"It's murder on the dance floor
You'd better not kill the groove
DJ, gonna burn this god damn house right down,"
-"Murder on the Dance Floor," Sophie Ellis-Baxtor
Tuesday
October 16th, 2007
Auror Office, Ministry of Magic
Whitehall, London
Leslie Biggeloe was one of the men of the world who had the horrible affliction of having a truly punchable face. All of his features seemed too large for his face, save for a pair of beady, black eyes. His nose looked like someone had actually punched him — several times — and it had healed badly, sitting slightly askew. Harry wondered if AC Biggeloe was truly a tosser, or if Harry had become so frustrated with the entirety of Special Forces that he was primed to hate him.
"AC Biggeloe, how long have you been a member of the Auror Corps?" Harry asked, tapping his quill against the conference table. Biggeloe seemed irritated by the persistent noise, which was Harry's intention. Years of interrogation had taught him to throw the interviewee off just slightly. The practice typically resulted in the subject losing confidence, and in the end, confessing.
"I entered service in 2004, so just over three years," Biggeloe responded tensely.
"And how long have you been part of Special Forces?"
"A year and a half."
"For the record, please describe the events leading up to the attack."
Biggeloe sighed. "I was at home, asleep, when I got alerted at around four am that there was an op. I got to the office, we were briefed, we went to the location."
"Did you communicate to anyone there was a mission?" Neville asked.
Biggeloe shook his head.
"For the DIR, please note that AC Biggeloe has indicated he did not inform anyone of the impending mission," Neville said, writing something down.
"Did you notice anything out place?"
"No. The only thing was that ACI Sutherland-Reese was the team leader, and not AS Greaves. But ACI Sutherland-Reese was old mates with ACI Garner, so it made sense that when he asked, Garner put him on the mission."
Harry looked up from his folder, trying not to seem startled. "ACI Sutherland-Reese asked ACI Garner to be on the mission?"
Biggeloe hesitated for a second, as if realising he had said something wrong. "It seemed so from my position. I may have misunderstood the exchange, but he told Garner that he was grateful for putting him on to the operation at the last minute."
"Isn't it possible, AC Biggeloe, that ACI Garner felt that the op required more experience than what AS Greaves had, and ACI Sutherland-Reese was the person to call?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing. He was doing his best to mask the fact that what Biggeloe had said was possibly critical information.
Biggeloe shrugged. "It could be, sir."
Harry nodded and motioned to Neville to end the interview. He was vaguely aware of Biggeloe leaving, of Neville gathering up the materials and saying something to Harry. But Harry was lost in a sea of his thoughts, a feeling that had been growing more familiar over the past week.
It's been a week since they died, and we have nothing. Instead of making this a quick investigation, like Hastings asked, the more I dig, the more I discover that everyone has something to hide.
His gaze wandered to a set of portraits hung on the wall, partially visible through the open door of the conference room. Hastings had hung those portraits several years prior, as an almost accounting of who still needed to be captured. He had hoped that it would encourage the Aurors to fight harder, to focus on why they were part of the Auror Corps. Most days, Harry tried to avoid looking at the wall. It was too much of a reminder for him about the people he lost, the holes in his heart that would never close.
Rudolphus Lestrange. He felt weary, as if the weight of the investigation was bearing down on him.
Tortured Frank and Alice Lestrange into insanity.
Corban Yaxley.
Murdered Tonks.
Antonin Dolohov.
Murdered Lupin.
Augustus Rookwood.
Murdered Fred.
He ached to go home to Teddy and to gather him in his arms, to listen to Teddy's chatter about his adventures at school and the latest episode of Doctor Who . For Harry, Teddy made everything worth it. Every interrogation and long night was worth it because he was keeping Teddy safe.
The thought of Teddy and his mission to keep him safe sent renewed energy coursed through him, fighting his disillusionment and exhaustion. After a quick check with AC Ali, he discovered Hermione was training in the Auror gym.
All of the Auror Corps were trained in more than wand-duelling in case an Auror was separated from their wands during an operation. Protection Division was trained with Muggle firearms since they often operated in the non-magical world, and Intelligence/Counter-Intelligence learned methods of discreet escapes. As Harry walked into the office, his eyes landed on Hermione, who was in the middle of an intense hand-to-hand combat training session.
Watching her fight was mesmerising. It was almost an artful dance as she bobbed and weaved and kicked and punched. She had a look of concentration he hadn't seen in what seemed like forever — since she had sat at the kitchen table studying for Healer school whilst she rocked Teddy's bassinet with her foot.
Her thick ponytail whipped around, and sweat beaded at her hairline. She ducked an incoming hit and using her left hand, she pushed up on the trainer's chin, taking the second he was disoriented to grab his arm and tackle him to the ground.
"You need to stop going easy on me," She said, panting, as she released him, and stood up. She extended a hand to the trainer, who took it, As he stood, he wiped the sweat off his brow and laughed.
"Sorry, ma'am," the trainer grinned at her. "OS O'Neill said you're hard and I didn't believe him. You won't catch me like that next time."
"Better not," she pulled a towel off of the rack. "Thanks for the session, I'll see you on Thursday."
The trainer nodded at her and made his exit. She turned around and caught sight of Harry and raised her eyebrows.
"I'm assuming you're not here to learn how to fight in a waistcoat," she said, hooking the towel over the back of her neck.
Harry shook his head as he smoothed out his waistcoat. "I came down to ask a couple of questions for the investigation."
"We should do this in a conference room. It can't seem as if we're collaborating."
"I doubt anyone will think that you and I are in cahoots," he laughed humourlessly. "I wanted to know what procedure is like when Special Forces gets notified about a mission when they're not at Headquarters."
She paused and considered him for a moment and then sighed. "We have a notification system that's fairly discreet, but even then the Aurors paged don't know what the mission is until they're back at Headquarters."
"What about if they live with someone ⸺ a spouse, a girlfriend, a roommate? Or even a one-night stand ⸺ wouldn't they know they left?"
"Most likely yes. There's a certain amount of risk in any of this, but that's also why we don't communicate any information to them until they're in a secure area and can be monitored. In any situation, there's a possibility where the Auror communicated with someone on the outside. However, there's the assumption that they made it through the security screenings and training and continued to work in the department because they genuinely are on the side of good. And, of course, that we would notice if something was off."
She paused to take a drink of water. "Everyone in Special Forces knows each other. It's extremely tight-knit, so if someone's family is up to no good, we'll most likely know that something is wrong."
"What do you mean? Like you socialise together?"
Hermione nodded. "All the time. When ASU Huang became the division chair, he wanted to cultivate a sense of unity so he used to just constantly schedule meals, activities, and it kind of stuck."
I wonder if they know Monty.
"How well do they know you?" Harry asked, shoving his hands in his pockets, wishing the thought of the elusive Monty wasn't constantly on his mind.
She shrugged. "Pretty well, they've all been to my home."
Do they know what I did?
"What did you to Waldron?" Harry prodded. "He seemed really bitter towards you."
"Jeremy?" Hermione snorted. "His fiancee left him, and then his work took a nosedive. I then beat him at a promotion board, so he's just bitter all around. He's been in the division longer than I have, and I guess he thought he deserved it more and I got it because I'm famous, or a woman, or both. But else than him, everyone's like family."
Except one of those family members sold them out.
"Hermione, I need to know who the target was ⸺ or at least who the handler is."
She shook her head. "Absolutely not. I need authorisation to release that information. Even Hastings doesn't know who the handler or CHIS were."
"I can't move forward without that information," he argued.
"You'll have to. I'd be betraying the loyalty of my team and breaking serious regulations by telling you."
"You're putting them in danger by not letting the investigation go forward. Why are you so dedicated to this unit?"
"You wouldn't understand," she said, and Harry could detect a note of sadness in her tone.
"Try me," he encouraged her.
"When I was at Hogwarts, or really anywhere, I was too much or not enough. I was constantly made to feel like no matter what I did, I wouldn't belong. I feel exactly right here."
She walked away before Harry could respond.
As Harry was sitting at his desk, pondering Hermione's words, there was a light knock on his door. He looked up to see Chelsea, Hasting's assistant, and one of the few non-Aurors in the department.
"ACC Hastings wants to see you in his office immediately," Chelsea said.
Harry nodded and made his way to Hastings's office. To his surprise, Hermione, Welch-Boone, and Sutherland-Reese were in his office, deep in conversation.
"Ah, son, there you are," Hastings said. "Come on in, sit down."
Harry obliged, and Hastings barrelled right in.
"There's a State Dinner at Buckingham Palace tonight. Normally we send a couple of Aurors from Protection to pose as servers and one or two from Special Forces to act as guests, but after last week's attack we've decided to ramp up security just in case," Hastings said. "ACI Sutherland-Reese and AIs Granger and Welch-Boone will be securing the inside of the event, while Special Forces and Protection will be handling the perimeter."
Harry nodded, not understanding what it had to do with him.
"After some discussion, we'd like you to go as AI Granger's escort. Apparently, women are still expected to go escorted, and we feel like you're reasonably capable of acting as our fourth man inside of the event," Sutherland-Reese said, as if reading Harry's thoughts. "You're to meet AI Granger at her home at six-thirty this evening, where you will be fitted with a communication device. From there, you will proceed to the Palace."
"Here's the list of personnel for tonight," Welch-Boone said, sliding a piece of parchment across the table.
Interior Team
Guests
ACI Halliwell Sutherland-Reese (SF)
AI Julian Welch-Boone (SF)
AI Hermione Granger (SF)
AI Harry Potter (O)
Staff
AS Minjun Park (SF)
AC Ciaran Doyle (P)
AC Olek Silva (P)
Exterior Team
AI Aditi Lee (P)
AS Carys Davies (P)
AS Grace Randolph (P)
AS Albert Abedisi (P)
AS William Greaves (SF)
AC Finn Everett (P)
AC Lucas Willoughby (P)
AC Thomas Pilkington (SF)
AC Malgier Selwyn (SF)
AC Leslie Biggeloe (SF)
AC Athena Brewer (SF)
AC Daniyah Ali (SF)
"SF for Special Forces, P for Protection," Welch-Boone clarified.
"Blimey," Harry whispered as he looked over the list. "This is a massive order of personnel for what is supposedly just a state dinner."
"After last week, security concerns are at an all-time high," Hastings said, "And the Minister of Magic will be in attendance."
Harry leaned back in his chair, and his eyes met Hermione's for a brief second before she averted her gaze, turning to look at Welch-Boone.
"The dress code is white tie with decorations," Sutherland-Reese said, "do you have what you'd need?"
You know I don't, you incredible knobhead.
It was going to be a long night.
Number 12 Grimmauld Place
Islington, London
"Wow, you look almost presentable," George chuckled as Harry tugged at his bowtie. "We might get the wrong idea and think you're not a menace to society."
"Right, because you're a perfect angel," Harry shot back.
"I don't know what stories you've been listening to again," George said, a devilish grin spread across his face, "I am a perfectly upstanding member of this community."
Harry rolled his eyes as he adjusted his cufflinks. It had taken him the better part of the afternoon to find a suitable getup for this event, and he was beginning to feel like Hermione, Welch-Boone, and Sutherland-Reese were having a laugh at his expense with this latest escapade. He hadn't been in the field in over two years and now he was going as Hermione's date? It had to be a cruel joke.
Those pompous wankers.
"This is the third time in a week you've had to work late," George said, leaning against the wall. "Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with Teddy, but are you alright, mate?"
Harry nodded as he pulled the holster for his wand out of the drawer.
"Look, I know Mum has been nagging you about it, but maybe it is time to start going on a few dates? You don't need to wear this costume," George motioned to the getup, and Harry scowled jokingly, "but… we all want you to be happy, and Teddy's going to go off to Hogwarts before you know it."
"I could say the same for you. How long has it been since-"
"Stop deflecting," George waved him off. "You broke up with Madeline a year ago, and even then it was too short to call it a relationship."
"I do just fine with women," Harry said shortly, turning his attention back to the mirror. Hermione's image rose unbidden to his mind, and he combed his hair aggressively, as if combing would push his intrusive thoughts out.
Teddy was nose deep in another book when Harry tried to hug him before he left, and George promised that he wouldn't pump Teddy full of sugar (which, Harry knew, was a bald-faced lie). He made his way to the foyer, and then apparated to Knightsbridge.
The anxious pit that had been bubbling in him all day seemed poised to boil over as he walked up to Number 16. The prospect of spending the evening with Hermione, Welch-Boone, and Sutherland-Reese in white tie seemed like someone had reached deep within his mind and discovered his hellscape. As he stewed in his thoughts while he waited for Hermione to answer, he was gripped with a strong sensation to turn on his heel and go back home, back to Teddy and George and whatever hijinks they were up to.
You put on the clothes. You made it all the way here. You can get through the next couple of hours.
Despite his misgivings about the whole event, he raised his hand to knock on the door. There was a long pause, and the door opened. The man who opened the door looked no older than twenty-two, with sandy hair and big blue eyes
"Good evening, sir," the sandy-haired man said. "I'm AC Willoughby."
Harry nodded in acknowledgement. "Is AI Granger ready?"
" Her ladyship is going over final details with the team and then they will depart, ahead of us," Willoughby answered, clearly bored by Harry's questions. The younger Auror's arrogant tone and emphasis on her title were not lost on Harry.
"Do you have a problem with this assignment, AC Willoughby?" Harry fixed him with a stern expression. "Do you find that this is beneath you? Perhaps you think that Muggles aren't worth protecting?"
Willoughby didn't react to Harry's words, but Harry didn't need an answer. Things hadn't fundamentally changed since the war - people still held prejudices against Muggles and Muggleborns. The only difference is that people didn't feel confident to voice those views out loud. Harry didn't know Willoughby's blood status, but he surmised from the attitude that Willoughby was one of those who had an unfavourable attitude.
"Lucas, isn't it?" Harry asked sternly.
Willoughby nodded.
"Lucas, if there is any kind of cock-up tonight, I will personally see to it that you are served with a Reg 15 faster than a boggart changes shape. You are an Auror, and that position entails you protecting everyone, no matter how important you deem them to be. Every life has value , and so you are to perform your duties to your utmost ability to protect those lives. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Willoughby nodded, and Harry dismissed him with his hand. As Willoughby turned away, Harry heard a soft chuckle from the stairs.
"I forgot how much I enjoyed it when you get fired up about injustice."
Hermione.
She had a bemused expression on her face, her head cocked slightly back as she leaned against the bannister. Her light blue gown seemed to sparkle under the light of the chandelier in the foyer. Her normally wild dark brown curls had been tamed into an elegant chignon, and her aquamarine earrings glittered. She was a vision, and his mouth went dry. He remembered this exact feeling from seven years prior when she had rendered him speechless with a different outfit.
"You look… brilliant," he said hesitatingly, wondering if it was even appropriate for him to tell her how beautiful she looked. How do you compliment the woman who was once your best friend but now can barely look at you?
"And you look sharp," she complimented him. "This really brings back memories, but this time Ron can't accuse me of 'fraternising with the enemy.'"
"Memories…" Harry said, his voice trailing off.
Thursday
December 31st, 1998
Number 16 Montpelier Square
Knightsbridge, London
"What do you mean, we can't go out?" Ron asked, obviously frustrated. "It's New Years Eve. I want to go out."
They were sitting round the kitchen table for a late lunch when Ron had suggested going to a club to celebrate the coming of the New Year. Hermione and Harry had both vehemently opposed the idea. They would be hounded by the wizarding public, and if they opted for a Muggle club, they might risk Muggles seeing magic because of the not-so-discreet wizarding photographers.
"We could do something here," Hermione said. "I know it won't be much but-"
"Save it, Hermione," Ron said unhappily.
She had the same expression she always had when Ron was unhappy ⸺ placating, a little timid, and it made Harry furious. Sure, Ron was his best mate, but he always seemed to reduce Hermione into a weak shadow of the incredible woman he knew her to be.
"Well I think it's a brilliant idea," Harry said, and Hermione shot him a grateful look. "What did you have in mind?"
Her idea wasn't groundbreaking ⸺ dinner, drinks, and dancing at home. And despite the fact that it was simple and had none of Ron's desire for wild entertainment, Harry could think of nothing he would rather do.
"I like it," Harry said firmly. "We should invite George, get him out of the house a bit. Maybe Dean and Seamus? And Neville?"
Hermione nodded happily. "Luna and Ginny are already off, back at Hogwarts, but Parvati's been pretty lonely since Lavender died."
Plans were set in motion, and several hours later, Hermione's dining room was filled with the people they loved, laughing and drinking. George seemed to be having a good time, Harry noted with pleasure, and Parvati's laughter rang happily through the room. The music started, and he watched Ron dance with Hermione out of the corner of his eye as he spun Parvati around. He grinned to himself when he saw Dean and Seamus dance together - finally, they figured it out.
The song ended, and Harry grabbed Hermione's hand as the next once began.
"Oh, when you walk by every night
Talking sweet and looking fine
I get kind of hectic inside
Mmm, baby, I'm so into you
Darling, if you only knew
All the things that flow through my mind"
"I love this song," Hermione laughed into his shoulder, her eyes twinkling with laughter. He pulled her in, pleased that his dancing had somewhat improved since the horrible Yule Ball.
Maybe it's the partner , he mused, as he put his hand on her waist and pulling her in. He looked over at Ron, as if to gauge his reaction, but Ron wasn't looking at them, he noted with relief. Ron was deep in conversation with Dean, and so Harry kept dancing with Hermione. She seemed happier, lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off of her.
"But it's just a sweet, sweet fantasy, baby
When I close my eyes, you come and take me
On and on and on, it's so deep in my daydreams
But it's just a sweet, sweet fantasy, baby"
Her curls were wild around her as he spun her and then pulled her back into him, her face glowing with golden joy. She was dressed simply, with barely any makeup, and Harry was utterly captivated by her laughter as they danced. The room seemed to fade away, and it was just the two of them, and he didn't want the moment to end.
"Images of rapture
Creep into me slowly
As you're going to my head
And my heart beats faster
When you take me over
Time and time and time again"
As the song ended, Ron pulled Hermione back into a dance, and Harry was met with an oddly familiar feeling of resentment. He couldn't put a finger on when he had felt the feeling, but watching Hermione and Ron dance together felt like a dark cloud settled over him. He couldn't help but notice that her smile was just the tiniest bit smaller when Ron steered her clumsily around.
Tuesday
October 16th, 2007
Number 16 Montpelier Square
Knightsbridge, London
A communication sphere was inserted into Harry's ear. He was briefed on last-minute security details, and then he found himself in the back of a black town car with Hermione, who seemed incredibly calm in comparison to his anxious self. She was calm as they were shown into the grand ballroom, and she was calm as she made polite conversation with well-suited individuals.
A thin man with an auburn moustache made his way over to Hermione and Harry, and Hermione seemed genuinely pleased to speak to him. He was accompanied by a woman who seemed to be in her early fifties who was wearing a thin blue sash trimmed with scarlet, and what seemed to be a badge.
"Elena, I'd like to introduce you to the Marchioness of Townshend -" the man said, but Hermione waved him off with a smile.
"Oh, really, Albert, there's absolutely no need for formal titles, It's just Hermione. How are you? I haven't seen you in months." She reached out her hand to Elena, who took it.
"Been doing quite well, just got back from Majorca. Lovely this time of year."
"Oh, how lovely. Been wanting to take a holiday myself." Hermione responded. She turned to Harry and touched his arm with the tip of her fingers. The simplest touch of hers seemed to send electricity through his body, and he resisted the urge to shudder.
"Albert, this is Harry Potter, he's a property developer. Harry, this is Sir Albert Levasseur, he was my parents' solicitor for ⸺ how many years was it?"
"Oh good heavens, since Cambridge. Your father was at a stag-do and got in trouble for trying to free a police horse, which ended up being my first time in court."
Hermione laughed. "His activism always did have a vaguely criminal side."
"God bless his soul, but at least he got to spend his last years in a warmer place than this London slog."
They made polite conversation for several minutes, before Albert and Elena moved on to chat with a rather boring looking couple. Harry's head was swimming.
His last years.
Hermione's father was dead, and he hadn't heard a word about it. He wondered if he had known, would he have managed to find the courage to go over to her home and mend fences, to be a comfort to her in her time of need? The last week had confronted him with so many bitter truths that he had tried desperately to run from, but none were as egregious as this. Her beloved father, a man Hermione loved fiercely, had died, and he had done nothing. Known nothing. A dreadful feeling of self-loathing rose into his throat, threatening to choke him.
"Hermione - your father," he said weakly.
"My father passed away two years ago," Hermione said shortly. "And the Marquessate of Townshend is eligible to be passed in the female line, so here we are." She shrugged.
How much have I missed?
"I'm sorry ⸺ I didn't know, and,"
"He died not remembering who I am," Hermione laughed bitterly. "It wasn't exactly like there was a major change in my life when it happened."
He died not knowing who she was because she obliviated him. For me.
She lost her parents for me.
"Oi, there you two are," Sutherland-Reese laughed, he and Welch-Boone walking up to Harry and Hermione. "We were just wondering where the two of you are."
Harry felt instantly annoyed at the sight of the other two Aurors. Unlike Harry, who felt distinctly uncomfortable in his outfit, the other two seemed to be incredibly at ease. Sutherland-Reese was a decent bit shorter than Welch-Boone (though still taller than Hermione), and he wore a blue sash, somewhat resembling Elena's, except it was wider and without the scarlet edges.
He's wearing this ridiculous getup and he's still doing it better than you.
Wanker.
Hermione sunk to curtsey to Sutherland-Reese, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Your grace," she said, and Harry could hear the barely controlled laughter in her voice.
"My lady," Sutherland-Reese's tone matched Hermione's, his face also the picture of barely-masked mirth. It was obvious to Harry they had done this before, and he wondered how many operations like this she had done with Welch-Boone and Sutherland-Reese. They spoke for several moments, and then departed in opposite directions.
The evening progressed at an incredibly boring pace. They were served dinner, they made even more polite and inane conversations with people Harry couldn't be bothered to remember their names. His eyes darted around the ballroom to see Shacklebolt laughing with Sutherland-Reese and two women, and in another corner, Welch-Boone engrossed in conversation with a scholarly looking man with half-moon glasses. Dancing began, and Welch-Boone whisked Hermione off her feet.
They're always dancing together.
She moved to dance with Sutherland-Reese, who was, of course, a brilliant dancer, and then off with a man Harry didn't recognise. She was beautiful, radiant, and he was reluctantly entranced by her as he watched her. He thought about Teddy at home, probably up to some mischief with George, and he desperately wanted to be there, and not here, watching Hermione dance around with men he didn't know or like.
"Well, are you going to ask me to dance, or are you going to sit there watching me all night?" Hermione asked, a cheeky smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
"I wasn't-" he protested, but she raised her eyebrows, and he sighed. He knew that expression too well.
"Alright, my lady ," he said, grinning, "may I have this dance?"
She laughed, and he led her onto the dance floor, placing his hand on her waist. He was better at dancing than he had been at the Yule Ball, but only barely. None of his athleticism from Quidditch translated into being good at dancing, and he wondered idly if maybe he should learn. Hermione was looking over his arm, scanning the ballroom, checking the doorways.
"So there's something I've been meaning to ask," Hermione asked.
"Go ahead," Harry nodded.
"What's with the waistcoats?"
Harry chuckled. "I was dropping Teddy off at school every morning, and people knew I worked on Whitehall, and it wouldn't make sense if I was showing up in tee shirts and jeans. So I started dressing like I was some tosser who worked in finance, and… it stuck. I reckon I kind of like it?"
"They are very smart," Hermione admitted.
Something seemed to have melted between them as if the first of the winter frost was just beginning to melt away. Hermione seemed to have softened just the tiniest bit towards him, which seemed like a miracle. Their relationship had been extremely push-and-pull over the past week, and Harry had no idea where they stood.
"So can I ask you a question?" Harry asked, and Hermione nodded.
"When we were talking earlier and you said that people made you feel like you're too much or not enough, did I make you feel like that?"
Hermione shook her head as she looked over his shoulder. "No. Ron always made me feel like I was showing off or that I was too talkative or too much of a know it all, and well… he wasn't the only one. And Malfoy and a bunch of other boys used to make me feel like I was too ugly, not charming ⸺ just-" her voice trailed off.
"Firstly, Draco Malfoy is a repugnant human," Harry said, and Hermione laughed softly.
"Secondly ⸺ you're none of those things. Sure, you're smarter than all of us, but why should you hide it? To make some boys who didn't do the reading feel better? And you're by far the most attractive person here, and that crowd includes Kelly Macdonald and Sutherland-Reese, who I really don't like, but I'm man enough to admit that he's pretty fit."
Hermione threw her head back in laughter. "You're not too bad yourself," she said, pushing him slightly in jest. "But yes, Halliwell always has really annoying women chasing him."
"Even his name is ridiculous," Harry grinned.
"Worse than Hermione?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Your name suits you. His is just pretentious." Harry said, and then winced.
"Is it your back?" Hermione asked concernedly. Harry shook his head, trying to protest that he was indeed fine, but another spasm worked his way across his spine.
"Come on," she said, tugging at his hand, pulling him off the dance floor and out of the main ballroom. He followed her for a quiet minute as she turned down into what seemed an abandoned hallway, and then to a bench under a portrait of two men in military uniform arguing. He felt her press her wand to his back, and a sudden warmth crept up his back, as if slowly chasing the pain away.
"Thanks, Hermione," he said gratefully as she stowed her wand back in the holster.
"How long has that been going on?" She asked, smoothing out her gown.
"It's mostly fine, but the Healers said that magic leaves traces and it comes and goes. Mostly acts up when I'm angry or nervous."
She nodded understandingly. "Just breathe. Let me know when you're ready to go back."
"So," Harry began, feeling a little brave, "you and Welch-Boone ⸺ how long has that been going on?"
"Julian?" Hermione said with surprised laughter. "I mean, it'd be brilliant, except that he's extremely gay and is sleeping with George."
"George? As in George Weasley?"
Hermione nodded. "How many other Georges do we know?"
We.
"How long has this been going on?" Harry asked curiously, thinking back to George's prodding earlier that evening about Harry's dating life.
Hermione shrugged. "Started at my birthday party last month ⸺ Julian is absolutely mad about George, won't stop talking about him."
"That doesn't seem at all like what I know about him," Harry admitted.
"Julian's great fun once you get to know him," Hermione said.
" You said he was pompous."
"To people he doesn't know, it's just the way he protects himself. Kind of like when we were at Hogwarts, people thought you were standoffish."
"I wasn't!" He protested.
" I know that, but when you didn't know people you could be pretty cold."
"Was I ever cold to you?"
"No," she admitted, staring directly into his eyes. "You were never cold to me."
Something shifted in the air, and he maintained her gaze, both pairs of eyes blazing.
He was reminded of a different night, bitterly cold and yet extremely warm, where he held her gaze just like this. The situations were so different, and yet incredibly the same. Harry felt as if his entire survival depended on simply not turning his head away from her.
"Victor Charlie Three to Team, Code Garnet."
A voice crackled through the communication sphere in his ear, and before the words even registered in his brain she was running down the hallway, her sparkling blue gown wooshing dramatically. He bolted after her as she held her finger to her ear. Harry could hear the crackle between the different teams ⸺ Sutherland-Reese telling the outside teams to secure the perimeter while he and Welch-Boone secured the inside. Hermione whipped around a corner, grabbed Harry, and they were suddenly outside, in a garden.
Everything seemed perfectly still until he noticed ⸺
AC Willoughby was on the ground, his throat slit.