Home Sweet Home
Harry opened the door to the cupboard above the sink and frowned in frustration as his eyes flitted across what lay within.
Where the hell does she keep everything?
He tried opening a few more doors until he found what he was looking for. He removed the black pepper pot from the shelf and moved to the stove where he added a generous amount of the spice to the pan that simmered away on the hob. He was quite content for the moment; he'd been willing to try just about anything in order to take his mind off of the sheer emptiness of Hermione's flat.
For some reason, he'd expected her to be home when he finally returned from the Hog's Head. That she would still be working hard at Gringotts should have come as no surprise to him; after all, he had seen how tenacious she could be once she had gotten her teeth into a problem. But he had been surprised to come back to an empty flat; surprised and discomfited. It had been quarter to eight when he'd finally got home and he'd fully expected Hermione to have returned too. It had not occurred to him that he might be left alone with some very uncomfortable thoughts.
He'd been sitting on the sofa in trying to accustom himself to the fact that he was now living here - that this was his home, however temporary. He'd felt slightly awkward as he'd taken in the surroundings for the little personal details of the place had constantly served to remind him that he was something of an interloper in this house. To a casual observer, the room appeared welcoming. The furnishings were soft and comfortable and there were - of course - a huge number of books neatly ordered on the various bookcases that were seemingly randomly placed around the flat. But what had made him feel uncomfortable was the little tell-tale signs that Ron had once lived here. The photographs; the small collection of Quidditch books and - not least - the armchair by the fire all served as reminders of his friend and had given him the distinct feeling that he was some kind of usurper in another man's domain.
His gaze had fallen repeatedly on the armchair; the chair that did not match the rest of the furniture in the room. Ron had spotted it in an old Muggle second hand shop and had almost immediately fallen in love with its old world comfort and look. It was high backed and made of battered red leather and still seemed to maintain a certain…Ronness about it. He hadn't been able to bring himself to sit in it once he had cast his mind back to all those times that Ron had sat there. The seat where Ron had laughed and joked; had chatted and argued; not to mention the occasions when his friend had read the newspaper or merely dozed within its warm comfort in front of a roaring fire. To sit in that seat would have been like making a declaration; would be confirming that he had finally supplanted Ron - had stolen his life
So in order to alleviate this awkwardness, he'd decided to make dinner in the hope that Hermione would return by the time he was finished. Unfortunately, he soon discovered that he had no idea where Hermione kept everything in her kitchen. There seemed to be no rationale behind her placement of implements and ingredients and more than once he found himself cursing as he rummaged in drawers and peered into cupboards. It did occur to him in his more candid moments that perhaps it was him that was at fault; that Hermione did have a perfectly sensible system and that it was he who was the disorganised one.
I won't ever admit that to her though.
He glanced up as Crookshanks suddenly shook himself out of his slumber in front of the oven and padded softly out of the kitchen towards the front door. He stuck his head round the door and followed the cat's progress in bemusement before looking up as he heard the door open. He watched Hermione enter and hang up her coat on the peg before kicking her shoes off and stooping down to accept the welcome of her faithful pet.
He noticed Hermione look up and become aware of his scrutiny. She flashed him a smile and whilst it was not in the same category as the smile she had bestowed on him in Gringotts, it was nonetheless a smile that contained more than just a hint of promise.
'Something smells good,' she said, a hint of curiosity in her eyes.
He smiled. 'You mean apart from me?' He turned and gestured towards the kitchen. 'I thought I would make myself useful and cook us some dinner. You didn't have much in so I just cobbled something together. It'll be ready in about five minutes.'
She looked surprised. 'You've made dinner? I didn't know you cooked.' She hesitated for a moment. 'Ginny never told me you could cook.'
'I never said I could cook. I just said that I had made us some dinner,' he replied with a smile. 'Besides; a man is entitled to some secrets. There are a few things you don't know about me.'
She stared at him for a few seconds and Harry suddenly wished he hadn't said that for it sounded too much like a challenge. He watched as she gave a small smile and started heading towards her room.
'I'm just going to get changed,' she began and there was a hint of mischief in her tone. 'And don't kid yourself, Harry,' she added as she passed, 'I know more about you than you could possible imagine.' She flashed him a smile over her shoulder.
Harry felt his face redden as he watched her disappear into her room.
She's got my number, damn it! She knows just about everything about me!
He felt a touch annoyed about this for a moment before he finally broke into a smile.
She's right; I always had difficulty keeping anything from her.
Shaking his head ruefully, he made his way back into the kitchen wondering if there was any way that he could maintain some air of personal mystery with Hermione Granger.
Not in this life.
***********
Just over five minutes later Hermione sat down at the dining table and allowed herself to be waited on by Harry. She had to admit to being pleasantly surprised by the evident effort he had put into preparing dinner and she watched as he carefully poured two glasses of wine before sitting down himself. She eyed the dish in front of her and had to admit to herself that it looked and smelled good.
'What is it?' she asked.
'It's nothing special; pork cooked in olive oil, garlic and rosemary with some creamy pasta. It's really easy to do but to really flavour it you need to add some black pepper.'
'It looks great; where did you get the recipe for this?'
'You won't believe me if I tell you.'
'Well, you have to tell me now; you can't say something like that and expect me to let it go,' she replied.
He smiled, his amusement obvious. 'I read about it in a book; a history book as it happens.'
She raised an eyebrow. 'A history book? Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter?' she teased.
Harry had the good grace to look sheepish. 'I came across it a few years ago when you were on one of your book buying sprees. Remember that time when the four of us visited Covent Garden market? You spent ages at that second hand bookstall and Ron and Ginny got bored and buggered off to the pub, remember? Anyway, while I was waiting for you I picked up this old book on the Romans and it mentioned this recipe. Apparently it's one of the oldest recipes ever recorded. I like cooking, so I made a note of it. It's simple and easy. Just like me.'
She smiled at his jest and cast her mind back to the day in question. She had taken an age to browse through the stall and only now did it occur to her that Harry had patiently remained with her whilst she indulged herself. He wasn't a fan of bookstores and yet he hadn't joined Ron and Ginny in the pub. Why? Probably for the same reason I used to watch him play Quidditch.
'I wouldn't say you were that easy, Harry,' she finally replied, smiling.
'So you agree that I am simple then?' he retorted.
She laughed at his self effacement. 'So, you enjoy cooking then?'
He nodded. 'Yeah. Just as well too; I had plenty of practice at the Dursley's.' He picked up his wine glass. 'Cheers!'
She responded in kind, clinking glasses before taking a sip. Then she turned her attention to her plate, attacking it with gusto. It really was very good and she found that she was ravenous. It occurred to her how pleasant it was to be just sitting enjoying a meal with her friend and she realised that she could not remember the last time she had shared a table with anyone other than the Weasleys. She also found herself able to relax; she'd been worried that their little…moment in Gringotts would make things awkward between them but she was glad to see that Harry was acting as if nothing had happened. It was there nonetheless; what had transpired was unacknowledged but it was still there, like a presence in the room. She decided to follow Harry's lead and pretend that everything was normal.
For the moment anyway.
'So, how did you get on?' asked Harry. 'Find anything?'
She shook her head. 'Nothing yet. There's loads to go through; it could take some time to cover everything.'
'Well, I'll be able to give you a bit of a hand tomorrow. We won't be able to get near Willie until the evening,' replied Harry.
She looked at him, intrigued. 'How did that go today? What did you see?'
Harry took a moment to consider the question before replying. When he finally replied he spoke for a few minutes as he related the events of his afternoon.
He told her how he had stood in an isolated corner of the Hog's Head and watched the going's on with interest. How he'd slipped in under his cloak when another patron had opened the door and had then made his way over to the corner in order to avoid any collisions. He'd stood like a statue for over half an hour with nothing to alleviate the boredom except the comings and goings in the bar.
The Hog's head had hardly changed in the five years since he had last set foot in the place. It had been filthy, the layers of dirty evident on the floors and the windows blackened to such an extent that it had been impossible to see through them. He'd been going demented with frustration when his attention had been distracted by the arrival of Willie Widdershins - with his entourage.
Dung had been correct; the "escort" with Willie had proclaimed his status to all. Three of the dodgiest looking wizards he'd ever clapped eyes on surrounded Willie as he sat and had personally vetted anyone who attempted to approach their principal. More than one person had been unceremoniously told to clear off and it had struck him just how subservient people were to these men. He'd also noticed that Willie did not look too comfortable; rather he looked like a man who would rather be anywhere but in the situation he currently found himself in.
Not a lot happened as he watched; Willie had a few drinks, he'd eaten a hasty meal and spoken with one or two favoured wizards who had received the approval from his henchmen. Willie had never been left alone; he'd always been escorted and it had been with a feeling of desperation that he'd realised the difficulty involved in arranging to get the little crook on his own. He could not be seen talking to him for if he was then the Deatheaters would be sure to hear of the encounter and would soon be on the move again.
'So what are you going to do then?' asked Hermione once Harry had finished recounting his tale. 'How are you going to speak to him alone?'
Harry smiled at the question. 'I was beginning to wonder myself but then the solution presented itself.'
'It did?'
'Yeah; Willie had to go to the bathroom. One of his goons escorted him there and checked that it was empty but then left him to his own devices. I suppose Willie is a grown man; he doesn't need it held for him when going for a pee.'
Hermione smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. 'So you're going to hang around the Gents loo waiting for him to show up?' She laughed. 'You'd better watch your step, Harry; people might get the wrong idea if you are discovered.'
He laughed at her jest and found himself feeling more relaxed than at any other time he could remember. It was…pleasant to be sitting here with Hermione enjoying a meal as if they were two ordinary people with ordinary lives. It occurred to him that he hadn't enjoyed an intimate dinner with anyone since he'd been living with Ginny. This memory started him somewhat.
'Oh! I should tell you that I saw Ginny today.'
Hermione looked up from her plate. 'You did?' she asked after swallowing some pasta.
He nodded. 'I went to the flat to pick up my gear and she walked in on me. I told her I was moving in with you,' he added flatly.
'Oh. How did she take it?' asked Hermione and Harry could detect a hint of relief in her voice.
'About as well as can be expected. It surprised her, I think. She wasn't too happy at first but I think she accepts that it makes sense.'
Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise. 'Really?'
Harry looked sheepish. 'Yeah, well…we had words of course but I think she came round to my point of view.'
Hermione looked sceptical. If she was honest with herself she had to admit that she was relieved that it had been Harry who had informed Ginny of their new arrangement. She had not been looking forward to telling her friend that Harry was moving in with her. Whilst she loved Ginny dearly she was aware that the redhead did have a bit of a temper on her and could be very defensive when it came to Harry. She cast her mind back to her sixth year when she and Ginny had argued for the first time. Ostensibly, the argument had been about her voicing her opinion on Harry playing Quidditch, but she knew that hadn't been the real issue. Ginny had been marking her territory; had viewed her as a potential rival in the chase for Harry's affections and had brusquely dealt with any threat.
But that was over six years ago. She's a grown woman now; not some lovesick teenager.
'What…words did you have?' she finally asked, suspecting what the answer would be.
Harry eyed her flatly for a moment and his face seemed to say; none of your bloody business. But then he relented and leaned back in his chair. 'She asked me if there was anything going on between the two of us.' He looked her directly in the eye as he said this and she felt herself flushing.
'She would,' Hermione replied, without rancour. 'What did you tell her?'
'I told her the truth; that we'd never had an affair. That we'd never betrayed her or Ron.' He sounded uncomfortable as he said this.
Very clever, Harry. You never actually answered her question, did you?
Anyway,' he added, in an obvious attempt to change the subject. 'What do you fancy doing this evening?'
Hermione smiled, grateful for his not too subtle attempt to steer the conversation onto safer ground. 'I don't know about you, but I'm going in for a bath. You can do what you want.' She slid her chair back and stood, putting her arms above her head as she arched her back in a long, cat-like stretch, trying to loosen muscles that had stiffened from sitting behind a desk all afternoon. Harry tried not to be too obvious as he eyed her figure; taking in the curve of her hips; the shape of her firm breasts as they were thrust out and upwards. For a brief moment an image of a lithe and graceful Hermione performing a similar stretch before climbing into the bath flashed before his eyes and he felt a sudden rush of heat through his body. He glanced quickly away before Hermione turned her attention back to him.
'Thanks for dinner,' she said. 'If I can expect this every night then you can stay as long as you want,' she added with a smile. She topped up her wine glass and picked it up before heading towards the bathroom. On the way she lifted a book from one of the shelves.
'I'll try not to be too long; just make yourself comfortable,' she added.
Harry didn't reply; instead he began to clear the table and tried his best not to let the image of a naked Hermione block everything else out of his mind.
For once, his best just wasn't nearly good enough.
*************
Harry felt like he was at a loose end and was despairing of what to do with himself when he heard a soft tapping at the window. Glancing up, he spotted a rather splendid looking eagle owl sitting on the window ledge with a piece of parchment tied to its leg. Intrigued, he made his way to the window and opened it before he quickly removed the message. The owl seemed impatient to be off for as soon as he had removed the missive, it immediately soared into the air and disappeared into the late evening sunset.
He saw that the letter was addressed to him and wasted no time in unrolling the scroll and beginning to read. He was surprised; he'd initially thought that the eagle owl belonged to the Malfoys but it turned out that the correspondence was from Cho's father. It was the guest list that he'd promised - something that Harry had completely forgotten about.
He scanned it quickly noticing that Chang had been correct in his estimate when he'd given the number of guests at around thirty. He counted thirty three and he was gratified to see that each name had been prefixed with either a letter (M) or a (W) which Harry took to mean Muggle or Wizard. He also noticed that the majority of guests had been Muggles. He quickly checked those names marked with a (W) and realised that he knew - or at least had met - almost every one of them. Of the Magical guests that he had not met, he still recognised a few of the grander names in Wizarding society.
Five names leapt from the page, however. Cornelius Fudge; Cuthbert Mockridge; Judge Matthias Swing; Gawain Robards and John Dawlish.
Alarm bells flashed in his head as he contemplated the presence of this motley crew at Chang's party. Fudge and Mockridge he could just about understand - if Chang's support for the equal rights bill was sought then it made sense for them to be lobbying him. But Robards? Swing? Dawlish?
Dawlish? What the fuck was John Dawlish doing at a gathering like that?
He scanned the room quickly until his eyes rested on what he was looking for. Approaching one of the bookshelves, he grabbed some parchment, quill and ink before sitting back down at the dining table. Then he began to take some notes.
First he wrote down the name Cho Chang and circled it. Next to it he wrote Draco Malfoy and circled that too. He paused for a moment to consider things before drawing a third circle and writing Ron's name in it. This circle he linked to Cho's with a line.
Around these three names he wrote down the name of everyone he thought might have a connection - however tenuous - to the case. John Dawlish; Gawain Robards; Judge Swing; Cornelius Fudge; Lucius Malfoy; Cuthbert Mockridge; Cho's father, Willie Widdershins and the four escaped Deatheaters all got their own little circle on the page. Once he had done this he sat back in his chair and considered what he had written. After a few seconds he jotted down Rita Skeeter and drew a dotted line between her name and that of Dawlish and Robards. He knew that there was a leak in the Auror office and whilst it might not be connected to the case, it might be a path worth pursuing. As an afterthought, he wrote down the name Blaise Zabini and circled that too.
There must be a connection somewhere. At least one of these names is linked to Cho, Ron and probably Draco too. If I can get that link then I will know who is behind all this.
He sighed. It was like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle but without having any of the edges or corner pieces to get him started. Or the bloody picture on the box to show me what I'm looking for, he thought in grim amusement.
He tried a different approach; motive. At the bottom of the page he began to list all the possible reasons for what had occurred. He smiled as he wrote "financial" remembering Dung's reasoning that all one had to do was follow the money. He knew from Lucius that the Deatheaters were well financed so where was the money coming from? It was possible that the answer to this little teaser would be found in the ledgers at Gringotts and he knew that this route had to be followed vigorously.
Under "financial" he wrote the word "revenge". He tapped his quill thoughtfully on the parchment as he considered this. Who would be seeking revenge on whom? He knew that just about everyone hated the Malfoy name for one reason or another. Supporters of the dark viewed them as traitors and many of those who had fought Voldemort thought that they had deserved some form of punishment for past sins. He shook his head, knowing that this was an almost impossible line of enquiry. To put it simply; too many people had it in for the Malfoys.
So that left political motives, he reasoned. With so many leading members of Wizarding society entangled in this case it was not beyond the realm of possibility that there were political reasons for what had occurred. He frowned; he didn't like "political"; events tended to get very complicated when it involved politics. And the only major political issue at the moment is over equality for non-humans, isn't it? For the life of him, he couldn't see where this could possibly fit in.
I'm missing something. The answer is there somewhere. There is something I've overlooked; an angle I've not considered, maybe?
'I'll say one thing for you, Harry; when you concentrate on something you really concentrate.'
Harry started in surprise and looked over to the door where Hermione stood in a pair of short pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. He was immediately struck at just how good she looked in such simple attire.
'I've been standing here for nearly five minutes,' continued Hermione, 'and you had no idea that I was here. What are you working on?' she asked with a smile.
'This,' he replied as he held out the parchment towards her. She crossed the room and took it and the guest list from him before retiring to the sofa. He watched as she began to read his notes, her eyes lost in thought. He noticed that she bit her lip as she considered his ideas; that she twirled her hair with her index finger and he was transfixed by her image.
'Interesting,' said Hermione, finally. Harry waited for her to elaborate but an explanation was not immediately forthcoming.
'What is?' he finally asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
She looked up and seemed to consider him as if she had forgotten he was there. 'It just seems a strange coincidence that a lot of the people we have had to speak to were at the party that night. I can understand why Fudge and Mockridge were there - although they never mentioned it to me.'
'Should they have?'
She shrugged. 'I suppose not. We have all had to attend a lot of functions so we can lobby some of the people we need to talk round. I've been to a few myself but I tend to avoid the grander ones.'
'Why?'
She flushed. 'Because I'm a Muggleborn,' she replied simply. 'A lot of the people we are trying to convince still have…views on that sort of thing.'
'Bastards,' whispered Harry. Even after everything she had done to defeat Voldemort, people still looked down on her because of her birth. He couldn't begin to understand what she had to go through and though she often made light of it, he knew that it was something that hurt her. He felt a surge of anger at these bigoted people.
Hermione seemed to sense his change of mood. 'Don't worry about it, Harry - I'm sort of used to it. Anyway; I don't particularly like these gatherings so it's no loss. Fudge and Mockridge attend a lot of them on my behalf. What I don't understand is why Robards, Swing and Dawlish were there. You remember that Chang got irritated when you asked him about Robards?'
'Yeah, I remember. I wonder if they had a little disagreement.' He shrugged. 'As to why they were there? Well; it was a grand party and they are all influential people - apart from Dawlish that is. His name sticks out like a sore thumb.'
She nodded her agreement. 'I don't think this tells us very much, Harry. If you want, I can try and find out what was discussed that night. I could speak to Fudge and Mockridge.'
Harry shook his head. 'No; you keep looking at the ledgers; I think I should have a word with one or two people. I want to speak to Kingsley tomorrow too so I will be at the Ministry. I might pay some of these guys a little visit whilst I am there.'
'What do you need to see Kingsley for?' she asked.
'I want to update him on our progress - or lack of it,' he added with a rueful smile. 'I also want to tip him off about Willie Widdershins. If Willie does know where the Deatheaters are then we will have to bring in the Ministry. It's too much of a risk to try to take them on ourselves, but I can't trust everyone in my old office. I can trust Kingsley though; he'll know what to do.'
Hermione nodded, accepting the logic of his intentions. She noticed that he seemed restless; that something was bothering him.
'What's wrong?' she asked.
He sighed in frustration. 'I just get the feeling that I'm missing something; that the answer is there somewhere but for the life of me I can't see it. Everyone seems to have perfectly reasonable explanations for everything in this case but I know someone is lying. Someone has to be,' he added quietly, 'because if they're not then we are barking up the wrong tree. I just wish I could work out a motive.'
'Well, you have written down a few possibilities here. Money revenge and power. That pretty much covers everything, doesn't it?'
'Power?' asked Harry. 'I never wrote power.'
'You wrote "politics", Harry. It's the same thing.'
She could see him consider this point of view. 'I suppose so. Arthur said something along those lines to me yesterday.'
'He did?'
'Yeah; he said that his antenna was twitching. That someone was up to something and that Kingsley should watch his back. I don't see where it fits into this case though. Where is the political motive for murdering Cho Chang? Of what possible use could her murder serve to someone angling for power?' He was almost shouting as he said this and he realised that he had raised his voice. He smiled sheepishly at her. 'Sorry.'
Hermione smiled in return but could understand his frustration; indeed, she felt it herself. She enjoyed puzzles; enjoyed setting her mind to problem solving. But this was far more serious than intellectual stimulation. This was murder and conspiracy.
'Perhaps it might be best just to sleep on it? Sometimes I find a solution can present itself after not thinking about something for a while. You maybe just need to take a new angle on the information.'
Harry rubbed his face with both hands, knowing that she was right. He was dog tired and a good night's rest was probably the sensible thing to do. It was now after nine and whilst that could not be considered as late he knew that they would have an early start in the morning. There wasn't much else they could achieve tonight anyway.
'Probably not a bad idea; this is getting us nowhere.' He stood from his place at the dining table and approached the sofa and Hermione noticed his eyes soften. 'Thanks for asking me to stay; it feels…nicer to be with you than with the Malfoys. I really appreciate it.'
Hermione stood too, surprised by his words. Harry was not usually one for voicing his feelings. 'You're more than welcome. I'm just glad you agreed to come.' They stood for a few moments facing each other, both unsure as what to say or do next. Finally Harry broke the awkward silence.
'Well, goodnight then,' he said, leaning in and giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. 'See you in the morning,' he added as he made his way to his room. Hermione watched him go; watched in silence until he had quietly closed his bedroom door behind him.
'Goodnight, Harry,' she whispered once he had gone.
She couldn't quite put her finger on why it was the case, but she was aware of a strange sense of loss now that he had disappeared behind his bedroom door.