Chapter 7: A Death, a Ball and a Favour
When Harry had first picked up his wand, the light show was far stronger than that of his old holly and phoenix feather wand. Partly this was because he was more powerful (even before the rituals he was on the cusp of outgrowing it) and because it was custom made to be compatible with him.
He never thought that he would need to use it in combat against other wizards so soon, although thankfully he had prepared for every eventuality and used his old one to remove the trace on the new.
He was just sitting down after doing that to relax and rest when Dobby had popped in with a panicked stricken look on his face. Given that, Harry made an intuitive leap.
"Who?" He asked.
"The Grangees, Master Harry sir. Two bads men."
"Go, then Gringotts Dobby," Harry commanded even as he moved to wake a snoring (though in his opinion lightly and cutely) Hermione.
"Huh?" She said eloquently, even as she woke.
"Your family is under attack," Harry said bluntly. It wasn't that he didn't care, quite the opposite in fact, more that he didn't know how to break that news well so decided to be as succinct and brief as possible. "I sent Dobby to get them to safety."
He watched as her beautiful face was beset by a storm of emotions. Shock, fear, anger, back to fear, concern and eventually determination all had their moments on her face.
"I hope everyone's okay," she said with naked fear in her voice. Where she had, just a moment before, been sleepy and confused the fear in her system fully woke her up and caused her to be hyperaware of everything that was happening and what would happen in the next few minutes.
"Dobby will be back in a mo-" Harry began, only for Dobby to interrupt with his return.
"Mistress, your parents be well."
"Grandma Edith?" She asked with a whisper, only to be met with a sad shake of Dobby's head and Hermione gave a great cry, like a wounded animal, even as Harry almost literally dove to take her hands. She burst into tears even as he held her.
"Hermione," Harry asked, at least in small part to distract her from her pain, "what do you want me to do?"
Her response was instinctive, born of anger and pain, the grief and desolation of loss having not yet fully settled in for her yet. Still, there was determination there and it was nonetheless filled with meaning and Harry, took it as a command just as much as when he ordered Dobby.
"Kill them," she said brokenly, "kill them all."
Her voice sparked his own righteous anger. Her voice sounded hollow to him, like it was coming from a deep dark well, and it broke and hardened his heart at the same time. The twin feelings of desolation and anger carried his feet and clouded his judgement, even as he took her at her word.
It had been less than a minute since Dobby had first popped in.
-HPCOD-
The rain was falling like a great grey sheet, almost battering Harry's skull with the power of it, even managing to plaster Harry's once unruly to his scalp. His anger kept his limbs fluid and his body warm though.
His feet were steady, his grip on his new wand was tight and his eyes scanned the shadows as he approached the ruined door. All he could hear was the sound of the discordant and rushing water in his ears.
He would remember that sound for the rest of his life. He would wake to feel the taste of the water in the air on his tongue and the echo of the water drumming in his mind. The rest of what happened next would one day blur in his mind but, that sound and those sensations would stay with him.
Because it had been such a small amount of time since Dobby had left them, Harry was not surprised that the two shocked pure-bloods were still inside the house. The wood and glass of the door snapping under his feet were unnaturally loud even as the house itself cut off the overwhelming noise of the rain.
Malfoy was the first enemy to enter his vision. He appeared either drunk or had a serious concussion as he was staggering about as if he had been on an all-night bender. The other man with him was trying to get him to rally but, rather than help him up, he was merely shouting at him to pull himself together and clearly had no understanding of what was happening to Malfoy.
Nott, however much he wasn't a healer of any sort, appeared beaten up but relatively whole aside from some obviously broken and bloody fingers. Shards of the man's wand were on the floor, so that was the good news given that it was Nott that noticed Harry first.
A wave of his wand and the unarmed Nott was stuck to a wall and it was then that Harry made a mistake that almost cost him his life.
He thought that Malfoy couldn't string a sentence together and he couldn't help the thought that thundered through his brain. It stopped him cold for a moment even as it formed in his mind.
'Can I really do this? Can I really kill in cold blood?'
Lucius took the opportunity for Harry to ponder that question away from him, at least for the moment, as he took aim at Harry and began to cast the famous spell that had presumably ended the lives of Harry's parents among so many others.
"Avada ked-" The curse that had ended at least one of his parent's lives sounded unnaturally loud to Harry's ears even as Malfoy spoke those dreaded words.
With the adrenaline pumping in his system and his senses heightened, Harry managed to spin around. His wand flew up and quickly slashed through the air, a silent and overpowered cutting curse went straight through Malfoy's shoulder at an angle and separated his arm from his shoulder (as well as much of the man's shoulder blade) before the man could finish his attack.
The blonde man fell to the floor, fountaining blood from the gaping wound even as it splattered and instantly added a unique decoration to the walls. Harry left him there to bleed out on the floor.
It was an oddly suitable death for the man who espoused blood purity as that very same blood was now splattered over a muggle home. He was also someone who placed himself above others, due to his name, power and family lineage. Now he would die on the floor, lower than low, with no pomp and ceremony. He would have no tearful relations asking for him to stay, no loved ones bearing silent witness to his last moments and no one to care for him in his final painfilled moments.
An ignoble death for a life spent in the service of dark and ignoble goals.
For Harry, this became a crystalising moment. Death Eaters, he realised at that second, were not bullies. They were not, by and large, mentally ill people that needed treatment. They weren't freedom fighters in some glorious cause that some idiots believed them to be and despite what their propaganda might say, they had no physical goal to reach, only the pursuit of power and a ridiculously strong belief.
That strength of belief made them far worse. This was a cause that defied all logical sense, that could never realistically be completed. They would never stop seeking the death of anyone that didn't fit their mould, that didn't share their exact belief's and, if you didn't share them, they went out of their way to prove that you were the lowest animal and deserved butchering. They knew this as much as they knew the sun would rise.
In short, they were terrorists of the worst sort.
They wouldn't show mercy because they were so certain that you didn't deserve it that it wouldn't even occur to them to offer it. If they were not going to offer it then, by extension, did they really deserve any consideration for it to themselves, even if they needed it?
If Harry had any doubts about the answer to that, they were more than truly settled when he sent a legilimency probe into the elder Nott's mind. He hadn't had any real practice with the spell and James Potter had never been particularly skilled at it, so his probe was neither subtle nor refined. Under normal circumstances, it should have been resisted.
However, not only did pure power play a role in the brief mental battle but there was also the fact that Nott being mildly injured and without his wand (pure-bloods seemed to equate so much of their power to their bloodlines, their wands and they had little tolerance for pain) his defence was scattered and ineffectual, to say the least.
His probe may have been more brute force than anything else but, Harry was still gentler than Voldemort could ever be. This was because, deep down, he didn't have a deep-seated need to break people, much less their minds.
It was over in a moment, but that moment told Harry everything that he needed. It was a moment that, inside the mind of Nott, lasted for far longer than that. It was stopped by Harry because he tore his own eyes away from the man with a look of pure disgust on his face.
He took a breath as his mind reconnected with itself and fully processed the things that he had seen in the other man's mind. Even as he did that, Nott hurled abuse at him.
Even as he absent-mindedly silenced the man with a spell even as he felt like he wanted to shudder, vomit, scream and cry at the things that he had seen. The memories, thoughts and feelings that ran through the cesspit that Nott called a mind sickened him.
He saw what the animal in front of him had done to gain his mark. He had felt the other man's joy at slowly butchering two small children in front of not only his sick master but the children's mother as well. Then he had raped her, repeatedly, and as a final indignity had given her to Greyback who was not only a werewolf but also a brutal cannibal as well.
Her only crime? Her eldest was a newly identified muggle-born witch.
It was disgusting to see this monster in human flesh wipe the blood of his victims off of his hands (in some cases quite literally), only to then return home and become the upstanding citizen and doting husband that the world believed him to be.
He had never beaten his wife, never abused his son and was a perfect doting husband and father by all accounts that Harry could find. In fact, unlike Malfoy, since the war there had been no hint (publically at least) of any wrongdoing on his part and most people viewed him as reformed one way or the other.
Harry was confused at how he was supposed to reconcile the two images of the same man.
On one hand, he had killed, tortured and raped so much that, mercifully for Harry, the images had blurred into one another. Nott remembered enjoying it though, every single time.
But for every deplorable and disgusting moment, there was a counterpoint. Images of love, of kissing his wife or surprising her with a gift or bauble just because he could. Images of his son seeped in love were also there and they were such innocuous things like fishing with him, going on walks or even simply ruffling the boy's hair as he read a book.
'It would be so much simpler,' Harry thought bitterly, "if evil men were evil all of the time.'
The truth was though (with notable exceptions like Voldemort himself) no one was and this might have led Harry to a form of existential crisis, if not for the fact that the images of Nott's son sent Harry into a complete fury.
This was Theodore Nott's idea (or at least the killing was) aided and abetted by both Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape. The two boys may have planted the idea in their parents head, but it was Dumbledore's pet Death Eater Snape who supplied them with the muggle families address. Nott junior had even mentioned to his father what an attractive (for a mudblood) girl Hermione was and that he was certain the mother was the same as some sort of perverse enticement for his own father.
All because the two powerful families wanted to remind Harry and Hermione of their place.
Harry raised his custom wand intending to make his first cold-blooded kill as painful for his victim as possible before he changed his mind and removed the silencing spell from Nott instead.
"You know Nott," Harry said coldly and yet with an oddly conversational lilt to his voice, "I was going to curse you to death. I realised something though, even if I do that exceptionally slowly I'd be giving you something that you don't deserve."
"What's that you son of a filthy mudblood whore?" Nott spat out his reply, trying to get a rise out of Harry. He failed miserably as all he got in return was a wintery smile and cold eyes.
"Mercy," Harry said softly. After he spoke he raised his hand and almost brutally slammed it into the other man's chest. In that way, he began to slowly draw out the man's magic. He could have gone faster but then, if he had, it wouldn't have hurt the man for anywhere near as long.
Even as Nott began to scream and most of Harry's attention was diverted to the hungry tendrils of power that he was sending forth that sought to absorb Nott's own, a small analytical part of his brain watched the effect it had on the man and catalogued it for future review and understanding.
Part of the reason wizarding culture around the world treasured their traditions so much (both good and bad) was the simple fact that they lived longer. The magic that was in their blood essentially meant that wizards had three stages to their life beyond the usual before and after puberty.
The average wizard kept their youthful physique till around fifty, looked like they were in middle age until around one hundred and then rapidly degenerated into what a muggle would call an O.A.P. until they died.
The most powerful of wizards (such as Dumbledore and Voldemort) were so saturated with magic that it was not uncommon for them to live to a maximum of two hundred and fifty, roughly one hundred years higher than the average. This did not absolve them from the stages themselves, though they seemed to have an extra decade or so in the first two before the final stage.
It did mean that things that had become myths and legends to muggles were more than that to their wizard cousins. Though they no longer existed, they still had some records of Camelot, they still preserved a scroll that provided the layout to the magical section of the Great Library in Alexandria and they still had stories and a few crumbs of magic from lost Atlantis.
Harry honestly didn't know where he was going to land on that scale. The most powerful wizard (that everyone could agree was one anyway) was Merlin though he disappeared long before this became an issue for him and was never seen past his second stage and Harry doubted he would ever be that powerful.
Nott, however, despite the inherent risks of being a pure-blood (with all that inbreeding affecting power levels), was an Inner Circle Death Eater. He was not weak even though he did not rival Dumbledore by any stretch, as Voldemort would never allow such weakness so high in his ranks, no matter how useful though there was an occasional exception even to that rule.
That meant that Nott was most likely high on the power spectrum and that showed more and more as Harry drained him of it and assimilated that raw power into his own. Taking that power was strange to him as it sort of felt like he was sucking wet cement through a very large straw.
The effects on the human body were devastating to Nott and obvious to Harry even with all of these new sensations and feelings that he was dealing with. The man before him was slowly turning from what appeared to be a person in his early thirties to someone in their mid to late seventies and it did not stop there.
In his magics haste to stay where it belonged, as Harry's had done in the Room of Requirement, his own life force was being burned up trying to fight back though it was both instinctual and utterly ineffectual.
Though Harry's metaphysical senses were not finely attuned yet (and therefore still limited) he did feel something as he began to withdraw from the near-empty elder Nott. it was like a shadow on his vision, something that didn't belong, that had never belonged and so Harry paused, curious as to what it was.
'It's almost like a thin, ugly and black one-way road," he thought as he gathered his power and prodded it. 'Bad move! Bad move! Bad move!'
The path that seemed to branch from the few fading remnants of Nott's glowing magic writhed. It was almost as if it had come alive and tried to lash out at Harry's magic.
Realising that he had been foolish enough for one day and not wanting to find out what would happen if that deceased tendril of malignancy latched onto his magic, he withdrew. He didn't want to know what in the hell that was, not now and maybe not ever.
His normal eyes told him enough anyway.
His magic may have told him what the Dark Mark felt like, he got a clear taste of it from within Nott's magic, he was now looking at it with his real eyes and that was, if anything, more disturbing though more subtle in some ways.
Now that he did so the dark and twisted thing seemed to pulse angrily and it looked as fresh as the day that it was first formed on the man's flesh. The skin around it was red and angry though as if everything about the mark was abhorrent to the skin around it.
Nott screamed again but, this time it quickly became so high that it went beyond human hearing and it began to pulse with a steadily increasing red and black light. It was at this point that every survival instinct in him was screaming at him to run and run now.
Almost without thinking Harry apparated to the street outside the house and just in time too.
'The paranoid bastard didn't want his work tampered with.'
A dark cursed fire, the likes of which Harry had never seen, exploded from the roof of the house and began to consume it. Thankfully, it didn't seem to be going beyond the house itself but, as the fire was magical and hungry, Harry decided to leave while the leaving was good.
Magic was, after all, a wonderful and terrible thing. It was wondrous because it could allow the beauty of the Veela, the majesty of Atlantis, the power of the dragon and the hope of the Philosophers Stone. Weirdly enough it was terrible for much the same reason as for every good thing it had an opposite. It allowed dementors, the cursed cities of the Aztec, the ability to take control of another's mind, the Killing Curse and Dark Lords like Voldemort.
Magic may or may not be sentient, there was some debate on that (though most of the eldest generations, Harry and Hermione as well as Rowena believed that it was) but whatever else it was it was first and foremost an agent of change.
Seemingly, it was the universe's version of a spark of inspiration. Not so much a manifestation of saying no when you should say yes but, rather the ability to simply do that. If the rest of the universe was the simple equation of one plus one equals two, then magic was one plus one equals whatever you can manage.
Sometimes that was two, sometimes it was three and it could even conceivably be three thousand six hundred and forty-two if you could make it work. That was not to say that it didn't have its own rules but, unlike those of, say, mathematics they weren't set in stone but were instead based on intent and willpower. If you had enough of the latter, what everyone else considered rules would bend (though likely not break) for a time.
He didn't notice but, at that moment, a large part of the power that he had taken hadn't yet settled with his and was rolling off him in waves like a barely visible heatwave even as it overwhelmed the jewellery that Hermione had made. The power that was rolling off of him was causing his eyes to glow brighter even as his skin shone with the magic that he had taken. He appeared almost inhuman in the perfected line of his jaw and, if there was anyone else around they would have been taken aback by his almost inhuman beauty.
Still, Harry had no mirror and was, as of yet, unaware of how he looked though he could feel that something was different. He didn't dwell on it though, Hermione needed him so he was gone in the blink of an eye.
He didn't even notice that his apparition was now silent.
-HPCOD-
When Harry returned Hermione had never felt so guilty, she felt sick with it. It was like she was getting progressively more unwell the longer that he was gone and the more her decision set Harry's actions to their current course.
She knew, deep down, that Harry adored her. After spending so much time together, day after day, she was as sure of that as she was of her own name. Frankly, she loved and adored him so much that it scared her sometimes, especially with how quickly they went from friends to lovers.
Not that she regretted that, quite the opposite, and it was far better than she could ever have imagined.
Then she had ruined that, she had sullied it because she had sent him out in a moment of anger. She had sent him out in a moment of despair to act like some common assassin. Now, added to the grief of losing her Grandmother, she was going to have to carry her share of the guilt over what she had asked him to do.
She was also honest enough with herself to admit that if anyone else, anyone, had asked him to do something like that he would have refused instantly, no matter his emotional state.
But he hadn't because it was her that had asked him.
Before she could dwell on that thought, her musings were interrupted by Harry's return.
She knew intellectually that witches and wizards were different from, they were subtly and fundamentally changed by the power that they bore and that made them something other than the regular humans. Never had she felt that truth so forcibly until Harry returned.
Witches were driven, on a purely instinctive level, to find and couple with the magically strongest mate possible so they might stand a better chance of producing more powerful offspring. It was buried so deep down, much like the muggles version, that under ordinary circumstances only particularly sensitive people and Veela noticed it and then only barely.
However, life was a learning experience and she was forcibly reminded of that fact as she gazed at Harry. Despite her grief and guilt, Harry approaching her with power flowing from him so strongly in nearly harsh and very violent waves had a very noticeable (and to her a very unwelcome) effect.
Her magic was reacting, regardless of her mental state, to the power pouring into the room and so was her body.
"Harry," she said, half stutter and half purr, "we have to talk about what just happened."
His eyes focused on her and, though they were clouded with both pain and the fear of what she might say next, she nearly had a small orgasm from the look alone.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly and it took her a moment to realise that he was afraid that she was angry or disappointed in him.
"You shouldn't be," she replied firmly. "I should never have asked you to do that. Whatever has happened it's my fault, not yours… never yours."
Even as she spoke, she moved to hug him. She wanted to impress on him that she still loved him, that she didn't judge him and that she still needed him in her life. Before she could though, she was stopped by a sharp gesture from him.
"That's not the thing that I'm sorry for," he quietly replied. "It could have been before I actually went there but...it's hard to put it into words. Read my mind, my love."
If she was shocked by the beginning of Harry's sentence then she was doubly so by the request at the end of it. No matter how close they had become and no matter how much they cared for each other, what he was suggesting simply wasn't done.
Not only was legilimency a rare art but, few people wished to share their memories at any time, let alone life-changing or traumatic ones. Couple that with the fact that, one in, the person who was inside your mind could view what they wished until they left or you expelled them. Offers like that then were never made.
Especially as, outside of passive legilimency because it was too quick or a pensive that wasn't designed to handle it, if you delved deep into someone's mind you felt an echo of their feelings as well as their thoughts. Nothing was hidden when you took your time.
Harry would be unable to stop her from seeing and feeling everything. That wasn't just what Nott felt but him as well. She could also do anything to him while she was in there as there would be no defence against her, she could tell, he would never raise a wall or try to expel her.
'Not that I would ever harm him in any way,' she thought 'but it must be important if he's offering this.' With a tentative nod, she sent a soft probe into his mind and proved herself right.
-HPCOD-
When she entered his mindscape an image of Harry smiled at her even as he couldn't hide his nervousness about what she was about to see as he had removed all of his walls, even his most basic ones. He was utterly open with her while the fully formed image of him stood on a facsimile of the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch.
Time moved differently here though and, as Harry's defences were merely down and not broken and shattered, he was still a god in his own mind for all intents and purposes. As if to prove that fact (and before she could speak) the earth around them erupted and from it, a great ring of earth was formed even as Harry hesitated before he began to speak.
"Don't say anything yet. I didn't view all of Nott's memories as I really didn't want to and I'm thankful that I found what I needed before I had to. I even managed to get a few fragmented memories of fights alongside Voldemort during his rise."
There was no sense of pride in his voice, but rather one of weary resignation and controlled disgust. Harry activated the ring construct and it acted much like a movie screen. He started with when he entered the house and engaged the two killers, only to seamlessly switch to Nott's memories when the time came.
Though he feared her reaction, he had made a conscious choice to hold nothing back and resisted the ingrained urge to throw her out... or to try at least (with her being so deep in his mind, it would be a toss-up who would win if she fought back even with complete shields). He did, however, show them at an accelerated rate, the images appeared to be nothing more than quick flashes of light even as she absorbed them.
Every thought, every feeling and every idea he had during the conversation was passed over to her in only a few moments. It wasn't just his though and she had to deal with a more distant echo of Nott's as well, not just what happened in the memories but also the man's own fear of Harry being in his mind.
So many emotions went across Hermione's face (the image of her anyway) that Harry honestly had no idea what she was thinking.
"Wait," he said, even as that series was done and she looked like she wanted to speak. "There is more to see."
What she saw next were the fragments that Harry had found. Harry's impressive probe had managed to show her fights between the Death Eaters and their enemies. Sometimes it showed combat between them and the Ministry, sometimes between them and Dumbledore and his people but, regardless, each memory assaulted her senses.
He could finally see her expression settle and, by her furrowed brow, he could tell that she was reaching a similar conclusion to himself.
When Dumbledore and his people fought, they fought somewhat together they never fought to kill but, instead to incapacitate their foes and it cost them dearly in the currency of their people. Fights with the Ministry were shockingly similar, until near the end of the war when they had started to fight fire with fire. Unfortunately for them, it was a case of far too little, far too late.
Dumbledore's people were handicapped at every turn and not by the enemy but by the very leader that they followed.
For the Headmaster himself that wasn't really a problem unless they had overwhelming odds facing them, he had the power to hold off a minimum of three Inner Circle Death Eaters by himself and a brilliant mind that lent itself easily to strategy. The man was a master of transfiguration and that was a discipline that required a mind that was both adaptable and yet oddly rigid.
His followers? Not so much.
The Prewitt's, the Potters, the Moody's, the Bones and the Longbottoms were just a few of the families that had fallen afoul of the man's feverish desire not to kill anyone. They had paid dearly for their loyalty to the old man and yet, from what Harry could tell, the man's line in the sand had never changed no matter the cost in blood to his followers.
It was more than just his actions though. When the Order fought, they were fighting en mass but, not as a cohesive unit. All of their battles lost any sense of strategy and devolved rapidly into individual duels, or pockets of them, that often overlapped in the most dangerous of ways.
Now they were likely soon to be at war once again. Only an idiot would miss the signs of that as, just because Voldemort was out of play, it didn't mean that his followers were also. Harry could tell, even from his own limited experience spent fighting against as well as with Hermione, that the Order was not prepared for another one and the Ministry was riddled with corruption.
This utter madness had cost far too many people their lives. Worse than that, in his mind, was that the veneer of civility, respectability and responsibility that Nott (and he couldn't help but assume others like him) had donned after the first war was barely skin deep.
As much as the man had feared Voldemort he had still longed for his glory days or at least part of them. He had still, quietly mind you, hunted muggles when he could get away with it. In a similar vein, Nott still used the Imperius Curse on the occasional attractive muggle woman and even stole everything that they owned, after killing them of course, simply to sate his perverse pleasures and line his own pockets.
When Hermione was finished with viewing all of the fragments that Harry had managed to glean from Nott's mind she took a moment or two to think.
"You see the problem don't you?" She asked him at last.
"With the Death Eaters or Dumbledore's lot?"
"Dumbledore's lot of course." She seemed to hesitate and then it was as if he could see the very last crumb, the very last shadow of faith and innocent belief that she had in authority figures die. As much as he understood that it had to happen it still saddened him to see her in any sort of pain. "They lack teamwork, drive and conviction in themselves. They are far too used to simply following what Dumbledore wants and buying into the idea that what he thinks is right is right regardless of logic."
"Bleating sheep," Harry remarked.
"They're not quite that bad," she reflexively replied before she admitted, "well, not all of them."
"Dumbledore's idea of fairness and compassion is nice...for a toddler. It doesn't take into account that it was war and…"
"That those societal norms do not apply in the same way to everyone It's a matter of perspective…. I see your point. Besides, I'd rather save my compassion for their victims rather than the Death Eaters."
"Agreed," Harry said easily. "If the war starts again I have no doubt the Death Eaters and Dumbledore's people will come after me, if in different ways. Hell, they are both doing it now."
"Let's deal with harsh reality here, the two of us are effectively at war already. Dumbledore wants you and the Death Eaters find me just as abhorrent as I find them."
"So," Harry asked just to be sure, "no compassion for the guilty?"
"No compassion for the guilty," she reaffirmed and, as she looked at him, she tried to show as much love and understanding that she had always shown him now, in her gaze, so that he knew she still loved him no matter what.
"You know…" Harry said abruptly while his face lost some of its tightness at her look, "we do have one thing in common with the Death Eaters other than the fact that we can't stand them or they us."
"Oh?"
"Unlike the Ministry that can be bought or Dumbledore who allows so many things to happen, seemingly only in service of avoiding direct action… against Death Eaters anyway… we have conviction."
"So we do," she murmured, "plus, unlike them, we aren't crazy." Then, in a more normal tone of voice, she changed the subject "Snape and Theodore Nott?"
"As soon as we can plan it dear," Harry agreed, his anger still fresh and buried beneath a too normal tone just like hers. Every time that he felt it might waver all he had to do was remember the horrors he had seen in the elder Nott's head. Failing that, he just thought of Hermione and the pain on her face as she found out about her Grandmother's fate. He may not have known her well but he had liked Edith and Hermione had loved her.
"So next we check on my parents. What do we do after that?"
"The Yule Ball."
"Really? Do we really have to go to that tomorrow?"
"Unfortunately yes," Harry's reply was firm and unyielding. "Appearances Hermione. You can't react as if you know anything has happened until someone tells you. Either we have to wait for that or allow enough time to pass so your parents could have sent a letter telling you about the attack. Any other action and Dumbledore will look closely at the pair of us and that cannot happen at this time."
"Fine," she huffed. "I'd really rather be with my parents right now though."
"I know, so would I. We've trusted Dobby this far and we both know he will keep us informed and pass letters securely between us. I think Sirius even mentioned something about a mirror that acts a bit like a video call. I'll write to him and see if it's possible for your parents to get and use one."
"That would be wonderful," she replied with the ghost of a smile. "How's he doing by the way?"
"He's living in the Veela Commune and seeing the Mediterranean Sea every day," Harry answered while accepting the change of subject for what it was. "How do you think he's doing?"
Images of Sirius buried beneath at least six Veela, drinking strong drinks and staring at the beautifully clear sea was a balm to the pair of them. It was also a far cry from his previous accommodation and the smallest part of what he deserved, as far as they were both concerned.
Harry laughed even as Hermione smiled, fully this time, and the magical childishness of Sirius Black once again did its work.
"Well, I'm going to go and work off some of my frustration for a while."
"Be careful," Rowena spoke, even as she appeared out of thin air and motes of coalescing light, having given them a modicum of privacy. "Do not overextend yourself as you are not yet fully recovered. Harry will be working with me so he cannot join you."
"I will?" Asked a bewildered Harry.
"Yes, you will. The power of the magic that you hold now is rolling off of you in waves. You need to get it under control and hidden or Dumbledore will certainly sense it and investigate you, as may others."
"Okay," Harry sighed, already sensing a lot of meditation in his future even as he called out to an already retreating Hermione. "The Ball does give one good point that we might have overlooked. I can't wait to see you in your new dress. I bet you'll look gorgeous in it."
"You think I look gorgeous in everything," she called back, faintly amused.
"Because you do," Harry said and gave her a joking leer, finishing their back and forth even as he turned fully to Ravenclaw even as Hermione shot him a strangely hungry look.
"Remind me to educate you on the effects of high magical ability on women," Ravenclaw said, even as they too moved off and Harry looked more like a beaten puppy than a bloodied and powerful wizard.
-HPCOD-
'I was right about her looking gorgeous,' Harry thought as he entered the Ball with her and he tried to keep his mind off some of the smuttier ideas in his head. It would be very difficult to dance or hold a conversation with anyone if he did not, after all.
Both of them were more than happy with what the other looked like. At the same time though they were disappointed with what had been done to decorate the Hall for the Ball. They, more than most magicals, knew the versatility of magic when it came to architecture.
They lived in a place that was a marvel of that particular art and Hogwarts not only had world-renowned teachers but also not one, but two Transfiguration Masters in the school. They could have done so much more than simply put up a stage for the band and decorate the Hall to what appeared to be the bare minimum amount.
Professor Flitwick could have used space expansion charms to make even more room for dancing and the placement of food. He could have also used charms to colour the walls and provide more features for character in the room. McGonagall could have used transfiguration to make comfortable sofas and the like to allow areas for people to have quiet conversations when they didn't want to dance or listen to music. Professor Sprout could have used her skills with living plants to provide colour and diversity throughout, breaking up the cold stone with living and beautiful plants. Even Filch could have been made to participate by taking photos of the couples as they entered the Hall itself.
Dumbledore had control of the wards and a small army of house-elves to enact his will (not to mention the fact that he was one of the most skilled wizards of the last century in his own right) and therefore he not only had no excuse but also almost limitless options to what he could have done in preparation for this event.
They really had no reason for not doing something like that because, if two students could think that far ahead then the teachers should have been able to think about and do far more. It made what they had done (pretty much the most basic and simple things that they could have done albeit sped up with magic) all the more drab and lacking because of that.
It didn't matter to either one of them, however, beyond the fact that they noticed it, as they hadn't wanted to go to the Ball in the first place. Even before what had happened with Hermione's family today (and all of the draining emotional turmoil that they were still feeling even if they couldn't show it) they would have much rather spent the day alone together, doing what they always did and relaxing at the end of a very long day.
As he danced around the Hall with her (Rowena was once again a gem when it came to teaching him to dance) he was aware of everyone's eyes on them. They moved expertly, manoeuvring around other couples as if they weren't even there and they soon forgot about all of the attention as they only had eyes for each other.
Her gaze seemed to caress his well-defined face and seemed to shine every time that her brown orbs connected with his green ones. For his part, Harry seemed to be trying to remember every smooth curve of her face, every twitch of her perfect lips and every moment that she spent with her in his arms.
Harry seemed to drink in the dress that she was wearing, his eyes caressing every curve as he twisted and dipped her across the floor to the envy or hostility of many. The dark green, almost black in places, dress appeared to hug just enough of her curves to be tantalising without being indecent. Thanks to the dark undertones of the dress, most places that might cause people to claim indecency were seemingly covered by shadow.
Appearances were deceiving though as, though they appeared to only have eyes for each other, both watched everyone that they knew might mean them harm and there was a wariness and tension that was covered by their smooth movements.
Harry registered Ron's red ears and jealous look with barely a glance. He was made far more uncomfortable by Ginny's hungry one, as if he were a banquet and she had been starving for days, and was only grateful that she didn't appear to be dribbling.
He was mostly focused on Dumbledore and, distantly, he realised that Hermione was much the same. Still, though they watched the man cautiously neither couldn't help but notice the young Theodore Nott who, in turn, was clearly trying to appear nonchalant and yet barely hiding a look of self-satisfied triumph.
'Clearly,' Harry thought, 'the news of his father's death hasn't reached him yet… what a shame.'
He wouldn't have such a nasty thought usually but, the fact that the boy was effectively crowing over what he believed was the death of Hermione's entire family. That thought was the lesser of two options that he could do, as his blood was boiling and he desired to do far more than simply have an uncharitable thought.
It also went a long way to explain why Hermione was watching the boy in much the same way but, to her credit, Hermione's face was mostly controlled and he doubted that anyone other than him was close enough to notice and she hadn't drawn her wand.
Occlumency, combined with distance could do wonders for hiding someones true feelings.
Still, although making it through the evening wasn't easy there were a few highlights in Harry's mind that soothed his soul, especially after all that he had been through recently.
The first, and in his mind, the least interesting thing that happened were the two confrontations by the youngest Weasleys. Harry and Hermione had been expecting it but he was surprised that it was Ginny that reached him first rather than a spittle spewing Ron.
She was wearing a dress that could have been considered flattering fifty or so years ago. Her nearly nonexistent breasts were pushed against it (no doubt with some charm or runic stitching) in what he assumed was supposed to be a fetching manner. The deep and dark red of it, with gold piping, may have been Gryffindor colours but they clashed horribly with her pale and freckled skin.
"Hello Harry," Ginny said in what she appeared to be a seductive purr but, instead of arousing him as she obviously hoped, it sent a cold shiver of unease down his spine. The drinks that he had been asked to get (and had yet to) were forgotten, now that he was facing her.
He did note, with some dark amusement, that the redheaded, plain featured and butter dish breaking girl at least had the sense to wait until he was alone before approaching him. Hermione would have scalped her at the very least if she had tried this when she was around.
Her voice was sickly sweet to his ears as she continued and it was so unnatural to him that it almost made his teeth ache with the sound of it. "Would you like to dance?"
"No. I don't think that I want to," Harry answered, both calmly and coldly even as he began to turn away from her.
"Why not?" She moved forward like she was stalking skittish prey and rolled her non-existent hips in a theoretically entrancing manner. Far from having that effect though, it merely enhanced his revulsion to her even as he moved back as quickly as he could.
It wasn't just that he didn't trust her, it wasn't just the fact that she really didn't have to curves, face, experience or body to pull it off and it wasn't her tone no matter how sickly sweet it was. There was one simple overriding reason that she was doomed to failure above all others.
She was not Hermione Granger.
He had spent literal years as his closest friend. He had seen her laugh, he had seen her cry, he had seen her serious and playful, careful and passionate, screaming at injustice and shuddering in orgasm.
What chance did little plain Ginny Weasley have against all of that? None, of course.
"Because I don't want to," Harry answered her sharply, his patience already frayed by the many things he and Hermione had to watch out for, and it was perhaps that tone of voice that inspired the acid in her own when she asked her next question.
"You don't want to? Aren't you really saying that Hermione doesn't want me to dance with you?"
Of all the reactions she might have expected, she was clearly shocked by his free and dismissive laughter.
"Oh that's priceless, it really is. Hermione would not care because you are not a threat to her. No one's a threat to her as she is my girlfriend, not you."
"So she spreads her legs," Ginny stated viciously and cruelly, "and now suddenly is everything to you?"
Harry clamped down on his emotions as he knew he couldn't say what he really wanted to without calling a scene and they couldn't afford that right now.
"Goodbye Ginny," Harry replied, the frozen iron in his voice finally causing her to realise that she might have bitten off more than she could chew.
"She might be your girlfriend now," Ginny muttered after he was out of earshot "but that can change. I will make sure of it."
Harry may have been at the peak (or near peak) that it was physically possible for a human being to be and have a very impressive magical core of magic that was still growing, both because of his new abilities and the fact that he was still an adolescent, but he was not all-powerful or all-knowing and so he missed that comment.
He wouldn't have been surprised to hear it but, he would have been more guarded.
Still, his resolve to not cause a scene was further tested when he returned to Hermione, without the drinks as he had preferred to escape the view of Ginny Weasley, only to find her being harassed by Ron.
If Ginny was in a dress that would have been fashionable fifty years ago then Ron was in some that would have been over three hundred years ago, if one ignored the remnants of cut off lace that were still on the collar and sleeves.
"What do you mean he's your boyfriend?" Ron near snarled at her and with his back to Harry. "He can't be."
Harry so wanted to reach for his less than perfectly matched holly wand (his pine on being safe and secure, back with Dobby in their quarters) but he knew he shouldn't. Ron's voice wasn't helping him though as the other boys half commanding and half whining tone got his pulse up and set his teeth grinding.
It had also drawn the inquisitive eye of Dumbledore so, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't curse the ginger wanker even sneakily.
Thankfully, for his sanity and his blood pressure, it seemed that a thoroughly annoyed Hermione had things well in hand.
"And why is that Ronald?" Her tone was more than artic as she looked the walking dustbin up and down. Even Harry winced at that voice but, as ever, Ron was slow on the uptake.
"Because…" Ron slowly stuttered out.
"Because why Ron?" Hermione pressed.
"Because I like you," he thoughtlessly blurted out, as if it explained everything.
"So? I like Harry and Harry likes me. You remember Harry? Your former friend that you've done nothing but talk shit about since the Tournament began. Why can't you just be happy for us?"
Harry and Hermione suspected that they knew the answer, especially after everything they had already learned, but they were curious about what he would actually say. The boy certainly appeared angry enough to truthfully answer, if the tips of his ears were any indication.
"Because he is Ginny's and you are mine," he said as if it was a fact of the world like gravity rather than the most ludicrous thing that she had ever heard.
"Like I'm a thing that you can own?" Hermione growled, truly angry now. "I am not anyone's possession, least of all yours. I'm not your thing Ronald, I can't be bought, I can't be owned or traded and neither will Harry."
"You are only interested in Harry because he is the Boy-Who-Lived. What do you think he will say when his best friend pulls him aside and breaks the news that you are only using him?"
It was as if he believed that Harry would break up with her on his word alone and then she would, inexplicably, jump into Ron's arms.
"Well, if it was me, I'd be confused." Harry managed to interrupt before she could reply. "I mean, why would my best friend be talking such shit about herself? It makes no sense."
"Wha-" Ron began, turning halfway so that he could see (and talk) to both of them and showing his usual lack of intelligence. "I'm your best friend! I'm his best friend!"
"By what measure Weasley?" Hermione hissed at him and, although he was glad that she didn't raise her voice, both were very aware of Dumbledore's icy blue gaze on what was going on, literally right under his nose.
Still, he didn't have the heart to stop her. For both of them, it was equally a good outlet for their frustrations and allowed them to give Ron the smallest taste of what they both felt he deserved.
"By betraying him? By lying about him? By not telling him he was going to face a dragon, as your brother asked? Did you really think that we didn't know about that or how you have told anyone who would listen that you are the brains of the Golden Trio and its unofficial leader for years? I can't be clearer than this, Fuck. Off. Ron."
Perhaps it was the fact that she swore at him but, rather than either of the boys berating her for her language, Ron was completely poleaxed. He could only gape as Harry took her hand and, ever so gently, began to lead her away from him.
"In case it wasn't clear," Harry said as they passed him completely "I wouldn't pass on you if you were burning alive right in front of me. I suggest you leave before I set you alight myself."
Ron was too shocked to respond straight away and, by the time that he had gathered what passed for the man's wits, they had already left. All he could do was stand alone in the Great Hall as his first friends left him behind.
The second interesting thing happened almost straight after they had left the redheaded moron to his own devices and rejoined the dancing.
After the confrontations that they had already suffered through, they both felt more than a little purged and managed to relax, if only marginally. They happily danced with a few other people, trying to simply enjoy being a couple like any other… if only for a little while.
Harry danced with Luna, who smiled brightly and was clearly enjoying her night, even as Hermione danced with her partner. Even as he did so he saw, in his peripheral vision, the other Champions and their partners dancing.
Fleur looked bored, but that might have had something to do with the glassy-eyed and enraptured look her date, Rodger Davies, was giving her. Frankly, it was more than boredom as it almost seemed like she was trapped and would rather be anywhere else.
Cedric and Cho looked happy. They, more than anyone in the Hall, were clearly here for the most obvious of reasons. They were a young couple that had merely come because a) they had to and b) anytime they spent together was a good thing. Basically, they wanted to enjoy their night.
Krum frankly didn't dance well and was much more graceful in the air than he ever was on the ground. He was keeping his partner on her toes however and Hermione was using all of her skill not to break her toes.
Thankfully that kept her mind off of her family troubles, at least for the moment.
"So, you and Krum?" Harry asked casually.
"Are friends," she said simply "so you don't need to go all big brother, grouchy and growly bear at him. He's nice to me."
"I don't need to do that, not as long as he is good to you. Besides, I've got a feeling that Flitwick would beat me to it anyway. How did you end up going with him to this bloody thing then?"
"He asked me outside the library after fending off another fan girl simpering at him. He said it was because he wanted to go with someone who would want to talk to Viktor the man rather than Krum the Quidditch star."
"I can relate to that."
"Yes, you are both the nicest boys I have ever met," Luna stated as if that was both what Harry meant and an indisputable fact. Her open and honest face, so sure in her belief, stopped any objection from him before it could form. "You also both spend so much of your time with Humdingers floating around you. It's what makes you both grouchy by the way. Thankfully Hermione has removed most of yours. I don't think I'll try that method with Viktor though, Daddy wouldn't like it."
"Right you are my dear," he answered with a chuckle and slightly pink cheeks. "We also both have excellent taste to have a friend like you," he added.
This time it was her turn to laugh and the light musical sound warmed his heart. He vowed silently to himself, then and there, to try and make his friend do that as much as he could. It enhanced her beauty even more than the admittedly tasteful dark blue dress that she wore.
Her happy carefree attitude, so in contrast to the dejected, lost, sad and alone girl that he had first met, was one of the brightest moments of the night for him.
The final high point for him happened at the end of the night and was somewhat related to his friend.
As they were walking back to the Room Hermione seemed to be debating something. That, in itself, was unusual as they had reached the point by now that they shared anything that might be troubling them.
Being friends for years, then spending all day every day together and becoming lovers would do that.
"Harry?" She asked softly.
"Yeah?"
"Luna looked very pretty tonight, didn't she?"
"She did," he agreed. Then it was his turn to hesitate, sensing something different in her voice, and then asked at least half-jokingly. "Do I have something to worry about? Are you about to tell me that I'm your beard?"
"No," she answered while laughing softly. "I'm not a lesbian Harry, I don't even really think I'm bisexual either and I would never cheat on you. Noticing a pretty girl and, once in a while, having the occasional fantasy involving her isn't all that bad though is it?"
Harry was very glad that they had just entered the Room at this point as he probably wouldn't have felt comfortable responding to this unexpected line of questioning in the public setting of the corridor.
As it was he pulled her into a searing kiss, even as his hands roamed over her body which caused her dress to fall like water to the floor and making them both gasp in pleasure.
"No," he eventually answered, admittedly a tad breathless "it's not bad at all. In fact, it's very hot that you have these thoughts and fantasies…"
"But," Hermione interrupted, trying to make her position clear to him. "You know it's just a fantasy right? I'd never do it."
"Of course. It is a naughty fantasy though," he replied while kissing her neckline "for that you have to be punished." His teasing tone belied his words.
"Oh," she asked, "how?"
"You'll have to tell me every dirty thought and idea that you are having while I ravage your sexy body and remind you that I don't share… not in this life anyway." When he spoke, he all but growled and caused a visible shiver to go down her frame.
"Oh?" She gasped as he kissed a particularly sensitive spot. "Well, first we would…"
Both needed the simple release after such a long and stressful day and this provided that. The concerns of the world could be put aside until morning as they had intruded enough for one day.
For tonight though, they both found relief in being with each other, blocking out the rest of the world and its worries simply by sharing naughty thoughts, intimate moments and then eventually falling asleep sated in each other's arms.