A/N: Last chapter already (because I don't do fluff)! Thank you for the amazing response to it, I loved every review.
(Also: Hey Fredrika! :3)
"Do you need to call your healer?" Mycroft asked her as he helped her into the car.
Her injuries had gotten worse, spending as much time as she did on her stomach. That had been even more painful than listening to Sherlock trying to worm information out of her. The nerve of the man, thinking she would just melt and be putty in his hands with that lopsided smile of his. He had really deserved a severe hexing. Too bad he was Mycroft's brother or she would have: making his nose extra-large or his hair extra-greasy… maybe she would get the occasion to do it, someday, that would be nice.
"Healer?" Mycroft repeated, glancing at her, a worried crease digging a groove between his eyebrows. She smoothed it over with her thumb, then cupping his face as she looked into his eyes.
"Uhm, yeah… I think that would be for the best. Just… don't go near windows or outside in the meantime, alright?" Hermione asked.
A snake, a shooting and a car-bomb. Seeing how things were escalating, she half-expected to see a nuclear missile or a dragon homing in on him with the next assassination attempt. But Mycroft nodded readily enough, holding her against him as the car sped towards the privacy of his mansion and rubbing circles absently on her hand.
"I won't leave your side," he promised, making her heart skip a beat, just as it had when he'd whispered to her in the hospital that he should keep her by his side forever, because Mycroft wasn't the sort of man to say what he didn't mean.
They hurried out of the car and to the relative safety of his home, Hermione casting her usual shield as they went even though it drained her almost completely of her strength. Once inside, she slumped into the sofa and Mycroft had to remind her to cast her messenger spell to call for a healer and light the chimney. Merlin, she was so tired, she'd never had such a long, eventful mission before. Maybe she should ask to be relieved from her duty and replaced by someone who wouldn't make any rookie mistake or oversight protecting her charge due to fatigue. If that happened, she would never forgive herself. Or maybe she should just chug down a potion or two to get her back up on her two feet, even if it meant she'd pay for it later by having to sleep it off for a day or two. She smirked as she watched her Kneazle patronus disappear with her message to Kingsley. Maybe she should do both.
"Granger?" Draco Malfoy asked as he stepped out of the fireplace ten minutes later.
He wasn't wearing his lime green robes today but carried his leather bag of potions. He must have been called on his day off and she hoped she had ruined his day. Draco looked over to the couch immediately and walked over to her side in a few strides. Yeah, just show off how tall you are, you great smarmy pompous git, she thought grumpily.
"Are you hurt again?" he asked and she just showed her bandages and muggle hospital gown with a dramatic flourish of her hand to prove he was an idiot just for asking. "This is too soon. Minister Shacklebolt is not happy."
"So he sent you, again, just to punish me?" she asked.
"Don't be a moron, Granger, it doesn't suit you," Draco muttered as he inspected her bandages with contempt. "He sent me because I am the best at what I do, and he will replace you. He was calling on Corner before I left."
Michael Corner had been a Ravenclaw, just a year younger but she had gotten to know him better when she had resumed her seventh year and shared classes with him. Today, he too worked in the Department of Mysteries so he was a fellow Unspeakable although they did not work on the same projects.
"Michael? Well, I guess it could've been worse," she replied, wincing when he undid whatever the muggle nurse had done and applied his own healing spells.
Her ribs were not hurting as much now, thankfully and the burn salve he was applying on her back was doing wonders. In no time, she was bandaged like an Egyptian mummy and had a dose of Skelegrow in her hand that she downed before Draco could tell her to wait the night.
"You still have one patient to see to, you know," Hermione interrupted the blond man as he lectured her on the proper use of potions.
She pointed at Mycroft who was sitting on the other end of the long couch, quiet and taking in every word the two of them had exchanged. He did not look happy. Draco scuttled over and made quick work of Mycroft's broken finger and little scrapes, but Hermione had enough time to discretely levitate a Pepper-up and a Grand Tonicker out of his potions bag. With those two potions she would have enough strength and energy to put her plan into motion immediately. Once the healer had left with a loud crack from the room, Hermione watched as Mycroft closed the self-imposed distance between them and hugged her tight against him.
"Are you really leaving?" he asked, his voice rumbling in his chest where her head lay.
"I won't have a choice, you know. And Kingsley should be arriving here soon by the way, you might want to… not hold me so close so he doesn't make things more difficult for us."
Mycroft leaned back to look at her, seeing she was serious and took a reluctant step back from the couch, only to bend down and catch her lips. It felt horribly like a goodbye kiss, it was too intense and desperate. Then he really did take his distance, and she hated it. She hadn't realised how much she had gotten used to their proximity until now.
"I'll be back though, when all this is over," she promised. "If you still want me here."
The corner of his eyes crinkled slightly and he was probably about to say something that would make her heart skip a beat again, but the flames in the chimney turned green again and the impressive hulking shape of the Minister of Magic stepped out, followed by another man, much smaller and lankier with long brown hair tied at the nape of his neck.
"Kingsley, Michael, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" Hermione asked sweetly. "Would you like some tea, maybe?"
"Hermione," Kingsley growled, looking her over from head to foot. "I know exactly what happened at St Bart's. I gather Healer Malfoy has seen to your wounds already?"
"It wasn't that bad, Kingsley. The intel your were given was probably a tad over-dramatic."
"Oh, really? There's a bloody crater in that parking lot, Hermione. The Prophet is spinning a wild tale about your involvement and Harry has been breathing down my neck for putting you in such a dangerous position."
"Come on, you know how protective he is. Just ignore him. It was nothing I couldn't take care off, obviously."
"I'm sorry, but it's in your own interest." Kingsley said.
Mycroft shuffled uneasily beside her. This was not going well. She'd hoped she might placate Kingsley but he was obviously set on having her replaced, regardless of what she said, since he had brought Michael along. Her boss was introducing him to Mycroft already so it was time for plan B.
"I guess I'll just go back to my lab, then. You did restock it, didn't you?" she asked Kingsley.
"No. You're taking a few days off, young lady," Kingsley scolded.
Hermione wanted to snort at the man being all fatherly on her but faked a pout and disapparated on the spot, not daring to glance at Mycroft before she left in case Kingsley caught the longing there . And she couldn't just stand by watching as Mycroft's security was handed over to someone else. Sure, Michael was good, but he just wasn't as good as she was. No, she would have to get rid of the problem at the source. Then there would be no need for a bodyguard.
OoOoO
Mycroft stared at the spot where Hermione had disappeared with a loud bang. He knew that meant she was not just invisible but that she was not here anymore. He reluctantly returned his attention to the Minister of Magic who had telling him something or other about the young man who was to be his new bodyguard.
"Is this really necessary, Minister?" Mycroft asked. "I mean, I don't believe you offered your liaisons before me such protection, except during your war of course."
"Well, no," the dark man admitted, "but if we have the intelligence of a threat and the means to stop it, it seems such a waste not to do what is best."
"And how did you get this intelligence? From what I know, this is purely a muggle affair, as you say." Mycroft asked. He had wondered this from the beginning, ever since the Minister of Magic had told him he'd be sending a bodyguard over for a little while, but he hadn't dared ask before. The magical people had been an oddity he dealt with as little as possible before...before he met Hermione. Now, it was much easier to consider them as any other person, only with an additional set of interesting skills.
"Ah, well…" The Minister scratched his bald head, clearly undecided about sharing their source. "Uhm, I don't suppose you believe in prophecies?"
"Prophecies?" Mycroft repeated, waiting for the other ball to drop, but it didn't. "You're serious."
"I'm afraid so," Shacklebolt said with a wan smile. "Our last war started and ended with a prophecy, so it's become quite the serious area of research in our world and Michael Corner here is actually the one who discovered a prophecy that pertains to you."
"Me? But I'm a muggle." Mycroft protested, saying the word with disdain.
"Which is why we found and identified the prophecy so fast, it is an anomaly. Otherwise it would probably have been put aside until it was too late." Corner explained excitedly.
"So why is it of such interest to you then? What does this...prophecy say?" Yes, Mycroft did not believe in such drivel, but he also would not have believed in magic before seeing a man step out of his chimney for the first time, and even then, he had been frantically searching for a rational explanation for longer than he cared to admit.
"Well, prophecies are very obscure, it's hard to find any meaning to them at all most of the time, but from what our researchers in the Hall of Prophecies told me," the Minister answered. "You are one of two cornerstone for the stability of both our worlds following the fall of Voldemort. Our world is still recovering. It's population growth, economy and place in the rest of the magical world is shaky at best. In fact, our only hope of growth comes from the muggle-borns your world offers us, your stability now ensures our future stability."
"So according to this prophecy, I'm the only one who prevents my world from falling into chaos?" the two men nodded. "Yes, that seems about right," he agreed.
It was nice to know even magic acknowledged the importance of his work.
"Alright, I understand the need for another bodyguard, then." Mycroft said.
"I'm sorry if Hermione... Miss Granger, left you with a bad impression," the Minister said and Mycroft was glad he had his pokerface still on. "She's a bit willful and has a rather unique method, but it has proven to be effective in the past."
"Yes," Mycroft agreed. "She is quite unique, but she has saved my life three times so I think she can be forgiven her little quirks."
Once the Minister left, Mycroft accepted Corner's offer for an invisible presence and decided he really didn't want to know whether the young man watched him sleeping of followed him in the shower. This time, he would definitely forget all about there being someone shadowing him round the clock.
OoOoO
"What do you mean, you plead guilty? I haven't even gotten around to accusing you yet," Sherlock protested when he finally found the man he was looking for: Adalberto Ortis, the son of a South American ambassador who had been ill-advised enough to think he could settle his little criminal organisation of extortion and blackmail on British soil without suffering any consequences, the idiot.
It hadn't even taken that long to find him. After being released from the hospital, he and John had searched for a couple of days around London for the place that had rented out an enormous chocolate fountain for a formal event. Finding who Miss Binkley's murderer was had then been a piece of cake and the detective had strolled into the culprit's luxurious house, only to discover the people inside had been reduced to sobbing messes begging for forgiveness for their crimes. Their boss was no better.
"I'm such a bad person. I stole, I lied, I killed and maimed. Such a bad, bad boy." The man sobbed, begging on his knees as he clutched at the hem of Sherlock's coat. "Please put me in jail, mister detective."
The detective, however, was not amused. He had wanted to show the culprit how clever he had been to have found him so quickly so this situation, although unusual, was quite frustrating.
"What's wrong with him, John? This is dull. Is he drugged?"
John inspected the man's eyes, his pupils as small as a pin's head. He nodded.
"Seems like it, Sherlock. It doesn't mean he isn't telling the truth, though, so you might as well question him."
Sherlock looked at their suspect: young, rich, arrogant, seeking for power to prove himself to his overbearing father. Classic.
"Alright," Sherlock said half-heartedly. "Test question: when was the last time you pissed yourself?"
"Is that really necessary, Sherlock?" John asked.
"Just a couple hours ago," the man answered at the same time.
"See, John. I just proved he's compelled to tell the truth," Sherlock answered smugly. "No man would willingly admit it. He must have been given some truth serum, or maybe been hypnotized. Hey, have you been drugged?"
The man stared with a blank expression for a minute.
"No. Maybe. I don't know," he shook his head. "Yes? Please, I don't know…"
"Alright, then tell me what happened exactly a couple of hours ago," the detective prodded.
The man shuddered.
"The dark woman with no face. She came out of nowhere. She did...I don't know. The guards were crying and she was looking for me. I hid but she found me...I was so scared. I'm a bad, bad boy. I did terrible things. Please arrest me, mister detective, I deserve it, I really do."
Sherlock sighed at hearing such nonsense. He might as well get it over with and let Lestrade sort the mess out.
"Did you kill Miss Binkley?"
"Melinda?" the man answered, seeming relieved to change subject. "Oh, yes! I drowned her in the chocolate fountain. I thought it would be fun but it was so gross and the bitch wouldn't even tell me where she hid the flash drive, the stupid-"
"Alright," Sherlock interrupted his rant. "That's enough evidence for me. John, call Lestrade. I think I'll go home and be depressed about such a lame ending to the case. Maybe you can call it A Study in Disappointment."
He then turned on his heels and left by the way they'd come.
"You're not even waiting for Lestrade to arrive?" John called behind him.
"Dull," Sherlock shot back.
OoOoO
Mycroft was not sleeping well. It had only been four days since Hermione had left and he had resumed his habit of sleeping with one eye open. He knew his invisible bodyguard was probably in the room somewhere, but that knowledge didn't bring Mycroft the peace Hermione had. He guessed he was just being sentimental. Stupid, the most logical part of his brain corrected for him, pining after a woman like a lovesick puppy.
Mycroft turned over in his bed, hitting his pillow into a fluffier shape and huffing in annoyance that his brain would not let him rest in peace when he had an important meeting tomorrow. He closed his eyes, trying to relax and thought he had started to drift off when he caught a whiff Hermione's subtle Lavender scent. He almost sighed in relief, feeling the tension leave his face before he felt a warm hand touch his cheek. He almost scrambled out of bed but he heard her voice, low and soft, as she chuckled mischievously.
He looked around the room but couldn't see his new bodyguard anywhere.
"Hermione?" he whispered, reaching in the dark towards the expanse of bed in front of him.
"I'm here, love," she whispered in his ear, making goosebumps rise all across his neck.
He felt her weight dip the mattress and reached blindly behind him, pulling her over him so she was nestled in his arms.
"Where's Corner?" he murmured.
"I got rid of him," she replied.
"Should I be worried?" he asked.
"No, I only put him to sleep for an hour or two."
"Only so long?" he asked, disappointed because it meant she wasn't staying.
"Any more and he would be suspicious. But Kingsley should be calling him off tomorrow and then…"
"Are you sure?" he wondered.
The Minister of Magic had seemed to imply he would need to be protected for longer, but he trusted Hermione. If she said the threat was over, then it meant she heard it on good authority or… He looked down at the woman in his arms who looked up at him with a sharp glint in her eyes. He knew that look, he saw it often enough in the mirror. It was the gaze of someone who had done something questionable but necessary and was perfectly fine to live with that knowledge.
"Alright," he acquiesced. "How did you find them? You didn't even have all the data, since you never questioned me."
"I followed Sherlock of course," she grinned.
"You used my brother? The celebrated genius Sherlock Holmes?" he asked with a touch of disbelief. But of course, she would. It was just the kind of completely unpredictable things Hermione did without warning and that explained why he was so smitten with the woman.
"He's brilliant and stubborn so he was bound to find them. And as long as he doesn't find out I used him, he won't hold it against me. And, just so you know, I didn't lift a wand against the people who were after you."
"You didn't?" he asked, surprised.
It seemed unlikely she could take on a sizeable organized criminal group all on her own without using her wand. Even in his arms, she seemed small and fragile.
"Oh, no. I drugged them. Well, their dinner to be more precise. A drop of Elixir of Despair and three drops of Veritaserum and they would were all ready to confess their slightest crime since the day of their birth. By the time the police process them, they'll have full confessions and no trace of the drugs left, not that a lab would know what to look for anyway. So I'm cleared and you should be safe for a little while at least."
"You devious woman," he said, before kissing her tenderly until she responded with more eagerness. A little too much. They were getting carried away when Corner might recover at any minute now.
"Hermione," he mumbled between kisses, always the voice of reason.
"Yes," she panted. "Yes, I know."
She sighed and rolled off the bed.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, pecked the corner of his mouth, and then vanished in the night again.
She had a flair for dramatics and try as he might, he couldn't understand how she had left. The door hadn't opened and he hadn't heard that loud bang magical people made when teleporting, but then again, there was so much he didn't know about magic. For all he knew, she had walked through the solid brick wall, so he made a mental note to ask her about the limits to her magical abilities. There was so much about her he didn't know. When he usually had an interest in someone, it was not difficult for him, given his position to find everything there is to know about said person, but that wouldn't work with Hermione, he had to get to know her the old-fashioned way and he was strangely okay with that.
Stupid sentimentality, his brain supplied. There is no advantage to caring.
"Yes there is," he told himself. "If someone cares for you in return."
OoOoO
