Disclaimer: We don't own anything related to Harry Potter, that belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling and her cronies. We do own all original characters (mainly Bridget Griffins, Kagumi Pheonix, Raminus Slytherin, and Cordan Gryffindor) as well as all original interpretations of canon and the prose itself.
Chapter Two:
Too Close
"To act is to be committed, and to be committed is to be in danger." –James Baldwin
Harry had never been so glad to be a wizard. Bridget had insisted that he be comfortable, and her flatmate's idea of 'comfortable' involved one blanket, one couch and a seemingly endless variety of movies. Harry was feeling a bit hard pressed to keep his sense of honor intact, seeing as Kagumi (that was her name) had nipped out for a bit of shopping with Snuffles, and Bridget had fallen fast asleep halfway through the first movie. Kagumi had had a distinctly evil smirk on her face, not unlike the one Draco wore when he was setting Harry up for something; it was a look that gave him a sinking sensation in the vicinity of his stomach, a sensation of utter and imminent doom.
To make things worse (or better, he wasn't entirely convinced either way), Bridget had curled up around him in her sleep, arms firmly locked around a pillow and legs draped over his lap, and he couldn't move without waking her up. So he'd waited, and waited and waited, until finally, just as he felt that his legs might fall off from being so numb, she shifted. Slightly, but it was enough for him to slide out from under her and get up.
He checked to make sure she hadn't woken up and, after grabbing a quick glass of water, he took out his wand and started waving it in lazy circles, not really looking for anything particular. As the late Albus Dumbledore had once told him, constructing wards was something that could never be completely defined. It required a great deal of effort, a great deal of patience and a large amount of magic; it required more love than anything else, though.
All of those reasons were why Harry was surprised to find a low-level ward already built into the walls. Created by a skilled caster, more likely two, and keyed to the girls actually living there. He smiled half-heartedly; apparently Bridget and her flatmate had a wizard or two for a friend— well, aside from Harry, but they couldn't be as powerful as him.
With his work laid out before him, Harry set about building on the wards already there and visualizing creating actual barriers out of the protection he felt for this one woman. Satisfied that the first step had been taken, he took a deep breath and another sip of water before moving to the next room, which appeared to be Kagumi's.
The humidity hit him first; it felt heavy, and warmer than the time of year should have allowed for. Once the fog on his glasses faded, Harry could see that an ungodly amount of plants lined every available surface. The room itself was simple but elegant, he thought, and it revealed entirely too much about the girl for him to feel even remotely comfortable there.
Her desk was made of what looked like willow, but it was beyond him as to how they had gotten the thin branches mixed in with the wood of the trunk itself. The grain and willow branch patterns formed a neat, complicated Celtic knot pattern and he recalled her lilt from that morning. I'll have to ask Bridget where she's from, he thought. A strange—if amusing—contrast to the almost sturdy, old feel of the desk, instead of a chair, she used one of the blow-up exercise balls Americans seemed in a rush to buy. The closet door was firmly shut, was probably locked, and he didn't want to pry too much; he had the distinct feeling that she'd resort to violence if she found her things disturbed.
The king-sized bed had no frame, but sat on its box springs, which in turn sat on the floor. So, he mused, intrigued, she won't spring for a frame, but she'll buy a masterworked desk. The rest of the room was rather sparse, with an armoire which bore the same craftsmanship as the desk and a little bedside table which was battered and dingy. Running along one wall were several game systems, with each console resting on one shelf along with a selection of games, all hooked into a decent-sized telly.
On a stand in the corner was a suit of armor, but he couldn't recognize where he'd seen something like it; it niggled at him, and he just knew it would be one of those things that waited until an ungodly hour of the morning to reveal itself. The other wall was also covered in shelves, but these shelves had things like crystals and fountains, and were smothered with candles and incense. Harry could detect a faint residual magic, which was odd in and of itself, unless the ward-maker had spent a great deal of time in this room. The rest of the walls were hung with thick, ancient-looking tapestries. One was in silver and green, one in fiery colors and one that depicted a crude, if pretty scene. Looks almost like Stonehenge, he mused. Shaking his head, he finished up the third step of the wards, and quickly moved on, glad to be from the room; he still felt like he'd intruded.
Stopping in the loo, he first made sure that Malfoy had been right, and there were no magical Surveillance traces, or scrying spells that he could detect (Malfoy would ever let him live it down if he found out he'd checked). Besides, Harry wasn't sure if even Death Eaters would stoop to putting surveillance on the loo. He considered the fact that there were two very attractive females in the apartment, and decided not to think about it; he was already in enough trouble with his superiors without starting to get angry over (hopefully) nonexistent perverted spies.
With the wards waiting to be activated in every other room, he faltered a bit at Bridget's door, and tried to convince himself that he was doing this for the best. The Gryffindor side of him rebelled a little at entering, uninvited, a woman's room, but the practical side argued that he was only trying to keep her safe and she wasn't even in the room. Conscience still grumbling, he pushed the door open and, resisting the urge to keep his eyes shut the entire time, went to work.
At first he'd thought he was having a flashback to the brief time Hermione had lived in her own flat (she'd refused to move in with Ron until they were at least engaged, if not married), then he realized that Hermione would never keep have her books in such disarray and that there seemed to be more fiction than non-fiction.
Harry wondered if The Bookshop was just another place for Bridget to keep books, because there wasn't much space left in her room. Bookshelves covered three of the walls, books stacked on every shelf in a very haphazard, almost dangerous way. He grinned in amusement when he saw a little home-made sign, obviously put there as a joke, that read "CAUTION: Watch for Falling Books" in big, bright red letters.
Other than the shelves, there was a desk (also covered with books and a computer) and one of those leather swivel chairs Malfoy had been trying to convince him to get for the office. There was a matching mahogany dresser pushed into her open-doored closet, with a few dresses and formal clothes hung up, and a large, unmade bed with a headboard that seemed to match the desk and dresser pressed against the wall with a window. What he could see of the walls was painted a clean, cream color, with her blankets and curtains in a complimentary dark crimson.
If he had to make a guess, he would say that this was the master bedroom, but with the bookshelves, it seemed smaller, about the same size as Kagumi's. With a deep breath, he gave his wand a peculiar twist and finished up her room wards.
Satisfied that he'd milked his magic for all it was worth, he took a minute to link all of the room wards together, and complete both layers of the warding he'd set up, one with an overall protection, and then one that was tied to each individual room. Feeling rather drained, he started back towards the living room, where— He froze, heart pounding fearfully.
"James?" Bridget's voice echoed through the flat, sounding rather panicked. Hastily stowing his wand in his back pocket, lest she see it, he rushed in to find her half-tangled in the warm blanket. He sighed with relief, as her worried brown eyes locked on his and she smiled broadly. An oddly warm feeling settled deep in his chest as she yawned and stretched out the kinks in her shoulders.
"I'm here," he said, sitting back down and letting her throw the blanket over him again. "Everything okay?"
"I was worried," she said sleepily, tucking the blanket up under her chin and cuddling up to him. "I woke up and you had disappeared."
"It's okay, love. I won't leave yet. I've got the whole day off until tonight, and no Ma— Black to bother, so... I've really got nowhere better to be," he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling when she leaned into his touch a bit, drifting back off to sleep with a grin curving her lips. Idly, he wondered how she would react if he were to kiss her... Best not go there yet, Potter.
Great, now Malfoy's inside my head and my flat.... What next, my be— No, I really don't need that mental image. I'm not going there. Ever. Harry was well aware of the rumors that had followed their rivalry all throughout their schooling, about the way they fought constantly. And he was well aware that about half the Order thought something very similar, since it wasn't normal for two grown men to share one small flat, not for nearly two years, but it wasn't like that.
At least not from Harry's side. It was more... they'd come to an uneasy agreement, since no one else in the Order could deal with Malfoy. Oh, Hermione had tried, for about a week, but... well, Malfoy still didn't talk to her much, and she'd replaced her curtains three times that week. No one was stupid enough to ask what had gone on there, and neither of them were telling. It was probably better that way.
Since his change of loyalties, few of his former Slytherin friends would put him up either, not even his one-time girlfriend Pansy Parkinson. Only Crabbe and Goyle would meet with him regularly, and they were sharing a flat, so there probably wasn't much room for Malfoy. Even his current girlfriend Astoria Greengrass wouldn't live with him.
Of course, Harry scratched thoughtfully at his chin, that could be because no one knew that they were dating. Come to think of it, Harry wasn't even sure if they were still dating or not; Draco hadn't mentioned her lately. Seemed rather caught up in a friendship with a Muggle he'd developed a while ago, but Harry wasn't really one to pry. He got the impression that it was rather like most of Malfoy's friendships, and would only give him a headache if he tried to decipher it.
Harry was the only one who could terminally deal with Malfoy, and (he shifted subconsciously to let Bridget stretch her legs over his lap a bit more comfortably) his random mood swings— and terminal was indeed a good word to describe it at times. The other Auror was either sarcastic and biting, with a rapier-sharp wit that he never hesitated to use (this was guaranteed early in the day, unless he'd had his dose of caffeine), or he was miserably depressed.
It wasn't really hard to see why he got depressed and defensive often: he had lost most of what he cared about. His mother had died in that last battle at Hogwarts to protect him and Harry, and his father was still very much attached to Voldemort's side. Being an only child, he was pathetically alone, and his Aunt Bella... well, Harry had killed her himself. As for the relative they both shared, Sirius... Harry broke off that line of though.
But lately, it seemed that there was a third side to Malfoy that was coming out more and more. Who'd ever have guessed, back in school, that Draco Malfoy had this bad habit of randomly being cheerful and prank-happy? Crabbe and Goyle certainly never warned us; just sort of showed up with him on the doorstep and told us that there were others who wanted out as well... His mind sinking into memories of the past, Harry drifted off to sleep himself, with Bridget slowly curling around him; as his eyes fluttered closed one last time.
"Snuffles, dammit, wait a tic!" Kagumi panted, hurrying after the large dog. He was, quite literally, pulling her down the street, and she was using all of her balance to keep herself on her feet, never mind trying to control the dog. "Snuffles! Oh, sorry, love," she called, the man she'd just tripped glaring at her from the sidewalk.
"Okay, this stops NOW!" She yanked on the dog's leash, trying to look stern when he turned to give her a dirty look. "I am the human, here, and that means I decide where we go." He huffed, and started walking again, albeit at a more sedate pace. He almost looked upset. She sighed, and scratched him behind the ears. "Don't give me that, you speed demon. You can't just go tripping people. It's not nice." Snuffles whined pitifully as she entered the store.
"Oh, hey Gumi!" The usual clerk, and owner of the small market, waved.
"Dean!" Kagumi waved brightly, and Snuffles barked.
"Yes, I was getting to that, you glory hound," Dean said, stepping around the counter and petting the huge dog. "Who's a glory hound? You! You're a glory hound! Aww, yes you are!"
"Dean, I'll not have you getting inappropriate with him. Bridget would kill me," Kagumi said, her misty green eyes dancing with laughter. She'd met Dean Thompson the day she moved to London with Bridget, and become his friend the day after. She'd been nearly in tears because she'd forgotten something at her old flat, and his was the only store to have white truffle oil in the brand that she used.
He'd taken her to dinner the next night, and they talked for hours. Nothing much had come of it, but she and Dean made a good team, and good friends. Now, he laughed and held Snuffles' leash for her as she went shopping; there was a stash of his favorite dog biscuits behind the register.
"I'll be right back, Snuff, I've gotta get something for dinner tonight." With a plaintive howl, he tried to follow her until Dean opened a bag of dog biscuits and set it in front of him.
"He's going to be bigger than a house if you keep feeding him like that!" Kagumi called from two shelves over, setting two cartons of fresh eggs in her basket.
"Yeah, but he'll still be cute!" Dean said lazily, scratching the overly-intelligent dog behind the ears, and waiting idly as Kagumi went through her weekly routine.
"Well, then does that mean I'll get a discount for food here, since you're feeding Jet's dog until he grows to the size of a small cow? I refuse to die for your stupidity, Thompson." She grinned triumphantly. "Not without proper compensation, at least."
"Maybe," Dean laughed richly, and started ringing her up as she shopped; after a year, he pretty much had her usual list memorized. "Is that one box or two of hot chocolate?"
"Two. It's always two, you know tha..." she trailed off, looking in the door in the back. Usually it was never open, but today it swung wide, revealing a wide back room, big enough to swallow the store out front twice over with room to spare. "Whoa." The back of the shop looked bigger than the rest of it, and that was impossible, wasn't it? Dean noticed that she was gone, and hurried around the corner, cursing Seamus under his breath for not remembering important things... like the Statute of Secrecy.
"Shiteshiteshiteshite." He muttered a nonsensical word towards the door, and watched her mouth go slightly slack. That gave him a little time, but not much. With a hurried gesture, he shook her shoulder, turning her away from the illusioned room.
"What are you doing?" he asked lightly, relieved that she wasn't harmed.
"I... I'm not sure. Oh!" her green eyes got bigger. "Dean, the back of your shop is bigger than the front!" she pointed.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about, love. It's the back, and that means that it's smaller than the front. Here, I'll show you." His dark hand flicked on the light switch, and he prayed with all the fervor he'd ever shown that his Charms skills hadn't gone to waste.
"Oh. But just a few seconds ago it was..." She shook her head rapidly, trying to clear it. "Okay, I guess I'm seeing things," Kagumi said slowly, looking into her basket. "And I'm still not finished shopping." Quickly gathering the rest of the things she needed, she took them up to the register, trying to clear the errant thoughts out of her head.
"Where are you off to after this, love?" Dean's normally cheerful voice sounded a bit strained as he put her groceries into two paper bags.
"I think I'm going to catch a cuppa at the Coffee Pot," his friend's voice was still hazy, but she'd be alright soon. He hoped, anyway; Manda would kill him if he had given Gumi brain damage.
"That sounds good. Tell Manda I said that I'll see her tonight."
"Will do," Kagumi called cheerfully, looping Snuffles' leash around her waist and carrying the two bags of groceries down the street, towards her workplace. As she left, Dean leaned against the door, sighing. He made a mental note to strangle his best mate the very next time he saw him.
"That was too close."
"Gumi, what are you doing here?" Amanda asked, wiping her sudsy hands on her apron. "It's your day off."
"Yeah, but I couldn't resist the allure of The Coffee Pot." Kagumi cracked up, then winced as Snuffles strained to get inside out of the light rain that had begun to fall. "Ow. Sounds like you've got another date with Dean tonight, Manda."
"Oh really?" Amanda blushed nicely, and lowered her eyes. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, I was just shopping and he told me to tell you that he'll see you tonight." Kagumi smiled evilly, the after-effects of whatever Dean had done to her long gone in the chilly London fog. Amanda continued blushing, and took one of the bags of groceries, setting it on the low counter by the door.
Kagumi sighed with relief, setting the other bag beside it and slipping the dog's leash off her waist (she had to fasten it around her waist; it was the only way the dog wouldn't totally pull her off her feet) and handing it to Amanda. It seemed like all of their friends loved the dog as much as the two caretakers did, and sometimes she suspected they were friends only for the dog's company. Shaking her head, Kagumi started a pot of coffee the way she liked it.
"By the way," Greg called from the register, "Your favorite guy in the world is here."
"I know," Kagumi purred, sliding an arm around Greg's waist and kissing his cheek; Amanda rolled her eyes, smiling. The two of them always played like that, even if Gregory was gayer than a tree of nitrous oxide-hopped monkeys. "I'm looking at him."
"Not me, you twit. Him," Greg jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and Kagumi stood on her tiptoes to see. Sure enough, the blonde git was muttering to himself by the front door, looking around as if panicked.
It surprised her, and gave her a little jolt of satisfaction, to see that perfect hair mussed. Briefly, she imagined running her fingers through that silky mass, and then shook her head; just because she'd finally admitted that there might be something there was no reason to indulge in mindless fantasies.
"Oh, love, he's always here." She dismissed him with a casual wave; over the months, she'd gotten very good at pretending that she wasn't hyper-aware of him.
"You should've heard him talking to Benny," Amanda called from scratching Snuffles' ears, her baby blue eyes glinting. "Gave him right tonguelashing, he did."
"Oh God," Kagumi's voice was obscured by her hand, and she refused to meet any of their eyes. "Do I even want to know what about?"
"Well, you, of course. How he'd come to expect to see you in here, every day, and how it wasn't safe for you to be alone, and all this nonsense.... Sounded like he was really more scared than anything." Amanda turned her blue eyes back towards Kagumi, trying to figure out what was going on without blowing her own cover. "Let's say this, love: he made Benny so angry that Carrie sent him home. Wasn't fit for dealing with customers."
"God, I'm so sorry. But that certainly sounds like him," she muttered, pressing her cool hands to her burning cheeks. Greg removed his arm from her waist, and looked down at her.
"You need to go talk to him," he said, nodding at Amanda, who flanked her. "Now."
"Don't wanna," Kagumi mumbled, as Amanda shoved a tray with two cups of the coffee she'd just made in her hands. "Can't make me."
"Oh really?" Greg's voice was thick was amusement, and he and Amanda shoved her out onto the floor. "We'll take care of Snuff for you," he called out, waving her onwards as she stumbled with the laden tray. Cheeky bastard of a friend, she thought as she silently walked towards the blonde man, who was running his fingers through his hair as though he'd lost something.
Draco paced by his favorite chair, angry and scared. First Potter had to go and protect his little lovebird, and now his waitress was missing. His waitress! Draco had heard that some of the Death Eaters were upping Muggle capture rates, but here, in London? Without anyone noticing? "Surely not," he muttered, smoothing his fine hair down again.
"Surely not what?" came the soft, lilting voice he'd been hoping to hear that morning.
"There you are!" He whirled around, startling her. She set the tray down and sat in the chair next to him, face blank. "Where have you been?" he asked, a little too harshly.
"Well, love, there are such things as 'days off.' Today was supposed to be mine," she replied mildly, looking at him with interest. "Would you have stayed here until closing if I hadn't shown up?"
He knew his face was a study in worry, and the fact that he was worrying over a Muggle made him wrinkle his nose. She's not just any Muggle though, he decided. She's... she's the only one in London who can make a decent cup of coffee. Draco was very specific about his coffee addiction. Only the best.
"No, of course not." Irritated, he sprawled into the plush chair beside her, one hand on his chin. "Still," he said sulkily.
"Coffee?" she asked, holding out a cup to him with the air of one offering the Fountain of Youth.
"No. When you're not here, they can't make it worth a damn." Grinning, she put the mug into his hands and took the other for herself; he stared at her as she crossed her long legs, and one eyebrow rose as he realized just how good they looked, even in jeans.
"But I did make this one," she said. "Fresh out of the pot". Relieved, and feeling somewhat unnerved at said relief, he drank happily at her words, and she tried to ignore the ball of butterflies in her stomach; it felt like they were smoking something of questionable legality.
Hermione had horrible timing. Harry placed himself in the doorway, blocking her view of his flat. This was all Malfoy's fault; if he hadn't made Snuff trip him, then he wouldn't have had blood all over his shirt and needed to get another one, and he wouldn't have Bridget in his flat when his Hogwarts friends came to visit, since she'd insisted on coming with him to make sure he was all right. "This isn't a good time, Hermione."
"I need you to watch Rose, Har—"
"I have, um—"
She fixed him with a stern stare that made him want to start non-existent homework. "You are her godfather, and I know you're off-duty, so don't even think about getting out of it. Penny just called; Avery is trying to get another Muggleborn Restriction Act passed, and I need to get there right now to convince those closed-minded politicians that it really is a ridiculous idea, but Ron's still in Romania with Charlie, and I can't bring her with me."
"Really, this is a very—"
"James?" Harry watched, horrified, as Bridget walked in with his foe glass in hand. Could this really be happening to him; did Irony hate him this much? "What's this?"
"Harry," Hermione breathed, wide-eyed with surprise. A wry, self-satisfied smile worked its way onto her face. "I knew you were hiding something from us," she whispered.
"That's an, um, art piece," he told Bridget, turning his back to Hermione and ignoring her. "Drake picked it up one day."
Thankfully, Bridget didn't look up, still frowning down at the glass. "It's kinda cool," she said, entranced by it. Harry suddenly had the urge to see if there were any faces visible to her, but he needed to talk to Hermione before this got any more mucked up. "I think I'll put it back."
"Okay." He watched as she wandered out of the room again, and spun back around. "Seriously, Hermione, I don't really have the time."
"You have a girlfriend?"
Harry flushed red. He hated having to repeat that. "No. She's a friend, from The Bookshop."
"Hm," and Harry knew she didn't believe him. "I'm assuming she's the one you rushed off to check on after yesterday's meeting?"
"Yes." He was digging himself in even deeper; he knew that look on Hermione's face. She used her shoulder to push herself pass him and into the room. "Hermione—"
"What's your coverstory?" she asked, putting the baby bag on his couch and bouncing Rosie in her arms.
"Really, I don't see—"
"Your," Hermione interrupted sternly, "coverstory."
"My name's James Evans," he said in a low voice, quickly realizing that he wasn't going to get her out of his flat in time. She was going to be a great disciplinarian; she was a great disciplinarian, which was good because Ron was bound to be a pushover. "She knows I went to a boarding school in Scotland, and about... my issues with my adoptive family. I'm a Detective Inspector, and she thinks that there's some— in her words— "weird cop thing" going on, apparently her father was a police officer in Hawaii and she's used to it, which is worrying enough on its own. She's a Muggle, the one I get your books from. Malfoy's Detective Inspector Drake Black. Also, she's read the books. Good enough?"
"Perfect." Hermione shifted Rose in her arms. "If she's read the books I'll go by Helen Westly until you come clean; Ron and Rose can keep their names."
"I can't come clean," he said in furious undertones. "She'll—"
"James?" Harry looked towards the hall entrance, where Bridget had stopped, staring uncertainly at Hermione and Rosie. "Should I... leave?"
"No!" he replied instantly, almost shouting. Bridget gave him a startled look, and Harry could practically feel Hermione's smug smile. He winced. "I mean, no. This is... Helen Westly, and her daughter Rosie. I, uh, went to school with her, and she's married to my best mate."
"Oh."
Bridget gave one of her small smiles, the one that he'd come to realize meant she was uncomfortable, and stepped forward, cautiously making her way to Harry's side. She was standing closer than she normally did, and Harry was finding this shyer side rather adorable. No, he had to focus.
"Helen, this is Bridget Griffins. She's the only one who seems to be able to get your books. Both physically and intellectually; she's explained most of them to me."
"Oh, you're that friend," Bridget said, smiling fully. She seemed much more relaxed now that they were talking about books; it was a good thing Hermione needed to leave soon. "Your taste in books is really quite excellent. I think I've read every book you asked James to order; my own copy, of course." Her eyes flickered down to Rose, and she took a step closer. "How old is she?"
"Three months." Hermione grinned up at Harry, and he was sure Bridget was too focused on the child to see it. "James here is going to fulfill his duties as godfather and watch her while I take care of an emergency at work. You don't mind, do you?"
"Of course not," Bridget said. "I adore babies."
Harry realized that he was now trapped, and, unless he wanted to look like a total prat, he would be babysitting for the foreseeable future. He had no clue what to do with babies other than what he learned from the parenting classes he had gone to with Ron (Hermione was very insistent that they be properly trained) and the small amount of time he'd spent with Rosie with Hermione around.
"Well, I must be getting to work now." Hermione shifted Rose into Harry's arms, and gave him what he was sure she thought was a reassuring smile. He was terrified. "Her changing things, milk, and anything else you might need are in the bag; she'll probably want to eat in thirty minutes. I should be back by five." And she was gone.
Rose really was adorable, as much as Harry like teasing Ron about that not being the case. She had the red hair that all Weasleys had (he wondered if any of Hermione's children would get her brown hair) and it was curly, like Mrs. Weasley's or Hermione's. Her face strongly hinted of Hermione, but her eyes and freckles all came from Ron. She moved closer to his chest, and Harry froze, afraid that he'd wake the baby up.
"James, you can relax." Harry looked up from Rose. Bridget was giving him a look that he wanted to call fond amusement, her brown eyes sparkling. "You don't have much experience with children, do you?"
He flushed red. "Not under eleven," he admitted sheepishly.
"Well, you're doing good enough so far. Just relax, babies are good at sensing moods, so she'll be more likely to fuss if you're all tense." She put a hand on his elbow, right above Rosie's head, and he felt the tight muscles relax at her touch. "I called Gumi and told her that I was with you, so she won't worry. If you want, I can stay until Helen gets back."
"That would be really nice," and even Harry could hear the pure relief in his voice.
"All right then. Do you have spare blankets, and maybe a few pillows? We could make a makeshift bed on the floor, so you're not stuck holding her the entire time. Babies this young mostly sleep and eat and do other things that require diaper changes."
"Uh, yeah." He said. "In the spare closet; the door right before the loo."
"Okay. I'll be right back." She started walking towards the hall, but stopped halfway there. "You know you can sit down, right?"
"I'm fine."
Bridget smiled, looking like she was sincerely trying not to laugh. "Okay. Back in a sec."
It must've only been fifteen or so minutes later, but by the time she returned, Harry had lost all feeling in his arms. He had thought he was pretty fit, but he was using muscles he didn't know he had in ways he didn't know was possible. At least Rosie hadn't woken up. With quick, efficient movements, Bridget folded the large blanket into fourths, and, kneeling on the ground, spread it out in front of the couch and put the pillows around the edges.
She stood and motioned for Harry to come closer. "I'm going to take her from you, okay? Just stay still until I have her."
"'Course." Almost self-consciously, Bridget maneuvered her hands under Rose, and there was a moment where they were pressed together with Rosie in between, her arms against his chest, and his arms against her-- and Harry was torn between embarrassment, worry that he was somehow going to damage his goddaughter, and, well, something that wasn't appropriate in front of an infant. Then it was over, and Bridget, with an ease that Harry was jealous of, gently placed the baby in the blanket-crib.
Unsteady from standing in the same position for almost a half-hour, Harry sank onto the couch. Bridget sat next to him. They had approximately eleven minutes of quiet before (in Harry's opinion, and he thought he had a pretty good idea as to what constituted chaos) all hell broke loose. Rosie started wailing with volume that was astonishing from something so small, causing Harry to jump up with his hand on his wand handle before he realized what the noise was coming from; Bridget reacted much more calmly.
She stood and picked Rosie up from the blankets. After cooing a few things at the infant, Rosie almost instantly calmed down, waving her arms at Bridget's finger... dear Merlin.
Harry watched, shocked, as Bridget used one hand to keep Rosie occupied, supporting the infant with the other arm. He'd always been told that you were supposed to use two hands to hold babies, especially when standing, but, when he thought about it, Hermione had used only one at times. Maybe it was a woman thing; Ron was still terrified of dropping his daughter.
"I think she's hungry," Bridget said, sitting back down. "Helen said she'd want feeding in a half-hour, and that was at least forty minutes ago. Can you get one of the bottles from the bag and heat it up? Not too hot, though, just a bit warm. Test a drop on your inner wrist and if it's hot on your skin, then it'd be too hot for the baby."
Harry nodded and fished through the bag for a bottle, thanking Merlin that he hadn't had Bridget look for anything yet; Hermione had charmed the bag to be both lighter and bigger than it really was. Once he located the container (already filled with... er... milk; Hermione was doing everything naturally— which was something Harry really didn't want to dwell on) he went into the kitchen and pulled out his wand to warm the milk. Once he was sure it was warm enough, he tested the liquid.
It seemed warm enough... or cool enough; Harry wasn't sure which. Then again, he could be wrong. When they had dormed together, Ron had always complained about how Harry had liked his showers too hot, and steamed up the room. Maybe his tolerance for heat was higher than was normal.
Harry left the kitchen, intent on figuring out whether he had screwed up or not, but froze in the doorway. Bridget was still on his couch, happily keeping the giggling baby occupied while he got her food, giggling a few times herself. She looked up at the precisely wrong— right?— moment and Harry was rendered momentarily speechless by several, quick realizations.
One: Malfoy was right (in spirit, if not in actual words), and Harry had already fallen for his Muggle bookstore clerk; two: there was no possible way this could end the same way the single, quick relationship he had been in since Ginny (Phoebe had hated the petnames he sometimes called her, and his friends, and his sometimes overwhelming protectiveness and his mood swings, and... well... most things, but it had been her disdain of children that had ultimately killed their relationship); and, three: he was about to do something either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid; he really wasn't sure which.
"Would you like to go out with me?" he asked, before his brain caught up with his mouth.
Bridget gave him a surprised look, her mouth open in a small 'o' as she glanced between him and the baby, which was precisely when Harry realized that most guys wouldn't ask a girl out when she's acting maternal over an infant; most guys got freaked out over the idea of having children; most guys didn't want a family as badly as Harry did; most guys didn't just want to find that one, perfect girl and settle down (just like his mum and dad, who got married at nineteen and had him at twenty-one, but he'd never admit that out loud); most guys have a normal, safe life. But, Harry wasn't like most twenty-two year old guys; he'd be the first to admit that. He rather hoped Bridget wasn't like most nineteen year old girls, who would get nervous at such a prospect.
"Yes," she responds, blushing an attractive shade of pink as her entire face lit up. Harry let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, unable to restrain the smile spreading across his face. "I'd like that a lot."
His eyes are nice, Kagumi thought hazily. I wish he'd smile more; they crinkle quite nicely, and suit the faint lines around his lips that are so evident when he smiles. In fact, the sweet, clear eyes burning into hers made her think of crazy things, and she recalled, with vivid clarity, that Bridget had often accused her of being obsessed. She frowned; actually, everyone accused her of being obsessed. Maybe it was time to look into those accusations...
"Now what's got such beautiful lips pouting like that?" his smooth voice asked. Draco reflected on his waitress as he took another sip of coffee, watching as her cheeks began to burn in the misty light filtering in from the street. She rearranged her shapely legs uncomfortably, and his eyes lingered on them more than necessary.
"Nothing," she replied quickly, draining her cup; unsure why, or how, but something in the atmosphere of the Coffee Pot, or something about the newly-minted feel of the day, or maybe the mint she always used in their coffee made her feel, for a moment, a little too close to this man whose name she didn't even know. The Coffee Pot was nearly empty, and in the hazy light, the way she could hear his breathing in the quiet, it was nearly too intimate. Her heart was pounding in her chest.
Her hair is down today, he thought idly; it makes her look older, more dignified. He watched her surreptitiously watching him, and felt the familiar swooping of his stomach. The girl's eyes crinkled at the corner and she wrinkled her nose at him; it was easy to laugh with her, Draco reflected. Much easier than it was with Potter.
Potter was amusing to make fun of, because he became such easy prey with his faltering and his blushing, but this one... Draco wasn't sure yet, but there was something strange about her. She made life fun, somehow, was able to take his mind far away from The War, and far away from everything and everyone else. It was a joy to be able to have that balm, even though each time he saw her, he swore it would be the last. No matter how many times Potter accused him of being heartless, he did care about her, in ways that were probably unhealthy to his joke of a relationship with Astoria, and he was terrified that just by him being a patron, he'd bring the War crashing down on her little Irish head.
It was a double edged sword, really: if he stopped seeing her, to stop the War from messing her about, there was a chance that she would still get in trouble. And he dreaded to think of what could happen to a Muggle in a Magical War with no wizard to protect her. So he kept coming back, strictly to make sure that The War hadn't found her just yet.
Or at least, that's how he justified it. That and the coffee.
Why is he looking at me like that? Kagumi wondered fretfully, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers. He followed the strand's path with his cool eyes, down her arm and back up to her face. She watched his eyes trailing down her face, looking very much as though his fingers would follow, when she looked down.
"I'm out of coffee," she whispered, taking both cups. "Would you like some more?"
"Yeah," he said softly, following the sway of her hips as she disappeared behind the counter. "I would like that..."
Oh, God, Kagumi thought, leaning her burning face against the cold metal of the cooler. He affects me entirely too much...
"Pence for your thoughts?" Amanda's voice asked.
"They're too strong for a pence, you'd be getting a steal," Kagumi replied, not lifting her eyes.
"Tell me anyway; you look like you stumbled onto two people doing more than making out in the back row of a cinema."
"I've been talking to him, and I think..." Kagumi looked at her friends, who were leaning on each other, and looking very concerned. "I think you guys are right: I can't stop thinking about him." Disgusted with herself, she began refilling their cups, pointedly ignoring the hushed huzzahs in the background. "You two don't have to gloat, you know. It's very immature," she tossed towards the two workers, who were not-so-secretly high-fiving each other now.
"Manda, you still got any of that pretty paper back here?" she asked, heading back towards the desk. Amanda followed her quickly, nervously, and watched as her slightly-more-than ordinary friend dug through Amanda's desk. Thankfully, Amanda saw what she was looking for roll out of the girl's way as she pulled out a piece of light blue paper, and wrote something on it in her small, corsiva script.
"What are you doing, love?" Greg asked, putting on his coat to leave; Kagumi realized belatedly that he must've reached the end of his shift and was getting ready to go home to his boyfriend.
"I'm about to do something that will either make me very happy, or very miserable… incredibly brilliant, or incredibly stupid; I'm just not sure which," Kagumi replied evenly, taping the small piece of paper to the underside of the man's cup. With one last calming breath, she put the cups back on the tray and returned to their small table.
"There you are," he said, his head titling back and revealing his pale throat; his eyes were closed, and she could just see the beginning of his collarbones underneath the top two buttons, which were...
Oh, my… It took an act of will not to lick her lips and her thoughts skidded to an abrupt halt as she saw what he'd done while she was gone: the top two buttons of his white shirt were undone, and the overall effect made her knees tremble. The sight of his light, soft-looking skin pulsing right at the hollow of his throat mesmerized her, and it wasn't a feeling she was used to. Hands shaking, she set the softly clinking tray down on the small table and swallowed with difficulty; it seemed that her mouth had suddenly turned into the driest desert in the world.
"Sleeping on the job? And what if I'd been some horrible enemy of yours, eh?" Kagumi smiled uneasily as he cracked one narrow eye open at her in bemusement. "It could happen," she said defensively, sipping on her coffee. Talking was helping, so long as she kept her gaze away from that seductively undone shirt. His one-eyed gaze turned to the steaming coffee waiting to be drunk, and then shut again, waiting and biding time.
Draco was very observant, he'd be proud to have you know. In the hour that they'd been talking, the girl had shifted closer, settling herself against the arm of the sofa-like seat, and she was getting progressively more spirited, and apparently more bold. He'd felt the disturbance in the air as the girl reached out to touch him (not that he could blame her; he was perfect after all) and pull back several times; he wondered if she knew what she was doing.
"I don't bite you know," he said softly, feeling the breeze of her fingertips. "Unless you want me to."
"What if I do want you to?" she asked, not caring that she was knee deep and sinking fast. He liked the way her voice was huskier than normal; it made him shift his body, hands clenched slightly. If he wasn't careful, he would succumb to the temptation to trace her hair's earlier path and find out if that skin was as smooth as it looked.
"Well, of course you want me to. I am a sex god," he said, and she wasn't sure if he was joking or not. The line sounded like something from a movie, but then again, it could have been his ego. It certainly sounded like an invitation, and she wasn't sure if she would resist. If she even could resist.
He is entirely too attractive for his own personal safety; if he's not careful, someone will ravish him on the street, she decided. Kagumi's face burned bright with his statement. And it's more than looks; it's his entire demeanor. From the way he carries himself to the sparkle in his eyes when he laughs. Feeling more than flustered, she extended her arm and ran one fingertip down his cheek. His skin was soft, and warm, and her breath sped up just a bit as he turned his head and caught her fingertip gently between his teeth; she shivered. If I'm going down, might as well break all the rules I can...
As she pulled her arm back, checking the time seemed like a good idea; after all, it was her turn to cook dinner tonight, and even though Bridget had called, it was always better to get things ready, not to mention that it gave her a reason not to look him in the eyes just yet.
"Bloody hell," she stood rapidly, pulling her leather jacket off her chair. Draco's body, which had been relaxed, tensed as he watched her prepare; the note of mild panic in her voice set him off, and he found himself sitting up suddenly.
"What?" he asked, keeping his voice calm while his eyes roamed the store, looking for whatever had distressed her; he tried to ignore the part of him that suggested ripping offenders in twain with his bare hands.
"I've got to get home. I've spent nearly three hours here."
With a pointed look at his coffee, she waggled her fingers in farewell as she quickly disappeared behind the employee's partition in the kitchen. Two minutes later, he heard the back door open and close again, and sighed, already worried that some Dark idiot would pick his Muggle up on her way home. To settle his nerves, he picked up his coffee, finally, and took a long sip, savoring the rich chocolate and mint flavors mixing, just the way she always made it.
It had been pure coincidence that he'd stumbled into The Coffee Pot, about eight months ago. He and Potter had been scouting for likely resistance cells in London, and had stopped around The Bookshop's area, in case Death Eaters were considering it. Potter had stopped to talk to his lovebird, and Draco'd been bored. Really bored. And cold. It was unseemly for a Malfoy to be both cold and bored. And tired. Cold, bored and tired was just plain wrong.
Since Potter had been so wrapped up in talking to the bookstore clerk, and forgotten that he'd set Draco out on watch, Draco had left. He wasn't proud of it, but he'd lost his temper and just gone to find somewhere to get warm. After stumbling around a bit on icicle-legs, he'd found the little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, with the snappy waitress and chairs so comfortable it ought to be illegal.
Their first encounter had very nearly resulted in violence. And some days, he was still fairly sure she wanted to deck him. But somewhere, somewhere along the way, the bickering and snarky verbal jousting matches had turned into something else. She started smiling at him, and he couldn't erase her from his thoughts. They still argued; he didn't think anything could change that. The arguing was a thing of familiarity, something to hold onto when nothing else seemed to go right. And he secretly loved that, even when they'd first met, she could match him in an argument without backing down, and had kept that trait.
It had been eight long, grueling months, he reflected, and he'd almost never left. Six out of seven days were spent here, wasting his Muggle money on the best coffee in London, and slowly getting to know a waitress that he wasn't even supposed to know existed. His entire personality had changed, with his newfound love for and addiction to coffee of any sort, so long as it was painfully sweet, and Astoria hadn't been exactly understanding about it; the long arguments about where he spent the hours off-duty were exhausting to even think about. Depression setting in, he sighed, and wrapped his long fingers around the mug, his favorite. It was dark green, and glazed with a pattern that made the scoring look like scales. He wondered how she remembered such small things so easily; he supposed it was part of her effortless charm.
His fingers brushed the bottom of the cup, and he frowned, pulling the paper off. "What the hell?" he muttered, unfolding the pale blue paper and reading over the elegant-looking script. It was a bunch of numbers. "Heh," he smirked, taking another drink of the coffee. She gave me her 'number'. I'm pretty sure that Potter said that was a Muggle way of saying she likes me. Of course the prat conveniently forgot that when he gave that clerk his number. He tucked the little piece of paper into his pocket, and strolled out the door, whistling to himself, occasionally brushing a finger against the paper as if to reassure himself that it was really there.
Amanda watched him go from the cameras in the back room, and shook her head. "Who'd ever have guessed?"
Authors Notes: Okay guys, we've caught up just a bit on our ENORMOUS workload. Biddy's got her stuff, I've got my stuff, and God help us all, we've both got stuff together. And it seemed like…we keep adding to it, some how.
Anyway, I may have just gotten a new (writing) job, so updates are going to be a little…wackier. As if they weren't wacky enough, I can already see you fans shaking your heads, I know. So PVV is usually going to be ten days behind a DIN update, and as we updated DIN ten days ago, it's time for PVV. Enjoy the easy pace on this chapter: next one is when more action kicks in.
Thanks to all those who reviewed and added us to favorites or alerts! We love you all.
~Kagumi
Edit Note: Sorry, guys, but the bit about Draco and Gumi's first meeting has been cut out and modified. Blame the one-shot spree that we've been on. It's still good, but now you have a full scene instead of an actual recollection, and we'll be posting that as soon as we get the latest PVV out to you.
~Gumi