A/N. Finally satisfied with this one. In it Hermione finds herself struggling to figure Harry out. Hope you have fun reading between the lines.
Happy New Year to all.
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Chapter 27 - A Difficult Read
It was late Valentine's night. Finnigan's was crowded even more than the usual Friday. Most of the patrons were couples ensconced in the dimmed out main dining area completely separated from rowdier groups like theirs who were being served in the function rooms, friends spending the night together and just having a good time.
Their table was definitely having a good time. Almost all of them had a little too much to drink, except Jessie who had not passed out yet and hence was fine based on her own standards. Actually, now that Hermione thought of it, maybe Ginny's ex-room mate was a bit tipsy for she and Seamus, who had given himself most of the night off, were openly flirting with one another and the night was still young.
In their advanced state of inebriation, Hermione wondered if anyone else was aware that Padma Patil and Terry Boots were playing footsie under the table or noticed the obvious that Justin and the male friend he brought with him were lovers. Ernie's date had left earlier; the Healer had to work a late shift at St. Mungo's and Susan and her date had just moved into the main room with Parvati and her boyfriend for some privacy. Neville and Hannah, for whom they had made a point to be there, were finally loosening up. It was time to make an exit before she completely felt out of place.
"Okay, next question," Justin was facilitating part of the entertainment tonight, "For the girls. Imagine you're in bed making out with some guy you just met with a definite intention of going all the way..."
Seamus interrupted with an all knowing tone, "Girls, you're all gonna have to really stretch your imaginations here."
That drew a mix of laughter and jeers from his friends.
Justin continued, "What is the worst thing that he can say or do that will totally kill it for you; 'a', ask you to blow him, 'b', blow air out of his ass or 'c', blow before you do?"
He paused in between the options to allow reactions of varying degrees of approval and disgust.
"That depends," Jessie was the first to answer, "Is he well endowed?"
"Assume extremely so," Seamus grinned smugly.
"Then it'll have to be 'a' for me," Jessie replied thoughtfully, "I gag easily."
"That's a fucking tragedy," Seamus answered back, his expression deflated.
Hermione chuckled at their exchange as everyone else did.
"Definitely 'b'," Padma weighed it, shuddering, "Total turn off."
"I concur," Hannah agreed.
She could not help but laugh internally; the things one finds out about one's friends. All eyes shifted on her.
"'C'," she put simply.
"'C'? Why 'c'?" Ernie asked.
In her usual fashion, Hermione dissected the choices one by one.
"'A' is negotiable; just because one asks doesn't necessarily mean one will get…"
"I'm feeling sorry for that guy she's making out with already," Seamus side barred, drawing chortles once again.
Hermione playfully told him to shut up and carried on, "And if I'm about to get down and dirty with a complete stranger, 'b' will not deter the desperation that got me there..."
"Excellent point," Padma said.
"Am I the only one having trouble imagining Hermione getting down and dirty?" Neville asked Hannah rhetorically, who laughed in response to his shock.
"That leaves me with 'c'," Hermione continued, "And once 'c' happens that will kill it for me regardless of me choosing 'a' or 'b'."
"Because?" Seamus asked.
"Because we all know that most guys are pretty useless after they've fired the one good shot they have in them," she replied, causing uproar from the men around the table. The women cheered and sided with her as she elucidated the point further, "I'd be totally pissed off if the cocked gun in my hand goes off without hitting my desired target. Any decent man should know bloody well how women feel about indiscrimate firing."
She was definitely drunk. That added howls and unladylike giggling at their table as comments came from around the table.
"Aren't all guns required by law to come with safeties?"
"A feature usually disabled while in action."
"I swear that one guy I dated a couple of times didn't come with one."
"You mean...?"
"Yes!"
More laughter.
"I think Hermione deserves another stiff drink for saying cocked and bloody in one breath!"
"A toast," Seamus poured them all another round, lifted his glass and toasted, unable to keep a straight face, "To Hermione Granger; gun specialist!"
"Here, here."
There was the sound of glass chinking everywhere. She laughed with them, tipped her shot glass into her mouth and. downed what Seamus called the Gryffindor Stinger. The hot, searing liquid burned through each part of her it touched and she almost choked on it. One of these days she was going to ask Jessie to check Seamus' drinks for toxicity for Hermione was almost sure some of them were downright lethal. After their glasses fell heavily onto the table, she got up and donned her scarf and coat.
"Gotta go folks," she announced amidst protests by the rest.
"Stay for a couple more rounds," Seamus pleaded from across the table, "You haven't even had my Slytherin Annihilator."
"Maybe next time," she knew better than to risk it.
She managed to escape into her own little world. It had been a long day, too long for a day she had a love-hate relationship with. When she got home she heard what she had hoped she wouldn't. Silence never bothered her before but silence at Grimmauld made her lonelier. As much as she loved the place it felt empty particularly tonight.
One of her theories about why she felt this way was because in her memory the house was never this tranquil. There were always voices and noises within it, even when it was uninhabited, in the past. She laughed at herself as she thought the last thought she just had. Just for tonight she actually would have been thankful to hear the shrill scream from the portrait of one of the former owners of the old Black house. It was that bad.
She marched up the flight of stairs and stopped briefly at the entrance of the master bedroom before going in. Since the day she moved in and decided to use the smaller bedroom, she had made it a point to see it when she got home, hoping the feeling of being alone while in it would go away.
The master bedroom was psychologically too big, giving her this restlessness that something was missing. It was that 'having no one in her life' thought festering like an open wound. At least in her small bedroom on her much smaller bed she didn't feel this alone.
Two nights ago the lonely feeling did go away. That night she found Harry in it. He had come in while she was out and did some work, something he had done a few times during the past week. She didn't mind that he did. He knew pretty much what she needed done.
Except this room was different. They had sat in it one time with several possible themes on parchment spread out before them but none of them seemed appropriate. She couldn't decide what to do with it and Harry, the other night, did this on his own.
She pulled all the curtains back and looked at his handiwork. As she suspected she couldn't duplicate the scene from the other night. She climbed into bed anyway, rested her head on the same pillow Harry did and let his choice of colors take her away. He went with varying hues of blue with off white accents. The effect, particularly on that moonlit night, was soothing to the mind and body. It brought a peace within her that she had never experienced before.
Or maybe that was because Harry was sleeping soundly beside her. She couldn't stay long enough to figure that out and left the second the delusions came, the ones of this being their bed, in their room and in their place. She left before she did something she for sure would regret. Tucking him in snugly under a warm blanket before she did, she fought off the ideas she had as her eyes fell on his mouth.
His mouth, she thought. It felt like hours before sleep overtook her that night when all she could think about was his mouth wasting away in the room next door doing nothing. The need for him physically had grown exponentially since her acceptance of what he meant to her. It was now at a point that working with him everyday and seeing him almost every night was close to unbearable. Never did it cross her mind that something so uncontrollably primal could exist and if not for the constant reminder of what she was to him, she would have given in to it already..
She had no choice; she couldn't refuse to work with him nor could she turn down his offer to help with Grimmauld. She consoled herself that Dean would be back soon and that there wasn't a lot more to do at Grimmauld. Surely she could hang on for another week or so.
That was probably wishful thinking. She kind of slipped the morning after Harry slept in 'their' bed. Sleep deprived from the night before, she woke up to the heavenly aroma of strong coffee mingling with the scent of sweet cinnamon bread. For a moment she thought she was ten years old, living at home and waking up to her Mum's cooking.
It didn't take long for her to figure out she wasn't ten anymore and it was somebody else in her kitchen. Shortly after a quick washroom detour she joined the cook fearing that if she dilly dallied he might get ideas about serving breakfast in bed. This was yesterday morning.
"Good morning," he greeted with a smile.
"Good morning," she returned in kind, "Need help?"
Having worked in the house with him since she agreed to buy it they had dispensed with the nuissance of formalities surrounding meals and meal preparation. He liked cooking, at least more than she did, and didn't mind taking charge. It was the only time, he discovered with some amusement, when she had no issues about being told what to do.
"Nope, almost set," he placed a bowl of cut strawberries in the midst of the marble counter where they usually ate, "Sorry I crashed up there without notice. I didn't realize I was that tired."
"No worries," she replied slipping behind him to get to the top cupboards, "You're always welcome here and technically, it is still your house."
Maybe she shouldn't have given him such an open invitation.
"Ben said he'll drop off the latest version of the contract this afternoon," he told her, "He's hopeful fifth time's a charm."
"I did warn him I was thorough."
"I did tell him you weren't kidding."
She was reaching for a couple of clean cups on the top shelf but with Harry somewhat in the way she was an inch too short.
"Let me," he offered.
He reached over but had to lean into her to get to them too.. The unexpected contact and the awareness of him invading her personal space made her involuntarily stop breathing which, from her knowledge of physiology, wouldn't go well with her now wildly beating heart. He flashed her a half grin as he handed her the cups. She wasn't sure if she actually smiled back as she was busy imagining how the day old stubble he had would feel against her skin. She did clear her throat to mask the catch up breath she had to take. Fortunately he seemed focused on something else.
"What time did you get in last night?"
"About two," she replied, pouring him a cup of his usual black and set it at his place on the counter.
"That late," he judged with disapproval, "This thing with Morris seems to be getting serious."
"Miles..." she corrected him for the umpteenth time, "...is a good guy."
Harry interrupted before she could tell him she wasn't seeing Miles anymore, "He's not your knight in shining armour. I"m betting he's a pretender or a trying hard wannabe.."
The latter was probably true but his tone drew her ire. He was never this openly nasty about other people's inadequacies.
"What a mean thing to say."
"I'm not taking it back," he answered back, whisking the now frothy eggs in the bowl in his hand like he was beating them into submission.
"Stop picking on him," she admonished, "What's with you anyway?"
"What?"
"You've been as moody as hell the past few days," Hermione confronted him.
Something had been bugging him on and off lately. One second he seemed perfectly normal then sullen the next. She suspected it was about Ginny and the fast approaching Valentine's day, his first not being with her. If only he opened up about it he would feel much better and would stop picking on her and the man she was dating, um, had dated.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he responded with an edge, the sound of eggs sizzling in pan reflecting his current disposition, "Are you going out with the knight rental tomorrow?"
"No. I'm joining you and the gang," she retorted sharply, somewhat regretting that decision particularly if he was going to be moping about Ginny all night.
"Good."
Harry put portions of the veggie omelet onto their plates. He wasn't going to admit it. She might as well tell him what to do.
"You should call Ginny. See her. Get this thing out of your system,"
Harry didn't like what she just said either and with exasperation reminded her, "Ginny wants to play the field."
Did she have to spell out the writing on the wall for him? It was painful enough to see it so obviously.
"No. She doesn't. She only thinks she does but she doesn't. Just talk to her," she snapped at him, having had enough of their stupidity already.
"Fine. I'll call her."
That calmed him down, and her too. They eventually got to eat breakfast and talked about the master bedroom, how she loved what he did with it, and how she was thinking about sharing the house for both company and practicality. He apologized for his attack on 'Matt' and expressed his stand against having her future housemate have the bigger room.
"I toiled for hours putting that room together," he was using guilt as a weapon to make her change her mind, "And this is the thanks I get?"
She chuckled at his fake protest.
"You're laughing," he shook his head.
"I told you I loved it, didn't I?" she said with a what-else-do-you-want tone.
"You're giving it away to some outsider."
"I'm renting it out," she corrected.
"Even worse," he couldn't hide the smile in his eyes..
On the outside their conversation seemed trivial but to her it was a rare moment when there was not another thought in her mind except pure bliss. And it wasn't just this one exchange of light hearted banter with Harry that brought it about Every time with him lately was like living in a bubble of possibility, giving her a glimpse of a life of perfect existence where nothing else mattered and where there was nothing else she could ever want. It was living as she hoped living the rest of her life would be, at least the personal part of it, and she couldn't contain the exuberance she felt for seeing it possible. She leaned forward from across the counter.
"Come closer," she coaxed in an appeasing tone in keeping with his teasing her for her lack of appeciation for what he did.
He didn't comply at first, wary about what she was up to, "So you can insult the artist in me right to my face?"
"Shut up, Harry. Just come closer."
He did as she asked, stopping about a foot away from her face then raised his brows as if to ask 'what'?
So maybe she should have qualified her instruction to include exactly how close she wanted him to be.
"I love what you did with the room. It's beautiful," she said quietly, noticing how his gaze wandered to her mouth.
"You said that already," he replied, his warm breath, that of cinnamon, reaching her senses instantaneously and without his eyes on hers, she found it only natural to watch him speak too.
"I appreciate the valuable time and artistic energy you put into it," she was serious and he too lost the smile that was on his face.
"You do, huh? Well, to me actions speak louder than words..."
"Okay," she swallowed the lump in her throat, thinking about kissing him, tasting his mouth, and wondering what he would think that action spoke of.
She leaned in closer but aborted her intentions at the very last second. Instead, she hastily gave him a loud smooch on the top of his head and snapped back into her seat.
Whew!
On her way back Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry's reaction and suspected he sensed what almost happened there. He chose to escape it as she did. Harry was a gentleman, after all. It was to help her save face..
"What the hell was that?" Harry complained jokingly, carrying on his earlier pretense.
"A token of appreciation. Why? Didn't it feel like one?"
Of course it didn't, you fool..
"How old do you think I am? Five? I expected more."
Was he flirting with her? Was Harry flirting with her? She had to test this out.
"What exactly were you expecting?"
He shrugged, "Just more."
Yes, no, maybe. Dammit. You've read this man like a children's book all your life. Now's not the time to lose that skill.
"That's all I am prepared to give right now," she said cautiously, "Perhaps next time you should be clearer about what it is that you expect."
"Perhaps next time I will."
He smiled right after and they let it go. In the end he was back to normal and she dismissed her earlier thought about his flirtation as totally delusional. She did promise him she would reconsider renting out what he now referred to as his 'masterpiece'. In truth she felt a lot more attached to it and was optimistic she wouldn't feel so alone in there anymore. That optimism didn't last very long.
Late last night Ginny called. Ginny called to tell her that Harry called and that she invited him over for dinner. Hermione couldn't hear much after that and the only clear thing she remembered of the entire episode was saying to herself, 'Of all the times to listen to me...". And when Harry let her know this morning that he couldn't make it tonight it stung more than she anticipated. A part of her was looking forward to spending the night with him, even just as friends.
Yes, the masochistic part of you. You never learn your lesson when it comes to him. This is killing you. You should really make up your mind about how close you want to be
Actually she wasn't undecided (though she was probably losing it as she just realized she was arguing with her inner voice). She was procrastinating on committing herself to a decision that would be good for her but one she probably wouldn't be able to stick to. The decision was simple. If she wanted to be happy she had to move on and find someone else to love; someone who would love her back. She had to stop making her happiness contingent on his. She had to stop caring about him this much.
But it was pretty hard to stop caring about someone who was borderline sweet, paid more attention to her than she thought she deserved and was around her almost all the time. How the hell was she supposed to care about him less?
The one answer that made sense was that she should spend less time with him. In a way it was good that they weren't working again until Monday and that she had some after work volunteering next week. And if need be there was always going out with Miles again. Merlin, did she really just think that? She scolded herself for the shameful thought that surfaced out of desperation. Here she was, close to compromising her sense of fairness because she didn't think she could tell Harry to leave her alone?
This was ridiculous. Saying 'no' was easy for her; Ron certainly believed so while they were still together. All she needed was to see herself do it. She practiced mentally.
"Sorry Harry. I can't."
Drop the apology. It's not necessary.
"Harry, I'm busy tonight."
Good.
"Go bug someone else, Harry."
A bit of sting in it wouldn't hurt.
"I'm in love with you and I'd really appreciate it if you left me alone."
Better use less honesty. She groaned inwardly. She needed more practice, a lot more.
Her phone rang; it was a call from his. She could only think it was them calling to tell her they had made up and that they owed her. That image of them together again cut through her like it never did before. She let it ring, each passing one making the bed, the room and the place larger and larger, dwarfing her. When it finally stopped she closed her eyes and begged to be swallowed into nothingness.
Then an almost imperceptible noise in the house broke her self piteous attack. There were determined footsteps making their way up from the main floor. She was on her feet in a flash, wand pointed at the entrance.
"Geez," she put her weapon away when she saw who it was, scolding him, "Don't sneak up on me like that."
Harry didn't seem concerned that she almost hexed him when he replied, "I did try your phone but there was no answer."
"What are you doing here?"
He looked very dapper in the dark blue slacks, the light blue shirt and the sports jacket he had on. He was walking forwards, her heart fluttering wildly as she searched for the answer to her question within his calm expression.
"I dropped by Finnigan's and the gang said you left. I thought I'd try here."
That didn't answer the question she needed answering.
"I mean what are you doing here?" she repeated, "You're supposed to be in Holyhead."
"I was in Holyhead."
"You're supposed to be having dinner with Ginny."
"It's eleven," he chuckled and logically pointed out, "We had to stop eating at some point."
"Don't you get smart with me," she shot him the look, "Why aren't you still there?"
"Because I had to go home."
He had this smirk on his face throughout as if his words had meaning other than what was apparent. Harry saved her asking another question and put her out of her misery.
"We came to the same conclusion that we're good where we are right now. And no, I'm not gonna say 'I told you so' but I do kind of hope you'll back off on this mission of yours to get me and Ginny back together."
She lost all capacity for thought for a few seconds and he assumed her non-response was an answer.
"I guess that was too much to hope for," he heaved a huge sigh, "Here. This is for you"
Hermione just noticed that he had been holding something yellow in his hand all this time. A bunch of...
"Dandelions?"
Hermione took them in her hand perplexed as he explained what they were for, "I'm sorry for bailing on you tonight."
It wasn't like he stood her up but she resisted the urge to tell him there was no need to apologize. Instead she gave him a 'hard time' for his awful timing in seeing Ginny and for causing her pain and anguish, not that she would ever tell him.
"This is your idea of an apology? You're giving me weeds?" she expressed in her most ungrateful tone.
He grinned at her, amusement dancing behind his green eyes, "You did say when it came to flowers you were easy."
She recalled the conversation he was referring to and snorted, "I have to start watching what I say around you."
"That you do," there he was again with the double meanings, "I brought some pumpkin pie from Finnigan's, left it on the kitchen counter. Are you up to having pie and tea and making an old friend feel less guilty about abandoning you tonight?"
Weeds, pie, and the rest of the night with the man she loved. It seemed like a good deal.
Long live the delusion…
"I need a quick shower to regain some sobriety," she said to her 'old friend' earnestly.
"Okay, but one quick question before you attain full intellectual capacity," he looked seriously curious, "What's this thing about you being a gun specialist?"
Seamus blabbed, the bastard. She couldn't repeat the scene to Harry. It would be too embarrassing.
Hermione smiled back and gave him a dose of his own medicine, "Sorry, Harry. You had to be there."
She left him for a few minutes and returned just when tea became ready. They talked easily until the wee hours of the morning. She told him about Miles (every sordid detail included but only because he insisted) and he told her about his dinner with Ginny. Harry found out that Ginny was seeing someone on a sort of regular basis, a former Prophet co-worker, the same guy Hermione bumped into at Finnigan's last week who she owed for her 'anonymous friend interview'. Lance Elliot had always had a thing for Ginny and Ginny, against her sound advice, had decided to give him a shot. From what she knew of the guy he wasn't bad, but he wasn't Harry either, and Ginny wasn't over Harry. That was a fact even if her best friend wouldn't admit it. And Ginny would have never mentioned Lance unless Harry asked. It bothered her that the answer he got didn't bother him.
After Harry left Grimmauld she thought back about how it had been, yet again, a challenge to read him all night. Maybe the loss had yet to hit him. Maybe he was just putting up a brave front. Or maybe he was over Ginny. She wanted to clarify the maybes but was too afraid to have the more intimate conversation. With the on board alcohol she couldn't trust herself completely. She was already reading too much into his coming to find her to bring her weeds and pumpkin pie.
Note to self...must confirm when judgment less impaired…
But Hermione didn't get the opportunity to validate and gather more information the rest of the weekend. Harry was a no-show. He didn't even call; not a message, not a note, and his unexplained absence made her anxious. What if something bad happened? Harry was single, unattached, with no official next of kin, and wasn't due to work until Monday. He could be hurt and in need of medical attention. What if he died because help wasn't there on time?
Unable to resist she called Saturday night to ask him if he was okay and he replied that he was but couldn't talk long because he had to make dinner. She concluded he had company, Bimbo Number Seven by her count (which he claimed she was too arbitrary and liberal at). And he was making dinner probably at his place. The thought of him being with another woman was enough to keep her from calling him Sunday.
The spare time brought recognition to the difference in how she viewed him with Ginny versus him with anyone else. With Ginny it hurt because she was jealous; with the rest she was as angry as she was hurt. She could only think that this was because it was better the devil she knew than the one she didn't. She probably wouldn't be able to stand it if he fell in love with someone other than Ginny.
Come Monday morning she fully hated the situation she was in and was upset at herself for acting like a crush crazed teenager. Emotionally she felt like a yoyo being thrown into loop after loop after loop. Through small talk she found out that he went camping with Teddy on the weekend, just the two of them, godfather and godson, no women; well, that was most of the weekend.
"Hey Harry, you okay?" the rookie Greengrass asked as they passed him in the hallway on their way to the lifts.
"Just fine, Barry," Harry replied, casting the other wizard some sort of a signal which she picked up to mean shut up but he didn't.
"That was a nasty Bludger you caught in the head yesterday. The Healer at St. Mungo's didn't think you'd be well enough to come in to work."
He must have felt her glower at him for he turned to her to reassure her, "It barely touched me."
She didn't believe him but that wasn't the point.
"You got hurt playing pick-up Quidditch and you didn't think of letting me know?!"
"I couldn't call you. I passed out...for a few minutes," he downplayed it in the end.
"Loss of consciousness becomes a lame excuse once you've regained it," she hissed her reply.
"A few minutes? No, Harry. You were out cold at least two hours," Barry corrected, "Jonesy felt so bad. Didn't think he hit it too hard and we all saw you looking at it we thought for sure you saw it coming."
"I was er…tracking the Snitch," Harry explained, "I guess the HWs won that one. We'll get them next time."
She rolled her eyes as the rookie and one other Quidditch obsessed Auror in audience whooped up what she guessed was a war chant.
As they got to the lifts she gave him her usual speech about the dangers of the sport.
"I don't know why you all insist on using real Bludgers. That's what paint ones were invented for."
"Paint Bludgers aren't the same," he dismissed. "They don't give you enough incentive to duck."
"You could all get hurt badly."
"That's why we have to duck."
She gave up. It was like talking to a brick wall that smiled pleasantly back at her.
"But seriously, are you okay?"
"Seriously, I am."
They were following weak leads on the Jollyweather robbery and were on their way to a Muggle Library, one Kooper Dodgey frequently borrowed books from. He let her drive. He was less chatty today and seemed content to keep his thoughts to himself. As she turned into the Library car park he asked her what she was doing tonight.
"I'm career counselling at the OFE."
The Organization of Free Elves was a relatively new non profit organization whose mandate was to help newly freed Elves integrate into the magical community.
"And tomorrow night?"
"Emergency Girl's night out," she answered, just getting the message an hour ago. As she saw his frustration she was now feeling guilty about her lack of availability, an almost complete turnaround for someone who needed excuses to stay away from him not a few minutes ago, "I'm back at the OFE Wednesday night but I'm free Thursday."
Why don't you just have his name tattooed on your chest or something?
Harry didn't think Thursday was soon enough.
"It's rather urgent."
"Is something the matter?" she was worried.
"No," he quickly answered, "I just need to talk. What time are you off tonight?"
"Nine, maybe nine-thirty."
"I'll pick you up at the OFE."
He wasn't asking. He needed to talk urgently. She couldn't say 'no' to that.
The man survived five years without you. You don't have to be available all the time.
Note to self...really must practice.
Time passed quickly. Before she knew it the work day was over and they had eliminated a handful of dead end leads. More and more the Jollyweather case seemed like it was going to be one of those that would eventually get pushed to the backburner. She didn't like the thought of her one case with Harry to end up unsolved.
After a stop at Grimmauld to freshen up, she went over to the OFE rented offices near Johanssen and Lake and joined the few other volunteers as involved as her in magical being welfare. Just as she warned higher Ministry officials years ago, the advent of increased rights exposed a huge gap in providing beings the tools to fully exercise and enjoy the freedoms they now had. There was a lot of dissillutionment and backlash from the rough integration and as the Ministry was taking too long to react, a few groups like the OFE scrambled to put up workshops like the ones tonight. After seeing just over twenty elves in two hours about career options she knew what they were doing wasn't nearly enough.
Harry saw a sample of the chaos the OFE was attempting to address when he picked her up. They were among the last ones to leave.
"I knew there was a problem but I didn't know it was this bad," he said, exemplifying average wizard awareness on the matter.
"The Ministry is slow to admit just how big an issue it is," she told him, not hiding her disappointment, "I feel bad because I was one of those who made it possible for them to have the choice. I feel responsible, like I contributed to the problem."
He nodded, knowing her well enough to realize that there was nothing he could say to make her feel less accountable.
"What can I do to help?"
"We need more volunteers here but we could use your influence on Kingsley and the Ministry to push through with additional legislation and funding."
Between the two of them it was better that he initiated talking with the Minister for she wasn't sure if she could be calm about what needed to get done and when. By the time strategy was decided upon they were outside the OFE and she didn't see his car.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
She wasn't.
"They served sandwiches during the break but I can sit with you while you eat."
"I'm not hungry either."
As the reason for their being out that night was upon them Harry seemed more nervous. The sooner he got this off his chest the better.
"I'll meet you at Finnigan's then?" she assumed, hoped, that was where they were going.
"I was hoping we could have this conversation somewhere else."
"Grimmauld?"
He shook his head.
"Where then?"
He frowned, "It's kind of part of the...um..thing."
Not only was he not telling her what and where he wasn't being articulate about it. Something was definitely up.
"Harry, you're freaking me out."
"I'm freaked out myself," he half smiled anxiously.
"I take it we're Disapparating."
"Yes," he held his hand out, an invitation.
Hermione took a deep breath in and out then searched his eyes for an inkling of what this urgent conversation was about and why they couldn't have it here right now. He wasn't giving anything away nut she did fee like he was telling her to trust him. Fighting off curiosity and worry she decided it best to let him do it his way and in his own time.
Without breaking eye contact, she put her hand into his and felt his firm, steady grip reassure her. She gave him a slight nod to signal her readiness, closed her lids when he did and soon enough she felt the squeezing sensation of Disapparition. Milliseconds later, they were where he wanted them to be.
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A/N. So, my Hermione is not always right. Hope that's okay. Any guesses where Harry has taken her?
I'll try not to mess up the next chapter :lol: