Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author's Note: Well, if I had to name this chapter, I would name it "The Shit Hits the Fan" because…well, that's pretty much what happens. This was a very difficult chapter to write, and I hope you don't hate me when it's over…{{wibbles}} Many thanks to my betas, who once again saved my ass with their astute comments on this chapter.

Also, there's a strong possibility that I will change my author name in the near future. So if you start seeing this story published under a different author name beginning with Oh_ , please don't immediately think the story has been plagiarized J

Thanks again, dear readers, for your patience and your support. I apologize for what probably seems like slow updating to you. I may not write quickly, but I hope my writing is worth waiting for. Thank you for all your support. Your reviews mean a lot to me.

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Chapter 7

August 25, 2002

Well, well, well, Potter went off to Bulgaria with that foolish ginger-haired friend of his and left his Mudblood slag back in London, all by herself, unprotected. We'll see if that was a good idea. Actually, I don't think so. I think they will both regret it. He's at the Quidditch World Cup all alone, with no Mudblood tart to bang whenever he needs to bleed the dragon. I wonder how he deals with those times when she's not there to bend over for him. Does he do it to Weasley?? No - no, Potter is very straight; I've seen the way his eyes lit up when he used to fancy Cho Chang. He definitely fancies women. He just fancies the wrong woman. I don't even want to call Granger a woman. She's more like a mongrel bitch. Not a proper witch at all. If Potter is going take his dick in his hand and pump it until he runs dry, he should be thinking about a proper witch when he does it, not Granger. I wonder what she was doing the past few nights while he's been gone? Running around cheating on him perhaps? I wasn't keeping a close eye on her. I should have paid more attention to her routine this weekend but - well, it just couldn't be helped. It's not like I'm He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and have minions all over the world ready to do my bidding. Sometimes I think he had the right idea, except that he wanted to get rid of all the Mudbloods and their sympathisers. I'm not quite that undiscriminating. I don't care about 99 percent of them. Justin Finch-Fletchley? A boring nobody. Colin and Dennis Creevy? Just a couple of annoying little gnats. I can't waste my valuable time and energy on the likes of them. Actually I've never had anything against them. I barely know who they are. Potter and Granger, though - they're hard to get away from. Mr. Saviour of the Wizarding World and his trusty sidekick and whore. Everyone makes such a big fucking deal about them. It's been this way for years. They don't deserve any of the attention. And now they're acting as though they never got any of my letters. Their behavior is still outrageous. They should have replied to me and said they've seen the error of their ways. Now I'm moving forward on the next part of my plan. I will turn up the heat on both of them very, very soon. In fact in a few hours they will wish they'd never crossed me.

They make me sick.

^*^*^*^*^

Ron ran his hand through his ginger hair, a blank look on his face. "What did you say?"

"I said the person who's been stalking me and Hermione is here at the World Cup," Harry explained, trying not to look as freaked out as he felt. "This person wants to meet me at nine o'clock at the players' entrance to the stadium. At least that's what I got from the note."

Staring ahead, Ron started pacing. "Fucking hell, Harry. Here? Let me see that." He grabbed the parchment from Harry's hand and read it silently. When he'd finished his eyes were full of worry.

"Does Hermione know about this note?"

"No, of course not. I just got it less than fifteen minutes ago," Harry said. "She's thirteen hundred miles away. There's no way I can contact her through magical means that quickly - not without going back to London - and it's not like we'll find any telephones here...well, maybe we could but we'd probably have to go to the ranger office, which we'd have to find…Bugger, this is all so complicated." He threw his head back and sighed. "Besides, what would I say to Hermione even if I could contact her? We have no idea what the stalker is planning to do, or when she plans to do it. How can Hermione protect herself when she doesn't know what the threat is or who's threatening her?"

Ron nodded sympathetically. Harry's jaw tightened and his fists clenched until his knuckles hurt. "Who the hell is doing this, Ron? Why does this person hate us so much?"

"Hell if I know," Ron said as he blew out a breath. "But forget about that for now. What are you going to do right now? Who else knows about the stalker?"

A hot late-August sun was climbing in the sky, making the humid morning seem even warmer. Leaning back against the tent, Harry pulled his shirt off over his head and wiped the sweat off his forehead, chest and back. "Well, Hermione and you, of course. Remus and Tonks too, and the blokes in the Auror Division who are working the case."

Ron stood there staring at Harry's skin. "What's that all over your chest and back, mate?"

Harry looked down to see what Ron was talking about. The excitement of being at the World Cup had almost made Harry forget about the tiny, light scars the Bulbadox boils had left on him. Realizing that he'd accidentally left Ron in the dark about a major development, Harry sighed and tucked his shirt into the waistband of his trousers.

"I guess I forgot to tell you something." Ron looked puzzled. "On August fifteenth, when Hermione got back from France, the stalker sent another letter. It arrived in the middle of the afternoon while Hermione and I were - occupied." Ron rolled his eyes and looked away. "I made the mistake of opening it while I was mostly naked. It was full of Bulbadox powder." Ron winced. "That crap got all over my back and chest. Fortunately Hermione only got some on one arm. We had to go to St. Mungo's to get treated for it. It was actually easy to treat but we'll probably both have some light scarring from it for a while to come."

Ron put a hand on Harry's back and rubbed his index finger over one of the larger scars. "Whoever did this to you is either evil or a complete nutter," he proclaimed in a husky voice that Harry hadn't heard in ages. "All the more reason for you to try to do something now, Harry. Listen, mate - I can help. Really! I know people who know people in the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic. Since the last war the European ministries of magic have been working together much more closely, especially in international cooperation and magical law enforcement. Let's go find the local magical constabulary and tell them what's up."

Harry shook his head violently. "No - I don't want anyone else to know about this! The stalker knows about our sex life, Ron - or at least that's what she's implied. She's trying to tear Hermione and me apart. It's bad enough that Remus and Tonks and other Aurors know about it. I just don't need anyone else reading that note and looking at me like I'm a satyr or something."

"Harry, mate," Ron pleaded, "maybe the Bulgarian ministry could help. They could stake out the players' entrance before you go there and maybe they'd nab this person when she comes to meet you."

"NO!" Harry exclaimed. "No! I'm not going to turn this into some kind of international incident. I'm just - we're wasting time here, Ron. I need to be outside the players' entrance in a little over an hour. Will you come with me? I feel like I need some backup. " Dropping his eyes, his voice shaking slightly, he added, "And if anything bad happens, I'd want you to break the news to Hermione."

Ron looked at Harry with steely determination in his eyes. "Nothing is going to happen to you, Harry. Not if I have anything to say about it. I'll be right behind you. I still think we should tell someone else what's going on--"

"Don't have time. I need to change my clothes and grab a quick nosh. I'll be back out in five minutes."

Harry crawled into the tent, found his satchel and pulled out his last set of clean clothes. It was a bit ridiculous, he knew, but if something happened to him when he met the stalker, he didn't want to be found wearing dirty underpants, a spotted shirt and jeans full of dirt, leaves and twigs from the tree he'd slept under. Must be all those years of living with Aunt Petunia, he smirked. She'd be jarred off if she thought I was going anywhere in yesterday's dirty clothes. Actually Hermione would be proud too. Living with Hermione had cured him of some of his more disgusting teenage habits, like not changing his clothes for days whenever he got depressed (which happened with increasing frequency after Sirius died).

Hermione - the thought of her alone in London and possibly in danger that very moment sent a chill down Harry's spine. No matter what happened at nine o'clock, he had to let Hermione know that he'd done what he'd done out of love for her. Nine o'clock Bulgarian time was seven o'clock London time, and Harry imagined what Hermione might be doing at the moment he went to meet the stalker. They usually slept in a bit on the weekends so she would probably be in bed, still asleep or else waking up slowly, her voluminous hair fanned out on her pillow. He imagined her stretching her arms slowly over her head, then reaching toward him and sighing unhappily because he wasn't there to kiss and caress her the way he always did when they woke up.

In that instant Harry decided that no matter what happened at nine o'clock, he would find some way to get back to Hermione. If it meant Ron carrying him on his back by Portkey, so be it. He and Ron had planned to leave that night anyway, as soon as the championship game between Bulgaria and Peru was over. If he had to miss the finals, it was a small price to pay to make sure Hermione was safe.

He crawled out of the tent and found Ron standing warily in the avenue between the rows of tents. "Ready, Ron?"

"Let's do it. And Harry, when we get back to England, for the love of Merlin make sure to give that note to Lupin and tell him everything that's happened here."

"Okay, Ron. I'm convinced now. That'll be the very first thing I do when I get back - after I make sure Hermione is okay". And after I spend a few hours letting her know how much I've missed her, he thought, envisioning just how he might accomplish that….

^*^*^*^

Shortly before half-past eight, Harry and Ron began the trek from their tent to the World Cup stadium. The championship game didn't start until two o'clock so there were no queues yet of fans trying to get into the stadium. At five minutes of nine they arrived at the players' entrance to the stadium. Harry leaned up against the wall alone. His attempt to appear nonchalant and casual was almost ruined by the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Ron stood about twenty yards away, hidden in a small grove of oak trees, his wand at the ready. If Harry felt he needed any help or got into any trouble, he would signal Ron by sending up green sparks from his wand.

They stood and waited for the stalker to arrive.

Five minutes passed, then ten, then another five. By now it was quarter past nine and no one had approached Harry. Apparently the players would arrive later for their final practice. Not even a single fan had wandered by on his way to start or join a queue. Harry looked over toward where Ron was hidden in the trees. Spotting Ron's ginger hair, Harry tilted his own head and shrugged. Ron frowned and shrugged back. Perhaps the note had been an empty threat after all.

Harry spread his hands out, palms up, in a "What now?" sign to Ron, and continued leaning up against the wall next to the players' entrance to the stadium. He noticed the laces of his trainers were coming undone, so he bent down to tighten them. As he knelt with one knee up, fixing his shoes, a brown owl flew in carrying a parchment tied to its legs. Harry was almost afraid to open it, given the contents of the notes he'd received the past few weeks, but he tore the note off the owl's leg and opened it anyway. It was written in the same scrawling handwriting as the note from earlier in the day, but the first few words were emphasized.

"Bloody fucking hell!" Harry screamed in frustration, crumpling the note in one hand while he spun around, looking every which way, wondering where the stalker could be. As Harry clomped around trying to figure out what was going on, Ron started running toward him from the woods.

"Ron! Go back! You'll break your cover!" Harry yelled at him.

"No, Harry! Look up! LOOK UP!" Ron screamed, still running.

Leaning back, Harry looked up to see what Ron was on about it. Something large and dark was hurtling toward him from what seemed to be high in the sky. In the few seconds it took to figure out what was coming toward him, the object seemed to speed up. When Harry finally realized what was descending rapidly toward him, it was too late to get completely out of the way. Dropping to his knees he tried to roll away.

"Arresto momentum!" Ron yelled, pointing his wand twenty feet above Harry's head. The spell slowed the object's descent and prevented it from hitting Harry at full force. Nevertheless, Harry felt like a small meteorite had struck him. As Ron pushed the object off him, Harry lay crumpled on the ground. The back of his head throbbed and his right shoulder hurt, but at least he was still alive and mostly in one piece.

"What the...bloody fuck...was that?" he sputtered as Ron helped him sit up.

Leaning over, Ron picked up the object and looked at it closely. He showed Harry a length of painted wooden plank, almost two inches thick by ten inches high and more than three feet long. "Looks like it might be a section of railing from around the top of the stadium."

"From the top of the stadium?" Harry's mind kicked into Auror mode. "That's at least a hundred feet up."

"Yeah, whoever did this might have been trying to kill you," Ron said seriously. "A chunk of wood that size could've seriously injured you."

Standing up, Harry shook his head in disbelief. "This stalker -- Hermione thinks it's a woman - she really wanted to hurt me." A lump grew in his throat as he looked up at his best friend of eleven years. "You saved my life, Ron."

Ron's face went almost as red as his hair. "No… no, I didn't - I just - I just kept it from hitting you, is all - same as you would've done for me."

The lump in Harry's throat made his voice crack. "You're right - but you've also saved my life more times than I can count." He flung one arm around Ron's neck and hugged him tightly. "I'm so glad you're here with me. I don't think I could get through all this shit right now if you weren't here."

Ron patted Harry on the back gingerly, then pulled away and looked him in the eye. "I'm glad to be with you, mate. I've been your second for eleven years; nothing's going to change that. Now that we've prevented your untimely demise, what do we do next?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair, checking for blood, and found none. He rolled his right shoulder; while it was a bit stiff, he didn't think anything was broken. "I don't think I need to see a mediwizard. But I do need to get back to London as fast as I can. You're welcome to stay here and watch the finals, of course; I wouldn't expect you to miss that just for this."

"Come on, Harry! You can't be serious," Ron sputtered indignantly. "What the sod kind of best mate would I be if you went back and I stayed here? You're out of your bloody mind if you think I'm going to stay here while you go back by yourself to see about -"

"Hermione! Look at what the stalker said about her!" Harry fretted, pacing again.

Ron found the crumpled note on the ground, picked it up and started reading. His face was ashen when he finished. "We have to get back right away. Let's pack up our stuff and get out of here as fast as we can. I can't cast the Portus spell; I don't have clearance from the Ministry. Do you?"

Harry's face brightened slightly. "Yes! I can do that. Aurors have special clearance to cast Portus. We can't use your spoon, though. It's charmed to take us back to London tonight, isn't it?"

Ron bit his lip in thought. "Yeah, we'll need something different." He sighed and fell silent for a moment. "How about one of your wellingtons? You've still got them in your satchel, don't you?"

"Yeah. Let's get back to the tent right now."

With a POP Harry Disapparated from the verge near the stadium and landed next to his bed inside the tent. Ron arrived a second later, almost knocking him over. Harry found one of his wellingtons, tapped his wand on it and muttered, "Portus!" The rain boot briefly trembled and glowed blue then resumed its normal appearance.

"Pack!" Ron commanded. All their personal possessions flew into their respective satchels, neatly folded and sorted. Harry and Ron crawled out of the tent, almost ready to leave. Ron scratched his stubbled chin thoughtfully.

"So Harry… if the furnishing charm is Fournisso, d'you think the unfurnishing charm would be Defournisso?"

"I dunno, mate, but it's worth a shot. And let's do it soon. I'm afraid I'm gonna shit myself worrying about Hermione if we stay here much longer."

Ron grimaced. "Point taken. Defournisso! Pack!" he commanded toward the tent, which promptly collapsed, folded itself and stuffed itself into Arthur Weasley's tent bag.

"I've charmed this Portkey to take us directly into my flat. Okay, grab on tight," Harry cautioned. "The Portkey activates --- NOW!"

^*^*^*^

Hermione's eyes opened slowly as sunlight streamed through the curtains, making dappled patterns on the wall above the dresser. It must be fairly early, she thought, rolling to her right reflexively - then remembering that Harry wasn't there for her to snuggle. He and Ron were at the Quidditch World Cup in Bulgaria. She was glad they would return that night; she had missed Harry terribly the past two days. With him away, though, she could laze in bed as long as she wanted, which was a luxury she rarely indulged in. This morning she pushed herself up in the bed, let the duvet slip down to her waist, and began reading a Muggle suspense novel she'd bought recently.

Suddenly she heard the sound of beating wings, followed by a thud, outside the bedroom window. She found two Knuts on the bedside table then padded over to the window in her nightgown and opened it. A brown owl hopped in from the ledge with The Sunday Prophet strapped to its leg. Hermione put the coins in the owl's pouch, took the newspaper and sent the owl away. Entering the master bathroom, she unfurled the paper and read the headlines. Streaking across the front page was her friend Viktor Krum, chasing the Snitch during Bulgaria's defeat of Belgium the previous day. Viktor looked every bit as intent and serious as he'd done when she first met him eight years earlier. Hermione's face lit up when she recognized Harry and Ron in the background, cheering heartily. She was glad to see that Ron had got past his adolescent jealousy toward Viktor. Hermione was especially glad that Harry seemed happy for Krum; she and Viktor had remained friends during the war, and it pleased her that Harry understood that she didn't fancy Viktor and was merely his friend.

As she left the bathroom she heard another thud, this time from inside the flat. Perhaps Crookshanks had got up on top of the armoire in the living room and jumped down. She was, however, wrong. Crookshanks was curled up on the leather chair in the corner of the bedroom. Hermione stood still, listening intently, trying to hear whatever was going on. Shuffling noises were followed by various rattles and thuds, then the flapping of wings and the squawking hoots of an owl. Hermione knew immediately that Hedwig, atop her perch in the living room, was upset.

"Petrificus totalus!" a male voice hissed. As Hedwig's squawking ended abruptly, Hermione heard the owl's rigid body fall to the floor.

Now Hermione really began to worry. She looked around the bedroom for her wand - then remembered she'd left it in the kitchen last night when she was cleaning up after dinner. Her throat went dry and her pulse began to race. She was alone in the flat, separated from her wand, and might encounter someone she didn't want to meet if she left the bedroom. She tried to remember exactly where she'd left her wand. It was probably on the counter near the sink, but it could be on the kitchen table.

Oh bugger. I can't summon my wand if I don't know exactly where it is...

There was nothing else for it. She would have to leave the bedroom, creep into the kitchen as quietly as she could and retrieve her wand without being noticed. Gathering her Gryffindor courage, Hermione opened the bedroom door and peeked out. The hallway was dark and empty. Relieved, she inched out into the hallway, her back to the wall. Still seeing no sign of anyone, she ventured another three feet down the hall. Still nothing. Feeling slightly less worried, Hermione continued sliding along the wall, her left hand feeling ahead for any danger. As her hand reached the frame of the kitchen door she glanced past the opposite wall, where she could see into the corner of the living room. Shadows played on the long wall, shadows of people moving around the room. Hermione's stomach dropped like a lead balloon. Whoever was out there was going to find her. Sliding past the doorframe, she turned to her left and tried to slide into the kitchen undetected.

She never saw the fist that reached out and struck her in the face.

"Oi, Matty, we got us a witch here," crowed a tall gangly hoodlum who grabbed Hermione's hair and pushed her roughly out of the kitchen. She could still feel the imprint of his knuckles on her cheek, could feel the skin over her cheekbone fill with blood rushing to heal the injury. She tried to put her hand to her face to see how badly she was hurt, but the young hoodlum who'd punched her grabbed her arm and jerked it behind her back so hard she thought he was trying to break it.

"So this is the Mudblood slag," an older man snarled. He was shorter and heavier than the first man, and even from a few feet away, he smelled like he hadn't bathed in several days. Hermione tried to turn her head away but a third man, blond hair sticking out from under his mask, grabbed her jaw and pushed it back toward the smelly older man.

"You listen when Matty talks to you, bitch," the blond yelled at her, his snarling lips just a few inches from her own.

Despite surviving many worse situations, Hermione was terrified. She was alone and unarmed, in her nightgown, with three hoodlums who had somehow got into her flat and, she was sure, had already broken her cheekbone. Beads of sweat formed on her chest as she realized that whatever these men wanted, they were probably willing to hurt her even worse than they'd already done to get it. Still she wouldn't go down without a fight. Struggling to break free, she leaned forward and kicked her heel upward until she felt it make contact with the skinny man's groin.

"Yeeooowww!" the skinny man yelled, loosening his grip on her. Seeing her chance, Hermione bolted toward the living room. But the smelly man was quicker than he looked. Long, slender cords shot out from his wand, wrapping Hermione's arms tightly around her middle. More cords shot out from the sleazy blond's wand and wrapped around her ankles. As she tottered forward, her other cheek struck the sideboard before she fell to the floor. Despite the pain in her face, she didn't pass out. But her stomach clenched and her mouth went dry again as she worried about what the intruders wanted and what else they planned to do to her.

"Oi, Mudblood!" the smelly man sneered at her. "Where's your bedroom? Where is it that Potter the Great bones you?"

Hermione said nothing. She would not reply. But the fact that they knew she lived here with Harry terrified her even more. This was not some random home invasion. This was a planned attack on her and, by extension, on Harry. Perhaps she was merely paranoid, but she was sure that the stalker had orchestrated this.

"Not sayin' nothin', are yeh, bitch?" the blond hooligan smirked. "No matter, we'll find what we need without yeh flappin' yer gums." His bony paws rolled her onto her back. Then the smelly one pointed his wand and said, "Mobilicorpus!" Still bound around her waist and ankles, Hermione felt herself float up about three feet off the floor. From the corner of her eye she saw the smelly bloke point his wand toward the hallway. Against her will, her body followed where his wand pointed and she found herself floating down the hallway toward the master bedroom. Someone kicked the door open. Then two of the thugs grabbed the ropes binding her feet and pulled her into the bedroom, where they set her down on the floor at the end of the bed.

"Posh room you got here. Looks like you just got out of bed," the smelly one said, eyeing the unmade bed with a lascivious grin.

Hermione just glared at him.

"WIPE THAT HIGH AND MIGHTY LOOK OFF YOUR FACE!" the smelly thug screamed into her ear, then kicked her behind the knees. As her body crumpled, her chin caught the edge of the bed, preventing her face from smashing on the floor. Hermione could feel blood trickling from the cut on her left cheek while the other cheek was beginning to puff up like a black eye. Her arms and shoulders ached as she tried to wriggle out of the magical bonds on her wrists.

"Okay, Mudblood slag, where do yeh keep yer mementos?" the blond hoodlum demanded.

Hermione stared blankly at him for a moment. "Mementos? Don't you want jewellery or Galleons?"

"Only if they mean somethin' to you," the gangly thug sneered. "We're here to take the stuff you care about. If some of that is worth some money, we'll be ahead o' the game. Now tell us where you keep your mementos." He shoved the tip of his wand between her shoulder blades.

Her kneeling position and the tightness of the ropes were beginning to make Hermione dizzy. "On top of the dresser. In the top drawers too. On the sideboard" - she coughed - "and the bookshelves in the living room."

"Okay, clean 'em out, boys," the smelly one said, nodding to his cohorts. "Don't take anything that can be easily identified. No photographs and so on, nothing engraved. But anything else is fair game." The blond thug started pilfering the dresser while the tall one went out to the living room, where he poked around noisily. Hermione continued to kneel beside the bed while the smelly thug pointed his wand at her menacingly. The gangly fellow returned to the bedroom with a pillowcase bulging with items, which seemed to please the smelly one. The blond hoodlum continued gathering items from the bedroom, tossing them into another pillowcase. When the smelly thug was satisfied with their haul, he pointed his wand at both pillowcases, shrank them down to the size of beanbags and stuffed them into the pockets of his greasy robes.

Suddenly Crookshanks stirred, stretching on the chair. As his yellow eyes opened, his body tensed as though he sensed something was amiss in his mistress's world. Almost before Hermione realized it, Crookshanks launched himself off the chair and onto the back of the smelly thug's robes, yowling and clawing at the intruder.

"Geroff, you stupid cat!" the smelly man shouted, whirling around with Crookshanks hanging from his robes. Unable to shake him off, the wizard pointed his wand behind his back and said, "Stupefy!" Crookshanks went limp, sliding off the man's robes and onto the floor.

"Blooding fucking cats, I hate them," the smelly wizard snarled. "But not as much as I hate Mudbloods." Then he leered at Hermione and poked his hand between her breasts through her nightgown. "We're almost done here. Jester, why don't you do what you've been wantin' to do?"

Hermione looked warily from one man to another. Her instincts, honed by years of fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters, told her that something even worse than robbery was about to happen. As usual, her instincts were right. The blond thug, the one called Jester, strode up to where she knelt, undid his flies, pulled out his penis and shoved it toward her face.

"Suck it, you Mudblood slut," he sneered at her, trying to shove his member between her lips. "Suck my dick. I want to shove it down your Mudblood throat and make you choke." He pushed his penis closer to her face, close enough so that the tip grazed her lips. Hermione vowed she would never willingly put her mouth to the penis of any of these disgusting excuses for wizards. Her failure to respond immediately angered Jester, who then tried to shove the head of his penis between her lips. Trying not to choke, Hermione defending herself the only way she could - she bit him hard.

"BLOODY FUCKING HELL!" Jester screamed, then slapped Hermione across the face. Her head snapped back and she tottered, almost falling backward to the floor. "She bit my dick, boss!"

Through the one eye that wasn't yet closed in pain, Hermione saw Matty, the ringleader, push Jester out of the way.

"C'mon, Bobbin, let's show this bitch who's boss," Matty ordered the gangly one. Before Bobbin could cross the room, Matty pushed his right foot forward and kicked Hermione in the stomach with the heel of his boot. Nodding, Bobbin followed with another swift kick to Hermione's gut. Jester's snarling face was the last thing she saw before losing consciousness.

^*^*^*^

Holding onto their Portkey, Harry and Ron hurtled back from Bulgaria, landing with a thud in Harry and Hermione's living room. The first thing Harry noticed was that the front door was unlocked and ajar. The stalker wasn't joking, Harry thought; Hermione is in trouble.

"Be careful, Ron," Harry cautioned as he stood up and listened intently. "See the front door? Someone either just came in or just left. Either way, it's not on. Wands at the ready?"

Ron nodded, pointing his wand ahead of him. "Ready when you are, mate."

Scanning the room, Harry noticed that several of Hermione's prized possessions were missing. "Someone's been here pilfering our things," he whispered. Then his heart jumped into his throat at the sight on the floor: Hedwig lay stock still as though dead. Crouching over his beloved owl, Harry determined she was alert but temporarily incapacitated, probably by the Petrificus spell. "Finite incantatem," he commanded, and Hedwig immediate sat up, shook her wings and began to preen herself. Harry leaned down and petted her, then looked back at Ron, who was shuddering.

"Something is definitely not on here," Ron said darkly.

The flat was eerily quiet. Harry decided that the intruders had probably left by now - but where was Hermione? Steeling himself, he crept quietly through the flat room by room with Ron one step behind him. When they opened the door to the master bedroom, Harry sensed that something was terribly wrong. Near the ottoman, he saw Crookshanks lying on the floor, apparently Stunned.

"Hermione?" he called out desperately. When she failed to answer, he moved cautiously into the room, with Ron shadowing him, until they reached the end of the king-sized bed. Harry's heart plummeted at what he saw -- Hermione lying on the floor on her right side, her arms and feet bound with magical ropes. Her beautiful face was bloodied; at least one of her cheekbones had been broken and -- the sight almost made him vomit -- there were two boot prints on the front of her nightgown. Overcome by guilt and worry, Harry dropped to the floor and cradled Hermione's head in his lap.

"Bloody fucking hell!" Ron shouted, waving his wand wildly as he stomped angrily around the room.

His insides heaving, Harry used his own defense mechanism to deal with the situation - he went into Auror mode. "Do something useful, Ron!" he snapped. "Take care of Crookshanks! Stick your wand out the window and call for help from St. Mungo's!"

Ron grimaced but looked resigned to helping Hermione's pet. "Finite incantatem," he said, pointing his wand at the ginger cat, which raised its large, squashed-in face and yawned. Then as Ron ran to the bedroom window and stuck his wand out, Harry rolled Hermione over and undid the bindings at her waist and feet. She began to stir just as a siren screamed outside the apartment building.

"I'm here, sweetheart," Harry consoled her. "Ron is here too."

All Harry wanted to do was wrap his arms around Hermione and never let her go, but he knew he had to keep his wits about him. Between the attempt on his life in Bulgaria and what just happened in the flat, he had no choice but to notify Lupin. He scribbled a note on a sheet from the parchpad near the bed and gave it to Ron. "Tell Hedwig to take this to Lupin."

While Ron raced out to the living room, Harry stroked Hermione's hair and whispered words of comfort to her. Just as she began to stir, an ambulance from St. Mungo's pulled up in front of the building, its magical siren wailing at a frequency only witches and wizards could hear. Hermione still lay on the floor, but now she was muttering incoherently; the words sounded like "jester" and "matty" and "vile, evil, disgusting." Kneeling next to her, Harry stroked her arms gently. A mediwizard and a mediwitch, both in lime-green robes, entered the bedroom and nodded to him.

"Is this the victim?" the witch said, pointing to Hermione.

"Yes. It's Hermione Granger…my girlfriend. She's been…assaulted," Harry croaked, barely able to get the words out of her mouth.

"Do you mean...?"

"I'm not sure. She's been muttering unconsciously, and I just…I'm not sure." He turned away, his face blazing.

The mediwitch winced. "I'm sorry."

"Just take care of her, all right?"

"Of course. Have you notified the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

Harry nodded. "I'm an Auror myself, but of course I can't investigate this." He bit back tears, trying to compose himself. "I just owled the captain of the Auror Division. I think this is related to something he's already investigating."

Looking puzzled, the mediwitch didn't press Harry further and beckoned to the mediwizard. "We'll get the victim into the ambulance as quickly as possible," she advised. "But we must be careful not to jostle her because we don't know exactly how she's been injured."

As the mediwizard moved toward Hermione, the mediwitch conjured a stretcher and levitated it under her. Then thin magical cords flew out from the mediwizard's wand and lashed Hermione securely to the stretcher. Having untied Hermione's previous restraints, Harry bristled at the thought of her being tied up yet again, but his rational side knew these restraints were necessary.

"Are you coming with us, Mr. Potter?"

"You know …oh of course!" he said absently, beginning to pace the bedroom. "No… I mean… I need to stay here to meet the Aurors. Please tell my friend Ron Weasley to go with you. He's out in the living room. And tell him I'll be at St. Mungo's as soon as I can get away from here."

"Very well, let's go," said the mediwitch to her cohort, as the two medics departed with Hermione on the stretcher between them. Harry heard them speak to Ron, who sounded surprised at being asked to accompany them. The three voices trailed off, and Harry knew Ron had gone with them.

As soon as the front door shut, Harry sat on the edge of the bed and let himself break down for a moment. Bloody fucking hell, Hermione. What in the bloody blue blazes have I got you into? Why is there always someone trying to hurt me and the people I love? Though this time it's someone who's mostly trying to hurt each of us physically and tear us apart. Who is this maniac? Why does she want to split us up?

A hard rap on the front door pulled him back to reality. He shambled into the living room, opened the door and was slightly surprised to find Remus Lupin standing there.

"Come in, Remus. I was expecting Tonks and Ackerley. Are they still working our case?"

Lupin stepped into the living room and stared at Harry. "You look like hell, Harry. What the sod is going on?

Harry's shoulders sagged. "I haven't the foggiest fucking idea, Remus. I mean, I don't know who's behind any of this. But whoever is stalking me and Hermione has raised the ante considerably. In the past hour, this person had someone assault Hermione and tried to kill me."

Lupin looked visibly shaken. "Back up, Harry. Your owl said Hermione had been hurt. What do you mean, someone tried to kill you?"

Harry pulled the stalker's note from his pocket and handed it to Lupin. "A brown owl brought this note to me about two hours ago in Bulgaria. I went to the Quidditch World Cup Stadium as the note instructed - don't worry, Ron came with me - and nobody showed up. But before we could leave, someone made a section of wooden railing fall from the top of the stadium. If Ron hadn't been there and stopped it with a spell, I probably would have been killed."

Lupin read the note slowly, his lips pursed in thought. "I wish I knew what to tell you, Harry," he said thoughtfully. "To be honest, before now this seemed like a nuisance case. But now we're talking about assault and attempted murder. I think I'm going to bump Ackerley and take the lead on this with Tonks."

"Don't do anything special just because it's me involved, Remus," Harry objected. "I don't want you to get in any trouble because of our friendship."

"Our friendship aside, Harry, I'm concerned because of the way the stalker's attacks have escalated. You got the first message about two weeks ago, right?"

Harry nodded, wondering where Lupin's line of thinking was going.

"You're a relatively new Auror, Harry. I've had some experience with stalker cases," Lupin advised. "Generally speaking, a stalker doesn't usually escalate from vague notes to assaults and attempted murder in the space of two weeks. So I'm concerned we might be dealing with someone who is even more unhinged than the average stalker."

"More unhinged than the average stalker?" Harry's stomach wobbled. "How the hell are we supposed to deal with this, Remus?" He sat down on the sofa and pushed his hands through his hair nervously. "I've had about enough -- even before I got home -- and I can't even imagine how Hermione feels."

"Did she say anything when you found her?"

"Nothing coherent. She was semi-conscious and mumbled some words that sounded like 'jester', 'matted' and" - Harry cringed -"something that sounded like 'penis'."

Lupin's eyes widened. "Bloody hell. Let's go straight to St. Mungo's. Once we know she's out of danger, I'll need to interrogate her. And Harry," he said quietly, "I'll do my best not to upset or embarrass her. But it has to be done."

Harry sighed heavily. "You're right, Remus. We'd better leave now."

"We'll have to get in through the visitors' entrance," Lupin answered. Harry nodded, then closed his eyes and concentrated on the pavement outside the Purge & Dowse department store. Two seconds later he found himself standing next to Lupin outside the seemingly vacant building.

"Remus Lupin and Harry Potter here to visit Hermione Granger," Lupin told the ugly dummy in the window. When the dummy nodded, Lupin walked through the window, followed by Harry, who remembered doing something similar when Arthur Weasley was hospitalized for a snake bite during Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts. Apparently the procedure for using the visitor's entrance hadn't changed in the past seven years.

Once inside, the two men spoke to the welcome witch, who told them where they could find Hermione. Rushing into the emergency ward on the ground floor, they found Neville Longbottom attending to her. A St. Mungo's hospital gown covered Hermione's bruised figure as she lay unconscious on an examining table. Ron stood next to the table, holding her hand.

"Harry! Professor Lupin!" Neville greeted them.

"Please, Neville, call me Remus," Lupin smiled as they crowded into the examining room. Neville nodded shyly.

"Glad you're finally here, Harry," Ron said as he rubbed the back of Hermione's hand.

Harry detected an edge in Ron's voice but chalked it up to the anxiety caused by the day's events. "I had to wait for Remus at the flat," he said simply, walking over to Ron and hugging him. "Thanks for staying with Hermione, mate."

Ron nodded, then stroked Hermione's hair.

"You can go now if you want," Harry offered.

"No, I'm fine. I don't want to leave," Ron insisted with a look of surprise.

"Okay," Harry said. Turning to Neville, Harry began stroking Hermione's other hand. "How is she doing?"

Neville smiled weakly. "All things considered, not too badly. Both her cheekbones were broken. I've used some standard spells to heal them. Her face might be a bit discoloured for a few days, but I'll give her a potion to help speed the healing process."

"Anything else?" Lupin asked, his sad eyes seeming even sadder than usual.

"Yes, I found miniscule pieces of flesh on the cutting edges of her front teeth," Neville frowned. "The flesh was oddly discoloured, rather purplish in fact. It actually resembled" - he blushed and lowered his eyes-"the epidermis of an erect human penis."

"Bloody hell," Harry, Ron and Lupin said in unison.

Neville cleared his throat. "Yes, well, we also found a trace amount of blood on that skin, which might help your investigation. Hermione also had some contusions around her stomach and ribs, plus numerous abrasions on her wrists and ankles."

Harry nodded. "Not surprising. She was bound with magical ropes when we found her."

"Apparently something worse happened to her," Neville added. "She also has some internal bleeding in her torso and a large bruise on her abdomen. Fortunately we've got other spells and potions to fix that, but it's not something that can be done on an outpatient basis, so I'll need to admit her overnight."

Stifling a sense of déjà vu, Harry eyed his companions. Lupin nodded while Ron frowned again. Harry was beginning to feel vastly more than just annoyed. After not even visiting St. Mungo's in more than three years, he and Hermione had spent rather too much time there lately. It was, after all, only two weeks since he'd been admitted with a torso full of Bulbadox boils. He was starting to wonder just how much more this insane stalker was going to put them through.

Harry sidled up closer to Hermione, one hand on her shoulder and the other still stroking her hair. Suddenly she stirred and her soft brown eyes, now full of sadness, looked up at him above puffy healing cheekbones.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice hoarse and shaky, "I'm sorry-I couldn't -- tied up--"

"Shhhh, sweetheart," he soothed her, "it's okay. Don't try to talk now."

Lupin gave him a sharp look, then turned to Hermione with a kinder expression. "Actually, Hermione, now that you're conscious I do need to interrogate you as soon as possible. It's just standard procedure. We need to gather as much information as we can, as soon as we can. I'm sorry to have to put you through this."

Hermione clutched Harry's hand tightly. Her voice seemed to catch in her throat. "I…understand. What do…you need to…know?"

Lupin pulled out a small parchpad and a Quick-Quotes Quill. "Just tell me what happened, in the order you remember things happening. Just start at the beginning."

Still holding Harry's hand, Hermione began to recount what had happened in a vague, mechanical voice. Harry and Ron looked at each other knowingly. Hermione didn't sound like herself; the words came from her haltingly, as though she was talking about someone else's dream rather than her own experience. Her lip trembling, she told of hearing hexes muttered in the living room, followed by the thump of Hedwig's body falling to the floor. As Harry exchanged an anxious glance with Ron, his stomach tightened with anticipation.

Beneath her puffy cheekbones, Hermione's face was chalky and pale as she continued speaking in a detached, mechanical voice. Harry shuddered, almost afraid to listen, as she recounted hearing noises in the living room and how she attempted to retrieve her wand from the kitchen.

"Then what happened?" Lupin asked.

Hermione swallowed, her hand trembling in Harry's grip. "Someone in the kitchen punched me in the face." Harry's jaw tightened while Ron's face darkened in anger.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Harry whispered to her, squeezing her hand.

"It's not your fault, Harry. It was…my fault, I'm sure," she muttered. To Harry's mind nothing that happened that morning could have been Hermione's fault, but he chose not to press the point at that moment.

Lupin looked at her intently. "So how many thugs were there? Did you get a good look at any of them?"

Hermione frowned. "Three men. I…I didn't see any of their faces. They were all wearing masks that covered their faces but not their hair."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Okay, go on."

Touching her swollen lower lip gently, Hermione winced, then narrowed her eyes in concentration. "Yes, well, there were three men. One was tall and gangly. Someone called him Bobbin. He's the one who punched me."

The Quick-Quotes Quill scribbled furiously as Harry thought of ways he'd personally like to punish this blighter. As Hermione described the other men, Harry wracked his brain trying to remember any cases that might have involved anyone matching those descriptions. Unfortunately he'd worked mostly Death Eater cases the past three years and these blokes sounded like garden-variety hoodlums, probably from Knockturn Alley. That realization made Harry feel slightly less bad; at least that seemed to rule out the bad guys he usually chased.

"That's very helpful," Lupin said. "Can you tell me more?"

"I'm not sure what…they did some things… I don't know if I can tell you everything the right way," Hermione frowned. Harry squeezed her hand again as encouragement. "I was by myself in my nightgown. Our home had been invaded. I didn't want to do anything...stupid...that might get me into any real trouble. I just wanted them to go away. I didn't care much about what they took. Though for robbers, they seemed to want some odd things."

Lupin looked askance at her. "What do you mean?"

Hermione shook her head vaguely. "They didn't want valuables. Didn't want money or jewellery. They asked where I kept my mementos."

"Mementos? And you told them?" Lupin asked.

"I'm telling this wrong," she murmured, now seeming to be on the verge of crying. "That came later." Hermione paused, gathering her thoughts, then explained how the men pushed her around then bound her in the living room.

That must be how she got that cut lip and broken cheek, Harry thought, cringing at the image of the hooligans slamming Hermione into the sideboard.

Hermione continued, "They levitated me down the hallway into the bedroom. They said they wanted to see where I slept with 'Potter the Great'. Somehow they knew that I live there with Harry."

They must be working for the stalker, Harry fumed.

Lupin considered Hermione's information for a moment, then asked her to continue. Her voice even softer than before, Hermione faltered for a moment, as though she couldn't bear to tell what happened next. Haltingly, she reported how the thugs knocked her down in the bedroom then rounded up her mementos from around the house.

"Then they came back into the bedroom. Crookshanks woke up and tried to jump on the smelly one. They stunned him. And then…"

Hermione's lip quivered hard and her hand shook in Harry's. His stomach sinking, Harry dreaded hearing what happened next; based on his own experience that morning, he was sure it would be awful. Still, he knew that Lupin needed to know. "Go on, sweetheart," he said softly. "Can you tell us any more?"

Her lip trembled furiously as she forced the next words out of her throat. "All the while the three of them called me horrid names. Mudblood, slag, slut, bitch. Then the blond one - he pulled his …penis out…of his trousers…and stuck it in my face…and…and tried to push it between my lips."

Blood roared into Harry's head, worse than anything he'd felt since defeating Voldemort, and he slammed his fist on an instrument table. "That bloody son of a bitch!" he fumed. Ron's jaw dropped; Neville's face twitched.

"I know this is hard for you to hear, Harry," Lupin cautioned, "but you need to let Hermione finish. I apologize for having to ask this, Hermione, but what happened next?"

In a low, shaky voice, Hermione choked out, "He told me to suck him. I would rather have died. So I bit him. Hard. On his… He screamed like I'd really hurt him. Then he slapped my face really hard." As tears streamed down her face, Harry felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs.

"You probably did hurt him," Neville said reassuringly. "I found tiny bits of, um, skin on your teeth." Hermione swallowed hard, her hand still clutching Harry's like a vise-grip.

"Are we almost done with this?" Harry demanded, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. "Hermione needs to rest."

Hermione gave him a half-smile. "I'm almost finished, Harry. The other fellows got very angry. Then they kicked me in the stomach. That's when I passed out." As he exchanged a wrathful look with Ron, Harry's blood boiled at the thought of anyone inflicting such harm on the woman he loved.

Lupin approached Hermione and took her other hand. "I'm so sorry this happened to you, Hermione. This is one of the most brutal attacks I've had to investigate since the end of the war. Thank you for providing so many details. I'm quite amazed that you could remember so much. I want you to know that I will be personally involved in investigating this assault on you as well as the assault on Harry."

She looked at Harry questioningly. "What does he mean? When? How?"

Harry shook his head and kissed her forehead. "I'll tell you later. It's not important now." But Hermione did not look mollified, and Harry knew he'd have to tell her eventually, which would just add to the pain of what had happened that morning.

Lupin stuffed the Quick-Quotes Quill and the parchpad into his bag and nodded to the group. "I'm off to the Ministry now. Hermione, thank you for your forbearance. Neville and Ron, thanks for taking such good care of her." Ron and Neville both nodded. "Harry, I'll see you at work, if not tomorrow, then soon." Lupin then turned and walked out of the examining room.

"What now, Neville?" Harry asked.

Neville looked at his patient sheepishly. "Well, I'll need to keep Hermione in hospital overnight." Hermione frowned at this news. "You suffered some internal injuries and significant trauma. So I need to give you a few more doses of a particular healing potion. I'll also perform a healing spell on you every four hours until nine o'clock tomorrow morning.

Hermione sighed, shifting a bit on the hospital bed. "I see. May I rest now?"

Neville smiled shyly. "I'll have you moved to the Artifacts Accidents Ward on the other end of this floor. Considering how we classify cases, it's the best I can do." At this a rueful smiled played on Hermione's face. Ron seemed to relax visibly as Hermione calmed down.

Harry kissed her forehead and hugged her shoulders gingerly. Tomorrow he would talk with Lupin and see if he had any leads. Before then, however, he would spend every minute with Hermione. His gut told him that he needed to be with her as much as possible now, because at the rate the stalker's threats were escalating, something was bound to happen that would, finally, tear them apart.

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