Disclaimer: I merely borrow to create. And since I can't exactly ask for permission, I just need to make it clear....we all know who came up with this stuff and it's not me.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much for the response to the last chapter! I'm very flattered that yall are still reading, despite my long breaks between chapters. Next month, I'm graduating from college with my Creative Writing degree that's only taken nearly five years to get and hopefully, I'll have even more time in the New Year to work on this story. Although I'm on a roll now, I don't want to jinx it;)
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An Organ of Fire
by Kristen Elizabeth
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Buffy: No, but, see, Mom, that doesn't really work for me. We're just going to the magic shop, no school
supplies there.
Dawn: Yeah, Mom. I'm not going to Hogwarts. (chuckles) Hog- (looks at Buffy, who's not amused) Jeez, crack a
book sometime.
****
"Hermione." Harry's voice was the next thing she was aware of; he called her name gently while his hands lightly patted her cheeks. "I think she's coming around."
Unsure of to whom he spoke, Hermione forced her eyes open. "Harry?"
"Hey, relax," he ordered when she tried to sit up. "You're going to be fine, but there's no need to rush yourself."
Hermione frowned despite the warm comfort that she found in the centers of his eyes. "I fainted?" He nodded. "Then where..." She tried to glance around, realizing that she was lying on something unfamiliar.
"Welcome back, Hermione." A familiar face joined Harry's high above her. "You gave poor Harry quite a scare, you know."
She relaxed and smiled at the man. "Neville." After studying him for a minute, she continued, "You've lost a lot of weight!"
Together with Harry, their old schoolmate, fellow Gryffindor Neville Longbottom, helped her into a sitting position on what she assumed was his own desk. "Thank you," he replied. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm all right." She looked at Harry; he was rubbing her lower back with one hand ever so lightly. "We're in..."
"The first office I could get you to," Harry replied. "What luck, eh? Finding Neville in the Department of Magical Catastrophes."
With a wave of his wand, Neville conjured a glass of water and handed it to Hermione. "I've been working here almost six years now."
"I had heard that." She drank, grateful for the thoughtful gesture. "Actually it was a bit of a surprise when I did."
"Oh, to me, too," Neville said, laughing. "Professor Snape called me a walking Magical Catastrophe once, and now I work to clean them up. Poetic, isn't it?"
Harry, though still worried about Hermione's sudden affliction, managed a wicked smile. "I'll make sure to tell him all about you."
"I'd appreciate that." He glanced back and forth between his old friends. "What brings you two to the Ministry in the first place? And you...Harry...where the bloody hell have you been for ten years?"
"Long...very long story," Harry grimaced. "But we're actually here to...um...look for my godfather. He's missing."
Neville frowned. "Sirius Black is missing? We haven't heard anything about it, Harry."
"It just happened," Hermione informed him. Her stomach still rolled and bucked with nausea; it was a struggle to suppress the urge to vomit.
"Hermione, I think we should get you to a..."
She cut Harry off with a wave of her hand. "I just...probably need something to eat. Something...really bland though." She looked at Neville. "We didn't sleep very much last...I mean *I*...*I* didn't sleep very much last night. Me. Just me. Alone." Hermione put a hand on her stomach. "That's why I don't feel well."
Neville's eyebrows lifted, but said nothing more on the subject. "I'll get the Aurors looking for Sirius right away, Harry."
"No! Actually I was just thinking that it would be great if you could get a...small team together to look into it. People you trust completely." Harry gave the other man a significant look.
"Er...all right." Neville hesitated. "Hermione...I was so sorry to hear about Ron. I should have visited you sooner to apologize for not making it to the funeral. I was on my honeymoon when it..." He stopped. "He was a great man."
Hermione nodded. "Yes, he was. Thank you, Neville."
"So, you're just here to report Black's disappearance?" Neville said, changing the subject. "You're a terribly long way from the Department of Mysteries."
"Actually..." Harry licked his lips. Neville had always been a loyal and trustworthy friend. Having his help and through him, having the Ministry's resources, would be a great advantage when it came time to bring down Malfoy. But still, something kept him from telling the other man the entire truth. Especially when he glanced at Neville's office walls and saw pictures of him and his wife, a witch he didn't recognize, and even more recent pictures of the couple with a tiny baby girl.
He couldn't bring Neville into the heart of danger. As much as he might have grown up and would now be able to take care of himself, Harry couldn't bear to risk any more innocent lives.
"Actually," he started again. "We were just...a little turned around."
Neville nodded. "It's a confusing place, but I like working here. I don't even get lost anymore." He paused. "Remember Seamus?"
"Of course."
"He works a few floors over. Regulation of Magical Creatures."
Harry smiled. "Maybe we'll drop in on him. But first..." He glanced at Hermione.
"I'm fine now, Harry," she lied.
"You probably shouldn't be Apparating though," Neville said. "Where are you staying? Diagon Alley?" When they both nodded, he reached for his cape which hung from a hat rack next to his desk. "I'll get a Ministry car and drive you over there."
"That's really not necessary, Neville," Hermione said, although the idea sounded wonderful.
"I insist." As he donned the cape, he watched Harry help Hermione off the desk with the greatest of care. The corners of his lips turned up. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger...Weasley. After all that time, all the separation, all the loss and heartache they must have suffered, it looked as though the Golden Couple of Gryffindor, even if they had been the last ones to realize that they were so, had found their way back to each other.
He couldn't wait to tell everyone the good news.
****
Neville left them in front of the London street entrance to the Leaky Cauldron with the promise that he would set a team of trustworthy Ministry employees onto the mystery of Sirius' disappearance. While Harry was grateful for the help, a seed of doubt had crept into the back of his mind during their car ride through London. If anyone was going to find his godfather, it had to be him and him alone.
Once inside the tavern, Harry ordered Hermione to sit in front of the fire and rest while he ordered a lunch of bread, plain cheese and gillywater to settle her stomach. They ate in silence for a long time until Hermione finally spoke.
"You didn't really want to get Neville involved, did you?"
Harry swallowed a mouthful of cheese. "He has a wife. And a baby. I couldn't."
"I just wanted to make sure you weren't judging him based on how he was in school. Because he's obviously changed." Hermione took a tiny sip of her water; her stomach was feeling much better, but she had no desire to push it. The nausea had hit too suddenly for her liking.
"He's done well for himself," Harry agreed. "It's hard to explain without sounding..."
"Pompous?"
He smiled. "I'll accept that. Pompous, yes. It's hard to say without being pompous that in the end, it always comes down to us, Hermione. You, me...Ron. And it's mostly my fault for being who I am. But it just seems like...I shouldn't drag other people into our..." He stopped, shaking his head. "I don't even know what I'm saying anymore." Harry ran all ten fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his brow and baring his scar. "I'd really just like to go upstairs and spend the rest of the day in bed with you."
She blushed suddenly, although the prospect didn't fail to appeal to her. "How about the next best thing?"
"The next best thing to sex?" Harry gave her a look. "And that would be...?"
****
"Quidditch!" Hermione declared ten minutes later when they came to a stop in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry's favorite store in the world during their Hogwarts years. "Right?"
"I don't know," Harry said, scratching his cheek. "It's rather a toss-up for me. Sex or Quidditch...which is better? I'll have to give this some..."
She silenced him with a hand to his mouth. "Harry Potter!"
"Glad to see you're feeling better," he mumbled through her fingers.
"Do you want to go in or not?" Hermione asked, releasing him. Harry looked at the window display of the new Firebolt X-4000 and nodded obediently. She smiled and brushed snow out of his hair. "I can't wait for spring. You always looked so good on a broom."
He wagged a finger at her. "Now who's being naughty?" Laughing at her expression, he pushed the door to the store open and waited for her to enter first.
During his first minute and a half in the store, Harry spotted ten things he could blow his entire salary on with little to no hesitation. But he was surprised to realize the items which caught his attention weren't even things he could use to play the game. They were all child-sized gear, protective padding, robes, beginner's broom-care kit....and all picked out with little Harry in mind.
When Hermione caught him examining a winter practice robe that could only fit a child, her chest began to ache. The last time she had been in here had been with Ron as they shopped for little Harry's ninth birthday. Ron had wanted to buy one of everything in the store for the boy, but she had held back and convinced him to get a different present. Flying wasn't exactly prohibited until that first lesson at Hogwarts, but it was discouraged, as she had had to remind him several times.
So, because of her unwillingness to bend any rules, even the unspoken ones, Ron would never get to see the boy he helped raise play the game over which they had bonded so intensely. Harry, however, would. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.
She had no time to ponder this, however. Harry's sudden strong grip on her arm shook her out of her memories. "Harry?"
"Malfoy," he said in a low, cold tone that sent shiver throughout her body. "He's here."
Hermione followed his focused stare across the store. "Harry...please don't..." But he was already walking over. Silently cursing, she followed him.
Draco stood in front of the counter, counting out gold Galleons as the clerk wrapped brown paper around a long object. As Harry moved closer, he watched a young boy run up to his former schoolmate. The boy appeared to be about little Harry's age, but it was the slicked-back, platinum hair that gave away his identity.
If there was any left over doubt in Harry's mind, it was dispelled when the child looked up at Draco. "Father, I want one of those." He pointed to a large display of training Quaffles.
"Wrap up two of those," Draco ordered the clerk. Nodding, the older man hastened to do Malfoy's bidding.
Harry could feel his teeth grinding, but he managed to keep himself under a thin veil of control as he addressed the would-be Dark Lord. "Post-Christmas shopping, Malfoy?"
Spinning around would have been beneath him; Draco simply turned his head, showing no surprise to see Harry and Hermione behind him. "Birthday," he replied. With a glance down, he smiled cooly. "It isn't every day that a child turns eleven." He placed a hand on the back of the boy's head and pushed him forward. "My son, Bronson Malfoy."
"The Third," the child emphasized, looking up at Harry with piercing blue eyes. "Who are you?"
"Bronson..." Draco smile with much condescension as he made the introductions. "The *great* Harry Potter."
The boy looked bored. "Smashing." Turning his attention to the counter top, he reached for the brown paper wrapped package. "Is this my Firebolt, Father?"
Hermione frowned. "Draco...surely you're not buying him a broomstick for his birthday."
"And what if I were?" he countered, a sneer marring his thin lips. "What would it be to you?"
"Children," she began quietly. "Are not to come to school with their own broomstick."
Draco considered her for a long moment. "Bronson, you remember Mrs. Weasley. Or have you gone back to 'Granger' now that you're a widow?"
Hermione stared at him. There was no hint of guilt or remorse or even acknowledgment of her pain, pain he had inflicted, on his cold features. How had the boy who had been merely a school bully and more of a bother than a threat, turned into someone who could murder without care? "I've kept Ron's name," she replied. "You couldn't take that away from me." Harry's discreet hand on her arm gave her words strength.
A moment passed; had the setting been less public, Harry would have loved to knock the chuckle right off of the blonde man's face. The clerk milled around them, wrapping Bronson's presents, but the three adults ignored him. "Harry Potter will be one of your teachers next year, Bronson." Draco jerked his son's attention back to the conversation by grabbing his shoulder and pulling him against his robes.
Harry's eyes narrowed. Voldemort's robes.
"I've already gotten my letter," Bronson smirked. "Has Harry?" he asked Hermione. The question could have been friendly, had the boy not had such a fierce look of competitive malice.
He went ignored as his father continued. "Mrs. Weasley teaches at Hogwarts now, too. But don't worry...you won't have her next year."
"Just what does that mean?" Harry asked. His wand was in his pockets; it would only take a second to...
Hermione stepped in front of him. "All first year students take History of Magic, Draco. Whether you like it or not, I will be teaching your son."
He smiled again, revealing identical rows of perfect, white teeth. "We shall see." Releasing Bronson's shoulders, Draco handed the last of the Galleons to the store clerk. "Deliver everything by tomorrow morning," he instructed. As a second thought, he picked up the wrapped broomstick. "Except for this."
Bronson took his present with glee, cradling it like a girl would a favorite doll. Draco looked back at his childhood adversaries. "I'll be seeing you around," he promised.
Before he could follow his son to the door, Harry caught Draco's arm. "I know about you," he stated in a low, clear voice.
Draco arched an eyebrow, but displayed no worry. "And just what does Harry Potter think he knows?"
"Nice robes," Harry continued, releasing him. "They look...very familiar to me. I wonder on whom I've seen them before..."
The amusement in Draco's eyes died. "You've seen them on me. You prat," he added for lack of anything else to say.
Harry smiled, shaking his head. "If I've figured it out, Malfoy, it's only a matter of time before everyone does."
A moment slipped by in which Harry truly thought it possible that Draco might slip up and give something away. But, all too soon, the cool grin was back on his face, as though nothing in the world could bother him. "It's going to take more than clothes, Potter," he chuckled, backing away.
"What have you done to my godfather, you bloody bastard?" Harry hissed, not caring who might be watching or listening. "If you've harmed him in any way..."
Draco shook his head. For the benefit of the shoppers around them who couldn't hear their conversation, but could see Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy on the brink of a fight, he raised his voice several notches. "Poor Potter. You've been around Muggles and Mudbloods too long. Starting to lose what little sense you ever had." He moved closer and lowered his voice. "If I wanted to harm Sirius Black, do you think you'd ever see him alive again?"
As Harry absorbed this, Draco swept out of the store, his full, black robes billowing behind him. After what seemed like half a lifetime, Harry lunged for the door.
"Harry!!" Hermione's cry didn't stop him as he raced back into the snow-covered street. He glanced around wildly, scaring a group of children looking at the owls for sale across the way at Eeylops Owl Emporium. But it was in vain; Draco and his son had already vanished. Harry stood in the middle of Diagon Alley, chest rising and falling with each breath, ignoring everything and everyone around him.
Hermione approached him from behind, placing her hands delicately on his shoulder blades. "Harry..." She could feel the tension in his body through his robes. "Everything he does...everything he says is meant to provoke you. Don't let him."
Harry nodded, but didn't...couldn't relax. "He's got something up his sleeve, Hermione...and it's something to do with you. I'll kill him before I let him hurt you again."
She moved around in front him quickly. "Stop. Listen to yourself! He's twisting you all around to his liking! You're starting to think like him now, and I'm not going to let it happen." There was a pause. "We're going back to Hogwarts."
"Hermione..."
"Don't you even try to argue this with me, Harry Potter." Her eyes brimmed over with tears. "We're going back to the Leaky Cauldron, getting our things and Apparating straight to Hogsmeade." The tears spilled over onto her smooth cheeks. "There's nothing more to be done here."
"Sirius," he stated, brushing away the wet tracks.
"What else can you do, Harry?"
His stomach dropped at the impact of the question. "Nothing." Harry lowered his arm. "Nothing at all."
"Sirius...wherever he might be...is a survivor. He made it out of Azkaban, he eluded capture, he cleared his own name..." Hermione cupped Harry's face in her hands. "You know what he'd tell you to do."
Harry closed his eyes. "Go home."
"Yes." Standing her toes, she kissed Harry's scar ever so lightly. "Let's go home, Harry."
When he opened his eyes again, she was smiling up at him. His anger melted in her warmth. Without thinking, he pulled her into a tight embrace. "I love you," he whispered into her hair.
She didn't ever want to pull away from him, but the feeling that everyone on the street was staring at them was too great. With a fair amount of grace, she managed to slip out of his arms, but took his hand to make up for it. "Come on."
Together, they walked back to the mouth of Diagon Alley and re-entered the Leaky Cauldron.
"Back again?" the barkeep winked at Harry. "Just window shoppin', eh?"
He gave the man a patient smile. "Can you settle our bill, please? We'll be down to pay for it in..."
"Harry!" Hermione grabbed his sleeve, cutting him off. "Oh god, Harry! Look!!"
"What is it, Her..." He stopped abruptly, as his own gaze landed on what she had spotted only a moment earlier. At the very table at which they had eaten lunch no more than an hour earlier, a man in dark robes sat, staring at the blazing fire while sipping a pint of Muggle Guinness. The man looked up suddenly and smiled.
Harry blinked, unbelieving of what he was seeing. "Sirius."
****
To Be Continued