I do not own Harry potter, or anything of the sort blah blah blah etc etc
Chapter 2
"Home, sweet home." Harry commented sarcastically, pushing open the door to the two-bedroom apartment he and Ron shared. The small home had the distinct look of being inhabited by two people with radically different lifestyles. The apartment consisted of a living room, a kitchen/dining area combination separated by a half-wall, and a short hallway leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom. The living area, which contained a couch and a fireplace, was coated with a thick layer of empty pizza boxes, sports magazines, and a few items that made Hermione's face burn. On the walls she noticed several pictures of people with flaming red hair, presumably Ron's family. Harry appeared in many of them.
The kitchen, on the other hand, was unnaturally clean. Everything gleamed white, except for where rust coated the ancient appliances. Not a single item was out of place; even the month-old copies of Metro were folded neatly and stacked in a corner of the table. Hermione felt as though she had stepped into the world of The Odd Couple. Harry tossed his hat from the door to the coat rack, and pumped a fist in triumph when it landed neatly on its hook. "Ron, why don't you go and see Remus. I'm sure he's been waiting anxiously for this." He pressed his beg into the redhead's hands and all but pushed him out the door.
"Remus? An odd name." Hermione commented, starved for conversation. She was shifting her weight nervously, unsure about what to do in a stranger's home.
Harry picked up on it immediately. "Just kick your boots over there and hang your vest on the coat rack." He had already done the same. "And it isn't really that odd. Roman mythology is no more unusual than, say, a Shakespearian play." Obviously he was not as dim witted as she had made him out to be. Hermione inwardly berated herself for judging a book by its cover. Harry took her silence as a victory to him, which it was. "Anyway, you'll be taking my room. First door on the left, if you want to put your stuff in there."
Hermione was taken aback by his courtesy. Most men she had met would have offered her his friend's quarters, given the opportunity when the friend could not disagree. She said as much. "If I may, why aren't you putting me in your friend's room? I would think you'd rather put someone else in an awkward position."
Harry smiled, something she had only seen him do once before. It wasn't as warm as the last time. "Call him Ron. And believe me, if my roommate was anyone but Ron Weasley you would have his room so fast your head would spin. Ron's room isn't exactly fit for human habitation." Hermione decided she didn't want to know.
"Where should I put my stuff?" Harry seemed confused by her question, so she elaborated. "Your drawers will be filled with your clothes, so what should I do with mine?" she gathered that she had considerably more clothing than he had. Even living a nomadic existence she would easily have at least twice as much underwear.
Harry inclined his head slightly. "As a matter of fact, almost everything I own is currently on my person. Everything else amounts to the plane and this apartment, which I co-own with Ron, a few pictures that are on my nightstand, and a few valuables in a safe deposit box." Hermione was rather shocked, but she gathered quickly that this was an extremely odd person.
"Alright then, where will you sleep? If Ron's room is that toxic I doubt you'll be bunking with him." Harry nodded, with a third smile to add to the list.
He indicated the lumpy looking couch. "Right there. Ron hasn't managed to pollute this room, yet." Hermione chuckled, and left to put her things in Harry's room. Her first impression was that is was clean. Her second, more accurate, impression was that it was empty. Just as Harry had said, nothing of his was in the room but three pictures on the nightstand. The first was of a raven-haired man in glasses dancing in a snowstorm with a red haired, green-eyed woman. Hermione presumed that they were Harry's parents. The second was of five people. Harry's parents were there, along with an attractive man with long black hair, an intelligent-looking man with sapphire eyes and short brown hair, and a shorter man with watery blue eyes and a rat-like appearance. They were standing before a large castle, wearing what looked like traditional English boarding-school uniforms with one difference. Over top of grey sweaters were ankle-length, open black robes. The final picture was of Harry, Ron, a redheaded girl who was probably Ron's sister, and a girl with blonde hair and a vacant expression. They were standing in front of the same castle, wearing the same uniforms. The only difference was, where the five in the one photo and three in the second were wearing red accents, the blonde had blue. She heard a tap at the door and looked up from where she had been absently studying the face of a younger Harry.
The older version was standing in the doorway, looking at her with an expression she couldn't place. He had his hat and jacket back on. "I just heard from Ron, and Remus wants to meet the daughter of the most famous archaeologists in British history." His eyebrows were raised, and her vest was outstretched to her.
***
Harry drove her up to where Remus lived in a tired old Ford pickup that was more rust than actual metal. As he explained on the trip, Remus was a professor at the boarding school he and Ron had attended: Hogwarts Academy. She had to admit, the castle was impressive. As it was July the school was devoid of students, so the trip to Remus' third floor office was quiet and uneventful. Before they entered he pulled her aside. "I have to warn you, Remus is highly susceptible to illness and he's sensitive about it. So if he looks a bit under the weather, don't mention it. And definitely don't stare." She nodded solemnly, and they entered.
Remus' office was neat, Like Harry's parts of the apartment, but it was neat in a cluttered way. There were books everywhere, but they were all in neat stacks. Remus himself was sitting behind a wide desk. His deep blue eyes were starting to pale, his skin was lined like old leather, and his light brown hair was streaked liberally with grey, but he was undoubtedly one of the men from the picture. Like a gentleman he rose when she entered. Ron, who was seated in one of three chairs in front of the desk, did not. "You must be Hermione Granger. I've heard a lot about your parents, and I am deeply sorry for their loss." He spoke with the voice of a man who has seen too much in a short life, like an old man who half wants to lay down his head and sleep for eternity and half wants to raise his sword and fight for what he loves. "Please, sit. Can I offer you a drink?" Hermione noticed a small home bar behind the desk.
"No, nothing for me thanks." He mixed a martini and filled a glass with bourbon. The bourbon went to Harry. He kept the martini. "Did you know my parents?" she asked, surprised by how easily she could speak about them.
Remus settled in his chair and shook his head. "Not personally. I read a great deal of your mother's work." He gestured to a particular stack of books, where Hermione could see the name of Alexandra Granger on several spines. "Actually, that's why I wanted you here." Hermione looked at him oddly. Harry did the same. "You see, your mother wrote about how she and your father went after the Seal of Solomon. I worked the timing, and you would have been thirteen." Hermione nodded. "She went on about the fiendish level of the traps they faced along the way. Now Harry and Ron, for all their talents, do not have much experience when it comes to those things. So I want you to accompany them on their next excursion."
Harry interrupted. "Speaking of which Remus, what is the next target?" he asked. To Hermione, it sounded like he was dreading the answer.
Remus didn't answer for a moment, but he shuffled for something in his desk. He produced a charcoal drawing of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. He indicated the Roman soldier piercing the side of the Saviour with a spear. "That. The Lance of Longinus, sometimes called the Spear of Destiny. It is the weapon that pierced the side of Christ. I did some research while you were in Egypt, and I've concluded that it is most likely in the Nuremberg Castle in Nuremberg, Germany." He produced three plane tickets. "You leave tomorrow." The trio rose to leave, but Remus had one more thing to say. "Harry, could you hang back for a moment. I'd like to have a private word with you."
"Of course Remus. Hermione, you can go home with Ron of wait for me. Your choice." His gaze was devoid of emotion, but Hermione detected a hint of possessiveness in his voice. It was nice to feel wanted. She stayed.
***
"I see what Ron meant." Remus commented upon locking the door and silencing the room. "She certainly has potential, but when are you going to tell her?"
Harry sighed, raising his hat to wipe at his brow. "Never, if I can avoid it." Remus looked shocked. "She doesn't need the burden, not after seeing Death Eaters murder her parents. I can't, in good conscience, add to that."
Remus nodded slowly. "You mean well, I know that. But they say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. And there's no way you'll be able to hide it from her forever. I do hope you realize why I'm sending you out so early." Harry shook his head. "Come on Harry, it's the Spear of Destiny. Voldemort would do anything in his power, which you have to admit is considerable, to possess the spear which makes an army invincible."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Do you have any ideas on who specifically might be after it?" he asked, worriedly.
"Not for sure, though I have a feeling the Malfoy males will need to be doing something to curry favour after June." Remus didn't mention June of what year, but Harry understood. It was a date that was engraved in his memory. "I'd be on the lookout for Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange as well. We haven't heard from them in some time. Oh, and Harry." The treasure hunter turned back from where he was going to exit the office. "Be careful."
Harry flashed a lopsided grin he had learned from his godfather, Sirius Black. "Hey, it's me." That was the last Remus would hear from him until he returned from Germany.
"That's what I was afraid you'd say." Remus commented sadly to the empty room.
***
"So what's the rush with this spear?" Hermione asked the next morning, when she Harry and Ron had been crammed into a 747 economy cabin. Harry had explained on the trip to the airport that they didn't want to draw attention to themselves on this trip, and an international flight was the perfect place to get lost in a crowd. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. That was the question he'd been hoping to avoid.
"It's rumoured that any person that carries the spear will win every battle the enter. There's a group of terrorists based in England who want it too, or so Remus thinks." He responded, hoping to satiate her curiosity.
He did not. "You mean like that Sirius Black fellow that escaped from prison a few years ago?" she hadn't actually been in England at the time, but she had found out in a few years of newspaper backlog.
Harry tensed. Even though she couldn't possibly know better, he did not like people slighting his godfather. He was innocent, even if no one believed it. "Yes." He lied. It was painful. "Like him." He fell silent, pretending to sleep. He dimly heard her question Ron, on his other side, for a moment before she herself fell asleep. He perked up immediately. A surreptitious wave of his hand made the area around the 'archaeologists' devoid of all sound, as far as anyone else knew. "Notice anyone?" he asked I a low voice. Even silencing charms were not foolproof.
Ron nodded his head. "Travers is on the flight. He's a few rows ahead, next to the guy with the shining hair." Harry looked up. He saw the man Ron had meant, slicked-back black hair looking sleek as an otter, and the greying blackness of Travers beside him. "A few more suspicious characters scattered about, but no one I recognize." Harry had to agree. Either they were paranoid or Voldemort was recruiting. Or both.
Harry turned to Ron again. "Alright as soon as they let us off, run." It was the best they had.