Chapter 8 - Changing Hands.
A/N: Just wanted to say a quick hello to the secret club of people reading this story. I love you all!!! Do I owe you money or something? Just kidding. Thank you for keeping reading, I was afraid I wouldn't reach double figures in reviews! Anyway I want to thank you all and just know that I'd have your babies or give you mine if I could as a token of my appreciation. That said, you probably wont read any more (I'm not completely weird, I promise!!!! :) ).
p.s. I was drinking strong Polish beer while writing this so if its rubbish I have an excuse!
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The fifth floor of the Ministry of Magic was a rather dull place and perhaps the least daunting location at the Headquarters of Wizard government. The Department for Magical Law was the closest point at which the world of Muggle and Wizard could be connected. People here dressed in plain, boring robes or business suits. Matters dealt with here ranged from the mildly mundane to the call-the-hangman mind numbing. It was here that Harry and Hermione now found themselves.
Harry was glad of one thing, it was a quiet time of day and they had managed to enter the Ministry with only the most fleeting of glances in their direction. Harry didn't blame people for gawping at him, not when the Daily Prophet was still telling the world he was some kind of saviour. The looks might have been tinged with an edge of apprehension and, again, Harry couldn't argue; the last two occasions he had visited the Ministry had resulted in a confrontation with Voldemort himself and more lately a vociferous showdown with the Minster of Magic himself. It seemed that every time Harry entered this building bad things tended to happen.
But he was sure that little of that nature was likely today, not in such dull surroundings. Harry had seen plenty of movies with beige and grey offices and this place seemed modelled on the worst of these. Unlike the fascinating Auror office the cubicles here were not decked with moving pictures of wanted criminals. Instead there were tottering piles of parchment and bulging files in every corner and overworked, bored and haggard witches and witches attending the daily grind. The place smelled strongly of powerful coffee and polish and little paper aeroplanes shot around from cubicle to cubicle narrowly missing the heads of unsuspecting workers too depressed to realise where they were walking.
Hermione, who was good at following signs, lead the way to a small room on the far side of the office where a glass door gave relief to the beige walls. Peeling letters on the grubby glass spelt the name of Asphyxias Bloom and a small balding man sat at a desk inside. Looking up, he beckoned them in.
`Ah, you must be Mr Potter!' he said rising and shaking Harry's hand, revealing an unexpectedly firm grip. `It's a pleasure, of course. And who is this? Your partner?'
`My, uh - what?' said Harry, who had understood perfectly but was flustered all the same.
`Your partner,' said Mr Bloom. `You know, significant other? Spouse? It's not politically correct to say `girlfriend' these days. But only significant others can be present at a reading such as this.'
`That's alright,' said Hermione. `I am his partner, girlfriend, whatever you wish to use. We have no documentation of this, though. I hope this isn't a problem?'
Harry looked at her, surprised at the ease with which she lied.
`No, no, of course not,' said Mr Bloom happily. `Your word is enough, though seeing you together leaves me in no doubt of your attachment. Young love, is it? Elopement and illegitimate children planned, eh?'
Mr Bloom laughed at his own comments.
`Young love, yes; children, not for while,' said Hermione simply whilst giving Harry an arresting glance. He was too busy choking on shock to really say anything back.
`Right, to business,' said Mr Bloom. `The will of Albus Dumbledore. Great man, great loss, of course, but also a considerable estate.' Harry noticed Bloom's eyes widen in a way not too unlike those of Dudley, Uncle Vernon and all other greedy men where money was concerned. `As I mentioned in my letter, Mr Dumbledore has left his property, the expansive country estate of Nine Acre Wood, to alchemical research. His wealth has been divided between four recipients; Hogwarts School, his brother Aberforth Dumbledore, Mr Harry Potter and an organisation known as…hold on, let me read this right…S.P.E.W.'
Hermione gasped, Harry started. Dumbledore had left him money?
`Now, as Mr Dumbledore seemed to be a diligent saver,' said Mr Bloom consulting a large register, `the amount divided was quite substantial. This has already been distributed by Gringotts Inheritance Goblins. Your account, Mr Potter, has been amended to the tune of ten thousand Galleons.'
Harry spat out the water he had helped himself to, spraying it over Mr Bloom's desk. A quick cleaning spell later and the wizard lawyer was smiling again.
`Good news, yes? I don't blame your reaction. Ten thousand Galleons is quite a windfall. But that's what 150 years of saving will do for you. Now, do either of you know of this Spew thing? Its entrusted to one Hermione Granger. I don't suppose either of you know her?'
`Yes I know her!' cried Hermione in her excitement. `Well, I mean, I am her. I'm Hermione Granger. S.P.E.W is my organisation, I set it up. I cannot believe that Dumbledore left money to it.'
`Well he has,' said Bloom. `A comparable sum to that given to Mr Potter here. Clearly he thought it was a cause worth funding.'
Harry looked at Hermione and felt a strange feeling of happiness for her. The look in her eyes displayed pure elation and Harry was delighted for her. Despite all his disparaging remarks about SPEW he knew Hermione cared a lot about it and this unexpected funding had made her joyous. Harry couldn't help but stare at the pretty glow it gave her face.
`Right, to the final piece of business,' said Bloom. `The contents of Mr Dumbledore's house have all been entrusted to you Mr Potter. Normally these would have been delivered right to you, but it appears that your home seems to evade all attempts to locate it. It was suggested that it was Unplottable, laughable I know…'
`Try to appreciate, Mr Bloom,' said Hermione in a half-whisper, `the very great danger Harry is in. He is working constantly against You-Know-Who and sometimes needs to be hidden. His work and life are very covert and this must be maintained. I'm sure you understand.'
`Oh, perfectly so, Miss Granger,' said Bloom. `I apologise, I won't press the matter.'
`Thank you,' said Hermione.
`The items left to you,' said Bloom quickly, `are mostly pretty mundane things. Trinkets, strange instruments, old school books, that sort of thing.'
`School books?' said Harry. He looked at Hermione and they shared look which said quite plainly `half-blood Prince'.
`Yes,' said Bloom, `quite boring things. They have been left to you with specific instructions that they are delivered intact. I assume you know the meaning or value of these items?'
`Yes,' said Harry quickly. `They've got, er, sentimental value, you know.'
`Of course.'
`When can I collect them?' Harry asked.
`Today,' replied Mr Bloom. `Simply sign here, here and here, and initial here and I will call for someone to escort you to the storage rooms.'
Harry snatched the parchment from Mr Bloom and his quill, signing his name haphazardly against the starred lines Mr Bloom had marked out. After the final initial had been signed Bloom folded up a message into a paper aeroplane, tapped it with his wand and sent it flying from the room. In a few moments a dumpy sort of woman entered the room.
`Dotty, will you please escort Mr Potter and Miss Granger to storage?' said Mr Bloom.
`Certainly,' replied Dotty with only the slightest of looks towards Harry's scar.
They walked in silence, slowly behind the stubby legged woman. She led them back across the office and into another elevator, this one considerably smaller than the main one leading to the Atrium. The three of them squashed inside and the lift rattled down several floors, opening up onto a grey corridor lit by torches held in dirty yellow brackets. The third door on the right was their destination.
`Right, here it is,' said the woman gruffly. `Follow the shelves until you find your name, your things will be there. I will wait here.'
Harry entered the dim storage room feeling Hermione follow close behind. He could barely make out the lettering on the shelves and it took some time to find the P column. The row seemed to stretch for miles into darkness at the back of the room and by the time Harry reached the compartment with his name he could no longer see the end of the row in either direction.
`I don't like this place, Harry,' said Hermione, grabbing his arm. `It's creepy.'
`I, er, sort of need my arm,' said Harry, though without making any effort to move it.
`Oh, ok,' said Hermione. She didn't let go either.
Harry started to flick through the pile of boxes in the compartment with one hand until, eventually, Hermione let go of his other arm. In the dark of the storage room it was hard to see what the contents of most of the boxes were, but by touch alone Harry counted at least two dozen books and a load of spindly instruments that he suspected had once lived on the Headmasters' desk.
`What do I do with them?' Harry asked Hermione.
`Here, let me,' she replied brushing him to once side. A flick of her wand later and all the boxes vanished leaving nothing but an empty space. `They'll be waiting for us at home,' Hermione continued. `It'll be much easier to look through them there. I mean, I know it's dark at home but nowhere near as bad as this.'
`Why do you keep calling it home?' asked Harry.
`Well, it is, sort of, isn't it?' said Hermione. `And besides, it's best not to say the name out loud. Walls have ears, as they say. Anyone could be listening.'
`Good point,' said Harry. `Let's go. Pick up the candle, will you? I'm not sure I want to walk back without it.'
`Aww, chosen one scared of the dark?' Hermione teased. `Do you want me to hold your hand?'
`Yeah, if you like.'
The words came out before Harry could stop them. He was glad it was dark as he was pretty convinced he was flushing like never before. There was a few seconds silence in which an atmosphere sprang up that was awkward and embarrassing. Hermione reached across Harry and in one movement grabbed the candle from the shelf while at the same time slipping her other hand into Harry's. She didn't look at him, but he could see a grin on her face by the light from the flickering candle.
She likes this, Harry thought. Maybe she even teased about the hand holding on purpose. Her skin felt smooth and cool against his own palm, which was beginning to sweat a little. Harry, for reasons quite beyond his control, gave the back of Hermione's palm a little stroke with his thumb. He heard a small, but very sharp intake of breath next to him before Hermione squeezed his hand in response and returned the sentiment.
Such things were running through Harry's mind like never before. Here he was walking hand-in-hand with Hermione, neither one looking at the other but both experiencing the same thrill at the contact between them. All too soon the end of the row neared and they soon found themselves facing the stubby woman who had escorted them from upstairs. Harry had expected Hermione to break their contact at this point but the opposite happened. She moved closer to him so that their whole arms were touching and Hermione's head was almost resting on Harry's shoulder. For his part, he was frozen in place by her close proximity.
`Did you find it?' asked the little woman.
`Yes, thanks,' said Hermione. `I vanished it away so we have all now.'
`Very good, miss,' said the woman. `You'll need to fill out some paperwork…'
Hermione disengaged herself from Harry and began filling out various forms, leaving Harry to ponder what was happening. One thing he felt for sure was that his hand felt very lonely without Hermione's electric touch to keep it company. It had never been like this before, not with Cho and certainly not with Ginny. With Cho the very idea of touching scared Harry witless, while with Ginny it was all about snogging, nothing more. But here he was totally overwhelmed by just holding hands with a girl, and not just any girl - Hermione.
When had this happened? He had totally missed the stage where his admiration for her had stopped being that of a friend and became that of a potential suitor. He was starting to see her less as the Hermione he knew and more as the Hermione he wanted to know better, and in ways quite inappropriate for a friend to think about. He had grown used to being obsessed with looking at her but now that had been replaced with another need - the need to touch her, to be near her, to be intimate with her. It was a distracting chain of thought.
`Well, that's all sorted,' said Hermione coming over. `Shall we, er, go home?'
Harry nodded, totally dumbstruck by the look Hermione had just given him. They went to the lift and in no time at all found themselves striding down the Atrium towards the Apparition points. The passed the Fountain of Magical Brethren, which had been remade after Voldemort and Dumbledore had destroyed it during their duel.
`I remember when I first saw that,' said Harry nodding towards the golden sculpture. `I remember laughing to myself at what you would say if you saw the house-elf like that.'
`Why, you weren't with me?' said Hermione looking surprised. `It would have been your hearing, wouldn't it? Why would you have thought of me?'
`I, er, dunno,' said Harry, turning a hint of scarlet again. `I just saw it and you came to mind. I emptied my entire money pouch into it, because I said I would if I got off.'
`So, is that a regular thing?' asked Hermione tentatively.
`What?'
`You thinking about me when I'm not around?'
Harry didn't answer at once, considering why Hermione would ask a question like this. He decided truth was the best answer.
`I do it sometimes,' he said. `Especially if I'm about to do something that might be a bit wrong or dangerous. I sort of hear your voice in my head, telling me off or trying to reason with me. I used to hear it all the time when I imagined what you'd say if you knew I wasn't doing my homework properly, or not practising Occlumency enough, that sort of thing.'
`I-I'm surprised,' said Hermione, who herself was blushing a little now. `I'd have never of thought you would do something like that.'
`Its bit weird, I know.'
`It isn't weird,' said Hermione. `It's quite sweet actually, knowing that I mean something to you.'
`Now that is a weird thing to say!' said Harry incredulously. `You must know that you mean something to me! That you're so important to me, that I look for your approval in everything. I mean, I'm practically in…'
Harry stopped himself sharply in mid sentence. He didn't dare look in Hermione's direction and he was glad they had reached the Apparition Squares. He chanced a look at her as they turned and prepared to Apparate. Her face was glowing and she appeared to be smiling broadly to herself alone. But it was her eyes that took Harry by surprise - they were on fire, dancing and alive. Without looking at him, Hermione turned and disappeared. Harry took a deep breath and prepared to follow her, totally terrified about what would happen when he got back to Grimmauld Place and he and Hermione would be totally alone. Taking one last look down the Atrium Harry reckoned he'd prefer a round with Voldemort here rather than facing what might be waiting for him in Hermione's company.
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