Chapter Fourteen: Mutual Knowledge
No. 12 Grimmauld Place
16th December 2009, 9.03am
Harry hadn't realised until Kreacher had produced the plans for the house that the lower drawing room was actually a logical impossibility - a little pocket of space tacked onto the narrow, Victorian arrangement of the terrace. Of course, since then, numerous other hidden rooms had appeared, and continued to appear.
The latest example of this was a lady's dressing room, the door of which had sprung open in the panelled wall of Harry's bedroom just now as he had been sifting through his clothes looking for something that Hermione could wear (her green velvet dress from the night before being both bloodstained and entirely inappropriate as daywear).
He and Hermione stood in the doorway, gaping at the twin rails of extremely gothic-looking dresses, damask-upholstered chaise longue, three finely-worked chests of drawers, and a beautiful matching dressing table whose marble top was dotted with little boxes that Harry wasn't going to touch without performing every counter-curse he knew.
"What do you think?" he asked her, nodding at the black and green lace gown that had been helpfully draped over the chaise.
"Not on your life," she answered, shaking her head vehemently. There was a rumbling sound, and one of the drawers shot forward, violently exhaling a musty smell and a flurry of clothes moths.
"Oh, god." Hermione wrinkled her nose and pulled her wand from behind her ear. "Tineidae Exumai!"
There was a flash of light, and the moths fell harmlessly to the floor. Hermione replaced her wand behind her ear, sighed, and laid her hand gently the wall. "It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture," she said gently. "But that's really not my style."
The left hand clothes-rail gave a thoughtful rustle, and a pair of black trousers flew out, hitting Hermione squarely in the face.
"Right," she said, holding them up. From what Harry could tell, they were hilariously long in the leg. "Well, I deserved that," Hermione went on "and these should work if I cuff them. Just a shirt then, I guess," she said, turning to Harry, and he nodded.
She was forever borrowing his jumpers, but there was something about watching Hermione button herself into one of his white cotton shirts that Harry found deeply thrilling. Perhaps it was that he now knew enough about what lay underneath for his imagination to follow the drape of the fabric and -
"What?" Hermione asked, and Harry realised he had been staring. She straightened up from rolling the ankles of the trousers, and placed her hands on her hips. "Do I look ridiculous?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "No you look - what's the opposite of ridiculous?"
Hermione's cheeks turned pink, and Harry reached for her. It was such a simple action, and yet when she allowed him to pull her close; when she placed her hands on his chest and looked up at him, her face still slightly flushed and her eyes deep and dark; he couldn't think of anything that had ever rivalled it for wonder.
He paused with his lips a hair's breadth from hers, waiting for the moment she changed her mind, decided that she had made a mistake after all, but instead Hermione tipped her chin so that their mouths met, and Harry allowed himself to kiss her lazily, hands drifting down her back to rest at the top of her bum.
Hermione fisted her hands in his shirt, pressing herself against him, and for a moment he forgot that Dudley was waiting downstairs - forgot that there was anything but this room and this kiss and Hermione and -
"Ahem," he said, drawing back. "We should probably -"
"Yes," Hermione nodded emphatically. "Yes, we definitely should. Why don't - I'll follow you."
As he opened the bedroom door and started down the stairs, Harry wished that he'd had more time to enjoy watching her being so flustered. But, he reasoned, plenty of time for that, unless -
"What are you doing?" Hermione yelped, as Harry spun on his toes on the last step, grabbing her by the waist.
"Mistletoe," he replied, pointing upwards.
Hermione followed the direction of his finger, and frowned slightly at the large sprig that had appeared in the middle of the landing. "I'm sure that wasn't there last ni-mmf."
"Sorry," Harry said as he released her, and Hermione narrowed her eyes playfully at him. "What?" he asked innocently. "It's the rules, Hermione, and we all know how much you love rules."
"Get in there before I hex you," she replied, pointing to the door of the lower drawing room, and Harry laughed, planted another quick peck on her lips, and then bolted.
Dudley was standing by the window, a slight frown on his face as he contemplated the garden below.
While Sirius was still alive this room had been one of the dingiest corners of 12 Grimmauld Place: north-facing, with most of the natural light that flooded the upper parts of the house blocked by the overgrown garden trees and the row of houses that formed the next street to the north. Now, however, the lower drawing room was light and airy, the windows having apparently angled themselves to catch the sunlight that was reflected from the neighbours', and the recalcitrant soot-stained wallpaper mysteriously deciding to become responsive to Scourgify charms. Still, the upper drawing room was bigger, and nicer, which meant that this room was somewhat neglected.
It would make a nice study for Hermione, Harry found himself thinking, before deciding that he probably needed to get a handle on his own giddiness.
Dudley turned at the sound of the door. He was holding a very small, chipped coffee cup in his hand, and Harry frowned at this sign of Kreacher's disfavour before he met his cousin's eyes. Dudley smiled tightly, then raised his eyebrows slightly as he took in what was no doubt the dire state of Harry's hair.
"Sorry to disturb," he said, not sounding sorry at all. His gaze moved over Harry's shoulder, to where Hermione had followed him into the room, and Dudley gave her a quick up and down, before his smile edged dangerously close to a smirk. "Busy morning?"
"I'm not going to dignify that with a response," Harry sniffed. Kreacher chose that moment to pop into existence in the corner, setting out a large cafetière and two more cups as Dudley tried to pretend the elf's appearance hadn't made him jump.
"Is Master needing anything else?" Kreacher asked, with exaggerated servility, even by his standards.
"No," Harry growled. "Go and make yourself useful in the kitchen."
"Very good, Master," Kreacher bowed and disapparated.
"He hates me," Dudley observed. "This coffee is foul."
"Have some fresh from the pot," Harry sighed. "And it isn't about you, not really."
"It took him seven years to even look directly at me," Hermione said, pouring coffee into the two cups that Kreacher had left, then holding the cafetière out to Dudley. "That coffee's a sign of great favour."
"Is it," Dudley said drily, opening the sash window and tipping the dregs from his cup before he refilled it. "Well, lucky me."
"Speaking of your good fortune," Harry said. "Where's Pansy?"
"I left her with Sahra," Dudley sighed.
"Is that a good idea?" Hermione asked. "Pansy's not -"
"Sahra can handle herself," Dudley smirked. "The DCI called her 'extremely capable' the other day, which is practically a recommendation for sainthood, coming from him."
"If you say so," Harry said, meeting Hermione's look with a shrug. "What brings you here then?"
"Fitzgibbons," Dudley said, picking up a file that had been lying on the coffee table. "Turned up in Anglesey, of all places. No memory of how she got there, and very patchy in the days leading up to of Parkinson's arrest."
"Can I have a look?" Hermione asked, and Dudley nodded, passing the file across to her. She sat down and started to leaf through the report, while Dudley turned his attention back to Harry, frowning slightly.
"What happened to you?" he asked, and Harry grimaced, his hand flying to the half-healed cuts where his cheek had been pressed into the glass-strewn floor of the Ministry. He forgot sometimes that Dittany, while effective, was far from instantaneous in its healing effects.
"There was a - well, I guess you'd call it a bombing, at the Ministry Christmas party last night."
"Jesus Christ." Dudley's face paled. "Are you -"
"We're fine," Harry said. "I don't know how many casualties there were exactly, but it was fairly localised."
"Shacklebolt?" Dudley asked, and Harry opened his mouth, then realising he didn't actually know, frowned and looked at Hermione.
"He was alright," she said, without looking up from the report on Fitzgibbons's reappearance. "He was on the dancefloor with Andromeda, who is also fine." This time Hermione did look up, offering Harry a quick smile.
"Was it a remote device or -"
"Suicide," Harry said. "You remember Marcus?"
"From the pub?" Dudley asked. "The landlord? I'd never have had him down as -"
"We think it was another Invocation," Harry said. "He was a pureblood, and fairly vulnerable when you think about it - not a lot of friends, no close family left."
"Do you think the Aurors will start making a list of people who might fit that profile?" Dudley asked. "Only, that's what we'd try and do."
"I'll talk to Ron," Harry nodded. "That's a good shout."
"Thanks, Dudley," Hermione said, rising and handing him the file. "I don't think it sounds as though there's any lasting spell-damage, but would you like me to arrange for her to be seen by a Healer to make sure?"
"Probably best," Dudley nodded. "Belt and braces and all that." He paused, looking distinctly uncomfortable, before asking, "Can I tell Pansy about the - the Ministry thing, or…"
Harry looked at Hermione, who grimaced. "She should probably know," she said. "I imagine the Aurors will want to interview her again to see if there's a link with Marcus, and it would come as a nasty shock."
"Right," Dudley nodded. "Guess I should probably get back then. Erm." He fidgeted with his tie. "Any idea yet how much longer I'll have to -"
"Sorry mate," Harry spread his hands helplessly. "Your guess is as good as mine." He smiled at the look of resignation on Dudley's face. "That bad, huh?"
"I mean, it's fine, really," Dudley sighed. "She just won't stop -"
A/N: Tune in tomorrow, folks!