Author's note: Whole bunch of stuff…
Many, many thanks to tome_raider who was kind enough to fill in as beta while Lady Diamond's been swamped with RL concerns. You must all thank her for getting these chapters out so quickly!
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter rating: R
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Chapter Twenty-Fourth: Lull
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Harry woke up to the sound of banging on his bedroom door.
His eyes ached from lack of sleep, and turning over on his bed, he shoved his glasses on so he could get a proper look at the time. It was almost nine in the morning, way too early for him to be awake. Way too early for anyone to be disturbing him, so it must be important.
Sighing, he padded to the door in his pajamas and t-shirt. When he opened it and found Draco, Harry grumbled a sleepy curse, turned, and shut the door at Draco's face as he padded on back to bed.
"Potter! Get back here! Unlike some people, I have to go to work!"
There was something terribly fascinating about what Draco said that actually made Harry stop to consider it.
Malfoy, the spoiled rich prat, is lecturing me about work.
Harry laughed softly as he climbed back beneath his sheets. "Sod off, Malfoy. Unlike some people, I make it my business to save the wizarding world, so you can just kiss my arse." He flopped back down and closed his eyes, utterly content by the fact that he was pissing Draco off.
"Dammit!" Draco growled. "You have my wand, and the detainment spell on my anklet's still active. Potter, if I don't go to work, I don't get paid, and that's just fucking fantastic, because it means I'm going to be very, very, annoying starting right about now." He started singing "It's A Small World" tunelessly and showed no signs of stopping.
Harry had to admit that Draco was just awful enough to drive anyone mad. He cast a silencio on the door which really did the trick, and Harry quite happily began to close his eyes when it occurred to him that Draco really did just want to get to his job and that Harry was actually keeping the bloke from an honest day's work.
Damn my Gryffindor conscience. Damn!!!
Sighing, he got out of bed, wand in hand. He opened the door and Draco was seated beside it, still singing his arse off.
Draco stopped singing and rose to his feet, glaring at Harry. "Well?"
Harry waved his wand and removed the spell.
"And my wand?" Draco said, holding his hand out.
Harry levitated Draco's wand from the coat hanging on his wall and darted it straight at Draco, like an arrow.
Draco had to duck to avoid it. It hit the wall behind Draco before clattering to the floor. "You've become a big, ugly bully, Potter."
"Humph. And you're still alive, thanks to me. Run along now."
"Run along, indeed. Right good mood, you're in. Granger still hasn't put out?"
"Unlike you, Malfoy, I don't go after easy women."
"I never have to go after women, period. They go after me."
"Right. Which is why you have to pay for sex. It's nine o' clock. You're late for work." He shut the door on Draco's face a second time and climbed back into bed.
Draco didn't bother him again.
Harry managed to find sleep again for another three hours, after which he woke, had a quick meal and spent a considerable amount of time practicing the meditative techniques Hermione had taught him. Loathe as he was to admit that Hermione's fruity ex-boyfriend had benefited him somehow, he couldn't help but think that the techniques did appear to be useful. He seemed to be gaining an understanding of manipulating his focus to suit his Legilimens, even if he couldn't quite apply it the way he was supposed to. Not yet, at least. He knew he'd get it sooner or later. Sooner, likelier, than later. Even he couldn't deny he had a weird knack for these things.
He had already decided that "Remedial Potions" with Snape didn't count. Apart from Snape's crappy teaching method, it was obvious that Snape had no intention of helping him learn Occlumency or Legilimens in the first place.
The traitor.
Harry pushed away thoughts of Snape and concentrated on Hermione who was so much more… well, promising to think about. The last few nights with her had been one revelation after another. Sometimes the revelations hurt him, sometimes the revelations were shocking, often she was confusing, but sometimes, he was just with her, was aware and thankful of her nearness, and those times made up for many things he'd had to contend with since her return.
Many things about her had changed, of that he was certain, but the foundation of her personality remained. She cared for people, and she defended them when they were being threatened. She could be rational and cold, but she was passionate, too, when the need arose. She was brilliant, and she read books, and she knew everything.
Well, almost everything. She can't seem to figure out what to do about me.
Which, in a way, was something positive, because it meant she cared. She just had to figure out how much.
Of course, it was driving him up the wall that she was taking her time about it… and it has barely been a week.
Blowing a breath through his lips, he decided to put off thinking about it for the meantime. He readied for work and apparated to the Ministry phone box.
The box let off a stream of wizards and witches just before he got on it and he was quite put off when he saw Draco, yet again.
Draco gave only the slightest twitch to indicate that he had noticed Harry at all. Harry didn't even give him a second glance, both acutely conscious about being seen "fraternizing" with each other. Neither of them wanted anyone thinking that they were in any way friends, even if quite a few people knew Draco was living in Harry's house.
They passed each other like strangers.
Harry was too early to be at work, but Shaklebolt made no fuss about it. He did, however, call Harry to his office for something else.
"I received some of the files you requested for the investigation of the train attack," said Shacklebolt, handing him a thick pile in a box.
Harry already felt weary with the workload, but he didn't complain. He did, however, make a rather acute observation. "Some? You mean that's not all of it?"
Shacklebolt nodded. "Not by a long shot, and it's taking long because you requested secrecy. This is internal affairs stuff, Potter. It's no easy thing to creep around without anyone noticing."
"Understood, chief."
"I'll send the rest of the files straight to you the moment they get here."
"I appreciate it." Harry was just gathering his loot when he noticed that Shacklebolt didn't look like he was through. "Something else…?"
"Tonks told me Dumbledore's phoenix has taken up residence with you."
Harry frowned. "And so?"
"Phoenixes don't make random decisions, Potter."
Harry sighed and turned to leave the office. "When I learn how to speak Phoenix, I'll have a heart to heart with it. In the meantime, everyone's questions have to wait."
"I think it chose you."
"Oh, Merlin, not you too. And I was counting on you to be the one to tell everyone that the bird's bloomin' daft!"
Shacklebolt remained grave. "Harry, there are many, many things I don't subscribe to. I am, by nature, a realist and a cynic."
"Some would claim the two aren't mutually exclusive."
Shacklebolt ignored his snark. "What I'm trying to say is I only usually believe in things that could be explained. Since you reemerged in the wizarding world from your Muggle life all those years ago, when you first went to Hogwarts, everyone has been harping about how special you were. As for me, I came to consider you as a celebrity with a penchant for surviving encounters with Dark Wizards. At best, I thought you were one lucky son-of-a-hex and at worse, a boy who had begun to believe what everyone was telling him, which, of course, would eventually lead to his horrible demise. But in the last five years, working with you and knowing what you've been through, I've seen you do things, heard you do things that made me realize that there is something very strange about you."
"Gee, thanks."
"You're spectacularly odd, and I'm actually beginning to believe all the shite about you, that you have some kind of extraordinary magic that can beat that creature. I don't know if I've grown so tired in the last five years that I'm willing to grasp for straws, but the fact that I've realized you don't always have to have things explained to make them exist is something to consider. There are a total of six people I respect in my life, Potter."
"Six. Nice and specific."
"Three of which are dead."
"That's horrible!"
"They're my parents and Dumbledore. The other three are Remus, Arthur and Minerva, and for some reason, you inspire their trust. You inspired Dumbledore's trust, too, during the last few weeks of his life. It's uncanny, but it's true. I figured that after all these years… what you do; what you are; what you seem to be… it's not something you can fake. It's true. You're the real thing, Potter."
"So this thing you're talking about…"
"You're going to beat Voldemort, and you're going to do it leading the Order."
There was a profound silence between them.
Harry was going to be sick. "Why are you telling me this? Because of that stupid bird?"
Shacklebolt arched an eyebrow. "It's not just the phoenix, Potter. But yes, Fawkes did bring to my mind the inevitable reality. Consider this my way of saying I'm behind you. I am of the firm belief that this will only work if you have our full confidence. So there. I've said it. Lead me. Tell me what to do. I'll follow you to the ends of the Earth, and so on and so forth and all that jazz. Now… get back to work."
Not a moment too soon.
Harry was out of there, grumbling under his breath about mad bosses and crazy beasts who thought they knew everything.
He plopped down on his desk to sift through his material, taking out the list Shacklebolt had prepared containing the Aurors he had assigned to the train on that night and the train's passenger roster. The list was long and the judging by a quick evaluation of the pile of folders in the box, Harry only had half the list to examine as of yet.
Sighing, he grabbed the first folder in the box. The folder was labeled "Ager, Gem: Train Engineer"
He had a long way to go.
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Harry left the Ministry a bit after sundown, which meant he hadn't been at work that long. Seamus had offered to take half of the train files, of which Harry was only too glad to entrust to someone else. Whether it was Lucien who gave away their travel plans that night or not, Harry had filed an official request for investigation. A report would have to be filed to close it, and Shacklebolt was not going to accept hurried observation scribbled down on Auror department parchment.
Carrying his workload with him, Harry went to Shacklebolt's office to inform his boss that he had some important things to attend to at home.
Before he could even start speaking, Shacklebolt had said, "Does it have anything to do with the Order?"
Harry paused briefly. "Well… yeah, but-"
"Go. I'll see you tomorrow."
Harry hesitated before turning to leave. "If there are any missions tonight-"
"I'll call you if we need you, Potter."
"Right."
He procured a note from the Ministry healer stating that his shoulder was ready for rigorous activity. Of course, the fact that Harry had saved the healer's life once before and that Harry called him on it didn't taint the healer's judgment in the least. He left for home with a legitimate doctor's note in his pocket.
When Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place, he was surprised to find Lucien skulking in the shadows of the living room.
The house wasn't really quiet. Harry could hear someone bustling about in the kitchen, probably Tonks or Remus or both, and Harry at least knew Draco was around.
"Where are Hermione and Solomon?" Harry asked him.
"Out."
"Feeding?"
"Yes."
"Why aren't you with them?"
"Didn't want to go. Anyway, I fed yesterday. I'm fine."
"Are you sulking?" The question was a little inane. It wasn't as if Lucien had been grounded for staying out too late on a school night, he wasn't being punished in spite of the fact that he had far graver things to answer for, especially if Yasmin had caused the Hogwarts train to get attacked, but Harry had no other way to express what he thought Lucien was doing. Lucien loved being with Hermione. He loved spending time with Solomon. Why else would he stay away from their company?
"I'm not sulking," Lucien said petulantly, stomping his foot in the dark.
Harry frowned. "Get over here where I could see you. Have you talked to Hermione since you woke up?"
Lucien padded into the light. "Yes."
"What did she say to you?"
"She asked me if I was hungry."
That seemed to settle that. "She doesn't sound angry, so why are you sulking?"
"I'm not-shouldn't she be angrier at me than that? She should be punishing me! Why isn't she punishing me?"
"It… isn't something you're going to get off on, is it?"
"What? No! Get your mind out of the gutter!"
"Well, then, what do you want me to say? She isn't punishing you. Maybe she will. Maybe she won't. Five years ago I would've told you she would do no such thing, but things are different in your society. The only thing I can be sure of is that Hermione still cares for you very much."
"Doesn't mean she isn't going to take my head off."
Harry sighed. "Lucien, if you think I know what she's going to do, I don't, so you can just quit fishing for information. What I do know is that she'll talk to you. She will. Just give her some time. She has a lot to deal with right now, one of which is Yasmin, because you couldn't keep your prick in your trousers."
"I said I was sorry about that!"
"Yes, well, we're all sorry for something, aren't we? You're at the mercy of your alpha right now. Wait for her to come to you." Harry left him to go to the kitchens.
He was surprised to find, instead of Remus and Tonks, Luna and Ron.
They were sharing a pumpkin pie. One piece for Luna and the rest for Ron.
"Well, hullo. You're back early," Harry said. "I thought you were going to head straight for France from Romania."
Ron shrugged. "Gabrielle said she couldn't see me this weekend. She has projects to finish."
"Oh. So you come back here and floo Luna to have some pie with you. Interesting."
A flash of irritation sparked Luna's eyes. It was a rare thing to have Luna's gaze so lucid.
Ron gave him an odd look. "Actually… she flooed me, but your guess was close."
Luna eyed Harry sternly before reverting her spacey gaze back to Ron. "So I'll see you and George tomorrow at the Leaky Cauldron?"
"Yeah, sure, Luna."
She stood, taking a bit more of the pumpkin pie before leaving the rest of it to Ron. "I must go. I have an early day tomorrow."
"I'll see you out," Harry said, following after her. He led her to the door of the house. "Listen, Luna… Ron's a bit dense sometimes…"
"Harry Potter, what are you talking about?"
"Nothing. Just… ignore me."
"Yes. I think I will. You could be so barmy, sometimes."
It wasn't everyday he got called crazy by Luna Lovegood. Hermione would have loved to be around for it.
"Er…" Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Get that all the time."
"Goodbye, Harry. Don't let the vampires bite… well, maybe you can let one of them get their fangs on you."
Harry had no doubt that Luna knew what she was talking about.
She left and Harry sighed as he watched her go. He went back to the kitchen and made himself a sandwich as he and Ron talked about inane things.
It was halfway through Harry's tomato, lettuce and cheese that Ron wasn't able to hold back any longer. "For feck's sake, Harry! Are you going to tell me what the hell last night was all about or not?"
Harry twisted the cap off a butterbeer and attempted to shoot the cap in the wastebasket. The cap bounced off the rim. There was a time when he would have kept many things from Ron, not because he believed that Ron couldn't keep a secret, but because there were things he didn't think Ron could take. But in the last five years, he had learned exactly the extent to which Ron had been his best friend, how when it came down to it, the two of them would take an avada kedavra for each other without a second thought. That and the fact that they were the only two people who would actually stay up late, groggy with sleep loss, just so the other wouldn't have to spend the night sleeping on some street curb pissed out of their senses. A bloke just didn't keep secrets from a best friend who would do that, especially not a secret that concerned their (once) common other best friend.
Harry could very well say that the best friend dynamic had changed considerably over the last five years when it came to him, Ron and Hermione. While Harry knew that he and Ron still looked at Hermione and remembered so affectionately that she was so deeply a part of them, now they had to redefine things with her, even if what was left of that bond from long ago was still struggling to right itself.
It still meant that Harry would tell Ron what happened last night, though. Hermione wouldn't object to letting Ron know. Hermione, in her own way, seemed to think that when it came to the order of things, it was still Harry, and then Ron, first.
"I could, but you'll have to promise me to reserve all judgment until we have all the facts," Harry said by way of introduction.
"Yes, yes. Whatever. Get on with the telling already!" said Ron, as per his usual response to such things.
Harry told him. It took a while, but by the time Harry was done, Ron didn't look the least bit pleased.
"Lucien should've kept his dick in his trousers," Ron muttered, piercing his fork into the remains of the pumpkin pie.
Harry nodded. "'S what I told him."
Draco waltzed in, heading straight for the pantry to haul out some bread, Italian salami, and brie. He plopped the food on the table, got some utensils and sat himself down, never minding that Ron and Harry were there.
Ron saw the food and honed in. "Say, Malfoy, what you got there?"
Draco gave him the finger without looking at him.
Ron rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Harry. "So how's Hermione taking it?"
Harry shrugged. "A bit shaken. Angry as hell last night at Yasmin. Took it out on Henry."
"I don't envy him that. Even human, you never wanted to get on Hermione's bad side."
Draco snorted. "Mudbloods."
"Oy, I'll not have talk of that in my house," Harry told him sternly. "Especially not about Hermione."
Draco shook his head in disbelief as he slathered cheese on his bread. "Apart from the obvious hotness factor, I don't know what you find so endearing about her, Potter."
Harry gave him a wry smirk. "That's because she never bothered to waste her affection on you, Malfoy."
Hermione appeared at the archway, soundless in her vampiric grace with Solomon behind her. Harry was just about to greet her when Draco jabbed his cheese-smeared butter-knife in the air for emphasis, completely oblivious to Hermione's presence.
"I'm telling you, Potter. Run and hide. I can see it in her eyes. She might have been sweet and tender and oh-so-innocent before, but I know it when I see an evil, manipulative and psychotic B-I-T-C-H…"
Harry wasn't looking at Draco anymore, and Ron had grown terribly interested in his food again.
Draco likely noticed this, because he paused and sniffed. "She's right behind me, isn't she?"
Hermione arched an eyebrow calmly, planting a hand to her hip and drumming her fingers.
Harry drank his butterbeer. Draco seemed to be contemplating his bread and cheese.
"Well, I never," she said with deadly calm.
Draco turned on his seat, face flushed. "You know it's a compliment coming from me, right?"
"Nice try, Ferret Breath, but no go. You're my 'bitch' now." She whipped out her wand and smirked.
"Incoming!" Harry cried as he ducked for cover. Ron dove beneath the table just when a flock of cawing ravens shot out of Hermione's wand and swarmed Draco.
Draco shrieked, shooting up from his chair as he waved and flailed to get the ravens away from him. He took out his wand, tried futilely to hex the ravens, and finally resorted to swinging it around like a stick to ward them off. He was out of that room in seconds, screaming for Tonks who, at the moment, wasn't responding to his cries.
"Wicked spellwork, Hermione!" Solomon gushed. "Where'd you pick that up?"
"Made the spell myself," she said haughtily. "They used to be canaries but I suppose that would seem silly coming from an evil, manipulative, and psychotic B-I-T-C-H like me. I seem to be getting called that a lot, lately. Where's the love?"
When Harry figured it was safe to come out, he stuck his head out. "Erm… hullo."
"There he is!" Solomon cried.
She shot Solomon a wry smirk.
"Back so soon?" Harry continued.
"Sooner than Draco would like," Hermione replied.
Ron reappeared, clutching his plate of pumpkin pie still and, amazingly, eating from it with his fork. He was, after all, singular in his pursuit of food. "You're still as mental as ever. I don't know if even Malfoy deserved that."
Solomon gave him a look of mild surprise.
"Ron was the first person I ever used the spell on," Hermione explained. "He was the second, too."
"Oh!"
Harry finally stood, straightening his shirt and pants. He couldn't help but look at her hand. The ring was still there and it made him smile to himself.
"Shacklebolt let you off work early again?" Hermione said.
"I told him I had things to do for the Order. No lie, especially not after what he told me in his office…"
"Which is?"
"I'll tell you later. We ought to start training now, don't you think?" He handed her his healer's note.
Hermione paused for a moment to read the note before arching her eyebrow at him suspiciously.
He gave a beatific smile. "It's real. No forgery involved. Check it with charms. Heck, you can even check my wand."
"That won't be necessary," she said. "I'll be in the gym. Give me a few minutes."
"Alright."
"Nice ring," Ron told her all of a sudden.
She hesitated ever so slightly. "Thanks. It was a gift from someone quite special." With that, she left with Solomon for the dungeons.
Ron glared at Harry, who was grinning like a fool. "I knew it. I remember the ring now. I went with you to buy it five years ago! And if I remember correctly, they came in a pair."
Harry sighed, turning to leave. "As Malfoy likes to say: The Weasley intellect never ceases to amaze me."
"You let her wear hers and she won't let you wear yours! You're a big, fat loser!"
"I am not big and fat."
"Huh. You called that right."
Harry frowned. "Believe it or not, I actually think she and I can work things out. You just haven't been around in the last couple of days to notice it. What you've been doing is putting in overtime in Romania so you can get nookie in France."
"Oy!"
"Hey, you started it!"
"Fine, but the fact remains, I don't like that you're putting yourself out there while she's still being all cold and unreasonable."
"Well… she hasn't exactly been cold, cold."
Ron groaned. "Let me guess, you've slept together."
"We haven't, but if we had, what's wrong with it?"
"Hey, far be it I'd rag a bloke for getting a good shag. There's nothing better in the world than having it with the woman you want. But you know very well what's wrong with it when it concerns you and Hermione."
"It'd be wrong if her feelings were still in limbo, but what if we'd slept together because-well, we were ready in that way?"
"Well then that way better be the way she wants to go, too. Look, Harry, you know I'd be the Harry-Hermione one-man cheering squad if this 'ship of yours sails smoothly, but if you're sailing at half-mast and you have to row the boat by yourself the rest of the way-"
"What's with all the nautical terms?"
"Gabrielle's fault. She calls it a 'ship instead of a relationship and I'm rather liking the whole metaphor… anyway, don't change the subject."
"Yes, yes… go on."
"You see what I'm telling you? Hermione has to be in this as much as you are, or else you'll end up-"
"Without a paddle?"
Ron shot him a wry sneer. "Hurt. You'll end up really hurt, Harry. And I just know that you'll try to get yourself so drunk, for however long it's going to take you to get over it, that I might as well capitalize on your misery. I'll open a new pub for you: The Jilted Fool. Least the galleons you'd waste buying your alcohol will go to my bank account."
"And you don't have to run all over London to try and find me. You'll know exactly where I am."
"It's not funny, Potter."
Harry had to agree, in spite of himself. "Well, of course I know it isn't funny. Listen, Ron, you always said I had good instincts."
"I meant that 'as a kick-arse Auror and fighter of evil' you've got good instincts. We still don't know if 'as a blithering idiot in love with our gorgeous best friend' has good instincts."
"Those instincts are perfectly fine."
"I'm not talking about the mating instinct, fool."
Harry laughed. "No, no, that's not what I meant, either. Well, not entirely, at least… anyway"-at this interval, Ron was glaring so very fiercely-"there have been moments when she actually seemed like she and I could be somewhere we'd both like to be."
"Is there a name for this place?"
"Not yet, but I'm working on it."
"And if in the end you find out this place doesn't exist?"
"It exists."
"What if it doesn't?"
"Ron!"
"It's a reasonable question! Well, at least as far as metaphorical places go."
"Like metaphorical boats?"
"Er, yeah. Harry, if you think you're working things out, then hell, just keep doing what you're doing, then. But you better make sure that this metaphorical girlfriend of yours comprehends what kind of metaphorical effect she has on you. I'm getting tired of hauling your metaphorical arse from seedy pubs… understand what I'm saying?"
"Metaphorically speaking?"
"At least."
"That if I don't find this Land of Promise soon, I'd drown in my sea of misery alone?"
"Twenty points for Gryffindor."
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Hermione found it just a bit harder to concentrate with Ron's presence bearing down on her from his side of the meditative group. She had decided to include him, hoping that a little adjustment in the mental vibes would give Harry some kind of epiphany on how better to control his mind magic. It was a bit of trial and error at this point, but she was enthused by the fact that Harry was doing the meditation on his own when he had the time, and his admitting that he felt that it was helping had her going full-S.P.E.W.
Ron, however, was making it hard for her to focus. And perhaps Lucien, who was training with Solomon at the practice mats, was messing with her focus, too. She had resolved not to think about what Lucien did, with any great detail, until she got to talk to Yasmin. It would be useless to consider the matter properly when she didn't have all the facts. She would make a decision on how best to deal with Lucien when she knew everything there was to know. In the meantime, she treated Lucien as normal as he would let her. So far, he was very tense with her, and she wasn't without feeling a bit uncomfortable herself. It was just worse because of his sulking, but she couldn't blame him entirely for that either, because she hadn't exactly been her normal self with him. It was difficult to pretend and be all affectionate with him when they had this thing hanging over their heads.
Hermione…
His mind's voice slipped into her consciousness and she opened her eyes to find Harry staring at her inquisitively.
Ron still had his eyes closed, and his fingers were twirling the Mala beads in a most un-meditative fashion.
She flushed with embarrassment. Some instructor she was turning out to be.
"Hey Ron," said Harry. "Mind giving us a minute?"
Ron opened his eyes, shifted his gaze between them and sighed. "Fine. I think I'll chat up Lucien and Solomon." He left them to go to the practice mats.
"Is Ron's presence helping?" she asked. Best to try and salvage the situation with productive discussion.
Harry shrugged. "He hasn't made it worse for me, but I don't think he's done anything to affect my focus positively, either. Your vibes have been tumultuous, though."
"Sorry," she muttered. "I'm useless today. Why don't you try this by yourself for the meantime and I'll just be over there to warm up. I can at least help you with physical training today-"
He held her hand. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Her immediate response was no, but seeing the concern in his gaze, it was difficult not to relent. "I suppose I'm not everyone's favorite person right now. I'm all weird with Lucien, Ron hates me and just the thought that I've teed Yasmin off by bullying her boy toy puts me on edge. Even Solomon thinks he should be treating me with kid gloves right now. 'Can I do anything for you right now, Hermione?' 'Is it too bright in the dungeon, luv? Should I extinguish some of the torches?' 'Draco bothering you again?' 'Everything alright with you and Harry?'"
His eyebrow lifted in mild surprise. "He asks about us?"
She flushed even more but didn't deny it. "Yes. All of it is driving me spare, but I'll get over it. It's just today. So I'll just be over there-"
"Stop. Relax."
She frowned. "Harry…"
He smiled, taking her other hand so he was holding both in his. "Why don't we try something, then. A Legilimens exercise, if you will. You just have to fight me off, which should be manageable for you considering you're all strung and wound up. It'll be good for you."
She inhaled and blew the air through her lips. Why not? There were worse things she could do with her time. Might as well try to help Harry, whatever it was he wanted to do. "Fine. Nothing to lose."
"Good. Now just do what you usually do when you don't want me to get through your barriers."
She closed her eyes and the walls were up in an instant. Agitated as she was, it was easy to close herself off. It was, after all, as natural a defense for her as raising her arms when someone made for her throat. It was instinctive, and then it became a formidable defense when backed by conscious will.
Harry's 'noisy' mental powers lumbered towards her initially, but she was pleased to note that he managed to level off the clamor and actually calm down the onslaught. She still knew he was there, but she could tell he was gaining better control. It was, of course, uncanny that he had gotten the hang of it so soon. Then again, he had merely lacked proper instruction then, and he never, until now, had the opportunity to try his powers without fear of killing his practice partner.
Harry's magic came nearer, testing her walls here and there, pressing every so slightly in some parts then trying brute force in others. The brute force would've done it, of course, but it seemed that Harry wasn't going for that, now. He was trying something else.
And then she felt it. A pleasant ripple through her mind. It was soothing, and Hermione couldn't be entirely sure if it was Harry who was doing it, or whether he was doing it deliberately. But then she gave something of a mental shudder which seemed to please him immensely, so he did it again, and she realized that this second time was even more pleasant than the last, as if he had learned something in the process. It got better, the touch becoming tantalizing like the feel of cold silk on a warm day, or like soft, downy fur rubbing against the small of one's back. It was almost as if it was hitting the point of…
Sexual…
As soon as the thought formed, she became boneless and nonresistant. Her walls slid off and Harry's mental magic swam into her senses, like pliable fingers working the knots off her tensions. His magic seeped into the tender crevices of her mind that needed easing and relief, pulsing warmth and yearning where it touched.
It was as if he had retransformed his Legilimens from the sturdy, destructive battering ram that it was to a flood. Still powerful, but somehow he could control this one, like he was coaxing the magic to go one way or another, instead of just full-speed ahead.
The magic flowed from her mind down to her spine, and her entire body began to respond to the sensations. She sighed, a soft moan escaping her lips, and the only thing she wanted more right now was his physical touch.
Suddenly, he pulled back, a whisper of melancholy at its wake, and when she opened his eyes, he was smiling, but sadly.
She understood in an instant that while it had been wonderful for her, it wasn't exactly the way he wanted to please her.
Still, it was only polite to praise him for it. "Harry…" she breathed, blinking languorously. "That was… about as Tantric as I've ever gotten."
That seemed to brighten something. "Really?"
"Really… goodness, did you just learn that, or-"
He was smiling bashfully now, the way he did when he knew he'd done something brilliant but was too modest to make a big deal about it. "Well, I've always sort of… I do it sometimes to ease the headaches Voldemort causes me. I've never tried to do it for anyone else, of course… might-you know…"
"Kill them?"
"Yeah… but after all these years I know a thing or two about regulating it in myself. I figured I could try it on you since you've more or less given me a good start on focusing the mental magic on particular paths. It's not as if I had to use stealth or anything. I was more of… persuading you… anyway, I guess it worked…"
She nodded enthusiastically and he grinned.
It was perhaps about that time, seeing him smiling, eyes shining, that she was struck with a new thought. "I have to think. Keep practicing, Harry, and in a little while, we'll do your physical training."
"Well, that worked rather differently than I expected. I was hoping to relax you."
"No chance. I'll be over there." She pointed to the punching bag. "Check up with me in thirty minutes."
"Can I hang out with those guys?" Harry jerked his thumb in the direction of Ron and her Shadow Kin. Presently, Ron was being pinned to the ground by Solomon and Ron was tapping the mat like crazy in submission.
"Sure. Do some warm-ups." She rose and went to the punching bag while Harry headed to the boys.
She watched them stealthily from her corner of the room, starting her onslaught on the bag while making acute observations.
Lucien was with them, but he wasn't smiling. He wasn't saying much, either. He only spoke when he was spoken to and much of the light in his eyes, the one of pure happiness he had cultivated in the last five years, had waned to a dull, unenthusiastic gleam.
Harry, Solomon and Ron were more animated. Harry and Solomon seemed to be exchanging takedown techniques while using Ron to demonstrate. The huge, broad-shouldered Weasley was a natural choice. Ron had always been quite strong, but the last five years had turned him into some kind of physical force to be reckoned with. No human with half his senses would dare to tee Ron off.
He looks like he could knock a dragon out with one swing. Probably how he's so good at his job.
Harry did an arm lock and flipped Ron over easily, sending the redhead's hulking form sprawling on the mat.
Then again, there's Harry, who looks gorgeous in combat.
She thought maybe Harry need only flash that grin of his if he ever came face to face with Bellatrix. If she were in any way heterosexual, she'd have her knickers in a twist so fast that Harry would be able to hex her straight to Azkaban.
Hermione saw Bellatrix's name on the bag and landed her shin right on it.
Harry's inherent charm brought her thoughts right where she wanted.
Sentient beings and living things were conduits of magic. Which is why humans, and vampires and elves and all sorts of creatures could harness it. Each person, creature or life form used magic in their own unique way. Plants and herbs used it by nature. Beasts used it by instinct; creatures and humans by will and emotion. So it was natural to suppose that creatures and humans would optimize will and emotion differently to wield their magic.
Voldemort, for instance, was most driven by his need for power. He was singular in his purpose, which is probably part of the reason why he was so good at what he did. Harry was driven by all things honorable, like his "saving people thing", which is also probably part of the reason he was so good at what he did. Interestingly enough, what made both wizards so strong also made them vulnerable to failure.
Harry's "saving people thing" had been used against him numerous times, and given that it wasn't a habit he was going to kick anytime soon, it would get him one of these days. Fortunately, there were people surrounding Harry who were more than dedicated to save him.
Now, Voldemort… the need for power was just as intoxicating as any other desire, and just like all things intoxicating, it could cloud one's judgment. The worse thing about wanting power was its tendency to make their wielders intensely possessive of it. The greater the power, the more repulsive the idea of sharing became.
Perhaps this was something Harry could use to get past Voldemort's ironclad mental blocks. Harry only needed a teeny-tiny opening, after all. He had enough power to swim his way in there, if only for a brief moment. It might make a huge difference. It might reveal something important.
She mulled this over, wondering how she could turn this idea into something feasible and finding someone to practice it with.
Hermione stopped punching the bag, the beginnings of another idea implanting itself in her mind. Her brows furrowed.
Could it be?
"Thirty minutes," Harry suddenly said from behind the punching bag. His brow was moist with the sweat of his warm-up, his cheeks aglow.
The thread of her brand-new thought dissipated at the face of such an appealing summons.
"Went by fast," she said. "Come on."
She joined them on the practice mat.
The best thing about instructing a learned student was being able to skip the basics and get right to the heart of training.
Harry was, by human standards, very skilled. A quick hand-to-hand spar with Ron showed that Harry wasn't just quick with his limbs, he took the optimum route to victory. He wasn't flashy and he had no unnecessary movements. She knew this already, but it was different watching it from outside the fight. From her perspective, she could see the split-second openings he could have kept closed; saw that he could have spread his stance out wider to give a more painful kick; realized that he was almost unnoticeably twitchy about the left side of his midriff.
Hermione pondered that last bit and realized that it was where Janus had skewered him all those years ago. It pained her to realize that the injury was not only a constant reminder of the worse point of their relationship, but it was also limiting his offensive strategy.
Of course, all of these weaknesses were only apparent to her because she had been trained to spot and exploit them. To humans, and perhaps to the many dark creatures, he was formidable; pretty damn spectacular, actually. He might have a mere six vamps under his belt, but she was half certain he had scared off twice as many by sheer show of skill.
She knew now, of course, that Harry was capable of so much more.
"Take a breather, Harry," she said, stopping the spar just after he had Ron eating the mat, yet again. "You too, Ron."
"Blimey…" gasped Ron, pushing himself off the ground. "That was getting humiliating."
"You were fine," Hermione told him. "Harry's just really good."
"Th-Thanks," Harry said through his gasps. Ron might have been easy for him to beat, but it still took a considerable amount of strength to knock the man from his feet.
She gave Solomon and Lucien a quick glance.
"Solomon," she said. "Get on the mat. Take a stance."
He did and she stood with him.
"This is your stance, Harry," she said, copying him. "When you do this…" she made a mock motion to hit Solomon. "You leave your right side open for a split second that a vamp can take advantage of. It would be alright if you get the hit in, but what if the vamp dodges it? He can catch you totally unawares. So this is how you deflect it. Sol, attack."
She threw the perfect strike, just the way Harry would do it. Solomon dodged and his leg came for her open ribs. She twisted her hips, turned her body counter-clockwise while round-housing both her legs to fly over his. She landed right behind him with her arms already locked around his head. She twisted it only slightly, just so she wouldn't really break Solomon's neck. It was, of course, more difficult to hold back when one knew it wouldn't kill him anyway.
There was a slight snap and Solomon went down yowling.
"Jesus feckin' Christ, Hermione! Easy!" Solomon yelled.
"Sorry," she muttered.
She looked up and saw Ron gaping. Harry was less surprised. He'd seen her fight. This wasn't new to him. Harry didn't look pleased, though.
"I'd have to go as fast as you," he said. "I don't think-"
"You can be that fast."
"Yes, but only if the magic will let me, remember?"
"Of course, so we're going to have to bully that magic into doing it for you when you want it to. Up you go. Sol? You're up against Harry this time. Nix the vamp amp until I tell you to use it."
"Got it," Solomon said.
"He's got a trick left shoulder right now," she added.
Harry sighed in exasperation. "Hermione!"
"And his left midriff's bothering him, too," she said mercilessly.
Harry glared at her. "You hoping to get me killed?"
"The exact opposite. Your survival instincts trigger a lot of your magic. If you can catch the patterns of magic at the exact moment it lets you use it, you can summon the magic at will. It's like hitting random keys on a piano. Every once in a while, you get a combination that's pleasing; most times it's just noise. If you actually take a moment to observe the position of your fingers, know what notes you're hitting, you can duplicate the melody. It's the same with this one. Know the patterns that call the magic and you can summon it."
"Don't you think I've tried to do that?"
"With whom? The only time it happens for you is on the field, when you really are fighting for your life, and there's hardly any time for scholarly observations there, and then you couldn't manage it in practice because you're better than everyone else. Who's going to call your survival instinct? You're even better than your golem." She gestured to the practice dummy. "Mainly because you wouldn't ever program it to have a killer instinct. Why would you? It would be positively humiliating to get killed by a dummy in practice."
Harry grumbled something unintelligible.
"I managed to call it out of you twice in a spar," she continued. "Because I'm a vamp. It's your innate fear of vamps, as dark creatures, that triggers the instinct. You might not manifest the fear, but your wizard genes carry that fear. It's enough to summon your basest instincts. We can provide the stimuli in a controlled environment. If we work hard enough tonight, you just might be able to make sense of the patterns required to summon the powers you need."
"I'm not afraid of you," Harry said.
And she saw that this particular fact was important to him. "Not of me, no," she said gently. "But of my kind. It's not something you could help entirely. Shall we begin this experiment?"
He paused a moment before nodding.
She stepped back and told them to begin.
It was not an easy process.
Without the vamp-amp, Solomon and Harry were evenly matched.
Hermione realized, with a bit of disdain, that Harry had held back when he was sparring with her. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, and she figured that the only reason he managed to take her down then was out of sheer frustration of getting beat by a woman. And even when he did manage to win rounds with her, he still hadn't really hurt her. He had stopped her by sheer submission.
The only advantage Solomon had without the vamp-amp was endurance. Solomon wasn't going to get tired anytime soon. Harry was already sweating profusely.
Very nice… She frowned at herself disapprovingly. Focus.
Swing, block, strike, kick.
Solomon went for Harry's shoulder and connected. Harry gave a growl of pain.
Ron and Lucien cringed while Solomon stepped back.
"You're not following through, Sol," Hermione said, hardening her heart. "You should've taken advantage of his downtime."
Solomon winced. "Ever heard of mercy?"
"Not for this. Go."
Harry glared at her a moment before he met Solomon's attack. This time, Solomon went for his side. Harry crumpled to the mat but Solomon didn't stop. Harry had to act quickly to deflect Solomon's kicks and roll out of Solomon's reach.
It was while Solomon was trying to reach Harry, and Harry dodged, that Hermione saw it.
Solomon hadn't noticed, but a part of his knuckle actually grazed Harry's forehead and passed right through, as if Harry was phantasmal instead of real.
It's working.
"Amp it and go for his shoulder again, Sol," she instructed. Which means you have to go for his ribs. Don't fail me, Sol.
Solomon didn't. He vamped his speed, eyes and fangs responding to his will. Solomon's fist barreled towards Harry's kidney. He was going to absolutely and painfully connect.
Hermione, for the first time, saw it. Something in his eyes sparked, like white fire, and it lasted for only a heartbeat, but it was enough.
Solomon simply froze. It only lasted two seconds, like someone had pressed the "pause" button on a Muggle disc player, and then he was moving again, but the two seconds had been enough. Harry had twisted out of the fist's path. Solomon's knuckle went wild and Harry was able to grasp Solomon's wrist. With Solomon's own momentum, Harry pulled while slamming his elbow backwards, ramming it right into Solomon's throat.
Solomon fell to the mat, gagging. Harry stepped back, still in stance.
"Brilliant!" Ron cried, grinning.
Ron didn't see it, she thought. She looked at Lucien. He was gaping. He had seen it. Solomon might not have, mainly because he had been in the magic.
"Sol, take a break," she said, containing her excitement. "Harry, you called it. Did you know?"
He nodded solemnly. "Yes, but I still-I'm not quite sure…"
"Then we do it again," she said. "Lucien, on the mat. Same rules. Don't amp it until I tell you to."
Lucien scrambled to get into stance.
Hermione gave Harry a quick assessment. He was exhausted, but that was a good thing. The better to call his survival instinct with. "Begin."
Lucien and Harry exchanged attacks and parries. Solomon had always been a better fighter than Lucien, but Lucien knew how to play dirty, and yes, Lucien was not adverse to kicking a man between the legs.
Hermione thought Lucien would get Harry there, but surprisingly enough, Harry knew how to deflect it and he had a countermove that sent Lucien sprawling to the mat.
"Wow," Lucien said from the ground, sounding like his normal self for a brief moment. "You must get that all the time. That was an expert move!"
"More times that I'd like," Harry replied.
Lucien attacked again. He was barely getting through Harry's defenses. Hermione had Lucien amp it and the scale tilted exponentially. Something always awakened in Lucien when he vamped; something primal. He became more vicious; utterly without mercy. Simply put, he became frightening and savage. It wasn't until last night that Hermione traced its roots, and perhaps because Harry knew this too, he managed to summon his magic almost instantly.
He disapparated mid-turn in his round-house, just before Lucien blocked it, and re-appeared a heartbeat later with a swoosh in the air behind Lucien's head, his body still in motion as if he'd never been interrupted mid-kick.
Harry's foot connected with the side of Lucien's head. It knocked Lucien to the floor soundly and he actually needed a few seconds to recover.
"Wicked!" Ron cried.
Lucien was just about to get up when Hermione called another time out.
"You did it again, Harry," she said. "Ron, how many times have you seen him do that?"
"Only twice in the last five years! Wasn't sure if my eyes were playing tricks on me, but-"
"They weren't," she said, steadying the excitement in her tone. "Harry, did you catch the pattern now?"
Harry frowned. "Maybe, but…"
It was a better response than before. It was progress.
"Take a breather then. We'll do it again. Lucien, you called it soonest. You're up after recess. Ron, get up. You're up against me."
Ron laughed dryly. "Ah, no."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't want to hit a woman, blah, blah, blah… just get up here. I'll go easy on you."
It wasn't any easier getting Ron to fight her than Harry was, but just to be fair, she gave him the one-handed stance too, which he predictably objected to, and which he (predictably, also) fell victim to, several times. In fact, more times than Harry just because Harry was a better fighter.
Harry seemed to find great amusement in it all.
After a particularly humiliating takedown, Ron crawled to his feet, gasping, "Who the hell are you and what have you done to Hermione?"
She helped him get up and figured he needed a break. She was just about to call Harry and Lucien again when Draco appeared at the door looking immensely agitated.
"Something's happening out front that has Remus all wolfy," Draco said sounding very irritated. He had his house robes pulled loosely over his silk pajamas, like he had been dragged out of bed.
Harry was quickly alert. "What kind of disturbance?"
"The weird kind. Mists and werewolves. The Obliviators have their work cut out for them."
Harry looked to Hermione.
She felt her stomach knot. "Where's Remus now?"
Draco scowled. "Do I look like his keeper?"
She rolled her eyes, making for the door and walking past Draco. Everyone scrambled to follow her, except for Harry, who walked right up beside her and demanded answers.
"Is it Yasmin?"
"Not her, exactly, but yeah, it's her messengers."
"Are they going to hurt you?"
"No telling if they would or wouldn't."
"Are you going to let them into the house?"
She frowned. "Of course not, and she knows this. It's likely that they're just here to negotiate a venue with me, for when I do meet with her."
Harry frowned. "And what venue are we pushing for here?"
She arched an eyebrow. "We?"
He seemed mildly surprised. "You didn't think I was going to let you go alone, did you?"
She didn't think so, but it had been worth a try, anyway. It's not that she didn't want Harry around; in fact, his presence, of late, was slowly becoming reassuring, but if Harry went, there was every possibility that Ron would want to come, and therefore she would have no reason to say that Remus shouldn't be there, which meant there was no way in hell Tonks was going to let her husband go without her… and all those humans who weren't anybody's flunkies just tended to grate on Yasmin's sense of elitism.
Not that Hermione had any reason to be polite to Yasmin, but she preferred not to antagonize the woman, mainly because Yasmin was difficult enough when she was in a good mood. Yasmin in a bad mood was just downright vicious. Hermione would be lucky if Yasmin let her off with a physical pain, because when Yasmin got it in her head that she was teed off with you, she liked serving humiliation, and Hermione naturally didn't like getting humiliated in front of her friends… or anybody else, for that matter.
"I would prefer to be alone, actually," Hermione said.
Harry laughed. It didn't sound like a happy laugh, though.
"Umm… Hermione?"
She was surprised to hear Lucien initiate conversation. "Yes?"
"Are you going to let Yasmin kill me?"
Hermione sighed. Lucien could be such an idiot sometimes. "Of course not, Lucien. I'm still trying to figure out what to do about your spectacular faux pas, but it doesn't mean I'll let her have the offing of you. She'll have to go through me, first."
"But-erm-she's… umm… she taught you everything you know…"
"Not everything."
"Oh, God, I'm going to get you killed, aren't I? It's going to be all my fault!"
Harry scowled. "I'm not going to let her get killed."
"Alright, that's enough talk about killing!" Ron cried. "It's seriously unnerving me!"
Draco sneered. "What do you want them to call it? Sending Granger to 'a farm'?"
"Was I talking to you?" Ron growled, advancing to Malfoy.
Solomon got between them. "Not now, you two…"
Hermione made a sound of disgust and she separated herself from the group, which seemed to collect itself the moment they realized she had proceeded without them.
Remus and Tonks were waiting at the foot of the stairs, wands out. Remus did, indeed, look a bit wolfy. His eyebrows were the tiniest bit thicker and his pupils were just a hint more feral. There was a bit of a snarl to his lips too, but he was still, by all accounts, human. Wolfsbane potion was a powerful antidote to lycanthropy, but perhaps agitated by the many werewolves outside and the sheer need to protect his "master", Hermione, and his lupa, Tonks, was nulling some of the Wolfsbane's effects.
"There are at least six werewolves outside," Remus said gravely. "Two vamps."
"Just two?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, but they're 'ancient'."
"Proper ancient?"
"No, but significantly enough."
Some vampires, though not older than five hundred, were called "ancient", because they were older than most and because they already exuded a kind of "older" aura which vamps and werewolves could pick up on. Their ages could be between three hundred to below five hundred. This was a very casual use of the term "ancient", and most "properly" ancient vampires frowned upon such use, as one might imagine.
"Want to wager she sent Isidore and Mari?" Solomon said with a grin.
"Who are Isidore and Mari?" Harry asked.
"Mari," Hermione began, "short for Maricanchi, and Isidore, have spent the last four hundred years with stakes shoved up their arses."
"That has to hurt," said Ron
"Well, not literally, genius. What I meant was they managed to live as long as they have because they're dreadfully by-the-book."
"I know what it means, you intellectual snob," Ron muttered. "I was just-oh, forget it."
"They're not very dangerous unless you get on the bad side of the Rule Book," Solomon said. "However, when they're not in the killing mood, they're really handy for a few laughs, 'specially when Hermione gets it in her head to make fun of them."
"They're quite bothersome when they suspect you're doing something wrong, though," said Lucien, frowning. "Those two are always on my case."
"Seems to me they called that right," Draco gleefully pointed out.
Lucien hissed at him like a cat, fangs and all.
"Hermione," began Tonks, her agitation showing at the slight darkening of her pink hair. "How worried should we be?"
She thought about it. "Well, I wouldn't worry yet, if I were you. Hard to tell what they want, which is probably why you should all stay here while I go out there and talk to them." She tried to walk past Harry who didn't quite budge.
"Wait a second," Harry said in a very calm tone. "So you want all of us-one, two, three... let's say six, not including Malfoy-to wait in here, in the safety of Grimmauld Place, while you-by yourself-go out there, in the presence of six werewolves and two significantly older vampires?"
Hermione's brows knotted. "Well… yes?"
Everyone stood there just staring at her for a few heartbeats.
Harry just shook his head and rolled his eyes. He put his hand out, and Hermione could tell he had cast a spell. She had a vague idea of what spell it was.
She put a hand to her hip as Harry's katana and vamp paraphernalia zoomed into his waiting hands. "Fine. It's not as if I didn't expect this from you, Harry, so I've already figured some ground rules. Number one, I'll do all the talking. Number two, I'll do all the talking."
Ron, who had been Accio-ing his weapons and things with less grace, had Tonks, Draco and himself diving to the ground when his knives came at him with their sharp ends. Tonks actually threw a Contego, a rather handy variation of Protego when solid objects, and not a spell, were heading one's way. Fortunately, Ron's summoning spell knew enough not to kill him, and the knives clattered to the floor even before it reached Tonks's shield.
Harry, ignoring the relative chaos around him, was not going to be deterred. "That's perfectly fine with me. I'm not coming along for the talking, anyway."
"Humph," she muttered, turning to head on out. "Mr. Tough Guy over here… never mind if I'm immortal…"
"You're only as immortal as your head's attached to your shoulders, Hermione," he pointed out.
She ignored this as she headed the troupe to the front of the house. Predictably, Draco wasn't going anywhere and he stayed behind, snorting at all of them in disgust as he left to go back to his room.
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A/N: No, you're not seeing things. The next chapter is available. ::Click!::