Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. The worst is over in terms of physical stuff, but there's certainly more angst (and I hope suspense) to come. Many thanks to my great betas, abigail89 and MPotter77, for their invaluable help. This is now the longest story I've ever written, and I've got a lot more story to tell. I've started writing chapter 9 and hope to post that in a few weeks. So I hope you will all stick around.
Again, no NC-17 in this chapter, still just R to hard-R. The usual disclaimers apply, of course. JKR owns everyone whose name you recognize; the rest are the product of my imagination, as are the situations.
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Chapter 8
August 25, 2002, 9:00 p.m.
I am fairly proud of myself today. Most of my plans actually worked. True, the chunk of railing from the top of the Quidditch World Cup Stadium didn't kill Potter, but only because that nitwit Weasley was with him and actually managed to rescue him with a seventh-year spell. Just my luck that he "weaseled" his way into N.E.W.T.-level Charms. I'm surprised he remembered that charm in the heat of the moment. He could have just pointed his wand at that hunk of wood and levitated it. But no, he had to use Arresto Momentum. I bet Granger tutored him in Charms all through seventh year. That would be just like her, from what I know. Actually, I've had six years to study the bloody bint. So I know everything there is to know about Hermione Granger. I know how she takes her coffee (white, one sugar) and her tea (with lemon). She has a ginger cat named Crookshanks that she bought at the Magical Menagerie before she started her third year. I wonder if she lets that cat lick her when Potter isn't around? I bet while he was at the World Cup she took off her knickers, spread her legs and waited for that cat to come up and use his scratchy tongue on her. It's actually a rather interesting sensation, at least the way my cat Godfrey has used his tongue.
But I digress. Potter and Weasley left the World Cup without getting to watch the finals! It's such a pleasure to deny Potter something he really wants. I wonder how he felt about watching Viktor Krum winning that game. I know that he knows that Krum fancied the Mudblood years ago. But did the Mudblood ever fancy Krum? Or was she just using him then to make Potter jealous so she could eventually sink her claws into the Boy Who Lived? That ridiculous title makes me sick. The Boy Who Escaped the Dark Lord Through Some Kind of Luck and Ancient Magic is more like it. Potter is nothing special - and yet he's always gotten special privileges. Between him and his Mudblood whore, I don't know which of them makes me angrier.
But speaking of the Mudblood whore, what a day this has been. It's actually easy to get certain people to do what you want, if you know how to contact them. Just send an anonymous letter saying where they can find 300 Galleons if they complete a small task by a certain time and they don't ask who's providing the money. It really wasn't much trouble at all to get them to do my bidding. Of course they had to come back with proof that they'd done what I asked. They dropped the bags full of Granger's personal articles where I instructed, and an hour later they found the money in the same spot. I was very specific too; I wanted to know that they'd humiliated her in the process. They seem to follow directions well; before they finished they'd beaten her up a bit, and one of them even tried to get her to suck his dick. I wish I'd been a fly on the wall then. Too bad that didn't quite work out. The filthy bitch actually bit him. He wanted extra money for that, but as I said in my initial note, 300 Galleons for the three of you, no questions asked, and you take whatever lumps you might get. Granger has a reputation as a fighter. Interesting that she'll fight even without a wand. I must remember that later - when I finally break up her and Potter. I assume she was taken to St. Mungo's. It's just too bad I can't be in two places at once. No matter. I'm sure I'm a bit closer to my objective. Now I'm going to sit back and see what happens.
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Harry spent the night with Hermione at St. Mungo's. After what happened to her that morning, he was reluctant to leave her for even a few hours. Listening to Hermione recount her ordeal almost made Harry forget that at the same time she was being terrorized, someone had tried to kill him. The note he received in Bulgaria convinced him that that the thugs who attacked Hermione were working for the same person who sent the railing hurtling toward him. Harry was used to being a marked man; he'd spent his entire life until he was eighteen as Voldemort's prey. But Voldemort had died almost four years ago. True, there were still some Death Eaters who had eluded capture at the end of the war, but those folks had a definite range of activity that was very familiar to Harry. The person stalking him and Hermione was behaving in ways Harry couldn't understand. And quite frankly, the stalker's pattern of behaviour scared him.
After Hermione was admitted to St. Mungo's, Tonks came by and took her nightgown as evidence. The evidence bag containing the nightgown was now at the Ministry along with other pieces of evidence Lupin and Tonks discovered at the flat while Hermione was being treated at St. Mungo's. Early the next morning, Ginny Weasley, Hermione's closest female friend, stopped by with a change of clothes from Gladrags Wizard Wear. Harry thanked Ginny profusely for doing this; in his agitated state of mind, he hadn't thought to get Hermione some fresh clothes from home.
At eleven o'clock Neville Longbottom came by with a parchment releasing Hermione from the hospital. After Neville left the Artifacts Accidents Ward, Hermione looked cautiously at the loose lavender shift Ginny had brought.
"Well, as least I don't have to leave here wearing a St. Mungo's hospital gown," she said, smiling weakly as she began to change her clothes. Changing from the hospital into the shift was a tremendous struggle for her. Every movement make her cringe, and her lip trembled as she lifted her arms behind her head, trying to button the tiny button at the back of her dress.
"Can I help you with that?" Harry asked cautiously. She nodded, her eyes full of sadness. As Harry dealt with the button, Hermione leaned back against him and sighed, her hands grabbing tightly onto the sides of his trousers. When he finished with the button, he took her hands in his, wrapped his arms as gently as he could around her waist and kissed the side of her neck.
"Almost time to leave," he whispered.
"I know."
"You don't sound particularly happy about it."
She turned slowly and looked up at him. Her brown eyes seemed haunted, with more pain in them than he'd seen since her parents were killed during their seventh year at Hogwarts. "I'm just - a bit afraid - of going home," she said, her lip trembling.
"I'll help you get settled, Hermione," Harry reassured her. "I'll make sure you have whatever you need. Ron will come and fix your lunch, and Ginny is going to come and have tea with you." He took her face gently in his hands and kissed her forehead. "We won't leave you alone, sweetheart. I won't leave you alone again," he said, his voice shaking.
Pulling way from him, Hermione walked gingerly across the room toward the table where Neville had left the discharge parchment. "I'm just…I'm not sure I can sleep in our bedroom again. Because of what happened. Not tonight anyway. Maybe not for awhile."
Harry was silent a few moments, trying to comprehend what Hermione had said. "I understand, sweetheart. Really, I do. You need some time to put it behind you."
"Yes, Harry. Some time to put it behind me. But right now, no. I just - I can't sleep in that room."
Harry walked slowly to where Hermione stood, then slipped behind her and turned her around gently until she was facing him. "It's okay, Hermione. We'll sleep in a different room. I'll set up a bed in the other bedroom." Tilting her chin up toward his, he placed a gentle kiss at the corner of her mouth. He was afraid of actually kissing her lips, which were still bruised and swollen from her ordeal. Though he wanted to hug her tightly to him, he was afraid he might make her aching body feel worse than it already did. What pained him worst of all, though, was that he suddenly realized he was afraid to tell her what had happened in Bulgaria. She already had enough to deal with. She'd been beaten up in their flat and just barely missed being raped. How could he tell her so soon afterward that, at almost the same moment she was being terrorized in their home, the stalker had attempted to take his life? No, Harry thought, I won't tell her now. It's too much for her to deal with right now. I'll tell her later… when she's feeling better.
"I'm ready to go now," Hermione said, almost in a whisper. Nodding, Harry grabbed a bag full of potions Neville had dropped off. Then he took her hand and led her from the Artifacts Accidents Ward, down a long corridor and through the reception area. When they walked out of St. Mungo's, Harry hailed a Muggle taxi to take them back to their flat.
After getting Hermione settled on the long, plush sofa in the living room, Harry meandered around the flat, checking out the rooms, making sure nothing was different than when he and Remus were there the previous morning. Nothing had been disturbed - except for the bedroom, which had a glowing yellow X over the door, marking it as a crime scene.
"Want some tea?" Harry asked solicitously. "I'll make some Earl Grey if you'd like that." Hermione nodded, averting her eyes. She's so quiet, he thought as he went into the kitchen, filled a kettle and charmed it to boil the water faster.
Several minutes later Harry brought two cups of tea out to the living room. Setting them on the coffee table, he seated himself on the sofa near Hermione. As she reached for her cup, she winced in pain. She drank her tea very slowly, almost as though she was just pretending to drink it, and her eyes appeared to be glued to the abstract design in the beige and blue carpet.
"I've missed you so much," Harry said huskily, sliding closer to her then putting one arm gingerly around her shoulders. Lifting her eyes from the carpet, she glanced up over her shoulder at him and gave a sad half-smile.
"I've missed you too, Harry," she sighed with just a hint of a smile. "The photographs in the Sunday Prophet were wonderful. I saw you and Ron in the Top Box, and Viktor flying right past the two of you. I was happy that you seemed to be having such a good time."
Harry smiled ruefully. "Yes…well, they were fantastic seats. It really was a great game. Thank you again for the tickets."
Hermione smiled a little wider than before. "I'm glad you enjoyed the game. I'm just sorry you left before the finals. Why did you come back so early?" Harry recognized the look on her face; after a whole day of being out of it, she was finally beginning to catch up with events - and putting two and two together.
Bugger, she's going to ask. He'd hoped he could avoid this conversation for at least a few days.
"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said that Ron and I didn't care who won the World Cup," he said, watching her sip her tea.
Putting the cup and saucer down, she looked at him curiously. "No, I don't think I would. Care to try another excuse?"
He brushed a lock of hair away from her face, accidentally touching one of her bruised cheekbones. He winced, fearful of hurting her physically as well as emotionally. The thought of putting her through any more strain was starting to tear him apart. She had been through so much recently and he was pretty sure how she would react to the real reason they'd come back early.
"I think you need to take that bruise-healing potion soon," he said quickly.
"Don't change the subject, Harry." She now wore her Don't try to bullshit me expression; apparently he was going to have to tell her the truth after all. Taking a deep breath, he crossed his fingers and hoped for the best.
"You want to know why we came back so early," he began, running one hand through his hair nervously. "Well, it wasn't an accident that Ron and I arrived home when we did. And what happened to you was no accident either."
Hermione's eyes went wide. "It wasn't?"
"No, it wasn't…I guess I'd better begin at the beginning."
She nodded tentatively. "Okay."
"Night before last," Harry began, "after the second semi-final game, I was restless and had trouble sleeping. I went out for a walk and ended up falling asleep under a large old tree. I had a very strange dream involving you and Krum-"
"Really? What was it about?" Her interest piqued, Hermione looked at Harry closely.
He cleared his throat, embarrassed by what came next. "I, um, dreamed that I was standing next to our bed, watching you sleep and - the next part was weird and upsetting - I thought you were in bed alone, then I realized a man was in bed with you…and it wasn't me."
"I was…it wasn't you?"
"No," Harry said, "it was Viktor. He got out of bed to let in an owl that was tapping at the window. He was naked and he had a boner the size of a beater's bat."
"Really?" Hermione's eyes went wide again and her cheeks reddened. "Well…what happened when he let in the owl?"
Should I be worried that she seems a bit embarrassed about this dream? Harry wondered. Deciding not to let this angle sidetrack him, he forged onward. "It turned out that an owl had landed on my shoulder and woke me up." Now came the part he dreaded sharing even more than the dream. "And…I hadn't wanted to tell you this so soon...the owl was carrying a note from our stalker."
The last three words caught Hermione's attention. Harry then recounted the contents of the first note to Hermione, who continued to listen intently.
"I went to the stadium at nine o'clock as instructed," he went on.
Hermione's brow creased and her eyes darkened. "Harry, why didn't you try to contact me before you met the stalker?"
"What?"
"I said, why didn't you try to contact me before you met the stalker?"
Her question caught Harry off guard. "Well…I, um, I didn't have any way to contact you, did I? I didn't know how to find a telephone at the park, and it would have taken hours or days for a Ministry owl to reach you. I…just…I had to meet the stalker."
The next words from Hermione's mouth were so quiet Harry could barely hear them. "Why didn't you make a Portkey and come home and warn me?"
Harry's heart fell through his stomach. Why hadn't he just made a Portkey right then and there? Had he gone home then and warned her, she could have left their flat, gone somewhere safe, probably never encountered those goons who hurt her so badly. And now she wouldn't be doubting whether he'd even thought of her safety before his own…
Facing burning, unable to look at her, he said simply, "I must have panicked."
"Yes, I guess you did. What happened to the Harry who keeps his head in a crisis, the one I knew at school?"
Harry laughed bitterly. "He seems to disappear whenever you're in mortal peril, beginning with the Department of Mysteries in fifth year."
Taking one of his hands in her own, Hermione placed her other palm gently on Harry's cheek. "Perhaps that should have been your first clue that you thought of me as more than a friend," she said softly, with a hint of a smile. "Please, Harry, go on with your story."
Sighing heavily, Harry leaned back against the sofa, his hand still in Hermione's. "Okay. I went to meet the stalker. Ron insisted on coming with me, and I'm glad he did. We waited twenty minutes, but no one showed up."
"Then what?"
"Then I got another owl. That note was the worst I've received yet. I didn't memorize it and I gave it to Remus yesterday as part of the investigation. Basically the stalker said that I couldn't protect myself and I couldn't protect you either. The note even said that you were in trouble, here in London, at the very moment I was in danger in Bulgaria."
Hermione leaned closer to Harry, who put his arm tentatively around her shoulders. He hesitated to go further, but knew he had to finish the story.
"At that point I didn't know what the note meant about me being in danger. Ron and I had been waiting outside the stadium. As we were about to leave, he suddenly yelled at me to watch out, something was about to fall on me. Before I could get away he yelled Arresto momentum, which kept the object from hitting me. It turned out to be a piece of wooden railing from the top of the stadium. It weighed at least ten pounds and fell over a hundred feet. If Ron hadn't done that spell, I might have been killed."
As Harry described what had happened, Hermione began shaking in his arms. He pulled her closer to him, still trying to be careful about the tender injured areas of her body, then took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I had to tell you all this. I was hoping to wait a few days before telling you."
She pulled away from him and gave him a steely look. "And what would that have accomplished? Other than keeping me in the dark?"
Harry started to talk but found himself stumbling over his words. "Well, I didn't want to - you've been through so much - the past few weeks have been hell - I wanted to spare you--"
Hermione took one of his hands and sighed heavily. "Harry, this is me you're talking to. Not someone you barely know. I've been in this with you since you were eleven and I was twelve. I'm not going anywhere. And I need to know whatever you know. How else will we be able to fight this - whoever it is - together?"
He jumped off the sofa and began to pace the living room. "But you shouldn't have to fight my battles for me!"
She attempted to get up to follow him but sank back to the sofa, apparently exhausted by the effort. "Why is everything your battle? Why is it always about you?" she cried, tears spilling down her face. "Maybe it's not just about you this time! Maybe it's about both of us!"
Her words stopped him in his tracks. "Both of us?"
"Oh, honestly, Harry," she scolded him, gingerly wiping the tears from her face, "have the notes talked about only you? I seem to recall I've been mentioned several times. And since this person hurls epithets at me like 'Mudblood whore', it seems she's at least as unhappy with me as she is with you. So please, do us both a favour and lose the hero complex."
Hero complex. It was an accusation he'd heard many times, and he'd even heard it from Hermione more than once. If he'd heeded her advice about his "saving-people thing" in fifth year, Sirius might never have died.…This time, though, her words cut him like a knife. He wasn't trying to play the hero. He was only trying to protect her. Why wouldn't she let him? Why couldn't she see how much he needed to keep her safe? Still, she seemed so fragile right now. He hated arguing, especially with her. Now was just not the time to try to make her see things his way.
"Okay...I guess I got a bit carried away," he finally replied, sitting down next to her again and taking one of her hands in his. "I need to go to work soon; I know Remus wants to talk to me about our case and I've got a ton of files to catch up on. We can talk about all of...this...later. Do you want to go to bed now or would you rather lie on the sofa and rest? Ron should be here in less than an hour."
Hermione shifted, leaning back on a plush throw pillow that lay against one arm of the sofa. "I'll just rest here for awhile," she said as Harry moved her feet carefully onto the sofa. He summoned a Gryffindor blanket from the other side of the room and placed it gently over her lithe body.
"You rest here, sweetheart. I'll be back around six o'clock. And don't you dare try to fix yourself anything to eat. Ron and Ginny will take care of that during the day and I'll bring some takeaway from that Chinese place on Charing Cross Road."
Smiling weakly, she nodded and settled down on the sofa, closing her eyes as Harry leaned down and kissed her forehead. He then grabbed his cloak from a peg near the door, walked over to the mantel, pinched some Floo powder, and stood in the fireplace.
"Ministry of Magic," he said, and disappeared into the maelstrom of the Floo network, finally landing in a Ministry fireplace a few moments later. As he made his way through the Atrium and over to the bank of lifts, he pondered the situation he and Hermione found themselves in. While he hated arguing with her, he felt deep down that he was the reason she was in danger. He'd always been the reason she was in danger; why would it be any different now? So if she wouldn't agree to let him protect her, he would have to find some way to do it on his own.
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Soon after Harry left, Hermione fell asleep on the sofa. Dozing fitfully, she had several disjointed dreams. In the last, she relived the previous day's ordeal. But when the blond thug stuck his penis toward her mouth, Harry arrived out of nowhere, grabbed the appendage in his hand and gave it a huge, wrenching twist that made the blond thug howl in pain and sent all three hoodlums scattering. Harry and Ron then untied Hermione's restraints, and while Ron turned his back, Hermione thanked Harry for his bravery by sitting him down at the end of the bed, opening his flies and stroking him until Harry moaned and begged her to help him. As she lowered her head toward him, the sound of a key in the front door woke her up - Ron was letting himself into the flat. Thank goodness I woke up before he came in, she thought, glad she hadn't betrayed her dream by making oral-sex noises in front of him. Though she did wonder why, in her dream, Ron had stayed in the room, even with his back turned….
"How are you doing, Hermione?" Ron asked quietly, kneeling next to her pillow and dropping a kiss on her forehead.
She slowly pushed herself up and sat back against the pillowy sofa cushions, patting a place next to her for him to sit down. Ron rose from his knees and planted his lanky frame next to her, taking her hand in his and stroking the back of it softly.
"I'm not too bad. Better than I thought I might be this soon after... everything." Hermione scowled. Out of force of habit, she accidentally bit her lip, which made her wince in pain.
Ron raised an eyebrow. "You always say you're not doing too bad. You said after you were hit with Death Eater hexes at the Ministry-"
"Yes, I remember." It had taken her four weeks to recover from the spells that struck her in the Department of Mysteries at the end of their fifth year. She was much younger then, not quite seventeen, and was told by Madam Pomfrey and others that she was lucky she'd survived. Later, when Neville described how Harry reacted when the curses hit her, Hermione got her first inkling that perhaps Harry's feelings for her extended beyond friendship. Her own feelings for Harry had been steadily growing during fifth year, but everything was complicated then, so she kept her own counsel. Harry fancied Cho; Ron - she knew since fourth year - fancied her; and they all had other priorities then.
Once Harry finally told her and Ron about the prophecy during sixth year, her sole focus - and Ron's, too - had been to keep Harry safe and learn as much as they could to help him defeat Voldemort and come back to them alive. She was thankful that, during sixth year, Ron began to return Luna Lovegood's affection. Though Hermione often felt bewildered by the Ravenclaw's dottiness, Luna's attentions were genuinely good for Ron, who had always felt overshadowed first by his older brothers and then by Harry. When Luna went missing near the end of the war, Ron's heart was broken; he even told Hermione he would never again let himself feel as much for a woman as he'd felt for Luna. That was the beginning of Ron's playboy persona. Now as Hermione sat on the sofa with her other best friend, she wondered how all their lives might have been different if Ron had never taken a fancy to the goofy but good-hearted Luna.
"Earth to Hermione," she heard Ron saying as he waved a hand in front of her face. "You look like you're a million miles away."
"No...just thinking. And remembering. Do you think about Luna often?" she asked him boldly.
Ron's blue eyes went wide, then his face sagged and he swallowed hard. "Yeah, I do. Sometimes at night. Especially if I'm - with a woman," he stammered, his ears turning red. "Sometimes I wish it was Luna in bed with me. I never…did it with her" - now his whole face went red - "I never got the chance. I wanted to but she wanted to wait until things were more settled. I think she was afraid I would die in the war and leave her pregnant." He looked away, biting back tears. "She and I did pretty much everything else" - now Hermione blushed - "but I never to got to make love to her."
"Did she know how you felt about her?" Hermione asked, genuinely curious.
Ron shook his head. "I never got to tell her. You know, all that shite about you're not supposed to say I love you while you're having sex with someone. Bad form or whatnot, or maybe it just sounds insincere."
Hermione nodded, knowing exactly what Ron meant. "I think she probably did know, Ron, even though you never got to say the words. A girl knows these things."
Furrowing his brow, Ron swiveled on the sofa and looked at Hermione intently. "Did you know about me?"
Heart in her throat, Hermione took a breath and looked him in the eyes. She knew he was talking about his crush on her. "Yes, I did. Since fourth year. But" - she hesitated - "I never felt the same way about you. And I did feel something, even then, for Harry. So I did the easy thing, but not the right thing. I said nothing."
Ron grimaced slightly, then a smile crossed his face. "Actually, Hermione, that might have been one of the smartest things you've ever done."
"Oh really? Why so?"
"Well...just think what might've happened if you'd encouraged me. You and I might have started dating. Then we would've had even bigger fights than we already did, and Harry might've ended up pissed off at both of us and maybe the three of us would have stopped being friends and...well, I reckon it worked out better this way - for all of us," he finished, squeezing her hand.
Realizing that she was genuinely smiling for the first time in over twenty-four hours, Hermione reached her other hand up to Ron's chin and kissed him on the cheek.
"Oy! What was that for?" he smiled.
"For being a lot smarter than some people think you are," she sighed. "And for being the best friend a girl could have."
Blushing, Ron shrugged then hoisted himself off the sofa. "I'm supposed to be here making lunch. You want anything special?"
"Just some chicken soup for me, please," she called as he went into the kitchen. "There's some in the fridge and also some left-over stew. But make yourself whatever you want. We've also got ham and cheese and some good bread from the Muggle bakery down the street."
As Ron poked his ginger head out the kitchen door and nodded, Hermione settled back against the sofa pillows. Harry was her lover as well as her best friend, and the sexual relationship sometimes complicated their friendship in ways they didn't always acknowledge. Ron was simply her best friend, and the fact that they'd never been more than best friends actually made some things easier with him. If Harry continued on his high horse about protecting her against the stalker, perhaps she would have to enlist Ron to convince him that she didn't need protecting - she only needed Harry's love.
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After all the drama of the past three days Harry's first afternoon back at work seemed quite boring. He found a tall stack of files in heavy parchment folders on his desk, as well as a note instructing him to come to Lupin's office at four o'clock. Harry plowed through the folders as quickly and efficiently as he could considering his thoughts were on Flat 1231 of Andrewes House at the Barbican Centre, rather than anywhere inside the Ministry. At half past three, needing a break before his meeting with Lupin, he went down to the Atrium to stretch his legs and grab a nosh from the witch who operated the snack trolley. The Trolley Lady, as everyone called her, was pushing her cart up and down in front of the outgoing fireplaces. Harry strode over quickly and gave her five Sickles for a pumpkin pasty, which he shoved into his mouth as quickly as he could. Wandering distractedly through a crowd of at least two hundred other witches and wizards in the Atrium, Harry managed to walk into, and almost knock down, Cho Chang and her friend, Marietta Edgecombe.
"Hey, watch where you're going - oh! Sorry, Harry, didn't know it was you," Cho exclaimed, straightening her short, tight skirt underneath her dark robes.
"Sorry," Harry muttered, his face flushing with embarrassment.
"We didn't see you at the World Cup finals. Weren't you up in the Top Box again?" Cho asked.
Distracted, Harry looked over toward the lifts. His meeting with Lupin was rapidly approaching and he didn't have time for chitchat, especially with Cho, who only seemed to upset him lately. "No, we didn't see the finals. We had to leave Sunday morning. Something came up here in London and I had to get home in a hurry."
She eyed him beadily. "Oh? Nothing serious, I hope."
Harry was determined not to let his situation come public knowledge, at least not beyond those who had to know. "Erm, no, not really. Hermione …erm…owled me that she'd had a little accident - and I was worried about her. So I left Bulgaria early."
"Oh. That's too bad. I hope she's okay now?" Cho smirked. Marietta, as usual, said nothing and just started into space.
"Yeah, she's doing a lot better. But she decided to stay home and rest today."
Cho grinned. "Well, I hope darling Hermione is up to snuff really soon. It would be a shame not to see her smiling face around the Ministry for more than a day or two, don't you think, Marietta?"
Marietta gave a little sigh. "A terrible shame."
The two of them are such insincere bints, Harry thought, glowering. "I've gotta run, I have a meeting with my boss in ten minutes."
Cho and Marietta flashed simpering smiles at him, then walked away giggling at each other. Muttering epithets to himself, Harry raced to the lifts and caught one back to the second floor. When he reached his cubicle, Lupin was sitting on the edge of his desk.
"Welcome back, Harry. Please come into my office." Lupin walked toward his office and Harry followed close on his heels.
"So what's up, Remus?"
Lupin sat behind his desk and pulled out a parchment. "Have a seat, Harry. I've got a small bit of news for you."
Harry sat down across from Lupin. "What is it?"
"Well, it's good news and bad news."
Harry sighed, fidgeting in his chair. "They always seem to come together, don't they?"
"Yes, well, that does seem to happen a lot," Lupin shrugged. "The good news is that we've got a lead on the thugs who invaded your flat and hurt Hermione." Harry leaned forward, anxious to hear more. "They're just a bunch of plonking thugs from Knockturn Alley, but at least we think we know who they are."
Across his desk Lupin spread Wizarding mug shots of three rough-looking wizards, who stared, blinked, chewed the insides of their cheeks, turned to offer their profiles, and generally made rude faces at the camera. "The ringleader, the one called Matty, is Matthias Speckler. He was in Slytherin, I'm afraid, and finished school in 1974. The other two are street thugs who never attended Hogwarts. The gangly one called Bobbin is Hector Mapplethorpe. And the blond one called Jester is Elfric Gudgeon."
Harry stared at Gudgeon's mug shot. "He's the one who tried to--"
"Yes, if Hermione's description was correct," Lupin said calmly, but a vein in his neck throbbed dangerously. "Unfortunately she didn't see their faces, so legally she won't be able to identify them from these photographs."
"But she could identify them by their voices, right?"
"Yes, she could do that, assuming we find them."
Harry bit his lip in thought. The thugs had worn masks, but they'd spoken to Hermione, rather at length according to her account of events. That made him feel slightly better; she could identify them after all.
"So what do we do about these blokes now?"
"I'm not sure there's much we can do about them right now," Lupin conceded. "I can have Tonks and Ackerly check the files for any unsolved cases that involved a similar modus operandi. If they get any matches, they can go out and try to find these cretins. Other than that, I suppose we'll have to hope we get lucky and catch them actually breaking the law. Either way, if we can bring them in for questioning, Hermione could come up here and listen to them talk through a one-way mirror. That seems to be the only way she could identify them and it's probably our best shot right now."
Harry stood up and shoved his hand through his hair. "What about the person who hired them?"
Lupin heaved a sigh. "Unfortunately we're not any closer to identifying the stalker. Assuming Hermione is right and a woman is orchestrating all this, she's doing an excellent job of covering her tracks. I've given all the notes you've received to our best graphologist, but she's come up empty so far. The stalker apparently doesn't have a prior criminal record, at least not with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It's possible, but not likely, that this could be someone from the Muggle world who knows Hermione or her family, so we'll have to check with the Muggle police as well. But right now - I'm sorry, Harry, but we still have no idea who is doing this."
As Lupin finished speaking, Harry leaned over the desk and looked him in the eyes. "I don't know, Remus. This -- it just seems like you could be doing more to find these pieces of shit."
Remus's face went blank for a moment. "Could I?"
"Yeah…sure…I mean the Ministry could be doing more," Harry said, his voice deadly quiet. "Putting up posters or something, letting people know these mopes are wanted for robbery, assault and attempted rape. For chrissakes, you couldn't go anywhere in Wizarding Britain without seeing a poster of Sirius back then," he seethed.
"That was very different, Harry. Sirius was -- even though the whole thing was wrong -- he was a convicted murderer who had escaped from Azkaban. Of course the Ministry was going to put his picture up everywhere."
Harry's stomach sank even as blood rushed to his face. "And finding Sirius, who wasn't even guilty, was more important than finding these sons of bitches who are?" he barked at his surrogate godfather. "I can't believe this. Am I going to have to investigate this myself?"
"Harry James Potter!" Lupin growled at him, practically in Harry's face. "I am still your supervisor, in case you've forgotten. You will not speak to me that way again, do you understand? Or I'll have to put a reprimand in your personnel folder."
Lupin's rejoinder knocked the wind from Harry's sails. Harry slumped back into his chair, feeling at least temporarily defeated.
"I'm sorry, Remus," he said quietly. "You have no idea how frustrating this is."
"I can just imagine-"
"NO, YOU FUCKING CAN'T IMAGINE!" Harry bellowed, his arms flailing. As he started pacing, he got worked up all over again. "The anonymous notes were bad enough. The chunk of wood that could have killed me was pretty bad too, though I've dealt with worse. But those buggers breaking into our flat and terrorizing Hermione, beating her up and then that fucking moron sticking his- I'm glad she bit him, I wish she'd bitten his whole fucking cock off! And now Hermione - if you could have seen her when I brought her home today...I can barely look at her."
Lupin raised an eyebrow and stared back at Harry. "You think she's damaged goods now?"
"Bloody hell! Of course not, Remus. But she has been damaged by this. It's sapped her spirit somehow. I don't know how to act around her now. I want to hold her but I'm terrified of hurting her. And I'm even more afraid that something I've done was the cause of all this." Harry slumped against the wall, fighting back tears.
Clearing his throat, Lupin walked around his desk and put his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Harry...listen to me. Hermione needs you now more than ever, so whatever you can do for her, whatever she needs you to do, just try to do it. And please - do yourself a favor and stop thinking that everything that happens to anyone you know is your fault."
"But-" Harry tried to object.
"No buts, Harry. Although this might be hard for you to believe, given your personal history, not everything that happens is about you." Harry winced, remembering he'd heard almost identical words from Hermione just a few hours earlier. Lupin continued, "I know this isn't your normal leaving time but I'm ordering you to go home now and take care of Hermione. She needs you at home a lot more than I need you here."
Dumbfounded, Harry stood rooted to the spot for a few moments. "That's an order, Potter. Out. Now!" Lupin swatted him on the arse and shooed him out of his office. Harry gathered his briefcase and cloak, left the building and Apparated over to Charing Cross Road. He would get some Chinese takeaway food for himself and Hermione. After dinner he would conjure a new bed in the spare room, and when it was time for bed he would try to comfort her as best he could.
^*^*^*^
"That moo shu chicken was very good, but I'm not very hungry," Hermione said as she put her chopsticks aside her half-full plate. "How was your General Tso's?"
"Excellent as always," Harry said, wiggling his chopsticks and pretending to breathe fire at her. "Honestly, Hermione, I've always been a bit surprised that you're such a ninny about spicy foods. Are you sure you don't want just a tiny taste?" Using his chopsticks, he picked up a small chunk of chicken and brandished it in her direction until the chicken was almost touching her lips.
"No!" she grimaced, trying to swat his hand away. Harry was too quick, however; he grabbed her right wrist with his free hand then planted a kiss on her palm. When Hermione didn't object, Harry let his lips travel to the heel of her hand, then her wrist. He waited, nuzzling her wrist, afraid to move further. As much as he wanted Hermione, his heart clutched in fear that he was moving too fast, too soon.
The feel of Harry's lips against her skin sent a shiver through Hermione's body. This little endearment was a sign that Harry was getting frisky. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing; usually it was a Very Good Thing and often it was a Very Amazing Thing. Tonight, though, Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about Harry being amorous. She hadn't made love with him since before he went to Bulgaria and now...now the sexual feelings she had for him seemed a bit jumbled. What she needed most was his arms around her, comforting her. But her midsection was still very sore, her face and lips still hurt like they'd been bitten by Doxies, and she felt like a china doll held together with Spellotape. Despite this, Hermione knew that she needed the reassurance his body always gave her, and not merely the feel of his skin on hers. It might require some positions they weren't used to, but what Hermione wanted most was for Harry to make love to her.
She could feel the heat rising off Harry as he pulled her closer to him. His lips finally rested in the crook of her elbow where he lightly kissed the delicate flesh. His kisses were tender, almost reverential; he seemed both worshipful and fearful at the same time. As he breathed gently on her skin, she slid off her seat katy-corner from him and onto his lap.
Harry stop kissing her elbow and gazed at her in surprise. "Yes?"
"Yes," she replied with a shy smile.
"You're sure?"
"I'm not sure of anything right now. But I know I need you to hold me; I need your skin next to mine."
"But what if I...if it hurts? I can't bear the thought of possibly hurting you. Not now, not after -- what happened."
"And I can't bear the thought of you not touching me for fear I might break." There. That was what had worried her since Harry and Ron found her in the bedroom the previous morning.
Looking deeply into her eyes, Harry placed a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose, then sighed into her neck. "We need to sleep in a new bed tonight, don't we?"
She nodded.
"Let's go make our bed and lie in it," Harry said, pulling her hair back and kissing her earlobe.
"Shouldn't we clean up and do the dishes first?" Hermione fretted.
He gave a cheeky grin. "We can leave them till later and then use magic on them. If Molly Weasley taught me anything, it was to use magic for things you don't enjoy doing, so that you can do the things you enjoy the non-magical way. Like this." He kissed her jaw line just below her ear.
"An excellent strategy," she agreed, standing up and leading him by the hand down the hallway.
Opening the door to the spare bedroom, Hermione found it just as they'd left it a few months ago when Ginny had spent the night. It contained a small side table, a dark wood dressing table with an upholstered chair in front of it, and a black lacquered futon frame holding a plump red futon mattress full of buttons. Hermione frowned.
"You're still too sore for a futon; all those buttons would hurt you," Harry said. Pulling out his wand, he transfigured the futon into a queen-sized mattress with red silk sheets. "Much better."
"This looks very comfortable," Hermione agreed, unable to hide a grin.
Harry grinned back, conjuring a pair of plump pillows in red silk pillowcases. "That's better. Now we have everything we need."
"What about pyjamas?" Hermoine asked innocently.
"I don't think we'll be needing those...unless you think we will," he added quickly.
"Well...maybe not," she said, suddenly feeling shy with him. He'd seen her naked countless times in the past two years, but he'd never seen her naked with broken cheekbones, a split lip and giant bruises all over her midsection. Suddenly she could commiserate even more with Eloise Midgen - the plain girl with spots who was the brunt of Ron's adolescent jokes in fourth year.
Harry sat down on the bed and patted a spot beside him. "Come here, Hermione. Please." He gave her his best puppy-dog eyes, which she could never resist. As she sat down he drew her gently to his side until their bodies were touching from shoulder to knee. His body barely touched hers but even that slight contact left her wincing in pain.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked immediately.
She shook her head, swallowing hard. "Not intentionally. I've just got a lot of tender spots. I've taken Neville's healing potions exactly as he prescribed them, but I think it will take a lot longer than twenty-four hours for me to heal. I bet even Madam Pomfrey would think so."
Harry sighed. "Poor Madam Pomfrey. She certainly had to spend a lot of time healing us."
Hermione nodded. "Now I think you and I both need a different kind of healing," she said, taking his hand and sliding it up under the hem of her shift. She moved Harry's hand slowly up and down her inner thigh, and as his palm stroked her skin, she felt him shiver next to her; his muscles went rigid, either in fear or in anticipation of what was to come. The feel of his hand on her leg set her skin on fire. Though she knew it would be uncomfortable, Hermione needed to feel his skin on hers, needed to feel his lips and tongue all over her, needed to feel him -- some part of him anyway -- inside her. She smiled gently and lay back on the bed, her eyes inviting him to join her. He lay next to her and touched her tentatively, first her legs, then her arms and finally, very carefully and slowly, her torso. When he accidentally touched a tender spot too hard, she whimpered and flinched.
Harry's brows knit with confusion and a different kind of pain as his erection strained through his trousers against her bare leg. His desire for her butted up uncomfortably against his fear of causing her any physical pain. "Where can I touch you that won't hurt?" he asked, hoping the answer would be better that he expected.
"Well, you can't kiss me on the lips...nor on my cheeks...nor on my stomach... and I can't kiss you either -- anywhere" - Harry looked really pained at this. "But I can still use my hands and so can you. And there are at least three places you could kiss me...couldn't you?"
Harry nodded, undoing his flies and pulling Hermione's hand inside his pants. "Yes, I think - you can use your hand - right there - yesss.... And I'll use mine basically the same way," he said, gently pushing the fabric of her knickers aside.
"That's a good - idea," she panted, continuing to move her hand. "I know you like this" - she did her thumb-and-forefinger trick -"and I really...ohhhh...like what you're doing...ohhhh…"
"Yessss...oh God...I like that...don't stop," he moaned, pushing against her hand. "Yesss...keep on...yesss...ohhhh...don't stop..." - he bit his lip, then bent over and licked her collarbone.
"Don't you stop-either-ohhhh," she breathed, positive that she would combust like Fawkes the phoenix if he continued to move his fingers just so. Harry bucked and moaned, then shuddered. She giggled and he moved his hand in a way that made her brain explode.
"I need you so badly, Hermione," he breathed as she sat up so he could pull her dress up over her head. "But I'm so afraid of hurting you," he continued, tossing the garment across the room. As Hermione lay back, he slithered out of his trousers and pants, then slid down next to her on the bed. His lips moved gently, almost delicately, across the skin of her breast until they found her nipple; as he licked the pink nub slowly, his fingers found a more southerly target.
Twenty minutes later, Hermione's moans of ecstasy alternated with whimpers of pain as Harry's head lay nestled at the top of her thighs, the red silk sheets rumpled and stained beneath them.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to be so rough. I - just don't know how to touch you or kiss you properly right now."
Hermione stroked his head and sighed. "You didn't hurt me, Harry. I'm already hurt. I know you're not trying to hurt me. There are just some things I can't do right now. I'm the one who should apologize. I can't give you what you need right now. I can't even kiss you." And I can't kiss you there either, she thought sadly. "Come up under the covers with me. Please?"
Taking her hand, Harry slid under the covers and claimed the pillow next to hers. Their lovemaking had been strange and fumbling in a way they hadn't experienced since the first few times they'd made love. As Harry kissed her good night and settled down in bed, he didn't spoon up behind her the way he usually did but, instead, turned his back to her. Hermione lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears and wondering if the events of Sunday would set their love life back to zero.
^*^*^*^