AN: I really just post as I write and submit whenever I have time. Are you ready for our duo to become more vile? I hope you are. Thank you again for all your kind comments.
Harry wasn't sure if he relished or dreaded the talk that was about to take place. On one hand he had been getting along great – or do you really call it getting along when you're flirting half the time – with Hermione, on the other hand figuring out what was going on in Ron's head was a chore. Harry had always kept his distance from their relationship, but that was becoming emotionally and physically impossible. In any case he had to make certain Ron wouldn't do something stupid that would jeopardize their campaign.
The door swung open, Ron Weasley stepped in, confidently standing tall – or not, the quick pulsing of his heart Harry saw gleaming through his chest betrayed his anxiety. He looked around as he came over, overly cautious. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes; what was he expecting, an ambush in a muggle bar?
With a cockeyed look at Harry, he sat down.
"I was wondering when you'd finally remember to ask me to go for a drink."
Harry now truly rolled his eyes at the rehearsed line. He called over the waiter and they ordered two pints.
"You know," Harry said with a sigh, "it's not like you made much of an effort yourself."
The waiter brought their beers, cutting the tension.
"Heard your partner got killed," Ron said.
"Martin wasn't my partner. You know I've been running with Mathilda since forever when I'm not teaching Alfred the ropes."
"Was still on your watch, wasn't it?"
"Where are you going with this?"
"Just saying it's odd, isn't it? You returning to active duty and a few weeks in your partner gets offed by some fugitive."
Harry smiled at how brazen Ron was being. His first thought was this would all be about Hermione, but apparently his friend had amped up his paranoia.
"So you decided to skip adultery and go straight to accusations of murder? Yeah, Andromeda told me. And if you're going to try and talk slander, keep away from my godson."
"Just telling the truth," Ron answered. "You might fool Ginny with your sweet talking but I'm not going to pretend you're still the same person you were before the accident. And Hermione? Her being cold and distant is just bloody normal then?"
"With you." Harry took a drink and leaned forward. "She's cold with you, that's what you mean? That's what this is all about, right? You blaming anyone but yourself, again. You bloody made it. Money, fame, marrying your best friend. Now just because we started working together you can't take it. Just bloody go ahead then, say it!"
Ron too, leaned forward. "Fine then. Are you shagging my wife, Harry?"
Harry could clearly see by the fast-paced cadence of Ron's heartbeat that he was worried about it, so he took his time answering. He leaned back and took another drink.
"I'm not. D'you want me to give it a shot?" he said flippantly.
"Fuck off," Ron said. "You're spending every bloody evening together and I'm supposed to believe you?"
"Mate, I don't give a pixie's tail if you believe me. What would you even do if it were true? Would you start taking your stories to the Prophet if we were together?"
Ron got a look of disgust on his face. "You wouldn't bring it up so casually if I was grasping at straws."
"No, I'm seriously wondering," Harry answered trying to gauge his reaction. Ron's unpredictability was the problem he was here to assess, and if – when he was going to make things clear with her, he wanted to know what would happen, regardless of the outcome.
"I was right," Ron whispered. "In all the years I've known you, you would never have taunted me like that."
He stood up and warily looked over Harry. "I don't know what happened to you exactly, but I'm going to find out. And when I do whatever little game that's going on will stop. That's how I get Hermione back… and you. We used to be friends, remember?"
Harry gritted his teeth and watched Ron leave. It was pretty bad. Ron running around and trying to undermine them might be the difference between a victory at the elections and abject failure. He needed a plan, quickly. Or all their efforts might be in vain. That is, if Hermione felt the same way he did.
-M-
Waiting for Harry had become one of her more torturous pastimes. The case – a pointless case, she knew – was taking up so much of his time they hadn't met in a few days. And worse she hadn't gotten news of his meeting with Ron yet. Not that she was worried. She knew the ultimate outcome: Ron was a problem and they would have to deal with it. There were still several weeks until the election, and she wasn't certain she could wait.
Every touch, look, and word from him short-circuited her brain to feel that want – to be close to him again. But it wasn't his fault for not reacting how she wanted him to, he didn't have the same context as she did. Something that would hopefully be fixed very soon. She sighed wistfully as she turned the page of another book on curses.
There had been an idea bubbling up in her head. A fantasy maybe, but its practicality had her all worked up. The image of Harry standing above her, responsible for the cut in her lip, the bruises on her cheeks and her broken nose. It made her heart race. She'd realized ever since the Selander incident that they were both very different now, in a way that they couldn't be themselves with anyone else.
She jumped up at the sound of the floo and ran over, lunging herself at him and flinging her arms around his neck as she had done countless times before. She tightened her vise grip and took a deep breath, the same scent she smelled waking up that day at the Burrow lighting up her memory.
"How was your day?" she asked, dropping back down.
"I think Robards is finally going to call the hunt for that mystery suspect a bust," he said with a sigh. "Director Fuller has been pressuring him to, as you know."
"Hungry?"
"Starving. You're eating here?"
"Yes. I brought some brisket from that take-out place near the station. I told Ron I would be working late… well, you'll tell me what I should expect from that lie."
Harry laughed. "I appreciate it, but Kreacher might get jealous."
At the mention of his name, the elf appeared. "Master requires my attention?"
"No – for God's sake – please take the night off, or go see if Andromeda needs help with something."
With a grunt and a bow, he went away. Hermione giggled.
"He does try hard," she said.
"He can be a little much sometimes. I need my peace."
"Tell me if I'm intruding," she said, moving to the kitchen to grab some plates.
"Never," he called after her, removing his robes and tie. "Mathilda told me Robards was going to let us work together again, when the case gets called off."
"That's good news," she called back. "She was really helpful setting up the safehouse and everything else."
"Definitely," he said entering the kitchen. "We should go check up on it tomorrow after work."
She gently smiled as she placed the plates next to each other on the ebony table. It bore the scratches, dents and sears of generations past. Countless wizards and witches had eaten here, discussed, argued, raged and loved. There was no pain in his eyes as he sat down next to her at the kitchen table, unlike before the incident.
"Ron knows more than I thought," he said. "Or at least… I think he does, or he thinks he does. He thinks we're different. We are, aren't we?"
"Enough that we can't let others know how different," she said with a meaningful look. "I've been trying to look for the curse that hit you in Oril's collection, but I wasn't successful. Nothing I've seen would account for our… changes. Does it feel at all like –" She hesitated mentioning it, not because of its taboo, but because of how it might sound given their changed relationship. "Does it feel like Voldemort's horcrux?"
"It doesn't," he answered.
"Sorry, I had to ask."
"It's all right. The horcrux was painful, and foreign. I don't have that same feeling at all. I'm in control of my actions, my thoughts, my dreams."
"How do you feel about it? Our change."
The look in his eyes – that same look she saw a few days ago – told her everything she ever needed to know. "Good," he said with a gentle smile.
"Me too." She ate her brisket in a good mood. "And as for Ron, I have some ideas, but we can wait it out for now."
-M-
The safehouse was located on the outskirts of a quaint little Scottish village. It was unfittingly idyllic, much too good for its inhabitants, who spent much idle time in the open air surrounding the large cottage home. She had renamed it the 'farm', because as such it was inhabited by the sows who had reduced themselves to sell their meat to the peddlers in Barnton. There was no pity for them in Hermione's heart, and more than a little disdain.
But they were useful, and as soon as Harry's pensieve was finished, the wealth of sordid secrets contained in their heads would be open for perusal. That was the deal, in exchange for room and board, and safety from those that might see them dead for the secrets they harboured.
Elaine was lounging on the grass, her youthful and enticingly small body splayed out in a purposefully suggestive manner. Among all of them, she was by far the most foul. Her looks only a trap for any man who would look over her greed and manipulative moods. Thankfully Harry had proven to be all but indifferent to her wiles. Not that this would stop her from trying.
She twisted herself to watch her visitors and wardens walk in, putting on a sad expression and playing with her golden-brown hair. Harry didn't even glance over at her, prompting her to stand up and stretch, shamelessly bending backwards to show off her chest.
"Hello, Harry," Elaine said in a chipper voice. "I stayed here like you said. But I've really wanted to go into town again."
No doubt she was a good actress – or rather, she knew how to act to get what she wanted. Her lip quivered in sadness and her eyes filled with tears. "Could I please have my wand back, Harry? I promise I'll be good."
Harry looked her over and grimaced. "Stop bothering us. Or do you want me to petrify you for another day or so?"
She tried not to flinch but failed, her eyes taking on an empty look. "No," she replied. "See you around."
"Harsh, Harry," Hermione said jokingly. "Very harsh. Should I expect the same treatment for little miss P?"
"No," Harry chuckled, "wish they were all that cooperative. Now granted, I confunded her but that wore out weeks ago."
"I'm still doubtful," she said with a sigh. "How could we trust her when she tried to give you up to be killed?"
He threw an arm around her as they neared the rustic wooden building. "That's why we can trust her. She's scared, and we're her only friends."
They passed the threshold and entered, seeing three of the girls lounging in the living room. There really wasn't much to do, sometimes they would enter Diagon. But come-and-go was kept at a minimum, especially with the risk of some of them becoming targets. The black haired witch peeked out from the kitchen, her hair in a messy bun, and her eyes lit up, settling on Harry.
Harry stepped forward and hugged her. She closed her eyes and relaxed. A jealous flare welled up in Hermione's stomach.
"Hey Pansy, how are you holding up?" Harry said.
"I'm doing all right… Harry."
The name still felt difficult for her to pronounce, and use in her situation. A far cry from the smart mouth Slytherin who lived to slag off their group in school, always hiding behind Malfoy and his ilk. Well, Malfoy wasn't here any more, he had washed his hands of his previous affiliations quite quickly.
Her eyes flitted to Hermione and doe-eyed back to Harry. "Do we go into the kitchen?"
"Sounds good," Harry said with a look back to Hermione.
Pansy shut the door and set to making some tea while the pair sat down at the kitchen table.
"How's your mum?" Harry asked.
"Better, thank you," she answered politely.
By her look you would never guess she had been a regular working girl at the Pixie Lounge a month ago. She wore a very modest long blue dress with a white shirt underneath; she looked almost homely.
"How have the farm's little piggies been behaving?" Hermione asked.
Harry nudged her and raised his eyebrows. "There's no need for that language, Hermione. Pansy's a good friend now."
Pansy served the tea in the blue tinted china. "It's okay," she said, shaking her head. "I kind of deserve that, I was a right bitch when we were at school."
"People change," Harry said, still firmly looking at Hermione. "Isn't that right?"
"Yes, I suppose so," she said with a smirk. "Let me try again. Did you have much trouble running things while we were gone, Pansy?"
"It's going all right," she said, plucking at the hem of her sleeve. "We couldn't do it without your help. Marcy still doesn't want to come out of her room, but Jacky talks to her sometimes, she tries to help her feel better."
"Elaine give you any trouble?" Harry asked.
Her nervous ticks were on full display as she played with a loose strand of hair. "She learned her lesson – I'm sure she has. She hasn't asked us about leaving any more. We, uhm, there's twenty-five sickles left in the fund."
"Right," Harry fumbled into his robes, producing a leather pouch. "Remember, always in pairs, and if anything –" Pansy went for it but Harry clasped his hand on top of hers. "If anything happens, you call for Kreacher immediately, and he will contact me. The elf knows to respond to your calls."
"Of course, Harry."
"Good," Harry said, relaxing his grip. "Anything else we should know about?"
Pansy took a deep breath. "Some… girls have been wondering how long this will last – not that they're not grateful – but they get anxious sitting around doing nothing all day. Maybe I can tell them how long you planned for us to be here?"
Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well my pensieve is going to be ready in a few days. But even then it probably won't be safe for you – never mind the other girls, Elaine included – until we find a way to deal with those that might want to hurt you." Harry frowned and took Pansy's hand. "On the other hand, they'd probably take you back if you asked. Is that what you want, to go back to work at the Pixie Lounge?"
Her breath grew shaky as she fought to keep her composure. "No, Harry, I wouldn't. Never."
"Good," he smiled.
"Yes, Pansy," Hermione said. "We'd be very sad for you to have second thoughts. I can't imagine all of you going back, and how would you explain disappearing to your… employers? Poor Marcy, I don't know what she would do."
"I'll just tell them to sit tight," Pansy said. "You don't have to worry, I'll deal with it."
"You're doing a really good job," Harry said with a dashing smile. "I mean that. You've really turned yourself around. I'm proud you took that second chance."
She looked down smiling at her cup of tea and nodded. It was clear she was under a lot of stress, and Harry knew how to push her buttons brilliantly, always the leader. Pansy had that look of infatuation about her again, as they talked of Harry's upcoming debate with Nicholas McMillan. They would have to prepare for that in the coming days. As much as Harry was charismatic, he also had a tendency to improvise, and that could possibly trip him up.
The truth was that between their two candidacies, Hermione was much better off. People were quick to doubt the obvious target, and articles about Harry's inexperience in government had been hitting the tabloids aggressively. No doubt this was part of McMillan's efforts, who had connections in all the right places.
Pansy waved them goodbye and they left with Elaine sneaking glances at them while she aimlessly plucked the grass. All Hermione could think is that it would be a busy few weeks ahead.
