(A/N: Once again, my thanks to MirielleGrey, who proofs these chapters before I send them on to you.
For those of you who are actually keeping tabs on the chronology of this story: I made a slight error in counting days, not enough to affect the story line, but enough to peeve me. From the hints I've dropped, it's clear that the story - from Chapter III onward - is set in September, 2013. This chapter therefore begins on the evening of Thursday the Twelfth. And yes, I know what the next day is.)
(Disclaimer: Random spot check: still not my characters. Will keep checking periodically. Just in case.)
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"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
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X: Chinks in the Armor
*
One good thing about being a pariah: when a bloke needed privacy, he was sure to get it.
Ted Lupin sat in one of the plush armchairs of the Gryffindor common room. It was late; almost everyone had headed for their dorms. The few hardy souls remaining were pointedly not interested in him. For tonight, that suited him very well… he had business. Ted touched the pocket of his robe again, and felt the reassuring crackle of the note inside. It had come to him this afternoon on the Quidditch pitch, folded as an airplane, and all it said was Gryffindor fire, midnight; but that was enough for Ted.
"Ted?" He looked up to see Tori standing before him, a level look on her beautiful face. "Ted, we need to talk." Ah yes, those wonderful words every male was thrilled to hear.
"Tori, I've already said I was sorry. Repeatedly." Ted did want to have this discussion, but not right now. Right now, he needed her to leave. It was getting close to midnight…
"I know, mon cher, and as soon as I've exacted my revenge, I'll forgive you completely." She lowered her voice. "I mean we need to talk about your… godfather." The last word was mouthed silently.
This, on the other hand, was not a discussion he wanted to have. Ted's face went blank, a reflex based on years of training. "Everything I can say, you heard last night," he said curtly.
"Ted, what has he been doing for all these years, that he needs to have everyone think he's dead? Have you been helping him? What's he…"
He lowered his brows sternly and shook his head. "I can't talk about any of that, Tori. They aren't my secrets, and I gave my promise. It was bad enough I was forced to say what I did." He looked away from her into the fire, hoping to put an end to the conversation.
"Forced by my aunt, you mean?" Curse it, why did she have to be so sympathetic all of a sudden? "Ted, I… I'm sorry about that, honest I am. I know you're upset, and you're right, it wasn't fair of her to dose you with Veritaserum…"
"That?" He snorted with bitter mirth, still looking into the fire. "Actually, that was classic pranking. Beautiful - like the Weasley Twins at their finest. I've got to admire her technique, if nothing else." Which was true, so far as it went.
"Then…" Tori sounded puzzled. "Then why are you down here so late… moping?"
"I'm not moping. I'm just… sorta persona non grata in the fifth-year dorm right now." He turned his head to look at her. "They're kind of upset that I'm not willing to share the wealth from my Adventures in Shower-land."
"What did they expect? That you'd somehow change them into metamorphmagi and bring them along?"
Ted didn't reply in words. Instead, his hair grew longer and blonder, until it was a perfect match for Tori's hair. He turned his eyes blue to match hers as well, and softened his jawline somewhat. He didn't morph further, keeping the rest of his facial features - but waiting to see how long it would take supersleuth Victoire Weasley to make the correct deduction.
Not long at all, as it turned out. "They want… they want you to model…!?" she sputtered in outrage. "Me!? As in… all the way…!?"
"Not just you, if it's any consolation. There are three or four girls' names that keep, er, coming up."
"Euurgh! Well, then, it's a good thing you're not in the fifth-year dorm right now, because it's about to get very uncomfortable there in a couple of minutes…!"
"Oh, it's not just the fifth-years," Ted assured her. "You know Watkins, the seventh-year Prefect? He took me aside right before dinner… wanted to know if I could, ah, model Prudence Boomhalter for him." Ted morphed back to his usual appearance, though he made his hair jet black.
"Watkins?" Tori looked at him aghast… she'd liked Watkins. After a moment, her expression became quizzical, finally dissolving into a soft smile. "So the fact that you are, as you say, persona non grata… does that mean you're not, ah…?"
He raised one eyebrow and affected an upper-crust accent. "I may be a scoundrel and a rogue, m'dear, but I am still a gentleman."
She promptly sat in his lap and gave him a hard, passionate kiss. Sadly, it was also a brief kiss: she broke away before it could develop into a full-blown snog session. Her face remained inches away from his, though, and their gazes met and locked. The soft smile continued to hover on her lips, which Ted took to be an encouraging sign. "I'm forgiven, then?"
Tori blinked for a moment in sudden confusion, then pursed her mouth in thought. "Mm, some final penance is still required. If you bring my breakfast to the common room on Saturday - we'll call it even."
Rising gracefully from his lap, she added, "Of course, I still have to decide what to do about your gonad-brained dormmates, but not tonight. I'm off to bed now, luv… don't stay up too late."
"I won't," promised Ted. He barely waited until she was headed for the stairway to her dorm before turning back to the fireplace. That had been close, very close… it was just past midnight… thank Merlin he'd distracted her…
And Harry's head appeared in the fire. Furtively, Ted glanced over his shoulder at the now-empty common room, and back to Harry. "Hi, Harry. Wow, your timing is perfect… I was afraid you'd be spotted."
Harry smiled. "By the girl? I took a trick from my own godfather: I 'flashed' my head through the fire for a quick look, to check the scene before making my appearance." He chuckled and added, "So… do you morph your tongue when you kiss her?"
"Ew," Ted began, then paused. The idea had merit…
He put the idea aside for later consideration. "Harry, are you all right? When our phone call last night cut off…"
"I'm fine," Harry said. "I'm sorry about the cut-off… some magic happened, and the phone was ruined."
"You mean Hermione managed to track you down - even through the BT phone system? Wow, she is good. No wonder your phone got zapped."
"Well, that's why I'm Flooing you tonight, to let you know I'm okay." He hesitated, then met his godson's eyes frankly. "And to emphasize again that none of this was your fault."
"I made you a promise," Ted said, falling morose again. "I should've found some way to keep it."
"Not your fault," Harry repeated.
"No… it was 'Auntie' Hermione's fault," said Ted, his resentment coming back to the fore. "She made me break my word to you - in front of witnesses. In front of Tori…"
"Ted…" Harry's voice held a note of warning.
Ted ignored it. "Her and her so-called 'interview' - 'inquisition' would be more like it. And she used me to track you down! Who the hell gave her the right…"
"Enough!" barked Harry. "That's enough! You do not get to criticize her!" His voice had gone well beyond warning now. Even through the Floo fire, his green eyes were cold. "Not to me."
Taken aback, Ted stammered, "I, I'm sorry, Harry. It's just… she made me betray a trust!"
"If it comes to trust, I've trusted Hermione Granger with my life. Now I'm trusting her with my secret, just as I trust you." He sighed and smiled ruefully. "I'll say it again, Ted, you didn't betray me: Veritaserum is considered, what's the word, force majeur. And Hermione won't ever betray me, either. It's okay."
Ted didn't reply immediately. "If you say so," he finally conceded.
"I do. It's one thing I'm absolutely certain about. Please… Ted, I ask this of you, as your godfather, please don't hate her."
With a sigh in return, Ted said, "Right, then… I reckon she needed to find you, no matter what." Shrewdly he added, "And she found you. How'd that go?"
"It," began Harry, and stopped. He tried again: "The thing is." After another moment, he came up with, "See, Hermione and." Ted decided it was only fair that he enjoy the spectacle of his high-horse godfather at a loss for words.
"We had… issues," Harry finally said. "It… didn't end well. But… but some things she said…" He fell silent again.
Ted waited for Harry to continue. After a minute, when Harry seemed lost in his own thoughts, Ted ventured, "At least she didn't exhume your body today…"
Harry looked up. "We don't need to worry about that," he replied. "Ted, I'll be replacing my mobile; I'll get the new number to you the same way you got my note earlier today. But I've decided…" He hesitated, then continued more diffidently, "I've decided that, in case of emergencies, Hermione needs to have it too. For emergencies," he stressed, and waited to see if Ted would challenge this. When Ted said nothing, he continued, "So I'm assuming you know where Rose lives?"
"Rose? Don't you know… oh, of course not, you wouldn't have needed me to deliver her gift if you could've done it yourself." Ted shrugged nonchalantly. "I've never been there. Really, most of my contact with the Weasley family is through Tori and her folks. I mean, it's not as though you were around to introduce me. I could ask Rose tomorrow…"
"I had to borrow someone else's Floo to contact you tonight," put in Harry, "while they're away. I won't be able to do it again tomorrow. I'll find out some other way, then…"
"Rose lives with her mum outside Wookey Hole," came a new voice. "They call their place Enthalpy House, but heaven help you if you ask what that means." Ted turned in shock to see Tori's head peeping over the back of the divan. "I'm sorry," she said fearfully, "but I saw your face in the fire and I knew Ted was going to talk to you and I know Ted can't tell me anything but…"
"You mean, while you were kissing me, you were looking at the fire…?" Ted fell speechless at this evidence of perfidy.
Harry gave Tori, or at least the top of her head, an appraising look. "You're Tori Weasley, aren't you? You heard Ted's confession yesterday under Veritaserum?" he asked her. When she nodded, he sighed and said, "Come on, then. It seems we have to enlist you."
Tori wasted no time in moving to Ted's side by the fireplace. "I swear to you, Mr. Potter, I'll take any oath you like, but I'll keep your secret safe. You must be on a very important mission, if you've had to remain in complete hiding all these years - as a Muggle, even!"
He laughed softly. "Keep the secret as well as Ted has, and that'll do. Thanks." Harry glanced at Ted and smirked. "Beauty, brains, and loyalty - this one's a keeper, lad."
Both Ted and Tori blushed bright red, but Tori didn't flinch from Harry's eye. "Why, thank you, sir, I agree. Are you paying attention to him, Ted? A man would have to be a fool to throw away all three of those."
Harry seemed to choke on something, and had to cough to clear his throat. "Yes," he managed to finally say. "Good… good point. All right, I need to be off, but you'll get the new number tomorrow, Ted. Remember, it's only for emergencies… I still expect to be gone for the foreseeable future. Good to finally meet you, Tori." With a small pop, Harry's head disappeared from the fire.
Ted looked at his girlfriend with an increased respect. "Nice parting shot, that. What was that all about…?"
"Weren't you listening?" Tori rolled her eyes. "Men." And she would say no more, despite Ted's best puppy-dog look - which, from a metamorphmagus, was rather impressive.
*
As the two witches made their way through the atrium to the lift, Aurora Sinclair felt sure her co-worker would address her once they were in the lift together, alone. Zinadia had that "antsy" feel about her.
She smiled to herself as she proved herself right, the instant the doors slid shut. "I hear you're going to a Fire Party tonight."
"My second one," replied Aurora. "Good food, good music, good people - Friday nights don't get any better."
Zinadia gave a wistful smile. "Must be nice."
"Mm hmm, it is nice." Aurora lowered her voice to a more intimate level. "The nicest thing, of course, is just the chance to mingle with… well, you know, Our Own Kind. Just to be ourselves, without having to worry about politics or watching what we say… you know, relaxing and acting naturally…"
Her co-worker nodded. "And Zabini's home… well, from what I've heard, it's impressive. Not overwhelming like the Malfoy mansion used to be, but, um…"
"Elegant," Aurora nodded in response. "Rather like its owner. It's what you'd expect of Blaise Zabini, after all."
"Oooh, yes," giggled Zinadia. "I'll bet that's the best part of a Fire Party, getting to be up close and personal with him…"
"Oh, I don't get my hopes up. I know better than to try and get between Blaise and Flame. That's why they call them their Fire Parties, you know." They shared a quiet laugh together at this, while Aurora eyed Zinadia speculatively. "Listen, you know that sometimes we can bring a guest, if we're willing to vouch for them…" Zinadia was bouncing on her toes in anticipation as Aurora finished, "Are you interested?"
"Tonight? I'd love to! Uh, you'll have to help me pick out what I should wear, I mean is it casual dress or evening wear or…"
The lift doors opened and the two witches looked up. Immediately, they were transfixed where they stood - while the smiles remained on their faces, it was only because they were frozen there.
With an expression as dark as a thundercloud, Hermione entered the lift. Her nods to Aurora and Zinadia were cordial enough, but it was patently obvious that The Witch Who Won was seething.
Aurora's self-preservation instincts kicked into overdrive. Thunderstorms, after all, were notorious for striking more than the intended target. "Oh look, this is our floor," she said quickly. She grabbed Zinadia's wrist and stepped forward.
"Um, no it isn't…"
"Yes it is, Z," hissed Aurora, and pulled her co-worker out of the lift just as the doors slid closed. Hermione barely noticed their departure.
Whether through luck, or through some silent message transmitted ahead of her, Hermione met no one else between the lift and her office. She stormed into her rooms, slammed her notebook down hard on her desk, fell into her chair, and put her head in her hands. The memos and letters on the desktop that would normally jostle for her attention sat prudently quiet.
Sheryl waited a moment for Hermione to regain her composure before making so bold as to peep through the doorway. "Anything I can do?"
It was one of the things Hermione liked about Sheryl. Anyone else might have started with exploratory questions: What's wrong? How are you feeling? Are you et cetera? No, Sheryl went straight for the fix.
"In the years we've worked together," Hermione finally said, not lifting her head from her hands, "have I ever asked you to do something intrinsically demeaning to your job title or position, like fetching me coffee?"
"Black, no sugar?"
"And as strong as possible. Thank you, Sheryl."
By the time Sheryl returned with a steaming mug, Hermione had recovered to some extent. The letters on her desk had been read but not answered; three references had been pulled from her bookshelves and were lying open on her desk. "I've just come back from Magical Creatures," she explained, accepting the coffee. "I spent the entire morning there, trying to get them to help me find a way to persuade our witnesses to cooperate. You'd think someone there would be knowledgeable in elven psychology, wouldn't you?"
"Well, yeah, I'd think so. Especially now, when they're having to deal with more freed elves than ever…"
"HAH!" The acid scorn in Hermione's voice could etch platinum. "They're still mired in the same troglodyte mentality that's worked so well over the centuries. 'Browbeat and marginalize.' First they refused to see that I might have a problem - just order the elves to testify! And then one imbecile suggested that the elves weren't competent to testify, because they could be ordered to say anything - not even realizing how contradictory that was!" Another tome joined the three on the desk.
"In the end, I had to go to Amos Diggory to get anything worthwhile," she concluded. "He said their best expert on house-elves was doing field work this week, and hard to reach... but he'd contact her and have her Floo me as soon as possible." Hermione looked disgusted.
"I'm impressed," said Sheryl dryly. "You managed to get through that entire tirade without once using the word 'stonewall'."
Hermione breathed through her nose until she was somewhat calmer. "It's not the first time I've faced tactics like this," she noted. "Kingsley and I have had to deal with plenty of stalling for each reform we've enacted."
"That's a point! I mean, the Minister did say you were to have every Department's full cooperation. If you're not getting it… well, couldn't he do something?"
"As it happens, I'm meeting with him this afternoon… he wants to hear the final case against Swivingham before it goes to trial Monday." As she said this, she was reminded of something; she moved aside two of the books and began to rummage through the papers on her desk. "But I don't want to bring up Diggory's stalling tactics if I can avoid it. Kingsley's so frail these days… he shouldn't have to deal with this sort of mess."
"And besides, you've always been his 'go-to girl' - you've handled messes like this before now, am I right?"
"Yes, that's true too… oh dear, the notes for the case. Where are they - oh!" Hermione lightly smacked her forehead. "I remember now, they're scattered all over my coffee table. And I really need to research house-elf motivation… Sheryl, where's Canby? He can go to my home and collect the notes for my meeting."
"Canby, I believe, is currently making sure that the personal needs of our six witnesses - particularly Brillig - are being adequately addressed," said Sheryl in her driest voice yet.
"If he ends up compromising our star witness - in any meaning of that word - I'll ship him to the Ministry field office in the Falklands, I swear," Hermione mock-growled. She and Sheryl both knew that Canby would do nothing of the sort: as Hermione had when she'd taken the elves to Shell Cottage, he would avoid any direct mention of the Swivingham case. "All right, fine, he can take Brillig with him, but he has to get my notes back here before my meeting with the Minister!"
Sheryl nodded and turned to go. "Oh, and Sheryl?" added Hermione, lifting a sheet from the stack of daily letters, "I've a note here from Ron, asking me to lunch with him today. Will you please let him know that I'm not available? And that it's not just an excuse, I'm really not available?"
Another nod, this one with sympathy, and Sheryl left Hermione to her research. Though it took a couple of minutes for Hermione to buckle down and work. She was well aware, painfully aware, of why Ron wanted to have lunch with her. And what - or rather, who - he wanted to discuss.
Even if she weren't swamped with work, she would find an excuse to avoid talking about Harry - she'd given her word. She wished it made as good an excuse to avoid thinking about him. She'd managed to avoid it for two days… trust Ron and his lunch invitation to steer her thoughts back in that unwelcome direction.
Back from the dead - literally, according to Dumbledore, she thought. But ever since, he's been in hiding. From the wizarding world. From me. After I stood by him! The… the ungrateful berk! I could have helped him!
Except I wouldn't have helped him destroy himself. And that's just what the Hallows are doing.
Well, fine! If he wants to play the martyr, that's fine.
Except you can't play the martyr if no one's watching. If it's a lonely sacrifice… he is a martyr.
Listlessly, Hermione turned a page of the book in front of her and tried to focus on the text. Harry had made his choice - stupid, pig-headed and hurtful though it was, it had been his choice - and she could do nothing but accept it. After all, she couldn't locate him again: he was too canny to remain in that hotel room, he was almost certainly no longer there. She had no way to find Harry now. Even if she wanted to.
Even if she still - despite everything - missed him terribly.