SPECIAL THANKS to my beta reader Aurabolt!
Standard disclaimers apply.
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Chapter Four - Risking the Dragon
In which Ron saves the day for everybody… mostly.
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Ron supposed his date might forgive him for showing up late.
When he met Natalya Vasik-Lalovic, she seemed like the sweetest, most accommodating woman ever to wear a plunging neckline, and it certainly seemed she had a big heart if she had been so willing to kiss before the first date. So maybe she wouldn't mind waiting a bit.
He had no intention of sticking around to watch Hermione "have fun". He merely had to drop in, possibly give a high and hello to Hermione and whoever it was she was with, and hurry on his way. He figured that would make Harry happy enough.
He emerged from the bushes and onto one of the many park walkways, gaining the attention of a few passersby but no more than their briefly curious glances. Lots of strange people in London. To them, he was just one of them.
The lights on the park were very dim, particularly deeper in; easy to hide almost anything in the shadows, but towards the outer edges of the park, lights from the streetcars and commercial establishments lit its surroundings. He could've sworn he aimed to apparate a little farther from where he stood, hoping he could avoid getting found out by Harry. Honestly, were his apparating skills that bad? It was very weird, anyway. Splinching himself, yes, but appearing in the wrong spot? It was almost as if some warding had been done…
He turned a bit and could see in the direction of the supposed Art Gallery.
Now… if only he could avoid bumping into Harry altogether.
Bump!
Too late.
Harry's face hovered above the ground, the rest of him covered by the invisibility cloak. "Took you long enough. You had a minute left before I went on ahead and decided you were being an arse. Good thing I put up wards. You were so trying to apparate elsewhere so I wouldn't find you!"
So he did ward the area. I KNEW it, Ron thought grimly.
He rolled his eyes. "Look here, Harry, unlike someone I know, I have a life. There is a very beautiful, long-legged Russian dooshyenka waiting for me in a restaurant who had expressed a desire to get right to pudding-"
"Go tell your little wand that it's not going to be doing any magic tonight, hmm'kay?"
"Little!"
"Ron, shut it! There are dozens of those types of women for you from now until the foreseeable future and there's only one Hermione. Now are you going to be a prat about this or are you going to help me?"
Well then now he had no choice but to do it, did he? Because there's only one Hermione and hundreds of Natalyas. Ron sighed. "Fine then! Let's go and get this over with!"
Harry spread-open the invisibility cloak. Ron grimaced and ducked in with him.
As they scrunched tighter to fit in the cloak, Ron stepped on Harry's foot. Harry made no complaint since it was his idea to get under the cloak together in the first place.
"Harry, you do realize that we haven't tried to fit under this thing since seventh year," said Ron. "And we've grown since then, too. Now, it's impossible! We're both too big."
"We'll manage. Hermione and I fit fine."
"That's because you can put your arms around her and she's tiny. I don't want you putting your arms around me, and I sure as hell am not going to put my arms around you."
"I'm not excited by the prospect either. Got any ideas?"
Ron frowned. He should've known Harry would rush into this without any kind of foresight. "Blimey, Harry! This is your mission! I thought you had everything figured out!"
"I did, but honestly Ron, I kind of… hadn't counted on you showing up."
Ron shot him a dry look. "Thanks a bloody lot for the vote of confidence."
Harry ignored the sarcasm. "Well, I don't usually have a Plan A and a Plan B like Hermione does, you see."
"Right. You just jump all the way to Plan Rush-In-And-Get-In-Trouble," Ron said with a roll of his eyes. "I doubt Hermione would be accommodating enough to plan her own stake-out, you know."
"Stop being snarky and try to help me figure this out. Since we're both in agreement that Hermione usually comes up with the best plans, what would she do in this situation?"
"Probably chew my head off…"
Harry shot him a glare.
"And then cast a charm," finished Ron as he raised his eyebrow.
They fell silent, thinking.
Ron easily grew frustrated. Were they that dependent on Hermione that they couldn't think for themselves?
Harry's eyes widened momentarily and he began to mutter. "Can't believe we didn't think of this sooner." He plucked his wand from his sleeve and aimed it at the cloak. "Dilato apto!"
The cloak expanded considerably, and when Harry held it up, it was large enough to fit them both comfortably.
Ron couldn't help but grin. "Brilliant! Can you do that with food, too?"
"You can, but the spell is temporary, so the food'll shrink when it's inside you and doesn't make much of a difference in making you full. Spell's too complicated to stay permanent. S'all about visualizing threads and patterns expanding…"
"Oh." That was disappointing. He should have known there was something difficult about the spell, seeing as Harry had to use his wand for it.
But Ron also found himself appreciating the fact that Harry's eyes hadn't rolled at the question. That was the thing about two blokes being best friends; there was a mutual understanding when it came to their perceptions of food, women and cleaning habits. Food was an essential (therefore all efforts to get them in large quantities must be undertaken: coupons are a must); women were a luxury (expensive, but you want them anyway) and cleaning habits were-well-moderate to bad without need of explanation. Harry had probably tried the expanding spell on the food himself.
They ducked under the cloak and headed towards the street. Reaching the edge of the park, they walked out of it through the gates and stopped at the light with the rest of the pedestrians.
Ron scanned the shops on the other side of the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Gallery of Contemporary (Magical) Art. Of course, it was likely "Magical" wasn't visible to muggles, and usually, wizarding establishments amongst muggle haunts weren't so easy to spot, but this establishment was. In fact, it was quite an eye-catcher, but not gaudily so.
"There," said Ron, pointing to a brightly lit establishment with a glass façade and a golden, glowing marquee sheltering its red-carpeted sidewalk. There were elegantly dressed muggles everywhere crowding the entrance, and if there was a wizard in the crowd, they were dressed to fit in.
"D'you see Hermione anywhere?" asked Harry.
"Not from here, no."
The pedestrian light signaled their turn and they crossed the lane, scurrying away from the crowd as they did so. There was a line at the elegantly set door and a well-dressed lady was checking names off a list. On both sides of her stood two brawny men wearing expensive suits. They were there to drive away those who weren't on the list but insisted on it nevertheless.
Ron let his eyes linger on the line. He rather thought Muggles were a peculiar if not absolutely mental lot, but their women sure carried their little dresses well.
Harry brought out his wand and balanced it on his open palm. "Intendo Hermione!"
The wand swiveled to the left of them, its tip glowing softly. Harry began to walk, wand still on hand as he followed its silent directions.
It still amazed Ron, the spells Harry had learned to use over the months training as an auror. It often made Ron wonder why the spells hadn't been taught to them in school. "That's wicked, Harry. You have to teach me that spell!"
"You'll need to learn Occlumency first. Thought shielding required."
"Oh." Second time he'd said it that night.
They found themselves being led to the tiny alley at the side of the building. It was dark, damp and unaccommodating. Ron began to feel his stomach squeezing within itself in anxiety. What the hell was Hermione doing way back here? Had someone dragged her to the back to rob her, maybe? Or worse, do unthinkable things to her?
He was beginning to feel real panic creeping up his spine when Harry clapped him on the chest to stop them both in their tracks.
There was Hermione, her back to them. A smartly dressed woman and an oppressively big man in a suit were escorting her up a low ramp that looked like it had been newly installed.
"Dreadfully sorry we didn't catch you earlier, Ms. Granger," said the woman in a breathless, flustered tone. "I was horrified when Jasper here told me you'd been standing in line for the longest time! It's such a crowd out there and practically impossible to get in within half the hour."
"Oh, but I'd just gotten there when you found me, really," said Hermione, sounding somewhat flustered herself. "I wouldn't have minded going through the regular way, either. You're being too kind-"
"Oh, no, no, Ms. Granger! Please! It's bad enough that we didn't send the limo to pick you up from your home-"
"But I didn't know myself if I would be here. This is… rather a spur of the moment thing…"
"We should've sent the limo anyway." The woman turned to the door and took out what looked like a wand. "Alohomora."
The large lock slowly shrieked open.
"Wizards who look like muggles!" hissed Ron. "The lot of them! I bet those folks at the front are wizards, too."
"Quiet, Ron!"
Harry urged them forward and they hurried towards the platform.
Ron, in his hurry, promptly kicked a stray tin can right across the ground. He swore Harry wanted to murder him if the look on Harry's face was any indication.
Hermione and the lady gave a yelp.
"Goodness!" cried Hermione.
The man called Jasper tutted. "Those rats are getting bigger by the year," he said in a throaty, gasping voice, like he had something stuck in his cheeks.
Hermione was looking right where Harry and Ron were standing. She seemed more alarmed than suspicious. "I-I don't think that was a rat-"
"We're in Muggle London. They're everywhere around here," said the lady. "Come along, now."
They finally slipped through the door.
Harry was scowling. "Oh, fantastic job, Ron. Why don't we just tell her we're following her?"
"It's not my fault these muggles leave their trash lying around!"
Harry sighed. "Let's just go."
They climbed the stairs and Harry pointed his wand at the huge lever. "Alohomora."
Nothing happened. Ron began to worry, but Harry didn't look the least bit perturbed.
"Must be charm sensitive," said Harry. He dropped to one knee, checked the lock and muttered something under his breath. His wand sent out a small stream of energy but the lock stayed benign.
Ron nudged him. "What are you doing?"
"I'm checking to see if the lock's cursed or charmed so that it doesn't backfire at us when I destroy it."
"Oh, do they teach you breaking and entering in Auror-school, as well?"
"Among other things."
"Why don't we just apparate inside?"
"Too noisy."
"Right."
"I think there are wards around, though there doesn't seem to be any anti-apparition ones. The wards are probably artwork focused. This should be easy…" Harry pointed his wand again. He took a moment to focus before speaking the spell. "Amoveo signum."
The lever shuddered.
Harry grabbed Ron and pulled both of them back just when the door flew wide open and banged loudly against the railing.
Ron panicked. "Are you mad?"
"Shhhh! Let's go!"
A soft beeping sound pulsed somewhere along the entryway and Ron was almost afraid something was going to explode. He saw it happen in Muggle movies all the time. There was a beeping sound before the bomb went off and blew you to bits.
Harry hustled them through the door and he led them down the hall. They pressed their backs against the wall as the cloak shrouded them.
There were footsteps from around the corner and two moderately sized men in suits walked right past them. They weren't as beefy looking as Jasper and his two brothers at the front, but they were tall and formidable in their own right. They had wires plugged into their ears, their crew-cuts doing nothing to hide it. If they were wizards, they would have their wands out. They were muggles.
"Looks like the lock's out," said one of them, flipping the lever as it swung uselessly from its knob. There was a large bolt aside from the knob, and the bolt had been melted right through, like Harry had used a lava-hot knife to cut through it.
Ron tried not to think about what Harry was capable of when it came to protecting Hermione. Gave him the willies.
"What the hell did this?" asked the suit's companion. He sounded utterly mystified.
Harry and Ron hurried away. The lock wasn't their problem.
They emerged from the back entrance into a busy muggle kitchen where cooks were putting together tiny portions of food and pouring wine for waiters to take out to the guests. Nobody seemed to be using wands. Ron suppressed the urge to grab a hand full of treats as they went.
They wove through the chefs and saw Hermione with her escorts just about pushing through the kitchen doors.
Ron suddenly felt Harry's grip on his arm, pulling him forward.
"Grip any harder and you just might successfully cut the flow of blood, Potter."
"Sorry." Harry let him go.
They managed to get behind a waiter who was just leaving the kitchen and realized that Hermione had stopped a mere few feet away from them. Jasper was gone, but the lady was still with her, smiling and gesturing to the wonderful gallery floor.
"The pieces of art are individually protected by anti-theft spells," said the lady. "Many of our artists like putting their own twist to their hexes and the gallery doesn't mind, as that ups the value of the artwork. At any rate, we opted not to ward the gallery against apparitions so that willing wizard customers can come and go as they please. We do, however, put up anti-apparition wards when we close up. No sense in tempting wayward wizards to come and try, after all. As you will find out, a lot of the art was inspired by the post-war high. You might find quite a few in tribute to your friend, Mr. Potter."
Ron grinned, nudging Harry. Harry didn't look like he cared.
Sometimes, Ron wondered if Harry even liked all the publicity. Probably not.
"Oh, that doesn't surprise me," said Hermione. "I'm sure Harry was and continues to be an inspiration to a lot of people. He's going to be an auror, you know. Best one ever, I'm sure. He conjured a Patronus when he was just thirteen. Strong enough to stave off a dozen Dementors, too. Did you know that?"
Ron watched Harry's face. His cheek gave the slightest twitch, but a blush was spreading over it. Whether it was from sheer embarrassment or the pleasure of hearing Hermione say something nice about him, Ron couldn't tell.
"Really? Fascinating." said the lady, sounding about as interested as Ron was when it came to Elf Rights.
Hermione frowned slightly.
"And Mr. Weasley? He'll be an auror, too?"
"No, but he's going to be the best manager the Chudley Cannons ever had. You just wait and see, Ms. Northanger. He'll bring them right to the Quidditch World Cup and finally win it for them."
Now Ron felt really bad for ditching her.
"A shame neither of them were able to make it here. They both sound fabulous."
"Yes." There was a snarky hint to Hermione's tone.
Ron couldn't tell if it was on account of them getting on her case for her dress or because the lady was dripping with bullshit.
"Oh!" yelped Ms. Northanger. "Here comes Mr. Athanasius!"
Harry made a sinister sound, like a bulldog, maybe. Ron inched as far away from him as much as the cloak allowed.
Hermione's eyes fixated on the man that was approaching her.
He looked like he stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Everything from his platinum-blonde hair down to his expensive leather shoes was the epitome of perfect grooming and style.
Ron didn't know much about muggle fashion, but even he could tell this man was rich, magnetic and intelligent.
He caught a glimpse of an arm holster, much like Harry's. It peeked from the cuff of his thousand-galleon suit. It was enough to tell them that the man at least took his wand dueling seriously. Most wizards liked to keep their wands in their breast pockets, but the best duelers kept their wands in their sleeves.
"Ms. Granger," said Lysander Athanasius in a voice that sounded like he could blow honey through his nose. "I am so pleased to see you."
"It's a pleasure to be here." She extended her hand for a shake. He took it but brought it to his lips for a perfect hand-kiss; the sort that wasn't smarmy but lingered enough to be full of promise.
Smooth, thought Ron.
"Who the fuck does that these days?" muttered Harry.
Not smooth, Harry. Try not to sound so jealous.
Hermione looked flustered all over again.
Ms. Northanger smiled. "Mr. Athanasius, I was just telling-"
"Thank you, Samantha, you did a splendid job. That will be all," said Lysander, his gaze never wavering from Hermione's face.
Ms. Northanger paused, as if to absorb the dismissal before smiling and whispering her excuses to leave.
Hermione pulled her gaze away from him and took back her hand, shifting her clutch-bag in it. She tried to speak to Samantha Northanger but Lysander reclaimed her hand and looped it over his arm.
"I don't imagine Samantha had a lot of interesting things to say," he said.
Hermione frowned, trying to pull away from him. "Well, that's not very nice of you."
He laughed, keeping her hand firmly on his arm. "No, but it's the truth. I wager she used the word 'fascinating' or 'fabulous' at least once during your conversation and she sounded neither fascinated nor fabbed."
Hermione stopped pulling away, a stubborn pout threatening to settle on her lips.
"I hired her for her efficiency," said Lysander, unaffected. "Not her conversational skills. Now, let me show you the art on display. Champagne? It's Blason Rosé by Perrier-Jouët. The best from France. I read in your Wizard's Compendium interview that you have been to France many times, yes?"
"Y-Yes… Blason Rosé is one of my favorite champagnes…"
"I'm not surprised. Champagne connoisseurs always have it on their list of top tens." He began to speak to her in French, and she answered back in the same language, as if dazed by the sound of his voice. They walked the gallery as he gestured to the paintings on display.
Ron sighed, shaking his head. Now he barely understood a thing.
It hardly mattered, anyway. Hermione didn't look like she was in any particular distress, and even if she was, all she had to do was make a scene and all the people in the gallery would secure her safety.
Her eyes, which had been wary at first, had began to acquire that brilliant glow. If she looked attractive a few minutes ago, she was mesmerizing now. Lysander, whatever kind of person he was, was bringing out the best in her. She was his work of art that evening, and he was enjoying his success.
The guy was polite, if excessively flirty, but Ron found that the look of mixed admiration and desire he gave Hermione rubbed him the wrong way. He was beginning to feel a strange crawling under his skin, like he wanted to smack the look from off the git's face.
Lysander placed his hand right on the small of Hermione's back, his thumb rubbing her spine delicately. She didn't seem to mind in the least.
Ron stifled a growl and glanced at Harry briefly, wondering what his friend was thinking in light of the situation.
"Look at him," hissed Harry. "He knows what he's doing."
Ron nodded, a slight grin forming on his face. "Should we jump him, then?" He was kidding, of course.
"No. He really hasn't crossed any lines yet. If we jump him now, Hermione'll have every reason to take his side in the matter and give us a hard time of it. We'll wait."
Harry was serious. Ron didn't think he should making anymore stupid jokes.
"Oh, this piece is lovely," gushed Hermione in English, stopping to stare at a painting bright with red but dark with deep orange fire. It was a painting of a flying Chinese dragon. A man rode its back, the smoke from his pipe building a pathway through the sky. The dragon seemed to be following this pathway quite happily.
Lysander seemed pleased. "It's called 'Riding the Dragon'. It's about-"
"Opium addiction. That's what they called getting high in the late eighteen hundreds. Opium came into London from China, and muggles associate China with the twelve animals of the Chinese Lunar calendar, particularly the Tiger and the-"
"Dragon," Lysander finished for her. He was grinning, like he was terribly impressed. "I bet you were always the first one to raise your hand in class when a professor asked a question."
Hermione reddened. "I'm sorry. It's a bad habit of mine. In grammar school they called me Know It All Ninny; as in Hermio-Ninny."
Ron arched an eyebrow. He never knew she had that nickname. She never told them.
Lysander chuckled, leaning closer to her. "Don't apologize. I think it's brilliant. People are too quick to dismiss intelligence, especially in a woman. Not me. I think intelligent women never grow uninteresting, and I think the more intelligent they are, the sexier they can be, and Ms. Granger… your intelligence overwhelms me in the extreme."
His hand on her back moved up in a feathery caress as he pulled away from her. It seemed so much like a casual gesture, because he was using that same hand now to indicate another art piece, but the light contact, however fleeting, did not go unnoticed. Hermione's breath caught visibly before she let it out slowly between her lips.
Ron's eyes widened in astonishment. The man was affecting her! He really was!
The damn playboy's trying to do her in!
He turned to Harry and was about to point out just that when he realized Harry knew it even better than he did. The tip of Harry's wand was beginning to glow, and his green eyes flashed murder.
Uh oh, thought Ron. His best friend was going to lose it and was going to lose it bad. Was it for love? Maybe. Was it jealousy? Totally possible. But was it worth losing Hermione's confidence for it?
No bloody way.
You'll thank me for this later, Harry.
He grabbed Harry by the wrist and with all the focus he could muster apparated them both out of the gallery as softly as he could manage and back into the park.
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Hermione heard the pop; not loud, but distinct. So did Lysander and every muggle-dressed wizard in the room.
They all turned at the sound of it and wondered who in the world had dared to apparate in the middle of a gallery filled with Muggles. No answers were forthcoming as there was no sign of a wizard appearing anywhere.
The Muggles seemed just as curious but weren't very concerned. There seemed to be nothing amiss, after all.
She had an unsettling thought flitting in her head but she shook it away, refusing to believe it. She could've sworn that crack reminded her of Ron's disapparation, but not quite. There was something distinctly different about it, which obviously meant it wasn't him at all.
No, it couldn't be him. He doesn't know where I am and he wouldn't do such a ridiculous thing, especially not if he has a date to occupy his evening…
She frowned and shut her mind to it. She wasn't going to think about either of them tonight. Tonight, she was going to have fun.
Her eyes roved back to Lysander. He was shifting his gaze between his security people, ordering them with the intensity of his violet eyes to find out what was going on. There was no doubt about it; it had been a wizard.
Hermione understood the stakes. It was the establishment owner's responsibility to uphold the Statute of Secrecy, especially if the business catered to wizards and muggles alike. Failure to comply with the statute could amount to fees, increased taxes, premiums and at the very worse, Ministry Lock-down. It was bad for business.
Lysander turned to her and smiled. "Well, that was odd, wasn't it?"
"Quite."
"I dare say that's the most interesting it's going to get around here. I have an idea, Ms. Granger. I was thinking we leave this place so we can go somewhere more… stimulating. Get the blood pumping."
Hermione didn't know whether to slap him or slap herself. Is he joking? She tried not to look too affected. "I'm not sure I understand, Lysander."
He chuckled. "Do you like to dance, Ms. Granger?"
Oh.
"I do, actually."
"Then lets. Come along, then!" He gently took her hand and began to lead her to the front door.
"B-But," she held back a bit. "This is your gallery, and it's opening night! Won't they look for you?"
"My Gallery Director is far more important tonight than I am. The gallery won't miss me." He looked around briefly then flicked his fingers at someone.
Samantha Northanger approached him. He told her to fetch the limo and she nodded, unhooking a short-wave radio from her hip and speaking into it.
Hermione felt Lysander's hand on her back again and she shuddered. His touch was firm, and warm. She blinked rapidly, desperately trying to repress the naughty thoughts forcing their way into her mind.
He had been doing that to her all night; had been making her think things that no proper English-woman should be thinking; or more particularly: things that Hermione Granger shouldn't be thinking, but it was like it couldn't be helped, and it didn't make things easier in the least that when he looked at her, she felt like she was desired. She had never had that before. Not with any of the men she had dated. It was like a drug; she got high from it, and she found herself becoming more animated; thinking faster; feeling more vibrant.
It had to be her confidence. He made her feel beautiful through his eyes, his words and his touch.
Oh, what a temptation this man is! she thought before telling herself that she was being an absolute air-head.
His purple gaze met hers and he smiled, touching her chin briefly as if he were terribly fond of her. "How can you be so intelligent yet look so innocent at the same time? Drives me mad…"
She blinked, her face growing incredibly warm. Well, she might know the answer to that, but she wasn't about to tell him.
It was embarrassing to be the oldest virgin she knew. Even Harry, the seeker-as in "Seeker of Meaningful Relationships"-, hadn't exactly remained celibate in the name of that golden snitch called Love.
She couldn't blame Harry, really. Even she would've found it laughable if the greatest hero of their age hadn't gotten any action for his efforts. The least witches could do was show him their appreciation.
Didn't mean she wasn't jealous of them, though.
Damn slags.
She couldn't help the thread of her thoughts, and she couldn't help feeling a bit nervous about where Lysander was taking her as they stepped out in the sidewalk, probably to wait for his so-called limo.
"Lysander, where are you taking me?" She didn't care if she sounded distrustful. There were very few people she trusted in the world, and fewer still she trusted unconditionally. Since her parents died, the number of people she completely trusted had been narrowed down to two: Harry and Ron. They could be pushing her off a cliff and she'd still have total faith in them.
He must have seen the mistrust. He smiled slightly, as if to forgive her for it instantly. "There is a club at the other side of town; purely muggle. Tonight's salsa night."
"S-Salsa?"
"You don't like salsa?"
"It's not like I don't like it… just that-I'm not sure I can-"
"Of course you can. I will lead; all you have to do is follow."
See, I'm not very good at letting anyone lead me, is what she wanted to say. The only person she ever allowed to lead her was Harry, and those were mostly life and death situations. But she supposed it wouldn't be all that bad to let someone lead her on the dance floor.
After all, it was just a salsa, right?
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Harry wrenched himself away from Ron the moment they cracked into the park. He tore the invisibility cloak right off and checked himself for any missing parts. He had all his fingers, and his shoes certainly looked whole, so his toes were likely there. He checked his crotch and all troops were in place. He breathed a sigh of relief before turning on Ron with a frown.
"Are you mad? You could've splinched parts of us! You could've splinched us together!"
Ron, having just finished checking his own family jewels, was checking his eyebrows. "Well, I didn't! So shut it, alright? I swear, Harry, sometimes you can be bossier than she is!"
Harry sighed and looked across the street from the park to the gallery. He wanted to run back in there and beat the living flobberworms out of Lysander Athanasius, and he would've, if Ron hadn't apparated them both.
As much as he wanted to yell at Ron for risking them both to his questionable apparating skills, Ron had called it right. Harry had lost it in there and Hermione would've-he didn't even want to think about how angry she could have been. She'd probably hex them both with boils and banish them to Siberia butt-naked, or worse, she'd never speak to them again (or at least in the next two weeks, which would feel just as horrible.)
"We can't leave her in there with him," he said.
Ron sighed. "Honestly, Harry, do you think Hermione will fall for a bloke like that? He's so-"
"Rich? Handsome? Intellectually her equal?" Harry was getting frustrated at how Ron wasn't getting the picture.
"I was going for corny, smarmy and anal, but I suppose now that you mentioned all those, I'll just sound jealous of his money, good looks and brains."
Harry sighed, watching the gallery from behind the shadow of trees. He and Ron could run back in there, he supposed, but the risk would be too great. He knew their disapparating had created enough of a disturbance. He just hoped Hermione hadn't recognized the sound of it.
He was just about to tell Ron they should head on back there under the cloak when he saw Hermione and Lysander emerge from the gallery.
Oh, shite, they're ditching the joint!
"Harry! Crapper, I think they're leaving!"
"I know!"
"Where the hell are they going?"
"Oh, like I'd know that!"
Harry grabbed Ron by the collar and he threw the cloak over them. He apparated them both from the park to a relatively isolated and dark alley on the other side of the street. The noise of the traffic and the busy crowd of people somewhat masked the noise of the spell, but he knew it was still audible, particularly to those who happened to be nearby.
There were a few yelps, but nothing that caused widespread panic.
Ron muttered curses, but Harry ignored him as he maneuvered them through the throng.
Harry could see Hermione being ushered into a limousine with Lysander climbing in with her. Harry panicked and was just about to fire an exploding charm at the car's tire when Ron held him by the wrist.
"Don't!" Ron hissed.
The door was shut and the car drove off, leaving them watching from the curb.
Harry wondered if punching Ron would attract too much attention.
Ron gripped his arm more firmly and dragged him back to the dark alley where they could remove themselves from the invisibility cloak without notice.
"It's over, Harry."
Ron's words made Harry sick, if only at the sheer truth of it. He turned his ill-feelings at a garbage bin, kicking it with such a degree of force that it rang loudly through the alley and scared all the cockroaches in it silly.
"I just-" he tried to explain. "There's something wrong with that man, Ron!"
Ron sighed. "There's a pub just another block from here. Let's talk about this over a whiskey or two. How 'bout that?"
"No. We can get into the gallery, actually. Ask for Ms. Northanger and tell her we lost our invitation. She'll let us in! She knows us! And then we can ask her where Hermione and Athanasius ran off to-"
"Harry!" Ron cried. "Let her go."
Let her go…
Harry couldn't. He had been trying, since he realized his feelings for her, to do just that, but he couldn't. "Let's just ask Ms. Northanger-"
"And if Ms. Northanger tells us, Hermione will find out from her-through Athanasius-that we were snooping around. D'you realize how angry she'd be? How hurt? You do know that we're the only two people Hermione trusts, don't you, Harry?"
Harry scowled. "I know that, Ron. And it's not like we're betraying her trust! We're looking out for her-"
"Oh, there's no doubt about it; she'll always trust us, but what'll hurt her is that we didn't trust her. Think about it, Harry. Why are we even here? You afraid she'll put out for this git?"
"Hell, no!"
Ron snorted. "That's right. You should've thought of that before you dragged us both out here."
"It's not-" He cut himself off, sighing. He suddenly wasn't sure about his reasons, anymore. "I think maybe I'll take you up on that offer of whiskey, Ron. But I'd rather take it at the Leaky Cauldron, if you don't mind. Familiar faces… you know?"
Ron clapped Harry's shoulder consolingly. "Let's go then. Sooner we talk this out, the better, because Potter, have I got a lot of things to ask you."
Harry cringed. Shite. I think he knows.