Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling
A/N: Hello readers! I've gotten some wonderful responses and I can't tell you how happy I am to read your comments and thoughts. I want to preface this next chapter by saying we're moving into a new part of the story now. It will be frustrating to read at times, but the payoff will be big once we get there. So please bear with me and keep in mind this is a long story for a reason.
One last thought: No one mentioned this in the reviews but I wanted to point out that there's a parallel between Chapters 1 and 11. In Chapter 1, Harry reveals his insecurities about his children to Hermione. In Chapter 11, Hermione reveals her insecurities about her marriage to Harry. Both instances are supposed to bookend the mutual trust, understanding, and dependency that characterizes Harry and Hermione's relationship, which will be very important in later chapters.
Fair warning: there is some strong H/G content at the end of the chapter. I would encourage you not to skip over it though, as every scene (even this one) is important to the progression of the plot.
Please review! And if you have any specific questions for me, feel free to PM! Enjoy!
Chapter 12: The Throes
To whom can I expose the urgency of my own passion? There is nobody—here among these grey arches, and moaning pigeons, and cheerful games and tradition and emulation, all so skilfully organised to prevent feeling alone. Yet I am struck still as I walk by sudden premonitions of what is to come…. suddenly descended upon me the obscure the mystic sense of adoration, or completeness that triumphed over chaos.
-Virginia Woolf, The Waves (1931)
Harry looked dubiously at the receiver in his hand.
I shouldn't do this. This is ridiculous.
The dial tone's doleful echo reverberated in his empty study.
Sighing, Harry replaced the receiver and rubbed his temples. He then folded his arms and laid his head on top, staring sideways at the phone.
After another moment, Harry grabbed the receiver and dialed the number he had memorized in the last ten minutes of failed attempts.
The phone rang at the other end.
Two rings.
Three rings.
Harry thought better of it and began to replace the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Dudley!" Harry stammered. "Uh, hi. It's Harry."
"Harry?" Dudley responded, momentarily confused. "Oh, hey. How are you?"
"I'm fine. How're you? How're the kids?"
"Oh, they're fine…Shannon's getting Violet from football practice." He paused. "Uh, what can I do for you?"
Harry laughed internally. He already regretted calling. He and Dudley were on decidedly "Christmas-card" terms and this would just add a new level of awkwardness to the relationship.
"Well, I have sort of an odd request…" Harry said tightly. "Do you…do you happen to own a credit card?"
Silence.
"What?" Dudley replied. Harry could hear the surprise on the other end of the line. "Of course. Why?"
"Erm, well you see…I'm buying tickets to the London Opera and the woman on the phone said I needed something called a credit card. They don't accept cash through the mail anymore… and the ticket office doesn't sell tickets this far in advance. And well, needless to say, I don't have a credit card…"
"The London Opera? Why are you going there?"
Harry smiled slightly. He could hear the accusatory tone in Dudley's voice. It was something he got from his father.
"I'm going with some friends," Harry said quickly, not wanting to explain in more detail. "And I was wondering…if you don't mind…if I could borrow your credit card details? I promise I'll pay you back through owl post or perhaps I can just drop by?"
Dudley was silent.
Then, Harry heard the sound of footsteps followed by a shuffling noise.
Finally, Dudley spoke.
"Er, yeah. All right. So long as you pay me back."
Harry hadn't realized he was holding his breath. He released it now.
"Thanks, Dud. Thanks so much."
"Yeah, no problem," Dudley said gruffly. "You ready?"
"Oh, right. Of course!" said Harry, scrambling for a quill and a slip of parchment. "Go ahead."
"Okay—tell the lady the number is: 4142…"
"4142…"
Harry dutifully copied the numbers and the expiration date.
"That's all I need?" Harry questioned, scribbling down a three-digit number he didn't entirely understand.
"Yeah. Just promise you'll rip up that paper when you're done or else you could buy anything online with…" Dudley stopped.
Harry chuckled. "That won't be a problem, Dud. I don't know how to go 'online.'"
Dudley laughed. "Right, of course you don't."
Harry smiled. "Well, it should come out to around 500 pounds…if that's all right?"
Dudley let out a low whistle. "Must be some good seats. That should be fine, though. Those tickets for you and Ginny?"
"Er, yeah…So, would you like me to drop by the house? I'll have to go to the bank to get some Mug—cash. Would tomorrow be all right?"
"Sure. Anytime after six."
"All right. Thanks so much, Dud."
"It's fine. See you tomorrow."
"Right."
Harry hung up the phone. He stared down at the messy line of digits and shook his head.
What is wrong with me? he thought for thousandth time this week.
The question had a ready answer that Harry was hardly ready to admit.
Since their conversation at Oxford, Harry had been giving his best effort to behave normally around Hermione. Over the past week, he passed her in the halls of the Ministry. On Monday, he picked up the children with her. He ate lunch with her on Tuesday. Hermione was still very busy conducting research for the Callahan case, so Harry did not see her as much as he would have liked, but at least some semblance of normalcy had returned to their interactions.
Yet, from Harry's perspective, Hermione was handling their new no-snogging policy much better than he was.
Every time Hermione touched his arm, or her knee brushed his under the table, something very much like an electric pulse rushed up his spine. Unfortunately, a vivid flash of memory usually followed: him kissing Hermione's neck, Hermione slipping her tongue past his lips, Hermione masturbating in the shower…
Needless to say, such thoughts disrupted Harry's air of friendly nonchalance around her…
He was desperate to shut these thoughts down. He certainly hoped his reaction to Hermione wasn't permanent. He was absolutely sure that he and Hermione could not return to normal until he was able to purge these thoughts from his mind. He wanted to look at Hermione as he used to—as his wonderfully brilliant and wholly amazing best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
But Wednesday, fucking Wednesday, had shat all over his plans.
It was their weekly dinner. Harry and Ginny were hosting. Harry, Ginny, and Ron had handled most of the cooking, since Hermione would be working late. The theme was Middle Eastern and Ron had found a good recipe for chicken shwarma while Harry had ventured into a Muggle restaurant to pick up an order of baklava. Ginny had prepared the salad and bread. When Hermione arrived at half past seven, the food was nearly ready so she made the drinks. Together with the kids, they sat around the table enjoying their small feast.
Harry got through dinner fine. Since he was sitting between Ron and Hugo, the conversation invariably turned to the Cannon's chances in the upcoming national semi-finals. Harry had been quite content with the discussion, but Hermione kept (rather rudely) imposing herself into his thoughts.
First, she asked him to pass the butter. Then, she excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she sat back down, she smiled at him. Ten minutes later, she smiled at Ron.
What was she playing at? And did she have to look so fucking beautiful while doing it?
It was damned annoying.
After dinner, things got even worse.
Hermione had sent Hugo and Lily upstairs to finish their schoolwork (whether they would actually do so was up for debate). Ginny had then led the way to the lounge at the back of the house. It faced the backyard, which was nearly dark, as the sun had set several minutes ago behind the trees.
After lighting the lamps in the room, Harry had rather resolutely seated himself next to Ginny. Ginny, for her part, had returned to her favorite topic of conversation over the past few days—planning the New Year's Eve Ball at the house—and Harry was determined to listen to her.
She had been talking about caterers when Harry saw Hermione stand up. Hermione walked over to Ron, who had been preparing himself a bourbon at the small bar in the room, and placed her hand on his forearm. She had smiled and whispered something. Ron had shrugged.
For some reason, this bothered Harry tremendously.
Here he was trying to force an interested expression on his face while Ginny talked about caterers, and Hermione was smiling at Ron. Didn't she realize he was doing his best to treat her normally? Why did she have to smile so beautifully in front of him? If she was going to do it, she could at least have the good manners to smile at him…
Harry vaguely realized he was plumbing the depths of irrationality. What did it matter that Hermione asked for the butter? What did it matter if Hermione smiled at her husband?
That fuzzy realization was enough for Harry to forcibly turn his attention away from Hermione and back towards Ginny. And indeed, for the rest of evening, Harry was relatively able to follow his wife's conversation. He had even suggested they open up the formal dining room for the vast array of food the party would require. Many of the Aurors would not want to dance, Harry reminded Ginny, and having a separate room for the food would free up space.
At some point, Hermione excused herself to check on the children's progress. Ginny left a minute later to use the bathroom.
Harry and Ron were left alone.
"This party is getting pretty out of hand, isn't it?" Ron observed, smirking as he came to sit across from Harry.
Harry shrugged. "It's what she wants, I suppose."
Ron nodded absently, settling back on the cushions. "I guess I would know about that. Hermione won't shut up about this opera thing now. She's always talking about it on the telly-phone with her parents. She's started playing the music around the house. Hugo and I have discussed an intervention," Ron chuckled.
Harry smiled automatically. The opera—yet another sore spot in Harry's mind.
Ron's next words surprised him, however.
"You know," he said slowly, "it might be nice if you and Ginny came along too?"
"What?" Harry said, startled.
Ron grimaced. "Yeah, I know. I wouldn't want to go either, but I don't think I can stand to sit in a stuffy theater for three hours with a bunch of Muggles. If you and Ginny were there, I could probably make it through."
Harry looked at Ron. He seemed serious…even desperate?
"If you didn't want to go, why did you buy the tickets?" Harry asked.
"I didn't. Hermione's mum got them for us," Ron said, surprised by the question.
"But you said you used a telephone to get them."
"Yeah, I called her mum. It's the only telly-phone number I know."
"So you called her mum and asked her to buy the tickets?"
"No. I called her mum and asked her what she thought Hermione might want for her birthday," Ron said. "I usually just get her perfume, but then I saw an unused bottle in her closet, so I figured I'd be wasting money if I bought her another…"
"So, her mum suggested the opera?"
"Yeah," Ron said. He seemed surprised Harry hadn't figured it out. "She said Hermione was getting into opera and it might be nice to go see a live show. So, I asked if she'd buy the tickets and she agreed. I tried to pay her back but she wouldn't let me."
"Oh," Harry said, mulling this over.
"So you have to go, Harry," Ron said, desperation back in his voice. "I've listened to this stuff now. I cannot begin to describe how boring it is. Please, come with me. If you're there at least we can make fun of the costumes together or something."
Harry looked at Ron's pleading expression and smiled. Harry didn't understand it, but he suddenly felt quite elated that he had been invited. Imposing on Ron's birthday gift to Hermione seemed like a wonderful idea…
"Of course we'll go. Can't have you suffering alone."
Ron looked up to the heavens. "Thank you," he sighed.
"What about Ginny, though?" Harry asked.
"What about me?"
The two men turned. Ginny had returned from the bathroom.
"Oh, er…" Ron said lamely, "Harry said you two are coming to the opera with us."
"What?" Ginny said, her face immediately turning sour.
Harry briefly glared at Ron. "It's not like that. Ron was practically begging that we go. He doesn't think he can stand it alone."
"Oh, well that really makes me want to go now," Ginny said sarcastically. "Harry and I didn't force you to buy those tickets, Ron."
Ron shoulders slumped in defeat.
"I, er…I think we should go, Gin," Harry said, panicking. "I mean if Ron really can't stand it…" He cut himself off at Ginny's expression.
Ron sighed. "Look—just come with us, Ginny. Hermione's all excited about it now. I can already tell I'm going to fall asleep at this thing. If you're both there, she may not notice, which means she may not yell at me," he said, smiling ruefully.
"I don't see why Harry and I have to subject ourselves to a night of Muggle theater just because you can't follow-through on a present, Ronald…"
"You get to dress up," Ron mumbled.
Ginny blinked. "Why?"
"God, I don't know," Ron said, exasperated. "Hermione just told me that the men have to wear those penguin costumes…"
"Tuxedos," Harry supplied.
"Right, thanks. And the women wear big, fancy dresses. And apparently you get binoculars. I'm going to bring my Omnioculars, though."
Harry watched Ginny's face. He could read the conflict there: her desire to get dressed up pitted against her resistance to aiding Ron in one of his screw-ups.
The choice was difficult for her. Ginny was considered somewhat of a fashion trendsetter in the wizarding world. She was often featured in Witch Weekly and had recently been commissioned to help redesign the Harpies' Quidditch uniforms.
A moment later, however, Ginny rolled her eyes. "Doesn't change the fact that we have to sit through some boring play with a crowd of Muggles. I don't think it's a good idea…"
"Ginny," Ron began, but he was cut short. They could all hear footsteps on the stairs above.
"Shut up," Ron hissed. "Don't tell her about any of this."
A moment later, Hermione entered the room. Her smile faltered as she looked at them.
"What's wrong with you guys?" she asked curiously.
"Nothing. How are the kids coming along?" Ron asked innocently.
Hermione was immediately distracted.
"Ron, we need to talk to Hugo about his math scores. He showed me some of his recent tests—he was hiding them, can you believe that? —and he's just not progressing as he should…"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. When did math ever come in handy at Hogwarts? Unless you're taking Arithmancy…"
Hermione nearly growled. "Ron, this is exactly where he gets it from! How many times have I told you both that math is used in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Muggle Studies, and even blasted Divination."
"All right, all right, Professor," Ron said, taking a hold of Hermione's shoulders and directing her towards the door. "We'll talk to him tomorrow. Right now, shouldn't we be getting him to bed?"
Hermione quieted, though she still seemed upset.
"It is nearly ten," Ginny said as she followed Ron and Hermione out of the room.
The group moved back into the foyer.
Ginny disappeared up the stairs to see to Lily. Harry and Hermione followed Ron more slowly into the kitchen. Ron walked to the table and waved his wand over the leftover chicken shwarma, magicking it back to his home.
He sighed, satisfied. "That was a good dinner, wasn't it? We'll have to cook that again."
Harry nodded.
Hermione, who had been leaning against the doorjamb, moved towards the staircase.
"Where are you going?" Ron asked quickly.
"I'm getting Hugo..." she replied.
"Wait, I'll go get him. He probably rather see me after the wailing you likely gave him."
Hermione made a disapproving sound but Ron had already moved back into the foyer. The sound of his footsteps disappeared up the stairs.
Finally, Harry and Hermione were left alone.
The silence was a like a taut string between them.
Harry, briefly glancing in her direction, moved towards the table and began clearing the dishes.
Hermione came up next to him and directed the napkins into the laundry shoot with her wand.
"I did not wail on him," Hermione said softly, petulantly.
"I know."
They worked in silence a moment longer. Harry could feel that familiar bead of energy sliding down his back. He moved towards the sink and waved his wand at a sponge. He kept his eyes fixed on the plates.
"Harry," Hermione said, coming to stand behind him. "Are you all right?"
He tensed but kept his eyes straight. "Yeah. Why?"
"I don't know…you were just…quiet at dinner. At least, you didn't talk to me…"
She sounded…hurt?
Harry spun around and looked at her clearly for the first time that evening.
"Oh," he said lamely. "Was I supposed to talk to you?"
Hermione's brow furrowed. "'Supposed to?' Well, you certainly don't have to talk to me if you don't want to."
Harry grimaced. She had taken it the wrong way.
"I…it's not like that," he said quickly. "I was just asking… Did you want to talk to me about something?"
Hermione looked at him. She shrugged. "Not really."
Then, she ruined his fucking plan.
"I guess…" she said hesitantly, "I thought you might be interested to know that the six-month dry spell is over."
"Dry spell?"
"You know…" she said, her fingers twisting around themselves. "I said the last time was on his birthday, so I guess it makes sense that we would have…done it sometime around my birthday."
Harry stared at her, comprehension coming too fast, too strong.
"Oh…you mean," Harry faltered, "you and Ron…"
"Yeah," Hermione said softly, looking down.
Harry watched with a strange mixture of horror and hollowness as Hermione's cheeks flushed.
"Oh," said Harry, turning back to the sink. "That's great. I'm glad."
"Yeah," said Hermione quietly.
He screwed up his eyes. "And how was it?"
"Oh. It was fine."
Harry's hand involuntarily tightened around his wand.
"Always this word 'fine' with you," he nearly snapped. Harry hoped he sounded more nonchalant than he felt.
Hermione laughed. "Well, I didn't think you wanted the details or anything."
"Right."
Silence again. Harry kept his eyes trained on the cool water running from the faucet.
Thankfully, it was at that moment that Ron and Hugo reentered the kitchen.
"Ready?" Ron asked Hermione.
She didn't say anything for a second. Harry could feel her eyes on him.
"Yeah. I'm ready."
Pulling his face into a more composed expression, Harry turned around as Hermione was walking towards her family.
Ron raised his hand in farewell. "See you, mate!"
It took Harry a moment to realize Ron had spoken to him. He slowly raised his hand.
Ron, noticing nothing amiss, took Hermione's hand and she took Hugo's. A second before she was whipped into the air, her eyes met Harry's. She smiled slightly, nervously…and then she was gone.
Thus, with Hermione's strange smile in his mind, Harry found himself ordering opera tickets with Dudley Dursley's credit card. Harry had failed to tell Ginny what he was doing and could only hope she would agree to come after the tickets were bought.
As Harry hung up the phone with the London Opera saleswoman, he shook his head. There was simply no justifiable reason why he was doing this. Ginny had already voiced her opposition to attending. Moreover, Ron likely did not have high expectations that Harry and Ginny would actually be joining them at the opera.
So, why was he going? Harry certainly had no inherent interest in opera…he wasn't even entirely sure what it was. By and large, Harry had an eleven-year-old's understanding of the Muggle world and that understanding did not include opera.
Considering this, the answer was very clear: he was going for Hermione.
Part of it was the fact that Hermione seemed to enjoy the opera, and if she enjoyed it, by virtue of being her best friend, he should care about it a little, right?
The second, darker rationale was that Harry didn't like the idea of Ron and Hermione sharing a night alone together at the opera. For some reason, the vision of Hermione dressed in a beautiful gown with Ron at her side angered him. It was identical to the anger he had felt when Hermione divulged that she and Ron were having sex again.
That anger made him look at Ron with new eyes—as though Ron were an interloper on Harry and Hermione's relationship.
It was that realization that scared Harry. His anger was wholly, completely, and entirely unfounded. Why was he begrudging Ron's relationship with Hermione? He was her husband, after all. By definition, Ron's relationship with Hermione should take precedence over Harry's relationship with her. Furthermore, Harry's frustration certainly did not aid him in reestablishing his platonic friendship with Hermione.
Thus, Harry was thrust back into the bipolarity that had defined his life since his most recent kiss with Hermione.
He desperately wanted to forget about her—to not have her in the back of his mind every moment of the day. He wanted to recommit to Ginny. He wanted to treat Ron normally and not resent his best friend's relationship with his own wife.
But while he wanted all these things…he also wanted Hermione.
He wasn't sure how he wanted her…he just wanted her. Harry would be lying if he didn't say he desperately wanted to kiss her again. Just thinking about her lips was enough for Harry to lose all normal functionality. But he also just wanted her. He wanted her to talk to him, to smile at him, to know…for just a few moments…she was thinking only of him.
These desires had the tendency to derail Harry's very well-intentioned plan to treat Hermione solely as his friend. Yet, whenever she was around, his entire world seemed to focus in on one Hermione-shaped point. And under her influence, Harry found himself doing ridiculous things—like buying £500 opera tickets. It took a force of will to return to himself.
Of one thing Harry was certain: he could not live with such opposite desires for long.
The next day, Harry was sitting in his office reading through a horrendously long report on a recent case of underage magic. A flying broomstick had been spotted in a highly populated Muggle area. The incident had required eighteen Obliviations and the owner of the broom, a teenage boy, would have to attend a disciplinary hearing.
Harry, smiling slightly, had just signed his approval when there was a knock at the door.
"Chief?" Gwen said, poking her head through the crack in the door. "Counselor Granger for you."
"Oh?" said Harry, his chest tightening just as his heart decided it would like to run a marathon. "Send her in."
Hermione entered his office, smiling. She was wearing a grey satin blouse with a navy blue skirt under her autumn coat.
"Hey," she greeted him cheerfully. "Are you free for lunch?"
Despite Harry's recent torment regarding Hermione's sex life, the awkwardness surrounding the opera, and the numerous files spread out on his desk, all of that seemed to fall away as he looked at her. Harry didn't even have to think. For her, consent was instantaneous.
"Yes, of course," he stammered quickly, already reaching for his coat. "Where should we go?"
"Diagon Alley?" she suggested, holding the door open for him. "I have this overwhelming desire for one of those sandwiches at the Leaky Cauldron. You know the ones on the half-baguettes? The one I'm thinking of has ham, with that cheese, and the sauce…the sauce, Harry, the sauce…"
He smiled as he followed Hermione down a row of Auror cubicles. Several pairs of eyes flashed in their direction, not all of them friendly. By the elevators, Harry saw Yvain stand up at his desk.
"Sir?" the young Auror asked, curious.
"Don't worry, Yvain," Harry said, smiling. "We're just going out for lunch. No need for you and Cassy to follow."
And indeed, Harry saw Cassy gliding swiftly towards them, ready to follow after Hermione.
Harry and Hermione waved to them both before they entered the lift. He glanced at Hermione as she pressed the button for the Atrium level. She was wearing a satisfied smile.
In the quiet of the elevator Harry said, "I think you get a certain pleasure out of ditching them, Hermione. You always look far too happy to say 'goodbye' to them."
Hermione smiled even more broadly, grabbing one of the handholds dangling from the ceiling.
"Don't misunderstand," she said. "Yvain and Cassy are very nice. But how would you feel if you had a little posse of Aurors following you around in the market or waiting outside a bathroom for you? Half of me feels bad that I'm such a boring person to follow around. The other half is just annoyed they're following me at all…"
Harry chuckled as the lift came to a stop. "Well, you've been handling it very well. They've both been easy to work with, right?"
"Oh sure," Hermione said, stepping out of the lift. She grabbed Harry's arm so that they could stay together in the press of people leaving the Ministry for lunch. "You'll think this silly, but I have nicknames for them in my head. I call Yvain 'The Face' because God, have you seen his face? It's like someone thought it'd be a splendid idea to reincarnate a Greek god just so we can all feel bad about ourselves."
Harry's jaw tightened. He knew Yvain had been too good looking.
"Really, it's like he should be on the cover of a romance novel…"
"Okay, I get it."
"And Cassy…I call her my 'Raincloud.' That's partly because of her black hair and grey eyes. But then, she's also a little moody and mysterious like a raincloud—a little raincloud that follows me around. Anyway, I like them both."
Harry nodded as they pushed their way towards one of the crowded fireplaces lining the left wall of the Atrium. As they reached the front, Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the large basin at the side of the grate.
"Give me your hand," Harry said to Hermione.
She untangled her arm from his. He placed half of the silvery powder in her palm.
They were at the front.
"Ladies first," Harry said, his hand grazing the small of her back.
Hermione blinked, a strange look crossing her face. But the line was pressing against her and she was pushed towards the grate. She stepped inside, and with a flash of violent, viridian light, she was gone.
Harry followed immediately after. Since his first use of Floo powder twenty-five years ago, Harry had never enjoyed the sensation of being shunted through the sooty network of fireplaces. When Harry spotted the Leaky Cauldron's grate, with Hermione's legs just in view, he gratefully stepped into it.
Harry coughed. He opened his eyes but his glasses were largely pasted over with soot.
"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, giggling. "You're all covered. Here."
There was a swooshing sound and the soot vanished.
Harry sighed. "Thanks. Cauldron's fireplace has always been the dirtiest, I suppose."
"Or you're just a magnet for soot."
Harry chuckled. "That too. Now, those sandwiches?"
Ten minutes later, Harry and Hermione emerged from the Leaky Cauldron with two heavily loaded sandwiches wrapped in paper. The pub had been far too crowded to find a place to sit and Harry was loathe to use his "I'm-famous-give-me-your-seat" powers. Hermione had mentioned that she wanted to look at the shops, so they stepped into the fall sunshine and began walking down the twisting alleyway.
"You know," said Hermione quietly, "that was the first time you ever said that to me."
"Said what?"
"'Ladies first.' You said it right before I went into the fireplace."
The pulse was back, running down his spine.
"Well, you are a lady."
Of this, Harry seemed painfully aware these days.
Hermione smiled, peeling back a corner of the paper from her sandwich. "Well, it's nice to hear it once in a while…"
Inexplicably, Harry's felt his face flush. He felt… eager to make her happy once more.
"Well, I can do it again," he stammered. A vendor had just pushed his cart into their path. He touched Hermione's arm and directed her to the side. "After you, my lady."
Hermione pulled a face. "Okay, we don't need to go that far."
Harry blushed deeper. "I'm sorry."
Hermione glanced at him before she smiled. She looped her arm back through his. "Don't be…"
Before Hermione could finish her thought, someone had thrust a platter of sample sweets into their faces. They were outside Sugarplum's Sweet Shop.
"Try our newest culinary confection," the worker said morosely. "You'll tingle when you taste our Tingling Treacle. Only ten Sickles a box."
"No thank you," Hermione said politely, pulling Harry towards her.
Once they were several yards away, Hermione said "I forgot it's not exactly easy to stroll down Diagon Alley. It's more like edging around potential collisions. Do you want to sit down?"
"Sure," he replied.
They were near a small patch of grass directly opposite Gringotts Bank. Harry and Hermione found an unoccupied bench and sat in silence finishing their sandwiches.
"How's the casework coming?" Harry asked, balling up his wrapper in his hand.
Almost imperceptibly, Hermione glanced around the square.
"It's fine," she said. "We've been conducting interviews—first with Callahan's wife and children. Naturally, they were not very helpful in providing information we could use. But then we tracked down a few current and former friends of his. That's led to some interesting leads regarding his past."
"And what did you find?" Harry asked lowly, keenly interested.
"It's somewhat hard to say," Hermione admitted. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I'm not supposed to say anything about it—but, there's some evidence he was interested in the Bloodline Accord about a decade ago."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
The group had formed several years after the fall of Lord Voldemort. It was largely composed of pureblood witches and wizards, who shared the goal of preserving the complete separation of the wizard and Muggle worlds. At the extreme end, some members of the Bloodline Accord believed in the same outmoded tropes that had been around for centuries, namely that wizards should not have children with Muggles and that Muggle-borns should not be admitted to Hogwarts.
Generally, however, the group opposed many of the initiatives Hermione and others had championed over the years: intergovernmental exchanges with Muggles, fellowship programs, and Muggle-born advancement. While its positions were well known, the Accord itself was somewhat amorphous. By definition, the Accord was simply an agreement to protect wizarding culture from the supposedly insidious influence of Muggle society. Thus, any effort to promote wizarding values was under the purview of the Accord. Moreover, the leadership of the group kept the names of their affiliated members a secret, though they were known to influence several members of national and regional Wizengamots.
"How do you know that?" Harry asked. Such knowledge forced him to reassess, yet again, his understanding of Theo Callahan.
"Old contacts. All rumors and heresy right now. I shouldn't say more here," Hermione said tersely.
Harry nodded.
The Bloodline Accord. Harry had never given the group much thought before. He had always thought them to be a group of older witches and wizards who still clung to the notion of blood purity. Harry knew the group likely included former Death Eaters who had been acquitted for their involvement in the Second Wizarding War. Yet, the group had always operated in the background—and thus its influence and true capabilities were unknown.
Now, Harry felt that increasingly familiar sense of foreboding, of danger. While Harry was an Auror, and thus dealt with unsavory matters every day, he had not felt this particular sense of dread so deeply in many years. It seemed to seep into his skin. It disrupted his thoughts. Hermione figured prominently in that dread, and the same cold knot of panic he had felt when Hermione confronted Callahan and when she had received her first death threat bubbled to the surface of his brain.
He glanced at Hermione. She was flicking a piece of lettuce stuck to the corner of her wrapper, a troubled expression on her face. He decided to divert her attention away from the case.
"How's Daniel doing?" he asked casually, referring to Hermione's Muggle friend who was an architect and former wizarding fellow. Hermione and Daniel had had coffee a few days ago.
Yet, the change in topic did not seem to lighten Hermione's mood. Her perfect lips pursed themselves and she sighed.
"Well, I heard back from Hogwarts about his niece. You remember he asked if I could look into her magical status?"
"Yes. And?"
"She's a witch."
"Oh," Harry said, remembering the expression on Daniel's face when he had revealed the fact that strange occurrences kept happening around his young niece, Claire. "And what was his reaction?"
Hermione smiled slightly. "Well, he reacted exactly as I imagined he would. He said he was a little shocked, but largely happy they had a witch in the family. He said he would break the news gently to his sister—with time she would understand."
Hermione sighed again. "I tried to explain to him that things have changed, you know? When I went to Hogwarts, there was no program in place to acquaint Muggle parents with the magical world their children were about to enter. Now, Muggle-borns and their parents can go to Hogwarts a week early for a special orientation program. Parents can visit at Easter and other important holidays. There's a telephone and Internet station in Hogsmeade specifically for Muggle-borns. And then there's the quota for Muggle-borns in Slytherin …Anyway, I told him Hogwarts is not nearly as isolating as he would think and he seemed to agree."
"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Harry said, still concerned by tension in Hermione's face.
"I hope so," she said slowly. "I think Daniel fully understands that he can remain just as involved in Claire's life as any uncle who has a niece in a boarding school. But, he said something at the end of our conversation that was…I don't know."
Harry looked at her expectantly.
Hermione shrugged. "He said he hoped Margie would let her go, as in he wasn't sure if Claire's mother was going to let her attend Hogwarts, you know? Hogwarts has had a hundred percent acceptance rate for over two decades now, especially since the Muggle-born measures were put in place." She sighed. "Claire is only six, so her mum has five years to adjust. Still, I hate it when this happens," she finished vehemently.
Harry nodded.
He felt like he understood what Hermione meant.
While Harry never voiced this concern, sometimes he truly resented the fact that he had two children at Hogwarts. He barely saw his sons anymore. James had never been very good at writing home to keep his parents informed about his activities. More often than not, it was Hogwarts that wrote to Harry and Ginny about James' behavior. While Albus was a much more reliable correspondent…it wasn't the same. Harry wanted to see them, to hear their voices. He missed them terribly and Christmas seemed ages away.
Years ago, Harry would have said it was impossible for him to have anything but unconditionally positive feelings towards Hogwarts. After all, Hogwarts was the first place he could call a home. He had met his best friends there. He had fallen in love with his wife there. He had known success and failure and acceptance at the distant wizarding school.
But, Harry was a father now. And from that perspective, having his children leave him at age eleven…well, it seemed far too young, far too soon.
Yet, at least Harry could take solace in the fact that he was a wizard. In an emergency, he could apparate to see them. Beyond that, he was constantly being invited to special lectures at his former school. Moreover, Harry knew Hogwarts like the handle of his Firebolt—every hidden passage, every trick step, every annoying painting. He knew what Albus and James were learning, what food they were eating, and what sports they were playing.
If he had been a Muggle father, however, he would have nothing. Only the word of a group of strange individuals that his son or daughter would be safe, that he or she would receive the best education for their unique talents.
But Harry knew—for the care and protection of James and Albus—someone's word would never be enough.
Harry and Hermione remained silent for several more minutes. The streets were becoming quieter now. People were returning to work.
Finally, Hermione spoke.
"Speaking of children," Hermione said cheerfully. "How would you feel about seeing the Camerons tomorrow? I got an owl this morning from the Head Healer at St. Mungo's—Healer Waltham, I think his name was?—and he said he had an update on the Camerons' condition. I hope that means something good has finally happened with their memories! If not, it would still be nice to visit, wouldn't it?"
Harry had to smile looking at her beaming face. "It would be," he replied easily. "I'd like to see Duncan again."
"Great! I think I will bring him more books. I have the feeling he's already finished the five or so I gave him. Do you want to give him one? I was thinking of taking him one of Ron's Quidditch books, but then I think Ron is rather touchy about them…so…"
He laughed. "Sure, I'll bring him one of mine. It's got to be better than Hogwarts, A History or whatever horribly obscure book you've given him."
Hermione shook her head, the sunlight catching in her soft curls. "I'll have you know that Duncan actually likes my taste in literature. Not all men are sports-crazed philistines."
Harry wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he rolled his eyes to humor her. She laughed and Harry was momentarily entranced by the bright spark that lit her eyes.
Getting up slowly, Hermione stretched an arm high above her head. She glanced at the wad of paper in her own and Harry's hand. A moment later, she removed her wand and the paper vanished.
She turned towards the direction they had come. Harry felt a strange desire to postpone their return, to keep her with him a little longer.
"Hey," Harry blurted, "would you mind if I stop by Gringotts? I have to get some Muggle…money…"
Hermione's brow crinkled. "Okay…Why?"
Harry blushed slightly. It seemed whenever he was around Hermione these days, his mouth moved faster than his mind.
"Er…I have to pay Dudley back for something?"
"Dudley?" Hermione repeated, surprised. "What would you need to pay him back for?"
Harry looked at his feet. "Opera tickets."
Hermione went silent.
"Would…would this happen to be the same opera Ron is taking me too?"
"Yes," Harry said hesitantly.
"And now you want to go?"
"Ginny and I," Harry corrected her quickly…though the Ginny portion wasn't entirely true.
"You and Ginny," Hermione repeated slowly. A sudden look of suspicion crossed her face. "You wouldn't happen to be doing this because of Ron, would you?"
No. It's because of you.
"Er," Harry stammered, running a hand through his hair.
"Harry," Hermione said sternly, "did Ron ask you to come with us?"
"Er…"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, that explains why he suggested I wear those headphones my dad gave me…"
Harry shuffled his feet, his face growing red. "I can cancel them, if you want..."
Please say you don't mind. Please.
"No," Hermione said slowly. "It's fine if you come. I don't mind. It might be nice to have you both with us if Ron is only going to complain through the entire performance."
Harry released an inaudible breath.
"But, I'm sorry you had to pay money for them," Hermione said worriedly. "It's not like Ron's birthday present to me should cost you anything."
"No, I was happy to," Harry said in a rush. "It could be interesting, I suppose."
Hermione smiled softly, not really believing him. "And Ginny? She's fine with coming along as well?"
Harry laughed awkwardly. "Well, I haven't really asked her yet. I think she'll be fine with it…"
Hermione looked at him strangely. "All right," she finally said.
"Great," Harry said, relieved. "So you'll come with me to Gringotts?"
Hermione smirked. "I don't really have a choice, do I? I'm not supposed to go anywhere without you or the bodyguards."
"Nice answer," Harry said, pleased.
"Though, I guess I'd be happy to go with just Yvain…" Hermione said sweetly.
Harry's expression darkened. She laughed.
"I'm kidding," she said. "Lead the way."
Several hours later, Harry landed in the front yard of Dudley Dursley's home.
It was a fine, well-appointed little house. It had a white door and Tudor-style roof. The redbrick pathway leading up to the house was cleanly swept and the leaves in the yard were pushed into a corner.
Dudley had moved into the house after he married his wife, Shannon. They had two children: their thirteen-year-old daughter, Violet, and their eleven-year-old son, John. Dudley made a reasonable living as a life insurance broker, though his wife was actually a very successful hospital administrator.
Harry's Aunt Petunia, always one to dote upon her only child, lived close by in a home for the elderly. Uncle Vernon had died of heart failure six years after Harry's battle with Voldemort. Harry had attended the funeral.
Now, as Harry approached the door, he furtively touched his wand inside his cloak. Whispering an incantation, he watched as the air seemed to ripple in front of Dudley's house. Harry examined the strange screen and then nodded to himself.
Harry had never told Dudley he had placed protective enchantments over his home. Since Harry was still the target of death threats, he had felt compelled to provide some magical protection for Dudley's family as well.
Harry stopped before the door and rang the bell. A dog immediately started barking inside. Harry rolled his eyes. One of Aunt Marge's broods had come to live with Dudley four years ago, and much like Aunt Marge, the dog hated Harry.
A moment later, Dudley cracked open the door, pushing the dog back with his foot.
"Hi, Harry," he said, smiling briefly. "Heel Marley! Come in, come in."
Harry stepped inside, looking dubiously at the bulldog.
"Still doesn't like me, does she?" Harry asked jokingly.
"Yeah, well," Dudley said, grunting as he leaned down and scooped up the dog before it could charge at Harry. "What can you do?"
Harry watched as Dudley strode down the front hallway, the dog under his arm.
"Honey! Harry is here!" he called up the stairs. "Kids! Your uncle!"
Even though Harry was technically the children's second cousin, they still called him "uncle."
A woman emerged out of the kitchen as Dudley placed Marley outside in the yard.
"Harry!" Shannon Dursley cried happily. "So good to see you! It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Harry smiled, embracing her. "It has. That's my fault. I'm sorry."
"Oh no," Shannon said, patting him on the back. "We know you're very busy. But Violet keeps asking about her cousin Lily."
Harry nodded, remaining silent. Harry's children were not exactly fond of Violet Dursley, though they did like John. Lily was particularly adamant that she loathed spending time with her older, female cousin. Indeed, Violet exhibited many of the worst traits Harry remembered in the girl's father so many years ago—she was bossy, selfish, and loud.
Harry heard the back door slam and Dudley returned, coming to stand by his wife.
Harry briefly took in the pair of them.
Dudley and Shannon were well matched. Dudley, who had lost a lot of weight in his late teens and early twenties, had gained much of it back. He was husky, but nowhere near the colossal girth of the late Uncle Vernon.
Shannon was short and pleasantly plump. She had cropped blond hair and Harry rarely saw her out of a pantsuit. Her eyes were bright, crystal blue and she was one of the nicest people Harry had ever met. When Harry first met her over fifteen years ago, he had had no idea how Dudley found her.
Harry credited Shannon with bringing about the most remarkable change in Dudley's disposition. Dudley was still brusque and awkward with Harry, but he was never openly hostile and, at times, Dudley seemed genuinely content to be in Harry's company. Seeing Dudley with his children had also revealed that Dudley was a much gentler man than Harry ever realized. The death of Vernon Dursley and Dudley's marriage to Shannon had done much to change Harry's cousin over the years…
"Come sit down, won't you?" Shannon asked, bustling to Harry's side and taking him by the arm. "You have a moment, don't you? I can fix us some tea and you can tell us what you've been getting up to."
"Er, all right," Harry said, letting Shannon guide him to the parlor. Harry had never been able to say 'no' to her. She ordered people around in such a cheery and friendly fashion that no one ever realized they were doing exactly what she wanted…
The parlor looked very much like the old parlor at Privet Drive. Indeed, Aunt Petunia had had a heavy hand in decorating Dudley's home. There were white doilies along the mantelpiece and meticulously-aligned pictures on the walls. Harry briefly glanced at the photographs. Of course, they were mostly of Dudley and his family, but a few stuck out to Harry's eye.
One was a picture of Dudley and Shannon at Harry and Ginny's wedding reception. He and Ginny were standing next to the couple, Harry looking vaguely surprised to be in a picture with Dudley. Ginny looked a little standoffish (she had mostly heard horrible stories about Harry's cousin).
Further down the wall was another picture. It was of Dudley, Shannon, and Aunt Petunia crowded around a hospital bed. Uncle Vernon was on the bed holding a small baby Violet in his arms. She had been born one week before Uncle Vernon died. Though Vernon had tubes placed under his nose, and his skin had turned a mottled grey, he was still smiling ear-to-ear as he gazed at his only granddaughter.
Harry turned around to face Dudley, who had settled himself into an armchair. The chair faced a television that was on mute.
Harry rifled through his cloak and removed a pouch.
"I can't thank you enough, Dud," he said, pulling out several notes resting atop his wizard currency. "Sorry I couldn't find another way to buy them…"
Dudley took the money. "Like I said, it's no problem."
There was a soft clattering sound and Shannon entered the parlor carrying a tea set. She spied the money in Dudley's hand.
"Oooh, what's this now?" she said. "I hear you're taking Ginny to an opera, Harry? Is that right?"
"Er, yeah," Harry replied awkwardly. "Dudley was kind enough to help me out in buying the tickets."
"Well of course he was," Shannon said, smiling fondly at her husband. "That's what family does." Her eyes wandered to the pouch Harry still had in his hand.
"What's in there?" she asked.
"Oh, it's some of our money," Harry said, hoping she understood that he meant wizard currency.
"Oooh," Shannon cooed again. "Can I see it?"
"Well, sure," Harry chuckled, amused by the childlike expression on her face.
He pulled the drawstring on the pouch and spilled several coins onto her hand.
"Wow," Shannon sighed as Dudley stood up to join them. "This gold one's huge!"
"That's a Galleon," Harry explained. "The silver ones are Sickles and the bronze ones are Knuts."
"Oh, I see. Such funny names…" she mused, flipping over a Galleon in her hand. Dudley, in turn, picked up a Sickle. "And what's the exchange rate, Harry?" Shannon asked jokingly.
Harry laughed. "There actually is one. I know that the Galleons are worth five quid each. Don't really know about the others…"
"But, my goodness! They're so heavy! How do you carry this around all day?"
"Oh. I just use a Lightening Charm on the bag. They weigh barely anything then."
"Really now?" Shannon said, impressed. She slipped the coins back into Harry's pouch. "We'll have to call you next time we're going to Majorca then, Harry. Maybe you can put a little Lightening Charm on our luggage so we can get out of the baggage fees?" she laughed, slapping his arm.
Harry laughed along as well. Dudley was smiling softly at his wife.
Harry knew that, much like his father, Dudley had been quite opposed to telling Shannon that his cousin was a wizard. But, as it turned out, Shannon already knew about the magical world. Her sister-in-law was a witch and she had been quite ecstatic to learn that Dudley had a magical cousin. She treated magic like a quirky anomaly in her life and was fascinated whenever Harry told her stories about the magical world.
That said, Dudley's children did not know about Harry's world. Dudley and Shannon seemed to be saving that information for when the children were older…
Just then, the children themselves appeared in the parlor. Harry quickly tucked the pouch into his cloak.
"John!" Harry called out. He quickly knelt down and hugged the boy. "How are you, mate?"
"Fine, Uncle Harry," the boy said, smiling.
Violet came up to her uncle somewhat stiffly. "Hi, Uncle Harry," she said, giving him a one-armed hug.
"How are you guys? You keeping up on your schoolwork?" Harry asked.
"Yessir," said John. Violet simply nodded.
"Well, good," Harry said slowly, raising his hands behind each of their ears and magicking some chocolate. "Then you deserve some sweets!"
John laughed, taking the candy. Violet might have rolled her eyes before she too took the chocolate. She saw Harry as that uncle—the one who thought he was a magician.
Dudley's family, along with Harry, settled in the parlor for tea. John squeezed in next to his mother in an armchair while his sister sat desolately by the door, texting on her cell phone. Dudley filled Harry in on the latest football news—it was a game Harry vaguely remembered liking as a child when he was able to watch scant minutes of it while Uncle Vernon wasn't looking.
As inevitably happened when Harry was around Shannon, however, tea turned into supper. He tried to protest that he needed to return home to help Ginny with dinner, but Shannon flatly denied him. This, combined with the fact that Dudley was actually a terrific cook, convinced Harry that he could miss one meal at home.
As Harry helped himself to a second helping of pork roast and red potatoes, he watched Dudley out of the corner of his eye.
Sometimes, it was difficult for Harry to forget the Dudley he had grown up with.
His cousin defined a large part of Harry's hellish childhood. Indeed, even now when Harry looked at Dudley, he felt an odd primal stirring of distrust and even anger.
He supposed that might never go away…
But, the Dudley that sat before him now was radically different. Harry had begun to see that transformation on the front lawn of Privet Drive nineteen years ago when Dudley had shook Harry's hand and wished him well. Now, a combination of the absence of his father and the influence of his wife and children had completed a two decades' long transformation. How very different this man was from the pudgy boy who had sprouted a pig's tail in a distant, sea-soaked cabin.
And how differently Harry was forced to see him. There was a time when Dudley's every pain was Harry's delight. Several years before that, Harry would have given anything to have what Dudley had—a mother who looked a him the way Aunt Petunia looked at her son.
Dudley was still gruff and demanding. He was still a little narcissistic. But that bubble of self-concern had come to envelop his wife, his children…and to some extent, Harry. And that was enough for him.
"So how is Ginny, Harry?" Shannon was asking.
"She's fine, thank you," Harry replied cordially while scooping up a forkful of the roast. "The paper keeps her busy, of course. She's also planning this massive party at our house for New Year's," Harry said, inadvertently rubbing his temple. "Of course, you are all invited."
Shannon shared a small smile with her husband. She knew the limits of what Dudley could take in terms of magic.
"Oh, that sounds lovely, Harry," she said kindly. "But I think we'll have a quiet New Year's here at home. We usually spend it with Dudley's mother and the kids stay up late for the fireworks."
Harry smiled, expecting this answer.
"Of course. We'd love to have you, but we understand."
"And Hermione?"
Harry looked up. Dudley had spoken.
"What?" Harry asked, alarmed. Why was his face already growing warm?
"How's Hermione?" Dudley repeated. "Isn't she one of those friends of yours?"
In another context, Harry might have wanted to roll his eyes that Dudley would refer to Hermione as "one of those friends" when Harry had known her for twenty-six years. But, Harry was too distracted by the need to slow his own thundering heart.
"Er, she's fine too. She's working on an important case…these days," Harry said. He didn't want to explain further.
"Oh, well I certainly hope she isn't working herself too hard," Shannon said, concerned. "Did I tell you we've recently started seeing Hermione's father for Violet's teeth? It turns out she needs to wear headgear to bed…"
"Mum!" Violet shouted, finally looking up from her phone.
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," Shannon said offhandedly. "Uncle Harry doesn't care, do you Harry?"
Harry smiled. "Nope."
"Anyway, ever since Hermione mentioned her father was a dentist, we've been going to him ever since. He's an exceptionally kind man," Shannon said.
"He is," Harry agreed quietly.
There was silence for a moment. Harry could feel Shannon watching him.
"Mum, is there dessert today?" John piped up.
"Of course, dear!" Shannon cried, scooting back her chair and shuffling towards the refrigerator.
Harry briefly caught Dudley's eye as Shannon removed a tub of ice cream from the freezer. At least the Dursley appetite had not changed.
An exhausted Harry returned home at ten that evening, his stomach bursting and his eyelids drooping. Hanging his cloak in the foyer, Harry briefly wondered if anyone was home. The kitchen was dark, the nearby library quiet. But then, the sound of laughter coming from the lounge reached his ears.
Harry's brow crinkled. Lily should have been in bed already and they were not expecting any company tonight.
Walking down the darkened hallway, Harry reached the entrance of the lounge and peered inside. His heartbeat immediately took up its familiar feverish pace. Hermione was sitting inside with Ginny and Ron. The latter two were engaged in a lively discussion while Hermione looked on, slowly sipping wine.
Harry knocked on the door. "Hey," he simply said.
"Harry!" Ginny called out warmly, getting up and quickly grabbing his hand. She led him towards the couch. "We were wondering where you were."
Harry was about to explain about the Dursleys, but Ginny did not seem particularly interested in hearing about his whereabouts.
"We were just debating what sort of music we should have for the party," Ginny explained. "Ron's in favor of just a regular live band, but I think we should try and book someone famous."
"Oh?" Harry said, trying to ignore the long digit of numbers that flashed through his head at Ginny's suggestion. "Well…"
Just then, Hermione laughed.
"I don't think Harry's going to like that, Ginny," she said, smiling. "I can see the sticker shock in his eyes."
Harry blinked, momentarily surprised Hermione had read his expression so easily.
Ginny frowned.
"It's not like we put on a party every year," she said defensively. "What's wrong with making sure this is one people will remember?"
Harry was still standing. Ginny pulled him onto the couch by the hand.
"What do you think, Harry?" she asked seriously.
Harry's attention, however, was directed towards Ron and Hermione. They were both sitting on the opposite couch. Hermione was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a pale green sweater. One of her knees was tucked up against herself, while her other foot grazed the carpet. One arm was draped around the end of the couch. The other…
The other arm was looped through Ron's. She was holding his hand.
Harry felt like he stared at their entwined fingers for ages before he realized Ginny had asked him a question.
"Er…about the band?" he stammered, his face growing hot.
"Yes. Live band or a special performance," Ginny replied, clearly placing her emphasis on the latter option.
"I dunno, Gin," Harry said slowly, dragging his eyes back to his wife. "There are some pretty good live bands I'm sure…"
Ginny rolled her eyes, exasperated. "If you're worried about the cost, we could always see who would be willing to perform for free. I'm sure plenty of artists would die for the chance to perform at the party. You are you, after all. They'd consider it an honor."
Harry's jaw tightened.
"Well, we'll see, won't we?" Hermione interjected lightly. "I think Ron and I had better head home now, though."
"Yeah, it's getting late," Ron said, gently releasing Hermione's hand. He slowly stood up and stretched. "Mum's been watching Hugo for a while now. She can't stay awake as long as she used to—would've been great if she'd been like that when I was younger…"
Harry laughed automatically.
He followed Ron, Hermione, and Ginny out of the room. Once they had reached the foyer, Ron and Hermione moved towards the cloakroom to gather their things.
Ginny turned to him slightly as she moved towards the kitchen. Harry followed her, briefly glancing at Ron and Hermione as he passed.
"So, did you want dinner?" Ginny was asking. "I can reheat something for you."
"No, I'm fine. I ate already."
Ginny simply nodded, likely assuming work had kept him late at the AD. She looked at the empty dinner table and nodded. She produced her wand and extinguished the lights.
Harry and Ginny moved back into the foyer. Ron and Hermione looked just about ready to leave.
"Well, I'll see you guys later then," Ginny said to the pair. She was already climbing the stairs. "I've got to wake up early to brief my team on the coverage tomorrow."
Ron nodded, pleased. Tomorrow was another national Quidditch semi-final.
As Ginny disappeared around the top of the stairs, Ron turned towards Harry.
"Did you get the opera tickets?" he asked urgently.
"Oh, er…yes," Harry replied, distracted.
"Thank God!" Ron said in an audible whisper. "That's great."
Hermione came up behind her husband. "Yes, yes. You got your wish didn't you, Ron?" she asked sarcastically.
Ron smiled. "It'll be better with the four of us. It'll be like celebrating your birthday all over again."
Hermione simply shook her head, smiling. Ron gazed warmly back at her and Harry felt his stomach turn over.
"Have you told Ginny yet?" Hermione asked, turning her gaze on Harry.
Harry glanced at her. He had difficulty meeting her eyes.
"Not yet," he said.
"Don't worry about it," said Ron nonchalantly. "She won't put up too much of a fight if we're all going."
Harry simply nodded.
"And we're still on for St. Mungo's tomorrow?" Hermione asked him.
"Of course," Harry said quickly. "What time?"
"Noon or so?"
"Okay," he replied. Harry briefly glanced at Ron. He did not seem surprised by their exchange and Harry quickly realized that Hermione had likely already told him about the visit to see the Camerons.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow then," Harry said, feeling the need to dismiss himself.
"Right, see you tomorrow," Hermione said quietly.
Harry quickly climbed the stairs. Once he had turned out of sight from the entryway, he sighed.
How was it that his days must now be defined by violent swings in his interactions with Hermione? First, she was telling him she was sleeping with Ron again. Then, she was sharing deeply personal information with him and solely inviting him to visit the Camerons. Yet, the confidence he shared with Hermione seemed to evaporate under the influence of the entwined hands and warm smiles between Hermione and her husband.
It was infuriating, maddening. Yet, he knew he could live off Hermione's smiles and invitations for days. So, what was he so worked up about?
Harry was walking slowly towards his bedroom when he heard laughter from the foyer. Hermione's laughter.
Harry thought about turning around, but stopped himself.
They'll be disapparating any second, Harry reasoned.
But then a carrying whisper from the foyer reached his ear.
"Ron, we have to go," said Hermione insistently. "Stop, won't you?"
Harry felt his feet carrying him back towards the entryway. He stopped just at the top of the stairs, partially hidden by a wooden pillar.
Then, Harry saw them.
Ron had Hermione cornered against the wall. He was wrapping his arms around her waist as he lowered his lips to her neck. Hermione shied away, smiling. But then Ron lifted his hand and directed her face towards his.
Their lips touched.
A frigid poison seemed to flow through Harry's body, hardening his muscles. His green eyes locked on the scene before him, unable to look away.
They were kissing—a familiar and practiced kiss—the kiss of two people who have known each other for a very long time. It was gentle, but somehow urgent.
Hermione pulled away first. She smiled at her husband and trailed her hand down his arm, entwining her fingers through his.
"Let's go," she seemed to whisper.
Harry could not see Ron's face, but he nodded. He opened the door for her, and together they slipped out into the night. A moment later, they had disapparated.
Harry stared at the door for several minutes before he realized he wasn't breathing. His hand was gripping the banister so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
Slowly and almost mechanically, Harry turned and walked towards the bedroom. When he stepped inside, the room was nearly dark, one lamp providing a warm, orange glow. The bathroom door was shut and a streak of light was peeking out from under the threshold. Harry heard the gentle rush of water from behind the door—Ginny was showering.
His arms shaking, Harry moved towards the high windows at the far end of the room. He looked out onto the vast expanse of the front lawn. The moonlight hit the leaves and grass, igniting them like a beacon.
Harry grabbed one end of the curtains and shut them, almost violently. The room became even darker. Then, he slowly sat on the cushioned bench beneath the windows. He placed his hands on his knees and stared at the carpet.
For what seemed like ages, Harry gazed blindly at the floor, listening to the sound of running water in the next room. He remained utterly still, his deep breaths his only movement.
Finally, Harry heard the taps switch off in the bathroom. A few minutes later, Ginny emerged wrapped in a white towel. She did not notice Harry sitting by the window and went about brushing her long, wet hair. Then, she removed the towel and began drying herself more thoroughly.
It was then she saw Harry.
"Oh!" she said, surprised. She partially covered herself again, though her breasts remained visible. "I didn't realize you came in. Did Ron and Hermione leave?"
Harry didn't respond. He watched her silently and then slowly stood up.
As he approached, Ginny's fine eyebrows crinkled slightly.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, looking at him with slight trepidation.
In response, Harry stopped before her. He removed her towel and dropped it on the floor.
Ginny's eyes widened slightly.
"Harry," she said, "what's wrong—"
"Nothing," he replied and leaning down, enveloped her in his arms. "Nothing."
Ginny was stiff in his embrace, but she did not protest as Harry pressed her naked body against his fully clothed frame.
Ginny was about to speak again, but Harry buried his face into her hair.
"I love you," he said.
"I-I love you too," Ginny replied, surprised. "Are you…are you all right?"
Instead of answering, Harry nudged her chin upwards with his face, and rising above her, placed his lips over hers. Harry immediately opened his mouth and slipped his tongue inside. Ginny gasped, but returned the kiss with equal fervor.
Harry did not think. He lost himself in the feel of lips moving against his own, of a body pressed against his. He raised his hand and cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb across the peak.
Ginny let out a soft moan and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Harry pulled away slightly, a memory forcing him to stop. The last person who had moaned like that against his lips had been…Hermione.
Harry opened his eyes and looked at Ginny carefully. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted awaiting the return of his lips.
This is right, he thought. This is my wife. There's nothing else to want.
In the next moment, Harry pushed Ginny onto the bed.
She giggled in surprise, but her gaze became serious as Harry lowered himself onto her. He returned his lips to her mouth, pressing himself hard against her.
He let Ginny undress him, first by removing his shirt and then his pants and boxers. Harry trailed kisses down her jaw line, sucking on the sensitive skin of her neck. He knew every pressure point, every supple line of her body. He knew her body whole and complete.
"Harry," Ginny gasped several minutes later, "we should lock the door. Lily…"
"I don't care," he replied roughly.
Ginny didn't press him and let Harry continue his ministrations. When Harry finally entered her, she stifled a cry and closed her eyes. Harry thrust himself into her, cradling her head in his arm.
Yet, Harry watched Ginny's face with an almost clinical detachment, every movement meant to reinforce a simple mantra.
This is my wife, whom I love.
Hermione is a poison. This is the cure.
And when they collapsed in the aftershocks of their lovemaking, Harry brought Ginny close to him. She sighed, resting against his chest. He stroked her hair automatically, staring at the silken canopy above their heads.
Yet, in that moment, he finally let his mind drift down its natural stream of thought. It always led to Hermione.
He remembered how the sunlight had caught in her hair as she invited him to St. Mungo's.
He remembered her flushed cheeks as she told him about her and Ron's reconnection.
He remembered the soft whimpers that escaped her throat as Harry kissed her.
He remembered holding her hand under the table during an unusual dinner party…
A lifetime of memories with Hermione smeared across his mind. All confusing and mesmerizing at the same time.
But Harry shook his head, agitated. He glanced at Ginny in his arms. She was nearly asleep, her long eyelashes resting on her cheeks. The longer he stared at her, the greater his resolve became.
It ends now. This has gone on long enough.