A/N. As usual Harry gave me trouble. The chapter is rather long and in some spots may seem pointless…which begs the question why I left the pointless stuff in. I know this would be better with a good Beta.
Pressed for time I dispensed with research. Street names are purely fictional.
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Chapter 26 - Their Bed, Their Room, Their Place
They were driving down Churchill and she had not uttered a comprehensible sound since they left the Ministry. Yesterday she was reserved and aloof until Grimmauld and this morning she was withdrawn and fidgety. What the hell happened in Perth? She was trying to sell that her attention was on the file in her hand but he knew it was so thin and unhelpful she couldn't have still been reading it.
Harry had asked her if everything was okay and she said everything was. It obviously wasn't. He thought ruefully that lately it seemed he was always trying to get Hermione to talk about something which brought attention to the fact that despite talking more than average, Hermione rarely talked about herself. How could he have missed that all this time?
This guilt about his inadequacies as a friend had driven him into having the nightmare he had about her last week but his bizarre dream last night stemmed from an entirely different animal. This latest one was more disturbing. In it he was digging through loose dirt with his bare hands, urgency and despair in the air. As his fingers scraped against wood, he recognized the coffin from the Bat Cave and forcibly ripped its cover off. He found a peaceful looking but very dead Hermione. Overwrought with grief, he took her in his arms and began kissing her passionately while feverishly praying for her to respond. Shortly after he felt her stir. She was kissing him back, tentatively at first, then with the same fervour she did that night they were pretending at the Bat Cave. He woke up with the taste of her in his mouth, the feel of her body against his and the memory of her flowery scent filling his senses, embarrassed at the fully aroused state he was in.
It was not the first time he had dreamt about being with a girl but this one was troubling not only because the girl was Hermione but particularly in light of what happened at the airport yesterday and what was happening again today. To put it in perspective he had spent the bulk of his suspension getting Grimmauld into a more viewable state for her and had been eager for her return. He missed her all week but it wasn't until he felt a great weight lift off his chest the second she stepped out of the gate did he realize that he missed her a lot. At that time he couldn't explain it. He had known the woman for more than ten years and he couldn't recall ever missing her this much.
But it was when they embraced that he kind of lost his mind. The smell of her filled him as it had in the coffin at the Bat Cave last week and set off a replay of their unplanned tryst in his mind. He recalled how a part of it got away from him and he, for more than a brief moment, kissed her for real. He wasn't exactly sure when but it was after he thought that she possibly wasn't pretending and that if she wasn't, how kissing her and being kissed by her felt good...actually great. And when she slid her tongue next to his all soft and inviting, he felt the floor of his gut fall off and a million pleasurable sensations swirl within him. The feeling was vaguely familiar. This was similar to how it felt when he kissed Ginny for the first time.
Upon deliberate analysis he had brushed off the incident at the Bat Cave as usual male perversion and decidedly hoped that by ignoring it it would die a natural death. He found out yesterday that it hadn't. As he hugged her at the airport he felt a sudden compulsion to relive the memory. He wanted to feel what he felt in the casket with her that night, to get another taste of her sweet, passionate kiss and have her touch him in ways she usually didn't. He had to resist the temptation to initiate something stupid and thankfully she seemed too distracted to notice.
As he expected today was more of the same. His recently acquired hyper-acute sense of smell was catching the hint of her flowery scent filling the air around them and was making him all anxious. Harry took a big breath in, thinking about how to make himself immune to her provocative scent. He wasn't even sure if it was her perfume, soap, lotion, shampoo or some other woman thing unknown to him that he was ultra sensitive to. If she were some other woman it would have been okay but she was his best friend. It wasn't right to cross that line, not even in thought, especially not for this self serving need to feel good.
As he contemplated stealth means to find out what exactly that fragrance was, he turned onto the ramp and got on the freeway. Almost immediately he heard her sigh and she shifted in her seat uncomfortably.
"Okay, what's the matter?" he finally asked her as he merged smoothly into the flow of traffic.
"Nothing."
Even with his limited experience with women he was certain it was not 'nothing'. The question was which type of 'nothing' was it?
"You seem jittery. Too much coffee?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Do you need to take a um...biological break?" he asked with some awkwardness. He had not had a woman partner before and wasn't sure if that was it, "You can just let me know..."
Her eyes rolled up and with exasperation she replied, "No I don't need to use the ladies' room and yes I'll let you know when I get the urge."
"Did I do something wrong?"
It sure felt like he did. Or maybe that was guilt from having less than pure thoughts about her.
"No. Just drive," there was clear annoyance in her voice and he concluded it was the type of nothing she didn't want to talk about.
He racked his brain for what else she could be miffed about. She was so upbeat when he dropped her off at the Ministry flat last night so what brought this about? Was it because John had her join his team? Was it because she didn't want to be partners with him? This was an auspicious beginning in their partnership and Harry had never known Hermione to be this moody.
They went past an exit and she looked at it before taking a surreptitious glance at the clock on the dash. He couldn't contain his own irritation mostly for being given a hard time about wanting to find out. Harry threw out random guesses to force her into talking to him, the more preposterous the better.
"Did you need to pick up something from a store, drop off dry cleaning, call someone?"
"No, no and no," she didn't even look up.
"You don't want to be partners with me."
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry."
"You left your wand at the Ministry and are too ashamed to admit it."
"I'm ignoring you now."
"It's that time of the month."
No answer. He thought that was a good one.
"You woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
Still no answer.
"You had another fairy tale nightmare."
That drew a glare and finally a verbal response, "Are you this annoying to all your partners?"
"I can keep guessing here," he was finding this game fun, "Am I getting warmer?"
She took a breath in, put the file on her lap and told him, "I prefer to drive."
He couldn't believe this was about that, "You're giving me the third degree because I didn't let you drive?!"
"I am not giving you the third degree," she claimed in defense, "I'm trying to distract myself."
"By reading useless crap over and over again?"
"Which I wouldn't do if Ministry approved the use of Muggle mobile computers," she blushed from her busted cover and then informed him sharply, "But that's beside the point. If you want to get there by today you should bear left and take the next off ramp."
"Why?"
"You're about to hit traffic and the next two exits are closed."
"Traffic?" he asked, "What traffic?."
Just as he said that he noticed brake lights popping up like fireflies in front of him.
"How did you...?"
"There was a lot of rain last night and that combined with the drainage problems on Halloway, the road repair delays on Maxwell and the closure of Gleason, well, there will be back ups from Kilbourne to Hayden all day," he could see her relieved that she was telling him, "Once we're off I suggest that you head north on Taft. Kensington would have been better except it will be packed today because of the street festoval. And if you keep your speed between 55 and 60 on Taft you'll hit green all the way to Johns."
This was what she didn't want to tell him about? He struggled with what to say.
"I know. I'm a freak. I can't help it," she confessed with some distress, "When I drive I'm relaxed but I can't shut up when somebody else is at the wheel. Sorry."
He chuckled at her embarrassment of being a human weather, traffic and construction updated GPS, "You seemed fine yesterday."
"Yesterday wasn't work. But just so you know, from the airport you could have taken Sullivan, then River to Grimmauld and cut the drive time by three minutes.."
So that's why Dean didn't drive. He couldn't help but laugh as he took the off ramp.
"Stop laughing. It isn't funny."
He apologized and tried to put a stopper on his amusement, not that he had much success. She went on to tell the story that Dean didn't last their first day before realizing that insisting on driving was not worth it. Surprisingly she had offered to compromise, that if he didn't mind her telling him which roads to take she'd split driving duties with him.
"That doesn't sound like a compromise. That's getting exactly what you want," he pointed out, trying to give her a hard time.
"If I got what I wanted you wouldn't be driving right now," she declared confidently.
"Is this how you get Dean into doing what you want? Pull quick ones over him and make him think he's doing you a favour?"
"I would never do such a thing!" she vehemently denied but with a smile creeping up on the corners of her mouth. She was willing to play his game, "Okay, tell me. What's a fair offer?"
He grinned, reeling in the fish caught hook, line and sinker, "I'll let you drive half the time if you let me tell you how to get to where we're going."
That made her laugh, "Do I have to actually listen and follow your advice?"
"And force you into doing something you don't want to do? I'm not an idiot. I know I'll only pay for that some other way."
"I'm impressed," she chuckled, "You're wiser than I give you credit for."
"Maybe you should rethink and not undermine my capabilities," he retorted, and something outside must have distracted her because she looked out the window, "Anyway, to answer your question, I will desist from having lofty expections of you heeding my advice if you extend me the same courtesy. Does that sound reasonable?"
She snorted, "That's an even loftier expectation."
"My desisting or yours?"
"Mine of course. You're a hero Harry. You should accept by now that expectations will be high all the time."
He had to chuckle and her attempt to keep a poker face failed.
"I am absolutely crushed that the one person who understands me can't give me a break," he feigned being upset.
"What is it about my being understanding that prompts you to think I deserve less than what everyone else is getting from you?"
"I don't think you deserve less," he explained, "I just know you'll understand if I fall below your expectations. I can be totally myself without fear of rejection."
"You know, being your friend is a thankless job," she was pulling his leg and actually enjoying the honest conversation almost to a point of sounding silly. She was goading him into some sort of a reaction, "I want perks. I demand perks."
"I feel a rant coming," he said under his breath, knowing she was not serious despite there being some truth to it.
"I stand for each and every hero side kick out there wanting to be treated with dignity and respect," she indulged him, "We want to be recognized for what we've done."
"The Ministry tried that, you doggedly refused," he pointed out
She ignored his comment completely, "We want the same treatment every one else is getting, if not better."
He was trying, at least with her. It suddenly hit him what exactly it was about her that he missed the most while she was away. She was one of the few who could be the brutally honest way she was with him without him taking offense. He was certain she was without ulterior motives. Despite her rant Hermione had no unreasonable expectations of him that would break their friendship and it was the same the other way around. In fact he was certain that even if Hermione knew about his dream she wouldn't judge him as harshly as he was judging himself; not that he would tell her about it to prove his theory.
"Enough trying to make me feel bad. I know you too well to know you don't mean it so it's not working."
"This is exactly what I mean," she dramatically threw her arms up in the air, "I am not being taken seriously."
"If you don't agree with my suggestion make me a counter offer."
"This isn't worth the argument. By end of the week you'll be begging me to drive," she replied smugly.
"Is that so?" he was being challenged, "You're misjudging my ability to ignore suggestions."
"On the contrary. I know about that all too well," she said. "I'm counting on the fact that you don't care about little things as much as I do. You're above and beyond this pettiness. You're big enough to let a woman drive you around if she wants to."
"Boy! You must be desperate. I never thought I'd see the day when you'd find a need to butter me up," he was practically in stitches and she could only laugh with him.
"Okay, fine. Here's my final offer. We'll split driving duties," only Hermione would ever go this far in a conversation like this, "We can suggest routes and discuss options depending on how passionate we feel about how we get to where we're going but the final decision goes to the person behind the wheel."
He agreed, knowing they would never get to that. As she knew he really didn't care about being told how to go where as long as he got to drive his share. But the suggestion did make him think how outside of driving that had been the kind of relationship they had anyway. She'd suggest, he'd consider but he got to decide with no real pressure to do what she adviced. He wouldn't feel offended if she didn't follow his advice, not that he gave her a lot and from her casual acceptance of the fact that he did not listen to her all the time it appeared she didn't feel slighted either. But he wondered if he was reading her right. He fought the urge to ask her more about that and had to remember some conversations, like the one they just had, were not appropriate at times like now.
That did set them off to talking more seriously about how they would work as partners. It was best to have the conversation about what to do and how they each preferred to handle different situations now than when they were faced with a life and death matter.
"If I give you an order it's an expectation for you to follow," he brought up the topic because he had to.
"If your order is reasonable I don't see why that would be a problem," she answered back.
"I wouldn't ask you to do something unreasonable."
"Then you shouldn't ever worry about that."
Harry understood. She couldn't make that promise and he would not force it out of her. Early on in his Auror career he was of the opinion that while he was a leader, he wanted his team behind him only if they thought what he was leading them into made sense. That was such a disjoint from traditional MLE protocols where they were all soldiers and that commands from above were followed no matter what. It was the latter that was still taught and encouraged, that he reluctantly applied because that was what his team understood. It took the decision and potential blame out of the foot soldier and took emotions from doing what had to be done, which he thought was both good and bad. Hermione was not a common foot soldier and she wanted the responsibility of whatever decision and action she made. That was what got her in trouble last week.
They arrived at fifteen Johns Avenue in about half an hour. They could have Apparated and been there quicker but cars were necessary mostly because working Auror in London required contact with Muggles. Magical criminals knew to use them as shields and deterrents to making arrests magically.
Pugnasiocrates Jollyweather was an eccentric really old wizard with long gray hair and a well kempt beard. He had been in publishing a long time ago having owned a weekly gentlewizard's only magazine up until he sold his company and retired a decade ago.
Jollyweather was an active art works philantropist. Just a week before he had been featured in an article on the Prophet to mark his generous donation to the establishment of a gallery to host paintings and drawings by struggling magical artists. He was also a known magical artifacts collector and it was the loss of his property that they were investigating.
"So you think your assistant, Kooper Dodgey, had something to do with the robbery?" Hermione was doing the interviewing while he roved the inside of the victim's study..
"I am certain of it," replied the wheezy voiced wizard, "I hired Kooper two months ago and he resigned abruptly yesterday, by phone.."
"Did he say why?"
"He said I was a cheap slavedriver."
"Was he right?" Hermione asked insensitively Harry cast her a warning shot. "I mean, do you think there was reason for him to feel that way."
"That's beside the point," the man dismissed, "All I can say is that he was privy to security information, my collection was stolen and he left town in a hurry. Any moron can conclude he had something to do with the robbery."
As Hermione continued with her questions Harry was drawn by a wall of pictures of the interviewee over the passage of time. It was a display of who's who; pictures of Jollyweather with Ministers, with movie stars, with famous artists, with sports figures. He recognized a face on one of the images.
"You knew Xenophilius Lovegood," Harry blurted out before realizing that of course he would know the Quibbler's former owner.
"Xenophilius was a good friend. We shared many passions. His loss was a huge loss for the magical community."
In the image Jollyweather and Lovegood were with one other wizard, smiling, happy, and wearing bright colored robes with a familiar emblem.
"You both believed in the existence of the Hallows."
The wizard joined him by the side and waxed wistfully, "Ah yes, the Hallows. It was a foolish quest. We never had evidence that they ever existed. The movement died with Xenophilius although I can see he succeeded in planting some interest in you."
Harry shrugged, careful not to make a big deal of it.
Hermione had moved closer too and asked, pointing to the third figure in the picture, "Who's this with you?""
The old man squinted, "I believe his name is Theodorphus Daniels. Xenophilius met the Canuck on one of his North American expeditions and got him interested in the Hallows. That was the one and only time I saw him."
They finished up with the interview and Jollyweather gave them all the information he had on his assistant. Dodgey proved to be a tough wizard to track down. Hermione brought up her frustration that Dodgey seemed always a step ahead of them, like he knew their next move even before they thought of it.
The following days were relatively quiet at work. Harry found out soon enough that this was a very bad thing. He spent a lot of his free time helping Hermione at Grimmauld and being with her all the time was a constant internal battle between good and evil. In a matter of hours he went from thinking about kissing her on and off to wanting more than that almost everytime he saw her or thought of her. He craved for her physical contact but the few times they inadvertently touched was like torture. They reminded him painfully of what he couldn't have. It was almost obsessive. He desired her more than he desired any other woman in his life and he didn't know what to do..
Hermione had not yet signed above the dotted line to make it officially hers but she had definitely made it her own. By the third day she moved into the guest bedroom while still undecided about how she wanted the main bedroom set up. She thought it too big for her use and was considering leaving it unoccupied. That night they celebrated at Finnigan's. One of Seamus' staff was charming little floating hearts all over Finnigan's. Valentine's Day was almost upon them and he wondered.
"So, are you and Mike going out on Friday?"
"Mike? You mean Miles."
"Yes, the communications guy, whatever his name is."
Hermione had drinks with him after work a couple of days ago and had dinner with him last night. She was meeting up with him again tonight. To Harry it meant the guy was serious and Hermione the same. The arrogant little twit was grinning so much in the elevator this morning he had to fight the urge to hex the prick. This whole Hermione dating thing bothered him. It bothered him a lot.
"He asked but I haven't decided yet," she answered, "What about you? Do you have plans with Bimbo Six?"
"I told you Cheryl and I aren't dating."
Cheryl was one of Kingsley's assistants Hermione happened to see him talking with one time.
"I'm sure there's someone in line worthy to be number seven," she retorted sarcastically.
Despite telling Hermione that Ginny had told him she wanted to see other people his friend was still on him about giving his ex-girlfriend a call and had been since she got back from Perth.
"Actually no."
"No?" she was skeptical.
"I've been less in demand since your interview."
"What interview?"
"Don't you give me that innocent look," he wagged a finger in her face, "The Socials section of the Prophet published it a few days ago, the one given by a close friend of mine who chose to remain anonymous."
She chuckled, "Oh that interview. Since when did you read the Prophet socials?"
"You think it's funny."
"No, well okay, yes. I only did it to set Gates' lies about you straight. I didn't think it would actually work."
"You pictured me as this lunatic hung up on my ex," he exaggerated.
"I did not," she denied, "I merely pointed out that you were still emotionally devastated by the break-up, which you are."
"Were," he corrected, making her frown, "And that thing about feeling sorry for the rebound girl?"
"That's just common sense really. Every person with half a brain knows that nothing good ever comes out of being the rebound girl," she said matter-of-factly.
"You're such a witch," he said endearingly.
"I know," she smiled sweetly, her eyes sparkled and he wanted to kiss her right then and there.
I am so fucked…
"I think I might join the gang on Friday," he blurted out.
By gang he meant their Hogwarts mates who were in town.
"You mean Neville's roundabout attempt to get Hannah to go out with him?"
"You girls know about that, huh?"
She rolled her eyes, "Of course we do. You really should tell Neville just to go on ahead and ask."
"He's afraid she'd say no," Harry replied, "How does Hannah feel about him?"
"Did he send you to spy for him?"
"If he did you'd be the last person I'd talk to. Neville isn't that twisted. I just thought it would be good to give his confidence a boost but I don't want to get his hopes up unnecessarily."
She gave out an exasperated sigh, "Men these days."
"What?"
"You would fearlessly jump into a fight without strategy sooner than putting yourselves at risk for rejection," she was starting up again.
"I should really start recording all your rants for posterity," he teased.
"What's the matter with old fashioned courting? With declaring yourself and your intentions? With putting yourself out without knowing what your chances are?"
"So what are Neville's chances with Hannah?"
"That depends," she said with eyes narrowed and lips pursed, "How much time is he willing to invest?"
He was laughing inwardly. It was a negotiation of sorts.
"At most a month," he estimated, "Unless he sees something encouraging."
"Tell him to make it two," she countered, "Is he at least thinking flowers?"
"Possibly."
"Hannah likes white roses."
"I'll pass it on."
They had just finished their conversation when Mark or Melvin or whatever his name was arrived at Finnigan's and interrupted. He barely heard Hermione when she said they were going to spend the night in Muggle London, preoccupied by the sight of the git's hand looking very out of place on the small of Hermione's back. He had a vision of breaking the twerp's fingers one at a time.
Harry stayed for a bit then decided he couldn't stand sitting at the bar drinking and thinking about her with someone else. He walked and found himself at Grimmauld, her place now, filled with details about her, details he didn't know about her before, details he now found too overwhelming.
He went up the flight of stairs and went to the one room that wasn't her yet. Deciding to leave the lights off, he pulled the window and French door curtains back to allow moonlight to stream into the room. A row of paint cans caught his attention and without much thought he picked up a brush, dipped it into one of them and began painting.
Hours passed. It was finally done. He cleared the paint, rollers and brushes away and positioned the king size bed Hermione had intended for the room where he felt it should go. Lying down face up he tested the view she would have if she ever decided to use it. It was calming and soothing as he had hoped it would be. He liked it. He liked it too much. It didn't take long for him to imagine her lying next to him, the two of them, falling asleep and waking up to this. Him falling asleep and waking up next to her.
It wasn't so hard to imagine spending days and nights with her here at all. He realized then that this desire he had for her wasn't going to go away easily. It wasn't all physical. His need for her ran deeper than what his body had betrayed him to believe.
He liked the idea of this being their bed, their room, their place. He liked it because he liked being with her, because she allowed him to be himself; she made him feel safe and secure about who he was. He liked himself best when he was with her.
Harry thought of his apprehension about crossing the line with her. He was beginning to question it. They were both single and unattached. She was attractive, smart and, though not known to be funny, made him laugh. He wasn't that bad either. He was certainly better looking than Maurice. So, why not?
But it was all about him, his wants, his happiness. He was and probably always would be selfish that way. What about her? What about her wants, her happiness? From the top of his head he couldn't think of what would be in it for her over and above what his friendship was giving her now.
She wanted true love; unconditional and forever. He couldn't think that the way he cared about her now, though unconditional and forever, was what she had in mind. She was talking chivalry and knights in shining armour sweeping her off her feet. He wasn't like that, at least not for her. She knew him to be as flawed as the next guy and not the hero everyone else unquestioningly looked up to. And he had always thought that was entirely a good thing.
There was another thing; Harry couldn't offer her something he himself wasn't sure of. He cared about her very much and wanted to be with her but after their talk about what love meant to each other he couldn't honestly say that what he felt for her now was what he thought true love would be. As much as he wished it were he needed time to figure that out.
And if this was indeed less than what he thought true love would be he needed to decide if it was worth risking what they already had. Would it be too cruel to go through with it knowing it wasn't exactly what they wanted? Or should they spare themselves the pain of having to let go when the time came?
Thinking how it was so much simpler if they had nothing to lose, he dozed off on their bed, in their room, in their place and dreamt about her coming in as he slept, tucking him in, wishing him a good night and kissing him, her soft lips brushing once against the top of his head and then ever so lightly on his mouth.
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A/N. I couldn't imagine him knowing for sure how he felt in such a short period of time.
How does one know for sure anyway? Does one 'just know'?