Chapter 46 - Just a Job
Hermione felt Harry's grip tighten and her hand instinctively responded in kind. She cherished the comfort it gave her and did not want to say or do anything that would make it end. It was uncomplicated if they didn't talk about it and if she didn't dwell on what it meant. And at that particular moment, she did not want to think about where it was going.
She was worried about Dennis, convinced that he got into this mess because of her. It was unimaginable to her that Dennis would willingly work for Lestrange, much less sign up as a Death Eater. As her assistant, he was excellent. He knew what he was doing and required very little supervision. Their work in progress was the modified Wolfbane potion and it looked good on paper and during non biological testing but they couldn't seem to bottle it for long periods of time, even with the Romanian unbreakable phial. This was probably the reason why; somebody was substituting their unbreakable phials with ordinary ones. Maybe Dennis found out and got into trouble for it.
But that did not explain the phone calls to and from Death Eaters. He was probably being set up. Rules for framing meant that would not be Lestrange but the Bruins. Yes, that was it. The Bruins wanted to help authorities make the connection, link the loss of the phials to Lestrange and her Potion Master. They used Dennis to accomplish this. Hermione remembered what Ginny said about the lengths the Bruin zealots would go through for the prophecy. If Dennis did not show up by morning she would have to get in touch with one of them and start asking questions. She would want the truth and there was a better chance that the Bruins would give her that if the Ministries weren't involved.
As she hoped they were all wrong and that Dennis was going to be okay, she noticed Harry had led them off the side walk onto a well trodden trail through a park. The ground of mixed ice and recently fallen snow crunched beneath their feet as the soft light of the full moon penetrated through the gaps of the pine trees that peppered the vicinity, lighting their path. It wasn't very cold out that night, and their own heat was all they needed to keep their bare hands warm.
Harry cast a spell to make their shoes water impermeable just before they veered off to the right and started walking on softer, undisturbed white ground. She stole a look, saw the hard line of his set jaw and the furrow on his forehead as he strained to observe their surroundings. Hermione forgot that he was actually working.
This is nice. Almost feels like a date.
We're just walking.
Didn't you do the same thing last year? You just happened to be watching the same musical, just happened to be going to the same restaurant, just happened to share the same table, just happened to walk back to the same hotel, just happened to go into the same room and just happened to share the same bed.
I don't think this is okay. I mean, I haven't even celebrated my first death day and here you are enjoying yourself with the same man you lied to me about constantly, deluding yourself that your holding his hand is part of 'just walking''.
And it seems to me like it's happening all over again. You're seeing someone else. Potter shows a little interest in you and you just can't help but respond like some love struck school girl. What is it about this guy that makes you act like a scarlet woman? How many others will you hurt and kill just to be with him?
Her arm flinched, away from him. He felt it and let go instantaneously. She heard him draw an annoyed breath in and could tell he was hurt; maybe even angry.
"I'm sorry," she apologized before she could even think how inappropriate that might be.
"For what? For cringing away?" his manner hinted irritation as he continued to walk and she tried to keep up, "You shouldn't be. I can't fault you for feeling revolted."
How could she possibly make things worse? Hermione remembered that morning, at his place, their hot passionate kiss, their searing physical exchange, how good reason was overpowered by her desire for intimacy with him and how that need was overruled by the taunting voice in her head, the one that sounded like Ron, telling her what Ron should have but never did or ever would. She was right; the passing of time had not mattered and when she realized that the voice did not go away, it depressed her so much she could only cry. He could have read it as just that; a repulsion. She had to do something to change that.
"I didn't cringe away," she said, to make him feel better.
"No, of course you didn't."
"I don't find you revolting."
"No, of course you don't."
"I'd appreciate it if you stopped patronizing me," her frustration of his skepticism about how truthful her answers were was becoming evident in her voice.
"Okay. I won't."
"You're doing it again!"
"What?! What is it exactly that you would like me to do?"
They had stopped moving and were now facing each other, glaring, each just as frustrated, the dim light of a nearby source intermittently illuminating the shadows on both their faces.
He continued, "Oh, right. You want me to leave you alone. Well, I'm sorry I can't right now. But had you not volunteered to risk your life you would have been rid of me sooner!"
"Why are you so hung up about me being involved in this? I had no choice!"
"Yes, you did!"
"You wanted me to stay!"
"Not for what you ended up staying for!"
"I made the decision on my own and if anything happens to me, it won't be your fault. I'm just a job, Harry!"
"Get real! You've never been just a job and if you want me to say that you are to make you feel better don't hold your breath!"
He was ticked off even more. He was right, of course. It would make her feel better if he thought of her as just a job. She turned away and decided that she should shut up the rest of the way. She continued down the general direction they were headed and hesitated when she reached a fence, not knowing exactly where to go next. He wasn't moving.
Harry said unexpectedly, "You never asked me."
She turned back and felt a rush of warmth creeping up on her face. What was he talking about?
He walked over to her slowly and the source of muted brightness, a flickering old lamppost beside them, cast a light on his eyes that brought the fire out of them even more.
In a quieter, controlled and even voice, he added, "You never asked me how I felt about you doing this."
That was familiar.
"The last time I asked you that question I didn't quite get the answer I wanted," she replied in the same tranquil tone.
And I ended up sleeping with you.
They stood maybe one, two feet from the other, their just concluded outburst of emotions somewhat relieving the tension that had built up from the morning. It was now easier to look into his eyes compared to earlier; the act was less threatening. She was not as afraid she would lose herself, accepting that if she did, then so be it.
Harry nodded. He remembered that night when she called him to ask how he would feel if she slept with the stranger she was having dinner with. When he spoke, she felt an immense regret.
"Had I known then what I know now I would have answered differently."
"You were honest. That was good."
They looked down on the ground almost simultaneously. She had to so she wouldn't betray her thoughts or point out that that was the last truly pure thing he did. They were silent for a bit until he broke it.
"Do you know what frustrates me the most?"
She shook her head, prompting him to continue.
"You don't want anything from me but when you want to help or do what you think is best for me, you never ask. You just do it."
"There wasn't time to discuss…"
"I'm not only talking about today. You've done it for as long as I've known you. You've done it throughout Hogwarts and you've done it after. When I was recovering from my accident, you stayed even when I told you not to."
"I thought you needed me but you being you would never have asked. I should have listened and left you alone."
"No. You were right. I needed you there. I wouldn't have come out of that had it not been for you."
"So what is this really about? Why are you so upset about what I did at that meeting?" she asked. "You knew what my answer was going to be even before they asked me. I was just trying to work out a deal, to get us both out of the mess I got us into. It wasn't about charity, or making you feel more responsible for my safety than I know you already do."
"I know. But it would have been nice if you asked me what I thought anyway, not only about the deal but particularly about signing yourself up to be bait, even if you knew what I was going to say, even if you knew you wouldn't like the answer. It would have meant that what I had to say was of some significance," Harry revealed openly, "I understand that you don't want anything from me but I've had it with this switch that you control."
"Switch?"
"You have this knack of knowing what I need, sometimes even when I don't know that I do, and you show that you care about me whenever you want to. But you've never really asked for anything significant from me. You've never really needed me that way or if you did, you never mentioned it. And you've always chosen if and when to let me get close."
"We were close."
"No. You were always close to me but you decided how close I got to you. If we were so close then how come you didn't tell me how upset you were about your parents' divorce? How come you never told me you were having problems with Ron? How come we never talked about us?" he pointed out, "See, I'm dense and I can't read you as well as you read me. I never asked if things were okay with you because I assumed they always were. You seemed to have everything under control."
"I don't. Not always."
Nodding, he replied, "But I would be the last one you'd let know."
She was dumbstruck, unable to find words, not expecting it to be about that. His pause calmed her down a bit.
"I don't know how long you've been doing this one way thing," he said, remaining calm despite the overflowing sentiment, "But it's as if you won't let me get close because I disappoint you. It feels like you don't think what I have to give is good enough. I shouldn't have the right to say it's unfair after all the stupid things I've done but somehow I get the feeling that the rule only applies to me."
Trying to fight off tears, she realized that in a way he was right and as much as her instincts were to shield him from getting hurt, she couldn't lie. For years she had not let him too close so she wouldn't expect him to care about her the way she did about him, sensing he never would. How could she tell him that the one time she allowed herself the delusion that he wanted to do that and gave him the chance, she was bitterly disappointed and hurt? It had always been safer this way; no opportunity, no expectations, no dissatisfaction, no pain, no resentment.
"I don't think that what you have to give is not good enough," she said truthfully, "I just don't want to expect anything."
"I thought that at one point too; how perfect it was between us without the expectations," he confessed, "I didn't want to expect anything from you either. But this is all frustrating for me because I do expect something from you. And this morning I was annoyed at you for not asking me what I thought but I was mostly miffed at myself for expecting you to ask. I shouldn't expect that considering how things have been between us."
Harry added, "What I'm saying is, I'm not okay with you doing things for me anymore. It doesn't feel right. When you do it I feel terrible because I can't get close enough to do the same thing for you."
Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing and wanted to make sure she understood what he was trying to say.
Steeling herself, she asked, "You don't want me to care because I don't let you?"
"No, no, no...you're getting it all wrong. This isn't some contest about who can dish out what the other does. I did this to us and I can't fix it…this is hard," he was shaking his head as he faltered, as if trying to decide how to proceed. "You said I never ask for anything but I am asking you now because I don't know what else to do."
"What is it that you want, Harry?" she asked with trepidation.
After a pause, he answered, "I just want you to be reasonable. Let me do what you're doing. Get rid of that double standard switch you keep turning off every time you think I'm crossing that line you don't want me to cross and let me be someone important in your life again. I know it's a lot to ask but I'd really appreciate it if you could give me a second chance."
Anxious, Harry waited for her answer. It was the question that she had been avoiding to hear. If he knew her half as much as she thought he did he would not have been so worried for the reply to his question had been set even before he asked it. Did he really think she could say 'no' to him after hearing him say something like that?
Hermione sighed, resigning herself to the moment. The walls she put between them had started crumbling down the second she decided to see him. The day was not even over and nothing was left of the barrier she had created. As a testament to her own frailties, resolve had flown out the window past the point of being able to summon it back. It was foolish to think she could pull this off the way she planned. Before seeing him today the idea of rekindling their friendship was not even an option and though she had foreseen this conversation she had not thought of this as the outcome.
"Are you trying to make me feel guilty for shutting you out?" she asked in a non-hostile way.
He was trying to suppress a smile, knowing that under the poker face she had on she would be okay with whatever the true answer to that question was. He played along.
"Maybe. That depends. Is it working?"
"Oh yeah, most definitely," she quickly confirmed. "But it is kind of pathetic that you had to resort to that."
"I was desperate."
"Obviously."
He took a couple of unhurried steps towards her and they embraced, tight and snug, her arms locked behind his neck, his on her back pulling her against him. Slightly on her toes with her face just over his left shoulder, she closed her eyes to take it all in, his breath in her hair, the scent of his cologne, the feel of his touch and of him holding her. Tears were inevitable. She missed being able to do this.
"You never stopped being important in my life," she clarified, as she continued to close her eyes and hug him.
"Could have fooled me," he whispered, his voice hoarse and unsteady, and she could tell he was crying, too.
"If you repeat any of this to anyone else, I'm going to hex you," she scolded, half seriously, "You shouldn't ever think that what you have to give isn't good enough, that you disappoint. You're Harry Potter; you saved the planet from an Evil Wizard. Don't you ever let anyone make you feel unimportant, especially not some girl."
"You're not just some girl," he stressed out, then jokingly added, "But being the self absorbed bastard I've been all my life I figured this was entirely your fault."
She couldn't help but smirk as they both pulled back and she saw the familiar glint in his eye that he always had when he was teasing. The tears had finally stopped and she was brushing them off her face with her hand.
"Is that so? How do you figure that?"
The corners of his mouth were upturned slightly, almost smiling but not.
"You're an addiction. I've developed a mental, physical and emotional dependence on you, I can't let go. "
"An addiction, huh? Is that the best excuse you can come up with for having sex with me as someone else?"
"No, I have some better ones but it's one that's true. Getting engaged, plotting to leave me like that and forcing me to go cold turkey; the desperation was a given."
Even in the dim light she could see the color of his eyes deepen and his expression tense up. He had been studying her face and his gaze settled into hers, making his intentions clear. There was something in the way he looked that she had never seen before; a mix of hope and apprehension.
Harry leaned in closer, so slow she did not even notice he had her back in a tight embrace until his breath fell on her mouth. Diving into the sea of green, she willingly lost herself in it. The air was scarce, getting scarcer by the second and soon she would have to surface to take a breath or risk passing out. Or she could lean a little forward, swim a little deeper and drown with him. They were so close she could feel his mouth lightly brush fleetingly against hers as he spoke.
"I'm not sure how you feel about this, but right now would be the best time to tell me you don't want to be my addiction."
Addiction was a bad thing. She really should have told him that but the lump in her throat took her voice away. That was her excuse and she was sticking to it. She just wished he didn't wait too long for an answer that wasn't going to come. Her eyes fluttered to a close as she waited.
The wait was an eternity. It took another couple of seconds for her to finally realize something was amiss. Was that just another line and was he jerking her chain again?!
She flung her eyes open and was about to speak her mind but stopped at the blurry sight of his finger to his mouth motioning her to keep quiet. His wand was out which she guessed meant they could be in danger. Great. Admittedly, it was not the time to think about how his lips would have felt on hers but she was breathing his air and that finger was the only thing between them and that kiss she was waiting for. Whatever it was that interrupted that had better be good.
In another few seconds she heard what he probably had, footsteps crunching on the ground, getting louder as it approached them. Then it stopped. Harry lowered his wand.
"Slipped out again, Julius? You're going to be in so much trouble," Harry said to a spot a few feet in front of them, only then noticing the fresh set of prints indented into the ground.
A pair of Nike sneakers was the first to appear out of thin air, followed by legs and the rest of the body of what appeared to be a typical Muggle teenager. He was thin and stretched, almost as tall as Harry, and was dressed in jeans that were a couple of sizes too big for him. The black hooded sweater he wore with the emblem of a Muggle public school was the same. As his one hand held the Invisibility Cloak that he had hidden under, the other took off the hood, exposing spiky blonde hair and grayish blue eyes on a young pale face. His fingers grabbed the wires dangling near his neck and two buds snapped off his ears, releasing loud electric music into the air.
Julius shut off his IPod, looked at Harry and at her, then replied almost without a care, "You may have a better excuse to be late but I don't think she'll see it that way. How about a deal? Forget you saw me and I'll forget I saw you."
This kid was a wise guy and had a smart mouth and, judging from Harry's greeting and the need for concealment, was not supposed to be where they met him. The lamp light shone on him enough for her to see that Julius looked a lot like Andy Marsh.
XXXXXXXXXX
Somewhere in Cheddar Gorge, Somerset, England.
Dean and six other Apparitionists appeared almost at the same time, surrounding an isolated cabin that had been magically protected from Muggle and magical intrusion. It was one-thirty in the morning. The night before, the Auror Office received an anonymous tip about the location of a wizard of interest connected with the Argus Filch murder. His companions moved swiftly, blasting the entrances and entering the shack with the precision they had discussed a few hours ago. Heart pounding a million times a minute, he was the last to come in and immediately headed for the small bedroom off to the right.
As organized mayhem occurred in the background, an overwhelming putrid odor smacked his senses and almost knocked him down the second he blasted the door away. There were sounds of the others shouting out that their assigned areas were secure, making his chest thump even more rapidly.
A sudden movement caught his attention off at the corner table and his wand discharged a Stunner at the offending creature. He lit his spare and saw it was a rat; a huge rat right beside a propped up book on Muggle healing. It wasn't moving. Sweeping the rest of the room, Dean stopped at the sight of an immobile figure on the queen size bed.
He was still, too still to be merely asleep. Thick duvet covers covered him up to his neck. The man's eyes were closed, his cheeks sunken and grey, and small chunks of bloodless facial flesh had been bitten away. A fine line of a healed cut was just above his eyebrows and circled to the back of his bald head. Dean approached the form bit by bit, the unpleasant smell becoming thicker as he did.
By then the other members of the Auror arrest team had joined him in the room and someone had magically conjured more permanent lighting. Recognizing the absence of any threat, they had all lowered their weapons and silently stared at the main attraction.
Kingsley pulled off the covers slowly towards the man's ankles and they fell in a careless heap at the foot of the bed. Two left the room in haste, two others were puking in the back. Dean gritted his teeth and felt a surge of revulsion within him. He had to fight off the impulse to get out, too.
Lying before them was the naked, emaciated body of a man. Bite marks similar to the ones on his face punctured him in several areas. There were scars in various stages of healing, frozen by death in time, straight and cleanly cut, precise, surgical; Muggle-surgical. One area just below the ribcage on his right still had stitches.
His line of sight finally settled on the vision that had driven the rest of the team away. The centre of the dead man's chest was cut open with a deep, midline, top to bottom incision, the ribs forcibly ripped back to the sides to expose the hollow cavity. It was obviously done to harvest what was now glaringly missing.
The forceful scent of death had killed his sense of smell but the stench was now permanently engraved in memory. And while the corpse was mutilated and had decayed almost beyond recognition, the faded Death Eater tattoo on his left forearm was a distinguishing mark. It would take some time to confirm his identity but it was almost a certainty that they had found the man they had come for. They had found him unexpectedly dead and it appeared he had been dead for quite sometime.
The grotesque scene before them proved what Dean had thought all along; the now literally heartless former Hogwarts professor, Severus Snape, was not the Potion Master.