CHAPTER SEVEN: DEAD END

As Harry left Hogwarts that evening, he began to hatch a plan. He headed immediately to the Ministry, intent on their records department. He also wanted to check in with the Runes and Symbols department, but that would have to wait until Monday when they were back in office.

Showing his identification that allowed him to be in the Ministry after hours to the night security wizard, Harry took the lift down to Records, which was on the same floor as the Central Department, nearer to the ground floor. The lift opened to the floor and as he walked down the corridor, he thought about how empty the Ministry looked after hours. It almost had a ghost-town quality, though he knew there must be someone working late somewhere nearby.

As he walked into Records, he saw that there was only one witch on duty. "Drew the short straw with shifts, eh?" he asked her.

She sat up a bit straighter as she realized who she was, her blue eyes widening. "Er, yes, Mr. Potter. I've got the evening shift—but it's better than the night shift! How can I help you tonight?"

"I was wondering if there were any way I could look at some personnel files for the Magical Law Enforcement Department. It's for some Auror business."

She bit her lip and looked around. "That's, erm, generally against policy, sir. Do you have any notes from your supervisor for us to release those?"

"Head Auror Robards said he would be sending it along," Harry lied, only feeling the smallest bit guilty. "But if it hasn't gotten here yet, I can come back later! I'd hate to inconvenience you a second time."

"Oh, it's no inconvenience Mr. Potter," she assured. "If Head Auror Robards' note is en route, I can get those files pulled and wait until it arrives."

"Perfect. I just need the files for all of the liaisons between the Auror Department and the Magical Law Enforcement proper."

She smiled and nodded. "I'll be right back!"

"Thanks, er," he looked at her nametag for the first time. "Hazel. I need to step out for a few moments, but I'll be back, as well."

She nodded as she disappeared behind a door marked RECORDS DEPARTMENT EMPLOYEES ONLY. Harry left the office quickly, trying to think of a way to get Robards' authorization quickly.

He was sure that Robards would allow it, if he had enough evidence to support his suspicions, but Harry was mostly working on circumstantial evidence, which wasn't enough for a "warrant," so to speak.

It would be wrong to forge Robards' signature, he tried to tell himself. And they did have spells to ensure that a permission wasn't forged. Feck, he thought. He had put himself in a tight spot, but he needed those files!

He couldn't very well lie his way out of this, he decided. He'd have to try his luck with Robards. There was no telling how pissed off he would be.

Harry hurried to the nearest fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder, giving his password when prompted. He announced Robards' address and knelt down, sticking his head into the green flames. He coughed slightly as he found himself in Robards' grate, looking at the homey kitchen. Harry knew that any decorative elements were courtesy of Robards' wife, Myra.

"Hello?" he called out, hoping to announce his presence, and get the call over with. He hated the idea of his bottom half being vulnerable, out there in the open for anyone present at the Ministry to see or interfere with. It hadn't ever happened to him yet, but Harry sometimes feared it was inevitable when he used the floo to call.

He heard footsteps approaching and did his best to look contrite.

It wasn't Robards anyway, but Myra. "Hello, Harry," she greeted. "Do you need Gawain?"

"If you could get him, I'd really appreciate it, Myra. I'm so sorry to interrupt your evening."

She smiled, though Harry could have sworn he did see one of her eyes twitch in annoyance. "I'll get him," she said.

She disappeared from the kitchen, leaving Harry to stare about some more and make observations about Robards' home life. He couldn't smell anything, as he only had the smell of floo powder in his nose from the call, but he could see something simmering on the stove. There were attractive autumn decorations hung in various places, pumpkins and squashes set in the middle of the island in the middle of the kitchen.

He heard Robards approaching and pulled his contrite face again.

"What do you need, Potter?" Robards asked by way of greeting.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm working on that art theft case, and I have some suspicions, but to be able to investigate further, I need access to the Ministry personnel files."

"You know we need authorization from the Magical Law Enforcement liaison for those, usually," Robards told him.

"That's the thing, sir," Harry told him. "This may sound crazy, but my main suspect is Hermione Granger."

"Granger?" Robards asked in disbelief.

"That's where the evidence seems to be pointing me, sir. I wanted to do a stakeout of her residence to watch for any unusual activity."

"Usually, Potter, I would require more evidence for this sort of thing," Robards chastised as he grabbed a quill, inkpot, and some parchment from nearby. "But if this is how you want to spend your Friday night, feel free."

Robards signed off with a flourish, and Harry opened his mouth for him to put the note in. Once it was secured between his teeth, and definitely not getting too wet inside of his mouth, Harry nodded his thanks and pulled his head out of the floo.

As soon as he was back in the Ministry completely, Harry pulled the bit of parchment from between his teeth and read. I, Gawain Robards, Head Auror, give Harry Potter permission to access Ministry of Magic personnel files for official purposes. Straight to the point, Harry thought.

Smiling in triumph, and glad he took the risk of bothering the boss, he walked back into the Records office, finding the witch that he'd been working with waiting on him.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to her. "I flooed Auror Robards and he said he'd forgotten the note, but I have it here."

She took it by a corner, making a face at the slight wetness and teeth indentations into the parchment. "Looks official," she shrugged. "Here are those files, and here is the form verifying that you are checking the files into your custody."

He grabbed a nearby quill and dipped it into the ink, wiping any excess off onto the lip of the ink bottle. He signed his name and the date, grabbing the files.

"Thanks, so much for your help, Hazel," he said. He supposed he could be charming when he needed to be, but it was usually only for work purposes.

"Have a good night, Auror Potter!" she called as he disappeared out the door.

He went back to his flat to look over Hermione's file. He hated to think it was her and felt like he was violating her privacy. He knew he wouldn't feel the same way if it were some random witch or wizard that was his lead suspect. He needed to treat Hermione like any other suspect, rather than someone with whom he'd had a budding friendship.

First listed was her application for employment, and her NEWT and OWL scores. Impressive, but not surprising. Next listed were her references and the background check. Those were more important than test scores, Harry thought. She had an impressive reference from Headmistress McGonagall, a glowing reference from Professor Tofty, and a character reference from Cedric Diggory, who had been Head Boy the first year that she had been Prefect.

If he remembered right, Diggory had gone on to work Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He knew that Diggory often teamed up with Hermione for work with her S.P.E.W. organization, and Harry filed a thought for himself to speak with Diggory on Monday about that.

The background check came back clean, besides some remarks about behaviour during the war, which Harry thought barely counted, as everyone had just been fighting to survive. Especially Hermione, who had been on the run from the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.

He found where it listed her current place of residence and her floo calling handle, memorizing the address.

Her home was in Cambridge and would be easy to locate in such a town. He looked at the clock, deciding to start his tail on her today. He grabbed his Auror-grade Omnioculars and his invisibility cloak and headed to the Apparition point.

Harry found himself at Cambridge's less-used Apparition point and noted that he had a way to walk before he got to Hermione's home. When he found it, he couldn't say he was surprised in the least.

It was a classy-looking terrace house, located near the university. He should have guessed, though he wasn't sure how she'd pay the rent on that sort of thing on an entry-level salary.

Looking around, Harry brandished his invisibility cloak and pulled it over himself, sitting on a neighbour's stoop across the road. Tuning his Omnioculars to the correct magnification, he pointed them at the front window first.

Harry could see as if he was standing right at the window, looking into the home. He was able to see most of the front room and into a bit of the kitchen.

The home was meticulously decorated and clean, and there were quite a few bookshelves in his view. What wasn't in his view, however, was Hermione Granger.

He pointed the Omnioculars at another window, which turned out to be a hallway upstairs. More bookshelves. Another window, a little to his right, had more bookshelves, and finally, Hermione. She wasn't alone, either, Harry discovered.

The two seemed to be talking on a bed, and Hermione's hair was mussed and even bushier than normal. Harry examined the man in the room with Hermione, realizing as he looked closer that the man was Ronald Weasley.

Who would have guessed? Harry thought. He continued to watch their interaction, partially out of curiosity and partially out of obligation.

Their talking seemed to be slowing, and they were leaning toward each other, Ron's hand tangling itself into one of her dark, curly tendrils of hair. There was a tender look on his face that Harry couldn't say he'd ever seen him wear before. Hermione and Ron's lips met, and Harry felt mildly uncomfortable as the kiss became more heated.

He hadn't intended to feel like a Peeping Tom. As Hermione's blouse was lifted off her body, Harry put his Omnioculars down. He couldn't watch that. It was too intimate. And, he thought how Ginny would cringe if she were to find out that he'd been watching her brother get it in.

Harry wasn't sure what to do to occupy his time for the next five to fifteen minutes. He nervously twiddled his thumbs and looked up and down the street. He could come back in the morning, he thought. Maybe he'd just tail Hermione instead of peeping into her bedroom creepily.

He could use the sleep, he reasoned with himself. It was going on half-twelve now. He picked up the Omnioculars one more time and checked the bedroom to make sure he wasn't missing anything important. Ron was on top of Hermione, and—yikes!

He put them down again quickly, giving up for the night. He did not need to see any of that, and he wished ardently that he could erase the images from his brain.

Harry made it home to his flat and plopped down on his bed, bouncing a little with the impact his body had on the mattress. He wished that he could have Ginny by his side—not just for sex, though the sex had been bloody fantastic. She had made him laugh in those few hours in a way that no one ever had.

Merlin, what had he done wrong? What had made her turn so cold so quickly?

He imagined the way her hair had looked in his bed, all splayed out against his pillows, her creamy skin against his sheets, the way it all felt under his hands. He felt himself hardening at the thought, and began to remember how she'd felt around him, tight and warm, and oh-so wet. The way it had felt as she'd moved up and down on his cock.

He grasped himself in his hand, feeling dirty and excited all at once. He grabbed some lotion from a bedside drawer and rubbed it over himself, imagining it was Ginny's wetness. He moaned quietly, keeping his neighbours in mind as he tugged up and down, picturing the way her breasts, freckled and beautiful, would look as she bounced on top of him.

He could imagine her breathy moans as her clit rubbed against his pelvis, the way she would tighten even more around him, and how she would feel as she finally came undone, fluttering around him, legs trembling around his hips, breaths coming out in gasps.

With a grunt, he spilled out onto himself in relief. After the waves of pleasure were over, he only felt empty and disgusting.

Why did he have to masturbate to the thought of her? Hadn't the one time been enough for him? Obviously not. Harry wasn't sure he could go back to anything else after experiencing the gloriousness that was Ginny Weasley.

He rolled out of bed petulantly, desperately needing a shower. As he headed to the loo, he tried to put all thoughts of Ginny out of his head. It proved difficult, as he couldn't stop thinking. about what went wrong. Had it been something he'd said? Was it that he hadn't been verbal enough? Or was it the cheese he'd added to the beans on toast?

Don't be silly, Potter, he told himself. It definitely wasn't the cheese. That cheese is fucking delicious.

He turned the tap as hot as he could stand and stood under the water, feeling it pelt his skin. He rinsed his cum off himself and then massaged shampoo into his hair, feeling as if he were trying to shampoo a mop. He massaged his scalp, feeling that it was the type of relaxation he needed after the week he'd had.

He continued to think about Ginny, a mixture of racy and confused thoughts chasing each other about in his mind. Maybe he should stop by the Leaky Cauldron and try to talk to her.

But what if she didn't want to talk to him? Would it be right for him to force his company on her? She hadn't made any attempt to reach out to him since the night before. Maybe she was waiting on him to do so. It had only been a day, after all.

He determined that he might stop by the Leaky and speak to her, maybe ask her on a proper date. Maybe that would help clear up any doubts she may have had about his intentions. He'd do it after he finished trailing Hermione the next day, Harry decided.

No more second-guessing it.

He turned to the tap off and dried himself, plopping back into his bed, naked as the day he'd been born.

The next morning found Harry back outside Hermione's terrace-house in Cambridge, covered by his invisibility cloak. He checked the kitchen first again, praying that there would be no more nakedness for him to witness. Luckily, both Hermione and another witch—a roommate, Harry guessed—were both fully dressed, sitting at the table with cups of steaming tea. Hermione was reading a book, and the other witch was reading the morning edition of The Daily Prophet.

Harry zoomed in on the book in Hermione's hands. An Unabridged History of Elvish Relations with Wizardkind by someone named Elias Hardgrave. She seemed completely engaged in it, though Harry didn't think he could say he had ever seen her reading without the force of the whole of her attention.

Neither of the witches said a thing as they finished their morning tea and did their reading. The other witch, who Harry recognized once she had pulled the Prophet away from her face as Mandy Brocklehurst, who worked in the Department of Magical Transportation, rose from her seat and poured herself another cup.

Harry couldn't quite read her lips, but he made sure his Omnioculars were recording, and continued to watch. Hermione bookmarked her place on the page and closed the book, replying to her (probable) roommate.

She placed her teacup in the sink and grabbed her purse from the chair behind her. Well, I'm off, he watched Hermione tell Mandy. Mandy nodded as she took a deep sip and waved distractedly.

Harry watched as Hermione made her way to the door and he readied himself to follow her. The front door opened, and she stepped out, perfectly put together and professional-looking, even on the weekend.

Hermione's hair was pulled into a large bun atop her head and she carried a large bag that hung across her body. It looked like it could carry a large number of books, and Harry guessed that it probably held even more than it looked like. He knew she liked to charm her bags to hold as much as she needed.

She walked towards the train station, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if she had Apparated away. He boarded the train with her to London, squeezing into the door of the train right as it began to close.

She had a book out again, he noted, grabbing a camera and taking a photo through the invisibility cloak. Luckily, the train's rumbling was too loud for anyone around to notice the sound of the shutter clicking as he took the photo.

She didn't interact with anyone on the train, and Harry found himself bored once again. Forty minutes later, they were at King's Cross station, from where she hailed a cab. He needed to discard the invisibility cloak to follow from here.

As he got into his own cab, he told the driver, "Follow that car!" The driver nodded at him without questioning him. He supposed he ought to tip the driver a nice amount when he got out. He counted the Muggle money he had on his person, realizing it wouldn't be enough for the fare and the tip. A galleon it was, he decided.

They pulled up to the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry was relieved to be able to follow on foot again. "I'd like to wait just a moment here, before I get out, if you wouldn't mind," he told the driver.

"You've got it, sir," the driver agreed in a thick northern accent, and if Harry had to guess, he'd have said he was from Manchester.

They watched Hermione climb out of her cab and walk into the pub. As she disappeared inside and the other cab pulled back onto the street, Harry handed him his money. "Thanks, mate," he told him.

The driver just nodded again and drove away as soon as Harry had closed the door. He waited until he was out of sight before he pulled his invisibility cloak back on.

Walking into the Leaky Cauldron, Harry immediately looked for any trace of Hermione. He found her at a booth with Cedric Diggory. How interesting, Harry thought, reminded of how he needed to question Diggory on Monday. He sat down at the next table over and began to listen to their conversation.

"I've been reading about how the house-elves were initially enslaved," Hermione was telling Diggory. "It's simply barbaric! And that we allow slavery to continue isn't just an injustice—it's archaic. The United Kingdom banned slavery over one-hundred and fifty years ago!"

Cedric nodded. "I know, and I completely agree. Our work is making a difference, you know. Liberating more elves and raising awareness about fair-trade. Unfortunately, the older families, and bigger institutions, like Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic, and Gringotts, don't feel they have enough money to pay the elves for their work."

"How could they not?" Hermione's voice raised in pitch, her cheeks darkening dangerously. "How much do each of those institutions rake in a year?"

Harry knew their conversation was important but still found himself growing bored. Still, he continued to listen as Diggory explained the politics behind it, and the cost of running places like Hogwarts without the free labour from the house-elves. Neither Hermione nor Diggory made any mention of paintings, or money, but Harry did try to remember the numbers the two were throwing about, and how much it would take for them. He'd run the numbers against the value of the paintings at the Ministry on Monday, he promised himself.

Harry was making quite a to-do list for himself, he discovered. He'd have to write it all down before he forgot. Well, shite, he thought, briefly distracted. What was it that I have to do on Monday? Bloody hell. Pay attention Potter! Harry sometimes wondered if he had that thing Muggles called Attention Deficit… something, but decided it wasn't important as he continued listening to Hermione and Diggory's conversation.

Their conversation never ventured towards the art theft as they ate their lunch, and Harry noticed vaguely that he hadn't seen Ginny around the pub. They said their goodbyes and Harry wished he'd had time for a butterbeer, at least. Oh well—justice waited for no one.

He followed Hermione out of the pub and into Diagon Alley, rolling his eyes as she entered Flourish and Blotts. Maybe this was a waste of time, he considered. Nothing nefarious seemed to be going on in Hermione Granger's life—unless he counted her unnatural attraction to Ron Weasley.

He followed her into the bookshop, anyway, seeing if there was anyone she met or spoke to. But she only perused the shelves, eyes lighting up in excitement at nearly every shelf, and then shaking her head and putting several books back on the shelves. She only ended up leaving with four, which Harry thought must have been an extreme show of self-restraint.

She did have a conversation with the man who helped check her out, but it was the usual scripted interaction between salespeople and customers at the till. He watched as shrank her purchases down and placed them in her bag before leaving.

Following her out the door, he watched as she went about a small shopping trip in the alley. She stopped at Madame Malkin's, Gringotts, and Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. He hadn't thought he'd ever see Hermione Granger in this shop, but as he followed her into the shop, he watched her study the products on shelves as if she were taking notes. Then, she found Ron Weasley behind the counter and Harry remembered their interaction last night.

"Anything I can help you find?" he asked, a smile lighting up his face.

"I actually wanted to ask about whether some of your products could be a little more fine-tuned for Ministry of Magic use," she told Ron.

"I'd have to talk to George, of course, as he's the real brains behind the operation. But I'm sure we could all work something out, Miss Granger," he pulled her face gently towards his own, bringing her lips to his for a tender kiss. Ah, so it wasn't just some weird tryst he had witnessed the night before, either. They were in a real relationship.

"Just a second, Ron," Hermione told him sweetly. He nodded, looking a little dazed.

She pulled away from him and began to walk towards Harry. Surely, she couldn't see him.

Her hands reached out, grasping at the air until she felt the cool material of the invisibility cloak. She tugged it in her grasp, pulling it off from Harry.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. He looked at Ron, who looked confused and a little annoyed.

With surprising strength, she pushed Harry into the shelf behind them. "Why are you following me?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that you're a suspect?" he asked, giving it up.

"What the fuck?" he heard Ron swear.

"What are you on about?" Hermione asked him.

"Well, I was putting some dots together. Do you have an alibi for the night that the Raysse painting was stolen?"

"Yes, I was with Ron!"

Harry looked back and forth between them, and Ron asked, "What night was that?"

"Erm, Sunday night."

Ron looked like he was thinking back. "Yeah, Hermione and I were together that night. We went out to dinner, one of those Muggle movies at the Cinema that she likes, and then we went back to her place."

Harry sagged in relief. "Oh, thank Merlin. I really didn't want it to be you, Hermione."

"Why would I have stolen a painting?" she asked in disbelief.

"I wondered that too, until I remembered your work with S.P.E.W.," Harry said. "I know those types of organizations need a lot of money to be able to work."

"Not that it's any of your business, but S.P.E.W. is doing quite well financially," she told him primly. "We've gotten loads of donations in the last few years."

"I was also thinking about that spell you used at the crime scene," he told them. "And how a thief would need extra time to be able to carve that rune into the floor."

Hermione looked around furtively, while Ron asked, "What spell?"

"I told you not to ask about it," she said.

"Well, when it comes up in a criminal investigation…" Harry told her. "If it hadn't been seemingly relevant, I wouldn't have said anything."

"What spell?" Ron asked again, louder this time.

Hermione groaned.

"Your girlfriend told Neville Longbottom and I that she had nicked a spell from the Department of Mysteries," Harry said.

"Which is precisely the reason I don't want everyone on earth knowing about it," she said through gritted teeth.

"What were you doing in the Department of Mysteries?" Ron asked, confused.

She looked back and forth between Ron and Harry, as if calculating the risks of revealing the truth. "I was working as a liaison with them at the time," she finally told them. "It was a top-secret partnership between the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of Mysteries, obviously. Neither party wanted the public, or even the rest of the Ministry, to know that they were working together on something."

"What could they possibly have to work on together?" Ron asked.

"That's classified information," Hermione told them wryly. "But while I was down there, I witnessed an Unspeakable doing that spell, and taught it to myself."

Harry shook his head in amazement. Fucking weird government things, of course, being the answer to his suspicions. This all left him without a lead suspect, however. And another question.

"What about the brown hair at the scene that you didn't tell Longbottom and I?"

She sighed. "I honestly just didn't think it would be relevant. Anyone can charm their hair to be a different colour, and it wasn't as if we would have any DNA testing technology to test who it belonged to."

Harry nodded. "Well, I'm glad you aren't the thief, Hermione, but now I'm back to square one."

"Well, apparently, I had unknowingly been acting suspiciously enough to garner your attention. Still, you need to brush up on your surveillance skills," she told him, laughing. "I shouldn't be able to notice you following me."

"What gave it away?" he asked.

"It was the sound of footsteps following me in every shop, and the occasional swishing of your invisibility cloak. By the way," she said, rustling the cloak between her fingers. "This is definitely not department issue. Where'd you get it?"

"It's a family heirloom," Harry said. "It was my dad's before he died."

Hermione looked like she might say something, and then closed her mouth abruptly.

"What?" he asked.

"Well, invisibility cloaks don't usually stay magicked long enough for them to become family heirlooms," she explained. "Demiguise hair fades as their lives do."

"Oh, er…" Harry couldn't exactly tell her about his role as the supposed Master of Death. "Classified?" he said, his statement sounding more like a question.

Hermione looked like she wanted to ask a question but was interrupted by the sound of the welcome bell over the shop door.

Harry looked in the direction of the shop door as he hastily stuffed his invisibility cloak into the pocket of his robes.

"Ron," the feminine voice called. Harry knew that voice, he thought as the voice continued. "Are you hiring?"

Ginny appeared from behind the shelf of Wonder Witch products, her height having hidden her.

She was beautiful, Harry thought as he drank her appearance in.

She was wearing a red sweater, denim trousers, and a pair of black boots. Ginny's hair hung down around her face and neck, lustrous, coppery, and so thick Harry wanted to get lost in it. Even though he thought she was beautiful, Harry also noticed that she looked wan. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin seemed paler than the last time he'd seen her… then again, the last time Harry had seen her, Ginny's skin had been rosy and flushed, eating beans on toast in his bed and completely naked.

"Oh, hello," Ginny's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I didn't know you had customers. Sorry, I can wait until you're done."

"Ginny, are you alright?" Ron asked, and Hermione moved closer to examine her.

"You look ill," Hermione observed. "Do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine," Ginny waved them off. "I just had strange dreams last night, is all." She looked as if she were reliving the images inside her mind.

"I've got some Lady Grey in the back, if you'd like," Ron told his younger sister, concern written all over his features.

"You know I can't turn that down," Ginny grinned tiredly. "Could I get some extra cream and honey?"

Ron nodded, leading them all up the stairs and to what was apparently an overhead flat. "This is mine," Ron told Harry. "Fred and George lived here when they first opened the shop, but after Fred… well, George found another place to live."

"A real swanky place, too," Ginny interjected. She wouldn't quite look at Harry.

Ron nodded again. "So, he said if I helped run the day-to-day at the shop, he'd let me live here rent-free."

"Sounds like a good deal," Harry said.

Ron grinned. "It's nice not living in my tiny attic bedroom."

"It helps that this place isn't Chudley Cannons orange," Ginny said. "His room at the Burrow is god-awful, uglier than a garden gnome."

"Why, you—" Ron mussed her hair, creating static and causing her hair to stand up a bit.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ginny told Ron. "That's an insult to the garden gnomes."

"Fuck you," Ron muttered. "See if I make your tea."

Ginny smiled and the way it made her face look did funny things to Harry's chest. She flipped Ron off, smiling as she plopped herself down on the sofa. "Ouch!" she frowned. "There's a spring in my bum."

"Sounds like a personal problem," Ron replied.

Around the two siblings' line of sight, Hermione met Harry's gaze and rolled her eyes, smiling as she said in explanation, "Weasleys."