A/N: YOU GUYS MAKE ME SO HAPPY. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and following my story. I love you guys so damn much. You're the best.
I loved writing this chapter- you get to see Harry! That's always fun. There's a bit of a darker tone here though, not so fluffy. No lemons this chapter- but oh boy. The next one- I got you covered. ;)
Let me know how you like this chapter!
As the months drew on, the Order began to trust Thorfinn. The younger members of the Order had attended school with him, and had never known him to be outright awful to anyone but Hermione. They also knew she gave as much as she got when it came to the Viking, so it was rather easy to forgive him. Instead of continuing to drive the wizard insane by giving him mundane tasks to do, they asked more of him. They needed someone to make potions to heal the members that were injured in raids, and they needed someone to research counter curses. Hermione was originally the holder of that job title, but much to her dismay, she was asked to relinquish it to Thorfinn.
Thorfinn spent his days at the safehouse stirring potions and preparing ingredients. In school, he favored potions. The routine of chopping, slicing, draining, stirring, and simmering was calming to him. In the labs, he was dominating and never worked well with a partner. He didn't want to talk or delegate tasks. It was frustrating for him to have people among the Order come in and supervise and question his actions. He was a capable wizard, but he found it difficult to work under the scrutiny of people who knew next to nothing about healing potions.
Hermione ran her hands through Thorfinn's long golden hair. He was so tense, and looked to be on the verge of pulling it out. For something that made him as handsome as he was, that was simply unacceptable. Contrary to her 'prudish' attitude, she often times found herself fantasizing about pulling on it as he put his mouth to better use. To keep herself from getting too warm under the collar she reassured him, "I know you hate it, but you're doing a great job."
"Oi, is that a compliment I hear? From Research Royalty herself?" He was grinning from ear to ear, and thanks to her skilled hands, he was finally able to loosen up a little. Spending days on end at a table, in chairs that were more suited for firewood, had taken a toll on his body. Every time he stood, his joints cracked and ached. Not even a hot shower could relieve the stiffness; he desperately needed a deep tissue massage, so he pulled the little witch's hands to his shoulders.
Hermione tried her hardest to sound convincingly condescending, "Rowle, I forgot to add that you're doing well for a wizard with such a poorly developed brain. I'm actually surprised you can even read words that are longer than four letters." She dug her fingers into his shoulders and had to fight the urge to moan aloud when he groaned. Hermione worked her way up to his neck from his strong shoulders, and noted the chill bumps erupting across his skin.
"Little lioness, be thankful I am here to assist you; without me you have absolutely no one that has a fair amount of brain capacity to work with. I'm shocked the Weasel can even cast a shield by the way he behaves, and Longbottom, Merlin, he's a hair away from being a squib." Rowle knew his words would spark a fire in Granger, and that is what he lived for. He continued to enjoy the massage he was receiving until he felt a sudden loss of pressure on his neck, and received a very sharp 'whack!' against the back of his head. Call him a masochist, but he lived for those moments.
It had been eight months since he was seized by his witch, and Thorfinn Rowle had not seen beyond the walls surrounding the land the safe house was situated on. He was thankful for the seclusion at times because he knew if he were ever found by his previous acquaintances, he'd be dead only after being interrogated and tortured. Life outside the peace and safety of the Order Headquarters was darker than ever, and much more dangerous. Thorfinn could smell the death and carnage on the robes of the witches and wizards lucky enough to return after missions.
"Harry? Oh Merlin, what's wrong?" Hermione rushed to meet a singed and bloody Harry Potter who'd just arrived after the latest mission. The plan was to rescue hostages from Diagon Alley, most of them being young adults. It was supposed to be simple- very few Death Eaters were on shift at this particular time of day.
Harry spoke after a moment, "It was a trap. There were no hostages. Ron," he hesitated. The world stopped turning, and time slowed to a crawl. "Ron is hurt. Ron is bad, Mione. Everyone else has minor injuries, but he was hit hard by something from Dolohov." Harry's eyes were darting around the room, looking from face to face as if he were keeping a count. "Everyone, I know it's hard. We've been fighting for months, years in fact for some of us. We've been hit hard, but we can't stop."
Hermione grasped Thorfinn's hand and sunk into his side. He held her up, easily, but he had no idea what to say to her to hold her up emotionally. He knew by the looks of the wound, he was hit by Dolohov's signature curse, and he would not make it. His own magic would burn through his veins like acid as a result of Dolohov's clinging to it- forcing it to end its own human's life.
Ron hadn't been much of a wizard to Rowle, but to Hermione he'd been a best friend; he'd been a constant in her life from the first year she'd known she was a witch. For ten years Ronald Weasley had been by her side, even if it meant he was also a thorn in her side.
Harry continued, "Their numbers are growing, but Voldemort is growing weaker. His horcruxes have been destroyed. He's all that is left. If we can take him, we can take his followers." The members filling the room began to agree, and the energy filled the room. They weren't sure how, but they could do it. They would all fight for Ronald Weasley because, after all, he was their king.
The weeks following the death of Ronald Weasley were by far, the hardest of Hermione's life. He was too young like so many others lost in the war that seemed never ending. She wouldn't admit it herself, but she became reckless. She went on every mission and fought ruthlessly. Her magic crackled throughout her hair and flew out of her wand as if it were an extension of her body. It was beautiful, but terrifying. Harry began to worry about her, as did the rest of the Order. Sure, they were thankful for the dedication and vigilance, but she was endangering herself as well.
Harry made his way to the makeshift potions labs to speak to Thorfinn. He didn't know what to do for Hermione, but there had to be something- some way- to control the raging wildfire that was consuming her. The only person he knew to go to for help was the man he knew she was falling in love with, and whether she knew it or not, he didn't know. He sure as hell wasn't going to ask either. Harry stood at the door for a moment, not quite sure how to address the mountain of a man bent over his workbench.
"Potter, do you plan on speaking or are you just here to admire my arse?" Rowle never ceased his work, so how he knew it was the messy-haired man, Harry would never know. He continued bottling potions, obviously waiting for the man to respond.
Harry stepped into the room and closed the door. He didn't want anyone overhearing the conversation. "Rowle, as handsome as you think you are, I'm not here for you. I think we both know why I'm here." He leaned up against the brick wall of the basement, fidgeting with his hands. "Look," he started, so unsure of his words he almost seemed to choke on them, "I- I know that you care for Hermione."
Rowle stopped his work, and dropped his ladle, turning to look at the nervous wizard. Not sure what to say to that, he shrugged his shoulders waiting for Harry to continue.
Harry cleared his voice, and speaking with more certainty he said, "I know that she means a great deal to you, and I know that you'd protect her if it came down to it- if she needed it. And Rowle, she needs it."
Thorfinn ran his hands through his hair, pulling at his scalp before crossing his arms. He was tense and didn't really know what to say. He had no clue what to do for the witch that he'd grown to love.
"Potty, look. I'm not her father. She's a big girl, and capable of protecting herself. You forget she was the one who managed to capture me." Rowle shook his head and laughed a bit at the memory, "I mean, you've seen what she can do. Everyone has, and she doesn't want to be saved by anyone. She's her own hero." With no intentions of the conversation going on any longer, he returned to his work.
Harry stepped up to the bench and slammed his fists against it, knocking vials over in the process. "Damn it, Rowle! You look at me and you bloody well better listen. That is my best friend, and she is the only family I have left. I'm not asking you to chain her down and keep her here. I'm not asking you to change who she is or- or confess your undying love and bloody marry her," Harry's voice was building into a mighty crescendo, "I'm asking you- no I fucking demand that you do something." Harry's eyes were wild and his knuckles were white. "I don't know what to do, but I know you can give her something to stay for. She's fighting for the sake of it! She doesn't give a shit who she leaves, but I need her!"
In the moment of silence that followed his outburst, Rowle respected Harry Potter more than he ever had. While at Hogwarts, the Great Harry Potter was the Chosen One, but Rowle had never understood it. He seemed too cowardly- weak even. Now he knew why he was so loved, why he was praised by so many. Harry was inherently good even among the terrible of the world. A kind of good that he'd never be, a kind of good his Hermione was.
Thorfinn turned his back to the wizard. "I'll try my best, Potter, but you've lost your mind if you think it's for you," he said as he looked over his shoulder at Harry. The older wizard had a fire in his eyes Harry had never seen, and he hoped it was enough.
Harry stepped towards the door, pausing to say, "If this is the only good thing you'll ever do in your life, Rowle, I'll owe you mine."