Disclaimer : Harry Potter and the world he lives in is not mine.
A/N: The Purple Potion is my second HP fanfic. Like the Cardinal Curses it is a Pre DH Post Hogwarts Mystery loaded with angst. I wasn't sure about posting this on PortKey until I could see how I was going to end it. Some who have read it would probably disagree that I have posted it but here it is anyway!
Much of it will be unchanged from the original, particularly the plot, although I am planning to 'fix' some scenes that I know I definitely botched!
For those who have read it and would like to leave a note I only ask that you put spoiler warnings if you intend to comment on future chapters to not ruin it for those who like figuring things out on their own.
Warnings :
Harry and Hermione are OOC but had to be for the theme of sin, consequence and all the rest that follows that.
There will be some Heron and some Dramione - a full plate! But Portkey Rule compliant of course.
If you hate angst don't even start reading it.
It's long, really long - 65 chapters and counting. I admit that the story got away from me. There are parts of if that I never intended to write but can't go back to cut out because a lot of them are HHr. So if you need help getting some sleep… LOL!
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Prologue.
February 14, 2006, 11:03P.M., The Alpha Chelsea Hotel, Gerrard Street, Toronto
It was supposed to be an act; a pretence.
He was working a case; traveling from London as Roy Hunt, the slippery, clever crook he had trailed for two weeks and arrested not forty eight hours ago. His entire being was loaded with Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself so he could do the job he was supposed to do.
But what he was doing with her at the moment was not part of the assignment.
Their lips had been on each other, hot, steamy, even before they got off the lift. There was the groping and fondling, as his hands caressed parts of her he would have never dared touch before.
He should stop; he was her best friend.
She should stop; she was getting married in two weeks.
She was getting married in two weeks to his other best friend.
His treacherous act would definitely earn him a good beating and then some, unless he could convince both friends that he was trying to keep her safe from harm.
A tall, greasy dark haired man scowled as he walked past them kissing passionately just outside her tenth floor room. Just as he suspected, 'Greasy' would try again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man disappear into a lift.
Good. He was going to leave her alone, at least for now. Once he got her inside he could tell her the truth. Maybe.
He battled with his conscience. Lying was not right but the truth would be so hard to explain. He received specific orders not to blow his cover, particularly not to her. And besides, not only was it out of character for him to pass on an attractive woman wanting to have sex with him, he didn't really want to stop even at the expense of continuing to lie.
His senses swirled around as he got a whiff of her soft flowery scent while he left a trail of languid kisses along the length of her neck. Greatly encouraged by her involuntary positive vocal responses, there was now no denying him of the need she had stirred within; his need to hold her in his arms and do more.
Fumbling to unlock the door with her card key, they stumbled into her hotel room and she shut the door behind them, leaning on it. There was the thud of her purse as it found the floor. The momentum of their uninhibited intimacy spilled over inside the confines of the dimly lit space. His mouth quickly sought and crushed hers with a longing he never knew he had, surprised by her equally lustful response. Her arms were around his neck, clearly not wanting them to cease what they were doing. Her lips parted under his request and their tongues found each other, engaging each other, caressing each other, giving and taking, and neither seemingly getting enough. His lean muscular frame was pressed up against hers eliminating what was but a sliver of air between them. His pounding heart was going fast and he could feel the thumping of her chest against his. He reminded himself to breathe, but to do so would be to risk having that moment of sanity that was sure to put an end to what they were doing. Not only did he not want to stop, he really couldn't.
She broke it off by necessity. He could feel her laboured breathing, as short and as shallow as his. Her shoulder length brown hair was quite dishevelled from his handling. Her brown eyes were glazed with the same raw desire he saw a few minutes ago. She was searching him, like he was her, for some sort of direction on how to proceed.
Are you sure this is what you want?
They had talked about this, earlier that night. It was a suggestion of a last fling, so she could at least experience being with someone else other than the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with. Preferably someone she did not know and someone who she would never have to know. No attachments. Just sex. Far away from where her real life was. Maybe he should remind her.
"You're getting married in two weeks," he finally said as he traced the outline of her face lightly with his fingers, looking deeply into her eyes. He wanted her so much but was saddened by what she doing.
She replied as she continued to look at him, "I know."
He could hear her think and wondered what was going through her mind. Before he could ask, she slid her fingers down from his neck and began loosening his tie, determined yet trembling. It came off and disappeared from view.
She had made her decision. It was so confusing, feeling disappointed that she had compromised her ideal for something so fleeting as the casual contact she was about to engage in, but ecstatic that it was with him. Only, he knew he could have been anyone else.
"You're getting married in two weeks," he repeated softly into her ear, closing his eyes, shutting out the yelling voice in him that was commanding him to stop.
"Twelve days actually," she corrected him almost whispering, slowly sliding his jacket off his shoulders and arms onto the floor. Her touch seemed to easily make it through the material of his shirt, driving him crazy.
She continued, "I don't know you…"
Not true…you actually do…
"You don't know me…" she said as her hands began working on the buttons of his shirt, helping him get out of it.
But I do know you…
She nibbled on his lower lip. He nibbled back; who wouldn't? He slowly caressed her shapely body. She was as nervous as he was. Shoes were unnecessary as they made their way closer to her bed.
"No one else can know…" she reminded him as he watched and assisted her out of her black dress, revealing a most provocative lingerie that left not much to imagination, a magnet that made him want to touch her even more.
"Of course not," he replied as they deepened their kiss, his hand, finding its way up her thigh and over her soft lacy underwear. She shivered and moaned against his lips as he slipped his fingers in and touched her. Words were not necessary beyond that.
If only she knew that since announcing their engagement six months ago, he had wanted her like this, with unimaginable lust. Not really understanding or knowing why, he couldn't confess or do anything about it. He didn't know what it meant; he didn't know where this was going; he didn't want to say anything he would regret.
He lifted her with his strong arms and took her into bed. In no time at all, she had unfastened his trousers, allowing it to come off, and saw to the loss of the remaining piece of garment he had on. She threw away all inhibition and allowed herself the pleasure of another man's body, a stranger.
For a fleeting moment, as he pulled her lingerie off to reveal her striking nakedness save for the small black covering between her legs, a question in his mind begged to be acknowledged. How could she do this?
But it seemed that at that point, what mattered only was that she was doing it. He could lie to himself and say that this was for her, so she could get what she wanted. Or that his best friend did not deserve to marry her. But truthfully, this was now all about him; his want, his need. She was getting married in twelve days. This could be his one chance to be with her, the one time she would let her guard down and allow it. He had to quench his thirst or risk feeling this way about her for the rest of their lives.
And besides, they promised each other. Whatever happened in Toronto would stay in Toronto. She would never see Roy Hunt after tonight and there would be no need for her to know that the man she was making love with was someone else.
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Chapter 1. Murder in the Kitchens
February 7, 2007 - somewhere in the United Kingdom
It was three in the morning.
Within the hallowed walls of Hogwarts, undeniably the most prestigious school of witchcraft and wizardry in Europe, a figure in a grey cloak and hood walked in the shadows through a long corridor, coming to a halt in front of a painting of a bowl of fruit. Looking both ways and convinced that the coast was clear, a gloved hand emerged from the cloak and tickled the pear. It giggled and transformed into a door handle. He was in.
Stepping into the vast Hogwarts kitchens, he found the house-elf beside the massive brick fireplace where she usually slept in her soiled tea-cozy surrounded by bottles of butterbeer. Without hesitation, he stood right beside her and pointed his wand at the diminutive drunken figure.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The lazy orange light from the fire was briefly overpowered by an intense green flash that illuminated every crevice in the huge room of high ceilings. The figure on the floor was dead. Very dead. Working feverishly and frantically, the task was done in no time at all and he got what he came for.
It would be two hours before the death would be discovered and if he was lucky, nobody would think that it was murder.
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Ring…ring…ring…
An arm reached out onto the bedside table from within the heap of blankets and covers, trying to locate the source of the obnoxious ringing sound. She hit the snooze button on her alarm clock.
Ring…ring…ring…
Wrong one.
Reluctantly, her brown eyes peered from beneath the pillow, her bushy brown hair partially obstructing her line of sight in every direction. After several more annoying rings she finally found the wireless telephone beneath a stack of research articles.
Hermione Granger did not get much sleep.
"Hello," her still sleepy voice said into the mouthpiece.
"Where are you!" a female voice screamed into her ear so loudly she had little doubt it had punctured her eardrum, even as she instinctively held it as far away from her as she could.
"Obviously at home where you called me," she answered. "Did you take a dumb pill today?"
She was joking and Ginny Weasley, the person who just caused her temporary deafness, was her best friend. At the moment, Ginny had no sense of humor.
"You're going to be late!"
Hermione looked at the clock. It was just before nine.
"I'm on holidays. How can I be…oh Merlin!" she exclaimed as she realized what she was late for.
"I'll get him to stall but get your butt here right away!" Ginny barked like an army sergeant and hung up.
Scrambling out of bed, she went into the bathroom of her two-bedroom Downtown London flat and did the best she could to make her appear more appropriate for the occasion she was about to attend. She slipped out of her pajamas, grabbed the first clean business ensemble she could get her hands on, and took her green dress robe from the closet, donning it. She ran to her office desk and grabbed the stack of papers she had worked on last night just before Disapparating to an alley very close to the dingy street where the Ministry Visitor's Entrance was located.
Getting into the red broken down phone box, she quickly dialed 62442. A sweet welcoming voice from within the booth said, "State your business."
"Hermione Granger, witness for the Centaur trial."
She took the silver badge with her name on it, disgusted as she read the purpose of her visit that was printed on it. Some things were just difficult to change.
Half-breed Trial Witness.
As she got to the 8th Level Atrium, she registered her wand with security and got on one of the lifts to take her to Level Nine. She passed through the Department of Mysteries, waved back briefly to a seemingly daydreaming witch she knew from Hogwarts and hurriedly went down the flight of stairs to Level 10 through the dark corridor. At the very end, she finally reached Courtroom Ten and saw her red-headed friend pacing nervously.
"It's about time," Ginny quickly ushered her through the packed courtroom and sat her right behind a familiar tall, blonde man. He turned around briefly and she met his warm gray eyes. He smiled at her. She smiled back. Hermione felt Ginny roll her eyes up towards the ceiling. They will have to talk about this later.
"Magorian, it doesn't matter that you do not recognize the authority of this court," Draco Malfoy explained. He was the Wizengamot appointed counsel, which was now required in any proceedings involving non-magical or non-wizard beings. "They will decide your fate."
"No. My fate has been decided long before any of us in this room was born," the fair haired centaur said calmly, looking at the ensemble of wizards and witches that made up the Wizengamot. "It is foolish for humans to think that what they do actually affects destiny."
One of the members, an old witch who looked like she had not slept in ages, spoke up, "Mr. Malfoy, if you have no further witnesses…"
"I do have one more," Draco looked at Hermione with a look of desperation in his eyes. She guessed that things weren't going their way. "Healer Hermione Granger."
"The Wizengamot acknowledges the presence of Healer Hermione Granger," announced the witch who was taking notes on the proceedings.
Hermione stood up and walked to the podium right beside Magorian, who merely shook his head. Magorian, leader of the centaur herd in the Forbidden Forest, was accused of murdering fellow centaur Firenze a week ago. The trial before the Wizengamot was to decide whether or not he was guilty and if so, whether or not he should be sent to Azkaban or receive a Dementor's kiss.
"Miss Granger, in what capacity are you involved in this case," one of the younger wizards asked.
"I was approached by Society for the Protection of Magical Beings to review the forensic evidence surrounding the death of the centaur Firenze," she replied, leaving out the part that she was allowed access to Firenze's remains only for an hour late last night and the trial had been moved up two days. "My findings are clear. Magorian is innocent."
A neckless, squat witch with a high pitched voice spoke, "Our own forensic wizards have gone over the evidence. What qualifications do you possess over and above them that make you better?"
Her temper flared as she saw Dolores Umbridge emerge from the shadows. In ten years, Umbridge had managed to climb her way back up the Ministry ranks and into the Wizengamot. With Magorian there, throwing in some trees would probably bring back some scary memories. Hermione did tell Draco she could be discredited as a witness because forensics wasn't her field.
"Common sense," she retorted, civilly, hoping Umbridge's objections wouldn't gain support from the rest of the Wizengamot. She signaled Ginny to give the report she had written up early that morning to the courtroom recorder, who distributed it to the members. "The details are all on the report but there are three main points that proves Magorian did not murder Firenze."
Hermione came up with the points at three in the morning and it took a couple of hours to put a report together. She looked around the packed courtroom. No, not in public, not yet. Draco had just read her report and agreed.
He spoke to the Wizengamot, "Before Miss Granger goes through this report, I most humbly suggest that in the interest of protecting the integrity of future investigations, the remaining proceedings should be sealed from public access."
There was considerable malcontent within the courtroom as a lion like figure, the Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour, pounded a gavel briskly until some order was restored. After hushed discussions among the elders, it was decided to clear the courtroom.
"Proceed, Miss Granger," Scrimgeour said to her after the front doors were closed behind the last spectator.
She took out her wand and conjured a white screen to illustrate her points better, projecting a picture of Firenze's dead body zooming onto the bruising on his torso.
"Point one. The hoof marks found on the victim do not belong to Magorian or any centaur for that matter. Notice that patterns on the victim are much bigger than the hoof print taken off Magorian. They were not caused by centaur hoofs but are consistent with that made by the hind legs of a Thestral, maybe two."
As drawings were superimposed onto the picture of the mark on Firenze's chest, there were murmurs of agreement amongst the body of elders.
"Point two. The arrow that pierced his chest was not centaur in origin. There was an attempt to conceal it with magic but it took no time at all to make it reappear. Notice the markings on the wooden shaft. Definitely Muggle."
In fine print, the arrow had on it Made in China.
"And point three. Your expert identified cause of death as internal bleeding due to the arrow head puncturing the heart. That's impossible," Hermione said matter-of-factly.
"And why is that?" it was Umbridge who was now red in the face.
"Because when I examined the victim, he did not have a heart. As a matter of fact, he did not have lungs, or liver, or kidneys, or intestines. Even his brain matter was missing."
There was uproar in the courtroom. The Minister pounded the gavel repeatedly. Hermione looked over to Ginny and Draco. Both had puzzled and surprised looks on their faces. Even Magorian looked at her with keen interest.
"What happened to them?" an unidentified witch asked from the back.
"That's what the Ministry needs to find out," she replied, or at least someone else with more intelligence. "There were no other scars or injuries on the victim which would only mean that someone used magic to take his organs out. I suspect a killing curse was used on him. A wizard or a witch should be the one on trial here. Magorian should be released."
The buzzing amongst the Wizengamot made it necessary for the Minister to bang his gavel again.
"Order!" he finally calmed them down. "Let's put this to a vote."
The show of hands that followed was overwhelmingly in Magorian's favor with the notable abstention of one really malicious witch. The elders started filing out of the courtroom.
"Young lady," Magorian addressed her just before he left, "I would thank you if not for our belief that I would have been set free regardless of what you and your friends have done for me."
Hermione nodded, understanding that it was as close to an appreciation as they would get.
Magorian paused briefly and continued, "We do not get involved. Despite our differences, Firenze was one of us and he was a dear friend. I trust that you will do what you can to find his heart, even if just a piece of it, and put it back where it belongs. He would want that."
"Of course," she replied as the centaur trotted out.
"What did he mean by that," Ginny asked her.
"A few centuries back, centaurs were subject to a lot of human scrutiny. Healers were tasked to document their anatomy for study," Hermione explained, "We did it the only way we knew how, take them apart. Anyway, to make a long story short, it is their belief that the centaurs who were used for those experiments never made it to their rightful final resting place in the heavens because they were without hearts when they were laid to rest. The dimwit who examined Firenze's body, knew not to cut him up, but he should have looked more closely. This could have been easily missed."
"Why would someone want his organs in the first place, and try to cover it up?" Draco asked.
"That is the question, isn't it," Ginny said sarcastically. Hermione knew that Ginny, despite needing to work with Draco on this case, had only utmost distrust for him.
Of course, Hermione could understand why Ginny couldn't trust the person who, at Hogwarts years ago, stood for a lot of the things they fought and continued to fight against. If not for Draco being the only volunteer counsel available for appointment by the Wizengamot, Ginny would have refused to work with him. Actually, never in Hermione's wildest imagination had she thought she would ever exchange sincere smiles with the individual who had a lot to do with the murder of Professor Albus Dumbledore.
But Draco Malfoy had changed a lot since Hogwarts. At six feet tall, he had filled out quite well and had an imposing presence in any room he walked into. His pale blonde hair was cut short in a way that made him look almost ordinary and his grey eyes were no longer cold or clouded, but unguarded and inviting. Hermione had been able to see his each and every genuine emotion through them in the days that they spent working on the case.
The change was not just physical. It was as if he was a different person altogether. After Voldemort's defeat, he lost his father to the Dementors and his mother took him to the United States for a couple of years. Hermione guessed the transformation started then. Since working with him more closely on the Magorian trial a week ago, she was surprised at how he was able to turn his whole life around, no longer living and breathing hatred but showing compassion and understanding. As a testament to this, Ginny's caustic comment was met, not with anger, but with self restrain and, she could sense, frustration at him.
She was about to attempt to deflect the tension by pointing out that their team had just freed an ungrateful centaur when they were interrupted by a distinct recognizable sound.
"Ehem," she knew it was Umbridge even before they turned to the voice. What could she possibly want from them.
"Miss Umbridge," Ginny started in a mocking tone, "I see you're still on your campaign against the inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest."
Since getting her position back at the Ministry, Umbridge had taken every opportunity to rid Hogwarts of its non-human residents; a personal crusade.
"And I see you and Miss Granger are still wasting your time trying to protect them," she replied back and turned to Draco, "As for you, Mr. Malfoy, I am sorely disappointed that you have fraternized with such poor company. I was reading the Skeeter article about you and Miss Granger yesterday. I must say, your poor mother must be rolling in her grave. It's truly tragic."
Ginny interjected so only Hermione would hear, "Yeah, tragic indeed. She's not the only one rolling in her grave."
Draco replied, "I apologize for disappointing you. But I am surprised. I certainly didn't think someone as busy as you had time to engage in gossip."
Hermione swore steam was blowing out of Umbridge's ears as she walked away. They laughed and as it died down, Draco turned to her and said, "I have to go, Muggle hearing in an hour. I'll pick you up tonight to celebrate. Dinner. Is seven okay?"
"I'll see you then," she answered him, ignoring Ginny's glare.
"What are you doing?" Ginny finally asked to release some of the tension from her obvious disapproval of what was happening.
"It's only dinner," Hermione replied. It was, really.
"And the other night was only a kiss."
"Yes. I would have preferred our first one not being displayed on the Daily Prophet but unfortunately I can't control everything."
The other night after their third date, she thought it considerate of him to ask her if he could, before leaning over and kissing her. She could tell he was nervous; she was too. And the three second or so kiss they had, having no expectations whatsoever, was enjoyable.
"Knowing Malfoy, he probably had something to do with that," her friend, a skeptic forever.
"Now, stop that," she chastised Ginny. That was really a low blow.
"How do you do it, anyway? How can you look at him and not remember his past?"
That was a really good question. It was not easy but she had to do it to be able to work with him on the case. First, she had to get rid of the images of him calling her 'Mudblood'. Then the memories of him leading up to Professor Dumbledore's death had to be set aside. Finally, she decided not to think about him as the Draco they knew at Hogwarts. It was like trying to get to know someone new.
"He has changed. He's not the same person. That's how."
"I just don't buy it. This isn't another one of your lost causes, is it?"
Ginny was referring to the fact that the Malfoy name had lost considerable influence in the Wizarding community and that no wise witch would choose to be with a nobody like Draco.
"No. But if it is, so what? It isn't that I have anything else to do."
"You're going to get hurt," that was Ginny's warning ever since she told her about going out with him.
"There is always that possibility if you put yourself out there, right? You shouldn't worry," Hermione tried to play it down. "If I do get hurt, it can't hurt as badly as it did the last time."
With that last thought, a sudden deep sharp pain came from within her chest, like an old scar being forcibly ripped apart, lemon juice poured all over the fresh jagged edges.
Well, she certainly hoped not.