A/N: So Dumbledore's gay and he had hot summer nights with Grindewald. Lol.
Tome Raider brought up some really excellent points in this chapter and I had to sleep on it to know how to fix it. Hehe. Thank you for being the best beta ever.
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter Seventeen - Tickling the Sleeping Dragon
They rose together early in spite of their wakeful night, and Harry felt oddly invigorated. He saw the clock as she slipped out of the covers. It was just about the time Hermione rose out of bed everyday.
He watched her dress with some regret. There wouldn't be time for anything else, he knew. Time didn't stop because making love to her felt so good.
She smiled at him somewhat apologetically as he blinked drowsily. He took her hand and kissed the back of it before he let her go. She flitted out of his room and he could only sigh with longing.
He turned over, pressing his face to her pillow. Her subtle fragrance had remained and his morning stiffy was a bit more bothersome than usual.
Must turn shower to cold.
He hurried to get ready for the day.
He was done showering and dressing first, and he went straight to the kitchen. He found his glasses before he could step on them, and as his sight cleared, he saw the evidence of their foreplay.
Hermione's bowl of ice-cream lay topsy-turvy on the counter. The spoon had rattled a few feet away. The ice-cream was thoroughly melted into a peachy, brown, and strawberry soup. Her robe had just missed the mess.
Gingerly, he set her robe aside and began to whisk away the mess with his wand. It was done quickly, and by the time Hermione arrived, breakfast was almost completely cooked.
He was about to offer to bring Angelica to school that day, but he froze as he caught a longer look of Hermione.
Again, seeing her in her work clothes took his breath away. What she was wearing wasn't particularly revealing. She was going to work, after all. The charcoal gray wrap-around dress made a nice V at the collar, but the sleeves went down to her elbows, and she wore dark stockings with her sleek knee-high boots. There was a lot of skin coverage, but he thought she looked sexiest this way-in her element, when he knew she would be going to work, knowing exactly what she was doing, completely confident, and perhaps a tiny bit bossy.
A bright red scarf was tied loosely around her throat. That hint of color, Harry thought, was terribly seductive.
"Hullo, lovely," he said, awed.
That earned him a toe-curling kiss good morning. She followed it with a breathy, enticing laugh just before she pulled away, possibly knowing exactly what she was doing to him and loving that she was tormenting him.
She worked on the toast and he concentrated on making the crepe.
Angelica soon appeared, filled with bustling energy and lugging everything she accomplished the night before. She enthusiastically complimented the crepe, loving the fact that she could have bananas smothered in whipped cream and chocolate syrup so early in the morning.
"Any particular plans this morning?" Harry asked when they were all settled for breakfast.
"I'm going to work on some practice cards for Millhouse," Angelica said. "Pramilla's helping, of course. We'll have the first class free since we get certain class-exemptions when it's a science subject. And then I believe Millhouse will be showing us some of his new Dragon Magic cards. They don't move, of course. They're not really magic, but they're three-dimensional. I can hardly wait until we all become old enough for me to tell them about Hogwarts, you know. I'm sure they'll be completely amazed by the things I'll show them."
"It'll be a while yet," Harry said. "Do you think you can keep the secret that long?"
She grinned. "I don't know. Maybe. It's fun to try."
"I bet," Harry grumbled. He caught Hermione's eye and he saw some of her glow waning. He immediately reached across the table to rub her shoulder. "And you? What are your plans?"
"Press release," she replied. "With Malfoy. Stupid fuss over nothing, if you ask me, but I admit I'm a bit curious about how the Daily Prophet will react to a Muggle-born and a Blood-snob obviously collaborating on a book, of all things."
"With the same class and grace they usually have, I'll wager," he said sardonically. "Punctuated by exclamation points."
She grinned.
The backdoor rattled a bit and suddenly Ron was there, tumbling Angelica in his arms as she laughed delightedly.
"Where's my kiss?" Ron asked, and giggling, she placed one on his cheek.
He put her down and pecked a kiss on Hermione's forehead. "Morning! Nice spread you've got here."
Harry found himself mildly irritated by Ron's arrival, kisses all around, but he stamped the feeling away, nodding when Ron tapped his shoulder in a friendly greeting.
"You're here early," said Harry.
Ron grabbed a piece of the buttered toast from Hermione's plate and she swatted at him, though she let him take it. "I'm always here early on Thursdays. Have to bring the imp to school." He looked at the mess of notes beside her. "What's all this?"
Angelica explained it all in one breath.
"Well, be sure Millhouse has his arse-ma thingamajiggy before you have your little swot-fest," Ron said, leaning back on his seat.
Angelica fell over giggling. "Asthma, Uncle Ron!"
Hermione shot Ron a disapproving stare.
"What?" Ron cried. "I can't be expected to remember the names of Muggle diseases!"
Harry frowned. "That's not it. There's nothing wrong with being studious, you know. And don't call them swots."
"But they are," Ron said. "And the imp here's the leader of them, aren't you?"
Harry's frown deepened.
"Oh, daddy, Uncle Ron's just teasing," Angelica said. "He loves me the way I am. Don't you, Uncle Ron?"
"Wish you were cooler," Ron said.
"Uncle Roooon!"
"Whatever," said Harry. "Anyway, I was thinking I was going to bring Angelica to school today. Ought to free you up this morning, Ron."
Ron waved his offer away. "Oh, I don't mind doing it at all. It's fine. Besides, you don't want to risk anyone seeing you-"
"I can do it under the Invisibility Cloak. Might actually be fun, sneaking around those reporters up front."
"Don't be silly-going through all that trouble. It's easy as anything for me to bring Angelica."
"Why in the world would it be troublesome? It's no trouble for me at all," Harry insisted, feeling his temper rising just the slightest bit. Ron was being incredibly and annoyingly dense. "I'd love to bring my daughter to school."
Ron seemed to catch on at that, but there was suddenly this stubborn look on his face. "Well, I've been doing this sort of thing for a few years now, so really, it's fine."
Harry bristled at that. "I appreciate it. Now it's my turn to bring her to school, don't you think?"
"It's no issue to me, you understand, so thanks for the offer."
He grit his teeth. "It's not an offer. I'm telling you-"
"You can pick her up later, Harry," Hermione chimed in, her voice cutting into the thickening haze of his anger. "Ron already came all this way for Angelica this morning, so perhaps he can skip picking her up later and bringing her to school tomorrow, yes?" She rubbed his thigh under the counter, where Ron wouldn't see, and she flashed him this look that would've had him slaying dragons if she asked him to.
He pursed his lips. "Fine. I'll pick her up later and I'll bring her to school tomorrow. Got that, Ron?"
Ron seemed to take a deep breath. "Loud and clear," he muttered. He checked the clock on the stove. "We should hurry along, Angelica. You don't want to be late."
Harry felt a kind of sinister triumph. Somewhere in his mind, a voice was telling him that this behavior was not natural-that he was acting like a complete jerk, but he ignored it, taking Hermione's hand and kissing it, right in front of Ron.
Hermione blushed but showed no hint of resistance.
Harry could feel Ron's eyes boring a hole through him.
Angelica shoved her things into her bag. She seemed aware of what had just transpired but she said nothing. She kissed Hermione and then Harry goodbye. "See you later!"
"Be good, luvy," Hermione said. "Don't drill Millhouse too hard, the poor dear."
She grinned and nodded.
Ron rose to follow her. "See you, Harry."
Harry expected him to head right for the door, but Ron bent over Hermione, kissed her cheek, whispered his goodbye, and caressed her cheek far too tenderly than Harry was comfortable with.
Hermione didn't seem to mind all that much. This was, obviously, a usual thing.
A familiar, awful jealousy blossomed in his chest-of images that had tormented him years before as he fought with the demon inside him those early days of his dark resurrection.
He struggled to dismiss it, but Ron met his menacing gaze defiantly and that awfulness in Harry awakened. Harry glared more viciously and he might have flown out of his seat to attack Ron if Ron hadn't promptly left the house after Angelica.
"Well, you two were being rather silly," Hermione said, licking a bit of the whipped cream that had gotten on her finger. "There's a biblical fable about Solomon ordering a child cut in half so that the two women fighting over it would have an equal portion of the child, each. I thought I was going to have to quote scripture, the way you two carried on. That or pull out a sword."
Harry wasn't listening. He turned to put the used dishes away, trying to control the fury inside him that was threatening to unleash itself.
Trying to take Hermione, is he?
Harry blinked, shocked by his own thoughts.
NO!
He threw the dishes in the sink, cracking one of them. He cursed and repaired it.
"Harry? Are you alright?" Hermione asked.
"I'm fine," he managed to say in a relatively normal voice, his back to her. He closed his eyes, trying to even his breathing, but all he could see was Ron leaning over Hermione to kiss her goodbye. The kiss fell upon Hermione's lips, their tongues tangling in a torrid, unplatonic lock while Ron's hands roamed-
Harry gripped the edge of the sink, telling himself he was being ridiculous; that his jealousy was completely and utterly driven by that unnatural force inside him that he continuously struggled to fight against.
Stay aware of it. If you're aware, you're in control…
He felt a hand on his shoulder and the contact almost made him jump.
He whirled around, caught Hermione in his arms, and pressed his body against her on the counter.
"H-Harry!" she gasped.
He needed her and wasn't quite sure anymore which part of him was in control.
Take what's yours…
"Oh, God," he whispered.
"Harry?"
Love her. Just love her…
He was desperate.
Maybe it was the only way to defeat that darkly jealous entity inside him. He would beat into his subconscious that Hermione was completely his and everything would be alright after that. Everything would be fine. He loved her. She loved him back.
This is pure, untainted…
His kiss was rough and possessive. With a fist full of her beautiful hair in his hand, he shoved his tongue into her mouth and swept in for a taste. She swept right back, the torrid massage eliciting a moan from her throat.
He lifted her skirt, feeling the garter-belts of her stockings against the pads of his fingers. He growled, painfully aroused, and lifted her to the counter-top. He snapped the elastic band against her skin in his ardor.
She gave a soft yelp, but she laughed, kissing the underside of his jaw and working to undo the buttons of his trousers.
He slipped a hand into the collar of her top, pushing back the dress and the lacy bra so he could feel her skin against his palm.
She made a sound of approval as she arched her back, pushing herself against his hand. She said his name desperately and its sound filled his senses, intoxicating him with her longing.
No one can have her this way. No one but me…
He tried to fight back the thoughts of inhuman possessiveness assaulting him, but it felt too good, having Hermione this way.
She cried out, he had squeezed her breast too hard, and frantically, he pressed his lips to that marvelous swell, kissing the pain away before taking a gentle suck of her nipple.
She moaned, pushing back his trousers and pants. He was forgiven even as inside him his struggle continued.
Desperately, he pushed aside her knickers and touched her. She was wet, and as he gently flicked that bundle of her nerves with his finger, she looked at him pleadingly.
"I want you inside me."
"Your knickers are in the way." His voice was rough. He couldn't have spoken tenderly if his life depended on it.
She whimpered in frustration. "And that bothers you, why?"
Rip them off.
That primal voice in him relished the thought. He ripped, the garters snapping against her skin after he tore. He imagined that her skin would still be tingling from those garters and he like the thought. He entered her rather savagely, letting the amazing sensations of feeling her around him overcome him again, hoping; praying that it would be enough.
But she leaned back on the heels of her palms and began rolling her hips to an impatient cadence, her sounds of pleasure beating back the last bit of caution in his thoughts.
It was too much to bear. He couldn't think anymore. Couldn't fight. He gave in to the full fury of lust and clamped his hands on her ass, taking her rough on the kitchen counter.
She wanted it, yelling encouragement for him to go faster, and he did, imprinting his fingers on her skin, possibly in shallow bruises.
He felt his desire cresting. These heinously good sensations weren't meant to last long. He was going to come quickly.
Gasping her name, he let this wanton image of her-taking him hard, skirt up to her waist, breast exposed, wild hair, mouth hanging open with a sultry, seductive smile-fill him. His release was explosive and he was lost to it.
Her head fell back. She was crying out loudly, his name mixing with her moan of ecstasy as she climaxed just when he was beginning to come down from his crest.
MINE.
The word rang in his mind like a triumphant roar.
She was done, but she was still catching her breath, and she still had her head rolled back. She looked so hot, still, but his reason was returning, and he began to regain some control of his impulses.
His eyes were burning. It was that searing heat that came with his affliction.
Panic assaulted him and he shut his eyes, tight.
Oh-Oh God…
"Oh, Harry…" Hermione breathed, her legs around his hips loosening. "Oh, darling, that was wonderful…"
Don't let her see…
He buried his face on the crook of her neck and shoulder, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.
"Hermione," he whispered desperately. "I love you…" Say it again.
He did.
She laughed softly. "I love you too, Harry."
He continued to hide in her embrace. The heat from his eyes might have waned, but it was hard to tell for sure. He didn't want to risk it. He couldn't let her see. She'd be frightened, then horrified, that the worse part of him had surfaced while-
… you fucked-
No. We made love. We made love…
She ran her fingers tenderly through his hair and she gently coaxed him away. "I have to get to work." She chuckled as she began to pull her dress back in place. "And I need to freshen up a bit upstairs… I look a fright."
"You look beautiful," he said, keeping his eyes down as he righted his trousers.
She didn't notice his avoidance as she hopped down the counter. She teetered a bit on her feet and he had to catch her to keep her steady. "Oh! Well… maybe we went at that a bit too roughly."
He finally looked at her, worry suddenly assaulting him.
"Oh, but a good rough!" she hastily added then she blushed.
He thought she had nothing to be ashamed about.
She looked winded, but perhaps she was glowing. Perhaps it had to do with that grin that seemed to find permanent residence on her face, or the lovely way her hopelessly disheveled hair seemed to throw rays of sunshine all around her.
He clung desperately to the beauty of it.
She disappeared for a while to go to her room and he took that alone time to compose himself-make sure his sanity was not falling apart at the seams.
No one else can have her. She's ALL MINE…
His hands fisted. Control was slowly slipping from his grasp.
When she returned, she was that businesslike woman again, her hair brushed and tamed. "I'll see you later, Harry. Owl me if you-" She reddened. "Well, for whatever." She pressed a hasty kiss on his lips and hurriedly flung open the back door. "Oops!" she cried as Imogen swept in and perched herself on one of the faucet handles on the sink.
Harry glared at the bird as it squawked agitatedly.
Hermione laughed a bit before continuing her way out and locking the back door behind her.
Harry hastened to the bay windows out front, peeking through the blinds to make sure she had gone before he ran back to his room and threw open his trunk.
Desperately, he dug through the clothes, tossing piles of them on the floor until he found his potions. Beside it was the sword.
Take the sword…
He closed his fist just before his hand could grab it.
No. Not the sword. Not today.
He closed his hand around a vial of potion and found the strength to pull it out of the trunk. He slammed his trunk shut and popped the cork off the vial with his thumb. He gulped the awful brew down in one toss, the taste of it vile and bitter, but as it slipped down his throat, he felt the effects of it instantly.
A comforting warmth spread through him and he could almost hear that foreign, unwanted voice inside him growing distant. Pushed away. His entire body began to tingle and he felt unbelievably boneless.
He sank to the floor on his knees. His head felt heavy even as the lovely colors and memories of Hermione and Angelica filled his thoughts.
He smiled, falling back against his pile of clothes on the floor.
Everything… he thought sluggishly as he flopped gracelessly on his side. … is going to be alright…
He closed his eyes, curling into a comfortable ball.
Everything's going to be fine…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione hummed as she looked over some of the revisions Draco had made to his manuscripts, remembering very fondly, and not without a secret shudder, what had happened to her and Harry in the kitchen that morning.
She had never felt so wanton in her life-so uninhibited. If Harry had told her to wear a blindfold, cuff herself to the counter, and talk dirty, she would have done it all without batting an eyelash. The way he had taken charge had brought her to instant readiness. It wasn't him, yet it was, and she found that terribly exciting.
Draco rapped his cane on the leg of her table irritably.
She arched an eyebrow, but she wasn't annoyed in the least. She was in too good a mood, even if Draco's mood had soured.
They had just finished their press conference, and while Hermione had balked at it the previous day, she was all sparkle and wit this morning, outshining Draco with the press with flawless ease. Draco was naturally teed off by that, especially since it was broadcast live on the Wizarding Wireless, so now he was being cranky.
"Well, who took the custard out of your creampuff?" Hermione asked, pretending to be completely oblivious to the situation.
"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather you hurry that up."
She hummed her tune to a faster tempo.
He looked like he was about ready to explode. "Granger, it's clear to me that by some sick, sad miracle, you managed to get someone to put you out of your misery."
Her eyebrow arched higher. He wasn't deterred.
"But for those of us who have had more experience getting good shags, we know enough not to let our spectacularly satisfied libidos interfere with our work, so if you don't mind, I'd like for you to focus on my revisions and stop daydreaming about whoever it is that mercy-fucked you."
Draco just may have succeeded in fouling her good mood.
"Malfoy-" she began, ready to go into a screaming tirade.
"Yes?"
She saw the satisfied smirk threatening to break out of his lips and that gave her enough willpower to keep her cool. Her smile was acidic. "If you're in any way used to these so-called 'good shags' then they probably weren't very good, were they? So, try not to sound so jealous when someone else actually gets some without paying for it, hmm 'kay?" She resumed humming and reading his revisions.
He bolted out of his chair, grabbing his revisions from her desk.
She gasped, but she was laughing. "I'm not done with that!"
He ignored her protest as he gathered his papers messily in his leather folder. "That's it. I can't stand you, today. You're a complete bitch, you know that? And I didn't particularly appreciate that little crack you made this morning to the press about smacking me on the face in third year. You and the press thought it was soooo funny. Well, ha-fucking-ha!"
She grinned, leaning back on her swivel chair. "You're being a complete child, Malfoy."
"I don't need to listen to this!" He headed for the door, but just before he could yank it open, it swung open by itself, clocking him on the nose.
Even Hermione was quite shocked as he fell back, his papers and personal effects flying, just before another laugh threatened to spring out of her lips.
Olivia, who was responsible for the door, seemed quite surprised herself, but much more delighted. "Oh, my." She didn't apologize. "Did I just ram the door into your face? Does it hurt? Are you bleeding? Oh!"
Hermione thought Olivia may have just orgasmed.
He glared at Olivia. "You are a demon woman." He transferred his glare to Hermione. "You are the demon woman's master."
"This from someone who served Voldemort," Hermione said, taking pity on him. She rounded her desk got on her knees, helping him gather his papers. "Olivia, be a dear and give us a hand."
Pleased as Olivia was, she would've obliged Hermione anything. "Certainly." She helped. "And before I forget, Madame Fleur is outside asking to see you."
That surprised Hermione. "Well, there's a first. She didn't just walk in here…"
"She looked rather humbled."
That was just plain shocking.
"Well, as humbled as Madame Fleur could be," Olivia added hastily. "She still kept looking at herself in the mirror. Should I send her in?"
"Of course!"
Olivia handed Hermione the papers she had gathered and left to fetch Fleur.
"I did not serve Voldemort," Draco grumbled, flinching at his injury as he felt around his nose gingerly. "I served my family. To a Malfoy, family means everything. Well… meant everything, at least."
"What are you, the Irish Mob? Just settle down. Why are you so testy today, anyway? Is everything alright with you?"
Draco scowled. "I'm not speaking to you about my personal life. Just go to hell, Granger."
"According to you, I just came from there. Demons don't live south of London, you know. We tend to live further south than that."
He made no reply as he gathered a clump of papers on his lap and sat on the floor, rearranging them according to page.
She picked up a stray pouch that said "A. Tilde" on the label. "Oy, Malfoy. You've misplaced your whore-money." It clinked with galleons when she lifted it.
Draco snatched it out of Hermione's hand. "Give me that. Ms. Tilde is not a whore. She is my mother's nurse. She's paid a regular salary from the facility, but I like to give her something extra to take care of mum better… In case you really care, it just so happened that she Owled me right after the press conference this morning. She heard me on the Wireless and she seemed to get it into her head that just because I'm going to be published, she can demand more Galleons for her services. I'm going over there right now to set her straight, or maybe throw more money at her face-whatever's more effective and less aggravating. So yes, I'm in a testy fucking mood, thanks!"
And there it was: Confirmation that Draco Malfoy really did care about the welfare of his mother. "Oh. Well, it's not as if she could make a pauper out of you all by herself…"
Draco's glare became even fiercer but the ferocity melted away as his gaze swiveled to the door. "Now that I'll fork out millions of Galleons for."
Fleur had just walked in, of course, and while she shot Draco a haughty glare, she was undeterred by his crass greeting.
"And you still wouldn't be able to take her with you. Off with you, Malfoy," Hermione said. "If you're going to be impossible the entire day, it would be best we reschedule this meeting for when you're in a better mood. Go on. Shoo."
Draco grumbled swear words as he gathered all of his things in his arms and stalked out, giving Fleur one last leer as he went.
"Sorry about that," Hermione said, walking to the lounge area of her office and gesturing for Fleur to join her. "I've been meaning to Floo you about the other day, but I thought maybe I'd give you some time to cool off… you seemed quite angry when you left the house."
Fleur sighed and sat by Hermione on the couch, adjusting the elegant shawl she was wearing as she settled more comfortably. "I apologize for that. I was not thinking straight at the time."
Hermione nodded, conjuring some tea for them both. A dainty Japanese tea set appeared on the coffee table in front of them and Hermione began mixing the brew. "I'd imagine Harry's reappearance would be upsetting. I attacked him on my doorstep, remember?"
Fleur waved Hermione's words away. "Zat is not why I was upset. I was upset because you 'ave your 'Arry but I still do not 'ave my Bill."
Hermione stared at her, a bit too surprised to respond.
At that, Fleur began to cry. "I am sorry. It is 'orrible and selfish, I know! But it cannot be 'elped! I 'ave felt close to you zese past few years because I knew only you understood my plight. We were both of us widows, no? I did not feel so alone. But when I saw 'Arry, I felt abandoned. Betrayed, even. It is as if suddenly you 'ave been deceiving me all this time of 'Arry's death!"
Hermione gasped. "Oh, Fleur, no!"
"Of course you were not!" she sobbed. "I knew zis! But it felt zat way at ze moment. It was very 'ateful of me, but my feelings were overwhelming. I could not control myself. I did not even realize it myself at ze time. I 'ad to think about it to figure it out. Now I 'ave come to apologize and tell you zat I am 'appy for you and Angelica. Truly, I am! But I am still overcome by sadness-of my plight."
Hermione summoned her tissue box and offered it to Fleur as she put an arm around her beautiful friend. "Oh, Fleur… I'm sorry. I really am. You know I would give anything to wake Bill up from his coma."
Fleur nodded. "You are a true friend, 'Ermione. I did not intend to take joy from 'Arry's return. But you know, all zis 'as forced me to finally deal wiz ze reality of my situation. I am beginning to accept… that Bill will never wake up."
Hermione's heart broke for Fleur. She knew how it was to have to accept inevitable truths. She knew that feeling of complete loss and she had suffered it all those years ago with Harry. She gave Fleur's shoulders a firm squeeze and Fleur leaned her head on Hermione's shoulder, weeping softly for several minutes.
When the worse of it was over, Fleur partook of the tea. She seemed to have calmed. "I suppose 'e 'ad 'is reasons for being gone so long."
"Yes. He did."
"Will you tell me about it?"
Hermione gave her an apologetic smile. "I can't."
Fleur looked disappointed, but she nodded. "You 'ave let 'im back into your life?"
Hermione flushed, knowing exactly what Fleur meant. "He's been wonderful to Angelica."
"And 'as 'e been wonderful to you?"
"Yes. He has."
"'Ow 'as Ron taken it?"
Hermione wasn't quite sure how to answer that. She thought her boys have talked things out between them, but it was obvious from this morning that there was still an undercurrent of tension. She supposed it really couldn't be that easy. "It's a work in progress."
Fleur seemed to think on it a moment. "I 'ope you do not forget zat Ron 'as cared well for you zis last seven years."
"I can't ever forget that, Fleur. I have no fear that I will."
"Zen it is ze boys zat need growing up, I suppose. Ron loves you. 'Arry loves you. Jealousy and contempt is natural. Take it from me. Men 'ave been jealous and competitive for my attention my entire life."
Hermione smirked. At least Fleur was already feeling better. "I'm not used to that sort of thing. I get stressed about it."
Fleur sighed. "Zat is natural, as well. It will pass, I 'ope. Just do what you think is best. So long as your intentions are pure, you will do no wrong for zem both."
"My intentions for Harry aren't always pure, if you know what I mean."
Fleur laughed. "Yes, well, zat is perhaps the most natural thing of all."
Hermione remembered her kitchen encounter with Harry this morning and smiled. Natural indeed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry forced his eyes open against the dense fog weighing on his drowsy mind. He wasn't quite sure why he had to wake up, but he knew he had to.
He blinked several times before pushing himself off the carpeted floor and felt around for his glasses. He slipped them on and saw the mess of clothes around him and the empty vial.
And so he had to take his poison, after all.
Shaking his head, he pushed himself to his feet and began gathering his clothes in his arms. He opened his trunk and saw the sword. It hummed with life. Harry felt none of the darkness that had threatened to swallow him.
Disgusted by the virtual uselessness of the sword, he dumped his clothes atop it and shut the lid back down.
His eyes fell on the clock. It was a bit past three.
Three… what was I supposed to do at three?
Panic suddenly beset him as he remembered Angelica.
"Shit!" he hissed under his breath. He went into a frenzy trying to find his Invisibility Cloak, all the time thinking madly that he had practically gotten into a fist-fight with Ron that morning to insist on fetching Angelica, only to completely botch it up when the time came.
He was out of the house in a matter of minutes, and soon he was striding down the block to the front gates of Angelica's school.
Overhead, Hedwig swooped. Imogen was nowhere in sight.
He found Angelica seated on the front steps of the school, but he was terribly surprised to find Ron with her. Angelica was giggling as Ron ruffled her curly hair.
Harry felt slight resentment, that Ron would show up in spite of what they had grudgingly agreed on that morning, but then Harry was late, so it was hard to complain.
Still under his Invisibility Cloak, he sat himself beside Angelica. "Didn't expect to see you here, Ron," he said in a low voice.
Angelica's smile widened. "Daddy!" she whispered.
Ron frowned. "You're late. If I hadn't been here, Angelica would have been alone."
Harry pursed his lips. Ron was right. He had screwed up. "I know. I'm sorry, baby girl. I won't be late again."
Angelica shrugged. "It's alright. I don't mind waiting a few minutes. Besides, Uncle Ron was here."
"You'd best thank him for having more good sense than your father," Harry grumbled somewhat reluctantly.
Angelica giggled. "Good sense…"
"Oy," said Ron gently. "What's so funny, imp?"
Angelica giggled some more but hugged Ron's arm. "Nothing. Thank you for keeping me company while waiting for dad, Uncle Ron."
"'Swhat I'm here for," Ron grumbled. Harry suspected Ron would've been happier if he hadn't shown up.
"Let's get on home, then," Harry said. "Take Uncle Ron's hand."
"I always hold his hand. I'd like to hold your hand this time."
Ron grumbled again, though Harry didn't catch what it was.
Harry loved his daughter exceedingly at that moment. "It will look strange. Nobody else can see me."
"Don't care. People already think I'm strange, anyway." She hopped to her feet and took Harry by the hand.
He could only smile at her fondly.
"What kept you, anyway?" Ron asked.
Harry paused, wondering if he should just make up an excuse. He felt Angelica's little hand in his and he looked at her, saw the open curiosity in her gaze, and realized that there was nothing for Angelica he wouldn't do. He had to tell Ron the truth.
"We'll talk later," Harry said. "Before Hermione gets home."
Ron eyed Harry suspiciously but didn't insist.
They headed to the Apparition point, and upon reappearing near the house, Harry took Angelica under the cloak, something Angelica enjoyed immensely. Ron had served as a distraction of sorts, at least until Harry can hoist both himself and Angelica over the perimeter fence so they could sneak into the house through the back door.
Angelica considered it quite an adventure.
When Angelica was settled in and after Harry had fixed her a light sandwich to snack on, Ron suggested that he and Harry play chess.
"Can I watch?" Angelica asked.
Ron was about to say something when Harry beat him to it.
"Not this time, sweet pea. Your uncle and I have to talk. You can stay with us in your mother's study, though."
Angelica didn't protest. She seemed to find this arrangement satisfactory, probably thinking she would be able to eavesdrop.
They settled in Hermione's office and Angelica sat at her mother's desk to do her homework. Harry and Ron took the chess table at the corner, and when they were all settled, Harry cast a Muffliato over Ron and himself.
Angelica had stared, dumbfounded, then was visibly put-off that her father had outsmarted her.
He and Ron played for a bit, unspeaking. Ron took several of Harry's pawns before Ron started talking.
"I apologize if it seems like I'm trying to take your duties over as Angelica's dad," Ron said. "I don't mean to do it. It's just habit. I'm trying to let you do your thing, but it's not easy to just stop what I've been doing for years now."
Harry paused, thinking carefully about what he had to say. "I can't fault you for any of that. I wasn't there the last seven years and I've only just begun to do this. I was late for my first day of work, too, so I'm still screwing it up, as you can see. I appreciate you trying and-" He remembered their stand-off that morning. "And it would mean a lot to me if you keep trying, just so I could get the hang of this properly, but… that's not exactly what I wanted to talk about with you."
Ron's eyebrow arched. He looked genuinely surprised and curious. "Oh?"
Harry nodded. "I've spoken to Hermione about most of this already. Everything I'll be telling you now, she knows about, but…" He fidgeted, wondering how best to broach a particularly sensitive point. "She and I… our relationship…"
Ron swallowed, and Harry noticed the deep sadness and disappointment in Ron's eyes. Harry couldn't help but feel the slightest bit regretful that he had broken his best friend's heart, yet again, with respect to Hermione. Ron had had a right to hope for Hermione's affections. Ron had tried to earn her love the proper way, and while Hermione quite possibly never felt romantic feelings for him before, she just might have, a few more years down the line, if Harry hadn't suddenly returned.
But as painful as all this was for Ron, Harry had more important things to worry about, one of them being this thing he had to talk about with Ron.
"Hermione sees me a certain way," Harry went on. "She doesn't-she refuses to believe that I can hurt her or Angelica."
Ron seemed slightly taken aback before he frowned rather fiercely. "What do you mean by that? Do you believe you can hurt them? Harry-"
"I don't know, Ron. If I never lose my sense of self, I know I never could, but…"
"But what, Harry? There are no buts. If you tell me right now that you can possibly hurt Hermione and Angelica, I swear… I'll do everything I can to protect them."
Harry's heart wrenched. He felt an onslaught of fear and desperation. Ron had voiced everything he was afraid of in the simplest of terms, and Harry suddenly thought he couldn't go on, but he had promised himself that he would do everything in his power to protect his family, even it meant losing them.
He nodded, and carefully, he began to tell Ron what he told Hermione, beginning from the ambush at the foot of the Hebrides to the moment he showed up at Hermione's doorstep seven years later. He left out as much about Angelica as he could. Whatever Angelica was going through, that would be between him and Hermione, but he told Ron everything else.
Once everything Harry was saying appeared to really dawn on Ron, Ron began to look terribly horrified. Harry had expected as much. While Hermione understood to a great extent the darkness of cursed magic, Ron, raised a Wizard, grew up with an almost religious terror of it. Dark magic wasn't just "wrong" or "bad," it was soul damning.
Harry could see in Ron's eyes a deep-seated dread that Harry was almost afraid would frighten Ron off too thoroughly.
But at the end of the tale, Ron was still there, even if he looked somewhat sick to his stomach.
"The potions are helping me, for now," Harry said in a quiet tone. "I had to take some this morning after the lot of you left. It's why I was a bit late picking Angelica up. I-The potion acts like a narcotic of sorts…"
Ron seemed slightly confused at that.
"Drugs. Addictive potions," explained Harry. "It gives me a high for a few hours, and I have to sleep it off before I begin to regain complete control of my faculties."
"I see," said Ron. "But if you have the potions to help you-"
"It works best only for a certain period of time. The longer I take it, the more dependent I become of it. I'll eventually need more doses, within shorter intervals. I'll be too dependent on it. Unable to function without it. It's not a solution Ron. It becomes an addiction."
Ron appeared to let this sink in. "And eventually it will control you."
"Yes. And I'd be just as worse off as I was before I was taking the potions. If I can't find Voldemort's Horcrux and my sanity deteriorates, you'll have to promise me that you'll do everything to help Hermione protect Angelica."
Ron scowled. "Harry, you know I would. You know I'd help her, and I'd help you-"
"No. You don't understand what I'm saying. If I can't get rid of this affliction, or if by some cruel twist of fate, finding Voldemort's Horcrux makes me uncontrollable, you must do everything you can to stop me from hurting you all." Harry grabbed Ron by the arm to make him listen and understand. "I'll be powerful, Ron, and I'll be cruel. You felt a part of it already, that first day we saw each other again. In the kitchen, remember? You saw the look in my eyes. You saw the demon, and I threw you over the counter like you were nothing. Look at me. Look at you. You're bigger and stronger than me hand to hand, but I flipped you over like nothing. That wasn't strength, Ron. That was controlled, rage-fueled magic without a wand, and I wasn't even unhinged, then. I was protecting you and my family. Can you imagine what I can be if I went berserk because the evil in me took over? I'd be a monster who could kill you all, so if I ever become that dangerous, you'll have to do everything you can. Do you understand?"
For a moment, Harry thought Ron understood, but Ron, much to Harry's astonishment, began to tear up. He certainly didn't look sad, but he looked quite angry.
"Did you think it would be easier for me than it would be for Hermione?" Ron demanded. "You think I could just kill you? Just what kind of a best friend do you think I am, Harry? Just because we love the same woman, it doesn't mean I'd push you off a cliff so I can have her!" He began to get up and Harry had to grab him before he could leave.
"Please don't go, Ron," Harry pleaded. "I can't have you walk away from this. I can't. It's too important."
Angelica was staring at them now, and she probably knew there was something wrong even if she couldn't hear what they were saying. Ron's gaze fell upon her and she was perhaps the only thing that convinced him to sit back down.
"You haven't answered my question, Harry," Ron said. "How can you think it's easier for me than it is for Hermione to off you, even if we had to?"
Harry gathered the courage to speak a dreadful half-truth. "Because if our situations were reversed, Ron, I could kill you. I wouldn't ever let you harm my family." He would never find it easy to hurt Ron if he were of sound mind. Ron would forever be the young boy who spoke to Harry on that first train ride to Hogwarts. Ron would forever be Harry's first and best friend, but the circumstances of having a family to protect at all costs-Hermione and Angelica being his life-he would go to the extreme to keep them safe, even if it meant shattering his own heart and soul by destroying the man he had the honor of befriending.
Ron looked shocked, but when what Harry said sank in, his expression hardened and he yanked his arm from Harry's grasp. He leaned over on his elbows and knees looking truly distressed. After a long moment of silence, Ron looked up. There was no anger in his gaze. Only calm decision. "I understand, Harry."
Harry nodded, his heart grown heavy for all the things he had asked of Ron.
Ron made a move on the chessboard and Harry obliged him. After several moves, Ron removed the Muffliato from them and stood. "I have to go. Tell Hermione I came by, alright?" He gave Angelica an affectionate farewell and left.
Harry sighed and looked at the chessboard. He moved his Bishop and whispered, "Checkmate."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Hermione got home that evening, Angelica was too busy working on a 1000-piece puzzle to give her mother a proper hello.
"Hi, mum!" was all she said as she searched frantically for a connecting piece.
Harry, who sat beside her attempting, but failing to help finish the puzzle, teased her. "Oy, your mum's home from working hard, so she could feed you and clothe you and put a roof over your head."
"Mum knows I love her very much, but I'm just too busy right now," she said distractedly.
Hermione laughed, pressing a kiss on Angelica's head before she slid gracefully on to Harry's lap.
Harry smiled, letting her and tucking her more comfortably in his arms.
"You'll give me that proper hello, won't you?" she whispered in his ear.
Her hot breath sent pleasant tingles down his neck. "I wouldn't call it 'proper,'" he whispered back, his lips seeking hers for a kiss that wouldn't be considered "proper" in civilized society.
She sank in his embrace, boneless, and he could have gone on snogging her in this luxuriant manner if Angelica's voice hadn't cut through the haze.
"Yuck. Blech!"
They separated amidst Angelica's gagging and Hermione laughingly extricated herself from Harry's arms. She did, however, pull Harry up by the hand, leading him to the kitchen.
"Were you able to speak to Ginny yet?" Hermione asked, taking the apron from its hook and throwing open the chiller.
Harry paused. "Not yet. Ron came by. We played a bit of chess."
"Oh? Who won?"
"I did."
"Well, there's a first."
Harry smiled wanly and began to help her prepare the food. "What are we making?"
"Beef curry. Did he say why he had to go? He usually stays to hang out."
Harry didn't immediately respond. "He didn't say. I suppose he had something to do."
Hermione didn't reply at once, either. She began to peel the potatoes. "You two didn't fight, did you?"
Harry supposed they didn't, really, even if he had said some pretty unforgivable things. "We didn't."
She eyed him for a moment, possibly knowing he was omitting truths on some level but perhaps debating whether it was worth pursuing. "Alright. So, did you happen to catch the press conference this morning at the Wireless?"
Harry remembered Hermione mentioning the conference this morning, but he was surprised to know it had been on the Wizarding Wireless. "No. I didn't know it would be broadcast. I'd have waited for it on the Wireless if I knew…" He couldn't look her in the eyes as he said that. This morning, after she left, he was passed out cold. He wouldn't have been able to listen to it even if he had known about it in advance.
She shrugged and didn't notice his discomfort. "I didn't know it would be broadcast, either, but my boss apparently went full-force on it. I might have known it would be broadcast if I'd attended the pre-release briefing, but oh well… I ruled it, anyway. Malfoy looked like an amateur. He was furious with me this morning."
He couldn't help arching his eyebrow at that. "Was he? Like how furious?"
She arched her eyebrow right back. "Well, he's not going to hex me in the back if that's what you're asking. You know, Azkaban took a lot of teeth out of the dragon, believe it or not."
Since she was speaking metaphors-"Only took one fang for me to destroy Tom Riddle…"
She waved away his words of caution. "I'm really not worried about Draco. I wouldn't trust him with my life, you understand, but I don't think he would deliberately hurt me. If he ever had it in him, he wouldn't have-well, he had his chance…"
Harry knew she was talking about the incident with Goyle, and how Draco had saved her. Harry still thought Draco could've cared less, but he supposed that was beside the point. Hermione had been spared a terrible fate and he couldn't help but be grateful about that. It was likely she felt the same, no doubt on an even more profound level. But still. "Seriously, don't trust him. He's a coward. He only thinks of himself."
She seemed surprised by the gravity of his tone but she made no protest.
They continued to prepare dinner, engaging in lighter conversation. His worries remained, and while he could tell that Hermione could sense it, her reassurances were wordless, built into every touch and look. He appreciated it. He didn't think he could talk anymore. He was tired of talking for the moment.
After dinner, they lounged in the living room again-reading this time. Angelica settled on the floor on her stomach, a thick ancient tome about Astronomy and Physics laid out before her while she made notations with parchment and quill. Hermione settled against him on the couch, reading poetry in soft, hushed tones. She wasn't making him listen. She spoke it mostly to herself, but Harry found ease in the cadence of her voice and the lyrical words. He had closed his eyes, his fingers making idle circles on her arm as he let his worries fade back even while he continued to think.
He loved this domesticity. He wished he could cast his worries away forever and bask in this life of familial comfort. He imagined having a real job, preferably something nondescript like making brooms, or wands, even. Perhaps he could set up a business; sell books and writing supplies just because Hermione and Angelica would love it, or maybe he could put up a pub and be surrounded by friends and good cheer. Either way, after he closed shop, he would come home to his daughter and, perhaps by then, his wife…
He wondered what Hermione would say if he asked her to marry him right there.
He sighed. Dreams…
Angelica gave a loud yawn, stretching like a cat before settling more comfortably on the rug. She was sleepy, and Hermione decided to put her to bed.
Harry watched them ascend and disappear at the top of the stairs. The pang of worry returned instantly. He needed to know what to do.
He seriously began to wonder if he should pack them off to Avalon; have the priestesses take care of them while he tried to do what he had to do, but he already knew Hermione would have none of that. She never stayed behind before. She certainly wasn't going to start doing so now.
When Hermione returned, she took one look at him and said, "Everything will be alright, Harry."
She was an instant balm. Easy to believe in the comfort of the couch, the warmth of this home, and the feel of her passionate, lingering kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was dreaming again, but there was no running through the forest this time. He sat on the moss-strewn ground, looking into the ancient open door. Within the threshold sat Angelica, her brows knotted with concern as she watched the Diary scream and thrash to get free of its bindings.
They couldn't silence the profanities.
"I wish it would be quiet," she said. "Can't you make it quiet?"
He thought about it. He dared not risk his dark magic tainting her visions. "You try. I know you can do it."
She pondered this a moment and nodded. "Which spell shall I use?"
"Try Silencio."
And she did, her mind's voice like the whisper of wind.
The Diary felt silent. It continued to jump and struggle, but no sound came from between its enchanted pages.
Angelica smiled as the door slowly closed between them.
~~
Harry drifted out of sleep in the stillness of Hermione's bedroom.
Beside him, she slept soundly, her naked shoulder rising and falling in an even rhythm.
Making love to her always seemed to calm his night visions.
He sat up in bed, careful not to jostle her.
No bad dreams tonight.
A plaintive mew broke through the silence and Harry saw Crookshanks scratching at the glass balcony doors through the curtains.
Carefully, he slipped out of bed and pulled on a shirt and pajamas.
Crookshanks circled his legs as he dressed and he had to give Crookshank's head a gentle push so he could finish putting his clothes on.
Hermione stirred and he leaned over her, whispering reassurances that he just needed a drink of water in the kitchen. She fell instantly back to sleep.
As quietly as he could, he made his way out. He peeked into Angelica's room and from the door, he watched her sleep for several seconds before moving on.
Crookshanks followed close beside him.
"Care for some milk, boy? Hmm?" Harry asked in a hushed whisper. He scratched behind Crookshanks ears and he purred, batting affectionately at Harry's hand.
Harry padded down the stairs and held the kitchen door open for Crookshanks, but Crookshanks ignored the kitchen and went straight for the windows, slipping behind the curtains so he could paw the glass.
Harry supposed the reporters were agitating Crookshanks's guarding instincts.
He detoured to the windows, careful to stay out of sight as he pulled Crookshanks into his arms to soothe him. "It's alright, Crooks. They're just reporters. They can't bother us."
There were still a few reporters camped out on the sidewalk, mostly photographers. They were playing some card game and perhaps wagering on it.
Crookshanks gave a yowl, wriggling to paw at the window again.
Harry looked harder and his gaze traveled across the street. Under the dim light of the street lamp, he saw a shadow move.
His worry, compounded by his protectiveness, surged, and he recalled that time Hermione asked him if he had been outside her house that one night she thought someone was.
This was no reporter. This was a figure isolated from the rest and it was watching the house.
He gave Crookshanks a rewarding scratch on the head. "Good boy."
Harry hastened to the guestroom to slip into trousers and pull a track jacket over his shirt. He put on his old trainers, glancing every once in a while out of the bedroom window to check if the stranger was still there. Grabbing his invisibility cloak and making sure he had his wand with him, he quickly made his way out of the house. He walked past the reporters. They didn't even glance his way.
Crossing the street, he could make out the hooded figure more clearly. The figure wasn't very tall, but his slight shoulders suggested a coltish figure.
Determined, Harry wanted to get as close to the stranger as possible before he pounced.
Harry was at the point of grabbing him when the wind stirred and might have blown a gap through his cloak. The stranger jerked to life, possibly catching a glimpse of him.
Harry saw the slight hands swiftly emerging with a gleaming Firebolt. The stranger had a broom and he was going to fly off in the next instant.
Harry acted fast, grabbing the stranger by the collar and yanking just as the Firebolt began to take off with its cargo.
The stranger gave a yelp and the broom shot off, catching the attention of the reporters.
Harry felt a desperate need for privacy. They needed to get away.
The stranger was struggling as Harry Apparated them away to the one place he knew people would prefer to mind their own business: Knockturn Alley.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The stench of ill-maintained sewer ducts, mold, and scum-stained bricks assaulted Harry's senses as they reappeared in Knockturn Alley. The shadows around him darkened while the Wizarding riff-raff scampered to steer clear of whatever trouble he and the stranger had brought in their midst.
Harry slammed the stranger against the grimy wall with force, growling with irritation. Water from disturbed puddles splashed beneath their shoes and sent the rats squeaking away. "Who are you?"
The stranger gave a labored gasp and cough, too tiny and pitched to belong to any man's, and Harry recoiled at the horrible realization that he had just manhandled a child. He pulled back his hands, stepping away to let the child recover, though he didn't lower his wand.
The child gave a whimper. "You Splinched my finger!"
Harry paled as he recognized the voice instantly. "Ginny? What-oh God!" He could see her hand. She still had all five digits, but the tip of her pinky was clearly Splinched off, blood oozing slowly from the stub. A surge of concern assaulted him, and for a brief moment, all he could think of to do was see to her injury-an injury he had inflicted, but he remembered why they were there, how she appeared to be stalking Hermione's home, and all the incriminating details surrounding it.
Surely, Ginny wouldn't mean any harm, would she?
She definitely looked like she had jumped out of bed, throwing on whatever clothes were within reach, because she looked much less the fashion maven than her job demanded her to be. He had to admit that it was difficult to think badly of her when she didn't look the least bit menacing. Surely, someone with ill intent would've come all dressed in black, or something just as ominous, not mismatched clothing and unlaced shoes.
"Ginny," he said, gently. "What were you doing out there?"
"I-" she looked away, pressing her back against the wall. "Nothing. I was just-I take midnight walks and I just happened to-"
Harry frowned. What was she hiding? "Don't lie. This wasn't the first time you stalked the house."
Her eyes widened with surprise. "I don't know what-"
"The truth, Ginny. Hermione saw you that one time. She didn't know it was you. She thought it was me, so she asked and since then, I've had it on the back of my mind. Someone's been stalking her, but I never thought it would be you. What are you doing? Why are you doing it? You've been avoiding a meeting with me. I know that now. Ever since I began looking for you, you were suddenly much too busy to be found. What are you up to? Do you mean my family harm?"
"No!" she cried. "Harry, I swear, I never wanted to hurt them!"
He could believe that, but her reluctance to admit the truth was slowly awakening his distrust. "Then tell me. Talk to me."
Ginny looked around her, pulling her cloak close. She made eye contact with a passing hag and she tore her gaze away. "Not here. Please?"
"Fine. Ron's place, then-"
"I don't want Ron to know! N-Not yet…"
"Ginny-"
"My flat's not far from here. It's just off Diagon Alley."
Harry paused briefly then nodded. "Let's go."
"I can Apparate us both-"
"We walk." He hadn't quite meant to say that, but the instinct to be careful had come so suddenly and the words had stumbled out of his lips, even if he wasn't quite sure what he was protecting himself against. He pulled the invisibility cloak over himself and waited for her to lead the way.
Sighing, she began to walk.
Harry watched her as she went, her shoulders flinching at each passing stranger or skittering creature on the ground and walls. She did not look comfortable in Knockturn Alley in the least, though she soldiered on bravely, keeping her cowl close around her face, even when they reached Diagon Alley.
They passed the Leaky Cauldron and walked on to Charring Cross. They continued to walk a few buildings more from the Cauldron before turning into a dark, unnamed alley between buildings 306 and 308. It was a rather tight fit and it seemed to get narrower. Just when the concrete walls began to feel claustrophobic, Ginny said, "Pickled Dragon Toes."
The walls liquefied then parted like water and Ginny walked through, beckoning for Harry to follow.
Harry nudged her gently to let her know he was walking right beside her.
They entered what appeared to be a Wizarding lobby, with colorful crystal chandeliers, soothing landscape paintings, dark marble floors, and a great, polished-oak receptionist's desk.
Behind the desk sat the night watchman and he waved from his seat when he saw Ginny. His grin was cheerful. "How do you do, Ms. Weasley?"
"Fine, thank you, Jenks. London's quiet this night."
"Good, good."
With that exchange done, Ginny headed to the lifts where she said, "Twelfth Level."
They whizzed up the floors and stopped with a light ding. The doors opened and there was a hallway with only two doors on both ends.
Harry hadn't gotten around London much before he left it, but he remembered the Dursleys talking about "Condominiums" and how certain people had floors all to themselves. That seemed to impress them. He supposed having only two flats to a floor wasn't far from impressive, either. Ginny seemed to have done good on her chosen field of work.
She had a key to her door this time and Harry found himself walking into a flat with a lot of space and modern furniture. Her living room had a large fireplace, which was common enough since every self-respecting Wizard or Witch had a Floo, but hers was sleek and marbled. Her panoramic windows stretched all the way to the dining area, where there was a table for ten. Beyond the dining area was the kitchen. It gleamed with steel ovens and copper pots and pans. Her floors were a polished hard wood. The entire place looked hip and luxuriant, perfect for dinner parties with her magazine-stylish friends.
"Give me a minute," she said. "Sit wherever you like." She left him for a moment and Harry headed straight for the kitchen.
When she returned, her finger was bandaged and he could smell a hint of the minty medicine she had probably put on it.
"Do you want anything to drink? Some wine, perhaps?" she asked, heading for the chill box.
His lips pursed ever so slightly. He wanted to tell her this wasn't a social visit, but he merely shook his head.
Her eyebrow arched but she said nothing.
Harry pulled up a chair and sat, rapping his knuckles on the periwinkle chopping block. The rest of the counter was marble. "So start talking, Ginny."
She sighed, grabbing what appeared to be an alcoholic Butterbeer. She twisted the cap off. She seemed reluctant to begin.
"Ginny-"
"Promise me you'll listen before you judge me."
Harry didn't think he had a right to judge anybody, but he nodded. "I promise. Now start with what you were doing outside Hermione's house."
She took a hefty gulp of her Butterbeer and leaned against her kitchen counter. "It's not something I like doing. Every once in a while, I feel things; things I couldn't simply ignore. It wakes me up in the middle of the night and I hear it."
This was not the answer Harry expected. He stared at her, searching her gaze for a lie, instead, he saw that familiar kinship of a shared experience. Once upon a time, in the past, Ginny Weasley knew exactly what he was going through when Voldemort snaked into his mind, trying to possess him. It chilled him-that Ginny seemed to be feeling remnants of her own experience.
Then a horrible thought struck him. Are they just remnants?
He swallowed. "Is it summoning you?"
She shook her head. "No. It's not summoning me. It's just a feeling-like a voice… I don't even understand why I feel like I have to answer. I just-I have to. It's like an old friend…" She drifted off for a bit and Harry felt that growing sense of dread even more.
"Old friend?" he whispered.
She blinked and seemed to snap out of her daze. "It's the same voice I heard during my first year, and I know what's happening to me, Harry. I mean, I think I do. Tom Riddle's soul was once inside me. You couldn't say that didn't leave an imprint. I-I know it did, and so after that experience in first year, just when I believed I was rid of it forever, I suddenly felt it again… it was during the baby shower Fleur threw for Hermione. There was a moment during the party that I felt it so strong that I was sure I wasn't imagining things."
Harry didn't want to admit it to himself yet, but this was alarming news. He focused his thoughts to the discussion at hand, pushing back every horrible possibility Ginny's revelation was churning in his imagination. "And after the party? Did it keep manifesting?"
"Through the years, it did, but only very slightly. I began to think it was just… one of those things, the way old injuries came back to haunt you with aches and pains…" her voice trailed again and Harry could tell by the expression on her face that she hadn't really dismissed any of it that easily. "I watched Angelica. All these years I felt there was something different about her, and even if they didn't tell me, I knew Hermione was keeping a close eye on her powers. I've wanted to tell Hermione about what I was feeling, I swear! But I couldn't go to her without-without proper proof, I suppose. I mean, she's Hermione. She would never take anything without reason and logic to back it up, especially if it was about Angelica!"
At that, Harry chuckled painfully. "Ah, Ginny… you don't know her enough, I suppose. She would've listened. She would have taken you seriously. She's a creature of logic and reasoning, yes. You're right about that, but you'll be surprised about the scope of Hermione's resources. Just when you think you're not making sense, she finds the sense for you."
Ginny seemed to redden and she tore her gaze from him, but she nodded. "I suppose I never did know her enough…"
Harry steered them back to the important matters. "And when did you start coming to the house at night?"
Ginny shifted uncomfortably. "Only very recently. The voice… it got so strong all of a sudden."
He knew that to be true. It was the reason, after all, that he left Avalon. The presence had become insistent. It had bided its time enough.
"I was sure it was bad, Harry. I-I was worried. I felt obligated to do something and I tried-I broke into her house that one time-"
"What? You broke-"
"It wasn't exactly a break in."
"Ginny!" Harry couldn't help but think that he was surrounded by devious women. Priestesses, ex-girlfriends, lover, and daughter, the lot of them with tricks up their sleeves.
"And it wasn't as if I really planned it! Just the night before, I heard that voice and it was maddeningly loud, you know? But it disappeared as quickly as it came, so I suppose I didn't feel… compelled, but the next day Ron came by and told me he and Hermione had had a fight and I suppose… I suppose he was so distraught by it that he left his house keys in my flat and-well, Hermione's house keys were there, too. The temptation was suddenly too strong."
Temptation…
Harry knew about temptation. He had dealt with the temptation of embracing evil and power these last seven years. He wondered if Ginny had, in any way, felt that sort of temptation, too.
No. Ginny wouldn't. She wasn't resurrected from a Horcrux, she was saved from it. That makes a whole lot of difference, doesn't it?
"So you broke into Hermione's house while she was at work and Angelica was at school."
"I had a lunch date with Fleur and Hermione at the time. I had to make up some gibberish about having a last minute shopping emergency. I went to Hermione's house and I looked for something. I don't know what I was looking for. Maybe a diary. I don't know. I just had to find out once and for all where all of it was coming from, but I didn't find it, and I couldn't stand the thought that I'd gone into her house and found nothing, so that same night I stood outside the house just hoping I would feel it again and maybe I could catch it while it was making its presence known. Merlin, that was a mistake! Hermione almost saw me! That blasted cat of hers-"
His growing suspicions suddenly reared its ugly head and he was unable to stop the words from spilling from his lips. "And what would you have done if you had found whatever it was you were looking for, Ginny?" he asked.
"Why, destroy it of course!"
"Is that so? Would you have really destroyed it?" And there it was. The accusation. He didn't know if it was fair-accusing her of wanting power just because he now knew he could be made to crave it, but he had to lay it out. It was too important.
At that, Ginny's gaze turned fierce. "What are you trying to say? That I would've kept it? That I would've used it?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
Ginny looked positively outraged. "Good Merlin… you really don't know me, do you? You never understood me! I was always just Ron's cute little sister, to you! And I suppose you just wanted to snog and cop a feel from the pretty popular girl in Hogwarts just like you did with Cho!" She began to cry.
Harry's jaw tensed. "It was never like that! Don't try to distract me with that drama, Ginny. Help me understand! Why are you doing all this?"
She glared at him with tears in her eyes. "What do you mean why am I doing all this? I don't want Angelica to get hurt! I remember what Tom Riddle tried to do to me, Harry!"
"Then why didn't you just say something and asked for help? You couldn't handle him back then! What makes you so certain you can handle him now?"
"Hey, I learned from my mistakes!" she roared. "I'm stronger and more capable of-"
"You were doing this in secret, and that casts suspicion on your motives."
"You don't know anything. You don't know me. You horrid-"
"Then tell me why, Ginny. Why did you have to go behind everybody's back?"
"BECAUSE IT WAS ALL MY FAULT, HARRY!" she shrieked at the top of her voice. She threw her Butterbeer on the ground and it shattered on the hard wood flooring, brown foam fizzing amidst her sobs.
He was struck by the raw emotion in her tone and actions, and it was only a few seconds later that he began to process what she said. "Ginny-what do you mean it was all your fault?"
"All my fault…" she cried, wrapping herself in her arms. "That you were ambushed at Skye; that you died; and that Angelica is being haunted in some way like I was…"
Harry's heart twisted and that profound feeling of betrayal from so long ago, in the bus on their way to the McFusty's, assaulted him again. "What did you do…?"
"I didn't mean it, I swear! I swear it, Harry! You'd been missing for days after the attack at the Burrow and I was frantic. I needed to do something-anything other than waiting at home for the Order to bring you back safe. I insisted on going with my father and brothers. I refused to stay at home and I made them take me to the McFusty's. I knew that somehow, there would be a rescue of sorts and I wanted to be a part of it. I was very tired that day we got word of your escape. I loved you, Harry… I was so worried. I hadn't slept, I barely ate, I-I was miserable and exhausted. Something had to give and I must've dozed off some time after we heard from your Patronus and…" She stopped and she started to cry again. "I would never have betrayed you intentionally, Harry. I still owed you my life, remember? I had a Life Debt and-"
"What did you do?"
She looked up, and for a brief second, she looked frightened of him. "He came to me in my dreams. I-I thought it was just a dream, and he made himself look like you and… somehow I told him what was going to happen and it was such a nice dream, Harry. I didn't think there was any harm in it! I didn't even realize what I'd done until that first time I felt Voldemort's presence months later… at Hermione's baby shower… since then I knew I had to make-up for what I'd done somehow," Ginny added with an edge to her voice. "But I couldn't-I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone about it. I'd caused your death. I owed you my life and I caused you your death. I had to pay that Life Debt ten times over, and when I began to feel strange things from Angelica, I had to make sure nothing would happen to her. That was how I was going to repay you. I had to make sure your daughter was alright."
Somehow, it began to make some kind of sense. Ginny's violent reaction to his return, her full acceptance of how he and Hermione were together, her true affection for Angelica… and finally, why she kept it all to herself.
He didn't know what to feel. Should he be angry? Should he expose her? But she hadn't meant to do any of it! Or did she? When he realized the other day that he needed to speak to Ginny, he had hoped she could tell him something about Angelica. He hadn't expected it to be all this, these heartrending revelations of damning mistakes and years of omitted truths.
He couldn't help feeling so terribly suspicious, and it wasn't helping that she had confirmed such a horrible truth about his daughter. Angelica was hiding something and perhaps she even knew what it was.
"He was talking about you," Harry whispered, remembering. "That time I escaped and I saw him in my dreams, he said there were other ways to find out where we were…"
She whimpered, covering her face with her hands as she wept.
It hadn't been Ginny's fault. Voldemort had used deceit and Ginny hadn't stood a chance. Harry couldn't even fight Voldemort off, and he had Occlumency training. Ginny had been used, and it wasn't her fault at all, but blame was a wild animal, and it always snapped its maw at the first one that made eye contact. He wanted to blame her for everything, even if he knew in his heart that there was nothing Ginny could've done.
Ginny looked up and her gaze caught his. "You have to believe me. Please, Harry." She reached for him and he flinched, backing away from her. Her sobs rose anew.
He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of what he was feeling. It would be easy to blame her for the last seven years. He could have spent so many days alive, and well, with Hermione and Angelica. Even with the shadow of Voldemort over them, he would have cherished the moments he had with his family, and yet, that confrontation between him and Voldemort at the foot of the Hebrides was a means to an end, of sorts. Angelica had spent the last seven years without the fear of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She and the rest of the Wizarding world lived without terror of the madman. Suddenly, his happiness seemed minute to the happiness of everyone else.
"Do you think Angelica's hiding something, then?" he asked, hoping he could get more answers.
She seemed surprised all of a sudden. "Well, that's beside the point, isn't it? I was hiding the fact back then that I had the Diary. I knew there was something wrong with it, but I was such a lonely first year, I believed it was my friend. It's the possession that worries me, Harry. I don't know if it's doing the same thing to Angelica as it was doing to me. I've watched out for that but Angelica doesn't seem to be showing the signs. I only feel things-"
It was then Harry began to feel really frantic. Possession? But of course! He didn't know why he never considered it! The thing has been trying to possess her, but it couldn't, because unlike Ginny, Angelica hadn't felt quite so alone. Or was that really the explanation? Angelica appeared to be fighting it, but how could she? She was so young! Younger than Ginny when she was first possessed.
The dreams…
He'd always had those dreams. Sometimes she had been there. Sometimes he was alone. What did it mean that they were connected? Why did he even see into her visions at all?
She was connected to Voldemort's Horcrux somehow, and he supposed he ought to be connected to his own daughter, but why? Wizarding fathers didn't have strange connections with their children.
"I have to go back home," he said, turning to leave.
"Wait," cried Ginny. "You have to let me help, Harry. You have to-"
"You've done enough!" he hissed without thinking.
She froze in shock, like he had slapped her, and he regretted what he had said immediately.
"I didn't mean that, Ginny," he said. "I'm sorry."
She looked away, shamefaced. "I'm sorry, too. You don't know how much."
He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "If you want to help, don't try to hide from me again when I need to talk to you, alright? No more hiding, Ginny. No more secrets. Do you understand?"
"Are you going to tell Hermione? Are you going to tell Ron?"
"I have to tell Hermione."
She looked miserable.
He put his hand on her shoulder. "I'll let you tell Ron. You want to really start repaying that Life Debt? It all begins now. Start telling the truth, and if I need you to do something for me, I'll let you know. Alright?"
Slowly, she nodded. "Alright."
"Good."
He left after that, his mind and heart heavy with both worry and anger. Ginny had made a mistake she couldn't have helped, though the consequences had been dire. He had died and had lost years with Hermione and Angelica; he had this affliction upon him, so terrible that it constantly threatened to swallow him whole; and Angelica's soul was in danger. It seemed too much. Ginny wanted to make up for it. He didn't know if she could, or even if she should-it hadn't been her fault, but he would let her.
He realized suddenly that his anger for Ginny was gradually waning; that his anger for her was misplaced. He should be angry at Voldemort; how his evil had spawned such pain and heartache; how after all these years, he was still hurting Harry and the ones he loved.
He was going to put an end to it all. No matter what it took, he was going to end Voldemort's evil permanently.
His worry was that he didn't know quite how, just yet.