Chapter Ten: Preference Profile

Canonbury, North London
15th December 2009, 9.13am

Given that she only lived about a mile away, Harry decided to walk over to Hermione's flat. It would, he reasoned, do him good to stretch his legs, plus he could pick up a bribe along the way.

Hermione opened the door after his second knock, her hair voluminous enough to suggest a rushed drying charm. Her eyes narrowed as soon as she saw who it was.

"I come in peace," Harry said, holding up the Euphorium Bakery bag.

"Try again," Hermione replied, stony-faced. She hadn't moved from her position blocking the doorway.

Harry winced. "I'm sorry?"

"Was that supposed to sound like a question?"

Wishing that she could have picked a better time to remind him of how infuriating she could be, Harry gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry for acting like a prize dickhead."

When he looked at her again Hermione had folded her lips together, presumably to stop herself from smiling. She was still eyeing the bakery bag with interest. "And?"

"What -" Harry bit his tongue. "And," he ground out, "I'm sorry for being rude to your friends?"

"Theo would be your friend too if you let him," Hermione said pointedly, before uncrossing her arms and relaxing her stance slightly. "What's in the bag?"

"Cheese and ham toastie on that fancy bread you like," he said. When Hermione reached for the bag he swung it out of her reach. "No way. Let me in first."

"That's extortion," Hermione said, stepping to one side and waving him indoors. "I'm letting you inside because it's too cold to have the door open, but just so you're aware, I'm only considering forgiving you."

"Good to know," Harry sighed, releasing the bag when Hermione grabbed for it again. "What might make you go beyond 'considering'?"

"Mmf." Hermione had taken a bite of the challah roll, and now turned her eyes skywards. "God, these things are good. But that doesn't mean you're off the hook!" she went on, seeing Harry's hopeful look. "It's the Ministry's Yule Drinks tonight and -"

"No," Harry said, feeling his stomach drop with horror at the prospect. "You can't make me."

"Well, not looking like that I can't," she said, before popping the last bite of sandwich into her mouth and sucking crumbs from her fingers. Harry's neck felt hot all of a sudden, and he belatedly realised he was still wearing his coat and scarf, and hurriedly started shrugging them off.

Hermione tipped her head to one side, then reached for his nose. "What happened here?"

"Fight at the Bat and Broomstick," Harry said, reluctantly allowing Hermione to examine the small bump left by Marcus's perfunctory Episkey charm. "I was only there for a drink, it wasn't -"

"Yes, because the Bat and Broomstick is exactly where people go when they're avoiding trouble," Hermione said, stepping back and giving him a knowing look.

"Well, yeah, fine," Harry shrugged. "But this was more of a wrong place, wrong time sort of thing. I was helping -"

"Of course you were," Hermione said quietly. "Remember that conversation we had about unhealthy coping mechanisms?"

"You're one to talk," Harry snorted, before he remembered that it made his nose hurt. "I don't remember coping with my breakup with Gin by deciding to get an unnecessary Muggle degree while still working full time."

"No," Hermione flashed him a smile as sweet as it was entirely false. "You decided to throw yourself into increasingly dangerous criminal cases instead."

"Ouch," Harry muttered. "Alright, maybe I deserved that."

"No," Hermione said, turning around and heading in the direction of her living room. "Definitely you deserved that. And you're coming this evening, whether you like it or not."

"Why?" Harry demanded, following after her and plonking himself down on the settee. "I'm a disgrace, remember? It's going to be all Robards and his cronies, and people like Malfoy and Nott smarming about -"

"Which gives you the perfect opportunity to apologise to Theo for your behaviour yesterday," Hermione said primly, folding her legs under her where she sat in her enormous red velvet armchair (that Harry privately suspected she had liberated from Gryffindor tower).

He briefly considered slamming his head against the wall, but decided against it. The feeling of arguing with Hermione was similar enough. "Has it occurred to you that I might really, really not want to do that?"

"And has it occurred to you that you might consider acting like a grown-up once in a while?"

"Bold of you to assume I'm a grown-up," Harry replied snarkily.

"Well, I admit I might be taking some liberties with the term," Hermione picked at a spot on the chair's arm. "I actually thought you might enjoy the chance to piss off Robards," she said innocently.

"There is that, I guess," Harry conceded. "But still -"

"Plus it'll be crawling with purebloods," Hermione went on. "So if you think about it, it's actually necessary to the investigation that you go along."

She wasn't visibly smirking, but Harry could hear the self-satisfaction in her voice. "You crafty -"

"Careful," she said, looking up at him. "I could still rescind your invitation."

"I hate you," Harry sighed.

"Nah, you don't." Hermione smiled at him, her eyes warm.

Harry found himself smiling goofily back at her for no reason, and quickly cleared his throat. "Anyway, I wanted to show you what Dudley gave me yesterday."

He withdrew the packet of photos from his pocket, and Hermione sat forward in her chair. "Are these to do with the case?"

"Nope," Harry said, passing them to her when she reached out one hand.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up when she saw the first photograph, and she quickly thumbed through the rest. When she looked up at him, her eyes were shining. "Oh, Harry. Where did these come from?"

"Apparently he found them when he went through Petunia's stuff a few weeks ago," he said. His voice sounded oddly gruff, and he cleared his throat. "It was - I didn't really know what to say, so I invited him for Christmas -"

"You did?" Hermione said. "That's brilliant! Kreacher must be thrilled."

"Ah," Harry pulled at his collar. "Yeah, I haven't actually told him yet."

"Why not?" Hermione frowned.

"Well, he's - I mean, it's possible that he's in a strop with me too." Harry grimaced. "Some nonsense about not honouring the memory of his mistress by behaving in a vulgar manner towards the something or other heir to the something something House of Nott."

"Pithy," Hermione remarked.

"I tuned a lot of it out," Harry admitted. "But I had to have a takeaway for dinner, and I'm pretty sure I overboiled the pain potion this morning and he didn't come and scold me, so I must have really put his back up."

"How nobly you suffer," Hermione said drily. "He's probably off in the ninety-second basement unearthing more horrible china. Don't -" she said, pointing a finger at Harry when he opened his mouth "- don't you dare tell him I said that."

"Ah," said Harry, "but what's the price of my silence?"

"I promise not to leave you alone with anyone you might be too tempted to hex tonight?" Hermione offered mischievously.

"Why am I friends with you?" Harry asked.

"Because look at what happens when we fall out," Hermione said. "You can't even brew your own pain potions. Now get out of my house, I've got a hearing to prepare for."

Harry sighed, and got up from the sofa. "That Veela who was using -?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "The sphinx who kept winning the Times Crossword."

"Good luck with that," Harry said, grabbing his coat and scarf from the hooks. "Can you count riddles as testimony or -"

"Oh, don't." Hermione exhaled heavily. "I've already had to sit through the interview she gave Luna."

"Bloody hell." Harry wound his scarf back round his neck and dug in his pockets for his gloves. "Rather you than me."

"You're such a supportive friend," Hermione said, tipping her head to one side and smiling sarcastically.

"Ah!" Harry punched the air. "You called me your friend. Score one for Potter!"

"I thought I told you to get out," Hermione gave an exaggerated scowl, as Harry, laughing, pulled open the front door. "And do something about that bruise before tonight!"

"Why?" Harry turned to call back, his breath puffing white on the cold air. "Doesn't it make me look dashing?"

Hermione shook her head, but she was laughing. "It starts at seven. Don't be late!"

A/N: Next up, a party at the Ministry...