Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author's Note: I apologize for taking 3 weeks to update. Real Life and the RL's of my betas keeps intruding, darn it. I will try to update every 2 weeks (at least) from now on. Many thanks again to my betas, whose constructive criticism has definitely improved the story. This is the last relatively happy chapter for a long time, so I hope you enjoy it. Again, I'd like to thank all of you who have taken the time to read and review.

Chapter 5

August 19, 2002

And now the bad news - they're STILL together! They did NOT listen to my latest letter! He came back to work today and didn't look much worse than last week. And - AND! - He was holding her by the waist and whispering into her ear in the Atrium! Don't they know by now that I'm serious about this? You'd think the Bulbadox powder would have shown them I'm not joking about this. I can't believe they didn't take me seriously. Of course they didn't reply to the letter; I didn't expect them to. But once they saw the boils, they should have known that I meant business. I hope the boils were really painful for them. I hope she couldn't touch his back or his chest for days. Though if he didn't get any on his dick, she probably just concentrated on that even more. Bloody bitch. She probably batted her eyelashes at him and said, "Oh, poor Harry. You can't slide that firm chest against my tits now because you're all scarred from those nasty boils. I'll have to give your dick a good tongue-lashing instead." Then she got on her knees and did it. That bloody bint has always had a big mouth. I wonder if it's big enough to take him in from top to bottom. And does she swallow when he's done, or does she spit it out on his thigh and lick it off? Disgusting bitch. She makes me sick. They both do. They're still together. I'm sick about that. No matter what I've done so far they're still together. I have to find some other way to break them up.

^*^*^*^

Harry was released from St. Mungo's at noon Friday after a relatively restless night. The laboratory didn't find anything too suspicious in the mysterious envelope, the note or the sample of pus Neville sent down. Neville did mention that the Bulbadox Powder was a much purer strain than he usually saw at St. Mungo's. This didn't do much for Harry's state of mind; now he had to wonder where his stalker had bought the powder and whether she -- Hermione had convinced him it was a woman -- would strike again any time soon. Harry was convinced the stalker would strike again and that the next strike would take place sooner rather than later. The question was how soon and in what fashion - and of course, who the hell was doing this. As Harry and Hermione left the hospital, Neville gave them a potion to use for three days to minimize scarring from the boils. Hermione tucked the potion inside her bag and promised she would spritz it all over her own arm and on Harry's chest and back twice daily through the weekend.

Arriving home, Harry and Hermione found Tonks and a tall young Auror recruit named Stewart Ackerley padding around the flat looking for evidence. Tonks had already found and bagged the stalker's second note. Hermione reassured her that there was nothing else to be found as evidence in the house, as they'd only received three notes and the trash bin had destroyed the first note. Returning to their bedroom - the scene of the crime - Harry and Hermione found Ackerley putting the clothes they'd torn off in the heat of passion into another evidence bag. Hermione blushed deeply as Ackerley levitated a pink lace bra from a chair and attached an evidence tag to it with a sticking charm. Ackerley smirked, as though he was enjoying what he was doing rather too much.

"Is that really necessary?" Harry snapped. He should not be smirking about this; can't he tell he's embarrassing Hermione?

Ackerley looked down at Harry through a pair of thick eyeglasses. "Sorry, Mr. Potter. Chief Lupin told us to bring in anything that has any yellow powder on it."

"Does that mean our duvet too?" Hermione asked. "And the rest of our bed linens?"

"Yes, ma'am. If they have any yellow powder on them we have to take them in. Don't worry, we won't take anything that doesn't have yellow powder on it. I'm sorry about your - thing, Miss Granger," Ackerley smiled. "We have to take it with us."

Harry glanced at Hermione, whose face was almost beet-red. Bloody tosser, Harry seethed, his fists clenched at his side. There's something about this bloke that's definitely not on. It was all he could do to restrain himself from hexing the fellow. Harry made a mental note to talk to Lupin about this.

After the Aurors finally cleared out, Harry and Hermione spent a couple of hours discussing the situation, trying to find every possible angle that might help them figure out who was doing this and why. The only conclusion they reached was that they'd be damned if they'd walk away from this relationship just to satisfy some nutter's desire to separate them. They'd been part of each other's life since Harry was eleven years old and Hermione was twelve, and it had taken them nine years to recognize that what existed between them went much deeper than friendship. Neither of them would let some maniac they didn't know force them into something they didn't want. Once that was settled, Hermione began fussing over Harry, trying to make him more comfortable.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked when Hermione began rummaging around his side of the clothes cupboard in their bedroom.

"I'm going to fix some of your shirts so they won't aggravate your condition," she answered, pulling out half a dozen of Harry's shirts and hanging them up around the room.

Harry frowned. Sometimes Hermione had all the subtlety of Molly Weasley. "Don't go to any trouble, Hermione. It's really not that bad" -- he winced -- "well, okay, it is that bad, but I'm not a baby. I mean, it's not like the way my scar used to burn."

"Well, thank Merlin for that!" she chided him. "Honestly, Harry, I just want you to be comfortable and not spend the next week wincing every few minutes." Picking up a blue and white striped shirt, she pointed her wand at it and intoned, "Engorgio interiori!" then handed it to him for his inspection. "Well, try it on. Let's see if that charm worked."

As he slipped the shirt on slowly, Harry noticed that while the outside appeared to cling to his body, the inside didn't touch his skin at all. In fact it practically floated on him. "Nice work," he admitted, cocking an eyebrow at her.

"Oh, that was nothing too special," she smirked. "Just the same charm that makes the inside of a Wizarding tent seem like the TARDIS on Doctor Who. Now take that shirt off and sit down so I can apply that lotion Neville prescribed for us."

"Yeah, sure, okay," Harry sighed, finally resigned to letting her take care of him. After Hermione spritzed the potion on his torso, she found some aloe vera lotion in their bathroom and began to rub it on his back and chest.

"Mmmm, thanks," Harry muttered as her small, warm hands fluttered gently across his bare skin, her palms smoothing the healing lotions into his pores while her fingertips made his muscles (and other parts further south) tingle. As he sat on the edge of the bed, his blood began to rush to the usual location, reminding him of the moment he and Hermione were interrupted the previous afternoon.

"Hermione," he breathed, grabbing her wrist and tugging her head over his shoulder so he could kiss her more easily, "we didn't quite finish what we'd started yesterday." His eyes pleaded with her and she seemed to catch his meaning immediately.

"No, I guess we didn't," she replied with a wicked smirk as her eyes raked over the bulge in his trousers. "I wonder how you could make that up to me?" In a voice low and rough with desire, she whispered, "You know, we don't have to use the bed, and we don't have to do it face to face."

That was all Harry needed to hear. "Let's get out of these clothes," he rasped, pulling Hermione's dress over her head and tossing it across the room. Standing before him in just a pair of lacy knickers, she extended her hand to him, pulling him up from the bed as she backed slowly across the bedroom toward a leather chair and matching ottoman. She stopped at the ottoman and sat on the edge, her legs parted, waiting for Harry to join her. He didn't need a verbal invitation. Kneeling between her legs, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and fondled her breast with his free hand. While his lips and tongue pried her mouth open gently, Hermione's hands began undoing his belt and his flies. Finishing the kiss, Harry took one soft, silky breast in his mouth while his fingers circled the tender flesh of her other nipple. Hermione sighed and arched toward him as his erection rubbed against her thigh.

"So we're settled on this stalker business?" she panted while Harry's tongue ghosted over the shell of her ear.

He nibbled her ear lobe as he tugged her knickers down her legs. "Yes, settled. We'll go on with our lives the same as ever. And that means snogging in the lift if we want to and shagging every day, or more often, if that pleases us" -- she slipped down to the floor, turned around, raised up on her knees and rested her chest on the ottoman -- "and…UHHH, yeah…that definitely pleases me right now." Her back and hips were firm and smooth under his hands, and her tiny sighs escalated into moans as he moved against and inside her. While he preferred to look her in the eyes and feel her breasts against his chest, he couldn't fault her ingenuity, and he pushed harder and faster until her moans turned to gasps of ecstasy.

Their ingenuity was tested a few more times that weekend as they found new ways to make love without skin-on-skin contact above the waist. They showered together on Saturday morning, which led to some interesting gymnastics against the cool glass-and-tile walls of the shower. After lunch on Sunday, Hermione's arse got rather soapy when Harry accidentally pushed her into a sink full of suds before they washed up the dishes. They promptly forgot about that chore and used the lather for other things.

By the time they went to bed that evening, Harry's skin no longer felt like it was being peppered by tiny pebbles. This was both good and bad. Good because he would no longer need to cast cushioning charms on the bed just to be able to get some sleep. Bad because it meant Hermione would probably stop rubbing his back and chest with aloe vera, which had led her hands to rub other parts of his body with equal enthusiasm. The rubbing led to kissing, licking and sucking, which he returned with just as much enthusiasm. Going to work meant being away from Hermione for hours at a time, and he knew he would miss the extra attention she'd lavished on him the past few days.

On Monday morning, finally able to return to work, Harry felt a rush of determination to show the world that he and Hermione were not only still together but also very, very happy. They picked up some scones at a Muggle bakery, then Apparated to the Ministry entrance. As the phone booth lift descended, Harry pulled Hermione tight to him. By the time the door opened at the Atrium they were snogging happily, her hands playing in his hair while his roamed her backside. As they broke the kiss Harry heard more than a few snickers and even a catcall. He didn't care; in fact he reveled in it. Grabbing Hermione's hand he led her out of the lift and across the Atrium.

"Oh honestly, Harry, we don't have to snog in front of everyone, do we?" she blushed as they strode over to the bank of lifts that led to the various Ministry offices.

He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist and whispered in her ear, "Why not? I want everyone to know I'm with the prettiest, most brilliant witch who ever attended Hogwarts, works in the Department of Mysteries and helped defeat Voldemort."

Hermione just rolled her eyes then leaned up and kissed the tip of his nose. When the next lift came, they got on along with a handful of other employees. As the doors opened at the second level, Hermione seemed reluctant to let Harry go. "Be safe, sweetheart," she whispered, kissing him tenderly before he backed off the lift. Harry blew her a kiss, then turned and walked briskly to his cubicle, where he discovered Lupin perched on the edge of his desk.

"Welcome back, Harry," Lupin greeted him. "I'd act avuncular and clap you on the back but I suspect you'd rather I didn't."

"Avuncuwhat?"

"Avuncular. Like an uncle. Or in my case, a surrogate godfather, but I don't think there's a single word for that," Lupin winked.

"Ah… right…" Harry didn't always get Lupin's sense of humor, but he appreciated the effort.

Lupin removed his posterior from the edge of the desk while Harry got himself settled. "So, how was your weekend, once you got back from hospital?"

Harry suppressed a grin. "Just horrible. I had to use cushioning charms on the bed just to be able to sleep." Lupin nodded sympathetically. "Hermione had to rub Neville's potion all over my chest and back twice a day. I also had to let her rub aloe vera lotion on me too. All that… rubbing…was really awful," he smirked. She was willing to rub a lot more than just my back and chest, Harry reminisced, grinning as he remembered what she'd done with her thumb and forefinger after rubbing the various healing agents on him.

"Yes...well...I can imagine...actually I'd rather not," Lupin interjected, clearing his throat.

Harry grinned and raised his eyebrows in reply. Hermione's attunement to his physical needs was just a small part of her charm, of course, not that he minded in the least. His eyes began to prickle and he suddenly felt hoarse. "She's really the most extraordinary woman I've ever known, and I'd be a bloody fool if I let some nutter come between us," he said quietly.

Lupin sighed. "Speaking of that nutter, Harry...I'm sorry to say we don't know any more about him or her than we did on Thursday evening when I saw you at St. Mungo's. And I'm sorry that Tonks and Ackerley had to take so much…stuff…out of your bedroom. That's just standard operating procedure."

"I know, Remus, but Ackerley seemed a little too enthusiastic about it. You should've seen him levitating Hermione's bra into that evidence bag." Lupin blushed. "I thought he was going to start drooling. Very unprofessional, if you ask me."

Lupin shrugged. "He's a young bloke, Harry. Didn't even have a chance to finish at Hogwarts with all the troubles of the war."

"What else do you know about him?" Harry prodded.

Lupin bit his lip in thought. "Actually, that's in his personnel folder, so I can't show it to you. I think he was in Ravenclaw. Fairly bright bloke but without a lot of social graces. What Muggles call a 'geek'." Lupin paused and narrowed his eyes.

Harry remembered the young recruit's Coke-bottle glasses and goofy demeanor and agreed with his boss's assessment. "Now that you mention it, I guess I remember him vaguely from school. He was three or four years behind us at Hogwarts and I don't recall ever interacting with him. He really did make Hermione uncomfortable while he and Tonks were at our flat," Harry explained. "I just wanted to know what you knew about him, that's all. You're probably right. He's probably an okay bloke, just doesn't have any people skills. Still…keep an eye on him, would you? He just makes me kind of nervous."

"Okay, Harry. Now that you're back, are you ready for a real assignment or should I keep you on desk detail for a day or two?"

Harry groaned. "If you need someone on the outside, Remus, send me. I need to get back in the game. I'm okay, really. Just as long as you don't make me stake out a Bulbadox powder factory, I think I'll be fine."

^*^*^*^

On Wednesday night, while Harry and Hermione ate dinner in their dining room, Ron's head appeared in their fireplace.

"Oi, Harry!" Ron asked in an urgent tone. "Are you ready for the Quidditch World Cup?"

"That's not for two days, Ron. Besides, all I need to bring is a bag with some extra clothes. You are bringing your dad's tent, aren't you?" Harry had fond memories of Mr. Weasley's wizard tent, which was much bigger on the inside than on the outside. He assumed this year's QWC encampment would be a lot different than the one in England in 1994, and he was looking forward to camping in Bulgaria with Ron.

"Will you have to sleep in bunk beds again or will the accommodations be less spartan this time?" Hermione asked as she levitated some of the dirty dishes off the table.

Ron laughed. "This time it'll just be me and Harry. I reckon each of us could have a king-size bed if we wanted."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him. "Well, since I won't be there, I can't imagine why Harry would need a king-sized bed." While Ron blushed, Harry smirked at her cheekiness. She certainly knew how to cut to the chase.

"So Ron," Harry continued, "should we leave work right after lunch on Friday?"

Ron thought for a moment. "Yeah, that sounds right. One o'clock. My dad's getting a Portkey for us. Kind of ironic, isn't it? Eight years ago we could've just Apparated to the QWC from Ottery St. Catchpole but most of us were too young to Apparate. Now we're old enough to Apparate but the bloody championship is all the way in Bulgaria."

"You know, of course, that Viktor Krum is still playing Seeker for Bulgaria," said Hermione.

Now Ron raised an eyebrow. "You're still in contact with Vicky?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron. "You're still calling him Vicky?" she fumed. "Honestly Ron, give it up. That was eight years ago. Viktor and I always were and always have been nothing but friends. Period. There's nobody for me but Harry, not since fifth- I mean…" Biting her lip, Hermione suddenly left the dining room, levitating the remaining dishes back into the kitchen.

"Since fifth what?" Ron asked.

"Since fifth year?" Harry wondered aloud. Oh my God, Hermione has fancied me since fifth year? Well, that certainly explains a lot. It hadn't occurred to Harry that Hermione had begun to fancy him long before he admitted his own romantic feelings for her. If this were true, she had carried a torch for him for five years before that fateful night two years ago when they'd started snogging in the kitchen and ended up in bed. Harry suddenly felt breathless and weak in the knees. She'd known what he meant to her by the time she was fifteen and was willing to wait five years for him to reciprocate that affection. She truly was one witch in a million.

As Hermione remained in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, Harry felt a surge of courage. "Ron, can you meet me for lunch tomorrow? Half-twelve at Fortescue's? I need your help with something."

"Sure, Harry, what's up?"

Harry felt himself grin like the Cheshire cat. "I need to visit the jeweller's shop in Diagon Alley. I'd like you to help me pick something out. Something for Hermione."

Ron's freckled face was blank for a moment, then he grinned, too. "Really? And you want me to help?"

"You've been with both of us since the beginning, mate," Harry smiled at his best friend. "I can't think of anyone whose assistance I'd rather have. See you tomorrow, okay? Right now, I need to help Hermione with the dishes."

"Okay, Harry, if that's what you're calling it these days," Ron sniggered. "Helping with the dishes. Whatever you say." Harry rolled his eyes toward Ron's vanishing face. Entering the kitchen, he found Hermione levitating the clean dishes back into the cupboards as the magical chamois made short work of the pots and pans. Slipping stealthily behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, molded his body to her back and pressed a line of feathery kisses from her neck up to her ear. Hermione melted into his embrace, sighing as his lips ghosted over her skin, then uttered a tiny "Oh!" as he took her earlobe in his teeth and nipped it gently. Harry then turned her around in his arms and placed a sweet, almost chaste kiss on her lips, then looked deeply into her eyes.

"Have I" - a lump grew in his throat - "have I told you lately how very much you mean to me, Hermione Jane Granger?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed for a moment, then a smile reached from her eyes down to her mouth. "No, Harry James Potter, I don't believe you have. Feel free to elaborate."

Harry kissed her again. This kiss was deeper than the last but not particularly urgent. With the tip of his tongue he coaxed her lips apart, then slid his tongue inside and slowly explored her mouth. He knew he had kissed her more than a thousand times in the past two years, but rarely had he put more feeling into a kiss. One of his hands remained on her waist, splayed along her spine, while the other gently grabbed a handful of her hair and tipped her head back so he could kiss her more deeply. After a minute in this liplock, Hermione pulled away and stared at him.

"Wow."

"Yeah...and that kiss said only half of what I feel for you. I love you, Hermione."

She dropped her eyes and blushed. "I know, Harry. I love you too. I have for a long time."

He pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I know. I just didn't know how long. Since fifth year?"

She kept her eyes on the floor, examining the kitchen tiles. "Well...not quite that long…but at least since the end of sixth year." She looked at him carefully. "You didn't know?"

Harry picked up her left hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. "I - I could tell something was going on with you, I was just too dumb to ask. Or maybe too scared."

"Scared of me?"

"Never scared of you, Hermione. Scared of fucking up the best friendship I've ever had."

Hermione sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "It's okay, Harry. I knew you weren't ready then. I didn't know if you would ever be ready. But I knew I had to wait for you, because I hoped that one day you would be ready. And the past two years have made all the waiting worthwhile."

Once again Harry marveled at how he'd ever managed to end up with this wonderful woman sharing his life and his bed. "For me too, sweetheart. I'm glad I stopped being so blind. All those years you were right in front of me and I couldn't see." He kissed her again, passionately this time, pouring his whole self into it. When they broke apart, Hermione pulled away from him slightly, grabbed his hand and led him toward the bedroom.

"It's been a long couple of days, sweetheart, and I'm really tired. For once, I'd really just like to go to sleep tonight and not make love."

"That actually sounds like a good idea," Harry said, surprised at how much those few days back at work had taken out of him. "Let's go to bed and get some sleep."

"Yes, let's do that. I love you, Harry."

"I love you too."

^*^*^

The next day, at a quarter past twelve, Harry Apparated into Diagon Alley and went directly to his vault in Gringotts Bank, then met Ron at Fortescue's ice cream parlour at half past twelve. Ron wanted to have some ice cream before they went to the jeweller's shop but Harry insisted they take care of business first then celebrate afterwards. Moonstone Jewellers was located between Madam Malkin's Robes and Gringotts Bank, in the most prestigious section of Diagon Alley. Twenty minutes after entering, Harry and Ron left the jewelry store with their mission accomplished. Seated with Ron at a table outside Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour, Harry dug into his cloak pocket and retrieved a small box covered with midnight-blue velvet. He opened the box and admired its contents - a sapphire and diamond engagement ring that was worth every Knut of the 1,750 Galleons he paid for it.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron marveled as he dug into his Knickerbocker Glory. "That ring is worth three months' salary, at least for me. That's not a problem for you?

"No, Ron," Harry shrugged. "I've always been pretty conservative about the money in my vault. My parents left me piles of Galleons; even with what I spent for school the gold just kept compounding over the past twenty-one years. Plus, Sirius left me half the contents of his vault. I've got more money than anyone could possibly know what to do with--"

"Well, maybe not that bloke Donald Frump on the telly!"

Harry laughed. "Donald Trump, Ron. And he's a multi-billionaire. I'm just...very well off. Not a billionaire. Probably not even a millionaire. I've never paid much attention to the statements Gringotts owls me each month. Hermione manages my money as well as hers; she's just always been better with numbers than I am. Anyway, I decided last night to ask her to marry me and I reckoned I would look for the most beautiful ring I could afford to buy. This is what I want to give her. I'm just lucky I don't have to mortgage our flat to buy it for her. You think she'll like it?"

"She'd have to be raving mad not to," Ron gurgled through a mouthful of ice cream. "Are you going to give it to her tonight?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I want to wait for a special occasion. I'm going to give it to her September nineteenth, on her birthday." With Ron nodding in agreement, Harry put the ring box back into his cloak pocket and tucked into his chocolate sundae.

As the midday crowd of Wizard folk surged back and forth through Diagon Alley, Harry noticed and acknowledged a handful of people he recognized as former Hogwarts students. Stewart Ackerley, the young Auror recruit, lumbered past and gave Harry a wink and a smirk; the bugger was probably still thinking of Hermione's pink bra and wondering how easy it was to get it off. Marietta Edgecombe, Cho Chang's friend, strolled past Flourish & Blotts. Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis, two witches from Slytherin who'd been in several of Harry's classes, looked at him cautiously as they barged through the street carrying large shopping bags from Madam Malkin's. Tracey and Daphne were among a group of Slytherins who stayed with the Light Side during the war; Harry was glad to see they'd made it through. As he and Ron finished their ice creams, a pair of younger Gryffindor girls, Vicky Frobisher and Natalie MacDonald, strolled past hand in hand. He would tell Hermione he'd seen them; she might know whether Vicky and Natalie had paired up during school.

Harry stood up and made to leave. "I've got to get back to work, Ron. I'll meet you outside the Ministry a little before one tomorrow afternoon." He pulled Ron to him in a bear hug and could feel him blushing as he patted Harry's back clumsily. "Thank you, mate. I appreciate your coming with me to buy the ring. When Hermione and I get married--I mean if we get married--"

"No ifs about it, Harry. She'll jump out of her skin with joy when you ask her!"

Harry chuckled at Ron's enthusiasm and hoped he was right. "When we get married, would you do me the honour of serving as best man?"

Ron broke into a grin as wide as the Whomping Willow was tall. "I'd love to -- as long as Hermione doesn't expect me to give her away!"

"If she asks, tell her I have dibs on you - I've known you longer!" Harry laughed then Disapparated from Diagon Alley. Returning to his cubicle he found atop his desk a paper-airplane letter bearing the phrase "From the Desk of Remus J. Lupin." Inside, in Lupin's loopy script, was this message:

Harry,
I know you're going to the Quidditch World Cup this weekend. Just wanted you to know we've got a little bit of information on your case. The Bulbadox powder came from Agate & Propps, a shop in Knockturn Alley that primarily sells items used in hexes and offensive potions. We were not able to trace the sample to a specific buyer; not surprisingly, the shop does most of its business in Wizard coin.. I've concluded that whoever sent that letter to you was not taking the mickey out of you. That letter and its contents were definitely meant as a threat to you and Hermione. When you get back from Bulgaria, let's talk more about what you should do if you receive any more threats.
- Remus

Harry ran his hand through his hair and sighed. Lupin's note had just doubled his anxiety about being away from Hermione all weekend. He considered giving Ron both tickets and telling him to have fun without him, but he'd been looking forward to the QWC all month. At the end of the day, he shoved the note into his cloak pocket and took the lift to the Atrium, where he and Hermione usually met on their way home. When they reached their flat, he discovered the memo was not in his cloak after all.

^*^*^*^