Unofficial Portkey Archive

Thanks for the positive reviews!! Please keep them coming; I have actually written 15 chapters of this story already but I am carefully editing each before I post. Reviews help motivate me to get the next chapter up Enjoy!

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CHAPTER 2: Truth in a Shade of Grey

After completing a thorough but ultimately useless search of Dolohov's house for clues, Harry bid O'Rourke farewell and apparated back to Grimmauld Place just as the sun was rising. He had barely caught a wink of sleep all night and while Grimmauld Place was far from a comfortable home, he had no doubt he would quickly lapse into sleep. His mind was buzzing with thoughts about Malfoy murdering his own parents, but mostly about the dark magic surrounding the circumstances of the recent murders. Even if Malfoy had become very advanced in ancient dark arts, he couldn't have done it without help. But with Voldemort dead, who possessed such knowledge anymore?

He would have to sleep on it, and while his stomach grumbled hungrily he ignored it and trudged up the stairs to his room, each step creaking with noisy protest at his ascent. He kicked the door open and flopped into bed, still fully clothed. And then he realized someone was in the bed with him.

With lightening fast reflexes he pointed his wand at the intruder, only to find a very annoyed looking Hermione curled under the covers. She swatted the light produced by his wand away from her face and yawned. "I had just finally fallen asleep" she grumbled, pulling the covers back up over her.

"Hm, sorry for waking you up but mind explaining what you're DOING HERE?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

Ripping the covers back from over her head she stared at him angrily. "Well, first off, you took off without a moment to speak which was awfully dramatic and annoying of you..."

"I nearly killed you!" he practically roared, incredulous at how stubborn she could be.

"So melodramatic!" she sniffed, rolling her eyes. "I don't even have any bruises on my throat, it's you I'm more worried about, the way you were screaming Harry!"

"I've been... having nightmares" he responded lamely, laying down next to her on the bed, his bones screaming at him for rest. He couldn't stay mad at her when she had that concerned look in her eyes. He knew she loved him and cared for him deeply, and while he didn't always understand it, it was a great source of his limited happiness.

"About anything in particular?"

"Just... blood and death."

"I have dreams like that also, ever since the war."

"These are different though. In them, I'm the one doing the killing. I'm killing so very many people."

"You're not a murderer Harry. What happened with Voldemort was inevitable, and as an auror I know you've had to kill since but you're not malicious. I wish you would stop..."

"Not this conversation again" he sighed with annoyance.

She bit her lip, pausing and weighing the heavy silence between them. "Your line of work Harry, it's tearing you apart."

"I know."

It was a simple enough response, but it shocked her. In the past he had always tried to deny it, to make excuses or appeal to her sense of logic to argue why he had to continue being an auror. But this was the first time he had agreed, and the acknowledgement of what she had been saying all along hit her like a brick wall. "Oh Harry!" she cried, burying her face against his shoulder.

After a moment he realized by the slight dampness on his sleeve that she was crying. "Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice somewhat panicked. He had always been better at consoling her than Ron was, but he hated thinking anyone was shedding tears for him.

"I'm not" she lied, sniffing loudly and rolling away to wipe her eyes. He decided not to pursue it.

"So... you came here to check on me?"

"Not exactly" she admitted. "I needed someplace safe to go, I thought you might be here but I wasn't sure and when I saw the house was empty I came to lie down and wait for you."

"Someplace safe??" he asked, the fatigue vanishing from his eyes as he looked at her with grave concern. "What's happening?"

"Nothing... yet" she finished, not liking the fact that he was clearly wound up and upset. She hated making him worry; it wasn't as though he didn't already have enough on his plate. But she had learned that direct honesty was the best approach with Harry. He hated feeling like he was receiving special treatment, and he especially hated feeling like things were being kept for him; especially since most of his life was kept secret from him for many years. "I received this letter."

He read it over quickly, his eyes widening with concern. He began to try to discern the sender through the usual charms, but she stopped him. "I already tried that. Whoever sent this concealed their identity very carefully."

"That is becoming an all too familiar theme" he grumbled, clenching the paper in his hand as he sat up on the edge of the bed. "Why would they want you to unseal the Death Eater documents?" Even as he asked this question his face flushed with realization.

"What?" she asked, instantly recognizing the expression on his face.

He looked at her a moment, as though studying her. He was gazing so intensely that she nearly looked away, but Hermione Granger was never one to back down first, and she met his stare with level and ready eyes. "I didn't want to tell you this just yet" he began "but somebody has been killing off Death Eaters."

"Why didn't you want to tell me?"

"Whatever is happening... it's not normal. The magic used is ancient and very dark, something beyond what any of us at the auror department have ever witnessed or even heard of. We are supposed to be keeping it confidential to avoid a panic."

"But you trust me don't you?" she asked, a tinge of annoyance in her voice. Hadn't she always been unwaveringly loyal to him?

"Of course I trust you!" he exclaimed, a gentle smile touching his lips as though to suggest that any lack of trust would be outrageous on his part. She relaxed. "I simply didn't want you to worry about it just yet. The war... it took such a toll on us all and it's only just been five years. Chasing shadows and running from death- it's not a life I want to bring you back into."

"Nor is it one I care to become involved in" she admitted with a shiver, a sudden image of death and blood and cold nights spent in silence in the woods. "But this is clearly not a thing that can be ignored by simply denying its severity."

"Yes, it is serious" he agreed, feeling very tired. "I think- I think that whoever has been killing the Death Eaters sent you this message. I think that they want you to unseal the documents so that they can find those who were forgiven and went into hiding."

"Why are they killing Death Eaters?"

"At first I thought it was out of revenge for those who betrayed Voldemort. But I saw Dolohov's body earlier, and I just don't think Dolohov would have ever betrayed his master." Hermione paled at the mention of Antonin Dolohov, and Harry noticed instantly, regretting bringing him up in such a bland manner.

"Dolohov... is dead?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yes. Quite dead."

She didn't respond for a moment. Dolohov had been a monster of her nightmares, often succeeding in killing her where he had once failed. It was a hard sort of thing to forget, nearly being murdered, but now he was dead and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. In truth, she felt nothing.

"O'Rouke thinks that maybe Dolohov did betray Voldemort in the last moment, perhaps by fleeing. She thinks that Draco Malfoy may be the one doing the killing."

"Malfoy?" Hermione scoffed. She had never liked Caitlin O'Rourke for a slew of reasons, not the least of which was her opinion that Harry could do better. She hardly knew the red headed woman but there was something about her sarcastic attitude and boisterous self-confidence that irked Hermione. "The Malfoy family fled in the final battle and were pardoned by the ministry. Why would he be going around killing traitors? Why he'd have to start with..."

"His own parents" Harry said finishing the sentence. While the murders of the unnamed Death Eater and Antonin Dolohov had stayed secret, the slaying of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were quite prominent. Even after becoming turncoats the Malfoy family did not settle down into silence but continued to remain pompous. Their name was tarnished but they refused to accept that, still making very public appearances and attempting to meddle in ministry affairs. Only Draco had become quiet, disappearing off the radar and refusing to speak with anyone from the ministry.

"He has been awful secretive since the war" Hermione admitted grudgingly. "But honestly, Malfoy, murder his own parents? He may have been a spineless little weasel but he adored his parents, especially his father."

"That's what I said too. But who knows what he's capable of." Again, the pale image of Draco hiding in the bathroom, looking near death and panicked crossed Harry's mind. It was the vision of a sick, scared boy, not a bloodthirsty creature of vengeance. "I'm glad you decided to come here." Although, I'm not sure you're much safer around me he nearly said, remembering the sick pleasure he had felt while choking her just hours before. "Let's sort this out after we get some sleep. You can have my bed, all the rest aren't exactly made up. I'll just be downstairs on the couch."

She reached out suddenly, grabbing his wrist, not sure why she had done it, but liking the solid feeling of his warm skin. He felt real then, more real than he often seemed. He had become a shadow in her life, a flickering ghost that came and went in the nights and she was never sure when he might appear and when he might just as quickly disappear. But feeling the pulse in his wrist made him seem human, like something concrete and solid. He didn't pull away and she almost wanted to ask him to stay with her and she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the loneliness of never having another body to warm her sheets, or maybe it was the shock and scare of everything that had happened that evening. Maybe she had just missed him and couldn't stand how much it worried her. It didn't matter what the cause was though, because she released his wrist and let him go.

Sinking back into her covers she pulled a pillow over her face and tried to sleep. She had known that even if she asked him to stay he would have refused. The incident with him attacking her earlier in the night had certainly not left his memory and while she still trusted him fully, he did not trust himself. But there's more to it than that. It wasn't just a bad reaction to a nightmare... there's something he isn't telling me, something even he is afraid of.

This thought kept sleep at bay for another half hour. A scared Harry could never meant good things.

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

Fenrir Greyback paced his small cell in Azkaban. This was the most physical energy he was ever seen exerting these days. The once ferocious werewolf spent most of his time staring at the grey stonewalls, his black eyes glossed over with a deep hopelessness. His life was always cold, and his soul had reached a level of hell that he had not thought possible. If there was such a thing as hell, he could vaguely imagine it as being a nice break from Azkaban. Slowly, the little sanity he had maintained drained from his being. He was a pale shadow of his former self.

Footsteps echoed over his own now, and he looked in surprise. His only visitors were dementors, and they glided soundlessly. He would have hoped that it was an executioner coming to end his misery, but he was past hope. He had grown incapable of it.

A pale face appeared between the shadowy bars of his confines. It was not a full moon yet, but the silver light that glistened out over the ocean wrapped its way through a small barred window and found its way to reflecting the blond hair of the man who stood at the door of Fenrir's prison.

Despite his insanity, Fenrir recognized the youngest Malfoy and growled in anger at seeing the boy's haughty face and judgmental grey eyes. "What are you doing here blood traitor?"

"Better a blood traitor than a filthy dog" Draco scowled. As a boy he had feared the cruel and menacing Fenrir Greyback. Now he felt nothing but disdain for the filthy beast that paced in its little box. Fenrir tried to bark menacingly but it came out as the sorry whimper of a puppy. Draco laughed. "Look at you, going all soft. You're all bark and no bite aren't you? Hell, you don't even have the bark!"

"What do you want?" Fenrir asked, slumping to the ground defeated. "Leave me be and go back to your mudbloods and muggle lovers. You're a coward Malfoy, as is your whole despicable family."

Draco's eyes flashed. "Haven't you heard, I'm the only Malfoy that's still alive."

Fenrir nearly grinned now, but his body was too tired and cold for it. "News does not come easily to those imprisoned here. But as far as news goes, that is the best I could hope to hear. Your cowardly father and whore mother deserved it. And how sad for the long acclaimed Malfoy name that you are the last of your bloodline. Voldemort must be rolling in his grave knowing a little worm like you is left such a legacy."

"You say news doesn't come to you often?" Draco asked, ignoring Fenrir's weak jabs. "Then you have not heard that someone is killing the last of the Death Eaters."

"Who cares? What is left but a bunch of deserters like your parents, prisoners like myself and lucky little pukes like Dolohov who crawled away in the chaos. Without our master, we deserve only death."

"Oh, what a good little doggy you are!" Draco smirked in a mocking tone. There was a glimmer of sadist humor in his eyes for quick moment, but it subsided just as quickly and his grey eyes were as flat as an unmoving lake. "I am going to ask you a question. And you can either answer it or pay the consequences."

"There is nothing more terrible than my current fate" Fenrir said, the slight rage he had summoned leaving his body now for the old familiar sting of cold hopelessness.

"That's what you think" Draco responded, and even in the darkness of the prison his perfect white teeth glinted in a cruel smile.

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

Harry awoke to a strange smell. It was like something slightly burning but in a good way, a sort of smoky flavorful scent that reminded him of... bacon? he wondered, rubbing his eyes as he sat up on the couch. His stomach grumbled as he followed the scent through towards the kitchen, the distinct sound of crackling grease assuring his stomach that his nose had been correct.

Hermione was in the kitchen cooking what appeared to be enough food to feed a small army. He stopped for a moment, leaning against the doorframe as a slight smile played at the corner of his lips. It was such a domestic scene that in that moment they almost looked like two normal people getting a late start on a Sunday morning. For an absurd moment he imagined announcing his presence with a jolly "g'morning dear" and sitting down to a mug of hot coffee and a newspaper that didn't move.

"Put some clothes on" Hermione teased, breaking Harry's reverie. She was stacking pancakes onto a plate, creating a circular tower of steamy hot carbohydrates. Harry ignored her, deciding a shirt was too much trouble to not dive into the bowl of sausage links she had set out, but she slapped his hand away as he tried to make a grab.

"Ow, damn you're fast. You should have been a seeker."

"No, a sport that's so filled with idiotic maneuvers at high speeds far above the ground is something that I would do just as well without thank-you kindly. And you putting a shirt on is not negotiable. I have been slaving over this meal, I woke up hours ago to get some groceries, and the least you could do is act half modest."

"If I only have to be half modest does that mean that I can take my pants off instead?"

She rewarded his witticism with a quick swat to the shoulder, which landed with a resounding slapping sound that filled the kitchen. He went to get dressed and she watched him retreat, nearly burning the bacon as she stared pensively at where he had just been standing. Hearing him make a joke made her feel a sense of relief and normalcy, but it had also surprised her. She needed to understand what was happening with him, but she also knew she needed to be patient. Unfortunately, patience wasn't where Hermione Granger excelled.

When he returned they dug into their breakfast eagerly, not talking as they enjoyed fluffy pancakes, crisp bacon, sausage links, coffee and even an ample helping of scrambled eggs. Hermione had cooked all the food the muggle way, and while she didn't confess this to Harry he was acutely aware that she had done so as a method of distracting herself from the troubling events of the previous evening.

"I need to go into my office" she announced after Harry had cleared the plates and proceeded to magically wash them at the sink.

"You can't" Harry argued over the noise of running water.

"I know it's a Sunday but I do have a key you know" she scoffed.

"No" he argued, his eyes narrowing as he turned away from the suds, plates magically dipping themselves into the water behind him and being wiped dry by invisible hands. "You know why you can't go, it isn't safe."

She rolled her eyes. "Well thank-you Harry Potter, savior of the world as we know it, but I can take perfectly good care of myself."

"So why did you come here?" he asked, and she was taken aback by the coldness in his tone. She had never heard him speak to her in that way. At worst he had spoken with frustration, and even when he had worn the horocrux around his neck he was irritable and short tempered… but never cold. "Why did you come here if you are so well protected?"

"I- I was scared" she admitted, feeling frightened once more by the flat look in his eyes.

"And now you're not?"

"The ministry is well guarded-"

"Oh yes" he laughed. The laughter was bitter and harsh, the same sort of laugh she had sometimes heard from Draco Malfoy. The same sort of laugh that Ginny would have instantly recognized as sounding exactly like Tom Riddle. "The ministry has such a track record for safety. It's been what, a whole five years since it was being run by Death Eaters?"

Hermione was flustered by his response, and while she felt of wave of hot indignation run through her, it was overpowered by a sense of dread at the sudden change in his mood. Never in her life had she felt scared of Harry, but now... she felt like he was a moment away from attacking her again. "I'm going now Harry. And I'm going to request wards be set up at my home, so I won't be bothering you again."

She turned quickly and headed to the fireplace to access the floo network, but Harry was standing between her and her exit with a loud POP that made her cry out with alarm. "I'll apparate out of here Harry, please just let me go!"

He saw the look of panic in her eyes and then there was that feeling again, that strange sick feeling of pleasure. And as quickly as it had come it left and he paled, horrified to see that she shook slightly now in his presence. "My God, I... I just want you to be safe alright?"

She nodded uncertainly, not wanting to come near him. "I'll send aurors to your house to set up guard. It probably is best you go, I'm not, I'm not safe." He stepped aside to let her approach the fireplace and she did not argue with him. She paused for only a moment as though she wanted to say something but thought better of it. In that brief window of time he had the compulsion to reach out and hold her to him, to apologize, to explain all his fears and to have her in his arms until she stopped shaking. He wanted to comfort her the way he had so many times in the past, and he needed the comfort of her presence close to him. But he couldn't trust himself to touch her and so he let her go soundlessly.

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `' `' ` ` `' ` ` `

O'Rourke had quite a strong stomach for gruesome sights, but the scent of a dead werewolf made her gag quite violently. Covering her mouth with a handkerchief she proceeded to study the crime scene. There were footsteps coming down the corridor and she turned to see a haggard looking Harry Potter standing at the opening to the prison cell.

"Didn't get enough sleep?" she asked in a muffled voice, the handkerchief still pressed firmly against her nose.

"Something like that" he answered cryptically. It was always like that with Harry Potter- half answers, mysteries and never ending brooding angst. It was because of these characteristics that she had never pursued anything beyond a few passionate nights with him. Although in truth, his angst and air of mystery was simultaneously what made him so irresistibly attractive to her.

"Did you have a lady friend keeping you up?"

He gave her a puzzled look, and there was almost a strange glint of humor that she could not read. "Sort of" he finally responded, and she ignored the jolt of jealousy and the desire to pry him for more information.

He started to pace around the bloody carcass of Fenrir Greyback, investigating in a similar fashion as she had been before being interrupted by his entrance. "It's the same curse as what was used on the other Death Eaters," she announced.

"Yes, but something is different," he noted, carefully side-stepping a puddle of blood to get closer. It had always amazed O'Rourke that Harry had such a strong stomach for violence. But then, he had pretty much grown up into a world of death and evil. She suddenly shuddered at the thought, watching as Harry's lean body bend over the slashed open werewolf. Harry was a dark silhouette in the shadowy prison cell, his features indiscernible except for his green eyes, which glinted brightly through the dark; the only focal point of light in a room drenched in black blood.

She gagged again, her stomach flipping at the sight, and Harry ignored her, continuing his investigation. "Somebody yanked Greyback's teeth out" Harry noted, his tone calm and as neutral as someone saying, "pass me the milk".

She gagged again. "Why the bloody hell would they do such a thing?"

Harry shrugged. "Pulling teeth is an especially painful form of torture for anyone, but especially a werewolf. They must have been looking for information."

"Either that or revenge" she argued. "Maybe slicing and dicing up the bodies wasn't doing it anymore for the murderer?"

"Possibly" Harry admitted with a bored sigh. "It's odd though, because they took the teeth with them. Maybe as a trophy of the kill, but we've never noticed the killer taking any trophies before."

"Is there any... practical use for werewolf teeth?" O'Rourke asked. "Like a potion or incantation?"

"That's a very good question" Harry replied, leaving the blood covered scene and walking towards her. She was thankful that they would be leaving Azkaban shortly; the place was haunted by desperation and hopelessness.

"I have a good idea of who could give us an answer. Someone who has an epic knowledge of well, everything if one is to believe the way you tell it."

"No, we're aurors, we can do our own God damned research. No need to bring her in on this" he snapped.

"What's wrong, in a fight with the wife?" O'Rourke teased in a lilting tone. Sometimes she reminded Harry of a female Draco Malfoy, which disgusted him a bit. It wasn't an association he wanted to make with someone he used to sleep with.

He didn't respond, simply grabbing the portkey back to their office and she rolled her eyes, following after him in a dizzying whirlwind. Once they had landed upright in the much cleaner and brighter atmosphere of their workplace, he responded to her mockery, coming so closer to her that she found herself shaking very lightly. She wasn't sure if it was the result of fear or something sexual and aggressive, but there was a warning look in his eyes that prevented her from doing anything. "Do not call her my wife, and keep her out of this. All of this. Don't even mention her name."

O'Rourke narrowed her eyes, feeling offended. She knew Harry Potter had a huge overprotective spot when it came to his "wife" but she did not like his tone and attitude. Harry could be aggressive and even dangerous, even as a lover (it was part of the thrill of it all). But he had also always been polite in a quiet way and could be unusually considerate and gentle for a man with his history. His current behavior was alien to O'Rourke, and it made her want to punch him in the face.

Their intense encounter was interrupted by a junior officer loudly entering the office, a stack of papers in his hands. "Oh, hey Potter" the young man greeted, trying to avoid dropping the tediously stacked pile of papers. "I was looking for you, just wanted to let you know that Hermione Granger's house is under top notch protective wards, and we have 24 hour surveillance posted."

O'Rourke sighed in disgust, stepping away from Harry. "Anything for the wife huh Potter?" He didn't respond, and even if he had she couldn't have heard him because she had walked away and loudly slammed the door to her office. Once inside her office she contained an irate scream of frustration. She hated feeling jealous, it wasn't becoming of a woman with her physical and intellectual qualities. But she had always been a bit sore when it came to Harry's relationship with his lifelong friend. Whatever the feelings of jealousy meant, O'Rourke refused to investigate further.

Well if that doesn't beat all she thought with such annoyance it verged on hilarity. On her desk was a memo reading:

Agent: Caitlin O'Rourke

Assignment: Surveillance detail as the residence of Hermione Granger, 20:00 to Midnight.

Fuck my life she thought, crumpling up the paper and chucking it into the fireplace.

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `' `' ` ` `' ` ` `

Hermione had gone into the office and buried herself in work to avoid thinking about the complicated situation at hand. It wasn't very effective. She would read a sentence and then find her mind wandering to Harry. He had scared her, and that was not something she had ever thought he would do. She wanted to help him, but it was clear that he didn't want her help. And then there was that trickling feeling of self-doubt... what if there was nothing she could do? People changed, especially in the face of death and evil. What if his job was ripping apart the boy she once knew, and the old Harry Potter was dying?

That thought sickened her and made her head spin. She had learned to live with many things. She had learned to live with memories of blood and screams in the night. She had learned to deal with the never-ending celebrity praise that came with being a "war hero". She had learned to cope with the fact that her parents had no idea what she had been through, even now that their memory was restored. But she could not learn to live in a world without Harry Potter.

He had given them a reason to fight, to face fears and then afterwards, to mend wounds. He had shown that even a little boy can stand up to evil when courage and love are strong. He had given her reason to become the woman she was today; he had encouraged her to be better than her best, to always strive for more. He simply could not die.

This was a fear she was regularly faced with, but it seemed more eminent than ever, and it pressed in on her every thought until she decided to go home for dinner. A twiggy little auror had come by her office and informed her that her house was under protection earlier in the day, and she decided that a meal was in order now that the sun had long set. She used the floo network to get there, since apparation was no longer an option due to the wards. She was shoved through the green flames and landed in her quiet, empty living room. Except it wasn't empty.

Caitlin O'Rourke was sitting on the sofa, her legs crossed, her posture obnoxiously immaculate. "How nice of you to join me" she greeted, not moving from her comfortable spot. O'Rourke was the sort of woman who made everyone else of the female gender have self image issues. She was graceful as a cat, and her dark red hair was not hard to envy. She had a perfect complexion and enough fashion sense to easily pass as a model. Additionally, she was well known as being quick-witted, powerful and very clever. She had a sharp tongue and was tremendously skilled at dueling.

"Hello... I'm guessing you're on security detail?"

"Yes, I'm here to protect you like you're the Queen of England or some rubbish. We all know you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself."

"Yes, well... Harry."

That was all Hermione had to say, and O'Rourke just snorted. "Yes, I get it. Anything to keep you safe and comfortable."

Hermione already had a pounding headache and so she ignored O'Rourke's snide tone. She wasn't sure if the elegant redhead had a personal issue with her, but she couldn't imagine why. The two women had only met once before, and that had been a ministry event. At the time O'Rourke and Harry had been carrying on some sort of torrid affair, the details of which Hermione had never wanted to concern herself with. Of course, O'Rourke's reputation preceded her as a great up and coming auror, but Hermione had still found O'Rourke cold and unnecessarily sarcastic. She wasn't sure what Harry really saw in her, except maybe a physical lust, which again, Hermione did not care to think about.

"I am going to make some dinner" Hermione announced, walking out of the room. "You can join me or not." She made her way to her dream kitchen, and decided to cook the muggle way to relax her mind. She started chopping ingredients when she heard the click of heels headed her way. O'Rourke entered the kitchen and invited herself to a seat at the island table, watching Hermione cut the food in a disinterested manner.

"You are awfully domestic" O'Rourke finally commented with a yawn.

"Do you have a problem with me?" Hermione retorted, narrowing her eyes. "You can just walk circles around the perimeter of the house for the next few hours for all I care. I'm not responsible for playing hostess to every on-duty auror you know."

"I'm comfortable here" O'Rourke responded quite simply. "But you must have something we can drink to at least pass this awkward period of time?"

"Are you really supposed to be drinking while on-duty?"

"Just as I thought. The goodie two-shoes Hermione Granger doesn't drink!"

If looks could kill, Hermione would have O'Rourke reeling on the floor, but O'Rourke did not flinch. Hermione turned and opened the cupboard behind her to reveal a well-stocked bar. "And I thought I'd seen everything" the auror smiled.

Hermione took out two large glass then, realizing that a drink might not be so bad after all and she mixed them up a wizarding special called the Singing Mermaid. It was one of her personal favorites, and O'Rourke must have liked it as well because she refrained from further nasty comments for a full five minutes.

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `' `' ` ` `' ` ` `

Harry had left the junior officers with a great stack of work in researching potential uses for werewolf fangs. They had all shot him a fair amount of dirty looks, but he couldn't have cared less, and the wild light in his eyes kept them from verbally complaining. They can stay up all night for all I care Harry thought as he stepped into the brisk night air, thrusting his hands into his black dragonhide trench coat. He had told them that he didn't want to hear a word from any of them until they had an answer, or until they had scoured every resource in the Ministry library... which was no small feat.

They can hate me all they want he decided, turning down a dark alleyway. Things are unraveling quickly, and I can't keep it all glued together on my own. Which was why he was on his way to see his old friend, Ronald Weasley. Harry hardly saw Ron due to how often he was away on work, and when Harry did have a break he often spent it sleeping at Hermione's and letting her nurture him. It didn't mean that the two didn't frequently exchange correspondence, and the pain of seeing a reminder of Fred in Ron's red hair had gradually lessened. Harry knew Ron did not blame him for what happened to Fred, nor did any of the Weasleys. But Harry felt like an omen of death, and he had trouble speaking to Ron at times. He needed a friend now though, and he had learned not to trust himself around Hermione. Whatever was happening, it had come out at her twice now, like a snake lashing out from somewhere inside him, and he couldn't bear to be the cause of any more hurt for her.

Ron lived in a flat directly above Weasley Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley. He and George had profited big in the past few years; it seemed many people were badly in need of a laugh or two after the war. Ron could have afforded a number of luxurious homes, but he preferred the flat both for it's convenient location and it's perfect design for a bachelor pad. It had a large open floor plan and he had hired a decorator to give a trendy look, with framed Quidditch souvenirs lining the walls and plush leather furniture scattered about. There were large windows that looked down onto Diagon Alley, and Harry had it as a fact that Ron had romanced a number of women there. Harry thought hiring a decorator had been a good call on Ron's part. While Harry admittedly had no sense for such things, Ron had always been notorious for his horrendous ability to clash colors.

Even though they only saw each other rarely, Ron did not seem surprised when he saw Harry Potter on the other side of the door. Their relationship had taken a relaxed quality; Ron had let go of the petty jealousy he had once directed towards Harry, and what the two men had faced together had given them a deeply rooted bond that neither time nor distance could sever. Despite Harry's guilt complex, he would always see Ron as the brother he had never had, and the closest thing to family he could recall.

Ron's hair was ruffled and his buttons on his shirt were open, and as soon as Harry stepped in he spotted a tall blond exiting from the bathroom, appearing as though she had just reapplied her make-up. She smiled coyly at Harry, instantly recognizing the legend, but he did not respond to her friendly greeting. "Listen babe, I just need a word with my friend Harry, do you think you could head over to the pub and I'll meet you there shortly?"

"Of course Ronniekins" she purred, running her hand through his wild red hair, and to top off the elaborate display of affection she passionately kissed him. All this, of course, did not stop her from shooting Harry a seductive glance on her way out the door.

"I don't know where you find them Ron" Harry jabbed, shaking his head.

"PlayWizard parties mostly" Ron admitted, and catching Harry's obvious eye roll he added, "Don't go on about how I'm shallow, I hear enough of it from my Mum. `Ron Weasley, when will you find yourself a nice girl?'" he mimicked, pouring two shots of FireWhiskey without asking. "`Why couldn't you just have settled down with someone sensible and intelligent like Hermione?'"

Harry blanched at Hermione's name and sat down suddenly. Noticing his friend's sudden change in pallor Ron stopped his squeaky impersonation and set the bottle down. "Blimey Harry, what is it?"

"I don't know Ron... Something is wrong with me. I nearly killed Hermione the other night."

Ron may have been broken up with Hermione for quite some time, but the over protectiveness he felt for the brown haired girl had not waned in the least. He drew himself up to his full height (which was quite impressive) and stared daggers at Harry. The logical part of his mind had long ago accepted that he would never rival the famous Harry Potter at duels, and even from a physical standpoint Harry had the edge on him due to his auror training. But that logic had never quelled the infamous Ron Weasley temper.

"Explain yourself" he spat, balling his fists so tight his knuckles glowed an even paler white that usual.

"It was a mistake... sort of. The normal part of me didn't mean it. I love her Ron, she's everything to me."

Ron was not shocked by the candid words from his best friend. Harry hadn't grown up in a household that taught him the proper way to express emotions, but when it came to Hermione, Harry was an open book as far as Ron was concerned. He openly adored her intelligence, and was every bit as protective of her as Ron was. Their relationship had become increasingly strong after the war, and even more so when her and Ron ended romantically. Ginny often insisted that Harry and Hermione were intimately involved, but Ron vigorously disagreed. Harry and Hermione were simply two parts of an impressive machine- one could not function without the other, but together they were unstoppable. They were not, and never would be, romantically interested in each other. It just wasn't a part of their unique coexistence.

Ron relaxed from his tense posture. He could see the pain in Harry's eyes and the trembling uncertainty in his voice. Harry was scared and there was something deeply unsettling in that. "What happened?" Ron asked, more calmly this time.

"Lately... I've been feeling all mixed up. Like there's this other part of me coming out, something sick and sadistic, something evil. The other night, Hermione awoke me from a nightmare, and I choked her, I mean I really grabbed her by the throat and I guess I stopped before she really got hurt, but this is the thing Ron, the thing I couldn't tell her even afterwards... I enjoyed it. And it wasn't the first time. Lately, the sight of violence has been giving me this cold thrill, a sort of sick pleasure that I've never known before. I have never associated blood or pain or fear with happiness, but randomly it will come upon me and I'm someone else entirely. I don't know if I'm going insane, if it's my job that's finally catching up with me, or if I've been cursed in some way..." he broke off suddenly and he looked like he might be sick.

Ron knew that Harry had been changing in many ways. He rarely saw his best friend, but there was little to no joy in his eyes when they did meet. The few times they had managed to grab drinks or catch a Quidditch match Harry was quiet mostly. He was a faded version of the friendly, genuine boy he had once known at Hogwarts. But Ron had never blamed him... they had all changed, and while Ron had gone on to a frivolous life of money, women and luxuries, people like Harry and Hermione had decided to keep the weight of the world on their shoulders. Each in their own ways, but the burden was clear.

What Ron had not expected was for Harry to go mad. He had seen The Boy Who Lived go through endless nightmares and challenges; had seen him tormented in most ways possible. But Harry had almost always been level and reliable. Harry was the storybook perfect hero.

"Have you talked to anyone at the aurors office about this?" Ron asked gently. "Or maybe sought counseling at St. Mungos?"

"I can't" Harry shook his head reverently. "They would mandate that I take time off, and that simply isn't an option for me right now. There are things unfolding that are very concerning."

Harry didn't go into more detail than that, not because he didn't trust Ron- he had and always would trust Ron with his life- but because he knew it would just confuse the matter. Ron didn't need to know about the dead Death Eaters, or the strange curses or the missing werewolf fangs. What he did need to know was that Hermione was in danger. So Harry explained the very minimum about the threatening letters she was receiving.

"Why would anyone want to unseal the Death Eater records?" Ron asked, echoing the same question Harry had heard numerous times.

"I don't know, but I'm working to figure that out. And so long as I'm suffering from this... this mental thing I can't be around her, which is why I need you to do whatever you can to make sure Hermione stays safe."

"Of course Harry, you know I will. You already have aurors watching over her now right?"

"Yes, O'Rourke is stationed with her for a while, and then Lennon is next. But you know her, she doesn't like being watched by strangers and I'm sure when she's around the Ministry she will do whatever she can to shake them off from interfering in her work."

"She's with O'Rourke?" Ron asked, slightly amused.

"Yes, why?" Harry demanded with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Nothing, a bloke just can't help but wonder how that's going. Your exes never like Hermione. Save for Ginny of course, but that's different."

"You say `exes' like I've had so many. Anyways, I don't see what the problem should be. O'Rourke is a professional, she knows that Hermione and I were only ever friends, and whatever we had was long in the past. Besides, she's hardly an ex, we only just shagged a few times."

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

"We only just shagged a few times" O'Rourke reminisced over her fourth glass of Singing Mermaid. "But it was truly mind blowing, I mean..."

"I do NOT want to hear anymore about that" Hermione hiccuped, glaring at her through squinted eyes.

"Oh like you don't already know" O'Rourke slurred, downing the remnants of her glass and setting them both up with another.

"Oh I shouldn't..." Hermione began.

"Shouldn't what? Sleep with him? Why bloody not, he's madly in love with you."

"WHAT?" Hermione sputtered. "I meant I shouldn't have another drink, I have work in the morning. Of course we've never slept together, we're best friends. It's almost weird to even think about...."

"But you have thought about it" O'Rourke pried.

"No! No, I have not. It's not like that. It's impossible to even explain, so I won't bother."

"Oh please do try" O'Rourke pestered in a dry tone, ignoring Hermione's decision to not have another drink and filling her cup. Hermione did not protest again, simply taking a long sip before beginning to attempt to find the words to define her relationship with Harry Potter.

"We have loved each other since we were children, but in a platonic way."

"So, like brother and sister then?"

"No" Hermione said abruptly. "I mean, sure, I guess. I told you I can't explain it. Yes, like brother and sister in that there is no sexual anything between us. Ever. But not like brother and sister because we are closer somehow, comfortable in a way people normally aren't. Like we know what each other is thinking or feeling. At least, that was how it used to be."

"What's changed?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing really."

O'Rourke eyed Hermione suspiciously. The conversation had started simply as a matter of girly intrigue. O'Rourke had always been envious of the way Hermione and Harry were together, and she had been positive that they knocked boots from time to time, but she had never had any proof. Now she was nearly convinced that they were strictly friends, but there was something new she was curious about. What was wrong with Harry.

"He's changing" O'Rourke commented suddenly, breaking a moment of silent reverie for them both.

"In what way do you mean?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"I can tell you know exactly what I'm talking about. I'm not an auror just because I'm gorgeous and brilliant. I have a great skill for reading people, so let's quit with the pretense."

Hermione sighed and bit nervously at her lower lip. "Yes, something is changing in him."

"It worries you."

"Yes, I don't know what to do and I know I can't help him. Is it affecting his work?"

This time O'Rourke proceeded with caution, not sure how much Harry had already told his little girlfriend. "Not nearly as much as his concern over you is affecting him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm fine."

"I told him about as much. But like I said, he's madly in love with you, so he sort of has this blind spot where you're concerned."

"He admires me" Hermione snapped. "We admire each other, and yes, love is there but not in whatever way you're trying to insinuate. Anyways, I don't see what business it is of yours."

O'Rourkes eyes flashed angrily then, and for a brief moment Hermione glimpsed the ferocity that the red haired auror was famed for. Fortunately, Hermione was not the type to be easily scared. She had seen worse than a woman scorned.

"You still have feelings for him don't you?" Hermione asked, turning the tables.

"I told you, we only shagged a few times" O'Rourke bitterly responded, narrowing her eyes. "Nothing to get all mushy over. Although, it was certainly memorable. You claim you two have never gone for it, but haven't you ever even just wondered? Because I'll tell you, he is a stud in the bedroom. I mean, a real piece of man meat if you catch my drift..."

"He's not just some accessory" Hermione hissed, standing up suddenly. In that moment it was O'Rourke seeing the Hermione Granger that had been so often declared the most powerful witch of their age. And she was surprised to feel a jolt of fear. Hermione had become such a diplomat after the war, and while intensely passionate, she was not known for violence. Here, standing at full height and glaring at O'Rourke, the auror was reminded that she was in the presence of a war hero.

Hermione's gaze suddenly softened, something seemed to pass over her face, something she seemed to ponder briefly and then it passed before even the sharp O'Rourke could read it. And then Hermione did what O'Rourke least expected. She began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" she snapped indignantly.

"You're completely in love with him!" Hermione choked out between her laughter. "You talk tough, and of course you have a reputation to protect. O'Rourke, the most skilled female auror in decades. But, you are clearly infatuated with one Mr. Harry James Potter."

"How many times do I have to tell you it was all just..."

"Sex, I know" Hermione interrupted. "Maybe for him, but not for you. Why else would you be here grilling me about the nature about our relationship? Oh, believe me, I've dealt with it before, but few have gone after the question with such focused ferocity! You hate thinking that he's in love with me because he doesn't love you."

Caitlin O'Rourke was frequently known for her sharp wit and cutting words. She could be blunt and harsh, but she could also purr eloquently and win over the heart of most any man. Whether she was being sweet or sour, O'Rourke was never short on words. Which was why she found it highly irritating that she was currently sputtering. Sputtering!

"Maybe you have a point" a resigned O'Rourke finally admitted. She had buckets of pride, but she could also follow logic as well as any detective ought to be able to, and logical pieces were falling into place. Her annoyance with the otherwise admirable Hermione Granger, her need to pry at Harry's personal life, her anger of Harry's loving protection of his best friend, and of course, the undeniable fact that she couldn't ever stop watching him. Seeing him was the highlight of her workday, and that realization was a heavy one. She had never been in love, and had never wanted to be. Least of all, she had never desired the pathetic feeling that accompanies unrequited love.

"Alright, you have a point" O'Rourke finally continued. "But you are wrong about one thing. I don't THINK he's in love with you. I KNOW he is."

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

Draco Malfoy had mixed feelings about the famous Malfoy Manor. Without a doubt, it was historic in a way that only Hogwarts could compare. There wasn't a single shadowy corner without dark secrets, and oh if those walls could talk!

One might say the walls could talk, because the portraits lining the corridors certainly never shut up. They had many nasty opinions to share about blood loyalty and advice on dark magic. Which was why he had covered each with a heavy black cloth to hide their peering eyes and muffle their incessant chatter. After his parents' murder, leaving his ancestors in the dark seemed like a good idea, and he had not regretted it. Of course, it had taken him days to cover each and every frame. He would have tasked it to the House Elves, but since Hermione Granger's tirade on treatment of magical creatures he found it easier to dismiss the lot of them. They had blubbered on, but in the end he was glad for the silence. House Elves had always creeped him out, and that bleeding heart mudblood could save or slaughter them for all he cared.

He headed for the dungeons, a section of Malfoy Manor which had seen even more misery than the rest of the massive house. A section of it served as an enormous potions laboratory, and he had work to do. He descended further and further downwards, the stone carved spiral stairs lit only by flickering torches. A cheery family tale once told of Marcellus Malofy who had thrown his young wife down the stairs when he found out that she was not truly pure blood and thus the unborn Malfoy child in her womb would taint the bloodline. After watching her tumble endlessly down the hard stones Marcellus had famously said "A Malfoy not of pure blood is no Malfoy at all."

Stories such as these made the house feel even more cold and haunted than it actually was (and it was very cold and absurdly haunted). Without the House Elves it was just Draco and the ghosts, and that could get under even his skin. But not currently, as he ignored the shudder down his spine and finally reached the dank bottom of the dungeon. Fear was a weakness of his childhood that he regretted each and every day. He needed to get to work.

The potions lab would have made even the stoic Severus Snape grin. In fact, before Snape's death he had spent plenty of hours borrowing the Malfoy potions lab to create those things that Hogwarts would have frowned upon. However, since the final battle Draco had made some impressive improvements. Malfoys had a tendency to cling to the old, and the potions lab had once been cluttered with antiquated cauldrons and aging ingredients. Draco had disposed of all those things and gone top of the line with everything. He had nearly every ingredient imaginable, both legal and illegal. And now that he had the final item he needed, he could complete his most recent project.

The potion was already carefully brewed, and had been sitting in a sleek steel cauldron for four nights, bubbling very slightly as the directions dictated. It had been a very complex potion to create, and while Draco had always excelled with potions, he needed to be particularly cautious with this one. Even with his massive stock of supplies he had needed to procure some obnoxiously elusive items, not the least of which was currently tucked in a sack in his pocket. He donned the dragonhide gloves and carefully untied the sack, turning his nose up at the contents before he slowly poured them into a mortar and began to grind. A scraping sound like knife against bone echoed through the dark dungeon as the clock neared midnight.

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