Faithful readers -- I'm finally done with this chapter. Hallelujah. I apologize for taking 4 months to update. As some of you know, since early September Real Life has been kicking my butt very seriously, and I had terrible writer's block on this story until the Christmas holidays. I want to thank my lovely betas, tome_raider and especially abigail89, for their wise advice. You'll notice very selective use of new canon here (as I have conveniently ignored all the H/G crap in HBP, since I started this story 8 months before HBP was published and there's no way in h$$$ I'm going to adjust the backstory now). There's also a new original character. I'll give 10 points to anyone recognizes the OC's ancestry and mentions it in their review. I hope this chapter is worth the wait. Thank you again for your continued patience and support.
Chapter 12
Bloody toerag is right, Hermione fumed as she returned to her desk in the Department of Mysteries. Identifying Jester Gudgeon had been much more draining than she'd anticipated. During the past few weeks, Hermione had worked hard to encase her memories of the attack in a kind of mental shrink wrap, sucking the air out of them until they were flat, sterile and immobile. Her session with Jester and Lupin shattered the façade she'd built about those memories. In the five minutes it took to walk from the interrogation room to her work area, Hermione's emotions threatened to run away with her. Fear, denial, anger, shame, bitterness, disgust, and panic all raced through her mind and body, leaving her light-headed and a bit nauseous.
"You're not looking well," said Padma Patil, handing Hermione a glass of water as she sat down at her desk.
Hermione nodded her thanks, then sipped the water slowly. "I've been better."
"Something to do with your…case?" Padma sounded hesitant.
"Yes. I had to identify one of my attackers." Hermione was pleased that her voice didn't betray the panic rising in her chest.
Frowning, Padma perched on the edge of Hermione's desk. "I'm sure the boss wouldn't mind if you took the rest of the day off. Better that than to stay here and be rattled and unable to focus, don't you think?"
Hermione shook her head vigorously. "No, I'm fine. Really. I've been through worse. I just got back yesterday. I really need to get caught up." Hands trembling slightly, she opened a desk drawer, pulled out a slim folder and placed it in the middle of her tidy desktop, then looked up at Padma expectantly, hoping she would get the hint.
She was not disappointed.
"Okay, if you say so," Padma said finally. "My partner and I will be getting a new assignment later today. If you want, I can talk with you when I get back."
Hermione nodded, shutting her eyes. She appreciated Padma's attempt to draw her out, but she really didn't want to speak to her about any of it. What she needed to do was talk to Harry, but she feared his reaction. She could just imagine him pacing their living room, his brow furrowed while he either seethed silently or muttered epithets under his breath. And that would be the pleasant part.
I won't think about that now, she sighed as she carefully opened the folder on top of her desk. I'll think about that tomorrow. Right now I'll just read this file and start catching up. Catching up…yes, I'll catch up…
But instead of focusing on her files, Hermione found her mind wandering to Harry, wondering what how he would react if she told him what had happened that morning, wondering if she could pinpoint exactly when he had started to withdraw from her physically and emotionally. Because she was sure he had started doing exactly that -- and she knew that if she thought hard on it, she might realize something she didn't want to know.
^*^*^*^
Arriving home after work, Harry found Hermione wearing a dark tee shirt and leggings, practicing martial arts in the living room.
"How was your day?" he asked, wondering if he could pull it off. Unbeknownst to Hermione, he had intruded on her ordeal that morning, and now he had to act as though he knew nothing about it. A good test for my Slytherin side, he thought, shoving his hand nervously through his hair.
Hermione, apparently, wasn't going to play along, and continued moving quickly through the various steps, kicks and punches. "Well…I had to sit in a claustrophobic interrogation room with Remus and that--that beast who attacked me." Her outfit hung from her body; it was obvious she'd lost weight lately. "Then I went to my desk and spent the rest of the day reading, though I did come home a bit early. So how do you think my day went?" Her eyes were distant, focused on the other side of the room, and she didn't stop to hug him or kiss his cheek.
Biting his lip, Harry weighed his words carefully. "It sounds like the identification was stressful for you, and afterward you took things easy."
Hermione glanced at him sideways. "I've had worse days," she said sharply.
"I would have been happy to come with you," he reminded her.
Hermione paused for a moment. She seemed tired and frazzled but, as usual, too proud and independent to admit to what he'd witnessed. "Yes, you did offer," she said quietly. "It wasn't…all that bad…and Jester is firmly in custody, and Remus said he'll probably go to Azkaban."
"Assuming there's a trial."
"Why wouldn't there be?"
Harry took his time answering. "Maybe our stalker will find a way to prevent it."
"You mean like bribing someone at the Ministry?" As Hermione resumed her movements, she seemed genuinely worried.
"I don't know. She seems to be able to accomplish whatever she wants to when it comes to harassing us."
The look on Hermione's face morphed from worry to steely determination. Swinging around in front of Harry, she stood with arms akimbo, her eyes blazing. "You sound like you've given up, like you expect her to continue stalking us, like you think even worse things will happen."
Harry plunked himself on the sofa, pulling off his tie as he leaned back against the plush cushions. "How long have you known me, Hermione?"
She whirled around and punched the air, her hand coming closer to Harry than he would have preferred. "Eleven years. And a few days. Not that I'm counting," she smirked.
"And in all those eleven years, can you remember a time when things didn't go from bad to worse where I was concerned?"
Hermione's eyebrow shot up. "Actually, you did seem to be rather the golden boy in sixth year."
Why is she going there, after all these years? Harry stood up suddenly, almost blocking her moves. "You haven't forgiven me, still, for doing better than you in Potions that year? I thought we'd got past that business of the potions book --"
"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" she shot back. "Bloody hell, Harry, how petty do you think I am? After everything we've been through…" She was panting now, her face blazing with concentration and dripping with sweat.
"Forget about Slughorn and the damn book," he hissed. "You're working out awfully hard right now. Are you sure that's a wise thing to do so soon after…your ordeal?"
The edge of Hermione's right hand suddenly met his left cheek. "I'm not a bloody China doll, Harry! Stop patronizing me!"
"I'm not -- I'm -- what the hell was that about?"
Harry tried to wrap his arms around Hermione to restrain her, but when he grabbed her right arm, he found himself being flipped onto the carpet, where Hermione pinned him to the floor with her thighs on either side of his torso. Her hair was damp and tangled, her face flushed with exertion, and Harry recognized a particularly hungry look in her eyes that always sent a shiver of excitement down to his groin. This time was no exception.
I've won and he knows it, she thought, unable to keep from smirking. She slid further down his body until she encountered his erection. Repositioning herself, Hermione began to slowly, methodically grind her crotch against his. Harry's arms were free now, and after a minute of grinding, he pulled Hermione down and kissed her passionately for the first time in weeks. As she parted her lips slightly, his tongue delved slowly and surely into her mouth while his fingers twined in her hair. Hermione shuddered as Harry's mouth moved to the crook of her jaw, to the spot beneath her ear that always left her mad with desire for him. As they continued rocking against each other, his pelvis pressed to hers, he nibbled her ear and ran his hands under the waistband of her leggings.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his fingers rubbing circles on her buttocks through her knickers. "I shouldn't have brought up ancient history. I shouldn't doubt your abilities. I shouldn't love you as much as I do either, but I can't seem to help that."
Hermione's eyes had a wild gleam. "Would you like to show me just how sorry you are?"
Harry took the hint immediately. "I'll show you right here and now," he murmured as he pulled her tee shirt over her head and flung it across the room.
"You're not afraid of hurting me?" Her eyes questioned him even more than her tone of voice.
"Yeah, I am, a bit. But if you really want this…just let me know if anything hurts."
Hermione's nostrils flared. "Harry, I've been waiting weeks for you to want to shag me good and hard. So give me everything you've got." Her leggings were gone, tossed in a pile with the tee shirt. Straddling him in just her bra and knickers, she unbuttoned and removed his shirt, then unzipped his flies, reached in and began stroking his swollen cock. Shivering with anticipation, Harry automatically began to pump into Hermione's right hand.
"Diffindo knickers," he muttered, and her knickers fell off in two neatly divided pieces. As Hermione continued to stroke him, Harry grasped her arms gently, then rolled her onto her back and began to stroke the soft, wet curls between her legs. Not bothering to unhook her bra, he pushed the lacy fabric aside and took first one nipple into his mouth, then the other. While he hunched over her, sucking and licking her breasts, Hermione fumbled with his trousers, pushing them and his underpants down past his knees. His cock was hard as granite now, ridged with purple veins like swirling snakes. As he rolled one nipple between his lips, she let her knees fall wide open and pulled his cock toward her until the tip pressed against her entrance. Harry whimpered.
"Now, Harry, please," she panted.
He obliged in one long, slow, deliciously tortuous stroke.
Hermione's muscles clenched around his cock, taking him in an inch at a time. Rolling his hips, his breath hitching, he stroked in and out, slowly at first. When he was fully seated inside her, he hooked her right leg over his shoulder and began to stroke hard and fast, plunging in as deep as he could. This was what she'd wanted, been desperate for, Harry filling her up until she couldn't think straight. She let out a long, low moan, an almost feral sound that she hoped would urge him onward -- not that Harry needed much encouragement. Her gasps and moans intensified as she pushed toward him repeatedly to meet his thrusts. The faster he moved, the louder she moaned until, finally, she arched her back and let loose a howl that made Harry wish he'd cast a silencing charm before they'd started shagging. As she shuddered beneath him while her orgasm resolved, Harry finished up, stroking as hard and fast as he could until his own orgasm shook him, leaving him limp on top of her.
Looking sideways, he saw Hermione smile dreamily as her tangled, bushy hair fanned out against the carpet.
"You seemed quite sorry. I forgive you," she purred, pulling his face down so she could kiss him.
"Thank you."
"And I love you."
"I know."
She was so smart, so beautiful, so giving. She even forgave him when he'd been a total prat. Leaving her would be the hardest thing he'd ever done.
^*^*^
"Mmm, something smells good," Harry said a few hours later as Hermione magicked a tray into the living room. The tray held a steaming teapot, two mugs and a bowl of freshly popped popcorn. Hedwig sat serenely in her cage in a corner of the living room, while Crookshanks was curled up in a furry, purring ball near Harry's feet.
Hermione smiled as she directed the tray onto the coffee table in front of the sofa. "That's another advantage of living in a Muggle block of flats," she said as she sat down next to him. "We can use a microwave oven."
"And we can watch television. And DVDs!" Harry added gleefully. He'd never been allowed to watch much television at the Dursleys' house. Now, in his own flat, he enjoyed being able to watch whatever he wanted to, whether it was a film on DVD or television shows like Eastenders and Never Mind the Buzzcocks. Sipping his tea, he leaned back against the sofa, while Hermione snuggled her head against his shoulder.
"So are we going to watch a film tonight?" she asked as he fumbled with a stack of DVDs on the coffee table.
"Yeah, what should we watch? I was thinking that something older might be good. I didn't see many films when I was growing up."
Hermione threaded her fingers with Harry's on his free hand. "I'm sure I know why," she said ruefully, kissing his knuckles. "So you've been making up for lost time the past few years. What do you want to watch?"
"How about an adventure film, or maybe a detective film? Maybe The French Connection?"
"Wouldn't that seem rather like your own work?"
Harry paused. "You've got a point. I think I'll let you choose."
"I'd like to watch something romantic but not too exciting," she said as she shuffled through the DVDs. "Oh! This is it. How about Singin' In The Rain?"
Harry smirked. "I think you must fancy that Gene Kelly bloke. I mean, watching the same film twenty times…"
"Not twenty! Only ten." Hermione blushed. "And you know why I love it so much, don't you?"
Harry knew, but he liked to hear her say it. "Why's that?"
"Because it reminds me of the three of us -- you, me and Ron. Not the music or the dancing, of course, but the friendship."
Harry smiled. "Donald O'Connor does have ginger hair. Though he sings and dances much better than Ron."
Hermione chuckled. "Definitely. And the way Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds -- I mean, their characters -- fell in love"-she blushed again -"reminds me a tiny bit of how you and I started out as friends, but finally realized that what we felt -"
"-was much more than friends should feel for each other?"
"Exactly!" Beaming, she kissed his cheek and snuggled closer to him. "Oh Harry, I knew you'd understand."
As they watched Gene Kelly, Debbie Reynolds and Donald O'Connor sing and dance across the television screen, Harry settled back against the sofa and relaxed. Occasionally, when he felt too settled or lazy to reach over to the popcorn bowl, he levitated a few kernels of popcorn into his mouth, which made Hermione smirk and roll her eyes at him. When the film finally ended around ten o'clock, Harry was blissfully ensconced in his seat, barely able to see, much less to move. Hermione had to tug his arm rather hard to help him off the sofa.
"Someone seems to be rather tired tonight," she observed.
"Someone else wore him out a few hours ago."
"Are you trying to tell me something?" she smirked, pulling a stumbling Harry toward their bedroom.
He struggled to raise an eyebrow. "Just don't expect a repeat performance right now. I think I could fall into bed and sleep for about twelve hours."
"You really are tired, aren't you?"
She pulled him into the bedroom, turned down the duvet and sat Harry on his side of the bed. Then she gently removed his shoes and socks and rubbed his feet. Harry fell back against his pillow, his breathing getting slower and deeper as Hermione's hands caressed the soles of his feet.
"Gonna…fall...'sleep…soon," he mumbled as Hermione tucked his legs under the covers.
She kissed him gently. "I'm going to do my nightly routine in the bathroom, Harry. Sweet dreams."
'M so stupid, Harry thought as he began to drift off, stupid arse. Don't deserve her. Don't….deserve…
^*^*^*^
Hermione was in a brilliant mood the next few days. Her escapade with Harry on the living room floor made her feel wanted and desirable again, which was what she missed most from "B.T.A." - before the assault. She knew that Harry needed her -- he'd needed her for eleven years -- and that he loved her, but she needed to know that, despite what had happened, he desired her too. He had confirmed that quite nicely by practically shagging her into the carpet; that was one episode of lovemaking she'd not soon forget. There was no debt involved, of course; it was love freely given. But she made a point to provide little affectionate extras the rest of the week: a hand on the cheek, a kiss on the forehead, an occasional pinch of his gorgeous backside -- but only in their flat, because she was skittish about public displays of affection, especially with the stalker still on the loose. Harry seemed to appreciate all of these little endearments; he held her hand more in the next few days than he'd done in the previous month.
Of course Hermione couldn't know that the handholding was Harry's way of clinging to what had been his life raft for the past eleven years. He and Hermione went back to having sex almost every day, usually at night right before bedtime. The sex was physically satisfying but emotionally draining; as he licked and sucked and pumped into her, his mind often wandered to the dreaded fact that he planned to leave her, needed to leave her soon for her own safety. One night, when she'd sucked his cock until he damn near passed out from his orgasm, he resolved to leave as soon as he could get a few things straightened out. Once he was able to put his affairs in order, find a Secret Keeper and find a potion or spell that would prevent Hermione from following him, he would leave and never come back. It was the only way that he could think of to insulate her from the stalker's insanity.
Harry found his mind drifting at work and at home as he pondered what he needed to do. He had to find some way to keep Hermione from following him, and he knew that a forgetfulness potion wouldn't be enough. He couldn't Obliviate her either, because he and Hermione were celebrities as well as heroes, and one of the best-known couples in the Wizarding World. There was probably only one way to keep Hermione from following him, he finally decided: it would have to be some kind of spell or potion that would make her hate him so much she would never want to see him again.
"A Sickle for your thoughts?" she asked gently one morning as he stared into his coffee at breakfast.
"Uh? Oh…nothing much," he lied, stirring his coffee to calm his nerves. "Just thinking about a case I'm working on."
"Those robberies again?"
"No, something else. It's a tough case. I can't really tell you more than that."
She petted his hand across the table. "That's okay. I understand completely. I'm never able to tell you about my work. It's too bad you can't share this with me. Anything I could help you with in a general way?"
"No, I'm fine, I mean, it's okay. It's very complicated." And I really can't let anything slip about it. He drained the rest of his coffee in one swallow, then stood up to leave. "I've got to go to work now. I'll see you this evening." Then he pecked her on the cheek and Floo'd to the Ministry.
Harry spent the morning interviewing Madam Malkin and her employees about a break-in at her shop. He had no reason to tie it to the burglaries in Bury St. Edmunds during the summer, but that case was still open, so he made a note to follow up on it with Tonks when he got back to the office. Now that he was already in Diagon Alley, though, it seemed like a good time to see if one of his old school mates could help him with his personal problem.
He waited outside the apothecary shop in Diagon Alley until he was sure no customers remained inside. Entering the shop, he spied the dark hair of Terry Boot, who was apparently searching for something beneath the counter. Terry was in Ravenclaw House at Hogwarts and seemed to have a bit of a crush on Hermione during fifth year. Harry remembered that Terry worked hard in the Defence Association, helped him deal with Malfoy on the train at the end of term, and later, during the Second Voldemort War, served with distinction on the potions team of the Order of the Phoenix. Terry was not only an excellent chemist but also quite good with charms. If anyone could advise him about this, Terry could.
"'Lo, Terry," Harry called across the shop.
Terry stood up and grinned. "Hello, Harry. It's been a while."
"Yeah, it has. A more than a year, I think."
Terry was silent a moment, seeming to weigh his words. "I saw the stories in the Daily Prophet. I'm really sorry about all the shite you and Hermione have been through lately."
"'Thanks," Harry muttered. "We've had a rough month. In fact I've probably never been this scared for Hermione's safety, not even during the war."
Terry looked puzzled. "You think this is really aimed at her?"
Harry shrugged and scratched his neck. "Dunno. She seems to think it's aimed at both of us. Doesn't matter who the real target is, though; it's Hermione who's been hurt the worst by this whole stinking mess."
"I heard that one of the assailants was arrested. That's got to be good, right?"
"Better than nothing, I guess. Thanks for your concern, Terry." Harry stopped short of saying any more about what he and Hermione had been through, weighing his next words carefully. "Actually, I came to ask for your professional help on something I'm doing for the Ministry." I hope he buys this, Harry thought anxiously.
"What kind of help do you need?" Terry seemed intrigued.
Harry mentally reviewed his cover story, then forged ahead. "I'm an Auror, and right now I'm doing some research on Dark wizards' methods of committing various crimes. I've heard that there's a potion that can cause one person to hate another. The Ministry suspects that Death Eaters are using this potion to cause trouble between Muggle neighbours. If you have anything like this, or if you know where I could get some, I'd like to purchase a small vial to use in my research."
Terry looked at him quizzically. His eyes darted toward the door; when no one entered, his face softened. "I think I know what you're talking about," he said cautiously. "I can't actually give it to you myself, because this apothecary is licensed by the Ministry and we can't sell anything like that. However," he lowered his voice, "I could brew it for you, but it would take a while. It's not exactly something I have in my own flat, either."
Harry frowned. "If it takes longer than three days, that's too long. I need it quickly. My, erm, research will fall behind if I don't get it soon."
"Okay. I do know someone who could help you quickly." Terry pulled a parchpad from under the counter, then scribbled a name and address and some directions on it, plus a word Harry had never seen before.
"Thanks so much, Terry. I really appreciate this," Harry said, stuffing the sheet of parchment in his pocket.
"You're welcome, Harry. Just be sure to follow any instructions you get to the letter."
Harry nodded. "Don't worry, I will. Good-bye, Terry. Thanks again."
Nodding, Terry turned toward the shelves behind the counter, unaware that Harry was pointing his wand at him. Harry had become very good at non-verbal spells, especially the Obliviation charm, and he'd used it sometimes in his work to cover his tracks. Terry wouldn't remember Harry ever coming to visit him, much less the advice he'd given.
^*^*^
Despite Terry's chicken-scratch handwriting, Harry was able to follow the directions on the parchment without much trouble. About twenty minutes after leaving Diagon Alley, he arrived in front of an inconspicuous shop in Simmery Axe, a narrow lane off the Caledonian Road. The sign next to the front door said simply, "John Wellington Wells III, Prop." Harry peered through a small, greasy window. The shop appeared to be empty, but the door was unlocked, so someone had to be there. He hoped he would find what he was looking for.
Entering the shop, Harry found a long, narrow, dusty room that reminded him of the late Mr. Ollivander's wand shop in Diagon Alley. At the back of the shop, seated next to a small table covered in fringed scarves, was a gaunt old wizard with gimlet eyes. He wore a cravat and a morning coat, and what remained of his white hair formed an odd fringe all around his head, something like a stringy halo. Harry thought he was one of the oddest-looking men he'd ever seen.
"Erm, hello," he called out.
The old man cocked his head. "Yes?"
"I'm looking for John Wellington Wells the third."
The old man stood up and bowed slightly toward Harry. "At you service. And you would be?"
"I'm Harry Potter. I --"
"Well, of course you are." Mr. Wells gave a half-smile as he recognized Harry's scar. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, young man."
Harry cleared his throat. "Erm, yes, well. I'm an Auror with the Ministry now, and I'm researching Dark wizards' methods of committing various crimes." Harry gave the old wizard the same story he'd told Terry Boot and waited for his reaction.
Mr. Wells' right eyebrow arched high. "Interesting. I can't recall anyone from the Ministry ever asking for me for a potion. Not in the seventy years I've been proprietor. Though I suppose someone might have asked my father or my grandfather back when they ran the shop."
Harry wondered if Wells was stalling. "Is my request a problem for you?"
The gimlet eyes surveyed Harry cautiously. "Not a problem, no. I just rarely have the opportunity to, shall we say, assist the Ministry. Usually my customers are more unsavory types."
Harry nodded. "I suppose that what you sell isn't exactly government-sanctioned, if I understand your business correctly."
"You are correct, Mr. Potter," Wells replied with a half-smile.
"Look," Harry went on, continuing with his cover story, "I don't care whether you're selling things that are technically illegal. I won't tell anyone where I got this potion and I won't use your name when I write the report. You can remain anonymous. Is that what you need to hear? I promise you'll remain anonymous."
Wells appeared to be considering Harry's words.
"Mr. Well, please, if you have any of this potion right now, I want to buy some from you so I can get started on my research right away. The price isn't an issue."
Harry pulled a bag full of Galleons from his cloak. The old man's smile returned; he nodded and slipped behind a draped opening in the wall, returning a moment later with a small glass vial containing a shimmering, light green liquid.
"This is what you're looking for, Mr. Potter. If you know of Amortentia, this is its opposite. It's called Abominaria, and over the centuries, Dark wizards have used it to sow enmity between neighbors, to cause wars, and even to have monarchs and presidents assassinated. I assume you're familiar with Polyjuice Potion?"
Harry nodded. Abominaria -- that must be the unfamiliar word Terry wrote on the parchment.
"Abominaria is similar to Polyjuice in a few specific ways," Wells explained. "Like Polyjuice, Abominaria is designed to be tailored to a specific person."
"How would you do that?" Harry asked.
"You add to the potion an artifact from the body of the target -- the person you want someone else to hate. The artifact is typically a fragment of fingernail, or a drop of saliva, or perhaps a hair or an eyelash. The less of the artifact you add, the less effect the potion has, ranging from mere dislike up to a desire to kill the target."
Harry pondered this for a moment. "Go on."
"Abominaria is much easier to make than Polyjuice. You brew the basic potion for two weeks. At that point it can be divided into numerous smaller portions, which can be put aside until needed. So, when you want to target the potion to a specific person, you would take a small amount of Abominaria -- really, a few ounces is more than enough -- and add the artifact to that. Then you simmer the mixture for two days."
"That sounds fairly simple," Harry observed. "What else is involved?"
"The final Abominaria potion, when properly brewed, is a clear liquid that can be added easily to someone's drink," Wells continued. "Once drunk, it has no immediate effect, but it will make the recipient -- the person who drinks it -- sleepy within an hour. When the recipient awakens, he will seem to behave normally at first, but as soon as the target is seen, heard or mentioned, the recipient will harbor ill will toward the target."
"And the amount of ill will, as you call it, varies from dislike to outright hatred to murderous thoughts."
"Yes, depending on how much target artifact has been added."
"I see." Harry realised that if he were not planning to leave soon, he would bring this information directly to Remus Lupin. It might help the Auror Division clear up a number of very old cases in the files. "Are there any restrictions against using Abominaria? Any cases when it should never be used?"
Wells' expression turned grave. "Abominaria must never be used on a pregnant woman. Never! The consequences to the mother and her child cannot even be contemplated."
Harry was silent for a moment, taking in everything he'd just heard. "Thanks for telling me that." Good thing Hermione isn't pregnant, he thought, letting out a small sigh of relief. "So how much artifact would you need to add to make the recipient hate the target but not want to kill him? Just, say, never want to see him ever again?"
Wells bit the inside of his cheek, then nodded. "I believe three hairs or six drops of saliva would suffice." Wells looked at Harry curiously. "You did say you needed this information for Ministry research, is that correct?"
"Yes, Ministry research into criminal modes of operation. How much do you want for that vial, Mr. Wells?" Harry jingled his bag of Galleons again.
"Ten Galleons is a fair price, I believe. My usual customers are willing to pay twenty for this amount, but you can have it for half price. Because it's for research."
Harry drew ten large, gold coins from the bag and gave them to the old wizard, who handed him the vial. "Thank you, sir, for the potion and the information. You've been a great help."
"You're quite welcome, Mr. Potter. I've always wondered when the Ministry would finally take notice of some of the more arcane advantages employed by our less law-abiding citizens. You'll inform me of your research results, I'm sure?"
Harry nodded; what was one more lie in his growing list of inventions and prevarications? Exiting the shop, he pulled his cloak around him and Disapparated, landing near the dustbin outside the Ministry. It was almost one o'clock. Remus would probably be wondering why he'd spent so long talking with Madam Malkin.
^*^*^
Around half past eleven, Hermione sent a memo flying toward the Auror Division, inviting Harry to meet her for lunch. When a half-hour passed and he'd not replied, she decided to seek out her other best friend. Her invitation to Ron came back in less than ten minutes, with "You bet! Meet me in the Atrium" scribbled on an outside wing. Five minutes later, she found him buying a sausage roll and pumpkin pasties from one of the Atrium food carts.
"Hello, stranger," she said brightly, greeting him with a warm hug. Ron hugged her back, ruffling her hair with his free hand.
"Hello, yourself. How are you doing, Hermione?"
"I'm much better, thank you. It's such a nice day. I'd really like to eat outside, if that's okay with you. Could we find a bench somewhere?"
"Sure. Let's get out of here."
Once outside, Hermione grabbed Ron's arm and Apparated both of them to St. James Park.
"Blimey, Hermione, you really did mean outside!" Ron protested as they seated themselves on an empty bench facing The Mall.
"I thought it would be better to talk some place where no one really knows us," she replied. "I'm not sure where I'm safe anymore, but this seems safer than chatting publicly inside the Ministry or nearby."
Munching on his sausage roll, Ron nodded. "Sho why er wan talk?"
"Well, I've been back at work a few days now and Harry has finally stopped babying me."
"Tha's good, innit?"
"You know, I ought to think it's good, but it just doesn't sit right with me. It seems too sudden. We had a rather spectacular row a few nights ago --"
Ron winked. "Complete with a spectacular makeup?"
Hermione blushed. "Actually, yes. And since then, Harry's usual over-protectiveness has completely disappeared." Ron looked puzzled. "I mean, he's not fussing anymore about me doing too much, pushing too hard, or any of the usual things. Our sex life has improved --"
Now Ron blushed.
"-- but there's something wrong. Harry just seems to be going through the motions. They're very good motions, mind you, but somehow his heart doesn't seem to be in it. I feel like he's making love with me to placate me. He's also stopped touching me when we're in public."
"Well, maybe he doesn't want to make the stalker angry again."
"That could be true. But he doesn't grab me randomly and snog me in our flat like he used to either. In fact the only thing I can count on him doing anymore is holding my hand. And he does that so much lately I'm starting to feel like he's afraid I'll get lost if he lets go. So his behaviour lately is puzzling. I should be happy about some of it, but other things just makes me shake my head."
Ron didn't respond immediately, just sat there nodding as he finished his sausage roll. "Hermione, why don't you just talk to him about it? You two are the ones who can supposedly read each other's minds."
Finishing a bite of her own ham sandwich, Hermione leaned back and sighed. "That used to be true, but not so much lately. Harry's gone back to being secretive. I think he's put this stalker situation in an emotional box that he won't touch when I'm around. I just wonder if something else is going on that I don't know about."
"Look, Hermione, if you and Harry would just talk about this thing, you could probably figure out a way to handle it together. You've always solved problems together, why not this one?"
"This is different. This time, I was the one who got hurt seriously. I guess Harry can't deal with that. He seems to think he failed me."
"So, you think I can do something to help?" Ron expected her to say that she wanted him to talk to Harry.
Hermione let out a breath. "Yes. Actually, I was hoping you would kind of keep an eye on Harry when I'm not with him. Maybe spend more time with him when you're both at the Ministry, try to figure out what he's up to."
A dark look crossed Ron's face. "You want me to find out why he's acting this way? Or do you want me to tail him? Because I absolutely will not tail him. I'm not a detective, Hermione. I'm your best friend -- but I'm also Harry's best mate. I'll talk to him, if you want me to, but I think you'd do better to just clear this up with him yourself. If you want me to tail him, forget it. I'd feel like a ratfink, and I don't want to fall out with Harry again. After our fight in fourth year I vowed I would never get into that kind of row with him again. So if that's what you want, then, no. I won't."
I should have known, Hermione thought furiously. "You always take his side. Always. I thought it might be different this time. I shouldn't have got my hopes up. Thanks a lot, Ron," she said sarcastically, tossing the plastic wrap from her sandwich at him before she Disapparated.
She's mental, that one, Ron thought as he stuffed the pumpkin pasty in his mouth. And so is Harry. And where the hell am I?
"HERMIONE!" he growled, jumping off the bench as a group of Muggle strollers regarded him curiously.
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