Author's Note: Sorry it's been a couple days! My cat decided to chew through my laptop cord. Eighty dollars later, here I am again. Thank you very much to those who reviewed: Frogster, jperks, fuzzy6, Sam Wallflower, I was BOTWP, siewchee12345, cmtaylor531, nikawritesx, IGOTEAMEDWARD.
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"Now I know you'll both want to ask him a lot of questions, but he's still extremely weak," Stidolph warned, "and try to remember he's only a kid."
"Voldemort was a kid once, too," Ron muttered under his breath.
Eyeing his friend distastefully, Harry protested, "I highly doubt Deimos Lestrange is the next Voldemort, Ron."
"Let's not even joke about that," Stidolph insisted, visibly shuddering. "This way."
They stepped off the hospital's stairwell and past a sign that read 'Fourth Floor – Spell Damage', into the ward. Because he was a prisoner as well as a patient, Deimos was being kept in a separate room for his treatment and was under constant supervision.
"They only just managed to save his life," she informed them, leading the way and stopping in front of a plain, white door. "I should also warn you that thusfar, he's not said a word to anyone."
"Do you think I could go in alone?" Harry requested. He looked apologetically at Ron and explained, "You were the one to catch him. He'll probably be less likely to talk to you."
Ron shrugged and hung back with his partner as Harry entered and shut the door behind him.
An Azkaban guard was inside with the teenager, who was bed-ridden. At a word from Harry, the guard took his momentary leave and left the two of them alone. Deimos was extremely pale and anemic, despite the restorative effects of blood-replenishing potions. Most of the boy's hair had been shorn away to help clean up his head. There seemed to be flea bites all over his scalp and neck; wherever he'd been staying when he was on the run, had apparently been none too clean.
Harry cleared his throat. "I'm not sure if you know me already, but my name is Harry Potter."
Deimos only blinked haughtily.
Undaunted, Harry continued, "I was hoping you would be able to tell me some more about the murders you and your father been connected with. The first was Narcissa Malfoy, the second was Astoria Greengrass. The third and fourth were David and Katherine Granger. Then there is the question of the attempted murder of Hermione Granger."
Still silence.
Harry made himself comfortable in the singular chair in the room. It seemed to be the only furniture besides the bed Deimos lay in and a nightstand with a lamp. "Did you bribe the Dementors to steal Hermione's soul?"
The teenager's lip curled slightly, but he still said nothing.
In times like these, Harry recalled all too clearly how frustratingly calm Albus Dumbledore had always been whenever someone was riled up or emotional. The former Headmaster would simply sit back in his tall chair, unconcernedly unsticking two lemon drops from one another, and allow his guest to say their piece.
It was Dumbledore that Harry liked to channel when he was presented with frustrating situations like this one.
Digging into his pocket, Harry pulled out a polishing cloth for his glasses, removed them, and began meticulously cleaning the lenses. After a minute, he started humming to himself as he did it. He took his time, stretching the minutes out irritatingly, making sure to adjust the wire rims back onto the bridge of his nose so they were perfectly stable.
"Merlin, you're annoying."
Harry fought back a smirk. "Ah, so you do talk."
Deimos sneered at the Auror, but didn't respond.
Leaning back in his seat and placing his hands on his lap in front of him, Harry surveyed the boy. "I was sixteen once. Obnoxious year, really. Still, I didn't have any interest in murder at that age."
The boy looked away, staring angrily at the blank, white wall.
"Why did you do it?"
Silence.
Harry took off his glasses again and frowned theatrically at one of the lenses. Removing the polishing cloth from his pocket again, he began scrubbing away at an imaginary speck of dust. He was able to rub the cloth against the glass in such a way that it made a vexing squeaking sound, and did so repeatedly.
"Sweet Salazar, do not start that shite again," Deimos effused, crossing his arms with a huff. "Fine, I'll talk. Just stop fucking cleaning your bloody glasses."
Harry put the glasses on his nose and waited.
"I murdered the Grangers, yes. I bribed the Dementors to attack her and steal her soul, yes. I have no tolerance for Mudbloods. They have no place in our world."
Face still molded into the essence of serenity, despite the angry fire that had ignited in his heart, Harry queried, "And Draco Malfoy?"
"Is a fucking blood traitor."
"Were you going to kill him?"
Silence again.
Harry tried a different tactic, "Did you have plans to rape Hermione Granger?"
"Steal her soul, violate what's left of her, then dispose of the remains. Make Malfoy watch the whole thing. Maybe I'd have slit her throat open, who knows." Deimos attempted to appear nonchalant about this confession, but his shaking hands gave him away.
"Did you rape Astoria Greengrass?"
"Oh, she was wonderful," Deimos exulted, smirking at the memory. "She was Imperiused to give herself up. Intact until I popped her and everything."
"Why was Hermione any different from Astoria?"
"Well she's a Mudblood, isn't she? Probably would have had to wash the mud off my cock when I was done. Spill all her blood, I say, and see how filthy it really is."
Feeling he was at the end of his rope and might not be able to keep up the charade of composure much longer, Harry gathered himself up and stood.
"Where are you going?" Deimos demanded. "Don't you want to ask me any more questions?"
Feeling around for what would annoy Lestrange the most, Harry only idly responded, "Not really. It's a lovely day outside and I fancy a walk."
He shut the door behind him, but not before observing the fuming face of the teenager. Really, there was no reason to make the boy think he was more important than he was. Once the guard had returned to secure the room and the door was shut, Harry's cool placidity slid right off his face.
"Let's go," he muttered to Ron and Stidolph, his face burning with anger.
"Did he talk to you?" Stidolph wanted to know, as the three of them walked the length of the ward.
"Yes."
"What did he say? Did he confess?" Ron probed.
"He confessed to the murder of Hermione's parents, the rape of Astoria, and the intended rape and murder of Hermione."
"Well done, Potter," Stidolph praised. She came to a halt when they entered the stairwell, "I'm going to stay a bit longer. As soon as Deimos is sufficiently better, we'll have to arrange for him to be transported to Azkaban to await trial."
"I'm going to send a letter to Kingsley and ask him to remove the Dementors from Azkaban," Harry informed her stoutly. "Why the Ministry even wanted them to return in the first place, I'm not sure."
Stidolph grinned, "If anyone can ask the Minister of Magic for something of that magnitude, I suppose it's you, Potter."
When she disappeared, Harry and Ron descended the stair together. Ron was rather quiet for a moment, until he finally queried, "Is Hermione still coming to dinner at the Burrow tonight?"
"As far as I know, yes. She promised Ginny she'd be back in time to Floo over with her. Apparating and Portkeys are becoming pretty uncomfortable for Gin in her current state… I'm not sure how much longer she'll be able to use the Floo either."
"I thought Hermione was still living with you?"
"Yeah, but she went to a party with Malfoy in Italy on Saturday and hasn't come back yet."
The redhead struggled valiantly not to make a scathing remark, reddening with the effort. "She stayed over at his house?"
Shrugging, Harry answered, "Honestly, she's not at Grimmauld Place very often. I think she usually stays over with him."
Ron appeared genuinely hurt. "Do you have any idea how long it took for Hermione to stay over with me? Over a year… and we were friends first."
Harry stopped and looked his friend in the eye, "Ron, Hermione is not your girlfriend anymore. No matter what she wants to do, if you want to stay friends with her, you've got to support her. Even if it hurts."
"But it's Malfoy…" Ron whined. He knew he'd made that argument before, so this time it sounded weak, even to his own ears.
"For what it's worth, Hermione did become friends with him first. At least, it seemed like she tried."
"Do you think they're shagging?"
Harry closed his eyes and stopped mid-step, his foot hovering over the stair below, "I am going to pretend you never said that, because the second to last thing I want to think about is Hermione having any kind of sex at all, and the very last thing I want to think about is Hermione having sex with Malfoy."
"Sorry," Ron apologized, rubbing the tip of his long nose in frustration. "It's just, she was special, you know?"
"Still is," Harry pointed out, resuming his descent toward the lobby.
"Yeah, but…"
"Ron, if you're about to bring up your past sex life with Hermione… please don't."
"Okay."
"I'll see you at the Burrow later?"
Ron nodded, "Yeah, just me though. Gabby's not feeling too good and she offered to watch Victoire and Dominique so Bill and Fleur could come."
"Honestly," Harry answered, adjusting his pristine glasses, "that's probably for the best."
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The back of Hermione's head hit the pillow roughly and she squeezed her eyes shut, keening with pleasure. Pieces of her sweaty hair were plastered to her neck and forehead.
Draco loved this view more than any other he'd yet experienced in their love-making. He could watch her come thoroughly undone before his eyes; it was resplendent. Quickening his cadence somewhat, he felt her nails begin to dig into his shoulder as her breath came out in quick, little pants.
Simultaneously, he could also feel her body in a different, otherwordly sort of way. It was ego-stroking, how complete her enjoyment of being filled by him was.
Look at me, he growled, twisting his finger through one of her curls and pulling it toward him to watch it bounce back up.
Her ocher eyes opened, somewhat glassy, her face flushed tantalizingly. Draco knew she could feel his enjoyment, too – every maddening nerve of his organ being stroked within her wetness, the heat that coiled near his groin, wanting just the right moment to burst into her.
He leaned in toward her, sucking on the sensitive patch of skin below her ear and nipping at the muscle in her neck. Do you want me to let you come? he teased.
Please, please, please… she murmured in rhythm with his thrusts.
The sound of her begging for him, even in his mind, drove him absolutely wild. He titled his head down and grabbed her nipple between his teeth, making her back arch with a gasp. Draco could feel her beginning to clench around him and he groaned with satisfaction, lifting his head to press his forehead against hers.
Using his thumb to press against her clitoris, he grit his teeth and buried himself as deeply as he could penetrate into her body. Hermione felt his orgasm building imminently; she bit down on his earlobe and felt him shiver.
They were both lost to the void. It took them several minutes to recover.
He fell onto the bed beside her and grinned rakishly, a bit of his hair flopping into his eyes. Hermione inwardly scowled, thinking he really had no right to be that handsome, especially post-coitus. She was sure she looked a fright. She propped herself up on her elbow and turned to face him. "Thank Merlin for contraceptive charms."
Draco shuddered, this time not in pleasure, "I don't know how long it's been since there's been a Malfoy bastard, but that's not a distinction I'd like a child of mine to have."
Hermione blinked at him. In her mind, she was merely grateful not to be pregnant. Apparently, in Draco's mind, he'd gone beyond that and was grateful not to be producing illegitimate children.
Glancing at the clock, she sighed. "I should get going. I promised Ginny I would be home in a half hour so we could Floo to the Burrow together for dinner."
"You're still going there?"
"Why wouldn't I be? I promised I would."
He shrugged, sprawling himself out across his bed comfortably, unabashed of his nakedness. Hermione set the barely-there remains of her braid free and pulled all the hair she could gather into a bun at the nape of her neck, which was still dewy with sweat.
Weasley still cares about you.
We've been over this. Ron and I are friends.
"I know you think that, but I'm not convinced he's on the same page."
"Even if that was true, you know I couldn't take him back. I have you." She bent over to kiss his cheek, then began to search for something she could use to clean herself up with. She could feel the remnants of his orgasm leaking from between her legs.
Picking up his wand from the bedside table, Draco conjured a towel for her and pressed a light kiss to her lips. I already knew that, but it's still nice to hear you say it.
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The Burrow remained unchanged, despite the months it had been since Hermione's last visit.
Upon seeing her appear in the Weasleys' sitting room with Ginny and Harry, George grinned and announced, "Well, well, look who it is!" Angelina sat by his side on the patched, threadbare couch, engaged in conversation with Fleur.
"'Ermione," Fleur acknowledged imperiously, "eet 'as been too long…"
The wholehearted acceptance Hermione felt upon being received back into the Weasley family's Sunday night routine was staggeringly emotional in a way she hadn't expected it to be. Fleur hugged her, as – surprisingly – did Bill. Mrs. Weasley tittered over her health and general well-being and said six times how much she'd missed seeing her. Mr. Weasley informed her very pointedly about how he was working on an invention for magical fire alarms; this almost made Hermione tear up and Ginny had to steer her away into another conversation to distract her from falling into a bout of melancholy.
When Percy, Audrey and little Molly arrived, Percy cornered Hermione and apprized her of the fact that there was an opening in a very high-up position in his department at the Ministry, and that he would very much like her to apply. Hermione had to dash this hope as graciously as she could, but it was flattering all the same.
Ginny rolled her eyes at all the attention her friend was getting, but beamed nonetheless, "I've been trying to tell you it wouldn't be awkward to come to dinner. Everyone missed you, I think especially Percy. You were the only one who really listened to him wax on about work…"
Angelina had integrated herself seamlessly into the Weasley family dynamic over the course of the past several months. She spoke candidly to Hermione about various post-Hogwarts goings-on, in a way they never had conversed while at school together. Later, George found Hermione unoccupied and approached her.
"How you holding up?"
"I'm managing, George, thank you," she answered, astonished at his attentiveness.
He only merely nodded at this and Hermione almost began to wonder at the change in him, when a prank he'd planned ahead of time to turn Percy's hair banana-yellow the moment he referred to himself by his full title as 'the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation', took effect.
George tapped his nose and winked as Percy began to rampage. "Honestly, I'm shocked it took so long."
Ron arrived somewhat later, without Gabrielle, to Hermione's profound relief.
"Gabrielle ees at 'ome watching ze children," Fleur explained to Mrs. Weasley. "She 'as been a bit under ze wezzer."
Mrs. Weasley couldn't help making three separate comments to Ron over the course of the evening, comparing Hermione to Gabrielle. Luckily for Hermione, all three escaped her, though they each made Ron blush deeply.
Finally Ron had to say, "I get it, Mum. You preferred Hermione as my girlfriend. But I'm with Gabby now and Hermione's moved on, too. Let it go."
Mrs. Weasley had pursed her lips, but refrained from commenting any more. She did, however, give Hermione a slice of cherry pie for dessert that was almost twice the size of Ron's, staring pointedly at him when she did it. Cherry pie was Ron's favorite
Pick your battles, Ron reminded himself wisely, digging in to his slice of pie sadly.
When Mrs. Weasley's back had turned, Hermione glanced surreptitiously at Ron and whispered, "I can't eat all this. Do you want half of mine?"
Ron did, as it turned out.
"So, Ginny," Percy began, stoically ignoring that his hair was still bright yellow from George's prank, "have you and Harry given any thought about names for your child?"
Ginny seemed quite serious when she answered, "We're thinking Alouicious for a boy and Hortenzia for a girl."
Mrs. Weasley looked horrified and dropped her spoon.
Harry chortled, "Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley, I wouldn't let her do that."
The matriarch took up her spoon again, looking distinctly relieved.
"You can't let Ginny name anything," Ron agreed scathingly. "Look what she did to Pig!"
"Pigwidgeon is a perfectly good name for an owl," Ginny retorted. "No… we're going with James for a boy and Lily for a girl."
