Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: Apologies for the wait, but RL got in the way and took my muses with it. Note that the rating for this fic has been raised, mostly in preparation for the next chapter. I hope this chapter is worth the wait, since it has the H/Hr you've all been waiting for.
What We Do
Chapter 4
Harry turned to Hermione the moment they were inside Grimmauld Place. "Let me make you some tea," he offered gently.
She shook her head in a rather jerky motion. "No. No thanks, Harry. I- I just want to be alone right now," she said as she headed up the stairs.
"I'll be here," Harry blurted out inanely-because, really, where would he go? He wouldn't leave Hermione alone while Traynor was still loose, and certainly not after the day she'd had. No, right then, knowing what Hermione must be going through, there was absolutely nowhere else in the world he could be.
Hermione stopped to glance back at him, her uncharacteristically blank expression finally softening. "I know," she said softly. "Thanks."
And he could only watch as she made her way up the stairs and then he heard the sound of her door closing.
He understood why Hermione wanted to be alone. She would need to come to terms with what had happened, Agatha's death, Traynor's threat, all of it. She would need to grieve for the loss of her friend, cry over it. He knew Hermione didn't cry often, but when she did, it was almost always in private. He could remember seeing Hermione cry in public only once, at Dumbledore's funeral. At every other time, he usually only realized Hermione had cried from seeing the traces of tears on her face afterwards.
But knowing why Hermione wanted to be alone hardly helped. He wanted to do something-needed to do something-needed to help her, comfort her, somehow. And this helplessness was killing him. Knowing Hermione was in pain and that he could not help was killing him.
Harry sighed, wandering into the front room of Grimmauld Place, since he could hardly stand there in the front entrance forever. He got out a mug of tea, preparing it so that it could be ready for Hermione within minutes when she wanted it. That, at least, he could do for her.
That done, he stood there for a moment, his gaze wandering rather aimlessly around the room as he tried to think what else he could do.
His eyes fell on the plates and cups from their breakfast, still in the sink, and he washed them, deliberately doing it manually, the Muggle way, instead of trying to use magic, so it would take longer, keep his hands busy. He dried them too and put them away in the cupboards.
And then paused, again wondering what he could do.
He sat down and tried to read the latest bulletin of Dark activities around the world-and stared at the first page for 10 minutes without recalling a single thing before he gave it up.
Next, he tried to read the latest issue of Quidditch Weekly. But that, too, failed to hold his interest for any longer than the time it took to read a few words. And he threw the magazine aside with a sigh. He turned on a Remote Apparition of a Quidditch game and watched it for a few minutes, before realizing that, for once, the actions of the players meant nothing to him. He was surprised to look and realize that somehow, one team had managed to score without his realizing it or even caring that it had happened.
Ron would be horrified, he thought, with distant amusement, but he found he could not care about Quidditch, not then.
Harry spent the next hour or so wandering around Grimmauld Place, unable to stay in one room for long before needing to move. Every time he passed by Hermione's closed door, he paused, listening and sighing at the silence, before he moved on.
He wandered and-when he wasn't worrying about Hermione-passed the time by trying to plan and strategize how he could direct the Aurors and the guards to find Traynor and capture him as quickly as possible. At least, now they had confirmation that Traynor was most likely still in the vicinity of London; he would have some of the teams that had spread out throughout the country to return. They would make a virtual net around London and its surrounding area, and tighten it.
Traynor's name and face had been broadcast throughout the city, making him one of the most recognizable faces in the wizarding world right now. Of course, this was of only limited use since Traynor was quite powerful enough to use various spells to change his appearance. But surely someone would see something…
And then, he could direct Gage to-
He almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of the knock on the front door, and then frowned, hurrying forward. He had only mentioned where he and Hermione were staying to Gage, since Gage needed to know where he could be contacted, and he didn't need to ask Hermione to know that she wouldn't have mentioned their whereabouts to anyone else either. Besides which, whoever it was had not set off the wards and that told him more than anything else.
He opened the door to see Ron standing on the step, looking decidedly anxious. Which was a surprise-not because Ron was anxious but because Harry hadn't thought Ron would be returning from his road trip until tomorrow.
"Ron, I didn't think--" Harry began as he stepped back to let Ron in, after a quick glance around to see if anything appeared suspicious around Grimmauld Place.
"Great ghost, Harry, what the blazes is going on?" Ron interrupted Harry as he almost bounded inside. "We got back a little early from our road trip and I come back to our flat to find it looks like no one's been there in days. And with all this news about Traynor… Is everything alright? Where's Hermione?"
Harry glanced quickly up the stairs to see if Hermione had been disturbed, but the first floor remained as quiet as ever, so he relaxed somewhat before ushering Ron into the front room where he told Ron, succinctly, of Traynor's threat and Agatha's murder.
Ron stared, his face grave. "Merlin, Harry, is Hermione okay?"
Harry sighed. "She wasn't in her flat when it happened, thankfully, but finding Aggie's body like that… I don't know how she's doing."
"This is Hermione we're talking about. She'll be alright," Ron said.
And Harry was surprised at the flare of irritation he felt at Ron for his easy reassurance, his assumption that Hermione would be fine. Not because Harry doubted Hermione's strength-after witnessing it that afternoon, he of all people knew just how strong she was-but because he also knew that strength didn't mean invulnerability. Oh, he didn't doubt that Hermione would recover with her usual resilience, eventually, but he hated to think of what she would have to endure in order to recover, the effort and the pain it would take. It was not the first time he had realized that in some ways, Ron still did not know Hermione very well, but somehow it struck him anew. Ron believed Hermione's projection of utter confidence and near-invulnerability and didn't question it; it never occurred to Ron to realize that Hermione's outward strength came at a cost and masked the doubts, the vulnerabilities, that lurked in the hidden depths of Hermione's character.
No, when it came to worrying about Hermione, Harry would need to worry alone.
"Yeah, I hope so," Harry finally responded.
"And if she needs anything, she'll have us to help. It's what we do, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is," Harry agreed, his voice stronger now. "It's what we do."
"So what's happening now? Is there anything I can do? I have almost a week before we have to leave again."
"There's a team of guards from the Gaol that's been assigned to patrol through the neighborhood around our flat, just in case, but you can serve as an extra look-out."
Ron nodded. "Of course. You'll be alright on your own, though, looking out for Hermione?"
"Yes," was all Harry said, rather grimly. After what Traynor had done, there was more chance of a major blizzard occurring in July than there was of Harry relaxing his guard of Hermione for so much as a split second. No, if Traynor came for Hermione, Harry would be ready for him.
Ron nodded again. "Traynor must be mental. What's he going after Hermione for? She's probably one of the few Muggle-born witches or wizards who might actually be ready for him and able to capture him herself."
Harry slanted a look at Ron, before he fixed his gaze on the floor, his voice quiet but somehow conveying all the more intensity for its very softness. "That's exactly why he's going after Hermione. Traynor's not insane, just evil. If you think about it, this is Traynor's pattern; he's always targeted the higher-ranking or more powerful Muggle-born wizards first. Not that he minds killing others, but the other killings have always seemed more like after-thoughts. What he really wants to do is get rid of all the Muggle-borns who serve as living proof that blood purity doesn't really matter. Hermione is perfectly set up to be a target for Traynor and she was pushed forward into his notice when she was assigned to be the Enforcer for his case." A slight shudder passed through Harry. This was partly what Harry did now, using his insight to try to get behind the minds of criminals in order to capture them, and he usually managed to cultivate a necessary detachment from it, closing off his own emotional reactions to evil of this sort. But he couldn't do that now, not where Hermione was concerned. Where Hermione was concerned, he was involved, did react emotionally.
Harry looked back up at Ron to see that Ron was looking at him oddly. "Bloody hell, Harry," Ron finally breathed. "There are times you're rather scary, y'know that?"
Harry managed an upward quirk of his lips in the distant cousin of a smile. "Occupational hazard," he quipped with forced lightness.
"Right," Ron agreed with a half smile before he sobered. "You're sure there's really nothing else I can do?"
Harry shook his head. He didn't want Ron meeting up with Traynor; he knew too well how such an encounter would end and he didn't want anything to happen to Ron. "There's a net of all the Aurors in the city looking for him. Traynor won't be able to hide for long." He injected more confidence than he might have felt into his voice, deliberately not mentioning that Traynor had successfully evaded all the people looking for him for the better part of a week already.
"If you're sure," Ron began before he was interrupted by a yawn, blinking. "Sorry. I'm knackered. Both of the last two matches went on for more than six hours each and the last game went on for nearly nine hours."
"I heard something about that," Harry said absently, almost automatically. "But, yes, I'm sure."
Ron stood. "I'm going to head back to the flat then for a kip. Tell Hermione-tell her I'm sorry about her friend," he added, more quietly.
"I will." Harry stood up as well, accompanying Ron to the door and then doing another automatic check of the street.
Some time later, Harry sat down and took a desultory bite of the dinner he'd prepared, more to have something to do than out of hunger. But then he froze, his fork still in the air, as he heard something and then he dropped his fork and almost leaped out of his chair, waiting.
The door opened and he saw Hermione. He crossed the room swiftly, putting a hand on her shoulder as he studied her face. "Hey," he said, keeping his voice gentle. "Are you hungry? Do you want anything?"
"Just some tea, I think."
"Okay." He prepared the tea quickly and brought it to her.
"Thanks, Harry," she murmured.
"Do you want anything else? I made dinner."
Hermione shook her head a little.
"You should probably eat something," he prompted gently.
A slight, poignant smile curved Hermione's lips. "You sound almost like Aggie. She was always checking to make sure I'd eaten too."
"Did she? That was nice of her," he said, choosing his words carefully.
"Aggie seemed to have decided I was some sort of surrogate niece or something. She was always fussing about the idea of a young girl like me fending for myself, making sure I'd eaten right."
"Clearly, she could see what a frail, delicate person you are."
Hermione responded to his mild teasing with a small roll of her eyes that was belied by her smile. "No, she didn't think that. She was endlessly fascinated with my work and the stories I told her."
"Was she?" Harry asked, surprised. "Sorry, somehow, I thought… I thought she was a Muggle."
"Actually, she was a Squib."
"She was?"
"Yes." Hermione paused, a reminiscent look crossing her face. "It was partly why we got to know each other so well. When I introduced myself after moving in, she recognized my name. She'd heard of us."
"So, when I met her, she already knew who I was."
"Yeah, she did."
"She didn't say anything and never mentioned it to me in the few times I saw her afterwards."
"No, she wouldn't have. She would have known that it would make you a little uncomfortable. She was… one of the wisest people I've ever met."
"Coming from you, that's quite the compliment. You're not exactly a slouch in the wisdom department yourself."
Hermione ignored the unthinking compliment, her gaze fixed absently on the floor. He could see the memories she had of Aggie, the fondness, in her expression.
"We have dinner together about once a week," Hermione began softly and then stopped with a slight gasp, looking stricken. "I mean, we had dinner together."
"I remember," Harry said gently. "She baked a lot too, cookies and cakes and home-made bread. You brought over what she'd baked a few times, remember? Ron joked that he would fall in love with any woman who could bake cookies that good."
She managed a smile and a somewhat shaky laugh. "Oh, right, I remember that now. I told Aggie what Ron had said and she laughed, said that her mother had always told her the easiest way to a man's heart was through his stomach."
"Certainly true in Ron's case-feed him and throw in a few good words about the Cannons, and he'll fall head over heels," Harry quipped.
That got a real laugh from Hermione. "Yes, that does sound like Ron."
"Speaking of Ron, he stopped by earlier, wanted to know how you were. He said to tell you he was sorry."
Hermione's expression softened. "Aggie liked Ron from the few times she met him; she used to call him the gentle giant because of how tall he is."
Harry smiled appreciatively. "Nice name for Ron. I like it."
Hermione shot him a teasing glance. "Aggie has a name for you too; she calls you the handsome young man."
Harry schooled his features into exaggerated seriousness. "Clearly, Aggie was a woman of surpassing intelligence and good taste."
"I don't know about that," Hermione returned in an overly thoughtful tone. "Some might consider it evidence that her eyesight was failing."
"I resent that," he retorted in mock umbrage. "I'll have you know that I've been named Most Eligible Bachelor by Witch Weekly more than five years in a row now."
As always, Hermione couldn't help a slight laugh at the mention of that particular honor, especially since she, of all people, knew that he hated it.
He pretended to huff in annoyance at her reaction. "You may laugh but Aggie was clearly wiser and appreciated my good looks."
"I'll tell her you said so," Hermione said lightly-and then stopped with a sharp gasp, all amusement leaching out of her face to be replaced with pain. "I won't tell her; I can't tell her. I'll never be able to talk to her again…"
There was so much desolation in her voice he felt his heart twist inside him and then she was crying, her tears overflowing.
"Oh, Hermione," he breathed and tugged her forward until he could wrap his arms around her. She sagged against him, burying her face in his shirt as she cried, her every soft sob ripping into him like a jagged blade and he could swear he felt every tear with an almost physical pain.
And he could not help her. He could not banish the grief she felt, could not undo the loss she'd suffered from Traynor's brutal murder of someone she'd cared for, a woman who'd been something between a friend and a favorite aunt.
He could only hold her as she cried, could only tighten his arms around her as if by doing so, he could shield her from all other pain. Could only press his lips to her hair, closing his eyes against the prick of his own tears, not over Aggie but over Hermione.
It was not long-although even the short time felt like a painful eternity-- before Hermione's sobs slowed, her tears ceasing, and she simply rested against him, quiescent.
"I'm sorry," Hermione sniffed after a long moment, shifting to sit up as he let his arms fall away. "I know you hate it when girls cry."
He stared at her. "Do you think I don't love you just as much when you cry as I do when you smile?"
He saw surprise flare in her eyes. "You- you love me?"
Wait. Had he said that?
His words replayed in his mind-Merlin, he had said that. He hadn't even realized what he was saying, had just spoken without thinking.
"Of course I do," he heard himself say-and it was as if the last piece of a puzzle had been put in place so the whole picture could be seen and understood.
He loved her? Of course he did…
He didn't feel any surprise at the realization of his true feelings for Hermione, as if somewhere in his subconscious, he had always known it and had only been waiting for his conscious mind to catch up.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione threw herself at him, her arms going around him. "I love you too."
It was his turn to draw back to stare at her. "You do?"
She gave him a somewhat watery smile. "How could I not?"
Well, actually… Put that way, he could think of any number of reasons why not to love him-but he kept his mouth shut. What was clear from her eyes-and from the fact that he knew her-was that she did love him. And the knowledge had a bubble of amazement and emotion filling his chest.
He lifted a hand to touch her face, lightly, his thumb just brushing the corner of her lips. Her eyes flared and her breath hitched slightly.
His own breathing was uneven in his chest. At that moment, nothing on earth could have kept him from kissing her.
Slowly, he slid his hand back to tangle in her hair, cupping the back of her neck, as he bent his head. His lips touched hers and he kissed her, softly at first, but then she shifted closer to him, her lips softening and then parting, and the kiss deepened. And he forgot all else, was only focused on her, on her lips and her taste and the warmth of her. One kiss turned into two that spun into three… and he lost count.
Finally, though, he drew back slightly, skating his lips down her cheek and the line of her jaw to the hollow behind her ear, making her gasp slightly and sag against him.
He slid his arm around her, as she shifted to lean against him more fully, her head fitting snugly against his shoulder.
They didn't speak-but then, they hardly needed to, really. He was content to rest his cheek against her hair, conscious of the warm weight of her against him, knowing that she was there, with him, safe and comforted.
He sensed rather than saw her sudden smile. "What is it?" he asked mildly, not bothering to move. At that moment, he rather felt as if he never wanted to move again, could happily spend his entire life right there, with Hermione.
"I was thinking about what Aggie would say if she knew about this."
"What would she say?"
"I lied earlier," was Hermione's inexplicable response, "when I said that Aggie called you the handsome young man."
"She didn't think I was handsome? I'm hurt," he responded lightly, going along with Hermione's words in spite of his confusion, because-knowing Hermione-it would be explained soon enough.
"She actually always called you my handsome young man."
"Your handsome young man? Well, now I think I'm offended," he said teasingly.
Hermione gave him a fleeting smile in response to his quip before her smile faded. "Aggie persisted in saying that you were mine, that you loved me, even though I insisted she was wrong and you only saw me as your best friend."
"Did she really? How did she know, when I didn't even know it?"
Hermione lifted her head to look at him. "You didn't know?"
He gave her a slight smile, reaching up to touch her cheek lightly, in a fleeting caress. "I've always been a little thick-headed, you know."
"Then when did you realize…"
"That I loved you?" he finished for her. "A very long time ago," he said airily. "It's been, oh, about 10 minutes now, I think."
She rewarded him with a laugh and he smiled, before sobering. "Honestly, I think I've loved you for years; I just didn't know it until now." He lifted one shoulder into a half-shrug. "Aggie must be smarter than I am, to know me better than I do."
Hermione's expression softened. "Aggie said she could see that you loved me from the way you looked at me."
Harry wrinkled his nose slightly in confusion. "How did I look at you?"
"She said… she said you looked at me as if I was the only other person in the world, as if nothing else existed for you for a few seconds when I walked into a room or out of it."
He could almost have squirmed in sudden self-consciousness at hearing this perceptive description-and yet… In some small part of him, he recognized it, acknowledged it as being accurate. Because it was true, although he hadn't thought of it until now. That was rather how he felt; he was always aware of when Hermione entered or left a room.
"Wise woman, Aggie was." He paused. "You really didn't believe her at all?"
"Honestly, no, I didn't. I always said that I knew you better than she did and I knew that you only saw me as your best friend, nothing more, nothing less. I guess Aggie was right after all."
"Even you have to be wrong sometimes, so you know what it's like for the rest of us fallible mortals."
Hermione laughed softly. "I never claimed to be infallible." She fell silent and he felt her sudden increase in tension, sensed her abrupt sobering.
"I was wrong about another thing too," she began, her voice grim and wavering ever so slightly. "I didn't believe you when you said that I would be Traynor's target. If I had--" she paused and swallowed, "if I had, I might have thought to warn Aggie so she could at least be on her guard."
He tightened his arms around her. "It's not your fault," he told her quietly. "You can't be blamed for what Traynor did; you know that." He paused. "How many times did you tell me the same thing?"
"I should have listened to you, believed you."
"You did. Why else are we here in Grimmauld Place? If you'd had your way, you would have stayed in your flat and--" He broke off, unable to put into words what would have happened if Hermione had been in her flat. He couldn't even think it; it was unthinkable, impossible. He tightened his arms around her again, almost convulsively, as if in doing so, he could ensure that she was never in danger again, before he forcibly relaxed his arms. "You trusted me enough to stay here, even if you didn't really believe me, and that's the important thing. I'm sure Aggie would agree with me," he added softly. "Aggie would have wanted you to be safe." He hesitated and then added, "And though I did think that you would be Traynor's target, I never thought to warn Aggie either and I should have. I'm sorry. I could have helped, could have saved her, if I'd thought of it earlier."
Hermione sat up, turning to face him. "Harry, I don't blame you for not thinking to warn Aggie."
"I should have thought of it, though. I knew that Traynor would target you; I should have known that put Aggie in danger too. Traynor's never exactly cared about how many other people he would hurt in addition to his targets and she was your neighbor and your friend. I should have remembered that."
"That's hindsight talking." Her voice softened, as she touched her hand to his cheek briefly, a thread of humor entering her tone. "This may come as a shock to you, but I don't expect you to be omniscient."
He managed a slight smile, as he knew she wanted him to. "The same goes for you too. I don't expect you to be omniscient either. You shouldn't blame yourself."
She paused and then managed a weak smile. "Unfair, to use my own words against me."
He half-smiled. "Did it work?"
"I won't blame myself if you won't blame yourself."
"It's a deal," he promised softly and kissed her forehead lightly to seal the promise.
Hermione rested her head against his shoulder with a small sigh as he passed a caressing hand lightly down her hair.
How long they sat like that, Harry didn't know, but eventually, he heard Hermione's breathing become deep and regular as the weight of her settled more firmly against him, and he realized that she had fallen asleep.
He hated to wake her but he knew she would wake up stiff if she slept here. She would be more comfortable sleeping in her own bed.
"Hermione?" He would not jostle her awake but he touched his hand to her shoulder and, as he'd expected, she awoke.
"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. I guess I must be more tired than I thought."
"Come on," he said gently. "I'll take you up to bed." He abruptly stopped, hearing his own words, and then felt himself flush. "No, wait, I didn't mean that. I meant, you can go to your bed and I'll go to mine… I just… I'll just… walk you upstairs," he finished somewhat less than coherently.
She laughed softly as she stood up. "It's okay, Harry. I know what you meant."
He made a face. "I know; you love me for my dashing way with words."
She gave him a look of mock astonishment as they left the front room together. "You mean that's not why you've been named the Wizarding World's Most Eligible Bachelor?"
"Shocking, isn't it? And me, quite famous for my eloquence and charm," he quipped.
She laughed and then sobered as they stopped at her door. "Thanks, Harry, for everything."
He lifted one shoulder into a half-shrug. "You've done the same for me." He lifted his hand to brush a stray hair away from her face with a feather-light touch. "Anyway, how could I do anything less for you?"
The ghost of a smile touched her lips and she kissed him. "Goodnight, Harry."
"Goodnight."
Harry was tugged out of an uneasy sleep and lay there for a moment, listening, wondering what had awoken him. It was completely silent in the house, as it should have been, and he tried to relax, closing his eyes, only to open them again immediately.
He got up silently, grabbing his wand, as he crept out of his room. He made his way downstairs, rechecking the wards on the front door, and then up again, pausing to listen outside Hermione's door. All was quiet within but, not quite reassured, he eased open the door quietly.
He couldn't quite see Hermione but he heard the sound of her breathing, somewhat uneven, and he knew, crossing the room quickly, to crouch by Hermione's bed.
"Hermione," he said quietly. "Hermione, wake up. It's okay."
She awoke with a slight gasp, her eyes finding his in the dimly lit room.
"It's okay," he repeated softly.
"Oh, Harry," she whispered somewhat brokenly as she abruptly reached for him, burying her face in his shoulder. "I- I was dreaming and I saw Traynor killing Aggie and I couldn't do anything."
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, ignoring the awkward position he was in. "It's okay," he repeated, not sure what he could say. He could not bring himself to say that it had only been a nightmare, could not dismiss it that way, not when he knew all too well the terrors a nightmare could hold even now. Instead, he could only hold her, smoothing his hand down her hair, in silent assurance that, whatever else, she wasn't alone.
"Harry," she asked, her voice half-muffled in his pyjama shirt, "do you think… do you think Aggie suffered?" Her voice shook slightly before she regained control of it. "I- I hate to think of her being Crucio'd."
He opened his mouth to make a quick denial, wanting only to comfort her, but stopped himself. This was Hermione and she would not want comforting lies. And he wasn't going to treat her as if he thought she would even believe comforting lies. She knew him too well for that. No, he couldn't lie to her, not now, not about this. Not ever, really.
"I don't think she suffered," he finally said.
Hermione lifted her head to look at him, studying his eyes. "You don't?"
"It's not his way," Harry explained. "Traynor generally doesn't use the Cruciatus on his victims." He went on with almost brutal honesty-but he also knew Hermione would rather have that than any reassuring evasions or half-truths. "He kills his victims quickly because, to him, they never deserved to live. He doesn't find pleasure in torture; he's too focused on his end goals for that. He likes symbolism, likes gestures and actions that have a significance beyond their simple result and, for him, torture doesn't accomplish anything. For him, it would only serve to show his victims' weakness, but since he already believes they're weak, it doesn't serve a purpose."
Hermione nodded against his shirt. "Okay." She let out a shuddering breath. "Well, that's something, at least."
"It would have been a quick death," he finally said. "Remember in our 4th year, when Moody did his demonstration of the Unforgivables? It was fast." And they had seen other Killing Curses since then, but he refused to mention that.
She let out a shaky breath that was half a sob. "That's- that's good to know. Thanks, Harry." She was silent for a long moment and then said, "I'm sorry I woke you up."
"You didn't wake me up," he answered automatically-and truthfully. "I was worried about you." He straightened up a little and touched her shoulder. "You should go back to sleep," he said gently.
She hesitated and then asked, "Stay with me?"
"Of course. I'm not going anywhere," he assured her, silently damning Traynor to hell yet again for what he'd done to Hermione-not just that he had killed Agatha, but that he had made Hermione afraid. And it was just so wrong to have Hermione-his Hermione, who was so strong-be so openly vulnerable.
"Thanks, Harry."
And so he stayed, pulling up the chair in Hermione's room to her bedside. He stayed and watched her sleep and, for once, wakefulness did not seem like a bad thing.
~To be continued…~