I don't own Harry Potter and therefore cannot persuade him to realize Hermione's the perfect girl for him except for in fan fiction.
Thanks to everyone at Portkey for all of the support and great reviews I've received! You guys are the best. Now on with Chapter 3...
Chapter 3: Strangers on a Train
"And now I know you're dissatisfied with your position and your place
Don't you understand it's not my problem."
-Bob Dylan, Positively 4th Street
"The deceased is Edmund Hubble, age thirty-eight. Caucasian male, approximately sixteen stone, 1.9 meters. Estimated time of death is 1900 hours on 25th November, 2017. At this time, cause of death has yet to be determined…"
"He's been murdered," Harry Potter's voice interrupted the crowner angrily, his breath forming a cold vapor in the pre-dawn chill of London in late autumn. The two men stood in the alley where Hubble's body had been discovered only hours before by curious Muggles and where it still lay lifelessly on the pavement. "That much should be obvious."
The crowner's cold, dispassionate voice soon continued as though Harry had not interrupted him, an official Ministry variation on the quick quotes quill taking down every word he said. "…our preliminary examination leads us to believe it was not natural."
"You could show a little respect, you know," Harry snapped at the wizarding medical examiner, a bald, gaunt little wisp of a man with no emotion visible on his face. "He was one of ours."
"The dead are the dead," the crowner answered him with a small shrug of his shoulders. "Who they once were is of no importance."
"Maybe not to you," Harry muttered under his breath, "but it is to me". As the crowner signaled that he was done here, Hubble's body was levitated into the back of a white van that would carry it to the morgue. Harry watched the scene unfold with sadness in his heart and a strong sense of guilt churning around his insides. If only he had stayed a little longer with Hubble last night…
"Friend of yours, Potter?" the pitiless and entirely unwelcome voice of Roger Gavindale called from behind him. There was no love lost between the new head of the division of Magical Law Enforcement and its most famous Auror.
Resisting the urge to hex him into next week purely through force of will, Harry replied, "More like an old acquaintance. We went through training together."
A thin smile crossed Gavindale's craggy face. "Let me guess. He had some sort of humourous nickname like 'Sparky' or 'Spanky' or something."
Harry did not smile back. "We called him 'Scope'."
"Ah, yes. I thought I remembered reading something about that in his file," Gavindale replied as he stroked his thin beard. "A reference to the Hubble Telescope, I assume."
"Actually, no," Harry said, this time with a smile, albeit a defiant one. "He had really terrible breath, so all of the other trainees chipped in and bought him a bottle of Scope mouthwash. When we gave it to him, he had no idea what it was and drank half of it before we stopped him and told him what it was really for. He spent the rest of the night at the healer's station, convinced he was going blind." Harry chuckled at the memory but Gavindale's face remained impassive. "I guess you had to be there. Anyway, he was 'Scope' from then on." The smile vanished from Harry's face as he thought of what had happened to Hubble. "Who in the world would want to kill him?"
"As much as I'm sure Mr. Hubble would have been touched that you're here to harass our crowners on his behalf, this isn't your case, Potter," Gavindale informed him coldly. "So unless you have something useful to add to the investigation…"
"I reckon I do," Harry interrupted him. "I know why he was here."
Gavindale's eyebrows shot up, making his high forehead and receding hairline all the more apparent. "The plot thickens. Tell me then, what brought our Mr. Hubble all the way out to Muggle London last night?"
"I did," Harry admitted sadly. "I invited him to come have a pint with me after work."
Roger Gavindale's friendly tone, as noticeably fake as it had been, vanished entirely. "Where?"
Harry heaved a sigh of defeat. "The Ku Bar."
His boss laughed mirthlessly. "The gay bar a few blocks down?" Harry nodded. "Are you sure you were only old acquaintances?"
"Hubble picked the location," Harry explained in frustration. "He didn't know it was a gay bar. He didn't even notice it until I pointed it out."
Gavindale snorted derisively. "Am I to believe you only met for a friendly chat at a Muggle bar in the middle of London?" When Harry said nothing in reply, he continued, "You were talking about the Manchester Thirteen case, weren't you?"
"There's nothing wrong with Aurors meeting after hours to discuss their cases," Harry snapped. "Or at least there wasn't until you took over."
Although Gavindale was a head shorter than Harry, he now drew himself up as if to serve as a reminder that he held the superior rank here. "I reassigned the Manchester Thirteen case in hopes of dispelling some of the wild rumours that had been going around about it. The exercise was pointless if the new Auror to whom I've assigned the case seeks out these rumours from an 'old acquaintance'." Harry seethed inwardly but said nothing. "Consider yourself removed from the case, Potter, and from this crime scene. Be happy I didn't suspend you, because I surely could have."
"If you don't mind, sir," Harry said with as little derision in his voice as possible, "I'd like to make a statement to the Auror investigating Hubble's murder."
"You already have," Gavindale told him casually. "I'll be taking the case myself." A look of surprise and befuddlement came over Harry's face. "The murder of an Auror is a gravely serious matter. I want everyone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to know just how seriously I take it. I'll do everything within my power to find Edmund Hubble's killer."
As Gavindale turned away from him dismissively, Harry called after him, "Do you really mean that?"
The MLE Chief did not turn around as he replied, "Don't test my patience, Potter. I always mean what I say."
"Then who are you giving Hubble's last assignment to?" Harry inquired curiously.
Now Roger Gavindale did turn his head in Harry's direction. "You mean guarding the new head of OSPRE on a European retreat?" Harry nodded sharply in the affirmative. "I only assigned an agent as a courtesy to Minister Maladie. Given the circumstances, I'm sure she would understand that I couldn't spare anyone."
A deep frown creased Harry's brow. "Have you considered that that could have been a motive for Hubble's murder? Maybe his killer was trying to make sure that the person he was assigned to protect had no protection."
Gavindale did not seem convinced. "I suppose it's a possibility." He gave Harry an appraising look. "You're volunteering for this duty, I assume."
"I am," Harry answered him frankly. "I owe Scope that much, I think."
Roger Gavindale thought the matter over for only a moment. "Very well, but this is not to be a vacation. I fully expect detailed reports from you throughout." Harry agreed to this and turned to leave. "Oh and Potter? Pack quickly. I believe the train you need to board leaves in less than two hours."
***
Hermione Granger had always loathed tardiness. Even when she was using a time turner to get to a good number of her classes in her third year at Hogwarts, she had prided herself on being as prompt as possible. Almost twenty years spent working for the Ministry of Magic had only heightened Hermione's intolerance for lateness. Her eyes darted angrily to her wristwatch. 'The Auror was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. He's holding up the train. What could possibly be keeping him?'
Hermione's sour mood was not being helped by the inescapable feeling she had that both her Auror guard and her little sabbatical to Switzerland itself were entirely unnecessary. 'Mr. Doyle should be working on Operation Immigrant and I should be back at OSPRE, making sure half a dozen other projects get off the ground. There's no real reason for me to leave the country right now.' If Hermione hadn't known how important the project was to Minister Maladie, she would have sworn this little paid vacation was the handiwork of Marietta Edgecombe.
Edgecombe had been Ursula Maladie's assistant since her days as Senior Undersecretary to Kingsley Shacklebolt. More importantly to Hermione, however, she had been a rival adviser to Maladie, almost always telling her to do the opposite of whatever it was Hermione recommended. Although the new Minister of Magic rarely took Edgecombe's advice to heart, there had been times when she had cost Hermione approval of a project she wanted or a piece of legislation she had dearly hoped would pass.
Much to Hermione's chagrin, Marietta Edgecombe had been named Ursula Maladie's Senior Undersecretary once the latter became Minister of Magic, a position Hermione had expected she might receive herself. This gave the former Ravenclaw and traitorous D.A. member considerably more power than before and Hermione had no doubt she would be willing to use it against the witch she likely still blamed for the scars on her face. 'It was over twenty years ago, for pity's sake,' Hermione thought to herself. 'She should just get over it.'
"I hope you're not thinking anything really brilliant." Startled, Hermione looked up to see Harry Potter sitting across from her with a wide smile on his face. "Seeing as I'm interrupting you and you're paid to think. I'd hate to be accused of wasting Ministry resources."
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, flinging her arms around him and giving him a tight hug. "What are you doing here?" Before Harry could answer, she continued, "Wait. Don't tell me you're…"
"The wizard who's supposed to be watching out for your safety on your Swiss vacation?" Harry finished for her. "I'm afraid so."
Hermione frowned. "I was told to look for someone named 'Hubble'. Edwin Hubble, I think it was."
"It took some doing, but I managed to land the assignment for myself," Harry told her without exactly lying. "A trip to the continent with an old friend sounded great compared to the cases I've been dealing with lately." In fact, Harry hadn't even known that it was Hermione he was supposed to protect until Ginny mentioned her promotion a few hours earlier while helping him frantically pack a suitcase, but there was no need for her to know that.
Hermione smiled appreciatively. "Well, I'm certainly glad I've got one of the Ministry's very best Aurors around to protect me."
Harry shook his head in befuddlement. "I can't believe the Minister of Magic thought you needed someone to protect you. You probably know more defensive spells than I do."
"Maybe Minister Maladie is being a little overcautious," Hermione conceded grudgingly, "but sometimes a little extra caution can be a good thing. I'm sure you've found that to be true in your line of work." As Harry nodded, Hermione inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. She was eager to avoid discussing politics with Harry, as she knew he had been a big supporter of Croesus Palmer, the wizard Ursula Maladie had replaced as Minister of Magic. "Besides, didn't you say that my mind was practically a Ministry resource?" she asked him teasingly as she tapped her forehead lightly with her index finger. "I'd say this is worth a little extra effort, wouldn't you?"
"Given how many times it got me out of a jam while we were at Hogwarts, I'll have to agree with you," Harry chimed in with a chuckle. "So, Miss New Director of OSPRE, why is the Ministry of Magic sending that world class brain of yours on holiday at a time like this?"
"Now is as good a time as any, I suppose," Hermione answered him somewhat cagily. "I haven't had time to start any important projects yet and my assistant, Mr. Doyle, is quite brilliant himself…"
Harry interrupted her with a puzzled frown. "But without Ron? Or Hugo?"
Caught off guard by his interrogatory questions and eager to keep the true purpose of her trip a secret, she replied testily, "I'm sure that with all the corruption investigations going on, Minister Maladie would prefer to keep our department's expenses to a minimum." Hermione winced inwardly as soon as the words were out of her mouth. 'Brilliant job avoiding a political discussion, Hermione,' she chided herself.
Harry remained silent for a moment, as if unsure of what to say next. Hermione could hear the train's wheels grind beneath her as it pulled out of the station and idly wondered when it would reach Switzerland. This could quickly turn into a very long train ride.
Harry must have decided against defending Croesus Palmer, because the next words out of his mouth were, "So how are Ron and Hugo?"
"Fine," Hermione answered swiftly, relieved to now be on to a safe topic of discussion. "They're both into as much mischief as ever, but I think Hugo misses Rose more than he lets on."
Harry smiled knowingly. "Lily's the same way. She spends half the summer furious with James and Al but then once they're gone she hardly knows what to do without them."
"It won't be long before all of our children will be gone away to Hogwarts," Hermione declared wistfully, "and not long after that, they'll graduate and start their own lives. That means getting married, having children of their own…"
"Which will make us grandparents," Harry threw in with a sigh. "I don't think I'm ready to be a grandfather. I'm not sure I can even remember any more Weasley names. I can barely keep all of Percy's kids straight as it is."
Hermione laughed at that. "I suppose I am getting a bit ahead of myself. Still, it doesn't seem so long ago that we were at Hogwarts ourselves."
"No it doesn't," Harry agreed with a smile. "Every time I get nostalgic for those days I remind myself that half the time I was either fighting Voldemort or trying to foil some plan of his." Once memories of Voldemort began to fill his mind, his expression became grim. "I think that's why I've never been able to accept McGonagall's offer to become Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Well, that and the fact that my kids would be mortified."
"I'm sure Headmistress McGonagall was disappointed when you declined," Hermione replied, "but Rose simply adores Professor Demaree. Defense Against the Dark Arts is her favorite subject." Harry was staring out the window now, watching the countryside around them vanish as the train rose into the air to carry them over the English Channel. His eyes seemed stormy and distant. It was a look Hermione was familiar with and she was unwilling to let her best friend dwell too much on unpleasant memories. "Have you seriously considered teaching as a profession?" Harry's head turned slowly away from the window and his own thoughts. "I think you'd be quite good at it."
"I've given it some thought," Harry said. "I must admit I've become rather disenchanted with Magical Law Enforcement."
"Is it really Magical Law Enforcement you're unhappy with?" Hermione asked, leaning forward slightly in her seat and lowering her voice. "Or is it Roger Gavindale?"
"They're one and the same now, aren't they?" Harry asked rhetorically, a hint of anger entering his voice as he did so. "Thanks to Ursula Maladie, he's head of the department."
"He won't be department head forever," Hermione assured him confidently. "I have quite a bit of sway with Minister Maladie. Maybe I could convince her that she should replace Gavindale…"
Harry shook his head 'no'. "Maladie won't fire Roger Gavindale. They've been thick as thieves for as long as I can remember."
Hermione bristled, clearly unhappy with where the conversation was going. "Well, at least they're not actually thieves, like some other leaders I could name!"
Harry now stared intently at her, as if truly seeing her for the very first time. "What are you saying, Hermione?" he asked her, his voice slow and even.
"You know exactly what I'm saying," Hermione retorted. "The wizards that you liked working under so much were crooks, Harry. They robbed the Ministry blind!"
Harry's eyes blazed angrily. "So that's it, then. They don't even get a trial. They're already guilty, according to you."
"Oh, of course they'll have their trial," Hermione threw back at him. "But they never would have been dismissed from their posts if the evidence against them hadn't been overwhelming."
"They stepped down, graciously, so that the investigation wouldn't be a distraction," Harry corrected her, his diction slow and deliberate. "And once they did, Ursula Maladie couldn't wait to put herself into the Minister of Magic's chair."
"That isn't fair and you know it!" Hermione exclaimed, inching ever closer to Harry as she spoke. "The Minister's job was hers for the taking when Horatio Harefoot went mad, but she knew the country needed a leader with a background in law enforcement during the Rebellion of Magical Creatures."
"Smartest decision she ever made," Harry muttered.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Do you really think so? Smarter than taking me under her wing when I wasn't even out of Hogwarts? Smarter than helping me advance in my career every step of the way, just as Croesus Palmer did for you?"
"Advance in your career?" Harry scoffed. "All Ursula Maladie has ever done is hold you back." When Hermione squawked with indignation, Harry continued, "Can you honestly say that you've accomplished half of the things that you wanted done when you went to work for the Ministry?"
"That isn't how things work in the realm of politics," Hermione explained through clenched teeth.
"Listen to yourself," Harry replied incredulously. "Would you have settled for an answer like that from someone in the government twenty years ago?"
"I'm not seventeen anymore, Harry," Hermione reminded him huffily. "My expectations have become more realistic. The world doesn't change overnight just because one person wants it to." Harry shot her a look that said she was only proving his point with every word she spoke. "What do you want me to do, Harry? Complain about how I can't accomplish everything I want because my 'terrible boss' keeps getting in the way? Pardon me if I don't see the point of that."
"You would if your boss was Roger Gavindale," Harry replied, his voice now very low. Hermione belatedly realized that he had taken what she said personally in a way that she hadn't intended. Had she been feeling perfectly calm and rational, she would have apologized immediately.
Unfortunately for them both, she was not feeling particularly calm and rational. "I know your personalities have always clashed, Harry, but I've never understood why you refuse to see Gavindale as anything other than your enemy. Look at all the good he's done."
"You mean solving all of my cases for me, killing or capturing dark wizards that I was supposed to track down and making sure that I never got the chance to complete an important assignment?" Harry asked her sarcastically. "No, I reckon I never have gotten around to thanking him for all of that."
"Roger Gavindale brought in every former Death Eater that went into hiding after the war. Doesn't he deserve some credit for that?" Hermione asked him pointedly.
"He's already gotten enough, I think," Harry assessed glumly as he shot Hermione a betrayed glare. "I can't believe you're taking up for him over me."
"This isn't about choosing sides, Harry," Hermione said, as though she were a teacher trying to explain a very simple lesson to an inattentive student. "It's about getting you to see things differently. Holding a grudge against your superior doesn't help anything. It certainly isn't going to get you that promotion you've been after."
"I didn't become an Auror to jump through political hoops and kiss the bums of witches and wizards I can't stand," Harry exclaimed angrily.
Hermione grimaced. "I'm afraid that if you want a career in government that's exactly the sort of thing you have to do from time to time."
"Then maybe I'll find another line of work," Harry declared defiantly. "I don't much care for being coddled like I'm fresh from Auror training."
A frown creased Hermione's brow. "Coddled? Is that really how you feel?"
"D'you know how I was able to take this assignment?" Harry asked her, now truly in high dudgeon. "Gavindale yanked me off of the Manchester Thirteen case. That's the third case I've been pulled from since he took over the department and that was just a few weeks ago. If Gavindale keeps taking important cases away from me, I'll end up doing nothing little jobs like this one for the rest of my career."
"So protecting me is a nothing little job?" Hermione asked him, her eyes blinking rapidly.
Harry shook his head 'no' as enthusiastically as he could. "Of course not! That's not what I meant at all…"
"What did you mean, then," Hermione asked him, a pained expression registering on her face as she looked at him expectantly.
"I…I meant…" Harry stammered helplessly. Failing to fill the awkward silence that followed, Harry watched as Hermione crossed her arms and deliberately averted her gaze from him.
Harry spent the next few minutes sinking into the routine of Auror surveillance, watching people on the train as they moved around, mentally marking emergency escape routes and hoping desperately that the time would find a way to pass more quickly. He suddenly wished that someone else were here as a buffer between Hermione and himself; someone like Ron or Ginny. 'Why did they have to send us off alone together?' Harry groused to himself.
It was then that Harry realized that he truly had no idea where they were going (aside from 'Switzerland', which is a fairly large place). "So…" Harry began awkwardly, "where exactly are we headed anyhow?"
Hermione did not look at him as she answered, "Grindelwald."
"Grindelwald?" Harry repeated quizzically. "The dark wizard who wanted the Deathly Hallows? The one who Dumbledore defeated and Voldemort killed all those years ago?"
Although her gaze remained fixed outside the window, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Obviously not. Grindelwald is a small ski resort town in Switzerland." Offhandedly, she thrust a brochure in Harry's direction. "We're staying at the Hotel Narcisse."
***
The Hotel Narcisse was an enormous monstrosity of a building. Its marble Doric columns stretched fifty meters upward, holding the remaining twenty-plus stories aloft with ease. A gigantic statue of a figure from Greek mythology, presumably Narcissus himself, seemed to preen in front of the entrance. A lengthy reflecting pool in front of the hotel mirrored the building exactly, making it appear even larger to the naked eye. It was almost enough to make the Alps surrounding them seem ordinary by comparison.
Had Harry been in a mood to continue his argument with Hermione, he could have pointed out that if the Ministry had truly wanted to be frugal, they might have picked someplace to send them that wasn't quite so obviously expensive. He was rather tired of getting the cold shoulder from Hermione, however, and so declined to bring it up. "Nice place, isn't it?" he tried casually, attempting to elicit any kind of response from her that wasn't simply hostile or dismissive.
"It's a bit grandiose for my taste, actually," Hermione answered him somewhat tersely. "Would you mind grabbing the rest of my luggage?"
Considering that he had already toted all of their baggage from the Zanzibar Transoceanic Express (their first train) to the Berner Oberland Bahn (their second) and then again to the taxicab that had carried them to the hotel, Harry wondered why she even bothered to ask. Suppressing the urge to simply levitate their luggage with his wand (since they were in front of Muggles at what was, after all, a Muggle resort), Harry dutifully carried everything into the lobby, placing the bags gently on the plush red carpeted floor as he arrived at the front desk.
"So our rooms will be adjacent then?" Hermione asked the blonde woman standing behind the counter.
"Yes, ma'am," she replied in a distinctively English accent. "The gentleman who arranged the accommodations was quite insistent on that point."
Harry suddenly found himself completely unable to stop staring at this woman. Although he was quite sure that he had never met her before, she seemed familiar somehow. There was something faintly alluring about her and for a moment he wondered whether she was part veela, as he had never been so immediately and completely captivated by anyone.
"May I help you, sir?" the woman asked with a puzzled frown. Her demeanor remained entirely professional as Harry stood there dumbstruck, unable to make his mouth move to answer her.
Hermione, meanwhile, was furious. "I suppose I'll have to show you where our rooms are, since it's obvious you weren't paying a bit of attention to what she said." She grabbed Harry by the arm and began pulling him along behind her (and none too gently either). "You can leer at strange women on your own time. Honestly, you're as bad as Ron." After she thought that over for a moment, she added, "Well no, not quite."
Harry finally regained his senses enough to ask, "What happened to our bags?"
Hermione sighed deeply. "The staff already took them to our rooms, which you would know if you hadn't been staring at the concierge like a lost little puppy."
"I…I'm sorry," Harry stammered. "I'm really not sure what came over me. That's never happened before."
"It's not me you have to apologize to," Hermione told him coolly, "at least not for that." When Harry continued to look sheepish, she added, "I'd really like to get settled in my room, Harry. I'll see you later."
"Fine," Harry responded in a resigned voice. "I'll see you later." There were any number of things he could busy himself doing right now. In fact, Harry suddenly felt the urge to bury himself in Auror work and forget all about his little tiff with Hermione and the unusually captivating woman at the front desk. He would simply have to find other things to occupy his mind.
***
This task proved far more difficult than Harry had anticipated, however. Even as he sent an owl to both Roger Gavindale and Ginny saying that he had arrived at his destination (although the letters were otherwise quite different in tone and substance), he remained on edge from his row with Hermione and still could not shake the strange feeling that had come over him upon seeing the blonde English woman. It was a bit of an eerie sensation, rather like running into a close relative you never even knew you had.
Once he had cast protective wards around Hermione's room (both of the standard variety and a few of the more creative ones he had come to use frequently over the years), he was finished with the basics when it came to protecting someone from an attack by a witch or wizard. Since they were staying in a Muggle establishment, however, he had to be prepared for non-magical threats as well. Among other things, this meant flashing around impressive (but fake) Muggle law enforcement credentials to the hotel staff and contacting local Muggle authorities.
As it happened, this also meant that Harry would have to speak with the woman behind the front desk who had rendered him speechless earlier. As he approached the counter, he decided to start the conversation off by making amends. "I suppose I owe you an apology for gawking at you the way I did."
"It's not the first time it's happened," the blonde woman replied with a shrug. She was about Hermione's height, had delicate, impish facial features and appeared to be a few years older than Harry. "A lot of men that come through here are looking for easy hook ups with the help. There's not much in the way of a social scene here."
"I think you've misunderstood me," Harry assured her as he pointed to a golden ring on his right hand. "I'm married."
"Wouldn't be the first time for that, either," she pointed out with a worldly smirk. "You don't have to apologize to me, though. It's water under the bridge."
Harry gave her face a careful examination once more, trying to place where and when he had seen her before. There was something so familiar about her… "Have we met before?" he asked, perhaps a little rudely.
The blonde looked thoughtful for a moment. "Did you attend boarding school in France?" Harry shook his head. "Ever backpack through Eastern Europe?" Again Harry said 'no'. "Have you been to an Amo Maro concert?"
"There's a big no," Harry answered her with a laugh. "No offense, it's just not my kind of music."
"None taken," the woman replied with a dismissive bob of her head. "Well then, unless you've been to this hotel before, which I'm fairly certain you haven't, you've never met me before. But you could meet me now, if you tell me your name."
"It's Harry," he said with a friendly grin as he extended his hand to her, "Harry Potter."
Her eyebrows rose as she shook his hand. "Well, now. There's a coincidence." When Harry frowned, she explained. "My name's Potter, too. Chloe Potter. D'you think we're related somehow?"
Harry shrugged. "Distantly, maybe."
A knowing smile crossed her lips. "Yes, maybe so." For a fleeting moment as their hands touched, Harry felt a strange sensation overtake him, something akin to queasiness coupled with the always eerie feeling of someone walking over your grave. Once again he was rendered speechless and left floundering in a state of complete awkwardness, this time without Hermione or anyone else to bail him out. Obviously hoping to ease the tension a bit, Chloe added, "Perhaps we should break out our family trees. See if we have a Great Aunt Irma in common or something."
"Wouldn't you know it? I've forgotten mine at home," Harry managed to joke half-heartedly.
Chloe smiled widely for the first time, highlighting her impish features and making her expression seem faintly mischievous. "A common mistake. I never leave home without mine. Of course, it's tattooed in a very delicate area…" Harry tilted his head to one side, trying to decide whether or not she was joking. "Yeah. Just showed up there one morning after a particularly wild Amo Maro concert at Stonehenge... Oh, but I'm just rambling now. Was there something else you wanted?" she asked, indicating the manila folder tucked underneath Harry's arm.
It took Harry a moment to remember the reason he had felt the need to approach this woman again so soon after making a fool out of himself in front of her. "Erm, yes." Fumbling in his trouser pockets for a moment, he finally managed to produce the fake I.D. he needed. He then attempted to coolly and casually hand it to Chloe. "I need to ask a favour."
"Interpol, eh?" Chloe asked rhetorically as she returned Harry's I.D. to him. "Of course. What do you need me to do?"
"My contact here in Switzerland may leave a message for me," Harry explained, "and if he does, I need to know immediately. He'll give you his name, here..."
Chloe read the name aloud as she took the otherwise blank business card from Harry's hand. "'Robert Orr'. Hm. Rather like Bobby Orr, the great Canadian hockey player."
"Yeah, he hates people asking him about that all the time," Harry lied, "'Oh, are you related to him?' and the like, so when we communicate I always address him as R. Orr. Oh, and if anything comes for me marked 'R. Orr,' would you please make sure I see it immediately?"
"Of course, sir," Chloe agreed automatically. "Would you like to use the lobby telephone in order to contact Mr. Orr?" Harry's eyebrows rose at the question. "I assure you, Mr. Potter, that you are not the first member of Interpol to stay at the Hotel Narcisse. Most law enforcement agents prefer to use the lobby phone rather than the one in their room or their cellular phone so that their precise location will be more difficult to trace…"
"Yes, thank you. That's very thoughtful." If Chloe found it rude that Harry interrupted her, it did not register on her face. Without another word, she removed an older model touchtone phone from the counter at her desk and placed it in front of him. Once he was reasonably certain that the mysteriously familiar concierge's attention was focused elsewhere, Harry picked up the receiver and dialed the number he had dialed a thousand times before.
Although there was still strict separation between any and all Muggle law enforcement organizations and wizarding Britain's MLE, for more than a century liaisons had been put in place to help smooth things out when witches and wizards ran into a snag while on a mission in the Muggle world. You can't always obliviate everyone, after all. For as long as Harry had been an Auror, his contact had remained the same: a cocksure, arrogant old wizard whose beard ran all the way down to his pointed shoes named Themistocles Hale. "Agent Orr, please," Harry said after hearing the click indicating someone had picked up on the other end.
"So I'm R. Orr again, eh?" Hale's thoroughly-not-amused voice queried. "Not terribly original, lad. One of these days some witch or wizard is going to overhear you and your cover's going to be blown." Hale thought about that for a moment and then added, "Then again, look who I'm talking to. If you're seen by anyone from the magical world, your cover's blown anyway. You know, you really should use a fake name and a disguise now and again…"
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry replied impatiently. "Now can we please go through the standard protocol?"
"Fine," Hale said with a bored sigh. "What do you have for me today?"
"It should be just a routine watchdog case," Harry told him in as soft a voice as he could manage without making his words inaudible, "although the circumstances behind it are a bit out-of-the-ordinary."
Harry then took a few moments to describe the infuriating, macabre and seemingly coincidental series of events that led to him landing the assignment of Hermione's Auror bodyguard in this Swiss retreat (although he deftly coded his language whenever his words might seem strange to an eavesdropping Muggle). "You're protecting Hermione?" Hale asked perplexedly. "Isn't that rather like a lion being sent to keep watch over a bear?"
"I reckon you could see it that way," Harry muttered with a rueful smile. "It hasn't exactly been going well so far. The lion and the bear had a bit of a political disagreement."
"Not very professional, lad," Themistocles Hale chided him mildly. "D'you mind if I ask you a personal question about your relationship with Hermione?"
Harry suppressed a groan. "If I minded, would that stop you from asking?"
The answer to that question was obviously 'no' as Hale continued, "You and Hermione are old friends from Hogwarts, right? She married your best mate and now you're like one gargantuan family and all of that rot, am I right?" He did not wait for Harry to answer as he went on, "How much time have you spent alone with Hermione since you were teenagers?"
Harry ran his hand through his perennially disheveled hair. "Look, if you're insinuating that there's anything improper going on between me and Hermione…"
"I'm not insinuating anything of the sort," Hale interrupted with a dry chuckle. "But if I'm right, and I always am, you only see her now when you're with family…at Christmas or on birthdays or at Platform 9 ¾ when you see the sprogs off to Sprogwarts. She's your sister-in-law, your best mate's wife and your wife's best girlfriend. Now what you need to find out is: after all of that, is Hermione still your best friend?"
Harry's tone became defensive. "Of course. I…" But as he thought about it, he finally began to question what he had taken for granted for nearly twenty years. Even as the bonds of family had tied Harry and Hermione together, the friendship that had existed between them in school, the deep mystical bond he had never dared to define that kept them together even when Ron repeatedly took himself out of the picture, had somehow gotten lost in the shuffle. "I…I suppose I never gave it much thought."
"Now would be a good time to give it some, don't you think?" the old man asked smugly. "Alone with her and away from everyone else on what amounts to a paid vacation in Switzerland…"
"I'm not on holiday," Harry exclaimed with a touch of anger that was mostly directed at himself, "and neither one of us should act as though I am. That's how I got into trouble in the first place." He exhaled softly and slumped back against the counter, as if in defeat. "The truth is I'm worried about her. Whoever murdered Hubble could already be here, just waiting for the right moment to strike."
"Did she say anything about why someone might want to harm her?" Hale inquired curiously.
Harry winced. "I, erm, didn't actually get around to asking her. We more or less skipped straight from the pleasantries to the arguing."
Harry could almost hear Themistocles Hale's disapproving frown. "Well then, I suppose my next question is obvious, lad: why are you talking to me when it seems you have so much more to talk about with Hermione? If I were you, I'd bring an appropriate peace offering, jewelry or flowers always seem to do nicely, and haul my so-famous-I-don't-have-to-change-my-name-in-the-Muggle-world bum to wherever she's staying to beg her forgiveness."
The next two words he spoke were the ones Harry most dreaded saying to Themistocles Hale. "You're right. That's exactly what I need to do." As the dread dissipated, a warm feeling of gratitude replaced it. "Thanks for the advice."
Slightly embarrassed, Hale became dismissive. "Yes, yes. Fine, lad, fine. I'll fill out all of the paperwork while you go make nice with your little friend."
"Ha…er, Orr? Would you mind doing one other thing?" Harry asked, his eyes cagily returning to the blonde concierge as she spoke with one of the Hotel Narcisse's other guests. "Run a name for me, see if it comes out clean. Chloe Potter."
***
Soft, echoing whispers flowed into the mind of Hermione Granger-Weasley like a gentle summer stream, filling it with many wondrous thoughts and ideas. Arithmantic symbols seemed to dance gracefully around in her head, as though there were beautiful music playing that Hermione could not hear. A sudden drowsiness had overtaken her, making her eyelids feel so very heavy and her extremities grow numb. Hermione's favourite quill remained in her hand, however, seemingly writing on the parchment below of its own volition.
A loud thump aroused her from her stupor. As Hermione's eyes shot open, the whispers stopped and the symbols vanished from her mind, taking the feeling of tranquility that had accompanied them as they went. Her mood, which had not been overly pleasant to begin with, took a decided turn for the worse. Grouchily, Hermione began to search for what had caused the disturbance…and only a moment later discovered rather sheepishly that it was the very thing that caused her to be here in the first place.
Hermione kneeled to the floor and scooped up the ancient artifact in her hands, gingerly placing it back on the writing desk where she had been attempting to solve the up-until-now unsolvable mystery of how exactly the item she was now staring down at was supposed to function. To the naked eye, it appeared to be nothing more than a heart-shaped brooch with gold trim and a long gilded chain. The reality, however, was far more impressive.
Or it would be, if anybody could ever get it to work. The best brains at OSPRE were most of the way there in figuring out how it was supposed to operate in theory, but… 'What use is a theory if you can't test it?' Hermione asked herself in frustration. 'There has to be a catalyst… a piece of the puzzle we're missing. If only I knew where it was found or by whom…' Yet all of that information was classified and Hermione still lacked the proper clearance to be apprised of it. 'I'll bet Marietta Edgecombe has the proper clearance,' she whined inwardly, puncturing the corner of the parchment with her quill (and idly imagining it was Edgecombe's face) as she did so.
"Am I interrupting something?" a man's voice from inside the room asked, startling Hermione and making her drop the quill from her hand. A quick scan of the room assured her there was no intruder present, allowing her pounding heart to beat normally again. The source of the voice was the charming fireplace that sat in the corner of her suite, which had apparently been connected to the Floo network, seeing as how the head of her assistant, Todrik Doyle, was now sticking out of it. "Goodness! I didn't frighten you, did I, Madame Director Granger-Weasley?"
"No, of course not," Hermione covered feebly. "I was… surprised for a moment that you were able to establish the Floo connection so quickly." She had been expecting Doyle to contact her and seeing as though they couldn't use owls in a Muggle establishment, the Floo did seem the most obvious choice.
"The Hotel Narcisse has always been a very magic-friendly establishment," Doyle assured her. Then, looking almost as though he had said too much, he continued, "I must apologize again for giving you an incomplete copy of my notes. It was a thoroughly foreseeable and avoidable error…"
"Think nothing of it, really," Hermione replied offhandedly as she leaned over the writing desk to rummage through Doyle's notes on Operation Immigrant, searching for where the missing page went and, incidentally, giving Doyle a rather nice view of her behind. "It could happen to anyone."
The young, brown-haired wizard smiled coyly, nodding his head in the direction of the desk. "You've been hard at work, I see."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked with a frown. "Oh, this?" she asked rhetorically, holding up the parchment she had been writing on only a few moments earlier. "Just some random scribbling that popped into my head. I haven't even had time to look it over just yet…"
"May I?" Doyle inquired politely. Anxious to find what page was missing and get this over with, Hermione handed her brilliant assistant the scrap of paper. His brow furrowed in befuddlement as he read it. "But…this is it. This is the information that was missing from the notes I gave you."
"What?!" Hermione turned around to stare at Doyle in disbelief. "Are you having me on?"
"I was just about to ask you the same question, with all due respect, of course," Todrik Doyle added meekly. "It took me weeks to complete these equations. Did you really finish all of this in only a few hours?"
"I…I suppose I did," Hermione answered him, flabbergasted. "Although I'm still not sure how I could have possibly managed it…"
"You're being too modest again," Doyle assured her with a proud grin. "It's becoming something of a bad habit with you. And all this time I thought you didn't have any."
"You obviously haven't seen me first thing in the morning," Hermione replied with a wry grin, realizing a moment too late how embarrassing this was, given that she had found out from her best friends only yesterday that Mr. Doyle fancied her. She tried to stop herself from blushing, but failed rather miserably.
Todrik Doyle's expression turned faintly rueful, but he managed a polite smile. "Yes. Obviously." Doyle then made a show of clearing his throat, as though to subtly announce that he was about to change the subject. "Has your stay at the Hotel Narcisse been pleasant thus far?"
Hermione struggled for a way to say anything other than 'no'. "It seems nice. I must admit I haven't much time yet to explore it…"
The young Irish wizard was far too perceptive to be fooled by this. "Something's upset you, hasn't it? Is it your Auror guard?" When Hermione didn't respond right away, he continued, "I can send an owl to Roger Gavindale and have a new agent there within the hour…"
"Please don't," Hermione begged him, her eyes closing involuntarily. With a sigh, she admitted, "It's Harry. We…we had something of a disagreement."
"Harry?" Todrik Doyle asked as one of his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Harry Potter?" When Hermione shook her head 'yes', Doyle laughed mirthlessly. "Pity. I was hoping Gavindale would take the matter of your security more seriously."
Hermione spun angrily to glare at her assistant. "Harry's a fine Auror! One of the very best!"
Doyle flinched and held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I would never dream of saying otherwise. But everyone inside the Ministry knows Gavindale doesn't entrust Potter with assignments he considers to be important."
Hermione sat down and put her head in her hands. 'Everyone in the Ministry knows. Harry must feel so humiliated…' "So everything he said was true," she said softly, not really intending for Mr. Doyle to hear.
"I…I certainly didn't mean to give offense," Doyle stammered awkwardly. "I was only trying, in my own wholly inadequate way, to…to make sure…"
Hermione smiled thinly as she turned slightly to face Todrik Doyle's head, which was now framed in green flame. "It's alright, Mr. Doyle. You've more than done your duty with regard to ensuring my safety and I'm sure I'll have a lovely time at the Hotel Narcisse but right now I think I could use some rest."
Todrik Doyle recognized a face-saving opportunity when he saw it. "Of course, Madame Director Granger-Weasley. Have a pleasant evening. I look forward to seeing you again upon your return."
Hermione said nothing else as Doyle's head vanished from her fireplace. Distractedly, she began to rearrange the pieces of parchment she had been frantically searching through only moments earlier. As she did so, something small fluttered slowly down to the floor, something that had apparently become wedged between the folds of paper. Once Hermione reached down to pick it up, she recognized it as a photograph that had been taken of Ron, Harry and she while they were still at Hogwarts. The image of the three of them laughing and smiling, Ron playfully elbowing Harry in the ribs as Hermione rolled her eyes and tried her best to hide her fondness for both boys, brought a much-needed smile to Hermione Granger-Weasley's face. Had things changed so much since then that Harry and she could now be at each other's throats over who's in charge at the Ministry?
A knock at the door interrupted her inner musings. Hermione rushed to answer it, almost instinctively knowing who would be standing behind it. It was Harry, holding a bouquet of white roses and looking as utterly miserable as she had ever seen him. "I'm really sorry, Hermione," he began, but was instantly cut off by Hermione enveloping him in a bone crushing hug.
"You haven't a thing in the world to be sorry about," Hermione assured him in a rushed voice. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. The way I treated you…"
"D'you think we could both agree to just forget the last few hours and start over?" Harry managed despite Hermione's arms squeezing him so hard he could barely breathe.
Hermione released Harry from her grasp and gave him a beaming smile. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea." She then looked down at the white roses he had been holding and gave a small gasp. "Oh dear! The flowers…" Their petals were crushed and wilting and some of the stems had broken in two.
Harry gave the mangled roses an appraising look. "I think they might still be fixable. May I come in?"
"Of course," Hermione agreed, the smile returning to her face as she re-entered her suite with Harry following close behind.
"Rosa rennervate," Harry said, tapping the bundled white roses with his wand as he did so. Within moments, the flowers looked much healthier, although they were no longer quite as beautiful and vibrant as they once had been.
"I'm impressed," Hermione told him with a playful smile. "Are you often called upon to resurrect plant life while on assignment?"
Harry smiled back at her and Hermione was reminded briefly of how much she enjoyed his boyish charm. "While on assignment, no. In my garden, yes."
"How strange," Hermione said with a curious frown as she conjured a small glass vase with water in it and placed the white roses in it. She then put the vase down on her writing desk in such a way that it would obscure the red brooch sitting there. "I've been to your new house at least a half dozen times and I've never seen any garden."
"It's quite a ways away from the main house," Harry explained, his expression somewhat chagrined. "I'm afraid Ginny doesn't much care for it, so she probably skipped showing it to you altogether when she gave you the grand tour. You know, it's funny, after all the hours I spent slaving away in the Dursleys' garden, I would never have dreamed that I'd ever want to have one of my own. But there is something rewarding about watching a seed you put in the ground sprout up and become a life, fragile yet thriving, and then nurturing it until it becomes a thing of indescribable beauty." Harry gave the white roses sitting in the vase a second look, his eyes widening in surprise. "Look at them now! You can hardly even tell they were damaged. I've been using that spell on my own roses for years and I've never seen anything like it."
Hermione's eyes registered surprise for a moment at the roses' now pristine appearance but as Harry drew closer to her writing desk she seemed eager to change the subject. "Yes, it is quite something, isn't it? You know, Harry, we haven't had anything to eat since this morning and I've heard there's a wonderful French restaurant downstairs. Why don't we go give it a try? It would be my treat."
Not quite taking his eyes from the flowers, Harry nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea." Once they left the room, Hermione allowed herself to relax a little. Now that she and Harry were no longer angry with each other, perhaps this could be something of a holiday after all.
Moments later, however, Hermione was beginning to doubt this proposition. While they were seated quickly at the restaurant, they had been roundly ignored by all the waiters and waitresses for nearly half an hour, despite several frantic attempts by Harry to get their attention. Finally, he had had enough. "This is ridiculous. I'm going to have a word with the maitre'd."
Only a minute or so after Harry had left, another man took his place at their table. Just as Hermione was about to reprove him for this, she noticed that he had a gun in his hand. She also noticed rather quickly that it was pointed in her direction.
Chapter 4 in three weeks. Thanks again for reading!
InsaneTrollLogic