A/N: This is a re-edited version. I finally got around to spell-checking and everything so that I don't cringe when I read over my old stuff. Anyway, please read on and let me know what you think of the story so far!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this fic, except maybe Charlotte, Mark, Persephone, etc. You get the point.
Chapter 2~~New Day, New(s) Article, New Acquaintances
The Saturday morning rays were insistent. Hermione barely had time to stir before her sleep-addled brain registered that she was unable to move. Fleeting and irrational fears of paralysis made her twitch jerkily to remove the offending obstruction. Her eyes shot open to identify the source of leaden weight across her midsection-Harry's right arm.
She tensed up immediately not wanting to wake him, though if the soft snores coming from his direction were any indication, the man was out. Reason told her to revel in the moment while it lasted because this sort of opportunity-being in such intimate contact with the man she loved, whether of not he returned the sentiments-rarely presented itself. But because Hermione had about as much luck as those rabbits whose feet end up serving as good luck charms, Harry soon shifted his arm and woke himself up.
"Mmmmmorning Hermione," he yawned, stretching out his legs that had somehow found their way on the couch during the night.
"Ermorninarry," she squeaked in his response.
Simultaneously they looked down at his hand still resting on her stomach and back up at each other. He pulled it away sharply and both made embarrassed excuses to leave the couch and hide their blushes, though Hermione figured they were reddening for very different reasons. Sure she hugged him and dared to kiss him on the cheek every so often but when it came right down it, Harry just wasn't a touchy-feely kind of person-which of course made this sleep grope situation even more perplexing.
When they met a half hour later in the kitchen for breakfast with rather stiff necks, Hermione was determined to pretend it hadn't happened-at least until when she was alone and could recall the exact feeling of his rough hands on her bare stomach.
Harry shuffled into his seat across the table from her, setting the steaming plates of eggs and bacon gingerly on the placemat in front of him. Since the kitchen and dining area were adjoined to the living, the couch loomed in the corners of their vision like the metaphorical elephant. The awkwardness between the two was as thick as a bad cliché, but finally Harry spoke in a forced casual tone that was a little too loud to be natural.
"Sorry about earlier," he apologized. "On the couch, I mean," he added as though it hadn't been the only thing she was thinking about.
For her part, Hermione feigned confusion and arranged her features in a way to suggest that she was trying to recall that particular offense. Waiting an appropriate amount of time, she allowed her face to relax into a cheeky grin. "Oh that's all right, Harry. You know my feminine wiles are irresistible to men."
Harry's shoulders grew visibly less tense and countered with a saucy wink of his own, "To all men named Mark, you mean."
Having no witty retort to that, Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. Stirring her tea she recalled the note Ron had sent the previous day. "Oh, I forgot to tell you yesterday: Ron says he can't meet up for lunch today."
Harry furrowed his brow. How he managed to shovel an entire slice of toast-a feat frequently undertaken by the aforementioned redhead-and still look pensive was lost on Hermione. "Idee thay ooai?" he said through his mouthful, then, seeing Hermione's wrinkled nose, swallowed painfully and repeated, "Did he say why?"
She shook her head in the negative and sipped her tea thoughtfully. "No, he just mentioned something about a conference to discuss expanding Weasley Wizarding Wheezes to the Continent, but that Luna's still coming."
The third member of the trio had honed his chess skills into a successful career as a marketing strategist for Fred and George's joke shop, now a joke shop chain. On any given day of the week it was likely to find Ron just arriving or about to depart to some faraway country. Hermione often joked that it was fortunate Ron had finally learned how to Apparate properly, otherwise Magical Reversal Squad would chasing after parts of him all throughout the UK. Harry always cringed at the mention of Splinching, he himself opting for the safer but slower method of broomstick flying. If an Auror assignment required travel, as they occasionally did, he and his partner, Persephone Perris, were often issued a round-trip portkey for the journey.
"Better than cauldron bottom thickness," pointed out Harry rationally. "Does that make it five for lunch then?"
Hermione smiled, a lot more cheerful with food in her stomach. "Looks like it," she replied, leaning back in her chair. She looked on the table and nearby chair for the newspaper.
"Harry, have you seen the Prophet?" she asked, ducking under the table to search further.
The highly trained and skilled Auror cleared his throat nervously. He scooted his chair back abruptly, the wood on wood scraping of the chair on the floor causing Hermione to wince. "Er, they didn't print one today," he said, bending over the stove to adjust the heat on the burner under the pan of sausages and not meeting her eyes.
"They didn't print one," she repeated skeptically, one eyebrow raised.
Harry cleared his throat again. "Nope, must be some kind of news holiday or something," he reasoned with a shrug, still training his sight on the stove.
Hermione scoffed. "There's no such thing as a `news holiday,' Harry, you of all people should know that. The day the Prophet goes on holiday is the day I-Wait." She stopped abruptly, noticing Harry peek at her from the corner of his eye and take in a huge breath.
"Wait," she repeated. "They've printed something about me, haven't they?"
Harry didn't answer right away but appeared to be turning blue with the breath that he'd been holding.
"Haven't they, Harry?" she said more forcefully.
He finally turned in her direction, bringing a sizzling plate full of sausages with him to the table. When he did speak it was as though he was trying to talk her off the side of a building. "Hermione, remember when Ginny took that job just out of Hogwarts at the Prophet and she complained that she could hardly get a sentence past the editors the way she'd written it originally?" he asked gently.
"Yes," she answered slowly, hoping for her sake that he was lying, despite the fact that she could never drudge up a time that he'd done so. Except maybe in fourth year about the egg. And in sixth when he was trying to hide his budding feelings for Ginny. And in-- she shook her head; this wasn't helping.
"Let me see it, Harry," she demanded, her hand held out expectantly.
For a split second if looked as though he was going to refuse, but then he released his breath, admitting defeat. "It's not really about you," he amended. "Just an article by you that's been heavily censored." He retrieved the paper from where he'd hidden it under his stack of Quidditch magazines, the one place he'd figure she wouldn't look. Of course, he didn't realize that she, knowing him, would search this location first. She accepted it from him and ignored his don't-say-I-didn't-warn-you expression.
With an angry flourish she unfolded the parchment and disappeared behind it, her eyes scouring the page for a glimpse of relevant text. Finally she found it beneath a large cut-out two-for-one coupon of a half pound of insect-repellent sugar and an equal measure of sugar-repellent insects:
Hermione Granger, live-in best friend of The Chosen One, Harry Potter, 22 tells all about her fabulous new career counseling grief-stricken widows in an exclusive article for The Daily Prophet.
"I just knew that I should spend my life helping people," gushed the twenty-three-year-old witch from behind her mahogany desk. "After years by Harry's side during and before the war, I figured it was the least I could do."
When asked to comment on her relationship with her famously talented flatmate, the renownedly clever witch hid her smile behind a well-manicured hand and declined to comment. Cont. pg. 16-19
"I don't believe it," she said through gritted teeth. "They didn't keep anything!"
"No, that's not true, Hermione. Your desk is mahogany," he teased, reading the article over her shoulder.
She shot him a death glare. "This is not the time, Harry," she warned, though all of the fight had left her. She refolded the paper and pressed the creases absent-mindedly, slumping against the nearest chair so that it was pushed roughly back against the table. Harry must have sensed her disappointment because he remained dutifully silent, waiting for her to speak.
"It's just that I thought I'd finally shown psychotherapy in a positive light," she said at last. "It was naïve of me to think that they wouldn't change my article into yet another testimony of my love for you, those publicity hounds!" she growled angrily.
Harry looked at her with mingled feelings of fright and bemusement. Hermione mentally retraced her words, the glaring admission of her feelings echoing unpleasantly over and over in her head. She turned to him intending to treat it as a joke, but Harry's face wore an odd expression and her laugh died before leaving her throat.
A loud crack from the living room saved the pair from an off-putting moment. They both spun on the spot to face the sound, wand hands twitching in preparation for the need of defense. This particular visitor did not warrant such behavior, but chimeras rarely change their spots.
Ron raised his hand in greeting. "G'morning Harry, Hermione," he said, nodding to each one in turn. "I'm here to pick you up for lunch."
Hermione and Harry glanced at each other in confusion and then at the kitchen clock, and finally both of their watches.
"Ron, it's not even eleven o'clock yet. I thought we were meeting at twelve thirty?" queried Harry, worried that he'd mistaken the time.
"And I thought you weren't even coming?" added Hermione.
"Ah yes, but the plans have changed," Ron explained, rubbing his hands together and making himself comfortable on the couch. "It happens that I am not needed after all on the Continent. Fred is going in my place."
Hermione straightened one of the couch cushions and sat down next to him. "But aren't they expecting you?" she asked curiously.
"Yes, and they'll be getting me too. Or at least, they think they will," he replied enigmatically.
Harry raised an eyebrow and seated himself in the nearby armchair. "What are you on about?"
"Well, apparently the product I was supposed to be talking up is some kind of new disguise, like a polyjuice potion you can wear in cloak form without having to brew it," he explained while thumbing threw Harry's magazines. "Fred went wearing one of the prototypes, so he'll look like me during the whole meeting, and then when he takes it off, they'll see it's obviously not. Dramatic but effective. The only problem is that it sort of distorts the face of the person you're trying to take the guise of. Made my nose look really long."
"Your nose is really long," Harry deadpanned.
"Thanks, mate, knew I set myself up for that one," Ron replied with a laugh.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "So when will this…polyjuice cloak hit the market?" she asked.
"Eh sometime in the next month of two. Fred and George are still perfecting it. Still, what do you reckon, polyjuice without the wearing off!" he proclaimed.
"Could be handy," said Harry shrugging his shoulders to Hermione.
She shrugged back, undecided. "Anyway, why are you here so early, Ron?"
Ron broke out into a wide grin as though suddenly remembering something. "I have something to show you guys," he said, standing up and heading to the front door of the flat. "C'mon, Luna's outside with it."
"Ron, you left her outside in the rain!" admonished Hermione incredulously, taking Harry's proffered hand to help her up from the couch. She held it a little longer than she would have Ron's, for obvious reasons, but she thanked him by aiming a grateful in his direction as she followed Ron out the door and down the three flights of stairs to the ground level.
Immediately after opening the door, the three wizards were assaulted by the heavy late March rain. Hermione and Harry looked down the street in both directions, dodging passers-by and their lethal umbrellas, but neither could spot Ron's wife.
"Where is she then?" Harry asked Ron in slight annoyance; none of them had thought to bring an umbrella of their own. Hermione quickly whipped out her wand and cast an impervious charm on herself and Harry, then turned to Ron to do the same.
But Ron was looking straight ahead with a proud smile on his face. Hermione and Harry followed his gaze to where Luna was sitting in a brand-new, bright orange Mini Cooper.
"Isn't she beautiful," said Ron tearfully, strongly reminiscent of Hagrid on the day Norbert hatched.
"It's a…car," said Hermione, looking to Ron for an explanation.
He was completely unfazed by her lack of enthusiasm. "Of course it's a car," he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, which in this case it was.
"But then…why do you have it, Ron?" asked Harry haltingly.
"To drive, Harry," he said, beginning to become exasperated that his friends weren't over the moon about his recent purchase. "Haven't you ever felt it?" he asked Harry with a glazed over expression on his face. "The hum of the engine, the grip of the tires on the road, the countryside whipping past your window, the-"
"Nausea because you have motion sickness?" interjected Hermione. "Honestly Ron, do you even have a license?"
"Of course I do," he replied, though it came out as more of a mild mumble.
"A license to kill," chimed in Harry with a grin, which he immediately dropped when he saw Hermione's glare.
She caught his eye and they had a silent argument until Ron interrupted by clearing his throat. Hermione feared for the citizens of England, what with Ron on the road and all, which she tried to communicate to Harry with a determined eyebrow raise. Harry seemed to suggest with a slight twinge of his shoulders that maybe she should just have a little faith in their mutual best friend, to which Hermione rolled her eyes in what clearly was an are-you-kidding-me? gesture. It was Harry's turn to glare.
"Uh, guys?" he said tentatively, "What do you think?"
"It's lovely, Ron," answered Hermione, slightly bitter that she had admitted defeat in her and Harry's little nonverbal discussion.
Harry beamed and clapped Ron on the back good-naturedly. "Yeah, mate, excellent way to spend a few thousand galleons, er, pounds," he concurred. "And when does Hermione get to take a spin in it? She is the only one with a valid Muggle driver's license, after all," Harry joked.
"Oh I dunno, Harry," Ron instantly replied, casting a nervous glance at Hermione, who had returned to studying the car. "This car is my baby. If anyone hurt-"
"That's all right, Ron," interrupted Hermione. "My driving skills are a bit rusty anyway. By the way, why is the car painted orange?"
"Chudley Canons," Harry and Ron instantly replied in unison before breaking out into laughter.
"You're ridiculous," said Hermione in Ron's direction, though she too had a smile on her face.
Ron sobered a moment, placing his hands on his hips and turning his head slightly to the side so that he looked rather majestic. Of course the billowing robes added to the effect as well. "No, I'm a fan," he corrected quite seriously for him.
Hermione chuckled but turned it into a cough so as not to ruin Ron's little moment. He eventually came back to himself and blushed a little, then told Hermione and Harry to get a move on so that he could drive the two of them to lunch. This explained why he'd come so early-their destination was about an hour's drive away and they would now have to contend with the heavy London traffic.
Hermione and Harry dashed back upstairs and hurriedly dressed themselves. They met in the entryway by the door, where Harry helped Hermione into her cloak and she absently smoothed the creases in his. Neither really gave a second thought to the intimate gestures, but concentrated on preparing themselves for a dangerous journey with Ron at the wheel.
Returning outside presented a new problem: how were four practically full-sized adults supposed to fit comfortably inside such a tiny vehicle? Hermione hesitantly approached the driver's side where Ron had opened the door and pulled forward the seat so that she could enter. He winked at her reluctant expression before she thrust herself through the small gap between the back of Ron's chair and the doorframe, immediately plopping into the incredibly spacious and obviously magically enlarged backseat. Harry's surprised face mirrored her own as he toppled into his seat from Luna's side. It seems neither had reckoned the seating arrangements with magic.
Stretching out luxuriously on the leather seat, Hermione complimented, "Not bad, Ron."
Ron fumbled with his seatbelt a moment before hearing the latch click resolutely. He looked at her in the rear view mirror as he put his key in the ignition. "Coming from you, Hermione, I'll take that as praise indeed," he joked.
She once again rolled her eyes as she and Harry cheerfully greeted Ron's wife, Luna. She blinked happily at them behind a dreamy smile; marriage had obviously not changed her much.
"All right, Luna, where are we headed?" Ron asked as he put the car in reverse and placed his and behind her headrest to look out the back window for traffic.
Hermione was impressed that he was so observant of the rules and methods of driving, even if wasn't technically allowed to drive. From the front passenger seat, Luna acted as navigator. Hermione and Harry remained mostly silent during the journey, raising their eyebrows at each other to express dubious admissions that Ron was actually a decent driver. That is, until they reached the restaurant where they were meeting Mark and Persephone.
"Ron, honestly, it doesn't matter!" exclaimed Hermione as Ron made yet another round of the parking lot. They'd been circling for over fifteen minutes and it was almost time to claim their reservation.
"I'm just trying to get a good spot, Hermione," grumbled Ron, part of his tongue sticking slightly out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated on the stalls on either side of the lane.
"Well it won't matter if we miss our reservation! Don't you want to eat?" she pointed out, hoping to motivate the part of Ron that responded favorably to food of any kind.
Ron said nothing and ignored Harry's suggestions of possible locations. "Too far, Harry," was all he said for the next five minutes.
Finally Hermione grew impatient. "Stop the car, Ron," she demanded. "I'm getting out."
"What are you on about, Hermione? Just wait a second and I'll get us a spot," Ron replied, making yet another turn in the opposite direction of the restaurant. Suddenly the car lurched to a stop and the gearshift locked in park. "Hey, wha?" cried Ron, fiddling with the stick worriedly.
"Let me out, Ron," Hermione repeated, looking at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
He gazed at her angrily for a second but wisely decided not to protest further, probably because Luna and Harry were also present. Opening the door, he moved the front seat forward and even offered her and hand to help her out, though he gave her an ugly look when he knew they were both out of eyeshot of the car's occupants.
"Thank you," she said nicely, pointing her wand at the front of the car to restore power. She bent down and said to Harry and Luna, "I'm going to check in and meet you guys up there."
Without another word, she began the somewhat lengthy trek to the restaurant. On the sidewalk she hailed the form of Mark, who she could make out was talking to a pretty, petite brunette. For a moment she felt unsteady but she dismissed it, blaming lack of exercise.
"Hi," she said, slightly breathless from walking so fast.
"Hermione!" he cried in surprise. "I've just had the pleasure of meeting the sixth member of our party. Let me introduce Miss Persephone Perris-"
"That's supposed to be my job," interjected Harry laughingly, who came up from behind Hermione offering his hand to Mark. The men shook and Harry turned to Hermione and winked conspiratorially. Hermione wondered why she put up with his relentless teasing regarding Mark's affections for her. For his part, Mark gaped only very little at the hero in front of him. Though the trainee healer had met Harry a few times in passing, Ron secretly classified him as belonging in the "marginally star-struck" category.
"Anyway, Mark, since you've already met Persephone, let me introduce her to rest of the group here," Harry continued moving around so that he and Persephone were facing the other pair. "This here is Hermione Granger, my `live-in best friend,'" he said, deliberately quoting that morning's Prophet with a devilish wag of eyebrows. "She works at St. Mungo's with Mark here, though in a different department."
"I counsel witches and wizards who have gone through an emotionally or physically traumatic experience," Hermione explained, politely holding out her hand to be shaken.
The other witch appeared to be impressed as she grasped and shook Hermione's hand firmly. "It's great to finally meet you Hermione," she said, opening her mouth to reveal a set of even white teeth. "Harry's mentioned you quite a few times, of course."
"Nothing bad, I hope," came Hermione's conventional reply.
Persephone let loose a throaty laugh that seemed to contradict her girlish appearance. Hermione judged her to be a little younger than she and Harry, though not much. Harry's entrance into the Auror training program was delayed by a year when he returned to Hogwarts to complete his education, so it made sense that he would be partnered with someone a little younger.
"Of course not," Persephone said. "It's generally on the lines of `When Ron, Hermione and I were twelve, we hid out in a girls' lavatory to brew Polyjuice Potion,' or something from your various adventures."
"Misadventures, more like," Hermione laughed. "Were you at Hogwarts as well?"
Persephone's face clouded for a fraction of a second, but then she broke out into a small smile. "Yeah, my brother Thomas and I were a year behind you, in Ravenclaw," she answered, confirming Hermione's theory of her age.
Luckily Ron and Luna arrived a few moments later and, after the necessary introductions, the sextet broke into pairs as they entered the restaurant. Hermione looked forward to see Mark blushing at something Harry was saying to him. She hoped it had to do with his idea for matching Mark up with Persephone rather than just taking the mickey. She didn't want Mark to think that she often discussed his behavior with Harry at home.
She turned to see Persephone studying her curiously. The younger witch blushed shyly and joked while playfully nudging her in the arm, "So did your parents have a Greek fixation too, or was that just mine?"
Hermione laughed at the stealth at which Persephone had brought the half-exhausted topic of the oddity of her name. "No, the whole thing is far less interesting than that. I think my parents were just trying to be witty. Unfortunately, it's a bit of a mouthful for most children, so I went through my first few years of school with various odd nicknames."
"Tell me about it," said Persephone emphatically as the group obediently followed the waiter to be seated. She sat between Hermione and Luna and pointed out facetiously, "But at least you don't share your name with the goddess of the Underworld."
"True," remarked Hermione. "But she's also associated with the changing of the seasons-winter to spring and all that, when Persephone visited her mother, Demeter. Perhaps that's the meaning your parents intended," smiled, thinking she would be amused.
But she mistaken. Persephone's eyes clouded again momentarily before she caught herself. She smiled apologetically and leaned in toward Hermione behind her menu to whisper, "Bit of a sticky spot, that. Not on very good terms with the parents as of late."
Hermione nodded her understanding but stayed silent, figuring Persephone wasn't the sort of person that went around lamenting her misfortunes.
"They're Squibs, you see," she explained as she scanned the meal choices, "Disowned my brother and I when we were accepted to Hogwarts. He was all I had growing up, so I don't really see my mother as a Demeter any more than I see Hogwarts as Hades."
"I see," said Hermione sympathetically. She was reminded of how she was that her parents, although Muggles unfamiliar with the magical world, never forbid her from using magic, however daunting it might have seemed to them.
The rest of the meal passed gaily with several attempts on both Hermione and Harry's parts to hook up Mark and Persephone, as well as several somewhat tipsy toasts to Ron's new car by the men. Hermione was pleased to see Mark get on so well with her as they conversed across the table. She and Harry frequently shot pleased looks at one another when there seemed to be progress in their plan.
After they paid for their meal, the group gathered outside to enjoy the sudden bout of sunshine. They'd been talking for only a few minutes when Harry and Persephone suddenly began rummaging in their pockets as though frantically searching for something.
"We're being paged," explained Harry to the rest of the group as they looked on curiously. He held up what appeared to be an ordinary Muggle credit card as his partner did the same. The front of the card acted as a communicator with an agent back at the Auror department, but the entire object itself was inconspicuous enough to go by unnoticed if an Auror happened to be searched. That is of course unless the person doing the searching wondered why a wizard would carry a Muggle monetary object.
Harry and Persephone gazed intently at their cards as a mission was read to them. When it finished, both replaced their communicators in their robes and bid apologetic but hasty goodbyes.
"See you at home," Harry told Hermione as he prepared to be portkeyed to an undisclosed location. She nodded and wished him a safe journey, knowing his dislike for that mode transport.
"It was great to finally meet you," said Persephone, hugging Hermione and leaving her just enough time to return the sentiment before Persephone seized another portion of the portkey and vanished beside Harry.
Hermione thought back to the more eventful times of Hogwarts, where hardly a day went by that she, Harry, and Ron weren't engaging in some sort of adventure. While she did miss the intrigue of a good mystery every now and then, she had not felt the same thrill at the possibility of being caught out of bounds as Harry and Ron and did not miss the fear for her life that had been her constant companion on most of these so-called adventures. As far as she was concerned, she was quite ready to settle down.
After declining Luna's offer to chauffer her back to her flat (Ron had had a little too much to drink at lunch), she made her goodbyes and forced Mark to promise to call Persephone the following day. Deciding to use the rest of the day to completely update her notes and case file from her first session with Charlotte Fairclough, she Apparated home and set to work. If she was going to meet with the aged witch the following week, she'd best be prepared.
When she next looked at her clock she was surprised to see that two hours had passed since she'd arrived at the flat. She wrinkled her forehead a little as she wondered what sort of call Harry had had to respond to, and compulsively set about tidying up the flat.
Some minutes later, Hermione settled onto the sofa with her notes, sighing as she leaned into the cushions and pondered Charlotte's situation. She and her husband had fought side by side throughout the war, just like she and Harry had-except of course, they weren't married and Hermione hadn't been fully aware of her feelings then. Would knowing that those tingly feelings in her stomach were love have changed anything? If the war hadn't ended when it had, would she have even figured them out?
She tried to imagine what it would be like to be with someone every day and then lose them so close to the end. Life was full of what-ifs and might-have-beens, Hermione concluded, but what was most important was remembering those lost as the men and women they were rather than dwelling on their absence. Hermione smiled to herself as she drifted off to sleep. Charlotte had it right after all…
Hermione was sitting on a stone bench bordering a lush country flower garden, watching people walking purposefully past her. Some were dressed as Muggles, some in wizarding robes, but none of them spared a glance in her direction. She beamed in delight when Crookshanks jumped onto her lap to be petted.
Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of sandy blond hair belonging to a wizard striding to her right. She gently removed Crookshanks without taking her eyes off of the man and stood up trying to follow him. Her legs were much shorter and soon she lost sight of him amidst the rushing throng of travelers. She cried out in anguish at having lost her target, people pressed against her on all side, jostling her left and right-
"Hermione," said a familiar voice gently, eliciting a smile before she was even entirely conscious.
She opened her eyes and Harry's concerned face swam in her vision as she tried to focus. Rubbing one eye with the back of her hand, she caught a glimpse of her wristwatch-she had been asleep nearly three hours! A look outside confirmed that day had already faded into night.
"Haaarry," she yawned, stretching her arms above her head and then lowering them clear up the mess she had made of her notes while she had slept. She looked up at Harry was nervously wiping the palms of his hands on his pants as he paced from the window back to the coffee table, on which Hermione had now arranged her case file.
"What's the matter?" she asked, worried that he had yet to look at her fully since she'd woken up.
He didn't answer right away but appeared to be choosing his words carefully. Finally he perched himself on the arm of the couch, and for once Hermione didn't admonish him about ill-treating the furniture. He reached out to grasp one of her hands gently and in a soft voice she'd rarely ever heard him use asked, "Hermione, I need you to answer my questions and not ask any of your own just yet, all right?"
She bemusedly nodded, trying to push down the feeling of dread that had begun its ascent like bile into her throat. Had something happened to her parents? Why else would Harry be acting this way?
"Persephone and I answered the call today, but it was out of our department's jurisdiction," he began, squeezing her hand. "The victim was an elderly woman about the same height and coloring of Mrs. Weasley."
Hermione's head felt as though it would detach from her neck if she nodded any more. Unconsciously she gripped Harry's hand harder as her mind tried not to make any connections to anything else.
"The neighbors said that she'd been unhappy for a long while, having lost her husband in the war," Harry went on. If Hermione was causing him any pain by the strength she was using to press his hand, he gave no indication. "Hermione," he whispered as tears began to well up in her eyes, "What was the name of the woman who came to see you yesterday?"
Hermione blinked and felt the hot trail of a tear course down her face, dropping from her chin onto Harry's hand. "Charlotte Fairclough," she choked.
Harry nodded sadly to her and let go of her hand so that he could pull her into his arms. She made no protests but allowed herself to be held; her mind had shut down from her command but memories long since passed made their way back to the surface. She screwed up her face and accepted his embrace, welcoming the warmth.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he spoke softly, smoothing down her wild hair.
She pulled away and looked into his green eyes with determination. "What happened?" she asked a little roughly trying to inject some strength into her speech, though it had broken on her last word.
Harry wiped some of the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. "Poison," he answered quietly.
She turned her head away toward the table where Charlotte's case file laid, biting her lip and nodding distractedly. She reached out a hand to close it, but Harry grabbed it and brought her attention back to him.
"You're going to be all right," he promised.
She gave a small smile, locking eyes once more. "I know, for I am with you."
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