A/N: Thank you to all of you who read, review, and stay with this twisted tale. :)


"Hold on," Hermione murmured to herself more than to Demetri as she reached into her purse. The contrast between the quiet, dark street and the bright lights of the Ministry was aggressive, so she dug for her eye drops to counter the sudden wateriness. She tried to ignore the fact that the moisture was probably largely attributable to Cormac's death but was unsuccessful.

Her hand was shaking, so she ended up with four or five spilled drops that missed her eyes and wandered down her cheeks instead. Demetri spoke quietly, "come here," as he pulled her close and wiped away her fake tears.

Hermione tried to smile but ended up twitching slightly instead. "We should go," she stated begrudgingly.

Careful not to hold hands, the two of them walked toward the Auror's office. They had been asked to come in soon after the letter from St. Mungo's. Hermione couldn't say quite how long—time didn't seem to be operating properly that evening.

Demetri had suggested they go in the morning, as the letter wasn't urgent, but Hermione wanted to get it over with. She idly wondered as they walked down the hall why he had come at all; probably because she was a bit of a mess. She had nearly fallen on her face walking to the door of her apartment, after all.

She was still internally wrestling over whether to tell the aurors about her secret relationship with Demetri. It was quite incredible how quickly a simple lie—pretending to date Cormac for a few weeks—spun out of hand. Far worse than her current predicament was the likely consequence that Demetri had killed over her lie. And your blatant method of throwing it in his face, she reminded herself as fresh, real tears fell down her face.

Why had she done that? When Demetri first seen her with Cormac outside the pub, she recognized how dangerous he was; she could feel the fear pooling in the pit of her stomach, affecting her whole body with unpleasant chills. And yet she had somehow discarded this knowledge, fooled by Demetri's casual mask. But she hadn't really been fooled, had she? She had just seen Demetri with Pansy and was jealous. Plain and simple. And that desire to make Demetri feel what she felt had been so intense it had overtaken anything—and anyone—else.

But wasn't Demetri blotting out everything else in her life a pattern? She had failed to see Harry was no longer alone, and he had only been dating Snape—Severus, she mentally corrected herself, determined to make Harry feel at ease about his latest revelation when she next saw him—for a hair longer than she had known Demetri. That isn't the sort of thing she would normally fail to notice; Harry wasn't particularly good at sneaking around, and Hermione seriously doubted he had dramatically improved.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by Demetri's hand brushing her shoulder in what was likely supposed to be a comforting gesture, but his long fingers squeezed where she had fallen earlier and hit a wall, so that she couldn't help but softly say "ow."

"Ah, apologies. That's where you fell." It was a statement, not a question.

Hermione only nodded.

"We're here."

"Okay," Hermione responded. "Did you want to come in with me? I don't know that you need to—"

"I will," Demetri said simply.

"Okay," Hermione repeated before knocking three times on the Department's door.


One of the more junior aurors Hermione didn't recognize had answered. He looked surprised and mumbled something to himself before leading her to the back offices. He knocked on one of the dark wood doors and nodded to whoever was on the other side before waving her in.

"Mione," Ron greeted her before she even finished stepping through the door. He had ink marks on his face, likely from falling asleep on parchment. She sat across from him on the table and Demetri quickly followed in the seat next to her.

"This is Demetri. I believe you two met at the wedding," Hermione introduced him awkwardly.

"Yes, I think I remember," Ron offered, shaking Demetri's hand. Demetri's face was unreadable.

"What are you doing here this late, Ron?" Hermione asked, deciding not to bring up the stains on his face.

"Well, everyone said you would come in the morning, but I knew you would be here right away. And I didn't want you to hear about Cormac's death from a stranger."

Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes again. It had been a long time since she had seen this side of Ron, but it was just like him to do something unexpectedly thoughtful and act as though it were just what anyone would do. "Thanks, Ron. I really mean it. Thanks," was all she could manage to express her gratitude.

"Sure, Mione," Ron deflected, blushing slightly.

Hermione felt the urge to reach over and touch Demetri as if to say "please don't murder this one" but felt she couldn't do that in front of Ron, who thought her boyfriend just died.

"I don't mean to be rude, but—Demetri, right?—what are you doing here?"

Demetri kept his face passive. "I'm not offended. I'm doing interviews about the war. Tonight was one of the times Hermione could find in her busy schedule to chat with me, and then when she heard the news, I was a bit worried to leave her alone."

Hermione nodded tightly, and Ron seemed to accept the fabrication. "Can you please tell me what happened to Cormac now?"

"He Avada'd himself," Ron said in a flat voice, refusing to make eye contact.

"He what?!" Hermione exclaimed. Avada-ing oneself was practically unheard of because of the strong level of intent it required. "But wouldn't his wand—I mean with more extreme spells, sometimes a wizard's wand won't act against him."

"But it didn't act against him," Ron explained quietly, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm so sorry, Mione. Did you have any idea that he might—"

"He didn't do this," Hermione interrupted, arms crossed. She would be damned if she would concede to this just to cover her own web of lies. What if this were the way to get Demetri behind bars?

"Hermione," Ron spoke in a slightly patronizing voice, "the spell came from his wand, and—" Ron hesitated, pleading with his eyes to be given permission not to continue. Hermione merely nodded, spurring him on. "There were witnesses. Several, in fact."

A sob escaped from Hermione's throat at the thought of that scene. "But still, someone could have Imperius'd him to do that."

"What makes you think that?"

"I know he wouldn't do this," Hermione responded firmly.

"Mione… You aren't the first person to say this. We can't investigate every suicide for the Imperius Curse."

"What about just this one?" Hermione pleaded. Demetri still remained silent.

Ron squirmed and Hermione could see he was close to caving. "Please? For me?"

"We'll look into it," Ron relented. "Which means we should have a proper interview, but I recommend you sleep first."

Hermione easily agreed, finding solace in the knowledge that the case remained open.


Once back at the apartment, Hermione wanted to rail at Demetri; scream, yell, kick, curse, punch, maim—everything—but if she were right about him, then it was even more vital for her to stay close to him. That's why she looked at him, not bothering to hide how broken she felt, and whispered, "I need some alone time, Demetri. To process." His eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, even as his hand continued the motion of tracing her face. She would almost describe the way he touched her as gentle, but it felt more like a calculated reduction of pressure of someone holding back.

"Demetri," she continued, not sure why she was about to make the strange request she did, except that it might feel better to know him, just a little, and if he wouldn't answer any questions she asked directly, then maybe this was all she would get for now. "Could I see your eyes?"

"I don't understand," he responded, his voice not without hostility. He understood.

Now Hermione raised her hands and touched his face, but she didn't hold back. She pulled his face down to hers and he complied more easily than she had expected. They were nose to nose. It was the closest they had ever been without kissing, and it felt strangely intimate. For a fleeting moment, Hermione thought about digging her nails into his face, but that passed.

Hermione looked directly into his eyes and thought about how she felt about him behind the anger and betrayal, the something-more-than-attraction feeling she had been avoiding herself. "Yes, you do. You said you want to be close to me. I meant it when I said I want that, too,"—and she felt her eyes burn at that painfully honest statement—"but that means I have to know you."

He didn't respond, but suddenly the flat green eyes she had been accustomed to were gone. Hermione wasn't sure what she had expected, probably a dark brown. Instead she was met with startling light gray eyes that resembled sunlight creeping through fog on an overcast day. She dully registered the fact that he had changed them without words and without his wand. It felt expected.

"Thank you," she murmured. Demetri didn't move. Somehow seeing his eyes did make her feel better about her decision to stay with him; still she could feel the eerie moment of calm fading and the desire to hurt him returning. "I really do need to be alone now, though." And she knew they both probably heard her voice shake, but he didn't argue, instead leaving without a word.