AN: I am so, so excited by the response this story has gotten! As always, thank you to everyone who favorited and/or followed. Huge shout out to LightofEvolution, kleipoppetje, Cat130, colao, KaneWolfe, JLLove, and ArabellaTepes, you guys are the best :D Your kind words truly made my week! Hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Time for Harry again...

Changing Scenery

Chapter 11: Denial

Harry spent most of Saturday morning regretting drinking the night before and really regretting that he'd forgotten to refill his supply of Hangover Potion. After Malfoy had left him standing alone in that dark alcove, he'd spent a few minutes getting his breath back and forcing some excited portions of his anatomy to calm down before going back upstairs to the rest of the group where he'd stayed long enough to get ragingly drunk with Dean and Seamus before Flooing home.

When he finally stumbled out of bed an hour past noon, he walked into the bathroom and was extraordinarily pleased to find that he at least had some Pain Relief Potion and some Pepper-Up Potion, which would get him past the worst of the hangover that was threatening to make his brain melt through his ears. He took the potions quickly and waited the agonizing minutes for them to take effect.

He was grateful he'd arranged to meet Hermione the next day rather than that morning. Hermione. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK. I kissed Hermione. And Malfoy. Fucking bloody hell. Harry's stomach turned over and he leaned over the toilet as his stomach roiled, but fortunately nothing made a reappearance. When he was sure his stomach was settled, he turned on the shower and set it to cold. He stepped inside and immediately started shivering, but the cold water was enough to calm the nausea. Why on earth did I kiss them? Fuck. Unfortunately his erection, which had come to life at the thought of kissing both Hermione and Malfoy, was more resistant to the icy needles. He turned the faucet to warm and took care of his problem as quickly as possible before getting clean. And he definitely did not think about Hermione and Malfoy.

After he'd dried off and changed into his most comfortable sweats, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He'd moved into Grimmauld Place after graduating from Hogwarts. It had taken months to renovate and remodel, but the house was now entirely stripped of the cold, musty, dark feeling that had permeated the very walls. Hermione and Ron had both helped, and Harry had even called on Bill to help take down the portrait of Walburga Black. The day the portrait had been removed, he'd taken it into the backyard and burned it. Hermione had rolled her eyes and told him he was being immature, but Harry had not yet gotten over Sirius' death. Time had done little to dull the pain.

Harry shook his head to clear those thoughts from his mind as he put the kettle on. While he waited for the water to boil, he made himself a bowl of cereal and started munching on it. Kreacher had died five years ago and Harry hadn't felt comfortable getting another house elf. Hermione had backed down from her hardline stance against house elf enslavement, but Harry hadn't wanted to attempt buying or hiring one regardless.

When the kettle whistled, he made himself a cup of tea loaded with sugar and only a splash of milk. He sat down at the table and then ate breakfast while he read the Prophet that his owl, Beowulf, had brought. Beowulf had been a gift from Hermione when they'd both returned to Hogwarts for an eighth year to make up for the year they'd spent on the run. Harry was amused by the muggle name, and even though he couldn't replace Hedwig, Harry had grown fond of the dark grey owl who was grumpy more often than not. And he'd been more grateful to Hermione than he'd told her that she'd gone out to buy him an owl so he didn't have to and face the loss of Hedwig again.

Harry spent the rest of the day staring at the files for Malfoy's case. Malfoy. Draco. After thoroughly snogging him, Harry wasn't at all sure what to call him. Or what to do about it. He shouldn't do anything, of course. He's probably just messing with you. What he couldn't figure out was why Malfoy would mess with him by sticking his tongue down his throat. And Malfoy had seemed at least as affected as Harry, if his physical reaction was anything to go by.

And Hermione. Kissing her was better than anything he'd imagined. Not that I've imagined kissing her. Definitely not. He was both excited and reluctant to see her the next day. He put off owling her as long as possible, but finally sent an owl after eating dinner, and drinking a glass of Firewhisky, to let her know he'd come by at two.

As he lay in bed that night he couldn't get the image of Malfoy with his arms around Hermione and the feeling of Malfoy's hand on his waist out his mind. When he dreamed, it was about Malfoy and Hermione wrapped around him.

He was up late again on Sunday morning. After getting out of bed, he ate breakfast slowly as he read the Sunday Prophet. So far nothing had appeared about the Malfoy case; if something had shown up, Robards would have had words for someone. The more pieces of the Dunham puzzle fell into place, the more eager Robards and Harry were to keep it under wraps.

After cleaning up his breakfast, Harry took a cold shower for the second morning in a row. When he got out, he spent more time than he normally would choosing what to wear. He felt silly as he picked a pair of jeans that Ginny had told him looked nice on him – although nice wasn't the word she'd used – and a black long sleeve t-shirt that Ginny had forced on him last Christmas, claiming he had no fashion sense. A not entirely inaccurate statement. A childhood of hand-me-downs had prevented any interest in the clothes he wore from growing, and as an adult he hadn't cultivated an interest beyond buying clothes that fit.

He spent almost an hour gathering all the paperwork related to the case. It was scattered around the house and Harry eventually had to resort to an Accio when he realized he was already ten minutes late. Hastily, he shrunk all the books and papers, grabbed a file for another open case to look at while Hermione was busy, and then threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace in the kitchen.

"Hermione Granger's flat!" he said clearly, stepping in. He'd learned his lesson about mumbling.

After a moment the flames stopped rushing by and he stepped out into a living room that was nearly as familiar as his own. Hermione was engrossed in papers spread across the coffee table.

"Hey, Hermione," he said to get her attention. He Vanished the soot off his clothes with a well-practiced flick of his wand. Hermione had lectured him enough times about not getting soot all over her flat. When he was sure his clothes were clean, he took his coat off and then draped it over the chair by the fireplace.

Hermione looked up and smiled. "Hey, Harry." She stood and gave him a hug.

She is a friend. A friend, damn it! He hugged her back while he repeated that mantra. Hugging her brought back memories of dancing with her, but he was determined not to bring it up and make everything awkward.

He released her and they both sat down. A cup of tea sat in front of his chair and he cancelled the stasis charm he could feel hovering over it and then took a sip. After so many years of friendship, they both knew how the other took their tea, and it was perfect. There was something so familiar about sharing a cuppa with her. He could imagine sitting and drinking tea with her for the rest of his life. He forcefully pushed those thoughts away. She doesn't think of you that way.

He set down his cup and then dug through his pockets to find all the files and books. Once he was sure he'd found them all, he cast an Engorgio to return them to their normal size.

"I brought the case files for you to review," he told her. "I know you've seen some of them already, but I brought them all so that you'd have everything in front of you. I also brought along all the books and papers we recovered from the house where he was holding Malfoy – everything that looked like it was related to the ritual."

Hermione smiled. "Perfect. Are you hoping to find anything in particular?"

Harry set everything on the table. He ran a hand through his hair while he thought. "I'm not sure. What Robards wants to know is whether you think it's possible to turn a human into a Veela. We don't think he succeeded, at any rate. We tested his blood and it was entirely human." Thank goodness. No man that awful should have the charm of a Veela too.

In true Hermione fashion, by the time he'd finished talking, she'd already started looking through the files. Harry smiled and turned to the file he'd brought to work on while she was occupied with the Malfoy case. It wasn't nearly as interesting, but he didn't want to work on the case as well and interrupt her thought process if she needed a file he was looking at. Years of watching her work had taught him all about her focus. He was able to appreciate her brilliance now in a way he hadn't been able to while at Hogwarts.

When an hour had gone by and she was still engrossed in the case, although he saw she'd switched to looking at the diaries, he decided to make a pot of tea. He knew his way around her kitchen and soon had the kettle on and a pot out. He and Hermione had never broken the habit of making tea the muggle way. And tea just tasted better when the water was boiled in a kettle instead of heated with magic.

Hermione didn't notice when he returned, but he didn't mind. He refreshed his cup and then put the pot under a stasis charm for when she finally emerged.

He couldn't help but watch her, although he did so from under his lashes while ostensibly working on his file in case she glanced up. She's so beautiful. He'd noticed years ago, of course. Ron hadn't been the only one shocked at the Yule Ball – Harry just hadn't made a scene. The year on the run hadn't done anyone any favors, but she'd lost the thin, sickly look during their eighth year at Hogwarts. The house elves had gotten over their fear of her after the battle and they'd made a special effort to "fatten them up." He distinctly remembered Kreacher poking his stomach and declaring him too bony. Hermione had received similar treatment from Winky.

The years since had somewhat softened what seven years of danger and anger and fear had made hard. But he saw new lines of stress and he wondered if she was getting enough sleep. Maybe she still has nightmares? Harry frowned at the thought.

He shook himself when he realized he'd been staring at her. He looked down at his file – a simple break-and-enter – and managed to work through most of the paperwork before he saw Hermione stretch out of the corner of his eye. He looked up.

"Did you find anything?" he asked.

Hermione poured herself a new cup of tea from the pot and took a sip. "Unfortunately. The man is clearly deranged, you need to make sure he goes to Azkaban for a long time. The things he did were truly terrible."

Harry frowned. "Malfoy said something about curses." Although I wouldn't put it past him to have played it down. Damn Malfoy pride.

Hermione looked upset. "There was that. Dunham used curses in order to instigate Malfoy's transformation. But Malfoy wasn't the first person Dunham used to try to become a Veela. According his journals, Malfoy was the fourth person Dunham kidnapped."

"The fourth?" That was far worse than he had imagined.

Hermione nodded and handed Harry the second journal. "The first three people died when Dunham tried to complete the ritual he'd designed."

Harry pushed a hand through his hair and took the journal with the other. "Merlin, that's awful. Malfoy didn't mention anything about that."

"He probably didn't know," she said.

Thank Merlin we found Malfoy when we did. "So why didn't Malfoy die?" He opened the journal, flipping through it. He hadn't had a chance to look through them yet, and he was disturbed by what little he read as he skimmed.

Hermione picked up the third journal. "From what I understand, I don't think that Dunham had started the ritual yet with Malfoy. The potion that he was using in the ritual needed to brew for at least a fortnight after the ingredients were combined."

Harry grimaced. "Well that's something I suppose. So then what did Dunham mean when he said he was close? Was he actually close to making himself into a Veela?" Please say no.

Hermione sighed. "It's hard to say. Inventing spells and potions is tricky enough, but rituals are vastly more complicated. Added onto that, he was mixing several different types of magic and combining potions and spells – it's impossible to say. He has some Arithmantic charts, but I haven't checked his calculations."

"So it's possible?" If it were possible…that would be a problem on so many levels.

"He hadn't completed the ritual, so it's not possible that he succeeded. But I couldn't say whether it's possible that he could turn a human into a Veela without spending a lot more time with his journals. With how much research he put into this, he must have been working for months."

Harry set down the journal, only just resisting the urge to wipe his hand on his pants. He felt dirty just from handling the book. "Well, at least I have a better idea now of what to charge him with."

Hermione bit her lip and his thoughts immediately went to their kiss Friday night. Stop that!

"Harry," she said and then paused before starting again. "I don't think you should show these journals to many people."

"Why?" He wasn't planning on it, but he wanted to know why she thought so as well.

"People are funny about Veela. You know how muggles are fascinated by vampires?"

He nodded.

"Well wizards are drawn to Veela in the same way. If word got out that someone had gotten close to a way to make themselves into a Veela…there would be people who would want to get their hands on that information. No matter how the information had been obtained."

Harry sighed. Of course. "Like the wizards at the World Cup fourth year."

"Right."

"I suppose it's lucky that Malfoy's father wants a closed trial. I even recommended it to Robards."

Hermione picked up the journal he'd put down and stacked it on top of the others. "If you leave these here, I can study them in closer detail."

Harry nodded gratefully. "I'll need the case files, but I can leave the books. Thank you for doing this."

Hermione smiled tiredly. "Of course."

Harry felt bad, adding onto what he knew was a large workload, but he couldn't think of anyone else he trusted or who be as useful. Not only was Hermione the smartest person he knew, she was an expert in magical creatures. He respected her, he admired her, and he loved her, but just as a friend, of course.

Although he wasn't sure that was true anymore, if it had ever been. The weight of Friday hung in the air and he fidgeted, staring down at his hands.

"Listen, Hermione, about Friday…" he started awkwardly.

"It's fine, Harry," Hermione said, cutting him off.

Harry peeked up at her and saw that she was blushing. Hermione doesn't blush. That's…interesting. But even though it was clear she wanted to let things lie, he had to voice the thought that had been plaguing him since then. "I didn't mean to take advantage of you."

"You didn't!"

Harry lifted his head, looking at her fully. "So you wanted to kiss me?"

"Um…" Her blush deepened.

Fuck it. "Because I wanted to kiss you. It wasn't the alcohol. You must know that I'm attracted to you. Have been for years." He rushed out the last part, knowing he'd never have the courage to say it again if he didn't say it now.

"Uh…"

"You haven't seen anyone in a while. Ginny keeps me up to date," he said, a corner of his mouth lifting. She hadn't said anything yet, and he was starting to get nervous. Maybe she really does think of me as just a friend. Fuck. His heart dropped at the thought.

"I…um, that is to say. Yes," she finally said, her voice much higher than normal. "I wanted to kiss you too."

Harry stared at her and all he could think of was kissing her again. Pressing her back against the couch and snogging her until neither of them could think. He couldn't form words for a long moment.

"Good to know," he finally said, his voice raspy.

She didn't respond, just licked her lip. Bloody hell. If he didn't get out of here, he'd do more than snog her, and it was clear she wasn't ready by the way she quickly covered her mouth, eyes wide, when she realized what she'd done. He wasn't sure he was ready, either.

He stood up. She stared at him, eyes wide and filled with the same look from Friday night. He had to clench his fists to keep from acting on the lust that was threatening to overtake all the sense he'd accumulated as an Auror. He forced his hands to unclench.

"I'll see you later. Lunch, Tuesday?" he managed to ask, voice almost normal.

Hermione nodded silently.

Harry grabbed his coat and put it on without looking away. "Bye, Hermione."

"Bye," she said and the catch in her voice almost convinced him to stay.

Instead, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the flames.

"Grimmauld Place."

It wasn't until he went into work on Monday morning that Harry realized he'd left all the Malfoy case files at Hermione's flat. Even though he could have gone down to her office, he decided to send her a memo instead. He scrawled a quick note on a scrap of parchment and then flicked it into the air, imbuing it with the spell to send it on its way. It folded itself into a little airplane and then winged out of the open door of his office.

Harry was distracted for most of the rest of the day, but he was able to work on some of his other open cases. He was very glad Robards didn't ask to see him about the Malfoy case, because it would have been awkward to explain that he'd forgotten the paperwork at Hermione's house. For once, he was glad of a quiet day in the Auror Department.

He should have known that the quiet wouldn't last long. The next two days passed restfully enough – Hermione sent him the Malfoy files by owl Monday evening, and then they continued to studiously avoid each other – but on Thursday morning, Harry received an owl from Kingsley with a meeting time for that afternoon.

Harry went through the motions of work in the morning, managed to get through lunch in the Ministry cafeteria – he hadn't gone out to lunch with Hermione once that week – and then presented himself to Kingsley's secretary at five minutes before two o'clock. Harry might be friends with Kingsley, but even he couldn't get away with being late to a meeting with the Minister for Magic.

His secretary looked up when he walked up. "You can go in, Auror Potter."

Harry nodded at her and then walked into Kingsley's office. The Minister looked the same as he always had, although there were a few more lines at the corners of his eyes. "Hello, Kingsley."

Kingsley smiled at him and gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Harry, come in, sit down." As Harry sat down, Kingsley waved his wand to close the door and Harry felt wards go up at the same time.

"What's this about?" Harry asked. "Is it the Malfoy case?"

Kingsley folded his hands. "Indirectly. I received a visit from Draco Malfoy yesterday."

"Is he bothering you about his case not being closed yet? Because we're doing the best we can," Harry said defensively.

Kingsley shook his head. "He didn't come about the case. Didn't even bring it up. He offered to host the Ministry's Samhain Ball this year."

Harry frowned. What? "He did what?"

"I thought it surprising as well," Kingsley said dryly.

"Why does he want to host the ball?"

Kingsley shrugged. "He claims it's because he wants to continue his efforts to redeem the Malfoy name."

Harry snorted. "How altruistic."

Kingsley laughed. "I would not have believed him if he'd said anything else. However, he also said that he supports the cause the ball is raising money for this year."

"What's that?"

"The Home for War Orphans. I'm surprised Hermione didn't mention it to you."

Yes, well, we've had other things on our minds. Harry cleared his throat. "You know she doesn't like to talk about her work."

Kingsley sighed. "Yes, I know. I'm going to try to convince her to speak this year."

Harry snorted. "Good luck with that. Getting her to even attend anything at Malfoy Manor will be a challenge."

"Indeed. But I didn't actually want to meet to talk about Hermione. I wanted to make sure you'd be attending the ball even if it's hosted at Malfoy Manor." Kingsley looked at him with an expression that left no doubt about what he wanted Harry's answer to be.

"Is that really a question?"

Kingsley's lips twitched. "No. As Deputy Head of the Auror Department, you'd be required to attend anyway for security, but as Harry Potter, I want you there for your support of the cause as well as the continued efforts to mend the rifts in the wizarding world. You going to Malfoy Manor would show that there are no hard feelings left between two of the most famous rivals from the war."

Well it's certainly not our feelings that are hard anymore. "Hasn't that been made clear enough already? Draco Malfoy and I have seen each other quite a few times over the years. And I'm personally in charge of his case now." And our personal lives have gotten much more intimate very recently.

"Well the public doesn't know about his case," Kingsley pointed out. "And even though you two have been in the same room before, you have rarely interacted directly. Going to the Manor is an important step."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. He hated politics. "I'll be there."

Kingsley rapped his knuckles on his desk. "Excellent. The invitations go out tomorrow." Kingsley gave him a look. "Will you be bringing anyone?"

His thoughts immediately went to Hermione and, if he were being honest with himself, which he didn't usually have to force himself to be, Malfoy, as he'd looked on Friday with mussed hair and a wicked smirk.

Harry wasn't sure he'd ever blushed in front of Kingsley, but he was now. "No, I don't think so."

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "Very well. I look forward to seeing you there."

Harry stood up. He nodded at Kingsley and left.

As he walked back to the Auror Department, Harry resigned himself to the fact that he was pleased about having to see Malfoy again.

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