A/N: This is the first part of a three-chapter story that combines humor, angst, and romance. Most of this was written prior to the publication of Book Six, so it should be considered as AU now (references to non-HBP Dumbledore, Snape, Fudge, etc.). Also, it was written before my previously posted stories, and put aside after extensive mining of it for jokes and lines in those stories. But, after some revision, it seems to stand pretty well on its own.
Warnings are given for humor in my usual poor taste and - please excuse the wordplay - smut in very good taste! Possibly, this could have an R-rating, but to be safe, I'll call it NC17, due to part of the third chapter.
And, of course, I disclaim any ownership of Harry, Hermione, et al, who are the property of the usual suspects. Please enjoy, and thanks in advance for any kind reviews.
Rescue Mission
Chapter 1: Reunion, with Laughter
The young woman was grateful for the powerful air conditioning, as she walked down the thickly carpeted hallway on the top floor of the high-rise luxury condominium. Although it was early in the evening on the last day of August, outdoors it remained uncomfortably warm and humid, even for London at this time of the year.
When she arrived at her destination at the end of the hallway, she stopped and took a deep breath. She was having second thoughts and beginning to believe that she might be making a terrible mistake. But, in spite of her misgivings, Hermione Granger pressed the button that sounded the buzzer that summoned the person who opened the door.
At first, Harry Potter only stared at her, but then he smiled. He started to offer his hand, but with his smile widening, he embraced her in a firm hug. He broke away and stepped aside to allow her to enter. They faced each other without speaking for over a minute.
Hermione saw a man who was lean and hard in body, but who retained still an air of youthful vulnerability, that was accentuated by his simple attire of faded jeans and a white tee shirt. His dark hair was as unruly as when she had seen it for the first time, almost thirteen years ago, and his extraordinary eyes were the same striking shade of green as she remembered. As much as his deserved fame, undoubtedly those eyes were responsible for the constant stream of women who tried to climb into his bed. Quite a large number of them succeeded in doing so, if the magical tabloid press reports were to be believed. She thought that he was a really good-looking young guy, especially since he had replaced his nerdy eyeglasses with contact lenses. Excepting only the famous scar on his forehead, the horror and tragedy that no young man ever should have experienced for so much of his life had not marked him, at least outwardly.
On further reflection, she realized that there were the slightest traces of bags under his eyes, as well as red in them. But, their resigned sadness had given way, if only briefly, to a sparkle of genuine happiness when he had opened the door and recognized her. 'I wonder . . . ' she thought.
Harry saw a slender young woman dressed in a white blouse and tan slacks, whose naturally bushy brown hair had been caged into a large ponytail with only partial success. Her brown eyes looked larger than he remembered, and she seemed to be slightly taller. He assumed correctly that both of these differences were due to the modest makeup and high heels that she had worn only very rarely during their student days. If she carried a few extra pounds of weight, it was not noticeable, and she looked much as she had in her late teen years. She never had been a stereotypical "centerfold beauty" of the statuesque, blue-eyed blond sort, with a huge chest and a small bum, but Harry still thought that she was smashing in her own special way.
He was taken aback by the look she had given him just as he had reached out to hug her. 'Did she . . . COULD she . . . I wonder . . . ' he thought.
They left the entrance hallway, walked into a large sitting room, and sat down next to each other on a huge over-sized sofa.
"So, it's been what, over a year, since we saw each other last?" said Harry.
"It was at the Great Feast at Hogwarts celebrating the fifth anniversary of end of the Dark Wars, Harry," said Hermione. "I remember it as if it happened yesterday. I . . . we never did get a chance to talk much, what with your 'fan club' surrounding you the entire time."
"Well, welcome to my home, such as it is," said Harry. "How exactly may I be of help to a representative of the hard-working, caring, tasteful, and ALWAYS truthful press?"
"Now, Harry, you know that I do this only temporarily to earn some money," said Hermione. "I'm on summer holiday, and in two weeks, it's off again to the States. I'll be back at Harvard to continue my doctoral work."
"I didn't know that grad students took long holidays," said Harry.
"Many don't, but I've found that getting away for a while works well for me. Also, since technically, I'm only 'on loan' as an exchange graduate assistant, special leave is permitted," said Hermione. "Of course, I just wouldn't feel right doing nothing for more than two entire months, hence the job."
"Still the once and always little workaholic, aren't you? By the way, are you planning to be a professional student for the rest of your life?" asked Harry.
"Of course not!" replied Hermione. "Actually, I've finished all of my research and a first draft. So, I have only to write the final version of my thesis and to defend it. Well before Christmas, I'll be a freshly minted 'Doctor of Magick' with a dual degree from BOTH Harvard AND Hidden College, Oxford, no less! Then, I'll have to leave the ivory tower and get a job, where exactly, I'm not yet certain."
"Obviously, school still agrees with you, Hermione. You look great!" said Harry. "Or, have you met someone special? Should I be expecting some time soon either to see an engagement notice in The Daily Prophet, or to receive a wedding invitation concerning one Doctor Granger giving away the hand of another?"
"Thanks, and no to any such things in the near future," said Hermione. "I have so little spare time, and almost none for any sort of social life. I have dated a couple of fellow students over the past few years, but nothing special is happening now."
"Refresh my memory, please," said Harry. "Your owl note indicated that you wanted to interview me for Witch Weekly, didn't it? Or, was it for some other distinguished purveyor of wizarding 'news,' using that four-letter word very loosely?"
"Harry, please," said Hermione.
"I can make it easy for you," Harry interrupted, getting to his feet and beginning to pace. "How do you fancy this for a lead sentence?"
"Harry Potter, 'The Boy Who Killed You-Know-Who,' recently has been dating Miss X, the pure-blood heiress, who confided to this reporter the real reason why the now twenty-four-year-old man still is referred to as 'a boy' by every woman he disappoints."
"Harry," began Hermione.
"Of course, that sort of thing is written only when the press is feeling NICE! More often, I'm 'Shag 'em and Send 'em Packing Playboy Potter,' who has broken yet another heart or marriage. Also, there's the ever-popular horned and tailed 'Demon Rapist Harry,' whose insatiable appetite spells doom for every female who crosses his path. Conveniently just in time to make the current press deadline, he has ravished, despoiled, or otherwise defiled yet another previously innocent young witch, usually a schoolgirl, and ALWAYS mind you, for HOURS on end."
"Harry!" Hermione tried again, but she couldn't help but to start to giggle.
"Only on the rarest of occasions am I 'the eligible bachelor' or just plain 'Harry' or . . . so you think it's funny! Have you ever read any of the 'My Night of Terror with Harry' stories in that piece of pornographic trash, Witch World Fortnightly?"
"Is that the one written, edited, and published by Lavender Brown and the Patil sisters, our old classmates?" asked Hermione, still giggling. "I have heard about it, but I've never actually seen a copy."
"Indeed, it is," said Harry. "To use it to line the bottom of Hedwig's cage would be to do a grave disservice to bird droppings. The only good thing about it is that it's printed half as often as are the weekly gossip rags. Unfortunately, every issue contains ten times as much libelous garbage as do any of the others. Most of what Lavender, that walking dictionary picture of a dizzy bit-, er, I mean WITCH, writes is so farcical and over the top that no one should take it seriously, but many do!"
"But, Harry," said Hermione, "you know that Lavender always was a bit scatterbrained."
"You don't have to remind ME!" exclaimed Harry. "By the way, YOU played a 'victim' role in one of Ms. Brown's more recent excursions into her ongoing courageous revelations of my unbridled depravity during our days at Hogwarts."
"ME!" said Hermione. "But, what - "
"Oh, you weren't mentioned by name, but the implication was inescapable for any former fellow student of ours who happened to read the article," said Harry. "In this particular fairy tale, 'a Gryffindor female prefect who was one of Harry's best friends' - wink, wink - allegedly caught him screwing some innocent - what else - first or second year girl. After rescuing the poor lass, she suffered the same 'fate worse than death,' among other grievous assaults of sexual natures, albeit in more graphic detail."
"Why, that's terrible," said Hermione, trying very hard to keep a straight face and not succeeding very well.
"The next issue had 'Sissy Boy Harry' serving as the 'Star Pincushion' for a Slytherin House gay gangshag! Immediately following that one - " Harry went on, but Hermione tried to interrupt.
"Harry, stop it!" she demanded.
"A literally horse-hung Harry was causing severe diplomatic problems between the Ministry of Magic and the Forbidden Forest Centaur Herd. It seems that every filly and mare had become so infatuated with his 'big business' that they were attempting to leave their stallions!"
"Harry, stop it NOW!" yelled Hermione. "I know that all sorts of tripe has been written about you! If you'll remember, I was there when it started, courtesy of Rita Skeeter! Please, please simply consider the source of it! Besides, no one possibly could believe Lavender's ridiculous gossip."
"Oh really? You should have seen some of my mail immediately after the 'Great Centaur Scandal' was revealed. I received no less than SIXTEEN proposals of marriage, including one from Lavender, herself, accompanied by an admittedly interesting looking bra and a, er, used pair of knickers! Apparently, she got so worked up writing the story that she started to believe it, and she decided to prove it to me! And, those were the ones only from WITCHES! They do not include less formal propositions from assorted gay and switch-hitting wizards, porn producers, and others of dubious inclination or intent."
"Harry," Hermione tried, but Harry was undeterred in continuing his rant.
"Also, adding insult to injury, some clowns clearly not playing with a full deck from the 'Wizards for the Ethical Treatment of Magical and Other Possessors of Sentience' sent a howler threatening legal action against me!" said Harry. Then, eyeing her suspiciously, he asked, "you're not a member of WETMOPS, are you? By the way, do female centaurs even exist?"
Again, Hermione started to say something, but she could no longer contain herself. Her giggles turned into loud laughter. After glaring at her for a moment, Harry gave in and joined her. Eventually, he was able to compose himself.
"I . . . you're right, Hermione. You're the last person in the world whom I should accuse of harboring any ill will, but after being written about week after week as I have been, particularly during the last four years, anyone would get worn down and would tend to be a little touchy," Harry said.
"Harry," Hermione began, but she was interrupted again.
"OH, SHIT!" he exclaimed so suddenly that Hermione visibly flinched. "I may or may not be losing my mind, but I'm definitely being very rude to a guest. What would you like to drink? I've got Muggle sodas, and the usual pumpkin juice and butterbeer, including some of each in the fridge - they are quite good chilled, American-style, you know - and I've got fire whiskey and a pretty decent selection of wine, if you'd prefer something more muscular."
"A glass of white wine would be nice," said Hermione.
"Dry or sweet?" he asked. "Let me guess. You look like a 'dry' sort to me, and no blue wordplay is intended!"
Hermione rolled her eyes but nodded affirmatively, and Harry left the room. He returned rather quickly with an opened bottle and a pair of glasses, which he placed on the low table in front of the sofa.
"We'll need to let this breathe for a few minutes," he said, "but it doesn't need to be decanted, though some picky sorts might think so when they're dealing with a few fancy white wines. You're not a wine snob, are you?"
"That was awfully quick," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "It's almost as if you had these ready." She rotated the bottle to look at the label, and she gasped. "My God, Harry! This is a Romanee-Conti Montrachet, one of the rarest wines in the world! It must have cost more than a hundred galleons!"
"Ah, actually I didn't pay anything for it. It was a 'thanks-for-your-hospitality' gift from a recent visitor from France," Harry said, and he blushed. "Do you remember Fleur Delacour's little sister, Gabrielle?"
"Harry Potter, you ARE a beast!" exclaimed Hermione. "She was only eight years old or so during the Triwizard Tournament, which would make her - "
"Eighteen now, I think, but I'm not certain of her birthday," finished Harry, and a dreamy look appeared on his face. "And by the way, she isn't exactly LITTLE anymore. She insisted on expressing her thanks for my 'rescue' of her during the second task, and I thanked her back. We 'thanked' each other five or six times that night, if my memory serves - "
"Please, I do not need or want to know the details," Hermione cut in, and then teasingly, she added, "so, you really are shagging schoolgirls and stealing their innocence, you horrible, cradle-robbing brute!"
"A 'recent' schoolgirl might be more accurate," admitted Harry, "but as to any alleged 'stolen innocence,' I suspect that I followed a very long line after the rightful claimant. As the old saying goes, if that little bundle of joy had as many sticking out as she's had stuck in, she'd look less like a veela and more like a porcupine!"
Both of them burst out laughing.
"Still, we CAN'T drink this," said Hermione. "It's far too valuable to waste so casually."
"Wrong, Miss Granger, intrepid girl reporter! Indeed, it is too valuable for me to waste it only on myself, or on some bimbo who wouldn't appreciate it, but - " said Harry.
"So, are you implying that I'm a bimbo who does enjoy fine wine?" asked Hermione, interrupting him.
"BUT, drinking it with one of my oldest friends is its best possible use, and besides, it has been opened," continued Harry.
"Well, if you insist - " Hermione began, but Harry cut in, with a gleam in his eye.
"Being an extraordinarily concentrated Chardonnay, it is rather higher in alcoholic content than it may seem to be from the taste. So, be warned that even as we speak, the lecherous Mr. Potter may be operating in 'ravishing mode.' He may have lewd and lascivious designs on your virtue, and his plying you with an expensive variety of ethanol may be a mere tactic."
"Oh, wonderful! I've been targeted by 'The Great Lover' himself! What makes him believe that I have any virtue that's worth ravishing? Never mind, and don't answer that! Harry, shut up and pour me a glass," said Hermione.
"Okay, but consider yourself fairly warned," said a grinning Harry as he filled their glasses.
Both of them sipped their wine in silence. Hermione looked around the large room, and she spotted only a single object that revealed the magical nature of Harry's household. After a while, she broke the silence.
"Harry, is that what I think it is?" she asked, indicating the glass-fronted display frame on the wall above the fireplace.
"Yes, it's Voldemort's wand," answered Harry. "Before he was removed from office, that wanker Fudge tried on three different occasions to steal it 'legally.' The first time, there was an alleged crying need for the Department of Mysteries to examine it. The next attempt was on behalf of the Ministry's museum. I didn't bother even to read the details of the third excuse made up by that thieving horse's arse."
"But, Harry," Hermione began, but Harry continued.
"Needless to say, every time, the Wizengamot upheld my rightful 'claim by conquest.' Old medieval magical laws and customs can be useful at times."
"Don't you feel that it's a bit dangerous to have it displayed so openly?" asked Hermione.
"Not at all. Should any thief manage to get it and to try to use it, he'll be in for a shock. It's been 'deactivated' or 'denatured' or whatever it's called, so now it might as well be a bludger bat as a wand."
"Harry, are you sure? If - " Hermione began.
"Trust me, Hermione," Harry replied. "The day after Fudge's first attempt, I had an interesting communication. Fawkes, the phoenix, delivered a note and a special one-time-only untraceable portkey from Professor Dumbledore. The note requested that I pay him a visit, and that I should bring Voldemort's wand."
"This sounds intriguing," said Hermione.
"It was," replied Harry. "Upon using the portkey, I found myself NOT at Hogwarts, but rather in the front room of Ollivander's Diagon Alley wand shop. Guarding the door was an assortment of aurors, including such heavy hitters as Mad-Eye Moody.
"Remus and Tonks were there also, and they escorted me to the 'behind the counter' area of the shop, which was a magically enlarged vast warren of passages, workshops, and storerooms."
"We entered a weird round room, made entirely of stone and featuring a square rock table or altar in the center. Mr. Ollivander and Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick were there, and they were talking with a fourth person, who turned out to be old Mr. Tofty, whom you may remember as one of our OWL and NEWT examiners."
"Sure, I remember him," said Hermione. "Wasn't he the small, bald, and ancient-looking one?"
"The same," said Harry. "Next, Professor McGonagall and our favorite greasy git, er, distinguished Potions teacher, Snape, came in with a bubbling, smoking, and foul-smelling cauldron. As they placed it on one corner of the table, everyone in the room looked in my direction. McGonagall smiled, and she said 'hello.' Of course, Snape just sneered at me in his usual charming manner, so I returned his greeting with the universally appropriate single finger salute."
"Harry, you didn't!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Most certainly, I did!" Harry replied. "I did smile and say 'you'll always be number one with me, too, professor,' or something similar. And, it seemed to be popular with most of the gathering. While old Tofty clucked his disapproval, Dumbledore, Flitwick, McGonagall, and Ollivander all tried to keep their faces straight, but the twinkling in their eyes betrayed their true sentiments. Remus chuckled out loud, and Tonks laughed so hard that she started to hiccup! Snape left the room, but McGonagall stayed, and she motioned for me to join her, Remus, and Tonks in a corner."
"What sort of potion was in the cauldron?" Hermione asked.
"I haven't the foggiest idea," Harry said. "Judging from the smell, it could have been the Potion Master's dirty socks or shorts."
"Well, what happened next?" said Hermione.
"We waited for a few minutes, and when Fawkes arrived, the show began."
"What did they do exactly?" said Hermione.
"In terms of what I saw, the wand was placed on the table, levitated about a foot above it, and then moved sideways directly over the cauldron. After a few minutes, the wand was moved away from the cauldron to the center of the table, but still levitated above the surface. Then, Fawkes used it as a perch. As to the theory, I've no idea," said Harry, "except for the broad picture. In essence, the four wizards performed some very old spell that 'reclaimed' the wand's core magical object, which was a feather from Fawkes. At least, that's what I gathered from the slightly contradictory explanations from Tonks and Remus."
"Go on," said Hermione.
"It involved four sets of synchronized lengthy incantations in ancient languages. According to McGonagall, and confirmed later by Dumbledore, each of the four 'performers' handled three different languages. Mr. Ollivander spoke the incantations in Old, Middle, and New Kingdom Egyptian; Mr. Tofty did them in Phoenician, Aramaic, and Hebrew; Professor Flitwick spoke them in Sumerian, Hittite, and Assyrian, and Dumbledore used Minoan, Ancient Greek, and Latin."
"But, Harry!" Hermione interjected, "most of those languages are so 'dead' that no one possibly could know how they were spoken!"
"Hey, don't ask me for fine details, Hermione," Harry responded. "If you'll forgive a crude metaphor, I was only the piano player in that particular whorehouse! As a bystander, I had no idea what they really were saying. But, what I saw with my own eyes was that the feather literally flowed through the wood of Voldemort's wand and back to Fawkes' tail, whereupon he performed his immolation and rebirth routine."
"Very interesting," said Hermione.
"Finally, Mr. Ollivander plucked the wand from the ashes and handed it to me. Professor Dumbledore assured me that what I had seen had happened, and that the wand now was nothing but a piece of wood and was completely harmless in a magical sense. I asked Mr. Ollivander if he wanted it, but he just smiled and indicated that it was mine, and that I should consider keeping it as the ultimate magical conversation piece."
"I suppose you're right," said Hermione. "After all, those four wizards are among the very oldest and most knowledgeable ones alive today."
Harry refilled their glasses, and they lapsed back into quiet appreciation of the rich white Burgundy. After another prolonged silence, Hermione spoke again.
"Mmmm, this is inordinately good."
"Indeed, it is," said Harry.
"Harry, why do you make it so easy for the gossipmongers?" asked Hermione.
"What do you mean?" said Harry.
"Well, if you didn't publicly date every young witch with a chest size larger than her IQ, or with a burning desire to have 'Harry Potter Was Here' tattooed on her bum, then what would they have to write about?" said Hermione.
"They'd still write whatever they felt like, and far too many of their devoted readers would accept every word as revealed truth," Harry answered. "Hermione, you're a decent and honest person, but you've been insulated in the academy from the real world for too long."
"But - " Hermione started, but Harry continued.
"Almost no one with an IQ larger than her chest size, or in the case of a male, his penis length, actually reads or writes most tabloid trash," said Harry. "To put it bluntly, readers and the writers who pander to them are gullible fools for the most part."
"Harry, you're wrong. There are not that many people like that," replied Hermione.
"Really? Have you run across any crumple-horned snorkacks recently?" asked Harry.
"Are you citing Luna Lovegood as evidence? How many others are like her?" Hermione replied.
"Well, let's try a somewhat stronger example. I seem to recall one year at Hogwarts when a large number of intelligent folks were well and truly suckered by the wizarding equivalent of a Muggle snake oil salesman," said Harry.
"Who are you talking about?" asked Hermione.
"I refer to the female student admirers of the distinguished Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher of our second year, the former best-selling braggart and liar, Gilderoy Lockhart," said Harry.
"Oh," said Hermione, beginning to blush slightly.
"OH?" said Harry, with a grin. "So, you do remember otherwise perfectly sensible young witches getting the tops of their desks wet from their drooling, and possibly the seats a bit moist from a different bodily secretion. Is it true that some of them needed to change their knickers after DADA classes, possibly including the smartest and most level-headed second year witch of all?"
"I . . . I resent your insinuation," said Hermione, with a giggle accompanying her blushing face.
"Hmmm, " said Harry. "You resent it, but you don't deny it!"
"For heaven's sakes, Harry," said Hermione, "you're talking about teenagers and even pre-teen girls!"
"Aha! Case closed!" said Harry triumphantly. "And they accuse boys and men of thinking with their 'small heads' only!"
"Okay, Harry, I think I get your point. Since you're certain that you'll be damned in the press whether you do or don't, you might as well do . . . at least the enjoyable things."
"Ten points, Miss Granger!" said Harry
"Still, why haven't you found some wonderful girl to settle down with every night?" asked Hermione.
"Well, that both is and is not my problem. A few nights each week I do settle down with a girl I hope will be wonderful. Unfortunately, it's usually a different one each time, and only very rarely are any of them even close to being wonderful," Harry said.
"But, there must have been someone special among your conquests, or even some yet 'unconquered' woman worthy of special feelings," said Hermione.
A different dreamy expression appeared on Harry's face, but he said nothing. An awkward silence continued, during which Harry emptied the remaining contents of the bottle into their glasses. They exchanged smiles, and Harry got a thoughtful expression on his face. Hermione simply watched him.
Finally, Harry ended the silence so suddenly that his excited voice almost caused Hermione to drop her glass.
To be continued . . .
A/N: Chapter Two will be entitled "Truth, with Tears," and will be posted very soon. All three chapters have been written, and only very minor revision and proofing remain.