Author's Note: Well, dear readers, your replies to chapter 9 convinced me that I shouldn't try to finish this story in one fell swoop, which would, perhaps, mean that I wouldn't update it for many months. So if you can still stand how slowly I write, I'll just keep posting it one chapter at a time until it's done, whenever that is. That said, this chapter in particular kicked my butt; not a lot happens in it, but it's a necessary transition to chapter 11, in which a lot more plot action occurs. I'll try to write chapter 11 faster, but who knows whether my muse will cooperate. Again, I'd like to thank my wonderful betas, MPotter77 and Abigail89 (from LiveJournal), without whose wise counsel this story would have been a bloody mess long ago. Alas, we still have a long, long way to go on this story. I just hope it doesn't end up being as long as OotP! ;-)
^*^*^*^
Chapter 10
The next morning, Hermione awoke earlier than usual. Creeping into the living room, she found Harry sprawled on the sofa in his customary position, one arm over his face, one leg dangling over the side. His shirt was pulled up out of his jeans and he was snoring lightly -- the way he always does when he sleeps like that, she thought, hoping not to wake him as she moved on little cat feet through the dining room and into the kitchen. After making herself a cup of tea, she settled down to drink it at the dining room table. Before she had time to blow the steam away, the fireplace sprang to life and a ginger-haired, freckled face appeared in it.
"Ginny?"
"No, it's Ron in a wig. Of course it's me, Hermione. How are you?"
"Not bad, all things considered. Much better than when you saw me at St. Mungo's. And yourself?"
"Wonderful, thanks." Ginny seemed to be craning her neck, trying to see past Hermione into the flat. "You're up kind of early. Where's Harry?"
"He's still asleep." That was certainly the truth; Hermione felt no need to mention that she'd made him sleep on the sofa last night.
"Ahh…okay." Ginny raised one eyebrow, a skeptical look on her face.
"He was out drinking with Ron last night. He was pretty well pissed when he got home, so I'm letting him sleep it off now."
Ginny nodded knowingly, then put on her best smile. "So, Hermione, have you been out of the flat since you got back from St. Mungo's?"
Sighing, Hermione studied her friend's face in the fireplace. "No…I've been…I just haven't felt up to going anywhere. Anyway, Neville told me to take the week off work."
"I see. Well, you can't stay there forever. Would you like to join me for breakfast?"
"Now? But--"
"No buts. We haven't talked since before--"
"No, I guess we haven't." Hermione cut Ginny off, not wanting to go in that direction if she could avoid it, at least for the moment.
"Listen, if you're worried about traveling by Floo, or Apparating, I can meet you somewhere close to your apartment."
Leaning against the back of her chair, cradling her steaming mug of tea, Hermione thought for a moment. "I could meet you at the coffee shop on Silk Street. We've been there before."
Ginny's face brightened. "Yes, I remember that place. Would half-past eight be too soon?"
Hermione looked at the mantle clock above the fireplace. Could she shower, dress and walk to the coffee shop in forty-five minutes? "That would be fine, Ginny. I'll see you then."
"If Harry wakes up soon, he could join us."
"No, I'll come by myself, if you don't mind."
Ginny eyed Hermione cautiously for a moment. "Okay, see you soon," she said as her face disappeared in the flames.
The coffee shop on Silk Street was smaller, yet brighter, than Hermione remembered it. She arrived with five minutes to spare, ordered a plate of blueberry scones and two mugs of coffee, then found a small private table at the back of the shop. As she waited for her coffee to cool, she spied Ginny entering the shop, her long ginger mane pulled into a ponytail at her crown. Rather than her usual colourful robes, Ginny wore trainers and a dark green tracksuit. She found Hermione and sat down with her.
"Good morning," said Ginny, leaning over to give Hermione a hug.
"Good morning to you too," Hermione said, hugging Ginny back. She pushed one mug and the plate of scones across the table. "I've bought us some breakfast."
"Hey! This was supposed to be my treat. I invited you!"
"Yes, but I suggested eating at a Muggle coffee shop. I just figured it would be easier, since I always carry some Muggle money with me." Ginny appeared to be placated. "You can buy me lunch at the Leaky, or a drink after work, once I go back next week."
Ginny's expression fell somewhere between amused and astounded. "You, drinking after work? Has the world
ended?"
Sipping her coffee, Hermione leaned back against the wall and sighed. "No, but after the month I've had -- that Harry and I have had -- can you blame me?"
"No, I suppose not. Do you have any news about the investigation?"
"Not really. If anything significant is going on, Harry hasn't told me…"
"He probably doesn't know anything. Or else he doesn't want to worry you."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's exactly the problem. He's keeping things from me, Ginny. I just know it. He's so hell-bent on trying to protect me that I'm sure he's not telling me things I need to know."
"Like what in particular?"
"I'm not really sure concerning the investigation. When I got home from St. Mungo's, though, Harry and I had a long talk, and it came out that he got a note from our stalker while he was in Bulgaria. The note said that I was in danger here in London. It also said that Harry needed to meet her at a certain time at the Quidditch World Cup. He chose to stay there and meet her -- which never happened, she'd tricked him -- instead of trying to warn me."
Ginny sucked in a breath, her eyes round as saucers. "Bloody hell. How did he explain that?"
Hermione's chest heaved slightly as she recounted the conversation in which she reminded Harry that he could have created a Portkey on the spot, zipped back to London and warned her that someone was planning to assault her.
"So he just…panicked?" Ginny seemed dumbfounded.
"Yes, that's how he explained it. He seems to believe he's not thinking clearly anymore when my safety is an issue."
"Has he ever thought clearly about you?"
Hermione's eyes widened. "What do you mean - ever?"
Ginny smiled kindly. "Hermione, where you're concerned, Harry has always had a bit of a blind spot, hasn't he? I mean, I've been his friend a long time, Ron has been his best mate since their first trip on the train, but you -- you've always been in a category all by yourself."
Hermione felt her face burning but said nothing.
Ginny went on, "You know how he is. He does his damnedest to protect whomever he loves most. That's always been you and Ron. At first, when we were all kids, I could tell it was because he liked you both equally but for different reasons. Then, as we got older, it seemed obvious to me that he loved you both, but he loved Ron as a friend and you as…well, more than a friend. I could see by my fourth year that you meant more to him than any other girl ever could. He just didn't know it yet himself. Later, it seemed like he'd figured it out, but couldn't bring himself to tell you."
Finishing the last of her scone, Hermione remained quiet for a moment, digesting this information. "You must have seen more than I could, Ginny. Right now, though, I'm just…I'm at sixes and sevens with him, and it's got me all twisted up," she said, trying to hold back a tear. "It seems like he's lost his head completely. Do you know he bought us mobile phones this week? He said it was so I could ring him up whenever I needed him, well, not at the Ministry, but elsewhere. I suspect he's trying to keep tabs on me. But when he should have used the mobile -- last night, when he met Ron for drinks -- he'd left the bloody thing at work. He's just not making sense these days."
Ginny quirked her head, then looked at Hermione as though she were choosing her words very carefully. "Did the two of you have a row last night?"
"Oh, you could call it a row," Hermione muttered, her emotions finally boiling over. "I had no idea where he was, I was worried sick, then he came home soused and rejected me when I tried to kiss him -- for the first time in over a week, mind you, because I simply couldn't kiss him before then"-- she lowered her voice, remembering they were in a crowded coffee shop -- "because he assumed I wanted to shag. Well, perhaps I would have wanted to shag, but that's not what I asked for! I just wanted to kiss him. Even though he smelled like the bottom of the dustbin behind the Leaky. He's been acting like such a tosser lately." Steaming, she leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest. "I made him sleep on the sofa. Maybe he won't take me for granted again."
Sipping the last of her coffee, Ginny was silent for a few moments. "Maybe you two just need to talk things through," she said kindly, patting Hermione's arm.
"Easier said than done," Hermione replied. "You know how Harry gets when he's in his saving-people mode. Not that he needs to save me from anything, he just thinks he does. He's closing himself off, making decisions on the fly. Not talking to people who could help him. You know, like he did when he and Ron and I were in fifth year."
Ginny nodded knowingly. "So…what are you going to do about all this?"
Hermione sighed. The one person she really wanted to talk to had been dead for five years. "I don't know. When I was a lot younger I talked to my Mum about boys -- and relationships and such. She was the one who told me I was in love with Harry after fifth year. She said it was written all over my face."
"It sure looked that way to me when both of you came to Grimmauld Place that summer."
"Apparently Harry didn't notice. Or if he did, he was ignoring what he saw."
Her brown eyes shining, Ginny looked at Hermione intently. "Look, Hermione, that was six years ago. You should stop resenting Harry for not being wise to you then, and start dealing with what's going on in your relationship now."
Ginny's bluntness shook Hermione out of her self-pity.
"You're right. I'll try to talk to him about this soon, but I've no idea whether he'll hear what I'm saying. Thanks for listening, Ginny, and for giving me such unvarnished advice."
Ginny laughed softly. "I watched you two dance around each other for ages. I had a lot of time to formulate my opinions. But I didn't ask you here just to talk about Harry. Tell me everything else that's going on. How are you feeling?"
Hermione's mood brightened. "Quite good, actually. Neville did such a wonderful job fixing me up at St. Mungo's, and my week at home was ridiculously quiet and restful. So I'm feeling almost back to normal. I certainly hope to return to work soon."
The smile on Ginny's face reached her eyes. "I hope so too. I know you hate just sitting around."
Wiping her mouth with her napkin, Hermione glanced at her watched and discovered it was half-past nine. "Goodness, the time has flown by. I've got to go home now, Ginny." She got up and placed three shillings on the table as a tip, then bent down and hugged her friend. "Thanks for inviting me. I'm glad we talked."
"May I walk you back to your building?" Ginny asked, pulling on her tracksuit jacket.
"Thanks, I'd like that."
When they arrived at the apartment block where Harry and Hermione lived, Ginny hugged Hermione then Disapparated. Taking the lift up to the twelfth storey, Hermione opened the front door of their apartment -- and found Harry frantically pacing the living room, his arms flailing in typical Harry fashion. When his eyes met hers, Harry gulped, then crossed the room in three strides and swept her into his arms.
"Oh God, Hermione, you're safe," he mumbled over and over, his arms practically crushing her as he held her tightly.
"Good grief, Harry, of course I'm safe," she croaked. His vise grip on her midsection made breathing difficult and reminded Hermione that her bruises had not yet healed completely. "Whatever are you going on about?"
Pulling back from her, Harry gave her a long look. "I woke up on the sofa this morning. I didn't know how I got there. You were gone and I had no idea where to find you."
"You don't remember what happened last night?"
"Erm…no…I guess not. Not really." He looked down at her sheepishly. "I think I went to the Leaky last night and got pissed with Ron. Does that sound right?"
"Yes. You also spent at least three hours drinking with him before you decided to walk home. I guess you were worried about getting splinched." Hermione tried to keep an even tone in her voice. She really didn't want to get into another argument with Harry. He nodded, the details of the previous night's bender starting to come back to him. Then a cloud of unhappiness darkened his face.
"We had a helluva row last night, didn't we?"
Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "You could say that." She proceeded to fill him on what he couldn't remember, including the reason she'd made him sleep on the sofa.
"I must have been really plastered. I'm really sorry, Hermione." He sighed heavily. "I'll find that mobile on Monday. I must have left it in my desk."
"I forgive you for not calling me. But don't do that again. And I'm sorry I gave you a fright this morning. I should have left a note saying I'd gone to breakfast with Ginny." She rolled her eyes and laughed softly. "A bit of the pot calling the kettle black, wasn't I?"
Half sitting on the edge of the dining table, Harry spread his legs, then pulled Hermione between them and gathered her to his chest. "It's okay. We've both been pretty messed up the past month." He laughed bitterly. "God, has it only been a month? Sometimes it feels like a year."
Hermione nodded. It did seem that the stalker was playing mind games, trying to make Harry and Hermione believe they shouldn't be together. Leaning her head up against his shoulder, Hermione sighed into the crook of his neck. He was warm, so warm, and his skin had a clean, masculine scent. He'd showered and changed, so he no longer smelled like sour beer and cigars. He smelled like Harry, her Harry, and without thinking she planted her lips on his neck and suckled his skin.
"Ohhhhh," he moaned, a deep, almost gutteral sound that tripped out of his throat. Her hands wound around his neck, her fingers twining in the hair at the back of his head as she dragged her lips slowly across his jaw, up his cheek to the corner of his mouth, then finally planted a long, slow kiss on his lips. This was what she hadn't been able to do for almost a week -- and it was obviously making Harry happy too, if the reaction she felt against her jeans was any indication. Eyes closed, leaning against his chest, she felt him harden even more against her pelvis as she nibbled on his lower lip, then nudged his lips open with the tip of her tongue.
His arms closed tighter around her as his lips opened, her tongue sliding into the warmth of his mouth. She was so soft, so pliant, and as he grew harder he pulled her closer to him. He couldn't get enough of her, especially not through all those layers of clothing separating her skin from his. Standing up, he swung one foot out past her, then twisted both of their bodies half a turn so that Hermione was leaning against the edge of the table. He then lifted her arse onto the table and pressed himself against her, his hips rocking insistently against her pelvis. A little half-sigh, half-moan escaped her throat as he planted feathery kisses down her neck while he worked his fingers under the hem of her tee shirt.
"Harry…"
Her face was turned toward the fireplace where, from the corner of her eye, she could see something hovering.
"Mmmmm?" He was busy nuzzling her neck while his fingers slid under the waistband of her knickers.
"I think we have company--"
"Wha--"
Harry pulled himself up, then spun around and saw, much to his chagrin, Neville Longbottom's head floating amid green flames in their fireplace. Apparently realizing what he'd barged in on, Neville turned bright red and lowered his eyes.
"Hello, Harry. Hello, Hermione."
Harry jumped away from the table and straightened his clothes. "Erm, hi, Neville," he said sheepishly.
Hermione sat up, then slid off the table and brushed down the front of her tee shirt. "Hello, Neville," she said. "How are you today?"
"Quite well, thanks," said Neville, his eyes still averted. "Actually I was wondering how you are. I was going to ask you to come to St. Mungo's first thing Monday morning so I could see whether you're ready to return to work."
"I can certainly do that if you need me to," said Hermione.
"Actually, um, maybe you don't need to come in after all."
Hermione blushed. "I am feeling much better, thank you."
Neville's skin tone appeared to have returned to normal. "Are you still particularly sore anywhere?"
She was quiet for a moment, thinking. "No, I'm really much better all over. Would you like me to come closer so you can take a look?"
"That would help. Thanks."
With a wry glance at Harry, Hermione walked quickly across the room until she was just in front of the hearth. Pulling her tee shirt up, she turned slowly in a circle so that Neville could inspect her bare midriff. Harry felt a small shock of jealousy, then chided himself. It's only Neville. She has to show him; he's her Healer. Had it been anyone else, though, Harry knew he probably would have punched the bloke's lights out.
"You've healed very well, Hermione," Neville said finally. "I'm giving you a clean bill of health to return to work on Monday."
Hermione smiled broadly, tamping down her urge to hurl herself into the green flames and kiss Neville's floating head. "Oh, thank you so much, Neville," she said brightly. "You've no idea how totally bored I've been the past week. This morning was the first time I've even left the building all week, and that was just to meet Ginny for breakfast."
"I know," said Neville, returning Hermione's smile. "I just ran into her and she said she'd had breakfast with you. That's why I fire-called you. Otherwise I would have just sent an owl, very official and all."
Before Neville left, Harry thought he'd better get a word in edgewise. "So Hermione is cleared for…all normal activities?"
Neville raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'd say she can do everything she'd been doing before she was attacked. Though, just to be safe, Hermione, I'd like you to stay in Britain for the next few weeks. Just as a precaution. I know you've got a hush-hush job--"
"I suppose I can see your point," Hermione cut in, frowning. "I'll need to tell my supervisor that my Healer has prescribed desk duty. And please, Neville, just owl a note to me here. I can't tell you who I work for."
"Okay, I'll do that." Neville looked first at Harry, then at Hermione. "Well, you're released from my care now, Hermione. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I hope I don't see you again any time soon -- at least not while I'm on duty."
"That's fine with us," Harry said, laughing. "If I never see the inside of St. Mungo's again, it'll be too soon."
Kneeling in front of the hearth so that her head was level with his, Hermione gave Neville a bright smile. "Thank you again, Neville." Stepping away from the hearth, she walked over to Harry, took his hand and began leading him out of the room. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like the spend the rest of the weekend with my boyfriend…"
As Hermione led him away, Harry looked over his shoulder and gave Neville a thumbs-up sign. "Thanks, Neville," he called back. "You have no idea how happy I am that Hermione is better."
Oh, I think I do, Neville thought, chuckling as he pulled his head out of the flames.
^*^*^*
Hermione had hoped to spend the rest of the weekend in bed with Harry. The best-laid plans of wizards and witches,
however, sometimes go astray. Despite hearing from Neville's own mouth that Hermione was well enough to do just
about anything, Harry seemed more tentative than almost any time in the two years he and Hermione had been
together.
"I just don't want to hurt you again," he mumbled as he suckled one breast while gliding his index finger slowly up the inside of her thigh. As Hermione arched against his mouth, Harry slid the tip of his finger into her moist curls, then gently parted her folds and made lazy circles around the hard nub at her entrance.
"You won't…hurt me," she breathed, her voice catching in her throat as Harry slipped one finger slowly inside her and rotated it while his thumb stroked her clit. "You can do this harder, Harry. Please. Don't hold back." Her breathing was shallow and sweat shone on her naked breasts. Why was he so tentative? Perhaps she needed to let him know how much she wanted him.
"Harder, Harry, faster, I need more," she urged him. "You don't know how much I've wanted you inside me the past week." Harry's fingers finally moved faster, fast enough so that a minute or two later, Hermione bucked and screamed and -- Harry thought -- damn near broke his index and middle fingers while her inner muscles clenched around them. "Lick me too, Harry. Please."
Repositioning himself, Harry moved his face between Hermione's legs and gently licked her clitoris. Now that Hermione had recovered from her injuries, it was like she was making up for lost time, trying to get every bit of sex she could out of him. Once they got over their initial inhibitions two years ago, they'd always had an active and, he thought, satisfying sex life. But now -- now he didn't know what had got into her. It was like she'd turned into some sex-crazed animal. It wasn't enough for him to slide a couple of fingers inside her, or stroke or suck her clit. That's just foreplay, she told him more than once that weekend. Okay for starters, but she needed more, much more. And while he tried to make love to her gently, hoping to avoid injuring her, protecting her the way he wanted to, she talked dirty to him, telling him everything she wished she were doing. She went on and on about how she wanted to climb on top of him and fuck him in the reverse cowgirl position, her legs astride his torso as she looked toward his feet.
"But Harry, if we…did it that way," she panted while his cock slid slowly in and out of her, "I'd get much better…friction. I could grind…down hard…. and fast"-- he stroked in and out -- "or maybe…I'd take you in an inch at a time…ohhh ohhhhhh…then pull back…and make you whine."
"Stop talking, Hermione. I'm trying…to make love to you." Leaning on his elbows as she writhed beneath him, Harry was having difficulty establishing a rhythm. If she'd just shut up and let me do it my way, we'd both come a lot sooner….
"I'm not criticizing…I'm just…suggesting…"
He pulled out of her, then threw one of her legs over his shoulder and entered her again, pounding her until she felt she would split in two with the force of his thrusts. "You like that? Is that good enough?"
"Oh yeaahhhh…" She wrapped her legs around his waist, then grabbed his hands and placed his palms on her nipples. "Roll them between your fingers, then come down here and kiss me," she commanded.
"Yes, Mistress," he replied sulkily, continuing to grind into her soft, wet heat while his tongue explored another soft, warm, slippery area. "You're one randy little woman these days," he said as he came up for air. "Was there…something special in…that potion Neville gave you last week? Because you seem even more…dominant than usual."
Hermione stopped moving beneath him. "Is there something wrong with me enjoying sex?" She looked close to tears.
I've bollixed this up too, Harry thought sadly. He sighed as he pulled out of her and rolled onto his back. "No, it's just…I'm the one who has the cock. You could let me lead every once in a while."
"I didn't know you minded me taking the lead at all." Her lip quivered as she pulled the duvet over her breasts.
I'm doing this all wrong. Oh God, I'm going to fuck this up too, like I've fucked up everything the past month. "That's not what I said. I just -- I'm afraid of hurting you, but you keep telling me to fuck you harder, longer, faster, and that's not what I want to do. I want to be slow and gentle but you keep telling me all this other stuff."
Hermione grabbed Harry's hand, pulling him over until he was facing her. "I want you to make love to me, Harry. But I can't read your mind, and you only told me a moment ago what you want to do to me. Just -- just do again what you were doing."
"No… I don't think so…I've lost the mood. I'm…sorry."
Harry looked at her lying in the bed, her hair fanned out on her pillow. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"I love you so much," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you."
Hermione slid her hand gently down his side, enjoying the planes of his body. "You'll never lose me, Harry. I'd never leave you willingly. I love you too much to ever do that."
He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her, hesitating to voice the fears that ran rampant through his mind. "What if…what if our stalker does something to hurt you again? Could you stand to stay with me, knowing that I'm the reason someone is trying to harm you?"
He's doing it again, she thought sadly. "I can take whatever that crazy stalker can dish out. After all the years I've stood by you, Harry, what could possibly make me leave now?"
"I don't know. But I couldn't bear it if you got hurt again. And I'd do anything to protect you, Hermione. Anything."
Leaning over, he kissed her tenderly. She rolled to one side, waiting for him to spoon up against her as he usually did. He chose to lie on his back instead, watching the patterns of moonlight moving on the ceiling, unaware that Hermione was holding back tears.
^*^*^*^
"You almost ready for work, Hermione? Need any help?"
"Just with the zipper on my dress, Harry. If you don't mind."
When have I ever minded zipping - or unzipping - her dress? Harry thought, smiling as he slid the zipper up, then placed a gentle kiss on Hermione's neck. Although Neville had cleared her two days earlier, Harry could barely believe that Hermione was physically ready to return to her job, even with a few weeks of desk work to ease back into her routine. He just hoped she wasn't returning too soon and that she would have a quiet day.
"I'm ready when you are," she told him.
"Let's go then," Harry replied, handing Hermione's cloak to her while he pulled on his own. As they stepped into the fireplace together, he took her hand gently, then tossed a handful of Floo powder around them and said, "Ministry of Magic."
Moments later, they exited into the brightly lit atrium of the Ministry. Dozens of witches and wizards bustled about, hurrying to their destinations within the building. Harry and Hermione walked slowly, hand in hand, across the atrium, past the Fountain of Magical Brethren to the bank of lifts that led to their respective offices. As they made their way toward the lifts, the clamor of voices around them changed perceptibly, morphing from the usual Monday-morning grumbling into an odd susurration. Hermione could catch only bits and pieces, but that was enough to set her on edge.
There she is.
That's her.
I didn't know she was so small.
She doesn't look like she was badly hurt.
She was gone all last week, wasn't she?
Isn't she the one who--?
Yes, she was assaulted. She was almost--
It's starting, Hermione thought. The whispers. They know.
While she cringed inwardly, she would not give any of them the satisfaction of seeming annoyed or hurt by their gossip. Lifting her chin a bit higher than normal, she kept looking straight ahead until she and Harry reached the lifts. Still gripping his hand, she pushed the call button and stood, mutely, waiting for a lift to arrive.
Harry didn't fail to notice the change in her mood. "Knut for your thoughts?"
Turning to meet his eyes, she put on her best smile and said quietly, "Didn't you hear the murmuring as we crossed the atrium? It seems that news of…what happened…has got out in the Ministry." Hermione's fake grin remained plastered on her face while her eyes searched Harry's for some sign that he'd picked up on the mutterings.
Before he could answer, a lift arrived. As he and Hermione entered the cab, he was relieved to find they were alone.
"What do you mean? But how?"
Her mouth set in a thin line as she leaned against him. "It must have been in the Prophet."
Harry's eyes widened at the implications. "But… but we never…nobody talked to us, except for the Aurors."
They passed level 3. The cab remained empty except for the two of them.
Hermione shook her head as though she were shaking out cobwebs. "Stupid. Stupid! How could we have thought--"
"What?"
"We didn't need to say anything, Harry. Nobody needed to interview us. St. Mungo's is a public facility for wizards. The Prophet probably has some peach-fuzzed, young reporter assigned to the hospital to keep an eye on admissions and releases."
Harry's stomach twisted into a knot the size of Crookshanks. "Bugger."
The lift stopped at Harry's floor. "You need to get off now," Hermione said, prodding him physically when the doors opened. He backed off the lift slowly. "I'll see you later," she said, waving to him weakly as the doors closed.
Harry trudged to his cubicle in the Auror Division. His brain buzzing wildly, he barely noticed his co-workers greeting him. Sitting down at his desk, he found a note from Remus Lupin, asking him to come to Lupin's office as soon as possible.
Almost before he finished knocking, the door opened and Lupin ushered Harry in.
"Hello, Harry. Have a good weekend?"
Harry smirked. It had been a long, strange weekend, full of emotional ups and downs. "Not bad, if you enjoy rollercoasters."
Lupin cocked his head, an inquisitive expression on his face, but apparently decided not to ask Harry to explain. "Well, I have some news. It's not all good, but at least it's something."
"Yeah? What's up?" Harry leaned forward in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin.
"First, the good news. We've arrested one of Hermione's assailants."
His stomach doing somersaults, Harry jumped up out of his seat. "That's great. Which one?"
Lupin swallowed hard. "It's Elfric Dudgeon, the one called Jester. The one who--"
Harry's knuckles tightened painfully as his hands formed fists. "The bloody son of a bitch who tried to rape her!" White-hot rage overtook him as he hurled one fist wildly in front of him. Lupin caught it and pushed him back into his chair.
"While I can understand your anger about the situation, Harry, you're going to have to channel that more appropriately."
Chastened, Harry fell back into the chair and took a deep breath. "Yeah…you're probably right."
"So, Harry, I heard that Hermione returned to work today."
"How the--? That was less than half an hour ago."
"This place is like a beehive, Harry. Word travels fast. Plus, I spoke with Neville -- Healer Longbottom -- on Saturday."
Lupin's admission reminded Harry of what had bothered him in the lift. "Remus," he began carefully, "when Hermione and I arrived in the atrium this morning, people were whispering and staring at her. It was almost as though they'd read something about the attack."
"Oh bugger," said Lupin, rubbing the back of his neck. "You haven't seen the article, have you?" He sounded weary and sad.
Harry's stomach tied up in a new knot of dread. "So the Prophet really did run something?"
Turning slightly, Lupin said, "Accio, Prophet!" A copy of The Sunday Prophet flew off the shelf behind his desk and landed in his left hand. Lupin handed it to Harry and pointed to a story on the back page:
Manhandled Potter Paramour Treated at St. Mungo's
By Rita Skeeter
"That bloody cow! Is she still writing wanky gossip for that rag?"
"Be quiet and read the story, Harry."
"Uh…right."
Hermione Granger, long-time girlfriend of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Saved the Wizarding World, was recently treated at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. According to dependable sources, Miss Granger arrived by St. Mungo's Rambulance on Sunday, August 25th, accompanied not by Mr. Potter but instead by Ronald Weasley, a close friend of both Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. Mr. Potter, apparently not terribly concerned with his paramour's condition, arrived more than thirty minutes later.
Hospital admission records show that Miss Granger was unconscious when she was admitted with two broken cheekbones, a split lip, three broken ribs, and serious injuries to her midsection. Miss Granger's injuries, our sources said, were severe enough to require an overnight stay in hospital. Ironically, Mr. Potter was attending the Quidditch World Cup in Bulgaria at the time of the attack and was unable to save his own girlfriend from this brutal beating. Based on his behaviour immediately after the attack, as well as his legendary temper, this reporter has to wonder whether Harry Potter might bear some fault in the matter.
According to one source, the attack on Hermione Granger could be related to a string of threatening letters sent to her and Mr. Potter within the past month. This reporter was unable to obtain comments from anyone in authority at the Ministry of Magic. However, I was able to determine that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is still investigating the assault. At this time, Ministry officials have several suspects but have taken no one into custody.
Harry's insides roiled like a volcano about to blow. "That bloody cow! That bitch! She can't leave us alone, can she? She's had it in for both of us since fourth year." Taking a seat, he rested his elbows on his knees, then put his head in his hands and sighed heavily. "Did Skeeter or anyone from the Prophet try to talk to you?"
"No. You know how they operate, Harry. Skeeter must have talked to someone in Central Files. Although…"
Harry looked up. "Although what?"
Leaning back against his desk, Lupin shook his head and sighed. "Ackerley. She must have talked to Ackerley. I know Tonks wouldn't have talked to her. But Ackerley is young and inexperienced--"
"And just stupid enough to talk willingly with the biggest gossip in the Wizarding World."
Harry slumped in his chair, his head ringing with defeat. Lupin pursed his lips thoughtfully and was quiet for a few moments.
"The worst part is, it's all true -- all except the part about me being to blame," Harry said bitterly, breaking the silence. "And even that isn't totally off the mark."
Lupin gave Harry a hard look. "You've got to stop blaming yourself about this, Harry. You did the best you could under very trying circumstances. I'm not sure any of us in this division would have done any better."
"Well, none of you needs to do any better. But I'm Harry Fucking Potter. I have a saving people thing. I defeated Voldemort, but I couldn't even save my own girlfriend! What bloody use am I?"
"Stop that right now, Harry. I'm telling you this as your supervisor as well as your friend. These endless recriminations are becoming rather self-indulgent, and frankly I'm tired of hearing you talk like this."
Harry's head spun as though he'd been slapped. "Point taken," he admitted, sheepishly averting his eyes. "So what have you found out?"
"Well, we just arrested Dudgeon early this morning. We've interrogated him but he couldn't really tell us much, only that someone sent an anonymous message to the ring leader, Speckler, and offered the gang three hundred Galleons to rob Hermione and rough her up. After they completed the task, they took the stolen items to a specified drop point in Knockturn Alley. When they returned an hour later, the goods were gone and they found a bag full of money."
"So he has no idea who paid them to do the job?"
"He says no. I had the Department's best interrogator question him, but she couldn't find any holes in his story. Dudgeon and the other attackers are really just low-level hoodlums after all. It was your stalker who called all the shots - but we still don't know who that is."
"It's already been a whole week since Hermione was attacked," Harry cut in. "And this woman has been stalking us for almost a month now. What haven't we done yet to figure this out?"
Lupin pulled a file out from his desk drawer. Leaning over the desk, Harry was able to read the label on the file: POTTER/GRANGER, Stalking, Assault, August 2002. As Lupin scanned the contents of the file, Harry realized something they'd missed.
"You need to interrogate me."
"Harry, I hardly think we need to interrogate you. You're not a suspect in any of this."
"Of course not. But no one has really questioned me about what happened at the Quidditch World Cup."
Lupin's mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water. "You're right. We were so fixated on the attack on Hermione that we didn't talk to you about what happened in Bulgaria."
"No, not in any detail." Harry paused, weighing his words. "The stalker planned things pretty well, don't you think?"
"Yes, it does appear that the whole thing was quite well planned." Leaning back in his chair, Lupin spent a few moments thinking. Harry waited eagerly for his boss's thoughts. "Okay, Harry. Do you have time to talk to me now? Might as well do it while you're here and not distracted."
"Okay." He sat down next to Lupin's desk, waiting for instructions. From one desk drawer Lupin pulled a roll of parchment and a Quick-Quotes Quill and set them in front of Harry, who eyed the quill suspiciously.
Lupin smiled, apparently reading Harry's mind. "Don't worry about the quill, Harry. I've charmed it
to write down every word exactly as it comes from the interviewee's mouth. No funny business allowed."
Harry blew out a breath. "Thank goodness. Okay, then, I'm ready."
"You went to Bulgaria on August 23rd," Lupin said, "and the stalker found out somehow--"
"I think I lost the note you'd written to me just before the World Cup," Harry said sheepishly.
Lupin shook his head and sighed. "Okay…right…the stalker found out, realized that Hermione would be alone that weekend and decided to strike again. This time, she racheted up the violence considerably. She also decided to attack you almost simultaneously with the attack on Hermione."
"And she carried out the attack herself!" Harry exclaimed. Jumping up from this chair, he paced Lupin's office, his hands constantly in motion as he worked out what must have happened.
"How do you know that?"
Harry recounted how he and Ron attempted to respond to the stalker's first owl in Bulgaria. "Ron and I realized she wasn't really going to come," he finished, "so we started to leave. Then a big chunk of something came hurtling toward me from the sky."
"Yes, I remember you mentioning that. Go on."
"It was a piece of wooden plank. We reckoned it was from the railing around the top of the stadium. It was about two inches thick and ten inches wide, and at least three feet long."
Lupin's eyes widened. "That's quite a large chunk of wood. Falling from that height, at that velocity, it could have seriously injured you - even killed you if it landed just right."
Harry nodded. "I know. Thank God Ron was with me. He insisted on coming along. He hid in some woods nearby while I waited for the stalker. It was Ron who saw the plank falling from the sky. He ran toward me, waved his wand at the plank and shouted 'Arresto momentum!' His charm slowed the plank enough so that it couldn't hurt me too badly."
"You're very lucky he came with you," Lupin remarked sagely. "Otherwise we could be investigating a murder as well as an assault."
Shuddering, Harry plunged on. "Yeah…well…I wasn't seriously hurt. A few minutes later, another owl arrived with the note I gave you last week."
"And that's how you found out that Hermione was in trouble here in London."
"Right."
"Then what did you do?"
Harry recounted how he and Ron had gone back to London, what they found in his apartment, and how Hermione was taken to St. Mungo's.
"You didn't go with her, though. You sent Ron instead. Why?"
Harry finally stopped pacing. "I don't know," he sighed. "Something made me stay so I could meet you or whoever you sent. I guess…I guess I panicked."
Lupin was silent for a moment. "You'd had several rather large shocks in a very short period of time. Surely you can't fault yourself for being a bit off that day."
Harry bit his lip and stared at a point on the side of Lupin's desk. Mentally he was kicking himself, wishing he could do over everything that happened that day.
"I see now that I need to question you about what happened earlier," Lupin continued. "Please, Harry,
have a seat and tell me in as much detail as you can what you did from the time you arrived in Bulgaria until right
before you got the first note."
As Harry sat down, Lupin pulled out some fresh parchment and poised the Quick-Quote Quill above it, waiting for Harry to begin. Although the Quidditch World Cup had been played barely a week earlier, Harry had to dredge his mind for specifics, because his brain was overloaded with everything that had happened to him and Hermione since he left for Bulgaria.
"Just, um, ask me something?" he asked, a bit nervous about beginning.
"Okay," Lupin said. "So…you met Ron Weasley on" -- he checked the calendar -- "Friday, August 23rd. The two of you went to the Quidditch World Cup somewhere in Bulgaria."
"Right. There was an encampment in a park outside Sofia."
"Anything happen once you got there?"
"Well, Ron ran into some girls we knew from school. Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe. He brought them back to the tent to say hello."
"You used to fancy Miss Chang, didn't you?" Lupin asked in an even tone.
"Yes, I did. For a couple of years at Hogwarts."
"I heard that you dated her briefly while at school. Is that right?"
"Yeah, I guess you could say that. She kissed me once after a DA meeting, right before Christmas. I took her to Hogsmeade at Valentine's Day. It didn't work out, though. In fact it was kind of a disaster."
"Really. Did it end badly?"
"No, it just kind of fizzled out," Harry sighed. Although he hadn't understood it then, Harry had eventually realized that Cho had been jealous of his friendship with Hermione. He remembered, foggily, how badly Ron reacted when Harry revealed that he'd had a fling with Cho. There was no need to tell Remus about that too...he'd rather not risk another shocked reaction.
"All right." The quill paused, waiting for Lupin's next words. "What about Marietta Edgecombe? What was your relationship with her?"
"None at all. She's Cho's friend. They used to come to DA meetings together."
"Did she get along well with you and Hermione?"
"For the most part. I don't remember her much at the meetings. Hermione made all the DA members sign a pledge. They promised not to rat on us to Dolores Umbridge. But Marietta told Umbridge about the DA, then her face broke out in giant spots that spelled SNEAK. Cho was angry that Hermione didn't tell the DA she'd hexed the pledge."
"How did Marietta feel about being hexed like that?"
Harry shrugged. "I dunno. I didn't really know her back then. She wasn't happy about the spots. But I'm pretty sure Kingsley did a memory charm on her so she wouldn't remember anything about the DA."
Lupin scribbled another note on the second sheet of parchment. "I'll check on that later. Who else did you run into at the Quidditch World Cup?"
Harry was silent a few moments. "I don't recall anyone else, other than Viktor Krum and his father. Viktor played for Bulgaria, of course, and we happened to sit next to his father in the Top Box."
"What about Viktor Krum? Could he be involved?"
"Of course not. He and Hermione are just friends."
"Certainly, as far as Hermione is concerned. But are you sure his feelings for her are strictly platonic?"
Harry's stomach clenched again as his dream from the morning of the attacks came back to him…Hermione sharing their bed, Harry's bed, with a man he didn't know…Harry realising the man was Viktor…Viktor getting out of bed with a hard-on like a beater's bat… Viktor had said Hermione didn't love him, but did Harry really know how Viktor felt about Hermione?
"I…I don't know," Harry said finally. "I'm not sure. I think his feelings are platonic, but I'm not one hundred percent certain. You'd have to ask Hermione what she thinks about that." It was obvious at the World Cup that Viktor still cared about Hermione very much. So even if Viktor was jealous of him, Harry couldn't imagine why he would put Hermione through a trauma like that.
A new thought crossed Harry's mind, and he felt somewhat relieved. "I'm sure Viktor couldn't have been involved. He was nowhere near London during the earlier attacks." Harry sat back and drew a heavy breath, hoping he'd managed to talk Lupin away from that line of inquiry.
Putting his own quill aside, Lupin muttered, "Finite Incantatem". The Quick-Quotes Quill stopped writing and fell to his desk. "I'm sorry I've had to grill you like this, Harry. I should have done it last week, but at that time it seemed more important to try to find Hermione's attackers as quickly as possible." He looked at his watch and grimaced. "I've kept you rather a long time, and you've not even had a chance to settle in for the day. You're done with this for now. But I might need to pick your brain again sometime later."
Feeling drained, Harry got up slowly and made his way to the door. "Okay, Remus. I'll get to work now."
"Thank you again, Harry. You've given me a lot to work with," Lupin said, ushering Harry out. "I'll keep you informed of our progress, of course."
By this time it was almost half past ten. Harry hadn't done a lick of his own work, yet he felt totally wrung out. Settling into his chair, he pulled some file folders out of his desk and began to work on another report. This was the part of being an Auror he really hated, the endless, mind-numbing paperwork. Reaching into a different drawer, he found his quill, a bottle of ink -- and the mobile phone he'd left at work on Friday evening.
It was going to be a long week.
^*^*^