Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed this fic so far. I may not be able to respond but rest assured, I read and appreciate every one! Finally posting Chapter 3, where there's a little more H/Hr and more plot as well. I hope it's worth the wait!
What We Do
Chapter 3
"Morning, Hermione."
Hermione looked up from perusing the Daily Prophet as Harry entered the front room at Grimmauld Place.
"Morning. Your pumpkin juice is all ready."
"Thanks."
He flashed her a slightly crooked half smile as he sat down, and Hermione quickly looked back down at the Daily Prophet in an attempt to distract herself from the little, involuntary flutter of her heart. It wasn't something that happened all the time, this flutter of her heart or this warmth in her chest. Just when he gave her that half-smile of his, or the warmer smile that was just hers, or those times when he said something that showed the careless sweetness that was so much a part of him. Usually only a few words, of sympathy or encouragement or praise or even humor, that were so clearly said without thought but which showed all his loyalty and all the kindness of his heart-kindness that she knew Harry never even thought about or deliberately intended, but simply showed because to do anything else never occurred to him.
It didn't happen always and she had become fairly adept at ignoring it, pushing aside her reaction to Harry, but somehow she found these little flutters of reaction much harder to ignore after these few days staying in Grimmauld Place.
Maybe her heightened awareness of him was partly out of concern for him, since she knew that he hated Grimmauld Place, oppressed by all the memories in it and the atmosphere of the house. But whatever the reason, she noticed him more. Noticed not just his smile but every passing shadow that darkened his eyes, every glint of light brightening his eyes when he smiled or laughed, the unconscious grace and dexterity of his hands as he motioned or cast spells.
She glanced at him as he drank his pumpkin juice. There really was something very appealing about Harry first thing in the morning, freshly shaved with his hair still damp.
He looked up, catching her eyes, and she tried very hard to appear entirely unconscious of the fact that she was blushing.
"What's the Daily Prophet saying about Traynor?"
She hurriedly pushed aside her inconvenient awareness of him, slipping back into her comfortable role of just being his friend. "They think he's escaped to the north, to York, because of the bodies they found."
"Mm, right, those bodies," Harry muttered. "I just…" He trailed off, frowning thoughtfully at his toast.
"What, Harry? You don't think Traynor's in the north, do you?"
"No," he admitted.
"But those bodies had his trademark on them."
"I know," he half-sighed, "and I don't know what it is, but I think those bodies are the result of a copycat criminal, not Traynor himself."
"Why do you say that, Harry?"
He hesitated, his frown deepening. "It might be nothing, but my gut just doesn't believe that was Traynor." He looked up at her. "Those bodies were found outside, in an alley in York, but Traynor almost always attacked people in their homes, killed them in their homes."
"Maybe he's just changing his MO, making him more unpredictable," Hermione reasoned.
"It's possible," Harry conceded.
"But you don't believe it," Hermione added.
"No, I don't. His killing people in their own homes was deliberate; he liked to demonstrate that he could invade people's homes, the one place where most people tend to feel most secure. It was a power-play for him; I don't think he would suddenly choose to change his MO now. It's inconsistent with his profile. No, I think he's still close by, in London somewhere, but I can't explain why." He paused and then lifted up his hands in a gesture of resignation. "Maybe I'm wrong. I rather hope I am."
She gave him a slight smile. "What do the Aurors in York say?"
"That's what I'll be finding out. I'll go up to York this morning and see what happened for myself."
"I can make it to the Ministry on my own," Hermione volunteered.
He slanted a half-smiling glance at her. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. I'm not about to leave you alone while Traynor's still out there somewhere. I need to check in at the office first as it is."
"I can take care of myself, you know," she said, but the words were more out of habit, had almost become a private joke between them in the past few days. And, much as she usually hated to be treated as if she was helpless, she had to admit that with Harry, it was… different. She didn't mind Harry's protectiveness much because she knew that it wasn't because he thought she was helpless; it was simply a part of him. It was because she was his best friend, because he cared about her.
"I know. I'm really just staying close to you so you can protect me," Harry teased.
She grinned. "Very cunning plan."
"Well, I did almost end up in Slytherin. Cunning plans come naturally to me," Harry quipped.
Hermione laughed, as he joined in. She knew perfectly well that Harry barely had a cunning bone in his body, was about as straightforward as anyone could be.
They finished breakfast in companionable silence after that, before they both finished getting ready for work.
Their days had fallen into a routine amazingly quickly, from almost that first morning. It felt, Hermione thought that morning, almost as if she and Harry had always lived together, rather than for only the past four days.
She woke up first, and prepared their toast and made her morning tea while Harry finished his morning ablutions. They usually took the subway to the Ministry, partly because both of them felt comfortable using the Tube, but also because Harry enjoyed the little interlude of anonymity before beginning an entire day of being Harry Potter, the Chosen One and Hero of the wizarding world, at the Ministry.
That day was no different, Harry ushering her into the Ministry building first as he took a last glance around. They both exchanged greetings with Eric Munch at the gates.
Damien Westfall glanced back at the sound of their voices, pausing at the lift for Hermione. Harry nodded a greeting at Damien before turning back to Hermione. "I need to talk to Eric about something so you go on ahead. Have a good day."
"Yes, Mr. Potter," Hermione teased. "And you go on making the world a safer place."
Harry half rolled his eyes, although his expression was belied by the twitch of his lips, before he turned to Eric.
Hermione walked on to join Damien at the lift. "Good morning, Damien." She paused, noting the odd expression on his face as he stared at her absently. "What is it?"
He blinked, his gaze refocusing on her face. "Nothing. It's just," he paused, smiling slightly, "you and Harry act more like an old married couple than my wife and I do."
It was not the first-or second, or third, or fourth-time someone made such a remark about her and Harry's relationship, and they had both gotten rather used to laughing off such remarks. But, for some reason, that morning, Hermione found she couldn't laugh at the idea that she and Harry were more than just friends.
"You know we're only best friends," she answered automatically.
"I know."
Hermione looked back at Harry, where he stood talking to Eric, as the lift doors closed, cutting off her view. But she could still see him in her mind's eye, knew his stance, knew the way he gestured with his hands.
And for the first time, she found herself admitting the truth to herself-the truth she'd denied and ignored for what seemed like years. She and Harry were only best friends-but she wanted to be more.
~
Hermione hunted through her desk drawer one last time before sitting back, frowning. Where was it? She couldn't imagine where the file could be; her desk was, as always, pristine, with everything in its designated place-except for this one file that she needed now. Where-
"Oh, bother," she muttered to herself. She remembered now. She had brought it home with her last week because she'd needed to refer to it over the weekend and had forgotten to bring it back.
She glanced at her watch and then back at her desk, hesitating with uncharacteristic indecision. She really did need the file now if she was going to finish her current assignment. But on the other hand, with Traynor on the loose, should she take the risk of leaving the Ministry building and returning to her relatively unprotected flat, even for so brief a time? She knew what Harry would say to that question.
But really, much as she usually trusted Harry's judgment, she honestly could not believe that she was as much at risk of being attacked by Traynor as he believed. Why should she, of all the other Muggle-born witches and wizards, be any more of a target, any more in danger?
Besides which, it was broad daylight outside, and she could Apparate to her flat and be back at the Ministry in a half hour. And it wasn't as if she was being reckless in leaving; she really did need that file.
And did she really want to put off an assignment she really needed to work on for even a day out of some nebulous fear of Jasper Traynor? No.
Her mind made up, Hermione hastily stood up, grabbing her bag and making sure her wand was with her, before she left the Ministry.
She Apparated directly to the alley beside her building, pausing just briefly to glance around, noting that the neighborhood looked as placid and unchanged as usual, before hurrying inside. Mindful of Harry's warning, she kept her wand in her hand as she approached her flat, first testing the door, and then relaxing as she found that it was still locked.
She stepped inside her flat cautiously, relaxing slightly as, at first glance, nothing appeared out of place. With more confidence, she closed the door behind her, setting her bag down, before she headed towards her study.
Only to stop short once she'd left the foyer, her gaze fixating on the terrible sight that met her eyes.
Oh God.
She felt her mouth falling open, her throat too dry from horror to scream or even gasp. Oh God. Oh God…
What-how-oh God… She couldn't think. Her thoughts whirled, a confused, chaotic mass, but out of the incoherence, just one word stood out.
Harry.
Yes, Harry. She clung to the thought of him with desperation; it was the only clear thought she could muster at that moment. Harry. She needed Harry.
Her knees felt decidedly weak and her hand trembled so hard she had to tighten her fist just to keep from dropping her wand. She had to swallow several times before she could speak, her voice trembling slightly. "Expecto patronum."
So shaky was her voice that she was vaguely surprised to see the shining white form of her Patronus appear, to realize that she had succeeded in the spell. The shining otter immediately flew off, leaving her alone.
She wasn't even sure how or why she remained standing except that at that moment, even giving way to her shaky knees seemed to involve too much effort and, in some corner of her mind, she was horribly afraid that if she once gave way to anything, even her weak knees, she would give way to all her emotion, and that she couldn't do. Not yet. Not now.
And so she stood, silent, staring, too numb from shock even to be conscious of the grief and the fear she would otherwise feel. Instead, she focused as much as she could on the one steady thought in her otherwise whirling mind: she needed Harry…
Harry Apparated back to the Ministry after a long morning spent in York, doing what investigating he could into the bodies found there the day before. His efforts had been largely futile; he still had nothing more than his gut instinct that these people had not been murdered by Traynor but by some copycat. The York Aurors had listened to his opinion in respectful silence, but had made it quite clear that they still believed it had been the work of Traynor and were, moreover, convinced that they would then be the ones to capture Traynor. It would be, he knew, the proverbial feather in the district office of York's cap to be the district to capture Traynor, especially after the main Headquarters had been the ones to "let" him escape in the first place. It was also the sort of inter-office rivalry that irritated Harry to almost no end, short-sighted as it was.
With all that, Harry was not in the best of moods as he approached the Ministry-only to realize in a split second that his day could get infinitely worse.
He could have sworn he stopped breathing the moment he saw Hermione's Patronus appear beside him, the white otter circling him in a motion that might have seemed playful at any other time but which somehow only conveyed urgency at that moment.
Oh God. He had to fight to breathe through the pressure of the iron fist that had just closed around his heart. Hermione.
He could hardly think but he forced himself to consider where Hermione could be-not in the Ministry or she wouldn't have sent her Patronus. He doubted she would have returned to Grimmauld Place-and it was protected. But her own flat…
He managed not to splinch himself in Apparating to her flat through sheer force of will and sprinted up the stairs without even a pause, his wand clenched in his fist. He tried to tell himself that she couldn't have been in any immediate danger or she would not have had time to summon her Patronus at all-but the thought barely registered in the cloud of terror fogging his mind and heart.
He burst into her flat with all the force of a tornado, his gaze immediately finding Hermione and taking in the scene before him in one fraught instant. "Hermione," he gasped out.
She turned her head to look at him, slowly, and then-there was no other word for it-she crumbled. Her expression dissolved into one of heartbreaking emotion as her knees gave way.
He sprang forward, catching her in his arms before she could fall, keeping hold of her as he let them both sink to the ground.
He wrapped his arms around her as she curled against him, burying her face in his chest, as she trembled. It was shock, he knew, shock and horror so deep it had temporarily taken possession of her; she would recover. But knowing it didn't make it any easier. He could only tighten his arms around Hermione, passing one hand up and down her back in a soothing motion. He could only sit there on the floor, feeling as if his own heart would break to see Hermione-his Hermione, who was usually so strong-like this.
He stared ahead, his eyes dry and burning, his gaze moving from the pitifully limp form of the old woman who had been Hermione's neighbor-Agatha, Hermione had introduced her as, when he had first met her, although Hermione had always referred to her as Aggie-to the message Traynor had left scrawled on the wall in Aggie's blood: You will be next Mudblood.
Then Harry stiffened, his hand stilling on Hermione's back. He'd heard something.
"Someone's coming," he breathed next to Hermione's ear, meaning only to explain why he was letting her go.
In the next instant, he decided he had never been more impressed by Hermione, never been prouder of her than he was at that moment. She looked up and, in just a few seconds, she managed to regain her self-control, putting aside all her shock and her grief through sheer force of will. It was the most amazing display of strength Harry had ever seen. He helped her up, squeezing her hand in silent support, before she squared her shoulders, her wand ready, and he knew that no one who didn't know her very well could have seen that anything was wrong. The only indications that Hermione was clinging to composure through little more than will were the tension in her frame, the faint lines around her mouth from the set of her lips, and the fact that she was gripping her wand so tightly her knuckles were white.
The door burst open as Jack Hardesty and three other Aurors rushed in, only to stop short at the sight of Harry, lowering their wands.
"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded, his tone made sharper by annoyance at the strain this interruption had put on Hermione.
Jack's eyes narrowed slightly at Harry's tone but his answer was deliberately mild. "We were patrolling the neighborhood and spotted a Patronus and decided to investigate."
"You're at least 6 hours late from doing any good," Harry clipped out. "Traynor's already been here and left." So saying, he shifted aside, grasping Hermione's hand in his, so that Jack could see past him.
Jack's eyes fell immediately to the pitiful form of Agatha, making him suck in his breath slightly, before his gaze riveted to the wall where Traynor had left his message.
Harry watched with a growing sense of unease at Jack's fixed expression as he stared at the threat; Jack had thought of something and Harry was somehow very sure that he wasn't going to like Jack's train of thought.
Jack drew himself up, finally tearing his gaze away from the defaced wall to flicker over Hermione briefly-almost consideringly-before meeting Harry's frowning gaze. "A word, Harry," he said quietly, but there was something in his tone that made the soft words more an order than a request.
Harry glanced at Hermione before he jerked his head in a curt gesture, walking into the bathroom and closing the door once Jack was inside. It was the only space enclosed with a door, aside from Hermione's own bedroom, and Harry somehow knew he would not want anyone else to overhear this conversation.
Harry faced Jack with as neutral an expression as he could manage. "What is it?"
"Did you know-or at least suspect-that Traynor would be targeting Hermione?" Jack asked bluntly.
"I thought he might because she was the Enforcer in charge of his case." Harry didn't add that Hermione was also Muggle-born, as it was fairly widely-known.
"Why didn't you mention it?"
"I didn't think it was relevant. I've taken precautions to keep her safe."
Jack let out a huff of breath. "That wasn't what I meant. How could you not think it was relevant? Knowing Traynor has some intended target in mind gives us leverage over him!"
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Leverage? I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do," Jack shot back. "We could have used the information that Hermione was a target to create a trap!"
"No!" Harry didn't even need to think about it, his response immediate, even instinctive, and decisive.
"I know she's your friend, Harry, but that can't matter to us right now. This is an emergency and we need to capture Traynor before he kills more innocent people. Hermione would make the ideal bait to draw Traynor out."
"Hermione is off limits," Harry bit off, emphasizing each word.
"Harry, I know it's not easy but this is what we do. We make the choices other people can't, that other people shouldn't have to make, to keep people safe."
Harry stiffened, sizzling a look at Jack that would have been a glare, if anyone else whom Harry did not respect and even consider to be a friend had said it. "I hardly need to be told that." He rarely referred to his status or what he'd done to attain that status of his own volition, but for once, he wanted to. If there was one thing no one could question, it should have been his willingness to do what was in his power to keep people safe.
Jack had the grace to look apologetic, but persisted. "Think about it, Harry. How many more people do you think Traynor will kill if we don't capture him soon? A trap makes perfect sense."
"We are not using Hermione as bait," Harry snapped, his tone steely.
"For the safety of all, Harry, remember?" Jack asked pointedly, quoting the unofficial motto of the Aurors. "The potential risk to one person doesn't outweigh the safety of all."
"Yes, it does," Harry said flatly, "when that one person is Hermione."
"Harry…"
"No! I'm not discussing this further!" Harry cut off whatever Jack had been about to say. He gave Jack a flat stare of defiance. "This discussion is over. I will not put Hermione at risk, not even if I'm given a direct order." Jack would be within his rights as a fellow Team Leader to report the issue to one of the higher-ups in the Department, who would have authority to issue a direct order, but for once, Harry didn't care.
For a long, fraught moment, Harry's and Jack's gazes dueled, but in the end, Jack was the one who gave way, with a sigh.
"Alright, Harry, if that's what you think. I'm not going to report this."
"Thanks, Jack."
"I just hope you know what you're doing. How will you feel if more people are killed that we might have been able to prevent?"
"I'll worry about that when it happens," Harry answered candidly, but he already knew that no matter how badly he felt-and he would feel badly, he knew himself well enough to know that-it would be nothing compared to how he felt at the very idea of Hermione being in danger.
Jack hesitated and then began, with some diffidence, "Have you considered what it means that Hermione's safety means more to you than anything else?"
Harry shot Jack another look. "There's nothing to consider. Are we done?"
"Yes, Harry. We're done."
"Good." Harry stalked out of the bathroom, his gaze immediately seeking out Hermione, studying her.
She was holding herself together, was still standing. But he could see the effort it took in how she was keeping her gaze carefully trained away from the defaced wall and Agatha's body, focusing instead on the view outside the window, with an unmoving blankness that was uncharacteristic. And his heart clenched to see it. He had to get her out of here.
He turned his gaze on the three Aurors, who straightened up to attention. "See to clearing things up here." He glanced at Jack, now standing beside him. "An extra patrol or two around the building would be wise."
Jack nodded. "I was thinking of setting up a team to guard the building in case Traynor returns."
"If we can afford to pull a team out from the field."
Jack looked pointedly at the threat Traynor had left on the wall. "I think we must afford it."
"Alright, but I am not going to leave that rubbish there any longer." So saying, Harry suited action to words, directing a surge of energy at the defaced wall until the wall was clean, as if Traynor had never been there, not caring that he was using the sort of focused, wandless magic he rarely used and certainly never in public.
He ignored the reaction of the other Aurors, peripherally aware that what he had just done would add to his reputation but indifferent to it. Using his wandless magic was the quickest way to clean the wall of Traynor's filth and it would make things easier for Hermione not to have to see her wall defaced for another second.
With the same concentration, he focused on Agatha's body until the slashes that had spilled the blood Traynor had used slowly closed.
He could not bring Aggie back to life-but he could undo the visible marks of the desecration Traynor had committed on Aggie's corpse. That done, he knelt by Aggie's body, closing her eyes with a gentle hand.
He stood up to see that Hermione had finally turned away from the window and was watching him, her eyes damp and her lips set in that expression he recognized from other times when she had been fighting tears.
He crossed swiftly over to her, slipping his arm around her shoulders, nodding slightly at Jack as their eyes met over Hermione's shoulder.
He began to steer Hermione gently toward the door, but she balked and broke away, moving to kneel by Aggie as he had done, reaching out a hand that trembled very slightly to touch Aggie's still hand in a silent goodbye.
Then she stood up and he wrapped his arm around her again as they left her flat.
"Thanks, Harry," Hermione finally said after a moment.
He glanced at her, tightening his arm around her shoulders slightly in response. "Come on, let's go home."
"Home? To- to your flat?"
He paused. "To the flat? No, why would we go there?"
It was her turn to look at him. "You said, home."
"Did I? I meant Grimmauld Place."
Hermione nodded and they kept on walking, by unspoken agreement taking the Underground.
Harry kept his guard up, not allowing himself to relax until they were inside Grimmauld Place.
He had called it 'home', he remembered, and had meant it, oddly enough. Not because he liked it much more-he knew he didn't, probably never would-but he had come to think of it as home. Because it was where Hermione was safest.
~To be continued…