Author's note: To the reader who said that Harry was bumbling. The comment's duly noted! There's still a bit of that here, but after Harry's heartbreaking talk with her, I'd expect Harry is beginning to realize that he had cut her enough slack.
I've made a compilation of the questions you've all been asking me, with the proper answers, of course. You can check it out in my LJ here: Quill-Pushing Geek. You might catch something in there. You never know!
Lady Diamond had excellent timing sending this. ^_^ Thank you Lady Diamond!
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter rating: R
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Chapter Fifth: Spar
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Harry ducked from his doppelganger's swing and threw a punch that connected with the dummy's side. Harry followed it up by throwing an elbow to his face. His elbow landed on the dummy's nose with a crunch and if Harry had configured the simulation-spell to react to pain, the dummy would've been on its knees right now, clutching at its injury, but Harry figured he didn't need a sparring partner that complained or got defeated by pain. He had a lot of pent up frustrations to let out and the longer his opponent could keep going, the better.
The dummy did a three hundred sixty degree turn in an attempt to catch Harry from behind, but Harry grabbed his wrist just in time, twisted his arm and subsequently snapped it, complete with the sickening sound of breaking bone. There was no pain etched on the dummy's face, but the rest of him reacted realistically enough for Harry to make his follow through. He knocked the dummy's feet from beneath it and sent it crashing to the floor. Harry planted his knee on the dummy's back and grabbed the other arm, forcing the dummy's wrists together behind him while Harry cast a binding spell to incapacitate him.
Harry moved back to the edge of the practice-mat as the life-like visage of the dummy faded into its true self: screwed together round and cylindrical pieces of wood.
Panting from his last exertion, Harry took a few seconds to recover his breath as he unceremoniously wiped the sweat from his brow with the collar of his shirt. He had already worked up a sweat from his rather intense warm up, but sparring was what really pushed him.
He looked briefly at the leather punching bag hanging towards the back of the large room. It hung still with no evidence of the beating Harry gave it only twenty minutes ago. The names of the worse Death Eaters were scribbled by permanent "magic" marker on the bag's surface: Antonin Dolohov, Lucius Malfoy, Agustus Rookwood, Rodolphus Lestrange, Fenrir Greyback, Rabastan Lestrange, Walden Macnair and even Bellatrix Lestrange. Especially Bellatrix Lestrange.
"Psycho spell-damaged bitch…" Ron had muttered as he scribbled: Bellatrix sucks You-Know-Who's You-Know-What.
She was, by all accounts, Voldemort's right-hand, surpassing even Lucius. Lucius was useful, but Bellatrix was trustworthy, from Voldemort's point of view, at least. Harry just thought she was psychotic.
So the punching bag had suffered abuse from everyone who happened to use the home gym. Even Tonks liked giving the bag a piece of her mind.
But as satisfying as it was to "let the Old Bag have it" (a rather off-color joke that Remus told during the full-moon, after which Tonks blatantly ignored him for the better part of a whole week… full-moon or not, she didn't have to stand for it), the split second decision-making practiced in a good spar was ultimately more life saving, and given that Harry's dummy was patterned after himself, it couldn't get any better.
Harry reset the dummy and it was up again, trading punches, arm locks, and take downs, knees and elbows, and the occasional kick. Harry had once set the dummy to employ every means necessary to incapacitate him. He learned quickly enough that setting no parameters had the dummy aiming and landing kicks to his family jewels. There was-Harry said-no need to go that far. He limited the use of ball-busting kicks instead of disabling it completely because, after all, someone was bound to use it on him one of these days and he had to know how to deflect, dodge, and, if the kick connected, go on fighting in spite of the pain.
Twice a week, Harry opted to spar with swords, turning up the speed. He limited the fatality option, though. He didn't want his head sliced off in training, not to mention the headlines on the Daily Prophet: Harry Potter Slain: Dummy Decapitates Dummy!
Exclamation point. Because Lord knows they'd forget the exclamation point.
And so Harry lost himself to the dance, welcoming the distraction it gave him from his hurt (shattered, really) feelings of Hermione's cold treatment of him. He didn't have to think of her now, and he didn't have to think about what would or had become of them. He could get to all the important Order concerns later, after he'd trained.
He didn't know how long he'd been at it when he heard a sound at the door. He wasn't going to break his concentration, but he saw her at the corner of his eye and his focus went poof.
The dummy socked him on the jaw, kneed him in the gut and elbowed him on the back.
Harry fell gasping on the floor, shocked by the brutality of his doppelganger. The dummy was already preparing to kick him while he was down when Harry managed to rasp out, "Finite incantatem!"
The dummy re-transfigured itself, back to its original form. It crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Harry caught his breath, the heat rising in his cheeks not necessarily induced by pain and exhaustion.
It was while he struggled to recover that he heard her voice from the sidelines. "Alright there, Harry?"
She didn't sound as concerned at he would have liked.
Pushing himself off the floor and panting for breath, Harry nodded, ignoring the tingling on his face, gut and spine as he tried to get up with reasonable dignity. "Never better," he managed to say.
He looked up at her and saw that she had an amused smirk on her lips as her eyes roved over him.
He was too embarrassed by his faux pas to relish the fact that she was checking him out. He frowned. "Enjoying yourself, are you?"
She crossed her arms over her chest, arching an eyebrow. The smirk persisted. "You were doing quite well. What happened?"
"D'you have to ask me that?"
"Yes. I'm a vampire. I thrive on constant affirmation."
Harry sighed, walking gingerly to one of the benches and picking up his towel as he sat. He ran the towel over his face and head just before draping it over his shoulder and drinking from his water bottle. He didn't feel much like answering her question. "So… came to finish what you started? Grind my heart to finer bits, maybe? Think you missed a spot?"
He found it surprisingly easy and-as Ron so aptly put-cathartic.
She had the grace to look ashamed of herself before accepting it with a resigned nod. "Feel better?"
"Hell, no. I'm just getting warmed up for another fight. I'm training, you see."
"Right," she said with a barely discernible sigh. "Speaking of fight training… I shouldn't have been able to distract you so easily, even if I had walked in here wearing nothing but my boots."
He gave her a pointed eyebrow arch. Smooth, Hermione. Nice distraction. He decided to bite, for the meantime. "Tall order, but if you're willing to run that by me for real and see if I could manage, I'm all for it. You know me: Always up for the challenge."
She stared at him, blinking rapidly. It was the only indication that she was surprised at all. "My, my… didn't even blush when you said that."
Harry decided he would let her try to figure that out. He changed the subject. "It's almost sunrise. Shouldn't you be getting ready to sleep?"
If she was aware of the change, she didn't make a show of it. "It's an hour, yet, and if I have to endure one more second of Lucien and Solomon's idiotic banter about-"
"Who's uglier?"
"Heard that, did you?"
He shrugged. "It was entertaining."
"Ugh. You should hear their Your Mother Is So Fat routine. It's disgusting."
At this point, Harry wondered if he could lull her into a false sense of security before springing her with the heavy, angst-ridden stuff.
"So… how did you meet them?" he asked, taking this time to recover from the beating his body and pride had just taken. "Rampaging troll?"
She cast him a dry look. "Nothing like that. Solomon and I were training partners. I was training for the Coven and he was training for the Brotherhood of Ramses. He was my first vamp friend."
"I thought Cicero was."
She shook her head. "Cicero was important to me, but he wasn't my friend. He was my therapist."
Harry nodded. "And so Solomon was your first vamp friend. Go on."
"We worked well together, and just before we finished training, he had decided he was going to go where I went. The Coven and the Brotherhood are affiliated, so it wasn't really much of a problem making the transfer official. Solomon's the nicest vampire I know. Relative to our kind, of course. He could still be a pretty vicious killer…"
Harry conceded it with a slight tilt of his head. "Sure. And Lucien? Where'd you pick him up?"
"You sound like my dad when I brought home ugly stray cats from school."
"Well," he said thoughtfully. "Cats, I like. It's those pesky vampires that get to me."
"Right. Lucien was sort of a stray cat. He showed up at the front door of our flat all shivering and horrifying. He really did look like a decaying corpse."
"Whose flat?"
"Mine and Solomon's."
And just like that, she had sprung the angst-ridden stuff on him.
He took a deep breath to steady that flash of jealousy and resentment that had been building on imaginary images for years. "You lived together," he managed to say in a controlled voice.
Her expression didn't change. "Not romantically. We tried that. It didn't work."
That's just wonderful. Malfoy, you sick son-of-a-bitch, you knew, or you did whatever the hell you did when you want to sow mistrust and intrigue and heartbreak. "When you say tried-"
"We'd been friends for a year and a half at the time and he-well, he just asked me out. So we went out, and as the rule goes, third date is for sex-"
There's a rule? thought Harry incredulously.
"-but it… we couldn't do it."
Harry was definitely in the mood to be spiteful. "What's the matter? He couldn't get it up?"
She shot him a scowl. "There's nothing wrong with his equipment."
It was said with such certainty-with every connotation of having proven this to be true beyond a sliver of doubt-that Harry instantly knew that he had brought this particular scourge upon himself. He didn't need details like that. Hearing her talk about another ex-boyfriend was painful enough.
"In fact," she continued, glaring at him malevolently. "It was working quite well when we were snog-"
"Well, that's all very interesting," he said hastily, his voice a tad pitched. "But you can move along, if it's all the same to you."
She sniffed haughtily before continuing. "We waited too long, perhaps. It felt wrong. Kind of like how it probably would have been for me and Ron. Besides, Lucien was already around to make it… very unromantic. The stupid love songs really killed it."
Harry realized that all of a sudden, Lucien wasn't as bad as he thought. "Lucien had been with you for how long already then?"
"Six months. When I first took him in, I just-well, I don't know. He was alone, and sick. I felt sorry for him. I said I would only let him stay until he was better and could go back out there on his own, but… well, obviously, he didn't leave and I suppose he'd grown on me."
He couldn't help it. What she said pleased him. "Always helping the needy and oppressed."
She turned away from him slightly. "Yes, well… I seem to have a thing for strays…"
He saw a flicker in her eyes, like a very painful memory struggling to break the surface. And then it was gone, her eyes gone cold again. He wanted that flicker of emotion back; evidence that she hadn't completely encased their past in thick ice.
What is it, Hermione? What had brought you such pain? Was that pain for me? Or was it for somebody else?
Before he could think more on it, she spoke. "I haven't really fought for any particular cause in the last five years. I've spent it ridding Europe of rogue vampires, werewolves and the humans who help them."
"Sounds like my job."
"It does, doesn't it? But I do it for the survival of my kind, so that nobody gets the bright idea of launching a worldwide campaign to exterminate us."
He looked at her thoughtfully. "Is that why Yasmin is considering joining this war? Because she doesn't want the separatists giving humans a reason to kill you all?"
"That's part of it," she replied, nodding gravely. "But mostly, I think Yasmin still believes in keeping things balanced. There's a reason why vampire forefathers didn't just take over the world by turning everyone they could. Humans are essential to vampire prosperity; our quality of life means everything to us. We're vain and materialistic. We can't help it, but aside from humans supplying us with blood, having too many vampires dilutes the mystique, and we don't want that. The mystique makes it possible for us to strike fear; to fascinate; to mesmerize… there is great power in all that, and power is the only thing that vampires crave just as much as blood. Power gives us a great many things that make our immortal lives worth living. Humans need not be conquered and enslaved to give us what we need, and ultimately, making it an issue complicates matters. Letting humans live their lives as usual makes them better for it. We are better for it. Living in harmony with humans gives us more power in the long run. Taking over humanity is a poor utilization of valuable resources, if not a short-lived power high."
"Sounds like you have a cause."
"Not exactly the same as freeing elves. You didn't see me killing wizards because they kept elves in their homes."
Harry conceded the point, letting his resentment share space with his sheer need to reconnect with her on some level. He watched her for a moment, gauging how she felt about her so-called job. He needed to know if he could still read her in spite of the impassive mask she put on. He could barely make it out, but he still knew some of her, even if a lot of her might have changed. He brought up something that had been nagging him for years. "You didn't want this job before, did you? When you first got back from the hospital after you were turned, you told me that a woman had offered you a job you might consider. It was Yasmin, wasn't it? And you talked to Yasmin soon after that. It was why you knew her and her Blood Kin in the forest."
She seemed slightly astonished. "You remember all that?"
"I keep a pensieve."
"Clever of you. And to answer your question about Yasmin, yes, I did talk to her before I met her in the forest. I spoke to her that night I got back from St. Mungo's. You and Ron were asleep at the time."
He gave a bitter snort. "As my luck would have it, of course."
"And yes," she continued, ignoring his comment. "I didn't want this job before, but perhaps not for the things you'd expect of me. I did tell Yasmin at first that I didn't want to be in the business of killing anyone, even vampires, but my main reason at the time was that accepting the job would take me away from you and Ron. Not in the physical sense, of course. When I was speaking to her, I assumed that the training would be somewhere in London, where I could go home to Grimmauld Place every morning after training. So it wasn't about moving somewhere and leaving you. It was about my humanity; about clinging to it. Affiliating myself with the Coven meant I was embracing my vampirism and alienating you and Ron from my world. I wasn't ready to do that. I wasn't ready to give up my humanity completely. Besides that, I didn't like it that Yasmin was implying how, sooner or later, I would have to give up on you, as if it was some logical outcome. As it turned out she was right about you, my life, my vampirism… and I don't have that many qualms about taking lives, either. I am what I am. The after-death was a lot less complicated when I accepted that."
"Well, you've succeeded in alienating us, quite well."
She furnished a bitter smile of her own. "You know me. I couldn't allow myself to fail at anything."
"Oh? Our relationship wasn't exactly Nobel Prize worthy, if you ask me."
Her eye twitched ever so slightly. "Our relationship didn't fail. It ended. As far as I was concerned, I did the right thing for you breaking it off."
"The right thing for me? The right THING? Let me explain something to you, Hermione. Before you decided to do the right thing, I'd lost my parents, my godfather, my mentor and a whole chunk of what was supposed to be a happy childhood, not to mention the fact that whether I wanted it or not, the weight of the entire wizarding world was-and still is, mind you-on my shoulders, so excuse me if I'm a bit insistent that you make me understand how you, the woman I love and the proverbial light of my dark, dreary life, decided the right thing for me was to fucking leave me while I was in a fucking coma and saddling someone else-RON-with the burden of telling me you'd gone. I don't think I have to fucking tell you that I'm still rather fucking sore about it, because you fucking understand, don't you? You're the brightest fucking witch of our age!"
Well, that had felt good. The profanity, in particular, made it extremely satisfying.
She frowned, which was-Harry thought-an incredibly put together reaction. He had expected that she would slap him for that last bit, but she didn't. She just stood there and took it. "I thought the letter explained it all."
Unbelievable! She's bringing up the letter! "Ahaha!" His mechanical laugh morphed into a sneer. "You have got to be kidding me."
She shifted, her expression unchanging though she turned away for a brief moment, as if she wanted nothing more than to yell at him but had decided she wouldn't. "My life before I left for the Coven was all about you, Harry. Everything I did from the moment I woke up, was about you. Would you like what I was wearing? Was my hair pretty enough for you? Would I make a breakthrough from the books so I could help you better? Would I come up with a brilliant plan to save your life? How did you like your eggs? What potion would be most useful in a fight against a Dark Wizard? It was all about you, and it was so intense that I was willing to put everything off about my life just so I could be assured that I would be able to save yours."
If she wanted him to feel better, it wasn't happening. In fact, it made him feel worse, because he had been on the receiving end of her devotion, and he knew how wonderful and precious it was. To know what he was missing was almost more than he could bear. "So is that why you left? You wanted to find yourself?"
She snorted. "Of course not. I chose that obsession. It's what made me tick, actually, and I never resented you for it. Never. I loved loving you that way. I didn't leave to find myself. It's not that simple. I left because I was becoming like that, for you. I was becoming your obsession, and knowing how intense my feelings for you were, I couldn't begin to fathom the intensity of your feelings for me, because that's just it, Harry. You do things ten times more than everyone else when you put your mind to it, and your intensity is a force in itself. I couldn't begin to measure it; understand its extent, not until I realized you were willing to sacrifice your life and Ron's just so I don't come to any harm. I know you just wanted to protect me Harry, but I knew then I was twisting you. I was already turning you into something that could destroy you and everybody else. I was your weakness, and a very dangerous one at that. I tried to make you see it, but you just insisted on being blind to it all. I wasn't good for you anymore."
Harry stubbornly shook his head. "You could've spoken to me about it!"
"I tried, but you didn't want to hear it!"
"Are you talking about that time you were medium-rare in the dungeon? Or maybe you forgot that Remus and Ron were there to hear all of it? It wasn't exactly good timing to bring it up and talk about it, Hermione."
"That may be true, but every time we got close enough to talking about the more unpleasant issues of our relationship, we'd both be unbelievably tense because one or both of us would blow up if we said the wrong thing. Someone almost always ended up walking out or yelling if we weren't shagging each other into oblivion. And when we came to some kind of decision, like your supposed resolve to 'give me space', you just went on ahead and conveniently abandoned it when I didn't give you what you wanted."
He made an annoyed sound. "You mean in the forest? Oh, come on. I just said it at the time. And for your information, it was not the time to invoke the Giving You Space card. It really wasn't."
She gave him a snooty frown, cocking her hip as she place a hand on it. "Whatever, Harry. The fact remains I left for everyone's good."
For everyone's good. He ruffled his already messy hair irritably. "Somehow, I didn't feel the benefits of this supposed heroic act of abandonment."
"What have you been doing in the last five years, Harry?" she asked.
The question felt a tad non sequitur. "What do you mean what have I been doing? Trying to find you, is what I've been doing!"
"When you weren't trying to find me."
What's all this got to do with our relationship? "Stuff!"
"What STUFF? Did you lounge around in your alans, scratching yourself? Hung out in the local pub everyday? Collected stamps? Bummed on a beach? Took joy rides on your broom?"
"What are you-of course not! I-well, I got a job. I had to get a job even with this stupid war-"
"You're an auror. I was wondering about that. How did you qualify if you skipped seventh year?"
"I'm not completely stupid, you know."
"I never thought you were stupid, but tell me how you managed the academic requirements of the job, Harry."
He snorted derisively but answered. "Doing research for the horcruxes, I picked up a lot of things in two years. When you check cross-references, you sometimes have to read this book and that book for the short passages to make the slightest bit of sense…"
She nodded. "So you were forced to learn, and in two years, you had enough knowledge, theoretical and practical, to manage N.E.W.T.s."
He shrugged.
"And so you made auror. I'm not surprised at all. And the horcruxes-you found some of them?"
He paused, now really wondering what she was getting at. "All but one. Your research was phenomenal."
"Well, I'm glad it helped." She looked a bit surprised, herself. Perhaps she was even proud, of him, or herself.
"Helped? It was the very foundation of the entire search. You were right about the patterns, about how the horcruxes corresponded to Voldemort's values, and how the Founder objects represented those values. The cup we knew about, but Ravenclaw's…"
"Compass Rose?"
"Yeah."
She grinned, pleased. "That was a wild guess, just now. So my research was handy, but it was incomplete. You picked up where I left off, and that's really impressive."
"I had help. I put in a lot of work, but McGonagall was there, and Remus. Even Arthur pitched in with his Ministry connections. It took all of us to do in two years what you alone might have done in a much shorter time."
"Purely assumption. So you've found all but one."
"Gryffindor's has eluded us."
"D'you have an idea on what it is?"
"I have reason to believe it's not a suit of armor, or a shield, or anything like that. Those are muggle symbols of defense."
She smirked. "Excellent deduction, Harry."
"It's a wand. Or a magical staff. I would almost swear on it."
She seemed to give it some thought. "Highly possible. And the horcruxes you've found; you've destroyed them?"
"Yes. It was a bit complicated… we used a potion for the locket. Lord, but the explosion it caused… McGonagall would've docked a thousand points apiece from Ron, Remus and I if we were students. She was so mad."
"Where did you-"
"Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch. If we didn't have our brooms, we would've been very dead… in a million pieces. Or badly burned. The little bugger took out half the pitch…"
"Well, I did suppose the horcrux always demanded a price…"
"There-" Harry coughed. "-was no Quidditch cup that year."
"Must've been horrible," she said dryly.
She never did care much for Quidditch.
"So the potion was a poor solution," she continued. "How did you destroy the cup and compass?"
"It was in your research notes."
"Was it? I don't remember that."
"Well, you mentioned soul suckers, actually. You made a note. A funny one."
Her brows knotted, trying to remember. "I'm not following you-"
"The note said that if only Draco was as good at sucking souls as he was wont to seem, maybe we ought to shove Slytherin's locket down his throat and see if he could extract Voldemort's soul while he was gagging on it."
She seemed to remember and she laughed melodiously, her eyes dreamy as if to reminisce. "Ah, yes. I was daydreaming as I wrote that… good times."
"Yes, well, it gave us the idea about Dementors-"
"Sucking the soul out of the horcruxes," she finished for him. "That's brilliant."
"Yeah, in theory, but we had to get a Dementor first, and we had to contain it, and-"
"You had to get it hungry enough to settle for scraps, in which case it wasn't even certain it would suck from something inanimate; lifeless. How'd that go?"
He stifled a smirk, stopping himself from pointing out that she was finishing his sentences, like she used to. "It didn't. We couldn't catch us a Dementor, but we did manage to find a creature that's even better for the job. We could thank Charlie for trapping one."
"Charlie… was he in Romania when he trapped it?"
Harry smiled slightly. Well, of course she'd figure it out. "Yes."
"It was a Strigoi, wasn't it? They're native to Romania, and Strigoi feed on life essences, from human and inanimate things."
He nodded. Strigoi was a life-sucking creature, kin to dementors and vampires, only they tended to settle in one area, usually near a farm where there were people, animals, and crops. They would stay there for weeks, slowly draining life from everything around it. Usually, human and animal epidemics, or failed harvests, could be attributed to them. There weren't many strigoi, but once it was determined that they were present, they were easy enough to find. They acted on instinct more than intelligence, survival more than malice. "Charlie caught it while it was in its animal form. He brought the thing here and we put the cup in with it. It didn't even need any stimuli or anything like that. It just went ahead and drained the cup of what little vitality the soul contained. We still had to use the potion to destroy the object completely, but at least it didn't explode like it first did. It just fizzled and caught on fire, but that was as bad as it got. It worked for the compass, too."
"Where is the Strigoi, now?"
"It's in a lead holding cell in the Ministry. It's on a plant diet. It doesn't look very happy, but the only reason we're keeping it alive is for when we find the last horcrux. And then when its use is done…"
"You'll kill it. You have to. It's a menace."
"It's rather cold-blooded to do that, but releasing it back out in the wild is out of the question, and it's not exactly an ideal pet."
She nodded. "Seems to me, Harry, that you've done quite a lot in five years without me."
His easy mood soured again and he scowled. "That's a moot point. I could've done all that while you were here, anyway. We could have found the horcruxes sooner."
She shrugged. "Maybe, but what difference does that make? Voldemort's been hiding; postponing your face-off for when he has his vicious little army completed. In the meantime, while he's sending his foot soldiers to wreak havoc all over Europe, you've become an auror and consequently a more powerful and skilled wizard."
"I still could've been an auror with you around."
"I disagree. You wouldn't have bothered so much with the books and theories if I had been around to do it for you and Ron. You would have been taught and trained to improve your skill, yes, but admit it… the training you've received to become an auror and the self-taught theories you've amassed in your head was ten-times more effective at increasing your magical powers and skills than any spoon-feeding they may have done for you."
Harry stood, glaring at her. "I would've been a hundred times better than this if you had been around. My mum made me more powerful that night Voldemort tried to kill me."
"The power of love… she did it for love. So did I, Harry. And guess what, she couldn't stay, either."
He couldn't move; couldn't speak. He knew, in the back of his head, that it was all just semantics, but he had to admit that her delivery had him stumped. "She didn't have a choice," he said softly.
"Neither did I." She looked at her watch. "I have to go. It's almost sunrise. But we'll talk again, Harry. I still have many questions for you, after all. I'll see you tomorrow night."
With that, she left.
He wanted to go after and tell her that she did have a choice but he had heard it in her tone-had seen it in her eyes-that she most certainly hadn't thought so.
None of the night's discussion had made him feel better about her leaving, but he did realize that arguing about what could have, or should have been done, was useless.
Time to let that issue rest, Potter. Move forward. Things have changed, now. Reevaluate your objectives. She's here. You still love her, and even if it seems she has stopped caring, there are moments when you think she still does…
So, what about it, Potter? You've set your sights on that golden snitch. Now, what are you going to do?
Do you have to ask? Go after it.
And then?
And then catch it.
Easy, right?
Well… I don't know about that…
So it's not easy. That going to stop you?
Has it ever?
Hell, no.
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Harry woke the following afternoon with a cold nose nudging his cheek.
Peeling his eyes open, he pushed Crookshank's face away.
Crookshanks gave a miserable wail, hissing and spitting as Harry pushed himself out of bed.
Harry had to wonder what he'd done this time. "It's the vamps, isn't it?"
This time, Crookshanks yowled definitively.
Harry didn't speak cat, nor did he speak kneazle, but having listened to Crookshanks whinge and beg and demand, he knew a thing or two about what the beast was trying to say. It didn't mean Harry was at the little bugger's beck and call, though.
"The vamps stay," he said, plodding about his room to prepare his things for the day. "And besides, you ungrateful little beast, one of them is Hermione. You remember her, don't you? The human who plucked you from abandonment and took care of you for almost five years of your sorry arse life?"
Crookshanks sat there looking up at him, tail whipping and perhaps not caring a whit about what Harry was saying.
"I'm talking to a cat," Harry said to him. "I'm going nutters. I ought to kill you and plead insanity."
The feline said nothing, letting Harry's own words condemn him.
Sighing, Harry left him on the bed so he could prepare for the day.
He showered, dressed and made a stop at the kitchen.
There were two stickies on the chill-box door and both were for him. The first note said, "Had a talk with Hermione. Didn't exactly kiss and make up, but I reckon it'll be fine for now. Ron. P.S. I told her I don't trust her."
Harry didn't even want to think about what that meant.
The second note was from Remus: "Arranged THE meeting for tomorrow. Details on where, to follow."
Harry incinerated the note midair after he'd read it.
There were several hours left yet before he had to leave for work, so he ran his errands. It was when he got home and was getting ready to write his reports when he heard the incessant tapping of something on the kitchen windowpane.
It was Henry's raven, and the note it carried was signed in the name of Henry's werewolf, Dorcas. After having read the note, Harry cursed and frantically lit the floo.
"Finnigan!" Harry called, not caring in the least what kind of racket he caused. He called again, louder this time, and soon enough, his partner's face came into view, looking like he'd just crawled out of bed.
"It's barely four in the afternoon, Potter. It's too early!" he complained.
"We have to go to Winchester, now. I got a tip from a reliable source that something's going to go down-"
Seamus groaned. "Well, then, I'd be a wanker if I didn't go with you, now, wouldn't I?"
"It's Order business, Finnigan. So get a move on. We haven't got much time."
"Floo on over here, then. Give me ten minutes to get ready."
"Five!"
"Fine! Feckin slave driver… "
"Be ready when I get there."
Harry sent a messenger spell to Tonks, telling her to bring Order reinforcements to Winchester. He classified the operation as covert. With the message sent, he armed himself before he flooed to Seamus's flat, which was neater than one would expect of a bachelor. Ron's theory was that Seamus kept it clean so that the many women he brought home with him wouldn't be incensed by the mess. "As the bishop said to the prostitute: She'll stick around for 'tea'." Ron had said.
Ultimately, Harry couldn't care less why Seamus kept his pad spic and span.
Seamus got ready in record time, especially with Harry tapping his foot in the living room. And thus armed, they apparated to Winchester where Harry led them to the place that changed the course of his and Hermione's life as they knew it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Where are we going?" Seamus asked, matching Harry's brisk pace as they hurried up the street of the upper middle-class neighborhood. At that time of the day, a few muggle folks were already headed back from work. There were children, too, their school bags strapped to their backs as they walked home in groups.
"The Granger house," Harry replied, casting a disillusionment charm on them both. The strange sensation of the spell trickled coldly down his skin and he noted that Seamus shuddered unhappily.
"Granger? As in Hermione Granger?"
"Yes."
"Ho boy… this is going to be bad, isn't it?"
"Probably… I expect it won't be pleasant."
As they approached the house, Harry pulled Seamus through the backyard hedges, occasionally casting more spells to hide their presence or let them easily through the fences. Seamus had to struggle to keep up since he didn't possess the same fluid ease Harry had casting so many charms in such quick succession.
One house away from the Granger home, Harry stopped in his tracks and gingerly peered through the thick wall of leaves, pushing a hole through the tangle with his wand. There was no one in the backyard.
Harry cast deterring charms all around, hoping he wasn't unduly inconveniencing anybody with it, particularly the owners of the house.
He and Seamus stumbled through the hedge and quietly settled themselves against the hedge closest to the Granger backyard.
"Nice digs," Seamus remarked, after having seen the house over the leaves.
"Both her parents were dentists," Harry whispered while he surveyed the Granger backyard. "That's a lucrative profession if you're a muggle, and she was an only child."
"Not surprised, really. Lavender said Granger always had piles of new books by her bed at the dorms. And she had the best stuff, even if they were probably turtle necks and those conservatively long skirts…"
Harry frowned. He couldn't help himself. "What's that supposed to mean, Finnigan?"
Seamus shrugged. "Well, you have to admit… she was rather uptight and frigid."
It wasn't the time, but Harry did feel the need to defend Hermione on this matter. She was not uptight, and she was definitely not frigid. "Shut it, you! You don't know a thing about her. And if she seemed uptight or frigid to you, it's only because she reserves all her warmth and affection for me and Ron."
"You mean reserved, right?"
"That's what I said. Past tense. Now be quiet!" Harry directed his wand to the house. "Amplificare."
Seamus frowned but settled down, casting his own spell to listen in.
At first they heard nothing, and then Harry could hear a splashing noise, like someone was spilling bottles of water on the floor.
"That ought to do it," said one whose voice Harry didn't recognize. "Did you douse the basement?"
"Yeah," said another.
"All the way down?"
There was a pause. "I doused the stairs and threw down the can."
"Look, here, our instructions were-"
"I'm not going down there in the dark at this time of the day. It's growing too late."
"The sun's still up! They're not going to wake up!"
"Oh, you're sure about that? You've seen them rise even when the sun's still out. So long as the sun don't get 'em, they could very well wake up and murder you. You go down there if you're so sure about their schedule."
"You're an idiot! The stairs stink of petrol! If I go down there, it'll get on me and-oh, forget it. Hand me your lighter."
"Use your own bloody lighter."
Harry cursed.
"They're going to torch the place," Seamus said. "Should we stop them?"
As much as Harry wanted to save Hermione's childhood home, he had to let the house go. If he wanted the enemy to think all had gone according to plan, even for just a short time, the house had to burn.
"No," Harry said. "We have to let them do it, and when they come out, I'll spring them."
"Don't you mean we'll spring them?"
"No, I will. You are going to call the fire department. We don't need a whole street of houses burning down. Go!"
Seamus didn't argue, as Harry knew he wouldn't. There were only two perpetrators, and Seamus knew Harry could handle them. Rather than argue pointlessly about who was going to do what, Seamus preferred affirmative action, even if it meant Harry got all the action while he did the boring, affirmative stuff, like calling the fire department to avert the danger of lost homes.
As Seamus left to break into the house and use the phone, Harry reinforced his disillusionment spell and pushed through to the other side of the hedge. Crouching low, he waited for his quarry.
True enough, as soon as Harry smelled fire, the two arsonists spilled out of the back door.
Harry knew they weren't wizards from the onset, or else they would be using their wands to set the fire, not petrol and lighters, but they were hairier than the average bloke, which possibly meant they were werewolves. They weren't as strong in their human forms, but they were still stronger than average.
He already decided he was going to take them alive, but he couldn't allow either of them to get away.
Assessing the situation, Harry noted their size and girth. They were both broad shouldered. The taller one wore a turtleneck jumper underneath his black leather jacket while the other was clad in a blazer and jeans ensemble. They both looked tough and rugged; definitely not your average pansy-arsed punks.
The shorter one was about Harry's height, but stockier. That was the one Harry had to engage first. He had the element of surprise at his side and he should be able to incapacitate them both.
Moving furtively, Harry slipped the fingers of one hand through silver knuckles and secured his fist. The other hand gripped his crossbow, cocking it at the ready.
This is going to hurt them more than it's going to hurt me.
Harry emerged from the disillusionment charm, slamming his armed fist right into the stockier man's face. There was a crunch as bone broke, followed by the sizzling sound of burnt flesh. It confirmed that the man was a lycan, and Harry almost felt sorry for him.
The man howled in pain, stumbling back in the grass as he clutched at his nose. Harry let loose an arrow, aiming for the man's thigh. The arrow sank into the man's pants leg, smoking as the silver tip seared his blood.
Screaming, the man pulled the projectile out with a frantic tug, inflicting more pain on himself. He fell back on the grass, probably half-faint. His wounds weren't going to heal anytime soon. Silver wounded them as if they were ordinary human beings.
The taller one came at Harry after his initial surprise, taking out a gun.
A simple wingardium leviosa had the gun misfiring, sending the tall man in a panic. Harry grabbed the man by the wrist, and using the crossbow to reinforce his arm, Harry rammed the spine of it across the back of the man's elbow.
The snapping of bone had the man screaming in pain.
If he was a werewolf, the bone would reset in a minute or two.
Harry swept the man's knees from under him and the guy fell, face down on the patchy, unkempt lawn.
Pressing his knee on the man's spine, Harry twisted his captive's hands to his back, cuffed his wrists together with sturdy manacles and lifted him off the ground by the scruff of his neck. The other werewolf hadn't moved from his place, but he was breathing, blinking up at the sky.
Harry pushed the manacled werewolf to sit beside his partner as he quickly reloaded his crossbow and aimed it at his face.
By that time, the Granger house was blazing, black smoke rising through the air.
Harry cast a bubble charm around them, keeping the smoke away.
The crackling of breaking wood mingled with the sound of distant fire engines coming to douse the flames.
Seamus appeared with a pop, cursing and hissing as he helped Harry take the captives away from the inferno that once was Hermione's home.
Harry had his crossbow trained to the spine of the taller of the two while Seamus dragged the other with a crossbow trained to the neck.
The sound of sirens was overwhelming now, and if Harry wanted to keep his perpetrators, they had to get their captives away.
There were muggles all over the place now, and Harry cast a broad disillusionment charm for them to get away without notice. It was no struggle to hold the spell, but it was difficult to dodge bodies that were coming at them from all sides, especially because their supposed prisoners were uncooperative.
Harry braced himself to apparate the werewolf with him, hoping the muggle in the wolf wouldn't have the bright idea of going into a panic when the sensations of apparating hit him. If that happened, Harry could splinch the wolf, or splinch them both. Harry liked his limbs intact.
He was just about to tell Seamus to risk apparating when he felt the warmth of a misdirection charm.
Within seconds, they were surrounded by familiar faces, amongst them Tonks, Neville, Remus and Dean. Hannah Abbot and Ron held the charm steady.
Remus tossed Harry and Seamus vials containing sleeping draughts. "Ought to keep them docile for the trip."
Seamus popped the cork with his thumb and made easy work of shoving its contents down his prisoner's throat. He was out in a second.
Harry had a bit more trouble. As Dean and Neville held the struggling man by the arms, Harry grabbed him by the nose and pinched his nostrils closed. Sure enough, the werewolf had to open his mouth for air, and when he did, Harry tossed the potion in and pushed the man's jaws shut. Inevitably, the man swallowed and fell asleep.
From the corner of his eye, Harry could already see Ron getting ready to demand answers.
"I need a place to interrogate these blokes, Tonks," Harry hastily said.
She nodded, turning to discuss it with Remus.
"Bloody hell, Harry. What've you done this time?" Neville asked as he watched the house burning in the distance.
"That's what I'd like to know!" Ron cried, turning and leaving Hannah to maintain the charm by herself.
"Umm, some help, please?" Hannah said.
"Dean, give 'er a hand," said Ron without blinking.
Dean frowned. "Just because I'm dating your baby sister-"
"That's right, she's my baby sister, so if you know what's good for you-"
Seamus sighed, shooting his best friend and Ron an exasperated look. "Oh, for feck's sake, calm down you two! I'll do it if it's going to be a big bloomin deal."
Dean and Ron exchanged one last glare before they both transferred it to Harry.
Neville winced, casting Harry an apologetic look. "Sorry."
Harry sighed. "Not your fault. Look Ron, I'll explain everything later-"
"You better. And I'm thinking I'm not the one you'll have to explain your arse off to. Hermione's going to freak when she finds out you got her parents' house torched!"
Of all the idiotic-!
Sure enough, Tonks's and Remus's eyes swerved to him disapprovingly.
The others just looked a tad confused.
"It's-er-a spiritual thing," Harry explained desperately. "She'll-umm-freak from the beyond, you know? Next great adventure… and all that…"
Realizing his mistake, Ron's irritability dissipated and he muttered his agreement.
Seamus transferred his questioning gaze between Harry and Ron, forgetting that he was helping Hannah. "You two… need help."
"Seamus!" Neville hissed. "Don't be mean! We all deal with grief in different ways! Remember her memorial? You cried like a girl!"
Seamus looked horrified and Dean looked a bit embarrassed.
"He's right, you know," Dean muttered.
Seamus frowned. "Yes, well, it's been five years since!"
"Everyone!" Hannah squeaked. "D'you expect me to hold this charm alone?"
Neville sighed and helped her.
Harry shot Ron a glare.
Ron was just about to say something when Tonks and Remus finally turned to them.
Tonks produced a tattered old trainer and turned it into a portkey. "Everyone grab hold. Harry, Seamus, grab hold of the prisoners. Hannah, Neville, hands to the shoe!"
Touching the portkey, they got swept into the magical portal. In a second, they were transported to a dimly lit basement filled with what looked to be muggle junk.
The silence after all the chaos was deafening.
Harry found himself stuck between a painting and a very strange stone sculpture.
Heads rose from beyond the piles of strange objects as Harry's companions recovered from the disorientation of portkeying.
"Thanks for the pick-up," Harry said as he caught sight of Tonks. "Had things under control, but it was really chaotic out there. We couldn't have gotten away without problems with the muggle authorities."
Hannah picked cobwebs out of her hair as she made a face. "Where are we?"
"A forgotten storage room in the basement of the British Museum," Remus replied, dusting himself off.
Dean pushed a statue of a naked man off him. "The things I do for you, mate," he told Seamus.
Seamus sighed, nudging his chin in Harry's direction. "You can blame Sir Lancelot over there. This is not my fault."
"Yeah, well, that I can believe," Ron muttered, emerging from behind a covered mirror. "What the hell's going on, Harry?"
He bustled about, dragging the prisoners to one cleared out corner. "As much as I'd love to explain, I'm afraid Neville, Dean and Hannah couldn't be allowed to hear what I have to say."
Neville and Hannah just sighed helplessly, but Dean scowled.
"I didn't drag my arse over here to be your back-up just to let you nutcases kick me out the first chance you get!"
"Sorry, Dean," said Harry without batting an eyelash. "I'd kick Seamus out too, to tell you the truth, but he was the first person I called when I first caught the tip. It's only right he finds out exactly what's going on."
Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Fine," he muttered. "Whatever." He stalked off, grumbling.
Neville watched him go, distressed. He never liked it when his friends got upset.
Nudging him, Hannah had them both walking away. Before she left, she looked over her shoulder at them. "It would be nice to know, eventually," she said with a sweet, plaintive smile.
Harry sincerely wished he could let her in on the secret now but knew it was best to contain the information for the mean time. "Eventually, Hannah. I promise."
Satisfied, she nodded and led Neville further. Dean was waiting for them and after exchanging a few words, the three of them disappeared with distinct pops.
With the others gone, all attention was back on Harry.
"Well?" Ron said.
Harry surveyed the faces around him. Ron looked annoyed, Tonks looked anxious and Remus had his eyebrow raised questioningly. Seamus waited with a weary slump to his shoulders.
"Finnigan," Harry began. "There's something you need to know…"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry reappeared with Tonks, Remus and Ron in the living room of Grimmauld Place.
Sighing exhaustedly, Remus spoke first. "Well, Seamus took the news quite well, I think."
"You can thank Harry for that," muttered Ron. "Berk's gone numb from all the shite Harry's put him through."
"Well, Seamus has always been rather odd…" Tonks surmised out loud.
When Harry told Seamus the truth about Hermione, as a prerequisite to the interrogation of their perps of course, Seamus's first words were, "You mean, I cried at her memorial… for NOTHING? Fucken A! I made a complete pussy of myself in front of everyone for someone who wasn't even dead!" And so on and so forth.
Harry figured that with priorities like that, Seamus would either live longer than the rest of them or he'd be dead before he hit forty.
With the explanations more or less properly done, they woke their prisoners from their potion-induced slumber and conducted the interrogation.
As expected, they didn't know very much. They were merely told to go to the Granger home where it was determined that Hermione Granger and her Shadow Kin had sought sanctuary. They were to burn the house, effectively killing the vampires sleeping within it. All this, Harry had already determined even without having to ask them. He needed more information; something he didn't already know.
After the appropriate memory was extracted from their heads to study in a pensieve, Harry had to resort to what little legilimency he could manage.
He remembered thinking that he was so lacking in this skill that he was afraid he would drive one or both of their prisoners mad. And worse still, if he managed to destroy their minds and not get valuable information, he would have destroyed two lives for hardly any reason at all.
But they had little choice in the matter. The memories for the pensieve would be worth close examination, but it would only be valuable if they managed to extract the correct ones. There was the matter of memories they didn't want to share.
So Harry sat the smaller man down first. His name was Paul, and carefully parting the membrane of thoughts and emotions, he gently flipped through the pages of Paul's mind. There was little to be found there, at least to Harry's knowledge. He hoped that careful study in the pensieve would yield better conclusions.
The taller man, named David, came next, and while his head was a mess, he had more images of faces Harry knew. David, Harry found, was obsessed with Bellatrix Lestrange. This was disturbing, as Harry could never envision being attracted to such a psychotic bitch, no matter how hot she looked. David hung on to every word Bellatrix said. David got jealous when Bellatrix spoke to other men, other werewolves, other vamps. David desired to kill Bellatrix's husband. David believed the Dark Lord was fucking Bellatrix Lestrange.
Overall, Harry found it nauseating. And just when Harry decided there was nothing, there came something. Bellatrix and Voldemort were talking carelessly with one another while David stood around awaiting his final instructions. Voldemort's words were muddled, since David's focus was all on Bellatrix, but what words were clear struck Harry as significant. "Destroy the turner of time…"
It was most baffling. Harry had been under the impression that all the Time Turners had been destroyed, and that if Voldemort had one, he'd sooner keep it than have it destroyed.
The memory faded after that, and Harry could see no more. He pulled out of David's mind.
The legilimency hadn't done any damage to Paul. Harry had barely touched his thoughts mainly because there was hardly any potentially useful information there. David however, passed out the moment Harry pulled back. The man convulsed for about five seconds before he settled back down.
David was sent straight to St. Mungo's where the doctors determined that his mind was still intact, and that he would wake up with a bitch of a headache.
It was long past nightfall when they arrived in Grimmauld Place, and with the events of the evening, they all separated to make their respective reports. Tonks handed Harry the memories so he could study them further.
Before he headed to his study, he wondered whether he should make a stop at the dungeon, but thinking better of it, he headed to the library.
Sure enough, Hermione was there, seated on the large sofa chair with a huge book propped up on her lap. She looked immensely comfortable in her pleated miniskirt, even as it threatened to ride up her legs. She had set her boots aside in favor of curling up in the chair in her socks.
It was sad how those legs confounded him for a few seconds.
Solomon and Lucien lounged around her on the floor, engrossed in serious discussion about the finer points of a BMW.
Lucien grinned up at him, fangs glinting. "Back from work so soon? Couldn't stand to be away from her for so-ow!"
Solomon had, at that point, slapped him upside the head.
Hermione shot Lucien a glare before transferring her neutral gaze to Harry. "What's up?"
Harry took stock of his options and decided to tell them. "I had to run to Winchester this afternoon. I got a tip from Henry's werewolf that something was going to happen there. Two werewolves were sent to burn your parents' house down, preferably with you and your boys in it."
They stared up at him, processing his words.
It was Lucien who spoke first, snorting. "Good thing we moved here, then."
Solomon nodded. "Yeah, good thing. Listen, I think this is a good time to see if we can make our laptops work in this magic-infested house, don't you think?"
Lucien's eyebrow arched for a moment before he gave half a shrug. "Huh. Excellent idea."
With that, Lucien and Solomon left. Harry was a bit surprised they did this without Hermione's prompting. But, oh, weren't they sensitive to their alpha's needs?
Hermione hadn't moved from her seat. She hadn't removed her eyes from Harry, either.
Fidgeting a moment, he sat on the coffee table to face her. Back then, he would have taken her into his arms and offered her comfort, but now he wasn't so sure she would accept the gesture. Hesitantly, he put his hand on the armrest nearest to her shoulder.
"I'm sorry about your parents' house," he said softly. "I could have stopped them, but I wanted the enemy to think they'd succeeded. At least for the meantime."
She just nodded, her face impassive. "It was the right thing to do. Lucien's right, after all. Good thing we moved here."
No one was gladder than he was. "Was this an attack directed at Yasmin?"
She paused. "Possibly." She turned her attention back to her book, idly flipping the page over.
Harry took note of that hesitation and the averting of her eyes. Gently, he took the book away from her. He stalled her soft protest with the raising of his finger. He set the book behind him. "Rather redundant, don't you think? They already got her pissed off by offing Rashad and Abraham."
She was about to reply when he took her hand in his. He could see the momentary confusion in her gaze suddenly turn to ice.
"It does seem unnecessary, doesn't it?" she replied.
He studied her response briefly as he made circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. "I'd have been devastated. I've only just found you again. We've quite a bit of catching up to do, yet."
She seemed unfazed, but he could feel her subtly trying to get her hand out of his grasp. "Yes, well, don't hold your breath."
The hesitation, coupled with the cool reply… it was all making sense now. He was surprised to note that he knew her more than he realized. Yet, it was doubly astounding how he felt so much for her yet he managed to push through that hypnotic bog, studying her words and expression to draw conclusions-turn it into an interrogation.
"You know something," he said softly, staring intently into her honey-gold eyes even as he held her cold hand firmly in his grip.
She stopped struggling, but her jaw was set. She was growing furious if the rings in her eyes were any indication. "I know many things."
"You know something about this assassination. Tell me."
She frowned. "Well, you seem sure enough-"
"Stop playing games with me, Hermione. This is me. You trusted me once. Has that changed, too?"
"I wasn't the one playing games just now, Harry. Let go of my hand."
He wanted to sneer and ask her why. Did it make her feel uncomfortable? Or better yet, did it make her feel good? But he was never that vicious, so he released her and she tucked her hands back, so that he couldn't get to them.
"The question being," she continued as if they hadn't just engaged in a battle of wills. "Do you trust me?"
"Absolutely," he replied without hesitation.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. Whatever response she had been expecting, it hadn't been that. "Well, you shouldn't. We work on different sides, now."
"Not different sides; different realities, but do you really expect me to believe that you would ever betray me? Hurt me, yes. You earned that power when I fell in love with you. But betrayal? You can't. I earned that power when you fell in love with me."
Red rose in her cheeks. Her fury hadn't waned in the least, but she seemed quite properly stumped. The fact that she wasn't contradicting him made Harry feel giddy.
"When will we meet with the governing board?" she asked briskly.
"Tomorrow night."
"Good. We'll talk then. This hardly concerns them, but I'd rather get the ceremony done before we get to the important things."
"I see. In the meantime?"
"You do what you have to do. You have reports to make, don't you? And if I'm not mistaken, your little side-trip to Winchester wasn't Ministry sanctioned, so officially, you're late for work. Seamus must be worried. Or else Shacklebolt's teed off by your tardiness."
"Seamus was with us, today, and Shacklebolt's used to my tardiness. He knows that when I'm not at work, I'm doing something for the Order."
"Convenient. But what's he going to think when he finds out I've popped up again and am now living with you in Grimmauld Place?"
"He can think what he likes. There are worse things than being suspected of spending too much time with my ex-girlfriend."
"Indeed." She shrugged. She held her hand out. "May I get my book back now? I was reading that."
"Get it yourself." He didn't budge from his seat.
She glared at him. If she didn't leave her chair, she would have to reach around him, but leaving her chair meant she wasn't as blasé about their supposed non-relationship as she seemed to want to appear.
Just as he thought, she did the stubborn thing and kept herself firmly planted on her seat while she reached around him for her book.
He grinned, relishing the close proximity of her body. Her sweet scent blanketed his senses.
Her skirt hitched and he caught a glimpse of a thigh holster. Oh, what he would give to be that leather strap against that wonderful skin. He prayed to Merlin that the skirt would fall back just a bit more.
She caught her book and pulled away from him instantly, shooting him a frown. She shifted to conceal what bit of the holster had shown. "Force of habit," she said. "Arming ourselves all of our waking hours has saved our lives many times."
He gave a half-shrug. "Fascinating, but I wasn't looking at your gun."
She shot him a ferocious frown before reopening her book and pointedly making it seem like she was officially ignoring him so she could start reading again.
He couldn't resist. "Nice skirt," he said.
She tensed, replying a second too late. "Thank you. It's a Felise original."
He stifled a triumphant smirk. He didn't know who the hell Felise was, but that was hardly important. "Oh, Felise, is it? I'm a BIG fan."
Her eyes threw daggers at him. He secretly relished it.
Rising from his seat, he thought maybe he'd leave her alone. He did have to get quite a few things done, but perhaps some alone time would do both of them good.
He left, letting loose his smirk as he closed her into the library.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When the door of the library clicked shut, Hermione hastily checked to see if he had really left. He was gone and she finally let go of the tension building on her shoulders.
She was so furious!
He totally wasn't playing fair! Oooh, he knew what he was doing! That infuriating… FLIRT!
Who did he think he was, coming in here, doing and saying things…!
Bad enough he came to interrogate me, but was all that stuff in the end necessary?
Nice skirt, indeed.
Since when was Harry Potter so-so self-assured? Smug, arrogant…!
She growled, slamming her book shut and tossing it on the coffee table. It landed with a dull thud.
Reading was useless now. She couldn't possibly concentrate.
And where the hell are Lucien and Solomon when you need them?
She sulked, crossing her arms over her chest as she sat in her chair, grumbling to herself.
"Stupid mind games," she muttered, staring at the fire in the hearth.
She steered her thoughts to her parents' house, wondering if she should be sad.
It surprised her to note that she wasn't. Whatever happy memories she had of her childhood home had been shattered by that horrible night she found her parents murdered there. It was also where she died and became this. Having the house burned down was a fitting end to it.
About time it was destroyed, she thought.
She curled tighter on her chair and found herself recalling how Harry had, only a few minutes ago, looked into her brown eyes with his green ones and cared about her. It was one of her favorite things about him; how he could say so much with a single look, but she had resisted the urge to accept the comfort he offered, trying to freeze him into submission. It didn't work. He had his own game going, and then he had control of the entire discussion. When had Harry learned to do that without using the weight of his presence?
In the past, he always overpowered her by sheer force of will. When they fought about going to the Department of Mysteries for Sirius, or when they fought about the Half-Blood Prince's book, or even about everything else after that, she had given in because he was Harry, and because having him angry at her made her feel incomplete; empty. Using subtle means to control a discussion wasn't a skill Harry knew then, but it seemed five years had taught him more than spells and potions.
He had her right where he wanted her, and it annoyed her because it was either she was lacking or else he wasn't playing fair.
She decided it was the latter, but there wasn't much she could do about it. It forced her to come slightly undone, and she had had to struggle to regain her poise, which didn't work out as well as she'd hoped. He was teasing her the next minute, and then his gaze had later traveled to her legs. That gave her a different thrill altogether.
It had stirred an urgent need in her for him to touch her. She could almost tell that he wanted her skirt to hitch just a bit higher, and she might have obliged him if it wasn't so dangerous to do so.
She had pretended to be oblivious to his wanton gaze, referring to her holster to give them both a chance to pretend that they weren't so aware of one another.
The big surprise was when he didn't take the bait, plainly admitting that he was more interested in other things.
What was she supposed to say to that?
Nothing, apparently. She wasn't able to find the words.
Hermione simmered, kicking the table in frustration, right where he was seated earlier.
She needed to hit someone.
Again, where was Lucien and Solomon when you needed them?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: I feel like I should put up a score board, just to tally who wins this or that round. At least up until they both realize that this isn't all just a game…