Chapter 50 - The Thing About Elevators
For a Thursday night, there were quite a few patrons at the Brunswick House on Bloor Street West. The bartender was serving a non-regular, a tall man with pale blond hair, who had come in about half an hour ago. The man was sitting by himself at the end of the bar and was a curiosity because he was a high strung businessman-lawyer type, one who never just stumbled into the place to unwind at three hundred bucks an hour. He didn't appear to be expecting anyone either, although he kept on taking his phone out, as if trying to decide if he would ring someone.
He took the empty glass off the counter and replaced it with what would be the man's third pint of Labatt Blue.
"You should just call her," the experienced barkeep went with his intuition, "End your misery."
"You think so, Terrence?" the man replied after squinting and finding his name on the plate on his chest.
From his accent he wasn't born and raised in Toronto but most of the town was that way.
"I know so," Terrence countered confidently. "Did you have a fight?"
"No," blondie brought the glass up his mouth again, "Right now she's spending time with a childhood friend."
"Boyfriend?"
The man frowned and answered, "They're very close."
"Hmm, one of those. And she didn't tell you about it."
"I didn't expect her to. We just started going out. We're not quite there yet. I figured I should back off."
"But?"
"I keep getting the urge to crash the reunion."
Proud, conflicted, noble. An anomaly. Unlikely to be real or unlikely to last.
"And you think drinking will drown your pride and give you the guts to overstep the boundaries."
"Now that you mention it that seems about right," he laughed, as if finding more meaning to the words than was apparent. "Any advice from the wiser?"
He had the perfect one.
"A bit of ale will give you courage, but too much can make you stupid."
"True," he replied. "And I do think I crossed that line half a pint ago."
At least the guy was honest. Terrence stepped away as he saw the man drink half of what was before him and got on the phone.
"Hi. It's me…is this a bad time?"
"What can I do for you, sir?" he greeted the customer who had just sat a seat away from the man he was just serving.
"Guess what? I'm in Toronto."
"It's been a long day," the newcomer said dryly with a haughty expression. "I need a drink."
"You've come to the right place to fix that."
Terrence smiled as the blond guy laughed. He must be doing well.
"I wish I were but I can't lie. I'm actually in town on business. Disappointed?"
"What's your poison?"
"At this wonderful bar called the Brunswick getting an education from the wisest barkeeper I've ever met…"
He acknowledged the compliment and then redirected his attention to the man with slick black hair.
"I'll have what he's having."
"I was wondering…it's too late tonight and frankly, I'm a bit inebriated to be good company, but can we meet tomorrow?"
He filled a glass with ale and served it.
"Breakfast. Early, really early."
That deserved an a-ok sign. From the corner of his eye Terrence saw the other guy tip his head back and drink the beer bottoms up. He was not kidding about being thirsty.
"No? What about dinner?"
He gave the other man a refill.
"Fine. Lunch it is then. I'll call you in the morning…bye."
Two empty glasses hit the counter almost simultaneously.
"Another round, gentlemen?" Terrence asked.
"Hit me," the man with black hair answered, then stood up and moved right beside the one who just got off the phone. "And get this poor chap another one, too. He looks like he needs it."
The blond man did not reply although the bartender noticed a change in his demeanour. His grey eyes hardened and his posture stiffened. He was staring at the reflection on the mirror that spanned the back wall behind the bar. The tension was unmistakable.
"Lunch? All you could manage was lunch?"
The barkeep got them their refills.
"What are you doing here?"
They knew and didn't like each other.
"Guys, if you have to, take it outside. I don't want trouble," he warned them sternly.
"There won't be any," the blond man reassured him.
Terrence the bartender heard what he wanted to hear and knew when his presence was no longer needed. He stepped away to serve another customer.
XXXXXXXXXX
Pia Russet was in her home in Toronto surprised at the lateness of her Uncle Isaac's visit. He had arrived on short notice to make her aware of certain things he felt were important for someone else in the family to know. He never said it but Pia sensed that this had to do with the fact that her uncle had declared war on Bellatrix Lestrange and he did not expect to live much longer.
"There are two sides to the story," he said to her, knowing fully that she was overwhelmed by the information.
She could not believe her ears when he told her. They had always been led to believe that the Bruin cursed would be involved in distributing the evil potion and that the prophecy about her creating Grandma's Sophie's intended one was propaganda from the pro-potion Bruins. She was hearing for the first time that it was the other way around.
"You're saying Council destroyed evidence about the subsequent prophecies?"
"A long time ago. Most of us thought it best not to take chances. The social upheaval is a certainty; the creation of a better potion is not."
He gave the impression that 'most' did not include him.
"And Granger is a Bruin cursed?"
"Yes."
"She should be dead."
"She isn't and she can help."
"She could be the One and I really don't know which prophecy to believe anymore," she admitted her confusion.
"Right now, the immediate threat is Floyd unleashing the impure potion," Uncle Isaac put things in perspective, "She might not be the One. Would you want innocent blood on your hands?"
She understood. It was a fine line but she still did not like it, especially when he asked that this matter remain clandestine. She had also found out that day that Uncle Isaac, like Uncle Crummy, had chosen not to get anyone else in their families involved in Bruin business. That disappointed her. On the one hand she knew of the enormous burden to keep the cause going but without anti-potion purists, everything they and their families had worked for all this time would be wasted. And this new information about the other prophecy was testing her belief.
"When I die, I leave it at your discretion what to do with the information, knowing the lives of these women depend on your sound judgment."
"What would you have me do?"
She stared at the books her uncle had shown her. He would continue to keep them until he couldn't. He would find some way to get them to her.
"I want you to keep a close eye on Miss Granger, the others and the books. I don't know how he found out but I suspect Floyd knows she's a Bruin cursed. That's why he's after her. When he comes for her, we have to be ready to take him out."
Pia nodded.
"And when you get the books read hers often. If she is the One, you will know."
"How?"
"You will know," Uncle Isaac reiterated.
"And if she is the One?"
"Your heart will tell you what to do," he repeated his advice from earlier that day.
"You don't want her dead."
When he didn't answer, she had to ask him, "If you knew that she was the One, what would your heart tell you to do?"
Without a pause, her Uncle Isaac replied, "I would tell her everything and hope for the best."
"So, why don't we just tell her right now?" Pia asked.
"There's not much to gain and so much to lose," he answered, "You know how it works. Once a Bruin tells her she will be bound to the curse and she cannot openly discuss potion matters with anyone else but us. We don't want that to happen, at least not yet."
In a way, Pia agreed. There were too many non-Bruins out there who knew about the potion already. To help stop the spread which seemed to be her intention, Granger would need to be able to talk freely about it. And she could only imagine the ramifications of Granger suddenly not cooperating with the Ministry.
Pia had a lot on her mind. Her sister died taking this wicked potion and she had spent years making sure others wouldn't suffer her sister's fate. For the first time she was seriously thinking about the promise that the intended potion could bring, looking past the social effects that a magic enabling substance would.
They were on the brink of the flawed version's introduction to society and on the side of a losing cause to prevent that from happening. If they stopped Floyd this time, there would be other Floyds to stop in the future, just as there were others in the past. She realized that for as long as the better potion wasn't available, this unsafe inferior one would harm more Squibs. If Granger was indeed the one who would make the potion as it was intended, then she could end all this.
"There's one other matter I'd like you to think about," her uncle said before leaving.
She had been wondering when this would come up.
"Your sister trusted him."
Her sister was blinded by love.
"I don't," she told him straight.
"He might be useful. Just think about it."
Pia didn't have to.
XXXXXXXXXX
Moments before, Harry watched Hermione, mystified by how upset she was with what Ron just said. It did not make sense.
"I think he's gone," he offered after Hermione belted out Ron's full name. "I suppose this is a bad time to ask what he meant."
Whatever it was he wasn't sure if it was good or bad because like Hermione, he did not know what Ron was up to either.
"That wasn't you," she said to him, still angry and frustrated.
He didn't know what she meant. He figured his befuddled expression would be enough cue to make her clarify.
"You weren't Roy," she said to him again.
Huh?
"I was Roy."
"I know you were," she replied impatiently, "But that night. You weren't Roy that night."
Harry didn't want any more misunderstandings between them. What night was she talking about?
"Hermione, you're going to have to be clearer about this."
"You weren't the Roy I saw the night before the Quidditch match."
It was then when he realized why she was mad at Ron. The rambling started.
"Ron was supposed to be at the Cannon facility…I didn't even consider it was him…I didn't think he knew…"
Hermione was pacing and talking to herself. He had to do something.
"Hermione…"
"But how did he find out…you told me you didn't tell him…did he talk with Ginny…but I didn't tell Ginny until much later…did Ginny know all along…"
"Hermione…"
"I was so stupid to think that…I couldn't believe it but when I told you what I said and you said what you did what was I supposed to think…only it wasn't you..."
She was going a bit insane, he thought.
"Hermione!" he grabbed her arm as she passed by him and finally got her attention, "What does it matter?"
She hesitated.
"Had you known it wasn't me who came that night would it have made you feel less guilty?"
Hermione shook her head, admitting it didn't.
"So what does it matter? You can't change the past."
Harry felt her body soften and he gently pulled her into an embrace. She let him. Right away he heard her muffled sobs into his chest. The harsh realities of what they had uncovered tonight had no doubt taken its toll. He could not begin to think what she was going through but there would be time for that later; when she was ready to share it, if she was going to share it. At the moment, this was all she needed.
"Let it go," he whispered as he stroke her hair.
With those words her sobs intensified and he instinctively hugged her tighter. He hoped he wasn't making things worse.
"I'm sorry," she said after some time. "I'm so sorry."
He didn't know what for. Was it for knowing that he was Roy and not telling him? Was it for making him believe it was entirely his fault? Or was it for what they did to Ron? It didn't seem the right time to ask.
"It's okay. We'll talk about it. It'll be fine."
It didn't really matter anymore, not at that particular moment. He could find out the details at another time. As they stood and embraced within the fire and candle lit room, he could not help but wonder what it was that Ron did and said that night as Roy that upset her. A few minutes later, he felt her pull away. Then she stopped, looked up and met his gaze, opening herself to his scrutiny, allowing him to read her thoughts.
He moved first, and he did so slowly to give her every opportunity to change her mind. His lips touched hers tentatively, asking, inviting. He paused and waited as their warm breaths mingled. Not a moment too soon, she lightly brushed her soft mouth against his in response, leaving no doubt in his mind that it was okay to go ahead. Leaning in with more resolve, he pressed his mouth against hers and they kissed tenderly. As a pleasant warm feeling filled him, he pulled her closer and she tilted her head slightly to deepen their kiss further, her body melting into his as they did.
They kissed and they kissed; slowly, softly, sweetly, intensely. Needing and wanting every second, they savoured the feeling it gave and cherished the meaning that went with it. Needless to say neither wanted it to end but it had to at some point. Hermione pulled back, her breath as short and as shallow, eyes closed as she rested her forehead on his.
"We have to go," it sounded like a plea, her mouth falling naturally on his mouth again, briefly, disengaging with reluctance.
He mumbled something in agreement and kissed her one more time. They were getting extremely hot. Yes, they really had to go.
A phone was ringing in the background. Hers. He wished she would just let it ring and was disappointed when she let go of him. But she needed the break. He needed the break. Like their last tryst at that exam room at St. Mungo's they were hurriedly heading towards what they both wanted. He preferred not to rush so much this time around. And besides, doing this in Ron's house was not kosher.
Harry watched her go over to the couch, dig into her purse and take out her phone.
"Hello."
He began extinguishing all the fires in the room.
"Oh, hi."
A surprise caller she seemed anxious to hear from. It was late. He wondered who might be calling at this hour. Hermione had turned her back and was walking away from him.
"No, it's quite alright…are you following me?"
The question was a jibe. Immediately he guessed Malfoy. An instant surge of ugliness overcame him, inadvertently lighting the fire in the fireplace that he had just put out. She laughed at something the git said and he tried but was unsuccessful in blocking out all thoughts about what that meant. Was she merely amused or was she flirting?
"Where are you?"
Harry got on the phone and called Leo, who he had asked to try and track down Malfoy after talking with Ginny over the phone at Andy's. He spoke softly so Hermione wouldn't hear while he continued to eavesdrop.
"It's Harry. Did you find him?"
"A wise bartender? That explains poison being offered."
"I'm at his hotel. He checked in early but hasn't come back," the other Auror replied.
"He's at a local pub. There's quite a few along that stretch on Bloor."
"I'm on it. I'll call you back."
He got off the phone and caught her looking at him.
"No, I can't."
She turned away again.
"What about lunch?"
He couldn't help it. He really couldn't help it. She just invited Malfoy to go out with her.
"I'll talk to you then."
She put her phone away and rejoined him.
"Who was that?" he asked, testing.
"Draco," she replied casually as they walked towards the double doors.
"What did he want?"
He was dying to lash out. He tried to hide the jealous rage and outrage at what she just did.
"He's in Toronto. He wants to meet tomorrow."
"I see."
She knew what this inquisition was about. She knew how he felt about her going out with him. Why was she trying to hide the fact that this was a big deal?
"I told him I'd meet him for lunch."
"I heard," he said through gritted teeth.
What did she expect him to say? What did she expect him to do? They had been through so much and they had finally turned the corner, now this. Malfoy had mal-intent; his seeking her out was expected and not the point. Once again, she didn't ask him how he felt about this before deciding and they just had that conversation.
"You may have heard but I don't think you were listening," she said in his same controlled tone. "Why don't you ask me instead of jumping to conclusions?"
"I know what you're going to say. He has nothing to do with us, right?"
That stung her. Harry immediately felt remorse the second all the words tumbled out of his mouth.
"You know we're dating."
Anyone who reads the prophet knows!
"I was going to Mexico with him."
How could you even consider doing that?! Ugh!
"I think it's only fair to tell him in person that I can't see him anymore."
Who cares if you're unfair to the git? He could use a good dose of injustice!
She bit back, "Unless you'd rather I didn't do that, string him along so he can be back-up in case you find that this thing between us is not what you thought it would be!"
Hermione blinked off the tears welling in her eyes and walked away. Following in silence, he saw her Disapparate before he could get his foot out of his mouth.
Harry figured she would go back to her hotel. He Disapparated close by and quickly found out he was right. He caught up with her just before she got to the entrance. They walked with faces as long as the night that was just about to end, barely acknowledging the doorman's greeting, both anxious to get back to their rooms.
They crossed the lobby quickly to find the elevators and got on one. He pressed twenty four, stepping back behind her as the doors shut and the car started its ascent. From where he stood, the scene looked very familiar; the only difference being he was not disguised as someone else. The memories from the last time they were this alone in an elevator and the days that followed that first time they crossed the line flooded him, reminding him of what was important.
You should apologize.
His reached forward with his hand and grazed the back of hers lightly, preferring this to telling her through words. She understood and let her fingers fall in place, intertwining them with his.
Ask her the question.
He felt a gentle reassuring squeeze, letting him know that it was forgiven.
What if this is all that she wants?
He took a step forward.
Then it is what it is. Just ask her the question.
The elevator jolted to a halt; he needed time to stand still, to ask her before he lost all reason. She must have not noticed that they were stuck on the 20th floor or knew it was nothing to be concerned about, for she leaned back against him. And like the last time she did that it evoked an almost intolerable sensation that would need addressing right away. Her scent only added to his discomfort. Whatever happened, after tonight, being in a lift with her would never be the same again.
Harry closed his eyes and whispered in her hair, "Who am I to you?"
Hermione turned slowly, the blistering desire on her face matching how he felt. He couldn't breathe until she spoke.
"You were my best friend; the man I've loved for a long time and didn't think would ever love me the same way. A few times I hoped you did and a few times I was sorely disappointed to find out you didn't. I don't normally make a fool out of myself many times over but I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, even if I'm almost sure it won't work out."
"I love you too."
He inched in even closer, gently brushing the back of his hand against her cheek.
"I know that now."
She let the tears fall freely.
"Don't write us off just yet."
He leaned and kissed her softly.
"I wouldn't be here if I did."
She brought her arms up behind his neck and kissed him back, passionately. He responded with equal fervour, the momentum of his action forcing her to backpedal until she was between him and the cold elevator door. His mouth was unforgiving against hers and hers as relentless. Her fingers dug into his hair while his worked her coat to open partly and allow his right hand to slip under her sweater.
The feel of her bare skin was just what he was looking for. He freed her breasts, cupped one of them and caressed it, her lips parting for him when she moaned. Their tongues met halfway and sparred, their bodies clinging and straining against the other, yearning to touch and be touched, as each tried to express and satisfy the deep longing they had.
The heavy breathing and panting was broken by an annoying sound. He swore. His phone was ringing. He fumbled for it in his pants pocket and glanced at the Caller ID. It was Andy.
"Let it ring," she said to him, leaving a trail of kisses from his mouth on her way to his neck, her hands now doing quite a bit of exploring of their own.
He wished he could. Andy would send in troops if he didn't pick up. That would not be good.
"Where are you?" Andy's voice spilled from the receiver as he couldn't put it against his ear, not at the same time Hermione decided to languidly nibble on it.
"Lift…we need…a moment," he answered hopefully not as winded as he felt, his eyes closed to concentrate as Hermione continued to work on his most sensitive parts.
"Elevator sex, how exciting. How much of a moment are we talking about?"
Hermione heard and took the phone.
"He'll call you when he's done...don't wait up."
She flipped it shut, slipped the phone back into his pants front pocket and kept her hand in it, moving it rhythmically, stroking his inner thigh and the other part of him that was right beside it.
Hermione was driving him crazy.
Harry set the elevator back in motion, holding her as the doors opened on the 24th floor. It was pretty late; the corridors would be deserted, hopefully. She didn't seem to care about that. She took her hand out from his pocket and he lifted her so they could continue to kiss. They got to her room quickly, her door opening as they got there and closing behind them after they got through it. The curtains pulled apart allowing moonlight in and they didn't need much more.
With single-mindedness he thought 'BED'. They managed to lose their coats, and shoes on the way, discarded without care on the floor. He set her down on the firm mattress and let her take his sweater off, allowing himself to be pulled down so that he was on top of her. Pressing his body against hers, her hands seared hot as they touched his bare torso, their insatiable mouths finding each other again.
Sensing she wanted to, he rolled them both over. She straddled him, moving herself against him. He groaned. He had been full and ready a long time ago. She must have known how he felt for she undid his pants and got rid of them, giving him a small measure of relief, until she moved slowly against him again.
Harry sat up, took her sweater off and tossed it aside with her already unfastened brassiere. He buried himself deep in the hot steaming flesh before him, unremitting with his mouth, as she gently held his head and directed him exactly where she wanted and when, arching her back to offer more of herself to him, his arms behind embracing her tightly and giving support. Breathless, he looked up and caught a glimpse of her watching him, glassy eyed, with a bittersweet look on her face.
"Are you okay?" he asked unable to read her mind.
"Never better," she answered straight, as if anticipating that the question would come.
She kissed him hard on the mouth again and fell on top of him. They worked on getting the rest of their clothes off and in no time at all, they had fresh areas of nakedness to explore. His fingers ran up and down her inner thigh and gravitated to the mound in between her legs. She gave him more room to manoeuvre and he fondled her wetness slowly and tenderly, working from outside in then back out, taking pleasure at seeing her completely lose herself.
Flesh against flesh, they made love with absolute abandon; their raw desire and extreme longing surpassed only by the love they felt for each other. And as he took her he looked into her brown eyes and knew in his heart this was the kind of intimacy he had been searching for. Slow…deep…intense…he felt her come and knowing that she had, he let go and did the same, speaking her name as he did.
They stayed connected for some time, content, in silence, intermittently kissing. He thoughtlessly caressed her bare back and watched her fall asleep in his arms.
For the first time in a long while, Harry felt right.