A/N: A few things: I've not finished Book 7. I'm not going to finish Book 7. Canon for me ends at Book 6, because, well, even though HBP was hard to read, it was somewhat plausible. That makes this story completely AU, which I've decided is more fun anyway. I'm sorry this has taken me so long, but after the carpet book, JKR's inane interviews, & that stupid epilogue… I lost heart for a long time. If you're still with me, thank you so much. H/Hr is worth it, guys. Our evidence was there, on every single page and nothing can change that. Not Victoire, not Hugo (Victor Hugo, I mean, lame.) not Draco's baldness, and especially not some absurd "Nineteen Years Later." JKR doesn't know what she's missin'.
Thanks, Molly, for the beta, & everything else. =)
Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit. Blah. Blah.
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Only Once, Chapter Five:
Hermione wasted no time in getting back upstairs to her apartment. Harry had better be there. She ripped off her scarf, stamped the snow off her shoes and kicked them off. She slid on the hardwood floor in her stockinged feet to her fireplace.
"Harry?"
~~~
"Hermione, is everything all right? Who was that?" Harry asked, suddenly more curious than he'd seemed a few minutes before.
"Everything's fine, why wouldn't it be?" Hermione responded, perhaps in a pitch higher than she'd intended. She picked up a pillow off the sofa and placed it in front of her books, settling down before the green flames.
Harry scanned her face quickly, possibly looking for the lie. Hermione suddenly realised that she was perhaps slightly unkempt, and fought the urge to smooth her hair or re-adjust her sweater.
Harry was not to be fooled however; he looked around Hermione, probably looking for signs of struggle. "Hermione, you have a run in your stocking and your sweater is misbuttoned. You looked really stressed when I asked if someone was there. Are you all right?" His eyes flashed with suspicious concern.
The Seeker doesn't miss a thing, does he? She sighed. "Yes, Harry, I'm fine. Long night, is all. Don't change the subject," she said impatiently. "Werewolves. Bimorphs. Lycanthropy."
Harry raised an eyebrow and looked as though he was going to question it, but shook his head slightly and got back on task. "Yes, bimorphs in particular," he began.
"How many?" Hermione asked.
"Three, so far, as we're counting howls at night. I think there might still be more."
Hermione nodded, already deep in thought. "How safe is your safe-house? It's still a week to the full moon."
"It's fine, but it could be more comfortable. This is the damnedest fireplace I've ever had the pleasure of using. Fire keeps going out."
Hermione looked up. "That's strange. Where are you? Not Azkaban?"
Harry shook his head. "Not this time, we're in the Hebrides. Benbecula. Do you know it?"
"Not particularly; however, the region used to be controlled by the Norse. My guess is that the house you're in has some old magic in the hearth. You should try that charm we picked up in Lapland." Hermione twisted a lock of hair as she paged through the book. "Too bad you just can't Floo your way here. Hold on a second and I'll think of it." She paused, remembering the feel of her wand as she used that charm.
"Tulisau," Harry said, suddenly, and Hermione noticed a difference in the quality of the flames.
"Well done, Harry!"
Harry shrugged. "Must have stuck." He shook his head again. "You know, that's the thing, the full moon isn't until next week, and there have been reports of attacks in the area… We've tracked a few of these things, `Mione, but there's no trace of them when we get close. Strange."
"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked, looking up from her text, intrigued.
He looked her straight in the eye, "I don't think these things are just werewolves. I've never seen anything, heard anything like this. Call me mad, but I know they're not. In fact, I have this feeling that Fenrir Greyback is somehow involved."
Hermione tried to swallow the fear that took possession of her. Fenrir Greyback was the vilest of all the Death Eaters, in Hermione's opinion. Bill Weasley was living testimony to how sinister Greyback was. He represented a cold hate toward humanity that Hermione never understood.
"And Lupin isn't…" she trailed off, thinking of Tonks' pregnancy.
"No, Remus is consulting from home. They're being extra cautious, seeing as this is their first," Harry began, rubbing his jaw.
"And they really don't know what to expect," Hermione said, eyeing him carefully. "And," she paused, "you don't want to bring him in on this."
Harry exhaled, blowing ashes everywhere. "No, he's got enough to worry about with Tonks, and, like I said, the full moon's next week, so…" he gestured sort of helplessly. Hermione didn't need him to finish the thought. She took a deep breath.
"Harry-" she began, fighting the urge to tell him to be careful.
"I'm worried, too, Hermione," he said kindly. Hermione was grateful he didn't brush her off. She didn't think she could handle that just now.
Hermione smiled bravely. "Well, tell me more about these half-werewolf-vampires. Let's figure this out so we can get you home."
Hermione and Harry worked for the next hour in front of fire until Nils Prescott took over for Harry so he could stretch. Crookshanks had emerged from Hermione's room and curled up against her. Nothing Hermione was reading jumped out at her, but she figured it was only a matter of time. She hoped that Harry was being careful. Her hair could only go so grey, after all.
After Harry returned, Crookshanks brought himself as close to the fire as he could so as to alert Harry of his presence.
"Hullo, Crookshanks. Late night?" Harry said. Crookshanks purred and then glared at Hermione to remind her of his disapproval of her behaviour before he settled down again at her side.
"What's with him?" Harry wondered aloud.
"Dunno," Hermione mumbled, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach and busied herself with a book.
They worked in silence for another ten minutes, Hermione finally finding something of import to read, but Harry snapped her from her concentration.
"That's a hickey," he stated tersely.
"What?" Hermione asked, trying to sound confused, and wishing she'd not put her hair up a few moments before.
"On your collarbone. A hickey. I thought it was soot, but it's not. There's one on your neck, too. Who-" Harry stopped and took a breath, making no point to hide his glances at her misbuttoned sweater and ruined stocking.
Hermione thought quickly and decided to take the high road. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, hating that her voice wavered.
"Who-" he began again, but changed tactics, "You can't go into work looking like that!"
Hermione's temper ticked up a notch. She was tired, cold, frustrated on more than one level, and did not need Harry getting self-righteous over soot marks that curiously resembled hickeys.
"No, I certainly can't, can I? I definitely can't go to that blasted charming ceremony for you tomorrow looking like this, either!" she hissed, slamming her book shut and stalking to the bathroom.
She snapped the light on and looked at her reflection in the mirror. The yellow light did nothing for her smudged make-up and frazzled hair. She touched her collarbone gingerly where Robin had so willingly left his mark and sighed. She thought about Harry stuck in a thatched hut somewhere beyond civilisation, crouched in front of a tiny fireplace and suddenly she felt guilty. She made quick work of her hair and face and corrected her sweater. She threw her stockings in the rubbish bin and with one quick look to make sure she was in-order, headed back out to the living room, hoping Harry was still there. He was.
She settled down in front of the fire ready to make a full apology, but when she opened her mouth to begin, Harry immediately apologised.
"'Mione, I'm sorry. Here I am, barging in on your evening, asking you to drop everything, and you're even doing me a favour in the morning. You know how I get sometimes. Why don't we close up shop and you get some rest?"
"No, no," Hermione said hastily. "I wouldn't be able to sleep with all of this on my mind. Let's give it another half hour or so and we can go from there, okay?"
They worked for another forty-five minutes, until the point where Hermione felt as though she had given him all the advice humanly possible, including another squad of Aurors. If Fenrir Greyback was indeed involved, Harry would need all the help he could get.
Hermione Banished her books to their case and was about to go salvage what she could of sleep for the night. Harry had said good night a few moments before, so she was surprised, in her tidying, to see that he was still there, wild hair flickering in the flames. Hermione folded her knees under her in front of the fire, and waited for Harry to spit out whatever it was that he needed to say. If he were half as tired as she felt, he would have been long gone ten minutes ago. Hermione sighed.
"Harry, I can't sit here all night, as much as I might like to. I have to be at Bandy, Borks and Tuttle at nine a.m." she said wearily.
Harry took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. The green flames intensified the colour of his eyes.
"Hermione, I don't want you to take this the wrong way-I'm not trying to be overprotective, or put my nose where it's not wanted, but I do want to give you a word of caution."
Hermione opened her mouth to tell Harry there was really no need, but he put his hand up to silence her.
"Let me finish, all right? As your best friend, I get to look out for you a little, right? Like you would about Ginny? Or Luna?"
It was a testament to their very friendship that she made no comment to that one way or another. She was really too tired to deal with this.
Harry gave a worn-out grin when he saw Hermione wasn't going to interrupt.
"All I want is for you to be careful. I don't want to see you getting involved with someone you can't trust-I don't want to see you hurt like that."
Hermione closed her eyes and petitioned The Powers That Be for patience. She could not believe she was having this talk with Harry after all these years. She smiled wistfully.
"If I went on the definition of who we can `trust,' Harry, I'll be left with you, Ron, and Neville. And even though he's married to Hannah, he's-"
"In love with Ginny," Harry whispered, looking down to the hearth.
Hermione sighed. "I wasn't going to say that, Harry," she said helplessly. It was no secret among the lot of them. "I was going say: not exactly my type, or not exactly available, or something." Crookshanks pushed his little face into Hermione's hand, and she scooped him up into her lap, stroking his gorgeous coat, lost in thought.
"You're angry with me," Harry stated matter-of-factly.
"No," she shook her head. "I am really too tired to be angry. And I wouldn't be angry with you, anyway. I know you mean well. I appreciate your concern."
"I hear a `but' in there somewhere…"
"But," Hermione said with a rueful smile, "I can't live the rest of my life thinking I can't trust people, Harry. The war's over, and we survived. I have to live my life."
Harry gave her a sort of half-nod through the fireplace, and Hermione thought he was going to say goodnight, but she was wrong. He looked her squarely in the eye-Hermione wasn't used to looking at him without his glasses; she wondered what else he could possibly have to say.
"I am sorry about Viktor, Hermione," Harry said quietly.
Hermione looked down, tears stinging the back of her tired eyes, threatening to spill. She couldn't believe she'd not thought about him in so long. She took a deep breath and looked at Harry. He didn't need to be beating himself up over something he couldn't have helped, nor apologised for unnecessarily far too many times.
"If I hadn't insisted we go to Bulgaria on that lead-that damned fake lead!" Harry said with feeling.
Hermione instinctively reached her hand into the flames to grab his but instead got nothing but a spinning sensation up to her elbow. She had forgotten he was across the sea and not there in her living room.
"Harry, you have to quit beating yourself up over something that happened years ago. Viktor Krum is dead because Voldemort killed him." She took a deep breath. "You did not kill him. We weren't even there; we were back in England by that time. Viktor made his choice to involve himself. He knew what he was up against," Hermione said with patience. Poor Harry carried so much on his own.
"But he-you were…" he began helplessly.
Hermione shook her head. "No, I wasn't. I wasn't." she repeated more forcefully. "I could have been, given that I had thought about anything other than Horcruxes for years at that point, or battles, or potions, or healing, or any number of things not concerning the war. If I had had more time, maybe it would have happened eventually. Love, I mean. I know he loved me," Hermione paused, remembering the timbre of Viktor's accent, her skin tingling, and the feel of his hand in hers; she remembered a million things. She laughed, but it was without humour. "I imagine he knew that I knew, and that was enough for him. If I had had more time, perhaps, Harry, but the thing is, I didn't have more time, and it wasn't love, not for me." She cuddled Crookshanks and kissed him on the top of his fat orange head, thinking. "So you see, Harry, it wasn't my time. And Viktor wasn't your fault."
Harry nodded perfunctorily, but Hermione wasn't convinced that he believed her. He ran his fingers through his hair in a frustrated fashion and looked at her. Hermione knew exactly what he was going to ask, and she smiled.
"And now? Is it your time now?"
Very sly, Potter. "Good night, Harry," she said, smiling. As if she was going to give him any kind of answer to that.
~~~~
Hermione lay back on her sofa, hair wild about her and arms above her head. In an instant, she was divested of her sweater and skirt, pleased she'd picked her black lace knickers to wear for the evening. Viktor's muscled and Quidditch-toned form blocked out the light of the fireplace. His fingers spread out on her stomach in worship, tracing familiar paths around her navel and down to the top of her knickers, setting her skin afire. As he moved adept fingers along the lace, pulling it down, he laid claim again to her neck. "Perfekt, Hermy-own-ninny. So beautiful," he rumbled against her skin. Hermione began to squirm in anticipation, staring at the ceiling as stars danced in front of her eyes.
He moved from her neck to the edge of her bra, so Hermione looked down to watch his progress as Robin's teeth grazed the top of her breasts through the fabric. She felt as though every nerve in her body were alive with sensation, his eyes a vibrant and glowing brown adoring every inch of her skin. He slowly moved to the front clasp of her bra, obviously picking up where he left off before. She gasped as her flushed skin came in contact with the cool air. The backs of his fingers grazed her skin ever-so-slightly, teasing her; it wasn't quite fair.
A crash in her bedroom snapped her from her heady fog. Robin kissed her soundly on the lips.
"I'll take care of it," he said, grabbing his wand and walking toward the noise. Hermione rolled over and followed his movement, admiring the trim form he made: shirtless, trousers slung low on his hips, and barefoot. She settled back onto the couch to wait, trailing her fingernails up and down her stomach. She sighed, eyes closed and content.
A few moments later, he returned, and it was as if he'd never stopped. Hermione purred in delight. "What was it?" she asked, too lazy to open her eyes.
A slight stubble grazed her skin and she gasped from the sensation. Pliable lips blessed the column of her neck unhurriedly and came to a stop before he got to her lips. Giving her teasing kisses on her eyelids, he replied, "Fenrir Greyback." He sucked at her earlobe before moving to the sensitive skin of her neck at her hairline. Hermione clung to his back, as known to her as if it were her own body, the fevered muscles moving under her touch.
Hermione giggled, thinking the entire idea preposterous. "Do be serious. Fenrir Greyback?" she asked, tracing his spine.
A kiss on her shoulder and the faintest scrape of stubble made her whole body tremble. Oh, Merlin, she felt as if every inch of her skin was being venerated. He pulled away, and finally Hermione opened her eyes. Her heart stopped when she realised that it was not Robin.
"I've never been more serious about anything in my life, `Mione," Harry said earnestly, leaning down to kiss her, his green eyes all-consuming.
Hermione woke with a start on the settee in her ruined bedroom, sunlight streaming into the cold room through shredded curtains. She was freezing; her skirt and sweater vanished, quilt thrown off, and for the life of her, she couldn't remember how she got where she was. Panting, she swung her head around to look at her alarm clock. It was a quarter of eight in the morning. Once she realised she hadn't overslept, she relaxed. Crookshanks was sleeping regally in the centre of her bed; random springs poking through the mattress. He was quite pleased with the work he'd done the night before.
She could remember coming in at a little after four, after Harry had left to get some sleep himself. Upon seeing what Crookshanks had done to her bedroom, Hermione had collapsed on the settee, pulling an old Gryffindor quilt over her. She hadn't the energy to reconstruct her mattress, and it wouldn't have that original spring to it once she finished. She would have to buy a new one.
Crookshanks was going to be on Felix Feasties Skinny Kitty Formula for a long, long time.
Hermione pushed herself up, and deciding she didn't have the time for the shower she really needed, she pulled out her most severe set of robes. She figured if she wanted people to leave her alone today, she would have to look like she meant business. Hermione hauled herself in to the bathroom and examined the damage. She did indeed have a spectacular set of hickeys. Fishing around in her medicine cabinet, she found the bruise cream that came well-recommended by the Weasley Twins and dabbed it on her neck and collarbone.
She twisted her hair into a plain bun and liberally applied her concealer. I look like a crone, she thought dismally, noting her overly aged hair, the hint of fine lines and her sober black robes. Miserable, she sighed at her appearance and flipped out the light.
Crookshanks purred innocently as he waited for her on the counter. Hermione blatantly ignored him as she prepped her tea and proceeded to lock up every cupboard and cabinet. Crookshanks was not going to find some way to reward himself for his antics the night before. She opened a can of Felix Feasties and put half of it in his dish, putting the second half in the refrigerator and locked that as well. Crookshanks did not look fazed in the least. Hermione took that moment to realise that he probably had a stash of treats somewhere in the flat and made a mental note to look for them when she got home from work.
~~~
Hermione let herself in to Bandy, Borks and Tuttle, and finding no one in the ante-room, she proceeded up the stairs, feeling an invisible security barrier dissipate as she passed through. The first room she entered, however, was different than the last time. Now she found herself in a workshop filled with fine tools, wax and rubber moulds, vats of what Hermione assumed was plaster, and she could feel the heat of the small forge on the other side of the vast room. She fought the urge to touch a series of floating orbs that resembled purple soap bubbles on the table immediately in front of her. This should certainly prove more interesting than when she was here with Harry.
"You must be Miss Hermione Granger! It's a shame Mr. Potter couldn't come, but I must say I am most eager to make your acquaintance!" a pleasant, accented voice sounded from across the room. Hermione turned to see a tall man with skin the color of tiger-eye walk toward her. His short black hair was set in tiny twists all over his head, and he had the most peculiar eyes-like green jasper.
Hermione smiled and extended her hand. "I am. I hope I'm not late, Mr.…" she trailed off, thrilled to not be working with that wisp of a man, Mickeywhatsit.
"It's Okintunde, but please just call me Pierre. I'm Bandy, Borks and Tuttle's chief Lapidary. You're right on time, actually. I'll be part of the charming ceremony this morning," He shook her hand warmly, and Hermione felt as though she already knew him. He seemed about Professor Lupin's age, though Hermione sensed an air about him that suggested he was quite a bit older than he appeared. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her to a door that was hidden behind the forge firewall.
She stepped into a completely white room, which was meticulously spot-free. Pierre gestured to a tall sort of table indistinguishable from the rest of the room for its brilliancy. Hermione watched as he placed his wand on top of the table, where it sunk into the surface. The table gave a sort of shudder and the wand reappeared.
"This is to cleanse your wand of residual magic-in essence, putting your wand back into the pristine condition it was in when you got it. It's necessary for what's to follow."
Hermione followed suit, watching in fascination as her wand also disappeared. Whereas Pierre's wand was a quick process, Hermione felt the floor quake under her feet. The table was firmly anchored, but she suspected it wouldn't be for long if the shaking kept up. She lost her balance and almost spilled to the floor, but Pierre supported her at the elbow and she quickly regained her footing. Her fascination snapped to worry as the room, which originally was almost dazzling, tinged to a dingy white, and to a tea brown in the corners. After over a minute, the quaking stopped and her wand reappeared, looking the same as ever. She wondered if it had worked.
"Splendid!" Pierre said enthusiastically. "If you'll just pick that up, Miss Granger, and follow me, we can get started."
"But your room, it's tarnished," Hermione said, a million questions buzzing in her head at once.
"Never mind that, miss. It most certainly worked. You've done a fair amount of magic in your short years, and not all bubbly charms and transfigurations, if I'm not mistaken. Quite a bit of darker stuff, from the looks of it."
Hermione wasn't quite convinced, but she smiled. "Think of it as fighting fire with fire." Pierre motioned for her to remove her cloak and she did so. "If Harry'd been able to make it, I imagine you'd be standing there waiting much longer than we were for me. I do hope I've not ruined your room, sir."
"Not at all-give it a few days, and it will be as good as new," he ushered her through a door that wasn't there a moment before.
Hermione entered another room, and here, she knew, they'd be performing the ceremony. It was a large room with high, buttressed ceilings, and tall windows filled with clear glass. She stifled a groan as she spotted the odious man from the last time she was here. His heeled boots clicked on the flagstones in a pestering manner. Hermione gave a brief smile.
"Miss Granger," he greeted her, gold teeth flashing in the winter sunlight. Hermione nodded in greeting and turned to the one person that she did not know.
An elderly witch with a bounce in her step came forward and extended her hand. Her hair was a bright blonde, and it was styled in springy little curls that gave her a matronly cherubic look. As she moved forward to shake her hand, Hermione could see that the yellow was really muted tones of gold mixed with blonde.
"Hermione Granger, I'm so pleased to meet you! I'm Eurys Glorfindel, chief Bander," she said with a faint Welsh lilt.
Hermione released her hand and was about to ask about her curious last name, but Eurys (Hermione could not see her wanting to go by Madam Glorfindel) tapped the side of her nose and smiled in delight. "Not now, Miss Granger, we can talk after the banding and charming. We must get started shortly."
Eurys drew Hermione to the centre of the room, where Pierre and Mickelwaite were standing. Once she stepped close to them, the stone floor lowered about two feet, putting them in a sort of pit. Mickelwaite flicked his wand twice and a stone table appeared, bearing what seemed to be several troy ounces of gold, an ornately carved box, and several empty corked bottles-something that Hermione associated with Pensieve memories. Pierre opened the box to reveal pristine diamonds of various sizes that sparkled in the bright sunlight, and rainbow-coloured tourmalines, though Hermione wasn't certain. They were beautiful; she smiled in spite of herself at Harry's good taste.
Mickelwaite proceeded to describe what each person's function would be during the whole ordeal. Much to Hermione's surprise, Mickelwaite was not only an annoying salesman, but he was a Charmer by main profession. He would be instilling Ginny's rings with such enchantments as everlasting sparkle, colour-changing, self-sizing, and self-cleaning, but she was alarmed to learn that the rings would contain a few glamour charms for the wearer as well. She couldn't imagine Harry signing on to something like that; however, she knew he'd had an appointment with the man discussing those very things. She was suddenly bothered by the idea that Harry's opinion of Ginny wasn't what she always thought it was. Eurys must have noticed Hermione's distressed look, because she patted her on the arm and assured her that they were standard-package charms. Hermione wasn't reassured.
In addition to Mickelwaite's overall work, Pierre would be infusing the stones with durability and strength while binding them to the ring, while Eurys would be doing the same on her end with the gold.
"Your task, Miss Granger, will be to uphold a stabilizing containment incantation for the duration. Allow me to demonstrate," Mickelwaite said, obviously enjoying the opportunity to show off. It wasn't to be, as Hermione raised her wand and held it fast to her left shoulder and murmured the ancient Greek that was necessary for such a spell. She resisted the urge to smirk at the man, whose jaw had dropped with astonishment.
Pierre clapped his hands and laughed in amusement. "My stars, Miss Granger, you are His Amazing Heroine! That was brilliant, and for such a young witch!" Hermione fought the urge to contradict him.
Mickelwaite seemed to have found his tongue. "That's a bit more advanced than necessary-"
"But brilliant, Miss Granger," Eurys smiled. "Once we start, we really shouldn't quit. We'll need at least two hours uninterrupted, that's why we-"
"We'll do a test run," Mickelwaite said, talking over the Bander. Hermione didn't know how they worked with that man. "And if you have difficulty focusing, we'll need you to remove the intrusive memories and thoughts for a time. I suppose you know how to do that?"
Hermione raised one careful eyebrow at the man; she did not need his grief after getting three hours of sleep. To humour him, she grabbed two bottles and proceeded to pull the memory of last night's couch adventure and her evening in front of the fire with Harry into one bottle. Procuring Pensieve memories was a tingling, unpleasant process. Hundreds of images flashed before her eyes as she pulled them from her temporal lobe. She felt strands of her hair come out of her bun as she pulled the final image of Harry's face in the Floo. The thick silver cord slowly deposited itself into the bottle, and corking it, Hermione tucked it into her robe. Quickly combing over her thoughts again, she focused on the orange face of her cat, Crookshanks. She did not want to deal with that mess when she got home tonight, and the mere thought of it stressed her. She quickly bottled the memory of his antics, tucked that away and smiled to indicate she was ready.
Hermione stood across from Eurys, who gave her the signal to start. Hermione again raised her wand to her left shoulder, relaxed her stance and closed her eyes. She fell into the practiced ease of the incantation; it was something she and Ron had performed rigorously near the end. They had decided that when Voldemort realised he was mortal once more, that he would have the Death Eaters stop at nothing to defeat Harry, so Ron devised a way to protect him from them using old Greek magic. The two of them had spent that morning removing memories, leaving only significant ones of the three of them together, and they used those to help push Harry to defeat Voldemort. The Order was there to protect the two of them, but it took a lot of willpower to continue with the incantation-especially when Harry could have used their help.
About ten minutes into the practice run, Hermione was vaguely registering the colorful charms that Eurys and Pierre were rehearsing, keeping her knees relaxed and barely murmuring the words to keep the containment intact. She didn't know how long they were supposed to do the trial run, but would rather that they got on with the real thing. It wasn't as though she didn't have other things she needed to be doing, work to do, errands to run…Merlin, maybe she'd be able to stop by the mattress warehouse and arrange for a new mattress to be delivered. Though she'd been thinking that a slightly firmer one would be better for her back, more support… and perhaps she'd upgrade to a larger size, too. Her double was very cozy, but perhaps too cozy, she thought. Perhaps it would be too small if someone else were to be there with her… Suddenly the image came to mind of Harry over her very naked body, warm candlelight reflecting off the planes of his strong chest, the scars that marked it from Snape's cruel Sectumsempra, and pure, wild desire so evident in his eyes; she could practically feel his fingertips like brands on her skin; touching her, searing her, owning her. So close… Hermione felt faint. A flash of heat swept over her so powerfully that she lost her balance and took a step backward to keep from falling. The ritual stopped.
"Miss Granger," Mickelwaite snarled, "we-"
"I-I just need a moment, if you please," Hermione stammered, completely embarrassed and afraid that the lot of them could see what she just saw.
"Right through that door, Miss Granger," Pierre said kindly, pointing to a door on the other side of the room.
Hermione muttered her thanks and tried not to run. She flung the door open and found herself on a balcony looking over Muggle London. The sky was grey and quite dirty, her breath coming out in fast, white puffs. It was freezing outside, which suited her just fine. She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her robes in an attempt to cool off and put her arms above her head to catch her breath.
It was just a dream! Harry, like that, Hermione thought numbly, was just a dream-one woven out of an evening of confusing memories and stimuli that she had removed from her mind! She had completely forgotten it about two seconds after she got up this morning. There was no reason it should be affecting her so-it wasn't a real memory, just vestiges of electrical impulses in her brain during deep sleep.
She was pacing on the small balcony, trying to regain her composure and dignity so she could face the three wizards and get this blasted thing over with, when the door opened and Eurys poked her golden head out.
"I thought you might be needing one of these, love," she said kindly, handing Hermione another Pensive bottle. "And take your time. Gerard's a stuffpot, all pomp and no patience. We've got time yet this morning." Hermione smiled weakly, taking the bottle from her spindly fingers. Before closing the door behind her, Eurys winked. "Memory's a powerful thing."
"I'm sure it is," Hermione grumbled under her breath, annoyed with herself for not being able to complete such a simple task as a containment bubble. She was glad that neither Ron nor Harry were there to quiz her on it. Uncorking the bottle, she brought her wand to her head and siphoned off the memory. Almost ashamed to have to be doing this, she stood mortified as the images of Viktor, Robin and Harry floated in front of her vision. Finally, the last image of Harry's earnest gaze escaped her mind and hung off her wand in a thick silver strand. She deposited the memory into the bottle, corked it and stored it along with the others in her robes. Taking a deep breath, she opened the heavy door and went inside to build the ring Harry was going to use to propose marriage to Ginny Weasley.
~~~~
Two long hours later, and after some thinly veiled complaining from Mickelwaite, Hermione was stepping out into London's dreary weather. The fog had finally blown in off the Thames and made the day even more miserable than it had been when she woke up. At least the blasted ring business was finished, and she wouldn't have to deal with that anymore-unless, of course, Harry still wasn't back to pick it up, in which case, she'd have to take it to Gringott's. Hermione had been assured by Eurys that she wouldn't have to meet with Mickelwaite again, but Hermione still felt as though she should write someone a strongly worded letter about how rude he was to her.
From Diagon Alley, Hermione was able to Disapparate directly to St. Mungo's. As she was heading up to the fourth floor and the research offices, she ran into her assistant, Sarah, who grilled her on all of this time she'd been taking off lately. Was she sick? Were her parents sick? Was she going to be leaving St. Mungo's? Could she possibly be taking more time for herself? Did she have a new beau, because she seemed happier lately, but goodness, didn't she look exhausted, and, oh, didn't I mention that Robin Brownbeck stopped by your office twice already?
Hermione took the stack of files from Sarah, brushed off her questions, promised to fill her in sometime (was there ever time?) and sat down behind her desk. All she wanted to do was crawl under her desk and sleep, but she knew that wasn't an option, so she opened her first file with a sigh and started reading the overnight reports on her patients.
After two hours of this, Robin tucked his head into Hermione's office, scaring the Moaning Myrtle right out of her. It had been as quiet as a hospital could possibly get, and Robin's exuberant "Well, hello there!" had her nearly taking his head off with her wand.
Robin threw his hands up good-naturedly in surrender, entering the room, and making to close the door. Hermione, slightly annoyed, crossed over to the door and stopped him. "I don't need rumours, Robin," Hermione said brusquely, and then softened, upon seeing his face. "Even if they are somewhat true," she smiled. He smiled back, and Hermione forgot that she was even minutely annoyed.
"I hope you got to sleep all right last night, Hermione," Robin said, concern mixed with longing unmistakable in his bright eyes. She saw how his gaze flitted from her eyes to her lips and lingered there. She swallowed, uncomfortable and confused. She ducked her head and took a deep breath.
"Yes, thank you," she said, fixing a bright smile on her face. "It was late, very much so, but yes, I did sleep well. Did you?" She moved to the other side of her desk, she motioned for Robin to have a seat.
He helped himself to the one not-covered-in-books-or-files seat in the room, which happened to be along the windows this time and sat regarding her. Hermione sat in awkward silence as she waited for him to answer her. Finally, as if sensing her unease, "Not quite. I had things on my mind," he said easily.
"Oh," Hermione said, unnerved by the lack of flowing conversation between the two of them.
"Nothing to worry about, of course," Robin said, sensing her unease, "But I was loathe to leave last night before we had talked."
A light switched on in Hermione's brain. Of course! "Oh my goodness, you must think I'm daft. Yes, we need to have a chat, Robin. I'm sorry, my mind's just been in a million places today."
Robin smiled, "Is everything all right with Harry? Not that it's my business, but don't you have to have a clearance to discuss cases with Aurors?" He asked, intrigued. Hermione couldn't blame him-werewolves weren't exactly in the realm of normal conversation.
Hermione smiled-she'd not thought about this in quite some time. "There's a lot of old magic surrounding Harry, Ron and I. Basically, whatever Harry tells us in confidence stays that way, and the Ministry can't dispute that-they tested us with question-specific Veritaserum and everything. He doesn't do it very often, I suspect he doesn't want me worrying," she paused, knitting her eyebrows together. "I hope everything's all right. I think we got it sorted last night, but time will tell."
Robin nodded in understanding, and stood. "I hope it's all fine, too," he said sincerely, and paused, thinking. "I'd really like to have dinner; find out where our thinking is, so to speak. I should let you get back to your work, and, well, I should be getting back, too," he ended, rambling. He put his hands in his robe pockets and rocked on his heels, reminding Hermione of a teenaged boy.
Hermione nodded. "We will-by the end of the week…" she sighed, looking at the dismal mess on her desk.
Robin leaned down and kissed Hermione on the cheek and walked out of her office. Hermione touched her cheek where he'd kissed her. She was feeling emotionally void and confused, she knew she should be feeling thrilled that Robin definitely wanted to move forward-she'd certainly felt that way the night before… But today, she felt empty. She was completely thrown by the events of the morning. Where had that come from?
An old barn owl appeared at her office window, tapping its beak to be let in from the cold. Bloody hell, does it ever stop?
Hauling herself up to open the window, she let the poor bird inside. It was Professor Lupin's owl. Removing the letter attached, she went back to her chair, and the owl perched itself perilously on the top of a stack of reports. It was from Tonks. Hermione opened the envelope to find her bubbly handwriting, complete with neon-colour-changing ink.
Wochter, Hermione. I hope all is well with you, and that it's not too crazy with the Christmas season.
Good Lord, was it Christmas already? Hermione checked her wall calendar, and they were undeniably already into December. She sighed.
I feel kind of guilty asking this of you, knowing how busy you get with work and with keeping tabs on Harry and Ron, but Remus and I were hoping that you could do us a favour. Seeing as the two of us are unable to brew the Wolfsbane potion now, me because of Baby Wolfie (That's what I am calling our sprong until we know for sure if he's a boy or girl. Drives Remus right mad, which of course is the point.) Hermione couldn't help but smile at this. And Remus can't contaminate the ingredients. Next to Snape, who is happily in Azkaban, you're the best potions mistress we know. We'd forever be indebted to you, of course. We could even name the baby after you. How does Wolfhemina Hermione sound? Hermione hoped she was joking.
I know this is kind of late, seeing as the brewing has to start tomorrow to be done in time, but I just realised today that I can't do it. We had enough to get him through, before, so I never had to think about it.
Let us know,
Tonks
Hermione closed her eyes, and pressing her lips together, felt herself deflate. There was no question that she would deny Professor Lupin or Tonks anything, none at all. She couldn't avoid the feeling of being spread a little too thin, however, and if it weren't for the fact that she'd just started to make progress in her files, she'd swan off for the rest of the afternoon for tea and sympathy for one with no one to bother her.
She penned a quick reply to Tonks and sent the owl on its way. She would need to take off the following afternoon, so she was in for a long evening at the office.
~~
Hermione woke to early sunlight streaming through her office window. She straightened up, parchment peeling damply away from her cheek. She rubbed her face and bleakly looked at Molly's clock on the wall. You should have gone home hours ago.
Well, that was probably true. She remembered Robin stopping by around eight o'clock, asking if she was heading out, and she had distractedly told him she'd be leaving soon. Apparently, that wasn't the case, as she was still at her desk this morning. It was still early enough for her to Apparate home and get presentable for the day.
While at her flat, Crookshanks had gotten underfoot more times than she could count, he'd left a dead mouse in the doorway of her bedroom, and wasn't impressed that she wasn't impressed (well, really she was, she just didn't have any time to be impressed). Upon finding it, she saw her still-ruined mattress, and remembered that she needed to get a new one. Hermione sighed as she stepped under the steaming water of her shower. She had no time until at least this weekend to go to the furniture store. Quickly running through her routine, she stepped out of the tub and onto Crookshanks' tail. He hissed and shot away. Was today Monday? Was that why her day was already so abysmal?
No, it was at least Thursday, her brain reasoned. She resignedly shuffled into her bedroom and opened her closed, pulling out random robes and tossing them onto her settee. She stood there, still wet from her shower, staring at how her sweater from her date with Robin was hanging haphazardly off a lamp, and how her skirt was peeking suspiciously out from under her bed. Just how they got there, she had no idea. Just where that dream came from …
Hermione didn't have time to sit there and ponder her subconscious. She quickly got dressed and tended to her prematurely grey tresses, getting by with the bare minimum for make-up. Catching sight of her settee again, she knew that wouldn't be the best place to actually rest. When she got home that evening, after going to the Lupins', she'd just sleep on her couch, and hopefully hit the furniture store on Saturday.
After feeding her sulking cat, she walked past her living room to pick up her satchel and cloak and again was barraged with images from two nights ago. Such a strange feeling washed over her, and she knew she couldn't sleep there, either. Pushing her thoughts out of her mind, she gathered her things and walked out the door. She'd deal with it all later.
~~~
Hermione walked out of the apothecary's leaden down with bags and bundles containing the different ingredients she would need for Professor Lupin's Wolfsbane potion. She was pretty sure that the Lupins had what they needed on-hand, but things like the runespoor eggs and belladonna needed to be a certain age, and the pomegranate was best when just-picked. As it was December already (Hermione still couldn't believe that), she suspected that they didn't have any on the tree in their front garden.
She quickly Apparated to the Lupin bungalow that was just outside of Blackpool. Hermione liked their little house with its weathered shutters, flagstone walk, and quaint garden. It gave the couple enough privacy for Lupin's transformations, and was complete with a potions kitchen in the back. She let herself in the front door to find Lupin sitting at his desk in the study, lamplight pooling over stacks of parchment and books. He stood, removed his reading glasses and moved to embrace Hermione.
"Ah, ah, Professor," she tsked, holding her packages up. "Not until I get started. Is Tonks here?"
"She's down the road, picking up things for dinner," he said tiredly. Hermione could see the effects of the lunar cycle on him, poor man. "We're having shepherd's pie, Tonks' specialty. Actually," he chuckled, "it's pretty much her main thing."
Hermione laughed. "I can deal with that. Let me get this started, and I'll be back."
Hermione walked through the house to the potions kitchen, which Lupin had had built when they bought the house. Hermione had used it once before, and had decided that she would want such a thing in her own house, if she were to ever actually get a house.
The Wolfsbane potion consisted of a few separate potions that would be fatal to a normal wizard, but when taken by a werewolf had a much less severe effect. Because of the nature of the ingredients, Tonks, in her condition, couldn't handle them without risking her baby's health. Hermione had no such thing barring her, and as tired as she was, she was looking forward to the challenge. She set up the three necessary cauldrons and got down to business.
About two hours later, with her sopohorous simmering and her calming drought bubbling, she joined Lupin and Tonks at the table to eat. Tonks looked absolutely lovely. She was wearing her hair in a soft lavender shade, and her skin was simply glowing. Pregnancy really became her, Hermione decided. She was so happy for the two of them. It turned out that they were further along than what Harry'd led her to believe. She was at least in her fourth month. They'd waited to share the news, wanting to be cautious, and Hermione couldn't blame them.
Their conversation naturally included the reason why she was there, and Hermione was relieved to find out that they weren't really thinking about Wolfgang or Wolfhemina as names, but James, John, and Patrick (the name of one of Tonks' Muggle cousins, it seemed), or Adelaide, Audrey, and Heidi. Not surprisingly, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin didn't think names like her own were something worth passing onto an innocent child.
As Lupin poured them all a cuppa after the plates were cleared away, and sitting down, he gave her what Hermione liked to think of as his "professor look."
"Have you spoken to Harry, Hermione?"
Hermione slowly placed her cup on its saucer. "Not last night, but the night before. He Flooed me, and we ended up talking about his case for about three hours. Not that we made any headway."
Lupin nodded. "I spoke with him some yesterday, he said he'd already talked to you. I've been researching, both with my limited contacts in that area of the field, and with about every book I can get my hands on."
Hermione smiled, "I saw some of Hogwarts' books in your study."
"Minerva's been good about letting me take what I need. I was hoping that by contacting you, something would spark between the two of you, but you had no such luck."
Hermione wondered a bit at his phrasing, but shook her head. "I've been really worried, Professor. You don't think they'll send back up? Harry's got a bad feeling about this one."
"No, unfortunately it's pretty text book, and Harry's four-Auror squad is all that's required by the Department. Not that I expect it will stay that way, but for now, it's all they've got."
Hermione nodded and looked down to her now-tepid tea. This wasn't the first time she'd felt helpless where Harry was concerned. He was capable, yes, but they'd always worked better when it was the three of them together - or two at least. She took a deep breath and braved looking up at the Lupins again.
"He'll be fine, Hermione," Tonks reassured, reaching across the table to grab her hand. She gave it a squeeze and smiled. Hermione was about to return the smile when Tonks gasped and released her hand.
"Remus! He kicked!"
~~~
It was almost midnight when Hermione finally left the Lupins and Disapparated back into her neighborhood. She was so tired, she almost asked to use their Floo, though she hated travelling that way. Hours after dinner, the two of them were still on a high from their child's first kick that she slipped out the door, her work there done. She made it to Covent Garden in one piece and walked through the slushy streets to her flat.
As she was fitting the key in the lock, she realised she still hadn't decided where she was going to stay. She could go to Ron's, though she was likely to have her head taken off for arriving so late at night, what with his security measures and all. She loathed the thought of going to her parents' house - not wanting to explain why she couldn't stay at her own place.
Gee, mum. Everywhere I turn in my flat, I get bombarded with images of hot sex.
That would go over really well. She could see her dad sputter in his tea and pull the paper in front of his face, and her mum … well, her mum would pretend like that was the most normal thing in the world, yet hover over her. She loved her parents, but that wasn't what she needed.
As she gathered things for an overnight bag, she debated just sleeping on her couch after all, but one quick stop in the living room for some reading material, perhaps something to do some more research for Harry, and that was right out. Perhaps she'd stay at a hotel for the night.
Having everything packed, and not seeing Crookshanks, who must have still been cross with her, she locked her flat and took a deep breath, Apparating.
She arrived with a soft pop and took a few short steps up the walk. Convincing herself that this would be an all right thing to do, she rang the bell, hoping she wasn't making a mistake.
She heard movement inside, saw a light come on, and heard the lock tumble.
"Hermione! What are you doing here? Is everything all right?"
"Hello, Robin."
~~~
TBC
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