harry had been engaged to remove the ghoul inhabiting the attic as part of his Auror training. Ginny had moved in with Luna, the pair sharing a loft next to Ron's above Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes in Diagon Alley. It was that close association, Harry believed, that had led to the present state of affairs (an appropriate term, Harry reflected wryly) between Ron and Luna. After a time, Luna was spending so many nights in Ron's loft that it was as if Ginny had no roommate at all.
Not that she had room to complain. Luna continued to pay her half of the rent, and Ginny was free to invite Neville over for fish and chips without worrying that they might be interrupted at an awkward moment (though, given Neville's timidness, that was seldom more awkward than an occasional snog session on the couch). By the time Ron and Luna made the decision to move into a proper flat together, Ginny's wages had increased to where she could afford the full rent on her loft.
"Do you want to give me a hand moving?" Hermione asked, her question shaking the cobwebs from Harry's head. "Not that I have all that much, mind."
Harry's heart fluttered. "Yeah," he said quickly. "I'm still off duty, at least officially. Unless something else comes in on this case," he jerked his head back indicatively. "In which case, you'll probably be called in, too."
"I hope it doesn't come to that," Hermione said with a small shudder. "Geoffrey told me the attacks have all come a few days apart."
Harry found that he did not like hearing Geoffrey's name spoken by Hermione. Perhaps spurred by this, he said almost without thinking, "Do you want to...have a drink at my place? We haven't had a proper chat since you got back."
Hermione did not answer immediately, and Harry kicked himself mentally for making such a transparent proposition (for so it must have seemed to Hermione). But a moment later she smiled and said, "I'd love to."
This response left Harry so tongue-tied that he could think of nothing to say until they reached the safe house and slipped inside (Harry watching carefully to see that they were not observed).
"You remember where it is?" he said as casually as he could. It was a silly question, and he knew it the moment he asked it. Hermione's memory was hardly so porous as to forget something like that, even in the span of three years. He had no doubt that she could reach out with her mind, "touch" the parlor of Harry's flat (once he mentally opened a hole in the anti-Apparaton wards protecting the premises from unauthorized magical entry), and Apparate there quite as if she had visited it only yesterday. That made her answer all the more surprising.
"Yes," she said, "but just in case..."
Hermione extended her hand. Harry took it hesitantly. The feel of Hermione's hand in his after more than three years was more powerful than any intoxicant awaiting them in Harry's cupboard. It required all his concentration to clear his mind and call up the image of the parlor of his flat. He and Hermione Disapparated a moment later with a soft popping sound.
It was several seconds before Harry had the presence of mind to release Hermione's hand upon their arrival. Coughing nervously, he said, "Make yourself at home. I won't be a minute."
Harry returned from the kitchen with a bottle of white wine and two crystal goblets. He found Hermione sitting on the small couch. Harry tried not to smile. She could just as easily have sat down in his easy chair, isolating herself from Harry as effectively as if they were still separated by the English Channel. Harry sat down beside her as close as he dared. Setting the bottle on the table, he opened it with a wave of his hand, disdaining his wand. Hermione smiled at this, making Harry's heart flutter like that of a schoolboy who had just done a handstand at recess to impress the class heartthrob. His rigorous Auror training had included diligent practice at wandless magic, and his marks in this respect had been higher than average. An Auror never knew when he would be compelled to action in a situation where the split second needed to draw a wand would spell the difference between death and life. Still basking Ron-like in the glow of his accomplishment, he filled the goblets halfway and handed one to Hermione. She was in the process of raising it to her lips when Harry stopped her.
"A toast," he said awkwardly. "To your return home."
Hermione smiled and lifted her goblet before Harry's. Harry hesitated a moment before finding his voice.
"You left a big, empty place behind when you left," he said uncertainly, feeling decidedly out of his element. "But I know you made France and Beauxbatons a better place for your presence. Now, it's they who are feeling the emptiness we felt three years ago. Welcome back, Hermione."
Their goblets rang together gently. Hermione sipped the pale, dry wine and teased her lips with her tongue in a manner that made Harry's blood pressure rise twenty points.
"Excellent," she said approvingly. "I don't think I tasted better in all my time in France."
"I did some reading up on France after you left," Harry said. "I thought if I knew something about where you'd be living, it would be...kind of like..."
Harry wanted to say, "It would be like you and I were together," but that seemed a bit forward at such an early stage in what he hoped would prove to be the rebuilding of their relationship.
Hermione nodded, understanding shining softly in her large, deep brown eyes.
"So," she said conversationally, "how does the life of an Auror suit you? Is it what you expected?"
"Bloody boring is what it is," Harry said as he stared into his empty goblet. "Voldemort's fall seems to have taken the spunk out of the Dark Side. Kingsley told me he felt the same way when Voldemort disappeared the first time. He was in pretty much the same situation I am now. He trained to protect wizardkind from this great menace, and the moment he's a fully qualified Auror, suddenly there's nothing to fight."
"Do you ever think you made a...hasty choice?" Hermione said delicately.
"Becoming an Auror?"
Hermione nodded. "When you elected to prep for a career as an Auror, after we took our O.W.L.'s, you were readying yourself to protect your loved ones from Voldemort. Now that he's gone, do you still have the same passion?"
"Kingsley asked me that all through the training interval," Harry said with a hidden smile.
"And what did you say to him?"
"Nothing," Harry said, his smile less well hidden than a moment before. "I just worked all the harder so I'd be sure to get the highest grade in the class."
"And you finished with the highest grades the program has given out in half a century," Hermione said knowledgably. "Only Alastor Moody has qualified with higher marks in a hundred years."
Harry grunted. It was true. He had topped his class in everything. But, in the absence of a real crisis, he was bound by the beaurocracy to remain subordinate to senior Aurors who'd not got marks half as good as his. During times of full alert, a junior Auror might distinguish himself against an adversary and win increased status for himself. In such manner had Tonks achieved a station in the Auror ranks above that which her limited tenure would have allowed, serving as she had (with uncommon valor) during the three years of Voldemort's "second coming." Now, in situations where her experience and special talents set her above the common herd, she gave orders freely to Aurors far her senior in both years and tenure. Moreover, they followed those orders without question. Like the wizarding world proper, the Auror service was a meritocracy, valuing ability and success over seniority. But how was Harry to achieve such success without a crisis in which to prove himself?
Perhaps such an exigency was upon him now. Technically, Tonks was in charge, and Harry would act primarily at her direction. But initiative was encouraged in extraordinary situations, and he would likely find ample opportunity to distinguish himself. He knew Tonks was not one to covet personal glory. She was fair-minded in addition to being a cracking good Auror (not to mention that she was as much as family, being blood relation to Sirius). This last thought brought another pang to an abiding wound that was never quite somnolent. Harry quickly slammed that door and turned the key. Now was not the time to indulge in such dark and fallow musings. Especially now, with Hermione sitting beside him, looking more radiant and desirable than he could have imagined, if that were possible.
"What do you know about vampires?" Harry said suddenly. "I learned a bit about them in the Auror program, but the focus was primarily on Dark wizards rather than on supernatural menaces in general. Vampires haven't been a problem on this side of the Channel for a long time, so the Ministry probably de-emphasized them in favor of more common threats. I remember we studied them at Hogwarts, but even then they weren't placed very high on the list of potential threats to the wizarding community. I don't think they even came up on the N.E.W.T. final, which goes to show how little regard the Ministry had for them. But I do remember that they can be tricky to subdue. Being as they're not quite alive, magic doesn't have the same effect on them as it would have on a Dark wizard or a rampaging troll. I'm not sure what spells I should be practicing up on."
"You have the edge on me there," Hermione said frankly. "I remember what we learned at school, but as you said, that was mostly general knowledge. I didn't take Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts when you did, remember. I was studying Adanced Charms with Professor Flitwick. But I made a mental note to read up on them once Madam Bones voiced her suspicions. Now that Tonks has verified those fears, I'll have to bring myself up to speed. I remember Percy telling me that the Ministry has an excellent reference library on the Dark arts, even more extensive than the Restricted Section at Hogwarts. I'll tuck into it first thing tomorrow. I'm sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with something viable. I know I have a lot of catching up to do. But I know I can count on you to help me along."
"Uh," Harry said, "sure. Of Course. You know I'll do everything I can." Clearing his throat, which suddenly seemed quite parched in spite of the wine he had just consumed, he said, "Suppose we...uh...have dinner tomorrow so we can map out a strategy."
If thoughts had sound effects, the small parlor would have resounded to a loud smacking sound as Harry mentally slapped himself for making such a clumsy advance. Even Ron would have had more sense. But Hermione flashed a small smile and said, "Splendid. Where shall we dine?"
Stunned by Hermione's response, Harry untangled his tongue and said, "Well, since no one else should hear what we're talking about..." Harry swallowed, wishing his throat did not feel as if it were full of dust from a mummy's tomb, "...I thought I'd fix us something...here."
Harry thought he saw Hermione's eyes flicker. What was she thinking?
"You might not suspect it," Harry said quickly, "but food magic is part of an Auror's basic training. There are times when one or more field agents might be cut off from standard lines of supply, and a long-term mission can be compromised for lack of proper food. I got lots of help from Molly during that training quarter. I even fixed a couple of meals for the boarding house when I was prepping for my exam." Smiling weakly, he added, "No one died of food poisoning."
Hermione chuckled. "You're on. Let's see what kind of stuff the Auror division is made of. But be warned -- I have full authority to make arrests as an agent of the MLE division -- and the prescribed sentence for poisoning Ministry employees is ten years in Az -- "
Hermione caught herself. Mention of Azkaban was sure to kindle memories of Sirius for Harry. To her relief, Harry smiled broadly.
"I'll consult Molly tomorrow when we take your things over. There are certain special twists she makes with a wand that I never quite got the hang of, though Merlin knows we practiced enough. A right sergeant-at-arms Molly is, when she's in her element. I'll get a few pointers from her before I settle on a menu."
"Ripping," Hermione said as she poured herself another small splash of wine, refilling Harry's goblet likewise. "But please, no French cuisine. It was delightful at first, but after so long I'm keen for some good old British fare."
Harry didn't know if Hermione was being entirely truthful, or if she suspected that he might try to impress her with something continental that was a bit out of his purview. Either way, he was grateful, because, in fact, he might well have ended up poisoning both of them had he attempted something his training had not covered.
When their goblets were emptied for a second time, Hermione said, "I should be going. I have a lot to do tomorrow."
As they rose from the couch, Hermione turned toward the door, but Harry caught her hand. Once more the thrill of her touch was like electricity through him. When she turned to face him, he said, "Now that you're back, I think I should give you a proper vote of confidence. May I?"
He pointed a finger at the fringe of Hermione's hair. She hesitated for a moment before nodding, "Of course."
Harry plucked a stray hair from Hermione's ever-bushy mane and held it before him. Drawing his wand, he made a very complex series of passes over and around the hair. Hermione watched intently as a smile spread slowly across her face. When Harry was done, she said, "If you performed that well during Advanced Charms in Auror training, I don't wonder that you got top marks. I've never seen it done better."
Smiling with satisfaction, Harry said, "Now you won't have to pop into the nearest safe house and walk all the way here and knock. Don't want you catching cold, standing in the rain waiting for me to answer the door." In fact, this prospect was not altogether unappealing to Harry, who had learned to brew a fair Pepper-Up Potion during his training interval. He could think of less enjoyable ways to spend a day than sitting by Hermione's bedside, feeding her doses of potion while they watched old movies on the telly until they both fell asleep, their heads sharing the same pillow and their fingers intertwined. With a chuckle, he added, "But on the subject of water, I'll trust that you won't pop in when I'm in the shower. The sound of my singing is likely to drive you to catch the first portkey back to Beauxbatons."
Hermione knew that it was no small thing for a wizard to amend a dwelling's anti-Apparation wards, as they were the only thing preventing unauthorized visitors from popping in -- and in the case of an Auror, that visitor could well have an agenda that included the death of the premises' inhabitant. Before Hermione had offered Harry her hand in the safe house, his intention was to cast a spell over her, "harmonizing" her personal aura with the wards protecting his flat so that she could pass through. It was a temporary Charm, automatically rendered impotent following Apparation. She chose instead to share his aura through physical contact. Neither those nor any other stopgap measure would be necessary now. The Charm he had just performed had infused her biological signature onto the protective barrier surrounding his flat so that it would recognize her as a friend and allow her to pass through the same magical "doorway" as Harry himself. She could now come and go as freely as if the flat were hers (which notion had occured to Harry more than once since her return from France).
"Thank you, Harry," she said warmly. "Now I really feel like I'm home."
Emboldened by Hermione's words, Harry stepped very close and stared directly into her bottomless eyes. When he leaned in, she did not back away. The kiss was brief, though not from any resistance on Hermione's part. Soft as a prayer and resounding as thunder, it signified a reaching out of two hearts, a tentative exploration of a once-familiar realm rendered alien by time and distance, and the latter of more than geography. It was a gentle knock on a door too long closed, whose bolts slid back smoothly now, yielding on silent, unresisting hinges. As the twain drank softly of each other, the chasm that had separated them for the past three years, which Harry had secretly feared might never be bridged, seemed to fold in on itself until it was no more barrier than a moon-shadow cleaving a sun-splashed meadow. Their lips clung together for a moment embodying a lifetime, and when Harry pulled back, the expression on Hermione's face was one of quiet contentment, mirroring his own.
"What time shall I be over to help you move?" he asked somewhat breathlessly.
Recovering her wits, Hermione said, "Oh, eleven-ish. I plan to sleep in. And if Molly is running true to form, she'll have an excellent lunch waiting for us, so skipping breakfast will leave all the more room for seconds."
Harry smiled, knowing that Molly would be insulted if they did not empty their plates at least twice. "See you then."
Smiling warmly, Hermione turned her head slightly and closed her eyes. Her face was tranquil, but Harry knew that she was quietly concentrating as a prelude to Apparation. Now that he had added Hermione's "signature" to the Charm surrounding his flat, she would be able to come and go at will. He hoped she would avail herself of that freedom often in the coming days and weeks. And, his heart leaped, years.
With an almost indetectable popping sound, Hermione Disapparated. Harry stood for a moment. At some point he realized that the fingers of his left hand were not relaxed as were those of his right. He raised his hand and smiled. He was still holding the hair he had plucked from Hermione's head. He stared at it for a moment, his brow furrowing across the thin line of his lightning scar. An Auror knew that a stray hair was not something to be treated lightly. If an enemy got hold of even a single hair, it could be used in harmful, even deadly, ways against its owner. Common sense and Auror training told Harry that he should incinerate the wavy brown hair in his hand and allow the breeze to blow the ashes harmlessly away.
Still holding the hair, Harry walked into his bedroom and approached his dresser. He opened the top drawer awkwardly with his right hand and extracted a leather-bound book with gold clasps. Smiling, he closed the drawer, set the book atop the dresser and opened it. Inside were wizard photographs spanning Harry's life at Hogwarts. This was a companion to the book given him at the end of his first year by Hagrid. That one (which lay in another corner of the same drawer) contained photos of Harry's parents. The one open before him now bore photos of Harry and his friends all through their Hogwarts days. Most of these were courtesy of Colin Creevey. Harry chuckled at how annoyed he had been in those early years at the incessant click-click-click of Colin's camera. Now, seeing so many fond memories spread out before him on the pages of this album (likewise given him by Hagrid as a graduation present), Harry was grateful to the little ankle-biter beyond his capacity to express.
Turning the pages slowly, Harry came to a photo of Hermione taken on graduation day. She was proudly holding the engraved plaque declaring her as the top student in the whole of their year. The photo was not unique. They and their classmates had all exchanged such photos, signing each one to its recipient with varying expressions of sentiment and remembrance. But as Harry looked at Hermione's smiling face (she waved at him, her eyes crinkling with excited delight as she brandished her plaque), his heart soared. Across the bottom of the photo she had written, in her elegant hand: "To Harry, all my love forever, Hermione." He now lay the newly-plucked hair across the inscription (the Hermione in the photo jerked her plaque aside, watching to see that he did not cover her face) and affixed it with a Sticking Charm.
Sighing deeply, Harry closed the album. He did not return it to its drawer. Instead, he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, the album held against his chest with both hands. Moments later, he was asleep, his face wearing such a smile as it had not known in more than three years.
Note From Fae: Alright, I'm better now. **dabs eyes with handkerchief readily supplied by Remus** Anyway, let Stoneheart know what you thought. (And me, since I think I keep closer tabs on the reviews than *he* does!) And to who is possibly Stoneheart's most gracious reviewer: danielerin, I (along with a certain author) were wondering where the nature of your name comes from. Is Daniel the name of your husband? And your name is Erin? There is absolutely NO relevence to this question! I just had to ask. :)
Thanks for reading! And see you all next week!
~Fae