Big thanks to everyone who left me feedback! I don't care if I sound like a broken record, you're all amazing and I love you!
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A large group of witches and wizards sat around the long kitchen table of The Burrow. There were too many present for the table setting, and as a result, some of the guests ended up conjuring their own chairs, while others opted to stand behind.

At the head of the table sat Minerva McGonagall, with Professors Flitwick and Longbottom to her left. Further to his left sat Luna and Rolf Scamander, who in turn were next to Bill and Fleur Weasley. On the other side of the table sat George and Angelina, next to Arthur and Molly Weasley, followed by Percy and his wife Lucy, with Ginny rocking a tiny red-haired baby to their right. Behind Ginny stood Seamus Finnigan and his wife Isobel, with two of the more senior members of the group, Mundungus Fletcher and Sturgis Podmore leaning against the far wall. By the other wall stood an eclectic mix of new comers. There was George's other shop assistant, Hugo; the old woman known simply as Maeve; and Arthur's new work mates Ophelia Lincoln and Vince Davies. The group was to the left of Hagrid, who had a small couch conjured for him.

Charlie had chosen to remain in the living room with the growing group of children. When questioned on his ability so watch so many small people under the age of five simultaneously, Charlie retorted with a smart, "if I can handle a litter of dragons, then I can handle this!" No one had argued with this logic, although many silently doubted his abilities, for it was well known that Teddy Lupin, who had just turned eight this year, was growing up to be quite the handful.

The other head of the table opposite Professor McGonagall had been left vacant, and in the open space stood Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, shoulder to shoulder.

As Ron called the small crowd to attention, close to all of the attendees had the same silent question, though none of them dared to ask it.

Where was Hermione Granger and Kingsley Shacklebolt?

"I wanted to start with a big thanks to everyone for coming, it really means a lot that you've taken the time. As I said in my letters, I've called you all here today, for a very important meeting," Harry begun, receiving an encouraging glance from his wife. "The time has come for the Order of the Phoenix to regroup. Fully. This turn out," he started, gesturing around the room, "is amazing, honestly, and if any of you have any trustworthy family or friends that would join us, please, let me know and bring them along."

He took a deep breath and felt warmed by the encouraging glances from most of those in the room.

"Voldemort, and his Death Eaters are regrouping, and -"

"There aren't any Death Eaters left," Mundungus immediately interrupted.

"- and are planning something big," Harry continued, flat-out ignoring Mundungus' opposition. "We have increasing word of their movements, through both Ministry sources, and otherwise."

Ron sent a glance over to Maeve from the corner of his eye.

"Although through different methods to eight years ago, we believe he's attempting to take the Ministry, as he did last time," Harry stated confidently. "It is pivotal that we start working against them now, while their movements are still small enough to be stopped."

"Then why is Kingsley not here?" Percy asked, his wife nodding alongside him. "If it as you suspect, don't you think he should be the first to know?"

"Kingsley has already been informed of our suspicions," Harry said. "He's chosen not to act, so... that leaves us."

"You're still convinced it's Jenkins?" Bill asked before Percy had the chance.

Ophelia and Vince sent questioning looks toward Arthur as the room quietened.

"Yes."

"You think Jenkins is working for You-Know-Who?" Vince asked incredulously.

"No, not exactly," said Harry. "I think Jenkins is Voldemort."

The room fell silent.

"We have evidence," Harry said pre-emptively, opening a copy of Rita Skeeter's biography and turning to page twenty-eight. He spun the book around and slid it down the table for those sitting to inspect. "The image on the lower left. Tom Riddle. Voldemort."

Harry stepped back and plucked a recent copy of the Daily Prophet off of the bookshelf behind him and pulled it open to page four. "The image on the right," he said, pointing to a photograph from one of the Department's most recent press releases. "Benjamin Jenkins."

Those who hadn't previously heard Harry's theories shuffled in to huddle around the table to inspect the images, the book and the newspaper slowly being passed around the room.

"Do you happen to have a better photo, Harry?" Luna asked politely as she passed the biography down the table. "This one is rather blurry."

"No," he said grimly. "That's probably the best photo of Tom Riddle left in existence. But I have witnesses who can attest to the similarities between Voldemort and Jenkins, myself included."

From the side of the room, Vince let out a nervous laugh. "D-do you have anything else?"

All of the heads in the room turned to him, and his confidence deflated slightly. He'd feared the meeting would turn this way.

"Not yet. But that's why we're here."

A few of the attendees sent questioning glances between themselves.

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry stated, leaning forward to place his palms flat on the table. "He's our ticket. As one of the few remaining known Death Eaters, we need a watch on-"

"He's out on parole. The Ministry already is watching him," Ophelia pointed out.

"But not well enough," Harry countered. "We not only need to question him again, but we need eyes and ears on him at all times. The death of Narcissa was entirely too suspicious. We think it was a punishment... perhaps for their leaving at the battle," he explained, using Hermione's words. "I'm certain he's back in contact with Voldemort. He has to be."

Arthur sat up straighter. "I'll do it."

"I'll help," George volunteered at once.

"Excellent," said Harry, his spirits lifting at the show of support. "Ron and I will increase the surveillance on Voldemort himself, and I ask those of you who work within the Ministry to do the same, and keep your ears open. With any luck, we'll manage to catch him in the act of... something. Anything to put him away, really."

"But, what about Hermione?" Luna asked, asking what many were thinking.

A loud silence followed her question.

"We... we're not sure where she stands, yet," he said grimly, before quickly changing the subject. "Next, we need feelers. Those of you who are unknown as Order members; Seamus and Isobel, Ophelia, Vince, Hugo, Rolf - if any of you would volunteer -"

"I'll do it," Seamus announced immediately.

"-that would be perfect. We need you to ask around, find out what you can from underground sources. Act interested in joining them, like a prospective member. We don't currently know who might be running in Voldemort's circles, but the remaining pureblood families will probably be our best bet," Harry explained. "This might be the hardest task I ask of any of you, so before you agree, I want you to be sure of what you're doing."

"I'll do it," Seamus reaffirmed.

"And me," Isobel said, taking her husband's hand.

"And me," said Rolf.

"Me too," Hugo added.

Ophelia and Vince glanced at each other guardedly and stayed silent.

"That-that's great, really. I truly can't thank you enough," Harry said earnestly before looking down to the end of the table. "Next, Minerva, Filius, Neville, Hagrid - we need you to keep your ears open at Hogwarts. If you hear anything from students, any bragging or - or threats, please, take them seriously, and get as much information out of them as you can."

"Certainly," McGonagall said with a sight tip of her head, Hagrid, Neville, and Filius all nodding along with her.

"Excellent. And one last thing," Harry went on, his voice becoming sterner. "A word of caution. We currently do not know who can be trusted within the Ministry. We don't know how many may be under Voldemort's influence already. I'm not saying, go to work and question your co-workers, but... it is imperative that you be careful of who you talk to, and who you trust."

Hermione stifled a laugh as she looked up across the table to see Voldemort roll his eyes.

"- protocol is simply not being followed. We've had six detainees in the last month with incorrectly filled out paper work," Janice, the office receptionist was saying. "Insufficient information is being listed under 'reason for holding', security guard rostering isn't being acceptably filled in, and in some cases, it isn't being listed at all!"

Hermione gave the woman her best sympathetic look. "Of course, Janice. We'll look into implementing a refresher course for the staff who have been causing these problems," she offered, jotting it down to remind herself in her notebook, even though she suspected the cases of incorrect security reporting were entirely the fault of her boss.

"Thank you," the older woman said, taking in a deep breath to start again. "In other matters, we've also been having some issues in the staff room. The low-fat milk on the third shelf is not for communal use, and it's - is something funny?"

"Oh - no, my apologies," Voldemort quickly said, clearing his throat to cover his soft snort. "Please, do go on."

Sending him a cold glance, the woman turned back to the others in attendance of the departmental meeting.

"-And, I'm getting sick and tired of people taking what doesn't belong to them. It's rude and it isn't..."

Hermione's eyes glazed over as the woman continued to rant. Under normal circumstances, she would quite enjoy their monthly departmental meetings. The gathering was always a good opportunity to vent one's grievances, to offer training where it was needed, and to ensure that their staff were following correct protocol. But today, in her magic-induced state of restlessness along with Harry's watchful eye on her, she found herself silently agreeing with Voldemort's many not-so-subtle eye rolls and wishing Janice would just hurry it up so they could go their own way already.

Once the meeting was finally drawn to a close, Hermione waited until they were safely out of anyone's earshot to lightly whack Voldemort on the arm.

"You didn't have to laugh at her," she scolded Voldemort on the way out from the meeting, making the journey back to their office side by side.

"Like you were enthralled," he said dryly.

"The meeting may have been a little bit stale," she admitted, "but that's no reason to be rude."

"Please, if I were being rude, the meeting would have been far more enjoyable."

She scoffed.

"And then, I'd never have to hear her insufferably shrill voice again," he added lowly, for her ears only.

She gave him a second whack on the arm, harder than the first one. "You can't be so... blasé about these things."

He laughed, trailing his hand against her lower back as he headed past their office toward the staff room, while she ducked inside.

His smile remained in place as he rounded the next corner toward reception, happy to finally be free to get the coffee he'd been thinking about for the last hour and a half. He slowed down, however, as he reached the front desk and stopped to greet the man he found in conversation with their junior receptionist.

"Mr. Weasley," he greeted politely. His relationship with the Head of Magical Transportation had been tense after Hermione and Ron had split up, leaving him with no choice but to slowly work his way back into Percy's good books; it was his signature that signed off on their international Portkey requests, after all. "What brings you up to level two this afternoon?"

Percy quickly straightened and visibly blanched at his greeting, and Voldemort did not miss the way his eyes widened.

"Oh. I have a meeting with Harry at three," he said quickly as he checked his wristwatch, which read two fifty-six."Ah, and would you look at that? I-I should head in, I don't want to keep him waiting."

"Potter is just coming out of another meeting. No need to hurry, he should be along any minute," Voldemort advised helpfully.

Percy shifted nervously. "Still. I should get going," he said, moving to leave in the direction of the Auror office.

"Mr. Weasley?" He tried again, Percy stopping in his tracks. Voldemort's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he met the man's wary eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes, fine," Percy said all too quickly, averting his gaze. "If you'd excuse me."

He turned and headed out of the corridor in a hurry, Voldemort narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he watched his tall form retreat and disappear into the office. He'd gotten anger, resentment, and even jealously from Weasley before, but this was the first time he'd seen fear.

He'd have to look into that.

Fucking Weasleys.

With his mood quickly deteriorating, Voldemort sent a forced smile to the receptionist and ducked into the near-empty staff room and summoned a mug to make himself a coffee. With a devious smirk, he checked behind him to make sure that no one was watching, before taking the milk from the third shelf down and adding a dash to his coffee.

A few days later, Hermione could be found sitting in the centre of Voldemort's back lawn, her legs crossed underneath her. With her eyes firmly closed, she put all of her energy into feeling out for her own magic. It responded with a pleasant thrum within her chest, in her arms, in her legs. She could feel it all over on the surface of her skin, its warmth feeling like static.

It was everywhere.

Keeping her eyes shut and the firm connection with her magic intact, Hermione slowly stood and took hold of her wand. The wooden stick felt like an extension of herself, the dragon heartstrings in its core greeting her familiarly at her touch. She stood still, taking a deep breath as she allowed her muscles to relax before she raised the wand.

"Azrethis," she cast.

She could feel the fire as it left her wand, it's heat recoiling up her forearm pleasantly.

Remembering what Voldemort had advised, she stopped casting after the first creature had manifested within the flames - in this case, a large bear. It had been a dangerous decision for her to have cast the spell while he wasn't with her, she knew that. But in her mind, it was the last hurdle, the final hurdle she needed to jump, and she needed to do it on her own.

She needed to prove to herself that she was ready.

Despite how easy Voldemort had previously made it look, controlling the Fiendfyre's direction and size took a gruelling amount of effort. It wasn't long before her muscles began to ache, and she felt the sweat beading on her forehead, the heat radiating from the creature not helping in the slightest.

She winced as she tried to force the bear to the left, the creature getting perilously close to the bulk of the garden. A wave of triumph washed over her as she managed to ignore her growing fatigue and turned the bear around, preventing it from setting her favourite log aflame.

But, the hardest part was now before her - putting the fire out.

She let out a yell as she forced the bear into the open space of the centre of the yard. She'd figured that without anything to help fuel the fire, it would be a simpler matter of putting it out. But the bear had other ideas, roaring in protest and sending a large flame out in her direction. The flames licked her forearm of her wand arm, and although it didn't immediately hurt too much, she knew she'd be in agony the next day.

After a quick glance at her sleeve to make sure she wasn't on fire, she struggled as she put her all into shrinking its flames. She slumped in relief as the fire slowly began to dissipate, the lawn it had passed over reduced to ash and dirt. She dropped to her knees where she stood once it had safely vanished and wiped the sweat from her forehead, feeling completely overwhelmed from what she'd just done.

She panted as the drowsiness and the bliss from the magic weaved together like a fine fabric and began to weigh down on her, preventing her from moving.

If it weren't for the darkening sky above her, she wouldn't have had a clue as to how she remained kneeling in the dirt, head spinning. Eventually, once the night's air grew crisp and her muscles felt up to it, she managed to stumble inside and allowed herself to fall back onto the couch as the rush of pleasure continued to engulf her. She ran her hands over her arms in an attempt to sate the prickling of the magic, and almost moaned at the feeling of the chills her own touch gave her.

She knew Voldemort felt the effects of his magic use; he'd all but told her as much. But she couldn't help but wonder whether the magic affected him this way, too? Whether it warmed the pit of his stomach as strongly as it warmed hers? Twice, he'd killed, and after both times he'd seemed to crave her touch, after all.

A loud snort escaped her as her thoughts lingered on it. Trust him to get horny from committing murder.

She made a hazy mental note to find out before she shifted to lay down horizontally on the large couch. She made a soft sound of contentment as her head sunk down into the pillow of the couch, feeling almost like it was all that was holding her in place.

Had this couch always been so soft? Perhaps it had been charmed that way. Soft as a pillow, soft as a cloud, soft as a sunrise...

"...did you do?"

...soft as snow, soft as Crookshanks' fur, soft as a bed of feathers...

"Hermione?"

She smiled as she lay spinning on the couch, hearing the hazy, smooth voice, knowing that he had said something, but unable to make out the words.

He, both the bane and the current light of her existence.

"You destroyed my yard!"

She stretched her arms out, her previously sore muscles now aching with pleasure. Finally, she opened her eyes, the colour of the well-lit room almost so vivid, she could feel it. A slow, oozing laugh escaped her as she made out his figure from across the room by the window, his stare heavy with accusation.

"Good," she slurred. "You deserve it."

"What did you do?" He tried again.

"I told you," she said as she sat up too fast, steadying herself with a firm grip on the back of the couch. "I'm proficient."

"You were practising on your own."

She grinned in response, even though he hadn't posed it as a question.

"Fiendfyre?" He concluded from the burned lawn.

"You said, 'no more lessons'," Hermione said in her best imitation of his deep voice. "How else did you expect me to learn?"

His jaw tightened.

She giggled seeing his sour expression. "Am I upsetting you?"

"You're infuriating me."

"Oh, don't be like that," she cooed, moving to her feet and shakily making her way over to him. "You should be happy. I didn't burn the house down, after all."

"Not for lack of trying."

She laughed again as a sudden idea of how to both find the answers to her questions and calm the prickling of her skin sprung to her mind. Slowly, she slid her hands up to his shirt and began to finger at the buttons.

"No need to worry. The grass will grow back," she pointed out as her fingertips reached the neck of his shirt, "and there's an open bottle of wine in the kitchen."

He narrowed his eyes at her while she licked her bottom lip and brought it between her teeth. His expression didn't falter as she popped one, two, three of his buttons open. Just as she was beginning to feel a bit disappointed at his lack of response, he unfolded his arms at the same time as the corner of his mouth turned upward.

"Are you attempting to distract me through seduction, Ms. Granger?"

Her smile mirrored his as she gave up on the buttons and brought her arms up to circle around his neck, the small amount of skin contact steadying her. "I might be."

It didn't take much after that. Two glasses of wine and a few suggestive comments later, and her skirt was running up her thighs as he lifted her up and pushed her back on the dining table. He positioned himself between her legs, and pulled one up around his hips, sliding his hand under her thigh.

She moved herself up slightly so that she could rub herself against him through their clothes, and was rewarded by a groan deep in his throat.

She smiled against his mouth as she ran her hands up his chest and started at the buttons of his shirt, eager to finally get the damn thing off of him. While she tried to pull them open, he tugged at her underwear, pulling them halfway down with ease. He ran his hand up the inside of her thigh giving her goosebumps, and she almost purred when he touched her. He circled his fingers for a moment before slipping them down, and pushing inside -

But no. She had other ideas. She only allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of his fingers for a short moment before she wriggled back and pushed him away to start at undoing his belt.

"What are you-"

He broke off as she pushed him back and slid off of the table, dropping to her knees in front of him. Although she knew it was his favourite, she hadn't gone down on him since she found out who he was. She looked up and saw a grin forming on his face as he realised where she was going, before she freed him from the confinement of his pants.

Her abdominal muscles clenched. His cock was much nicer than Ron's.

She began to pump his length with her hand, drawing the fluid from his tip downward and putting extra pressure on the underside where she knew he liked it, before moving in to taste. He tangled a hand into her hair as she circled her tongue over his tip and drew him into her mouth, pulling back and forth a few times before she pulled back with a pop.

She wiped her lip and smiled up at him as she continued with just her hand for a moment before slowing down. He made a sound of protest as she brought her hand to a stop, keeping a firm grip around him.

"Do you still feel the way I feel?" She asked slightly breathlessly, feeling overconfident from the magic. When he didn't respond, she clarified, "from the magic? After you kill?"

She almost laughed at the way he stubbornly remained silent and moved his hips forward into her grip.

"Does it make you want to fuck?"

He still remained quiet as he squeezed his eyes shut and his grip tightened in her hair. She took the slight tip of his head as a 'yes'.

"Does my touchhelp you? The way yours helps me?" She continued, stroking down his entire length slowly to his base as she moved forward to retake his tip into her mouth.

A low groan escaped his throat and he managed a short "yes," from between clenched teeth.

She hummed in satisfaction, feeling a little bit smug as she took him in to the back of her mouth before pulling back once more. "And is that why you want me to stay with you?"

"Granger-"

"Does the magic make it hard for you to be alone?"

"Hermione-"

"Does it make you itch?"

His nails scratched her scalp as he fisted in her hair.

"Is it unbearable?"

"Gods, yes, now would you please just -"

He broke off to groan loudly as she brought him back into her mouth, grasping his balls in her hand. She moaned around him in satisfaction, her chest warming at the thought that he needed her. She glanced up to see his eyes roll into the back of his head.

How victory tasted sweet.

Rolf glanced beside him to the short man nearby browsing through the shelves of a dingy shop off of Knockturn Alley. He'd been ghosting the man for a good half hour now, waiting for the chance to speak without being overheard. As it neared the store's closing time and the other customers slowly filtered out of the store, he decided that he wouldn't get a better chance.

"Hey," Rolf whispered loudly, successfully distracting the other shopper. "Richard Travers, right?"

The short man stared him up and down for a moment. "Depends who's asking," he grumbled eventually.

"Rolf Scamander."

"Scamander?"

"That's right."

Travers grunted.

"You, uh... your family's one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Rolf said, having intended for it to be a question, yet it came out as more of a statement.

"Yeah."

"So... you're still in contact with him, right?" He asked, unsure how to go about breaching the subject.

Travers' expression hardened before he scoffed.

"What, I'm a pureblood, and that automatically makes me one of them? Fuck off."

"Look, I-I'm not with the Ministry," Rolf tried, palms up in surrender. "I'm just interested, you know, in joining?"

Travers stared skeptically.

"As part of one of the few pureblood families left, I owe it to my ancestors, you know?" Rolf continued, knowing full well that his grandmother on his mother's side was a muggle, but hoping that Travers didn't. "Surely you understand."

Travers narrowed his eyes. "I can't help you," he eventually said slowly.

"But I-"

"Not here," he whispered, before stepping back leaving the shop in a hurry.

A small smile crossed Rolf's face as he made sure there was still no one was watching, before ducking out of the shop after Travers.

Soooooo this was my first sorta real attempt at writing smut, and I have a question? To those of you who have written it before, does it get easier? Do you ever stop blushing/cringing? Will I eventually feel less dirty?