Disclaimer: Not mine, nor do I claim ownership over much besides the measley little plot;)
Authors Notes: I'm on a roll again, baby! At least on this story. Thanks again for all the great words of support. Yall still like it....you really still like it!!
Dedication: To Riley. Both of them.
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An Organ of Fire
by Kristen Elizabeth
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"I just don't know what to do." Harry lifted his head from the safe cradle of his hands and looked across the table. "I need your help. You always know what to do. You're better at this sort of thing than me."
"Harry." Hermione scooped up a bite of porridge and gave him a look. "You're chaperoning a group of students in Hogsmeade, not taking a three-scroll exam. You're going to be fine."
Ignoring his own breakfast, Harry stared at the wide window cut into the stone of the Great Hall. It was snowing again; a nice January storm that, sadly, wasn't severe enough to cancel the scheduled outing. "I just..." He stopped.
She lowered the spoonful before it could reach her lips. His gaze had become blank; it sent a little chill down her spine. "You just...what, Harry?"
He refocused and met her worried eyes. Not for the first time, he regretted not sharing the new information Sirius had discovered about Ron's death with her. But how could he tell her that her worst fears had been confirmed? That her husband had been murdered by the same hand that had orchestrated the worst recorded attack on Hogwarts? That the same hand was now mostly likely after him...and that he feared anyone around him, including innocent bystanders, might be hurt when it all came to a head?
Harry attempted a smile. "I just wish you would come, too. I could use a partner in keeping an eye on the Slytherins."
Hermione ate the cold bite of her breakfast before replying, "You know I need to stay here with Harry."
"How is he?"
The question stabbed at Hermione. Harry shouldn't have to ask after their son as though they lived miles apart. "He's...he's speaking to me again." She chuckled half-heartedly. "That's something, isn't it?"
Harry reached across the table and folded his hand around hers. "'Mione."
"It's all right." She threaded her fingers through his for a brief moment. "He just needs more time." There was a pause. "He's been to see Hagrid."
"What did he want to ask Hagrid about?"
Hermione pulled her hand back towards her chest. "I'm not sure. Hagrid said he made a promise not to tell me. But he did say..." She sniffed delicately. "...that Harry is very confused."
"I have to believe that with enough time, he'll be able to come to you for answers to his questions," Harry said, his voice soothing.
"Or to you."
He shook his head. "We'll have to see about that." Harry stood up from the table and leaned across the table to drop a kiss on the top of her head. "Wish me luck."
****
When he was seventeen years old, there was nothing Harry enjoyed more than a warm butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks with his two best friends on a cold outing to Hogsmeade. Now, at twenty-eight, as he accepted his mug from the waitress, and surveyed the pub, the site of so many happy moments past, all he could do was remember.
At the tables around him, groups of Hogwarts students laughed and drank, nibbled on Honeydukes candies, completely content and innocent. Harry took a sip of his drink. His tongue ached with the familiarity of the butterbeer's flavor. All he had to do, he figured, was close his eyes and he'd be seventeen again. Hermione would be on his right side, poring over her latest book purchase. Ron, on his left, would have given up the the struggle to save his candies for a later time.
Seventeen. Before graduation. Before Voldemort's final attempt on his life. Before his first night with Hermione. Before his departure. When life was made better by a simple drink with his friends and as far as any of them knew, it always would be.
Suddenly, the nostalgia was too much for him. Harry set his mug aside, threw down a few sickles to cover his tab and pulled on his thick, winter robe. A few of the students called out to him as he left the pub, but he only gave them a nod of recognition. The walls were closing in on him, reminding him of the past he could never get back and a future that was all too uncertain.
The cold air outside was exactly what Harry needed to clear his head. He glanced up at the sky; it was a light grey color, indicating an approaching snow flurry. He sighed to himself. Hopefully, it would spend itself before it was time to take the students back to the castle.
A strong, cold wind blew over him; he pulled the hood of his robe up over his messy locks. An impending storm. Just like the current status of his entire life. Something coming, over which he would have little to no control until it decided to hit. It was a horrifically unsettling thought.
Having had no control over his life as a child, Harry despised helplessness. His ability to do magic usually ensured that he never fell victim to it. But now, he felt stripped down to his very bones. Worse than when he stood in an empty field, bleeding, with only the energy left to raise his wand to send Voldemort into oblivion, a danger challenged him. Threatened those he loved. Had killed his best friend in the world. And even if it took the last breath from his body, Harry Potter would stop it.
Down the street, he could just make out the dark shape of the Shrieking Shack. Despite the truth about its origins that had been revealed nearly fifteen years earlier, it was still abandoned, still the centerpiece of Hogwarts legend and still avoided by most. Harry, however, smiled at the twisted building. So much of his father was in the Shack. So much good in a place considered to be so frightening.
His thoughts drifted to Sirius, another key figure in the history of the Shack. An owl had arrived from London the day before from his godfather. There wasn't much new in the investigation against Draco Malfoy, mostly because Sirius was the only investigator. The decision to keep the Aurors out of the way had been Harry's. They had done nothing when Ron had needed their protection; as far as he was concerned, they were useless.
Harry wriggled his fingers into the warm pockets of his robes and tore his stare away from the mangled structure. As he glanced down the other end of the street, in the general direction of the train station, he spotted a dark figure, framed against the lights from the store windows. Harry's eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the person, but before he could even begin to guess who it was, it started moving towards him.
A cape billowed around the strangers feet, brushing over the snow that littered the ground. Harry instinctively took a small step back. As the figure came even closer, it began to speak from under the heavy folds of the cape that blacked out its face, preventing immediate identification.
"Well, now." The cloaked man stopped a few yards away. "I don't think I've ever seen you without one of your groupies, Potter."
Harry didn't need to see the man's face. His nasal tone had always given Draco Malfoy away. The reference to Ron and Hermione from the man who had and was continuing to destroy his friends enraged Harry, but he managed to keep his voice low and steady. "I see you've given yours the night off, too." A moment of silence froze in the air between them. "I have very little to say to you, Malfoy, but none of it's good."
Draco reached up to push back his hood, giving Harry his first glimpse in ten years of the wizard playing Dark Lord. The sickly, pale teenager Harry remembered had filled out to fit the face of a cold, deadly man. His eyes still glinted pacific blue, although the cowardice Harry had always seen just under the surface of his stare was gone, replaced by a cool calculation that caught him off guard. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck rose.
"No catching up, Potter? I suppose, then, you don't care to see pictures of my son."
Harry folded his arms underneath his robes. "I'll pass, especially if he looks anything like you."
The man in question shook a gloved finger. "Pansy would be very upset with you...if she were still alive."
"Did you kill her, too?"
Draco chuckled, and waved his hand, dismissively. "I hardly think she's the issue here."
Harry conceded, but not without the promise of further investigation. Pansy Parkinson's possible murder was not foremost on his mind. "No. The issue is Ron."
"Weasley." Draco paused, as if he were waiting for Harry to make an accusation. When it didn't come, he smiled again, bearing pearly teeth. "Is that why you've graced us all with your presence again, Potter?
"You were there," was Harry's simple reply.
"Yes. And a horrible accident it was. But what can you expect from something built by Muggles?"
"I think we both know it was no accident. It's only a matter of time before everyone else knows it, too."
Draco took a step forward. "If you're accusing me of something, you should come right out and say it."
"I don't need to," Harry shot back. "It's insulting to Ron that no one has figured it out until now. And you won't get away with it."
"You've been away too long, Potter. You've forgotten who I am. Who my father was."
Harry shook his head. "Still falling back on your father's wealth, I see. It's good that some things never change."
If the comment bothered him, he did an amazing job covering it up. "And some things change too much for certain people to handle." Harry frowned as he continued. "Not only did she pop out his kid, she actually married Weasley! While you were gone...they got on just fine without you. In fact...we all got along just fine without the great Harry Potter. The world still revolved." His grin was evil. "That just eats at you, doesn't it, Potter?"
He took a breath of pure relief. Draco didn't know the truth about little Harry's parentage. That was perfectly fine with him; Malfoy's ignorance made his son safer. "Hermione's happiness has always been my happiness."
"Your soft spot for the Mudbloods just might get you into trouble someday soon," Draco warned. With swift motions, he drew his wand out from the folds of his cloak. Purely on instinct, Harry whipped out his own wand. "Smartly done, Potter. I was worried you would be out of practice." Draco replaced his wand; Harry kept his out. "Though...the next time we meet, you'll have to be much quicker."
"The next time we meet things will definitely be different," Harry agreed. "Until then, keep your minions away from my school."
Draco pulled his hood up around his face. "You forget. It was my school, too. I'll be seeing you soon, Potter." Without another word, he apparated out, disappearing from the snowy street. Harry watched the spot where he had stood for a long time afterwards, replaying the conversation and the new information he had garnered from it, over and over in his mind. The next thing he was aware of was a small hand on his arm. Blinking, he raised his wand.
"Professor Potter!!" The very startled sixth year student who had approached him took a great step back.
Harry recognized her as Jasmine Johnson, one of the girls who lingered in his classroom long after class was over for reasons that were well beyond him. "Miss Johnson...I'm sorry." He put his wand away.
Jasmine smiled nervously. "I didn't mean to bother you, Professor. It's just that the snow is picking up and we're all ready to go."
For the first time, he noticed the storm that had threatened to blow in had lived up to its promise. His shoulders were covered in snow and his hair was wet with it. "Yes. Of course. Umm...let's round up everyone and head back to the castle."
The girl nodded and backed away. The Defense teacher was gorgeous, but her friends were right. He did live up to the title they had recently given him. "Our absent-minded professor."
****
When Hermione knocked on his door, well after most of the castle had retired for the night, Harry was just finished with packing a travel bag, something that caught Hermione's immediate attention and fury.
"'Mione...it's not what you..." he began, picking up on the stricken look in her eyes.
"You're leaving," she cut him off. Her voice was surprisingly flat, given her physical reactions.
Harry reached for her. "Only for a few days. Dumbledore's arranged to have someone teach my classes. I'm staying with Sirius in London to do some...um....research."
Hermione let him gently knead her shoulders. "I thought you were going to break your promise."
"Never." He leaned in for a kiss. Her lips were intoxicating. Pulling back, he gave her the brightest smile he could muster. "I'll be back next week. And maybe..." Harry took her hand, playing with the soft flesh over her knuckles. "We can spend some time together?"
A faint blush spread on her cheeks. "I bet Hagrid would agree to let Harry spend the night in the hut." She cleared her throat suddenly, and frowned at him. "Just what kind of research are you going to be doing in London?"
Harry would have given away his Firebolt in that moment to be able to tell her the truth. But when it came down to the moment of his answer, he simply could not worry her. She had enough on her mind. And Malfoy had hurt her so much already. She deserved answers, but Harry wanted to have them in his grasp before he made any promises. "We're...looking into Knockturn Alley. He hasn't had much luck finding the spell that was worked on Halloween, so I'm offering up my Invisibility Cloak." It was a good thing he had packed it; to prove himself, Harry pulled it from his bag.
"Oh." Hermione smiled and reached out to touch the cloak. "I'll miss you, Harry."
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he assured her. "Hermione...while I'm gone..." He stopped suddenly.
"Harry?" She searched his eyes. "What's the matter?"
Harry shook his head. "Nothing. It's just that every time I see you, I can't believe how much I almost lost."
Hermione ignored a tear that slipped down her cheek. "Sooner or later, Harry, you're going to have to forgive yourself."
He lowered his gaze. If he didn't finish the sentence he had started and Malfoy got to her as a result, he would never be able to. "Hermione, until I get back from London, I'd like you stay in the castle. Don't walk about the grounds at night, keep away from Hogsmeade. I know it sounds mad, but please just do this for me."
"All right," she replied a moment later. "I could never say 'no' to you, Harry."
Harry kissed her again, a slow, deep affair that left him with little breath. It took all of his willpower to pull away from her and pick up his bag. He walked towards the door, but when he had reached it, he turned back around. "You know...I traveled around the entire world. But you're still the most beautiful person I've ever met."
A long time after he left for Hogsmeade, Hermione let herself back into her own flat. After turning off the lights and carefully extinguishing the fire, she started up the stairs. Little Harry's door was closed and locked. Too tired for a confrontation, Hermione went straight for her bedroom. Minutes later, she curled up on her bed wearing only one of Harry's sweaters, oversized on her, that she had borrowed from his drawer. His scent lured her into the sweetest sleep.
****
Harry apparated into Diagon Alley well after most of its patrons had returned home for the evening. He was to meet Sirius at the Leaky Cauldron as soon as he appeared, ten sharp. The first order of business, he had decided after his encounter with Malfoy, was to investigate Pansy Parkinson's death. If he could find no evidence to support a murder charge for Ron, perhaps he could for the mother of Malfoy's child.
There were only a few lingering customers in the pub when Harry entered. Most of them, including the barkeep, looked up when he entered, but soon returned to their drinks after confirming that it was, indeed, Harry Potter.
He took a seat at one of the tables close to the fire and waited.
After twenty minutes, he became impatient. After thirty, annoyance crept in. But when forty-five minutes had passed and Sirius still had not shown, Harry became worried. Very worried.
"Excuse me," he called out to the barkeep who was wiping down a table only a few feet from him. "Has a middle-aged man with black hair been in here tonight?"
"Can't say as one has," the man replied.
Harry nodded, his worry mounting. "Well then, have you seen a big, black dog lurking around?"
The older wizard stood up straight. "Come to think of it...seems to me I heard something 'bout a dog like that?"
"What about it?"
"Greenbaum over at the Owlery's been complainin' about a dog scarin' his owls. I heard someone finally got him just today."
"Got him?!" Harry shot to his feet. "What do you mean by that?"
The man shrugged. "Some kind of spell, I expect. Funny thing is, Greenbaum said that when he went to find the dog's body, it were gone."
"Gone," Harry repeated. His ran his fingers through his hair, a million horrible scenarios playing in his head, none of them ending well. "Gone..."
"He weren't your pet, were he?" the barkeep asked.
"No. Not my pet." Harry started for the door. "Just my godfather."
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To Be Continued